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 FOURTH EDITION.
 
 
 p=> 
 
 H DeMcate 
 
 THIS BOOK TO THE 
 MEMORY OF 
 
 FREDERICK ANDREWS LARKING 
 
 OF THE ROCKS, EAST MALLING, KENT 
 
 THAT, SO LONG AS ANYTHING OF MINE SHALL ENDURE, 
 
 THERE MAY ENDURE ALSO 
 
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 *>-<* -''w 'O- i^^ \^ JL. 

 
 PREFACE TO THE AMERICAN EDITION. 
 
 Among the works of every writer of Fiction there are gener- 
 ally one or two that owe their being to some haunting thought, 
 long communed with — a thought which has at last found a 
 living shape in some story of deed and passion. 
 
 I say one or two advisedly : for the span of man's active 
 life is short and such haunting fancies are, of their essence, 
 solitary. As a ^natter of fact, indeed, the majority of a 
 novelist's creations belong to another class, must of necessity 
 (if he be a prolific creator) find their conception in more 
 sudden impulses. The great family of the " children of his 
 brain " must be born of inspirations ever new, and in allur- 
 ing freshness go forth into the world surrounded by the 
 atmosphere of their author's present mood, decked in the 
 colours of his latest imaginings, strengthened by his latest 
 passional impressions and philosophical conclusions. 
 
 In the latter category the lack of long intimate acquaintance 
 between the author and the friends or foes he depicts, is amply 
 compensated for by the enthusiasm appertaining to new dis- 
 coveries, as each character reveals itself, often in quite un- 
 foreseen manner, and the consequences of each event shape 
 themselves inevitably and sometimes indeed almost against 
 his will. 
 
 Although dissimilar in their genesis, both kinds of stories 
 
 can, in the telling, be equally life-like and equally alluring to 
 
 the reader. But what of the writer ? Among his literary 
 
 ' family is there not one nearer his heart than all the rest — 
 
 vii
 
 viii PREFACE TO THE AMERICAN EDITION 
 
 his dream-child ? It may be the stoutest of the breed or it 
 may be the weakling ; it may be the first-borti, it often is the 
 Benjamin. Fathers in the flesh know this secret tenderness. 
 Many a child and many a book is brooded over with a special 
 lave even before its birth. — Laved thus, for no grace or merit 
 of its own, this book is my dream-child. 
 
 Here, by the way, I should like to say my word in honour of 
 Fiction — "fiction'' contradistinguished from what is popu- 
 larly termed " serious" writing. 
 
 If, in a story, the characters and the events are truly con- 
 vincing; if the former arc appealingly human and the latter 
 are so carefully devised and described as ?iever to evoke the 
 idea of improbability, then it can make no difference in the 
 intellectual pleasure of the reader whether what he is made 
 to realise so vividly is a record of fact or of mere faiuy. 
 Facts we read of are of necessity past: what is past, what 
 is beyond the immediate ken of our senses, can only be real- 
 ised in imagination ; and the picture we are able to make of 
 it for ourselves depends altogether on the sympathetic skill of 
 the recorder. Is 7iot Diana Vernon, born and bred in Scott's 
 imagination, to the full as living now before us as Rob Roy 
 Macgregor whose existetice was so undeniably tangible to the 
 men of his days ? Do we not see, in our mind's eye, and 
 know as clearly the lovable ' ' girt John Ridd ' ' of Lorna Doone 
 the romance as his contemporaries, Mr. Samuel Pepys of the 
 hard and uncompromising Diary or King James of English 
 Annals ? 
 
 Pictures, alike of the plainest facts or of the veriest imagin- 
 ings, are but pictures: it matters very little therefore whether 
 the man or the woman we read of but never can see in the 
 flesh has really lived or not, if what we do read raises an 
 emotion in our hearts. To the novelist, every character, each
 
 PREFACE TO THE AMERICAN EDITION ix 
 
 in his own degree, is almost as living as a personal acquaint- 
 ance; every event is as clear as a personal experience. And 
 if this he true of the story written a la grace de la plume, 
 where both events and characters unfold themselves like the 
 huds of some unknown plant, how much more strongly is it 
 the case of the story that has so long been mused over that 
 one day it had to be told I Then the marking events of the 
 actors' lives, their adventures, whether of sorrow or of joy, 
 their sayings and doings, noble or bright or mistaken, re- 
 corded in the book, are but a tithe of the adventures, sayings 
 and doings with which the writer seems to be familiar. He 
 might write or talk about them, in praise or vindictiveness 
 as he loves or dreads them, for many a longer day — but he 
 has one main theme to make clear to his hearers and must 
 respect the modern canons of the Story-telling Art. Among 
 the many things therefore he could tell, an he would, he 
 selects that only which will unravel a particular thread of 
 fate in the tangle of endless consequences ; which will render 
 plausible the growth of passions on which, in a continuous 
 life-drama, is based one particular episode. 
 
 Of such a kind is the story of Adrian Landale. 
 
 The haunting thought round which the tale of the sorely 
 tempest-tossed dreamer is gathered is one which, I think, 
 must at one time or other have occurred to many a man 
 as he neared the maturity of middle-life: — What form of 
 turmoil would come into his heart if, when still in the 
 strength of his age but after long years of hopeless separation, 
 he were again brought face to face with the woman who had 
 been the one passion of his life, the first and only love of his 
 youth ? And what if she were still then exactly as he had 
 last seen her — she, untouched by years even as she had so 
 long lived in his thoughts : he, with his soul scarred and 
 seamed by many encounters bravely sustained in the Battle 
 af Life ?
 
 X PREFACE TO THE AMERICAN EDITION 
 
 The problem thus propounded is not solvable, even in fic- 
 tion, unless it be by "fantastic" treatment. But perhaps 
 the more so on this account did it haunt me. And out of 
 the travail of my mind around it, out of the changing 
 shadows of restless speculation, gradually emerged, clear 
 and alive, the being of Adrian Landale and his two 
 loves. 
 
 Here then was a man, whose mind, moulded by 7iaturefor 
 grace and contemplation, was cast by fate amid all the tur- 
 moils of Romance a7id action. Here was one of those whose 
 warm heart and idealising enthusiasm must wreathe the beauty 
 of love into all the beauties of the world ; whose ideals are 
 spent on one adored object ; who, having lost it, seems to have 
 lost the very sense of love ; to whom love never could return, 
 save by some miracle. But fortune, that had been so cruelly 
 hard on him, ojie day in her blind way brings back to his door 
 the miraculous restitution — and there leaves him to struggle 
 along the fiewpath of his fate! It is there also that I take 
 up the thread of the speculation, and watch through its 
 vicissitudes the working of the problem raised by such a 
 strange circumstance. 
 
 The surrouftdings in a story of this kind are, of the na- 
 ture of tJrnigs, all those of Romance. And by Romance, / 
 would point out, is not necessarily meant in tale-telling, a 
 chain of events fraught with greater improbability than those 
 of so-called real life. (Indeed where is now the writer who 
 will for a moment admit, even tacitly, that his records are 
 not of reality ? ) It simply betokens, a specialisation of the 
 wider genus Novel ; a tiarrative of strong action and mov- 
 ing incident, in addition to the necessary analysis of character; 
 a story in which the uncertain violence of the outside world 
 turns the course of the actors' lives from the more obvious 
 channels. It connotes also, as a rule, more poignant emo- 
 tions — emotiojis born of strife or peril, even of horror ; it tells
 
 PREFACE TO THE AMERICAN EDITION xi 
 
 of the shock of arms in life, rather than of the mere diplo^ 
 macy of life. * 
 
 Above all Romance depends upon picturesque and varied 
 setting; upon the scenery of the drama, so to speak. On 
 the other hand it is not essentially (though this has some- 
 times been advanced) a narrative of mere adventures as con- 
 trasted to the observation and dissection of character and 
 manners we find in the true "novel." Rather be it said 
 that it is one in which the hidden soul is made patent under 
 the touchstone of blood-stirring incidents, of hairbreadth 
 risks, of recklessness or fierceness. There are soaring pas- 
 sions, secrets of the innermost heart, that can only be set 
 free in desperate situations — and those situations are not 
 found in the tenor in every-day, well-ordered life: they 
 belong to Romance. 
 
 Spirit-fathers have this advantage that they can bring 
 
 forth their dream-children in what age and place they list: 
 
 it is no times of now-a-days, no ordinary scenery, that zvould 
 
 have suited such adventures as befell Adrian Landale, or 
 
 Captain Jack, or " Murthering Moll the Second." 
 
 Romantic enough is the scene, which, in a manner, 
 framed the display of a most human drama ; and fraught 
 it is, even to this day, in the eyes of any but the least 
 imaginative, with potentialities for strange happenings.* 
 It is that great bight of Morecambe ; that vast of brown and 
 white shallows, deserted, silent, mysterious, and treacherous 
 with its dreaded shifting sands ; fringed in the inland dis- 
 tance by the Cumbrian hills, blue and misty ; bordered out- 
 
 * Those who like to associate fiction with definite places may be in- 
 terested to know that the prototype of Scarthey is the Piel of Foudrey, 
 on the North Lancashire coast, near the edge of Morecambe Bay, and that 
 Pulwick was suggested by Fiirncss Abbey. Barrow-in-Furness was then 
 but a straggling village. A floating light, facing the mouth of the Wyre, 
 now fulfils the duties devolving on the beacon of Scarthey at the time of 
 this story.
 
 xii PREFACE TO THE AMERICAN EDITION 
 
 wards by the Irish sea, cold and grey. And in a corner of 
 that zoaste, the islet, small and green and secure, with its 
 ancient Peel, ruinous even as the noble abbey of which it was 
 once the dependant stronghold; with its still sturdy keep, 
 and the beacon, whose light-keeper was once a Dreamer of 
 Beautiful Things. 
 
 And romantic the times, if by that word is implied a freer 
 scope than can he found in modern years for elemental pas- 
 sions, for fighting and loving in despite of every-day conven- 
 tions ; for enterprise, risks, temptations unknozvn in the 
 atmosphere of humdrum peace aiid order. They are the 
 early days of the century, days when easy and rapid jneans 
 of communication had not yet destroyed all the glamour of 
 distafice, when a county like Lancashire was as a far-off 
 country, with a spirit, a language, customs and ideas un- 
 known to the Metropolis ; days when, if there were no life- 
 boat crews, there could still be found rather experiemed 
 "wreckers," and when the keeping of a beacon, to light a 
 dangerous piece of sea, was still within the province of a pub- 
 lic-spirited latidlord. They are the days when the spread of 
 education had tiot even yet begun (for weal or for zvoej its 
 levelling work ; days of cruel monopolies and inane prohibi- 
 tions, and ferocious penal laws, inept in the working, baleful 
 in the result ; days of keel-hauling and flogging ; when the 
 "free-trader" still swung, tarred and in chains, on con- 
 spicuous points of the coast — even as the highwayman 
 rattled at the cross-road— for the encouragement of the 
 brotherhood ; when it was naturally considered more logical 
 (since hang you must for almost any misdeed) to hang for 
 a sheep than a lamb, and human life on the whole was held 
 rather cheap in consequence. They are the days when in 
 Liverpool the privateers were daily fitting out or bringing in 
 the "prices," and when, in Lord Street Offices, distant car- 
 goes of "living ebony " were put to auction by steady, in-
 
 PREFACE TO THE AMERICAN EDITION xiii 
 
 tensely respectable. Church-going merchants. But especially 
 they are the days of war and the fortunes of war ; days 
 of pressgangs, to kidnap unwilling rulers of the waves ; of 
 hulks and prisons filled to overflowing, even in a mere com- 
 mercial port like Liverpool, with French prisoners of war. 
 
 A long course of relentless hostilities, lasting the span of 
 a full-grown generation, had cultivated the predatory in- 
 stinct of all men with the temperament of action, and seemed 
 to justify it. Venturesome, hot-spirited youths, with their 
 way to make in the world (who hi a former age might have 
 been reduced to " the road)" took up privateering on a 
 systematic scale. In such an atmosphere there could not fail 
 to return a belief in the good old border rule, " the 
 simple plan : that they should take who have the power, and 
 they should keep who can." And it must be remembered 
 that an island country's border is the enemy' s coast ! On 
 that ethical understanding many privateer owners built up 
 large fortunes, still enjoyed by descendants who in these days 
 would look upon high-sea looting of non-combatants with 
 definite horror. 
 
 The years of the great French war, however, fostered a 
 species of nautical enterprise more vefituresome even than 
 privateering, raiding, blockade-running and all the ordinary 
 forms of smuggling that are usual when two coast lines are 
 at enmity. I mean that smuggling of gold specie and bullion 
 which incidentally was destined to affect the course of Sir 
 Adrian's life so powerfully. 
 
 As Captain Jack's last venture may, at this distance of 
 time, appear a little improbable, it is well to state here some 
 little-known facts concerning the ncm rather incomprehensible 
 pursuit of gold smuggling — a romantic subject if ever there 
 was one.
 
 xiv PREFACE TO THE AMERICAN EDITION 
 
 77?^ existence at one time of this form of "free-trade " is 
 all but forgotten. Indeed very little was ever heard of it hi 
 the world, except among parties directly iftterested, even at 
 the time zvhen it played an important part hi the machinery 
 of goroernments. Its rise duri?ig the years of Napoleonic 
 tyranny on the continent of Europe, and its continuance dur- 
 ing the factitious calm of the First Restoration in Frame, 
 were due to circumstances that never existed before and are 
 little likely to occur again. 
 
 The accumulation of a fund o/gold coin, reserved against 
 sudden contingency, was one of Bonaparte's imperial ideas. 
 In a modified and more modern form, this notion of a" war- 
 chest," untouched and unproductive in peace-time, is still 
 adhered to by the Germans : they have kept to heart many of 
 their former conqueror's lessons, lessons forgotten by the 
 French themselves — and the enormous treasure of gold bags 
 guarded at Spandau is a matter of cmnmon knowledge. 
 Napoleon, however, in his triumphant days never, and for 
 obvious reasons, lacked money. It was less an actual treasure 
 that he required and valued so highly for political and 
 military purposes, than an ever ready reserve of wealth 
 easily portable, of paramount value at all times; "con- 
 centrated," so to speak. And nothing could come nearer 
 to that description than rolls of English guineas. Indeed 
 the vast numbers of these coins which fitfully appeared 
 in circulation throughout Europe justified the many weird 
 legends concerning the power of "British Gold" — I'or 
 Anglais ! 
 
 There is every reason to believe that, in days when the 
 national currency consisted chiefly of lumbering silver ecus, 
 the Bourbon government also appreciated to the full the value 
 of a private gold reserve. At any rate it was at the time of 
 the first Restoration that the golden guinea of England found 
 in France its highest premium.
 
 PREFACE TO THE AMERICAN EDITION xv 
 
 JVithout going into the vexed and dreary question of single 
 or double standard, it will suffice to say that during the 
 early years of the century now about to close, gold coin was 
 leaving England at a rate which not only appeared phenome- 
 nal but was held to be injurious to the community. 
 
 As a matter of fact most of it was finding its way to France, 
 whilst Great Britain was flooded with silver. It was then 
 made illegal to export gold coin or bullion. The prohibition 
 was stringently, indeed at one time, ruthlessly, enforced. In 
 this manner the new and highly profitable traffic in English 
 guineas entered the province of the "free-trader" ; the dif- 
 erence introduced in his practice being merely one of degree. 
 IVhereas, in the case of prohibited imports, the chief task 
 lay in running the illicit goods and distributing them, in the 
 case of guinea- smuggling its arduousness was further in- 
 creased by the danger of collecting the gold inland and clear- 
 ing from home harbours. 
 
 Very little, as I said, has ever been heard of this singular 
 trade, and for obvious reasons. In the first place it obtained 
 only for a comparatively small number of years, the latter part 
 of the Great War : the last of it belonging to the period of 
 the Hundred Days. And in the second it was, at all times, 
 of necessity confined to a very small number of free-trading 
 skippers. Of adventurous men, in stirring days, there were 
 of course a multitude. But few, naturally, were the men to 
 whose honour the custody of so much ready wealth could 
 safely be intrusted. " That is where," as Captain Jack 
 says sometimes in this book, "the ' likes of me ' come in." 
 
 The exchange was enormously profitable. As much as 
 thirty-two shillings in silver value could, at one time, be ob- 
 tained on the other side of the water for an English guinea. 
 But the shipper and broker, in an illegal venture where con- 
 tract could not be enforced, had to be a man whose simple 
 word was warranty — a7id indeed, in the case of large con-
 
 xvi PREFACE TO THE AMERICAN EDITION 
 
 sig7iments, this blind trust had to be extended to almost every 
 man of his crew. What a romance could be written upon 
 this theme alone ! 
 
 In the story of Adrian Landale, however, it plays but a 
 subsidiary part. Brave, joyous-hearted Captain Jack and his 
 bold venture for a fortune appear only in the drama to turn 
 its previous course to unforeseen channels; just as in most of 
 our lives, the sudden intrusion of a new strong personality — 
 transient though it may be, a tempest or a meteor— changes 
 their seemingly inevitable trend to altogether new issues. 
 
 It was urged by my English publishers that, in " The Light 
 of Scarthey," I relate two distinct love-stories and ta)o dis- 
 tinct phases of one man's life; and that it were wiser 
 (by which word I presume was meant more profitable) to dis- 
 tribute the tale between two books, one to be a sequel to the 
 other. Happily I would not be persuaded to cut a fully com- 
 posed canvas in two for the sake of the frames. " It is the 
 fate of sequels," as Stevenson said in his dedication of 
 Catriona, " to disappoint tJiose who have waited for tJmn." 
 Besides, life is essentially continuous. — // may fiot be inept 
 to state a truism of this kitid in a world oftiovels where the 
 climax of life, if not indeed its very conclusion, is held to he 
 reached on the day of marriage ! Tliere is often, of course, 
 more than one true passion of love in a man's life ; and even 
 if the second does not really kill the memory of the first, their 
 course (should they be worth the telling) may well be told 
 separately. But if, in the story of a man's love for two 
 women, the past and the present are so closely interwoven as 
 were the reality and the "might-have-been " in the mind of 
 Adrian Landale, any separation of the two phases, youth 
 and maturity, would surely have stultified the whole scheme 
 of the story.
 
 PREFACE TO THE AMERICAN EDITION xvii 
 
 / have also been taken to task by some critics for having, 
 the tale once opened at a give?i time and place, harked hack 
 to oilier days and other scenes : ati inartistic and confusing 
 method, I was told. I am still of contrary opinion. There 
 are certain stories which belong, by their very essence, to 
 certain places. All ancient buildings have, if we only knew 
 them, their human dramas : this is the very soul of the 
 hidden but irresistible attraction they retain for us even when 
 deserted a?id dismantled as now the Peel of Scarthey . For 
 the sake of harmonious proportions, and in order to give it 
 its proper atmosphere, it was imperative that in this drama 
 — wherever the intermediate scenes anight be placed, whether 
 on the banks of the Vilaine, on the open sea, or in Lancaster 
 Castle — the Prologue should be witnessed on the green islet in 
 the wilderness of sands, even as the Crisis and the Closing 
 Scene of rest and tenderness. 
 
 49, Sloane Gardens, 
 
 London, S. W. 
 October iSgg.
 
 TABLE OF CONTENTS 
 
 PART I 
 
 SIR ADRIAN LANDALE, LIGHT-KEEPER OF SCARTHEY 
 
 CHAP. PAGE 
 
 I. The Peel of Scarthey i 
 
 II. The Light-Keeper . 6 
 
 III. Day Dreams : A Philosopher's Fate i6 
 
 IV. Day Dreams : A Fair Emissary 32 
 
 V. The Awakening 43 
 
 VI. The Wheel of Time 53 
 
 VII. Forebodings of Gladness 6;^ 
 
 VIII. The Path of Wasted Years 70 
 
 IX. A Genealogical Epistle 85 
 
 PART II 
 
 "MURTHERING MOLL THE SECOND" 
 
 X. The Threshold of Womanhood 97 
 
 XI. A Masterful Old Maid 113 
 
 XII. A Record and a Presentment 122 
 
 XIII. The Distant Light 136 
 
 XIV. The Tower of Liverpool : Master and Man 144 
 
 XV. Under the Light 156 
 
 XVI. The Recluse and the Squire 174 
 
 xix
 
 XX CONTENTS 
 
 PART III 
 
 "CAPTAIN JACK," THE GOLD SMUGGLER 
 
 CHAP. PAGE 
 
 XVII. Gold Smuggler and the Philosopher 191 
 
 XVIII. "Love Gilds the Scene and Woman Guides the Plot".. 211 
 
 XIX. A Junior's Opinion 224 
 
 XX. The Quick and the Dead 244 
 
 XXI. The DawTi of an Eventful Day 252 
 
 XXII. The Day : Morning 262 
 
 XXIII. The Day : Noon 276 
 
 XXIV. The Night 294 
 
 XXV. The Fight for the Open 309 
 
 XXVI. The Three Colours 323 
 
 XXVII. Under the Light Again : The Lady and the Cargo 335 
 
 XXVIII. The End of the Thread 349 
 
 XXIX. The Light Goes Out 364 
 
 XXX. Husband and Wife 375 
 
 XXXI. In Lancaster Castle 382 
 
 XXXII. The One He Loved and the One Who Loved Him 393 
 
 XXXIII. Launched on the Great Wave 406 
 
 XXXIV. The Gibbet on the Sands 413 
 
 XXXV. The Light Rekindled 430
 
 PART I 
 
 SIR ADRIAN LANDALE, LIGHT-KEEPER 
 OF SCARTHEY 
 
 We all were sea-swallowed, though some cast again ; 
 And by that destiny to peiform an act, 
 Whereof what's past is Prologue. 
 
 The Tempest
 
 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 THE PEEL OF SCARTHEY 
 
 He makes a solitude and calls it peace. 
 
 Byron. 
 
 Alone in the south and seaward corner of the great bight 
 on the Lancastrian coast — mournfully alone some say, 
 gloriously alone to my thinking — rises in singular unex- 
 pected fashion the islet of Scarthey ; a green oasis secure 
 on its white rocky seat amidst the breezy wilderness of 
 sands and waters. 
 
 There is, in truth, more sand than water at most times 
 round Scarthey. For miles northward the wet strand 
 stretches its silent expanse, tawny at first, then merging 
 into silver grey as in the dim distance it meets the shallow 
 advance of briny ripple. Wet sand, brown and dull, 
 with here and there a brighter trail as of some unde- 
 cided river seeking an aimless way, spreads westward, 
 deep inland, until stopped in a jagged line by bluffs 
 that spring up abruptly in successions of white rocky 
 steps and green terraces. 
 
 Turn you seaward, at low tide there lies sand again 
 and shingle (albeit but a narrow beach, for here a depth 
 of water sinks rapidly) laved with relentless obstinacy by 
 long, furling, growling rollers that are grey at their slug- 
 gish base and emerald-lighted at their curvetting crest. 
 Sand yet again to the south, towards the nearer coast 
 line, for a mile or perhaps less, dotted, along an irregular 
 path, with grey rocks that look as though the advance 
 guard of a giant army had attempted to ford its insecure 
 footing, had sunk into its treacherous shifting pits, and 
 
 I
 
 2 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 left their blanching skull-tops half emerging to record the 
 disaster. 
 
 On the land side of the bight, far away beyond the 
 grandly desolate, silent, yellow tract, a misty blue fringe 
 on the horizon heralds the presence of the North Country ; 
 whilst beyond the nearer beach a sprinkling of greenly 
 ensconced homesteads cluster round some peaceful and 
 paternal looking church tower. Near the salty shore a 
 fishing village scatters its greystone cabins along the first 
 terrace of the bluffs. 
 
 Outwards, ever changing in colour and temper roll and 
 fret the grey waters of the Irish Sea, turbulent at times, 
 but generally lenient enough to the brown-sailed ketches 
 that break the regular sweep of the western horizon as 
 they toil at the perpetual harvest of the deep. 
 
 Thus stands Scarthey. Although appearing as an island 
 on the charts, at low tides it becomes accessible dry- 
 foot from the land by a narrow causeway along the line 
 of the white shallow reefs, which connect the main pile 
 to the rocky steps and terraces of the coast. But woe be- 
 tide man or beast that diverges many feet from the one 
 secure path ! The sands of the great bay have already 
 but too well earned their sinister reputation. 
 
 During the greater part of the day, however, Scarthey 
 justifies its name — Skard- or Scarth-ey, the Knoll Island 
 in the language of the old Scandinavian masters of the 
 land. 
 
 In fair weather, or in foul, whether rising out of sunny 
 sands when the ebbing waters have retired, or assailed 
 on all sides by ramping breakers, Scarthey in its isolation, 
 with its well-preserved ruins and its turret, from which for 
 the last hundred years a light has been burning to warn 
 the seafarer, has a comfortable look of security and 
 privacy. 
 
 The low thick wall which in warlike times encom- 
 passed the bailey (now surrounding and sheltering a wide 
 paddock and neat kitchen gardens) almost disappears 
 under a growth of stunted, but sturdy trees ; dwarf alders 
 and squat firs that shake their white-backed leaves, and 
 swing their needle clusters, merrily if the breeze is mild, 
 obstinately if the gale is rousing and seem to proclaim : 
 "Here are we, well and secure. Ruffle and toss, and 
 lash, O winds, the faithless waters, we shall ever cling
 
 THE PEEL OF SCARTHEY 3 
 
 to this hospitable footing, the only kindly soil amid this 
 dreariness; here you once wafted our seed ; here shall we 
 live and perpetuate our life."' 
 
 On the sea front of the bailey walls rise, sheer from 
 the steep rock, the main body and the keep of the Peel. 
 They are ruinous and shorn of their whilom great height, 
 humbled more by the wilful destruction of man than by 
 the decay of time. 
 
 But although from a distance the castle on the green 
 island seems utterly dismantled, it is not, even now, all 
 ruin. And, at the time when Sir Adrian Landale, of 
 Pulwick, eighth baronet, adopted it as his residence, it 
 was far from being such. 
 
 True, the greater portion of that mediaeval building, half 
 monastic, half military, exposed even then to the search- 
 ing winds many bare and roofless chambers ; broken 
 vaults filled with driven sands ; more than one spiral 
 stair with hanging steps leading into space. But the 
 massive square keep had been substantially restored. 
 Although roofless its upper platform was as firm as when 
 it was first built ; and in a corner, solidly ensconced, rose 
 the more modern turret that sheltered the honest warning 
 light. 
 
 The wide chambers of the two remaining floors, which 
 in old warlike days were maintained bare and free, and 
 lighted only by narrow watching loopholes on all sides, 
 had been, for purposes of peaceful tenanncy, divided into 
 sundry small apartments. New windows had been 
 pierced into the enormous thickness of stone and cement ; 
 the bare coldness of walls was also hidden under more 
 home-like panellings. Close-fitting casements and solid 
 doors insured peace within ; the wind in stormy hours 
 might moan or rage outside this rocky pile, might hiss 
 and shriek and tear its wings among the jagged ruins, 
 bellow and thunder in and out of opened vaults, but it. 
 might not rattle a window of the modern castellan's 
 quarters or shake a latch of his chamber door. 
 
 There, for reasons understood then only by himself, 
 had Sir Adrian elected, about the "year seven " of this 
 century and in the prime of his age, to transplant his 
 lares and penates. 
 
 The while, this Adrian Landale's ancestral home stood, 
 in its placid and double pride of ancient and settled
 
 4 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 wealth, only some few miles away as the bee flies, in 
 the midst of its noble park, slightly retired from the 
 coast-line ; and from its upper casements could be de- 
 scried by day the little green patch of Scarthey and the 
 jagged outline of its ruins on the yellow or glimmering 
 face of the great bay, and by night the light of its turret. 
 And there he was still living, in some kind of happiness, 
 in the "year fourteen," when, out of the eternal store of 
 events, began to shape themselves the latter episodes of 
 a life in which storm and peace followed each other as 
 abruptly as in the very atmosphere that he then breathed. 
 
 For some eight years he had nested on that rock with 
 no other companions but a dog, a very ancient house- 
 keeper who cooked and washed for "t' young mester " 
 as she obstinately persisted in calling the man whom she 
 had once nursed upon her knee, and a singular sturdy 
 foreign man (Rene L'Apotre in the language of his own 
 land, but known as Renny Potter to the land of his adop- 
 tion) ; which latter was more than suspected of having 
 escaped from the Liverpool Tower, at that time the law- 
 ful place of custody of French war prisoners. 
 
 His own voluntary captivity, however, had nothing 
 really dismal for Adrian Landale. And the inhabited por- 
 tions of Scarthey ruins had certainly nothing prison-like 
 about them, nothing even that recalled the wilful con- 
 trition of a hermitage. 
 
 On the second floor of the tower (the first being allotted 
 to the use, official and private, of the small household), 
 clear of the surrounding walls and dismantled battlements, 
 the rooms were laid out much as they might have been up 
 at Pulwick Priory itself, yonder within the verdant grounds 
 on the distant rise. His sleeping quarters plainly, though 
 by no means ascctically furnished, opened into a large 
 chamber, where the philosophic light-keeper spent the best 
 part of his days. Here were broad and deep windows, 
 one to the south with a wide view of the bay and the 
 nearer coast, the other to the west where the open sea 
 displayed her changeable moods. On three sides of this 
 room, the high walls, from the white stone floor to the 
 time-blackened beams that bore the ceiling, almost disap- 
 peared under the irregular rows of many thousand of 
 volumes. Two wooden armchairs, bespeaking little 
 aversion to an occasional guest, flanked the hearth.
 
 THE PEEL OF SCARTHEY 5 
 
 The hearth is the chief refuge of the lone thinker ; this 
 was a cosy recess, deep cut in the mediaeval stone and 
 mortar ; within which, on chilly days, a generous heap of 
 sea-cast timber and dried turf shot forth dancing blue 
 flames over a mound of white ash and glowing cinders ; 
 but which, in warmer times, when the casements were 
 unlatched to let in with spring or summer breeze the cries 
 of circling sea-fowls and the distant plash of billows, 
 offered shelter to such green plants as the briny air would 
 favour. 
 
 At the far end of the room rose in systematical clusters 
 the pipes of a small organ, built against the walls where it 
 bevelled off a corner. And in the middle of the otherwise 
 bare apartment stood a broad and heavy table, giving 
 support to a miscellaneous array of books, open or closed, 
 sundry philosophical instruments, and papers in orderly 
 disorder ; some still in their virginal freshness, most, 
 however, bearing marks of notemaking in various stages. 
 
 Here, in short, was the study and general keeping-room 
 of the master of Scarthey, and here, for the greater part, 
 daily sat Sir Adrian Landale, placidly reading, writing, or 
 thinking at his table ; or at his organ, lost in soaring 
 melody ; or yet, by the fireside, in his wooden armchair 
 musing over the events of that strange world of thought 
 he had made his own ; whilst the aging black retriever 
 with muzzle stretched between his paws slept his light, 
 lazy sleep, ever and anon opening an eye of inquiry upon 
 his master when the latter spoke aloud his thoughts (as 
 solitary men are wont to do), and then with a deep, 
 comfortable sigh, resuming dog-life dreams.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 THE LIGHT-KEEPER 
 
 He who sits by the fire doth dream, 
 Doth dream that his heart is warm. 
 
 But when he awakes his heart is afraid for the bitter cold. 
 
 Lideplayer''s Song. 
 
 The year 1814 was eventful in the annals of the political 
 world. Little, however, of the world's din reached the 
 little northern island ; and what there came of it was not 
 willingly hearkened to. There was too much of wars past 
 and present, too many rumours of wars future about it, 
 for the ear of the recluse. 
 
 Late in the autumn of that red-letter year which brought 
 a short respite of peace to war-ridden Europe — a fine, but 
 rather tumultuous day round Scarthey — the light-keeper, 
 having completed the morning's menial task in the light- 
 turret (during a temporary absence of his factotum) sat, 
 according to custom, at his long table, reading. 
 
 With head resting on his right hand whilst the left held 
 a page ready to turn, he solaced himself, pending the 
 appearance of the mid-day meal, with a few hundred lines 
 of a favourite work — the didactic poems, I believe, of a 
 certain Doctor Erasmus Darwin, on the analogies of the 
 outer world. 
 
 There was quite as little of the ascetic in Adrian Lan- 
 dale's physical man as of the hermitage in his chosen 
 abode. 
 
 With the exception of the hair, which he wore long and 
 free, and of which the fair brown had begun to fade to 
 silver-grey, the master of Scarthey was still the living 
 presentment of the portrait which, even at that moment, 
 presided among the assembly of canvas Landales in the 
 gallery of Pulwick Priory. Eight years had passed over 
 the model since the likeness had been fixed. But in their 
 present repose, the features clear cut and pronounced, the 
 kindly thoughtful eyes looked, if anything, younger than 
 6
 
 THE LIGHT-KEEPER 7 
 
 their counterfeit ; indeed, almost incongruously young 
 under the flow of fading hair. 
 
 Clean shaven, with hands of refinement, still fastidious, 
 his long years of solitude notwithstanding, as to general 
 neatness of attire, he might at any moment of the day 
 have walked up the great stair of honour at Pulwick with- 
 out by his appearance eliciting other remarks than that 
 his clothes, in cut and colour, belonged to fashions now 
 some years lapsed. 
 
 The high clock on the mantelshelf hummed and gurgled, 
 and with much deliberation struck one. Only an instant 
 later, lagging footsteps ascended the wooden, echoing 
 .stairs without, and the door was pushed open by the 
 attendant, an old dame. She was very dingy as to garb, 
 very wrinkled and feeble as to face, yet with a conscious 
 achievement of respectability, both in appearance and 
 manner, befitting her post as housekeeper to the " young 
 master." The young master, be it stated at once, was at 
 that time fast approaching the end of his second score 
 years. 
 
 " Margery," said Adrian, rising to take the heavy tray 
 from the knotted, trembling hands ; " you know that I 
 will not allow you to carry those heavy things upstairs 
 yourself." He raised his voice to sing-song pitch near 
 the withered old ear. " I have already told you that 
 when Renny is not at home, I can take my food in your 
 kitchen." 
 
 Margery paused, after her wont, to wait till the sounds 
 had filtered as far as her intellect, then proceeded to give a 
 few angry headshakes. 
 
 "Eh! Eh! It would become Sir Adrian Landale o' 
 Pulwick — Barrownite — to have 's meat i' the kitchen — it 
 would that. Nay, nay, Mester Adrian, I'm none so old 
 but I can do my day's work yet. Ah ! an' it 'ud be well 
 if that gomerl, Renny Potter, 'ud do his'n. See here, now, 
 Mester Adrian, nowt but a pint of wine left ; and it the 
 last," pointing her withered finger, erratically as the palsy 
 shook it, at a cut-glass decanter where a modicum of port 
 wine sparkled richly under the facets. "And he not back 
 yet, whatever mischief's agate wi' him, though he kens yo 
 like your meat at one." And then circumstances obliged 
 her to add : " He is landing now, but it's ower late i' the 
 day."
 
 8 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 "So — there, Margery," sang the "Squire," giving his 
 old nurse affectionate little taps on the back. "Never 
 fash yourself; tides cannot always fit in with dinner-hours, 
 you know. And as for poor Renny, I believe after all you 
 are as fond of him, at the bottom of your heart, as I am. 
 Now what good fare have you got for me to-day.? " bend- 
 ing from his great height to inspect the refection, "Ah — 
 hum, excellent." 
 
 The old woman, after another pause for comprehension, 
 retired battling with dignity against the obvious pleasure 
 caused by her master's affectionate familiarity, and the 
 latter sat down at a small table in front of the south window. 
 
 Through this deep, port-hole-like aperture he could, 
 whilst disposing of his simple meal, watch the arrival of 
 the yawl which did ferrying duty between Scarthey and 
 the mainland. The sturdy little craft, heavily laden with 
 packages, was being hauled up to its usual place of safety 
 high on the shingle bank, under cover of a remnant of 
 walling which in the days of the castle's strength had 
 been a secure landing-place for the garrison's boats, but 
 which now was almost filled by the cast-up sands and 
 stone of the beach. 
 
 This was done under the superintendence of Rene, 
 man of all work, and with the mechanical intermediary 
 of rollers and capstan, by a small white horse shackled 
 to a lever, and patiently grinding his steady rounds on 
 the sand. 
 
 His preliminary task achieved, the man, after a few 
 friendly smacks, set the beast free to trot back to his loose 
 pasture : proceeding himself to unship his cargo. 
 
 Through the narrow frame of his window, the master, 
 with eyes of approval, could see the servant dexterously 
 load himself with a well-balanced pile of parcels, dis- 
 appearing to return after intervals empty-handed, within 
 the field of view, and select another burden, now heavier 
 now more bulky. 
 
 In due course Ren^ came up and reported himself in 
 person, and as he stopped on the threshold the dark door- 
 way framed a not unstriking presentment ; a young-look- 
 ing man for his years (he was a trifle junior to his master), 
 short and sturdy in build, on whose very broad shoulders 
 sat a phenomenally fair head — the hair short, crisp, and 
 curly, in colour like faded tow — and who, in smilingly
 
 THE LIGHT-KEEPER 9 
 
 respectful silence, gazed into the room out of small, light- 
 blue eyes, brimful of alertness and intelligence, waiting 
 to be addressed. 
 
 "Renny," said Adrian Landale, returning the glance 
 with one of comfortable friendliness, " you will have to 
 make your peace with Margery ; she considers that you 
 neglect me shamefully. Why, you are actually twenty 
 minutes late after three days' journeying, and perils by 
 land and sea ! " 
 
 The Frenchman answered the pleasantry by a broader 
 smile and a scrape. 
 
 "And, your honour," he said, "if what is now arriving 
 on us had come half an hour sooner, I should have rested 
 planted there " (with a jerk of the flaxen head towards the 
 mainland), "turning my thumbs, till to-morrow, at the 
 least. We shall have a grain, number one, soon." 
 
 He spoke English fluently, though with the guttural 
 accent of Brittany, and an unconquerable tendency to 
 translate his own jargon almost word for word. 
 
 In their daily intercourse master and man had come 
 for many years past to eschew French almost entirely; 
 Ren^ had let it be understood that he considered his 
 proficiency in the vernacular quite undeniable, and with 
 characteristic readiness Sir Adrian had fallen in with the 
 little vanity. In former days the dependant's form of 
 address hadheen MonseTgneur (considering, and shrewdly 
 so, an English landowner to stand in that relation to a 
 simple individual like himself); in later days " Mon- 
 seigneur" having demurred at the appellation, "My 
 lord,"" in his own tongue, the devoted servant had dis- 
 covered "Your honour" as a happy substitute, and 
 adhered to this discovery with satisfaction. 
 
 "Oh, we are going to have a squall, say you," inter- 
 preted the master, rising to inspect the weather-glass, 
 which in truth had fallen deep with much suddenness. 
 " More than a squall, I think ; this looks like a hurricane 
 coming. But since you are safe home, all's well ; we are 
 secure and sound here, and the fishing fleet are drawing 
 in, I see," peering through the seaward window. "And 
 now," continued Adrian, laying down his napkin, and 
 brushing away a few crumbs from the folds of a faultless 
 silk stock, ' 'what have you for me there — and what news ? " 
 
 " News, your honour ! Oh, for that I have news this
 
 lo THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 time/' said Mr. Renny Potter, with an emphatic nod, 
 "but if your honour will permit, I shall say them last. I 
 have brought the clothes and the linen, the wine, the 
 brandy, and the books. Brandy and wine, your honour, 
 I heard, out of the last prize brought into Liverpool, and 
 a Nantes ship it was, too " — this in a pathetically philo- 
 sophical tone. Then after a pause : "Also provisions and 
 bulbs for the devil's pot, as Margery will call it. But there 
 is no saying, your honour eats more when I have brought 
 him back onions, eschalot, and ail ; now do I lie, your 
 honour .? May I ? " added the speaker, and forthwith took 
 his answer from his master's smile ; " may I respectfully 
 see what tlie old one has kitchened for you when I was 
 not there? " 
 
 And Adrian Landale with some amusement watched 
 the Frenchman rise from the package he was then un- 
 cording to examine the platters on the table and loudly 
 sniff his disdain. 
 
 "Ah, ah, boiled escallops again. Perfectly — boiled 
 cabbage seasoned with salt. Not a taste in the whole 
 affair. Prison food — oh, yes, old woman ! Why, we 
 nourished ourselves better in the Tower, when we could 
 have meat at all. Ah, your honour," sighed the man 
 returning to his talk ; "you others, English, are big and 
 strong, but you waste great things in small enjoyment ! " 
 
 "Oho, Renny," said the light-keeper squire, as he leant 
 against the fireplace leisurely filling a long clay pipe, 
 " this is one of your epigrams ; I must make a note of it 
 anon ; but let me see now what you really have in those 
 parcels of books — for books they are, are they not .'' so 
 carefully and neatly packed." 
 
 "Books," assented the man, undoing the final fold of 
 paper. "Mr. Young in the High Street of Liverpool had 
 the packets ready. He says you must have them all ; 
 and all printed this year. What so many people can want 
 to say, I for my count cannot comprehend. Three more 
 parcels on the stairs, your honour. Mr. Young says you 
 must have them. But it took two porters to carry them 
 to the Preston diligence." 
 
 Not without eagerness did the recluse of Scarthey bend 
 over and finger the unequal rows of volumes arrayed on 
 the table, and with a smile of expectation examine the 
 labels.
 
 THE LIGHT-KEEPER ii 
 
 "The Corsair" and "Lara" he read aloud, lifting- a 
 small tome more dahitily printed than the rest. '• Lord 
 Byron. What's this .? Jane Austen, a novel. 'Roderick, 
 last of the Goths.' Dear, dear," his smile fading into 
 blankness ; "tiresome man, I never gave him orders for 
 any such things." 
 
 Rene, battling with his second parcel, shrugged his 
 shoulders. 
 
 "The librarian," he explained, "said that all the 
 world read these books, and your honour must have 
 them." 
 
 "Well, well," continued the hermit, "what else.? 
 'Jeremy Bentham,' a new work ; Ricardo, another book 
 on economy; Southey the Laureate, 'Life of Nelson.' 
 Really, Mr. Young might have known that naval deeds 
 have no joy for me, hardly more than for you, Renny," 
 smiling grimly on his servant. " 'Edinburgh Review,' a 
 London magazine for the last six months ; ' Rees's Cyclo- 
 paedia,' vols. 24-27 ; Wordsworth, 'The Recluse.' Ah, old 
 Willie Wordsworth ! Now I am anxious to see what he 
 has to say on such a topic." 
 
 " Dear Willie Wordsworth," mused Sir Adrian, sitting 
 down to turn over the pages of the "Excursion," "how 
 widely have our lives drifted apart since those college 
 days of ours, when we both believed in the coming mil- 
 lennium and the noble future of mankind — noble man- 
 kind ! " 
 
 He read a few lines and became absorbed, whilst Rend 
 noiselessly busied himself in and out of the chamber. 
 Presently he got up, book in hand, slowly walked to the 
 north window, and passively gazed at the misty distance 
 where rose the blue outline of'the lake hills. 
 
 " So my old friend, almost forgotten," he murmured, 
 "that is where you indite such worthy lines. It were 
 enough to tempt me out into men's world again to think 
 that there would be many readers and lovers abroad of 
 these words of yours. So, that is what five and twenty 
 years have done for you — what would you say to what 
 they have done for me ....?" 
 
 It was a long retrospect. 
 
 Sir Adrian was deeply immersed in thought when he 
 became aware that his servant had come to a standstill, 
 as if waiting for a return of attention. And in answer to
 
 12 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 the mute appeal he turned his head once more in Rent's 
 direction. 
 
 "Your honour, everything is in its place," began the 
 latter, with a fitting sense of his own method. "I have 
 now to report that I saw your man of business in Lan- 
 caster, and he has attended to the matter of the brothers 
 Shearman's boat that was lost. I saw the young men 
 themselves this morning. They are as grateful to Sir 
 Adrian as people in this country can express." This last 
 with a certain superiority. 
 
 Sir Adrian received the announcement of the working 
 of one of his usual bounties with a quiet smile of gratifica- 
 tion. 
 
 "They also told me to say that they would bring the 
 firewood and the turf to-morrow. But they won't be able 
 to do that because we shall liave dirty weather. Then 
 they told me that when your honour wants fish they 
 begged your honour to run up a white flag over the lan- 
 tern — they thought that a beautiful idea — and they would 
 bring some as soon as possible. I took on myself to 
 assure them that I could catch what fish your honour 
 requires ; and the prawns, too .... but that is what 
 they asked me to say." 
 
 "Well, well, and so you can," said the master, amused 
 by the show of sub-acute jealousy. * ' What else ? " 
 
 " The books of the man of business and the banker are 
 on the table. I have also brought gazettes from Liver- 
 pool." Here the fellow's countenance brimmed with the 
 sense of his news' importance. "I know your honour 
 cares little for them. But this time I think you will read 
 them. Peace, your honour, it is the peace ! It is all 
 explained in these journals — the ' Liverpool INIercury.'" 
 
 Renny lifted the folded sheets from the table and 
 handed them with contained glee. "There has been 
 peace these six months, and we never knew it. I read 
 about it the whole way back from the town. The Em- 
 peror is shut up on an island — but not so willingly as 
 your Honour, ah, no ! — and there is an end of citizen 
 Bonaparte. Peace, France and England no longer fight- 
 ing, it is hard to believe — and our old kings are coming 
 back, and everything to be again as in the old days. 
 
 Sir Adrian took the papers, not without eagerness, and 
 glanced over the narrative of events, already months old,
 
 THE LIGHT-KEEPER 13 
 
 with all the surprise of one who, having wilfully shut 
 himself out from the affairs of the world, ignored the 
 series of disasters that had brought about the tyrant's 
 downfall. 
 
 "As you say, my friend, it is almost incredible," he 
 said, at length. Then thoughtfully: "And now you 
 will be wanting to return home ? " said he. 
 
 Rend, who had been scanning his master's face with 
 high expectation, felt his heart leap as he thought he per- 
 ceived a hidden tone of regret in the question. 
 
 He drew himself up to his short height, and with a very 
 decided voice made answer straightway : 
 
 " I shall go away from your honour the day when your 
 honour dismisses me. If your honour decides to live on 
 this rock till my hour, or his, strikes — on this rock with 
 him I remain. I am not conceited, I hope, but what, 
 pray, will become of your honour here without me.? " 
 
 There was force in this last remark, simply as it was 
 pronounced. Through the mist of interlacing thoughts 
 suggested by the word Peace ! (the end of the Revolu- 
 tion, that distant event which, nevertheless, had had such 
 sweeping influence over the course of his whole life), it 
 brought a faint smile to Sir Adrian's lips. 
 
 He took two steps forward and laid his hand familiarly 
 on the man's broad shoulder, and, in a musing way, he 
 said at intervals : 
 
 "Yes, yes, indeed, good Renny, what would become 
 of me } — what would have become of me .? — how long 
 ago it seems ! — without you ? And yet it might have 
 been as well if two skeletons, closely locked in embrace, 
 blanched by the grinding of the waters and the greed of 
 the crabs, now reposed somewhere deep in the sands of 
 
 that Vilaine estuary This score of years, she has 
 
 had rest from the nightmare that men have made of life 
 on God's beautiful earth. I have been through more of 
 it, my good Renny." 
 
 Rene's brain was never equal to coping with his mas- 
 ter's periodic fits of pessimism, though he well knew their 
 first and ever-present cause. In a troubled way he looked 
 about the room, so peaceful, so retired and studious ; and 
 Sir Adrian understood. 
 
 "Yes, yes, you are right ; I have cut off the old life," 
 he made answer to the unspoken expostulation, "and
 
 14 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 that I can live in my own small world without foregoing 
 all my duties, I owe to you, my good friend ; but start- 
 ling news like this brings back the past very livingly, dead 
 though it be — dead." 
 
 Rene hesitated ; he was pondering over the advisability 
 of disburdening himself of yet another strange item of 
 information he had in reserve ; but, as his master, rousing 
 himself with an effort as if to dismiss some haunting 
 thought, turned round again to the table, he decided that 
 the moment was not propitious. 
 
 " So you have seen to all these things," said Sir Adrian 
 wearily. "Good; I will look over them." 
 
 He touched the neat pile of books and papers, listlessly, 
 as he spoke, yet, instead of sitting down, remained as he 
 was, with eyes that had grown wondering, staring out 
 across the sea. 
 
 " Look," he said presently, in a low voice, and Rene 
 noticed a rare flush of colour rise to the thin cheeks. 
 "Look — is not this day just like — one we both remember 
 well . . . . ? Listen, the wind is coming up as it did 
 then. And look at yonder sky ! " 
 
 And taking the man by the arm, he advanced slowly 
 with him towards the window. 
 
 In the west the heavens on the horizon had grown 
 threateningly dark ; but under the awe-inspiring slate- 
 coloured canopy of clouds there opened a broad archway 
 filled with primrose light — the luminous arch, well known 
 to seafarers, through which charge the furious south- 
 western squalls. The rushing of the storm was already 
 visible in the distance over the grey waters, which having 
 been swayed for days by a steady Aquilon were now 
 lashed in flank by the sudden change of wind. 
 
 The two men looked out for a while in silence at the 
 spectacle of the coming storm. In the servant's mind 
 ran various trivial thoughts bearing on the present — what 
 a lucky matter it was that he should have returned in 
 time ; only just in time it was ; from the angry look of 
 the outer world the island would now, for many a day 
 be besieged by seas impassable to such small craft as 
 alone could reach the reef. Had he tarried but to the 
 next tide (and how sorely he had been tempted to remain 
 an hour more in the gatekeeper's lodge within sight and 
 hearing of buxom Moggie, Margery's granddaughter).
 
 THE LIGHT-KEEPER 15 
 
 had he missed the tide, for days, maybe for weeks, would 
 the master have had to watch and tend, alone, the beacon 
 fire. But here he was, and all was well ; and he had 
 still the marvellous news to tell. Should he tell them 
 now ? No, the master was in one of his trances — lost far 
 away in the past no doubt, that past that terminated on 
 such a day as this. And Sir Adrian, with eyes fixed on 
 the widening arch of yellow light, was looking inwards 
 on the far-away distance of time. 
 
 Men, who have been snatched back to life from death 
 in the deep, recall how, before seeming to yield the ghost, 
 the picture of their whole existence passed in vivid light 
 before the eye of their mind. Swift beyond the power of 
 understanding are such revelations ; in one flash the 
 events of a good or an evil life leap before the seeing 
 soul — moment of anguish intolerable or of sublime 
 peace ! 
 
 On such a boisterous day as this, some nineteen years 
 before, by the sandy mouth of the river Vilaine, on the 
 confines of Brittany and Vendue had Adrian Landale 
 been drowned ; under such a sky, and under the buffets 
 of such an angry wind had he been recalled to life, and 
 in the interval, he had seen the same pictures which now, 
 coursing back many years in a few seconds, passed 
 before his inward vision.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 DAY DREAMS : A PHILOSOPHER'S FATE 
 
 Le beau temps de ma jeunesse .... quand j'etais si malheureux. 
 
 The borderland between adolescence and manhood, in 
 the life of men of refined aspirations and enthusiastic 
 mettle, is oftener than not an unconsciously miserable 
 period — one which more mature years recall as hollow, 
 deceiving-, bitterly unprofitable. 
 
 Yet there is always that about the memories of those far- 
 off youn^ days, their lofty dreams long since scattered, 
 their virgin delights long since lost in the drudgery of 
 earthly experience, which ever and anon seizes the heart 
 unawares and fills it with that infinite weakness : that 
 mourning for the dead and gone past, which yet is not 
 regret. 
 
 In the high days of the Revolutionary movement across 
 the water, Adrian Landale was a dreamy student living in 
 one of those venerable Colleges on the Cam, the very 
 atmosphere of which would seem sufficient to glorify the 
 merits of past ages and past mstitutions. 
 
 Amidst such peaceful surroundings this eldest scion of 
 an ancient, north-country race — which had produced 
 many a hardy fighter, though never yet a thinker nor 
 even a scholar — amid a society as prejudiced and narrow- 
 minded as all privileged communities are bound to 
 become, had nevertheless drifted resistlessly towards that 
 unfathomable sea whither a love for the abstract beautiful, 
 a yearning for super-earthly harmony and justice, must 
 inevitably waft a young intelligence. 
 
 As the academical years glided over him, he accumu- 
 lated much classical lore, withal read much latter-day 
 philosophy and developed a fine youthful, theoretical love 
 for the new humanitarianism. He dipped £Esthetically 
 into science, wherein he found a dim kind of help towards 
 
 i6
 
 DAY DREAMS: A PHILOSOPHER'S FATE 17 
 
 a more recondite appreciation of the beauties of nature. 
 His was not a mind to delight in profound knowledge, 
 but rather in " intellectual cream." 
 
 He solaced, himself with essays that would have been 
 voted brilliant had they dealt with things less extravagant 
 than Universal Harmony and Fraternal Happiness ; with 
 verses that all admitted to be highly polished and melo- 
 dious, but something too mystical in meaning for the un- 
 derstanding of an every-day world ; with music, whereof 
 he was conceded an interpreter of no mean order. 
 
 In fact the worship of his soul might have been said to 
 be the Beautiful in the abstract — the Beautiful in all its 
 manifestations which include Justice, Harmony, Truth, 
 and Kindliness — the one indispensable element of his 
 physical happiness, the Beautiful in the concrete. 
 
 This is saying that Adrian Landale, for all his array of 
 definite accomplishments, which might have been a never- 
 failing source of interest in an easy existence, was fitted in 
 a singularly unfortunate manner for the life into which one 
 sudden turn of fortune's wheel unexpectedly launched him. 
 
 During the short halcyon days of his opening inde- 
 pendence, however, he was able to make himself the 
 centre of such a world as he would have loved to live in. 
 He was not, of course, generally popular, either at college 
 or at home ; nor yet in town, except among that small set 
 in whose midst he inevitably found his way wherever he 
 went ; his inferiors in social status perhaps, these chosen 
 friends of his ; but their lofty enthusiasms were both 
 appreciative of and congenial to his own. Most of them, 
 indeed, came in after-life to add their names to England's 
 roll of intellectual fame, partly because they had that in 
 them which Adrian loathed as unlovely — the instinct and 
 will of strife, partly, it must be added, because they re- 
 mained free in their circumstances to follow the lead of 
 their nature. Which freedom was not allotted to him. 
 
 On one magnificent frosty afternoon, early in the year 
 1794, the London coach deposited Adrian Landale in front 
 of the best hostelry in Lancaster, after more than a year's 
 separation from his family. 
 
 This separation was not due to estrangement, but rather 
 to the instigation of his own sire, Sir Thomas — a gentle- 
 man of the "fine old school" — who, exasperated by the, 
 2
 
 i8 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 to him, incomprehensible and insupportable turn of mind 
 developed by his heir (whom he loved well enough, 
 notwithstanding, in his own way), had hoped, in good 
 utilitarian fashion, that a prolonged period of contact with 
 the world, lubricated by a plentiful supply of money, 
 might shake his " bigsawney of ason " out of his sickly- 
 sentimental views ; that it would show him i\\ziige7ille7fi€7is 
 society — and, " by gad, ladies' too " — was not a thing to 
 be shunned for the sake of "wild-haired poets, dirty 
 firebrands, and such cattle." 
 
 The downright old baronet was even prepared, in an 
 unformed sort of way, to see his successor that was to be 
 return to the paternal hearth the richer for a few gentle- 
 manly vices, provided he left his nonsense behind him. 
 
 As the great lumbering vehicle, upon the box seat of 
 which sat the young traveller, lost in dreamy speculation 
 according to his wont, drew clattering to a halt, he failed 
 at first to notice the central figure in the midst of the 
 usual expectant crowd of inn guests and inn retainers, 
 called forward by the triumphant trumpeting which heralds 
 the approach of the mail. There, however, stood the 
 Squire of Pulwick, "Sir Tummus " himself, in jDortly and 
 jovial importance. 
 
 The father's eyes, bright and piercing under his bushy 
 white brows, had already detected his boy from a distance ; 
 and they twinkled as he took note, with all the pride of 
 an author in his work, of the symmetry of limb and 
 shoulders set forth by the youth's faultless attire — and the 
 dress of men in the old years of the century was indeed 
 calculated to display a figure to advantage — of the light- 
 ness and grace of his frame as he dismounted from his 
 perch ; in short of the increased manliness of his looks 
 and bearing. 
 
 But a transient frown soon came to overshade Sir 
 Thomas's ruddy content as he descried the deep flush (an 
 old weakness) which mantled the young cheeks under the 
 spur of unexpected recognition. 
 
 And when, later, the pair emerged from the inn after an 
 hour's conversation over a bottle of burnt sherry — conver- 
 sation which, upon the father's side, had borne, in truth, 
 much the character of cross-examination — to mount the 
 phaeton with which a pair of high-mettled bays were 
 impatiently waiting the return homewards, there was a
 
 DAY DREAMS : A PHILOSOPHER'S FATE 19 
 
 very definite look of mutual dissatisfaction to be read upon 
 their countenances. 
 
 Whiling away the time in fitful constrained talk, par- 
 celled out by long silences, they drove again through the 
 gorgeous, frost-speckled scenery of rocky lands until the 
 sheen of the great bay suddenly peered between two 
 distant scars, proclaiming the approach to the Pulwick 
 estate. The father then broke a long spell of muteness, 
 and thus to his son, in his ringing country tones, as if 
 pursuing aloud the tenor of his thoughts : 
 
 " Hark'ee, Master Adrian," said he, " that you are now 
 a man of parts, as they say, I can quite see. You seem 
 to have read a powerful lot of things that do not come 
 our way up here. But let us understand each other. I 
 cannot make head or tail of these far-fetched new-fangle 
 notions you, somehow or other, have fallen in love with 
 — your James Fox, your Wilberforce, your Adam Smith, 
 they may be very fine fellows, but to my humble thinking 
 they're but a pack of traitors to king and country, 
 when all is said and done. All this does not suit an 
 English gentleman. You think differently ; or perhaps 
 you do not care whether it does or not. I admit I can't 
 hold forth as you do ; nor string a lot of fine words 
 together. I am only an old nincompoop compared to a 
 clever young spark like you. But I request you to keep 
 off these topics in the company I like to see round my 
 table. They don't like Jacobins, you know, no more 
 do I ! " 
 
 " Nor do I," said Adrian fervently. 
 
 "Nor do you? Don't you, sir, don't you? Why, 
 then what the devil have you been driving at? " 
 
 "I am afraid, sir, you do not understand my views." 
 
 ''Well, never mind; I don't like "em. that's short, and 
 if you bring them out before your cousin, little Madame 
 Savenaye, you will come off second best, my lad, great 
 man as you are, and so I warn you ! " 
 
 In tones as unconcerned as he could render them the 
 young man sought to turn the intercourse to less personal 
 topics, by inquiring further anent this unknown cousin 
 whose very name was strange to him. 
 
 Sir Thomas, easily placable if easily roused, started 
 willingly enough on a congenial topic. And thus Adrian 
 conceived his first impression of that romantic being
 
 20 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 whose deeds have remained legendary in the French west 
 country, and who was destined to exercise so strong an 
 influence upon his own life. 
 
 "Who is she? " quoth the old gentleman, with evident 
 zest. "Ay. All this is news to you, of course. Well: 
 she was Cecile de Kermelegan. You know your mother's 
 sister Mary Donoghue (murthering Moll, they called her 
 on account of her killing eyes) married a M. de Kerme- 
 legan, a gentleman of Brittany. Madame de Savenaye 
 is her daughter (first cousin of yours), that means that she 
 has gfood old Eno-Hsh blood in her veins and Irish to boot. 
 She speaks English as well as you or I, her mother's 
 teaching of course, but she is French all the same ; and, 
 by gad, of the sort which would reconcile even an English- 
 man with the breed ! " 
 
 Sir Thomas's eyes sparkled with enthusiasm ; his son 
 examined him with grave wonder. 
 
 " The very sight of her, my boy, is enough to make a 
 man's heart warm. Wait till you see her and she begins 
 to talk of what the red-caps are doing over there — those 
 friends of yours, who are putting in practice all your fine 
 theories ! And, bookworm as you are, I'll warrant she'll 
 warm your sluggish blood for you. Ha ! she's a rare 
 little lady. She married last year the Count of Savenaye. " 
 
 Adrian assumed a look of polite interest. 
 
 "Emigre, I presume.?" he said, quietly. 
 
 "Emigre? No, sir. He is even now fighting the 
 republican rapscallions, d — n them, and thrashing them, 
 too, yonder in his country. She stuck by his side ; ay, 
 like a good plucked one she did, until it became palpable 
 that, if there was to be a son and heir to the name, she 
 had better go and attend to its coming somewhere else, 
 in peace. Ho, ho, ho ! Well, England was the safest 
 place, of course, and, for her, the natural one. She 
 came and offered herself to us on the plea of relationship. 
 I was rather taken aback at first, I own ; but, gad, boy, 
 when I saw the woman, after hearing what she had had 
 to go through to reach us at all, I sang another song. 
 Well, she is a fine creature — finer than ever now that the 
 progeny has been satisfactorily hatched ; a brace of girls 
 instead of the son and heir, after all ! Two of them ; no 
 less. Ho, ho, ho ! And she was furious, the pretty 
 dear ! However, you'll soon see for yourself. You will
 
 DAY DREAMS: A PHILOSOPHER'S FATE 21 
 
 see a woman, sir, who has loaded and fired cannon with 
 her own hands, when the last man to serve it had been 
 shot. Ay, and more than that, my lad — she's brained 
 a hulking sans-culotte that was about to pin her servant 
 to the floor. The lad has told me so himself, and I dare- 
 say he can tell you more if you care to practise your 
 French with master Rene L'Apotre, that's the fellow ! A 
 woman who sticks to her lord and master in mud and 
 powder-smoke until there is precious little time to spare, 
 when she makes straight for a strange land, in a fishing- 
 smack, with no other protector than a peasant ; and now, 
 with an imp of a black-eyed infant to her breast (Sally 
 Mearson's got the other ; you remember Sally, your own 
 nurse's daughter?), looks like a chit of seventeen. That's 
 what you'll see, sir. And when she sails downstairs for 
 dinner, dressed up, powdered and high-heeled, she might 
 be a princess, a queen who has never felt a crumpled 
 roseleaf in her life. Gad ! I'm getting poetical, I declare." 
 
 In this strain did the Squire, guiding his horses with 
 strong, dexterous hand, expatiate to his son ; the crisp 
 air rushing past them, making their faces glow with the 
 tingling blood until, burning the ground, they dashed up 
 the avenue that leads to the white mansion of Pulwick, 
 and halted amidst a cloud of steam before its Palladian 
 portico. 
 
 What happened to Adrian the moment after happens, 
 as a rule, only once in a man's lifetime. 
 
 Through the opening portals the guest, whose con- 
 densed biography the Squire had been imparting to his 
 son (all unconsciously eliciting thereby more repulsion 
 than admiration in the breast of that fastidious young 
 misogynist), appeared herself to welcome the return of 
 her host. 
 
 Adrian, as he retired a pace to let his father ascend the 
 steps, first caught a glimpse of a miraculously small and 
 arched foot, clad in pink silk, and, looking suddenly up, 
 met fully the flash of great dark eyes, set in a small white 
 face, more brilliant in their immense blackness than even 
 the glinting icicles pendant over the lintel that now shot 
 back the sun's sinking glory. 
 
 The spell was of the kind that the reason of man can 
 never sanction, and yet that have been ever and will be 
 while man is. This youth, virgin of heart, dreamy of
 
 22 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 head who had drifted to his twentieth year, all unscathed 
 by passion or desire, because he had never met aught in 
 flesh and blood answering to his unconscious ideal, was 
 struck to the depth of his soul by the presence of one, as 
 unlike this same ideal as any living creature could be ; 
 struck with fantastic suddenness, and in that all-encom- 
 passing manner which seizes the innermost fibres of the 
 being. 
 
 It was a pang of pain, but a revelation of glory. 
 
 He stood for some moments, with paling cheeks and 
 hotly-beating heart, gazing back into the wondrous eyes. 
 She, yielding her cheek carelessly to the Squire's hearty 
 kiss, examined the new-comer curiously the while : 
 
 "Why — how now, tut, tut, what's this?" thundered 
 the father, who, following the direction of her eyes, 
 wheeled round suddenly to discover his son's strange 
 bearing, " Have you lost all the manners as well as the 
 notions of a gentleman, these last two years.'* Speak to 
 Madame de Savenaye, sir ! — Cecile, this is my son ; pray 
 forgive him, my dear ; the fellow's shyness before ladies 
 is inconceivable. It makes a perfect fool of him, as you 
 see." 
 
 But Madame de Saven aye's finer wits had already per- 
 ceived something different from the ordinary display of 
 English shyness in the young man, whose eyes remained 
 fixed on her face with an intentness that savoured in no 
 way, of awkwardness. She now broke the spell with a 
 broader smile and a word of greeting. 
 
 " You are surprised," said she in tripping words, tinged 
 with a distinct foreign intonation, " to see a strange face 
 here, Mr. Adrian — or, shall I say cousin ? for that is the 
 style I should adopt in my Brittany. Yes, you see in me 
 a poor foreign cousin, fleeing for protection to your noble 
 country. How do you do, my cousin ? " 
 
 She extended a slender, white hand, one rosy nail of 
 which, bending low, Adrian gravely kissed. 
 
 " Afai's, comment done ! " exclaimed the lady, " my dear 
 uncle did you chide your son just now.!* Why, but these 
 are Versailles manners — so gallant, so courtly ! " 
 
 And she gave the boy's fingers, as they lingered under 
 hers, first a discreet little pressure, and then a swift flip 
 aside. 
 
 "Ah 1 how cold you are ! " she exclaimed ; and then.
 
 DAY DREAMS : A PHILOSOPHER'S FATE 23 
 
 laughing, added sweetly: "Cold hands, warm heart, of 
 course." 
 
 And with rapping heels she turned into the great hall 
 and into the drawing-room whither the two men — the 
 father all chuckles, and the son still struck with wonder 
 . — followed her. 
 
 She was standing by the hearth holding each foot alter- 
 nately to the great logs flaming on the tiles, ever and 
 anon looking over her shoulder at Adrian, who had 
 advanced closer, without self-consciousness, but still in 
 silence. 
 
 "Now, cousin," she remarked gaily, "there is room 
 for you here, big as you are, to warm yourself. You 
 must be cold. I know already all about your family, and 
 I must know all about you, too ! I am very curious, 
 I hnd them all such good, kind, handsome people here, 
 3Vid I am told to expect in you something quite different 
 from any of them. Now, where does the difference 
 come in ? You are as tall as your father, but in face — 
 no, I believe it is your pretty sisters you are like in 
 face. " 
 
 Here the Squire interrupted with his loud laugh, and, 
 clapping his hand on his stalwart son's head: 
 
 -'You have just hit it, Ce'cile, it's here the difference 
 lies. Adrian, I really believe, is a little mistake of Dame 
 Nature ; his brain was meant for a girl and was tacked 
 on to that big body by accident, ho, ho, ho ! He is quite 
 lady-like in his accomplishments — loves music, and plays, 
 by gad, better than our organist. Writes poetry, too. I 
 found some devilish queer things on his writing-table 
 once, which were not a// Latin verses, though he would 
 fain I thought so. And as for deportment, Madame 
 Ce'cile, why there is more propriety, in that hobbedehoy, 
 at least, more blushing in him, than in all the bread-and- 
 butter misses in the county!" 
 
 Adrian said nothing ; but, when not turned towards 
 the ground, his gaze still sought the Countess, who now 
 returned the look with a ripening smile open to any 
 interpretation. 
 
 "Surely," she remarked, glancing then at the elder for 
 an instant with some archness, "surely you English gen- 
 tlemen, who have so much propriety, would not rather 
 there was young Mr. Bradbury, we heard talked
 
 24 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 of yesterday, whom every farmer with a red-cheeked lass 
 of his own — " 
 
 "No, no!" hastily interrupted the baronet, with a 
 blush himself, while Adrian's cheek in spite of the recent 
 indictment preserved its smooth pallor — in truth, the boy, 
 lost in his first love-dream, had not understood the allu- 
 sion. "No, I don't want a Landale to be a blackguard, 
 you know, but — " And the father, unable to spfit this 
 ethical hair, to logical satisfaction, stopped and entered 
 another channel of grumbling vituperation, whilst the 
 Countess, very much amused by her private thoughts, 
 gave a little rippling laugh, and resumed her indulgent 
 contemplation of the accused. 
 
 "What a pity, now, school-boy Rupert is not the 
 eldest ; there would be a country gentleman for you I 
 Whereas, this successor that is to be of mine is a man of 
 books and a philosopher. Forsooth, a first-class book- 
 worm ; by gad, I believe the first of our race ! And he 
 might make a name for himself, I've been told, among 
 that lot, though the pack o' nonsense he treats us to at 
 times cannot, I'm thinking, really go down even among 
 those college fuzzle-heads. But I am confounded if that 
 chap will ever be of any use as a landlord whenever he 
 steps into my shoes. He hates a gun, and takes more 
 pleasure — what was it he said last time he was here.? — 
 oh, yes, more pleasure in watching a bird dart in the blue 
 than bringing it down, be it never so neat a shot. Ho, 
 ho ! did ye ever hear such a thing? And though he can 
 sit a horse — I will say that for him (I should like to see a 
 Landale that could not ! ) — I have seen this big boy of 
 mine positively sicken, ay ! and scandalise the hunt by 
 riding away from the death. Moreover, I believe that, 
 when I am gone, he will always let off any poaching 
 scoundrel on the plea that the vermin only take for their 
 necessity what we preserve for sport," 
 
 The little foreign lady, smiling no longer, eyed her big 
 cousin with wonderins: looks. 
 
 "Strange, indeed," she remarked, "that a man should 
 fail to appreciate the boon of man's existence, the strength 
 and freedom to dominate, to be up and doing, to live in 
 fact. How I should long to be a man myself, if I ever 
 allowed myself to long for anything ; but I am a woman, 
 as you see," she added, rising to the full height of her
 
 DAY DREAMS: A PHILOSOPHER'S FATE 25 
 
 exquisite figure, " and must submit to M'oman's lot — and 
 that is just now to the point, for I must leave you to go 
 and see to the wants of that mioche of mine which I hear 
 whining upstairs. But I do not believe my uncle's account 
 of you is a complete picture after all, cousin Adrian. I 
 shall get it out of you anon, catechise you in my own 
 way, and, if needs be, convert you to a proper sense of 
 the glorious privileges of your sex." 
 
 And she ran out of the room. 
 
 "Well, my lad," said Sir Thomas, that evening, when 
 the ladies had left the two men to their decanter, " I 
 thought my Frenchwoman would wake you up, but, by 
 George, I hardly expected she would knock you all of a 
 heap so quick. Hey ! you're winged, Adrian, winged, 
 or this is not port." 
 
 " I cannot say, sir," answered Adrian, musing. 
 
 The old man caught up the unsatisfactory reply in an 
 exasperated burlesque of mimicry : "I cannot say, sir — 
 you cannot say .? Pooh, pooh, there is no shame in being 
 in love with her. We all are more or less ; pass the bottle. 
 As for you, since you clapped eyes on her you have been 
 like a man in the moon, not a word to throw to a dog, no 
 eyes, no ears but for your own thoughts, so long as madam 
 is not there. Enter madam, you're alive again, by George, 
 and pretty lively, too ! Gad, I never thought I'd ever see 
 you do the lady's man, all in your own queer way, of 
 course ; but, hang it all, she seems to like it, the little 
 minx ! Ay, and if she has plenty of smiles for the old 
 man she's ready to give her earnest to you — I saw her, 
 I saw her. But don't you forget she's married, sir, very 
 much married, too. She don't forget it either, I can tell 
 you, though you may think she does. Now, what sort of 
 game is she making of you ? What were you talking 
 about in the picture gallery for an hour before dinner, eh ? " 
 
 "To say the truth," answered the son, simply, "it was 
 about myself almost the whole time." 
 
 " And she flattered you finely, I'll be bound, of course," 
 said his elder, with a knowing look. " Oh, these women, 
 these women ! " 
 
 " On the contrary, sir, she thinks even less of me than 
 you do. That woman has the soul of a savage ; we have 
 not one thought in common." 
 
 The father burst into a loud laugh. ' ' A pretty savage to
 
 26 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 look at, anyhow ; a well-polished one in the bargain, ho, 
 ho, ho ! Well, well, I must make up my mind, I suppose, 
 that my eldest son is a lunatic in love with a savage." 
 
 Adrian remained silent for a while, toying with his 
 glass, his young brow contracted under a painful frown. 
 At length, checking a sigh, he answered with deliberation : 
 "Since it is so palpable to others, I suppose it must be 
 love, as you say. I had thought hitherto that love of \vhich 
 people talk so much was a feeling of sweetness. What I 
 feel in this lady's presence is much more kin to anguish ; 
 for all that, as you have noticed, I appear to live only 
 when she is nigh." 
 
 The father looked at his son and gaped. The latter 
 went on, after another pause : 
 
 " I suppose it is so, and may as well own it to myself 
 and to you, though nothing can come of it, good or bad. 
 She is married, and she is "your guest ; and even if any 
 thought concerning me could enter her heart, the merest 
 show of love on my part would be an insult to her and 
 treason to you. But trust me, I shall now be on my 
 guard, since my behaviour has already appeared strange." 
 "Tut, tut," said the Baronet, turning to his wine in 
 some dudgeon, his rubicund face clouding as he looked 
 with disfavour at this strange heir of his, who could not 
 even fall in love like the rest of his race. " What are you 
 talking about ? Come, get out of that and see what the 
 little "lady's about, and let me hear no more of this. 
 She'll not compromise herself with a zany like you, any- 
 how, that I'll warrant." 
 
 But Adrian with all the earnestness of his nature and 
 his very young fears was strenuously resolved to watch 
 himself narrovvly in his intercourse with his too fascinat- 
 ing'- relative ; little recking how infinitesimal is the power 
 of a man's free-will upon the conduct of his life. 
 
 The next morning found the little Countess in the 
 highest spirits. Particularly good news had arrived from 
 he^r land with the early courier. True, the news were 
 more than ten days old, but she had that insuperable 
 buoyancy of hopefulness which attends active and 
 healthy natures. 
 
 The Breton peasants (she explained to the company 
 round the breakfast table), headed by their lords (among 
 whom was her own Seigneur et Mailre) had again crushed
 
 DAY DREAMS: A PHILOSOPHER'S FATE 27 
 
 the swarms of rag-ged brigands that called themselves 
 soldiers. From all accounts there was no hope for the 
 latter, their atrocities had been such that the whole land, 
 from Normandy to Guyenne, was now in arms against 
 them. 
 
 And in Paris, the hot pit whence had issued the storm 
 of foulness that blasted the fair kingdom of France after 
 laying low the hallowed heads of a good king and a 
 beautiful queen, in Paris, leaders and led were now chop- 
 ping each other's heads off, a qui mieux mieux. "Those 
 thinkers, those lofty patriots, hein, beau cousin, for whom, 
 it seems, you have an admiration," commented the lady, 
 interrupting her account to sip her cup of cream and 
 chocolate, with a little finger daintily cocked, and shoot 
 a mocking shaft at the young philosopher from the depth 
 of her black eyes. 
 
 " Like demented wolves they are destroying each other 
 — Pray the God of Justice," quoted she from her husband's 
 letter, "that it may only last ; in a few months, then, 
 there will be none of them left, and the people, relieved 
 from this rule of blood, will all clamour for the true order 
 of things, and the poor country may again know peace 
 and happiness. Meanwhile, all has yet to be won, by 
 much devotion and self-sacrifice in the cause of God and 
 King ; and afterwards will come the reward ! . . . 
 
 "And the revenge," added Madame de Savenaye, with 
 a little, fierce laugh, folding the sanguine budget of news. 
 " Oh ! they must leave us a few for revenge ! How we 
 shall make the hounds smart when the King returns to 
 his own ! And then for pleasures and for life again. 
 And we may yet meet at the mansion of Savenaye, in 
 Paris," she went on gaily, "my good uncle and fair 
 cousins, for the King cannot fail to recall his faithful sup- 
 porter. And there will be feasts and balls. And there, 
 maybe, we shall be able to repay in part some of your 
 kindness and hospitality. And you, cousin Adrian, you 
 will have to take me through pavanne and gavotte and^ 
 minuet ; and I shall be proud of my northern cavalier. 
 What ! not know how one dances the gavotte .? Fi done ! 
 what ignorance ! I shall have to teach you. Your hand, 
 monsieur," slipping the missive from the seat of war into 
 her fair bosom. "La! not that way; with a grace, \i 
 you please," making a profound curtsey. " Ah, still that
 
 28 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 cold hand ; your great English heart must be a very fur- 
 nace. Come, point your right foot — so. And look round 
 at your partner with — what shall I say — admiration 
 sir ie use ! " 
 
 That she saw admiration, serious enough in all con- 
 science in Adrian's eyes, there was little doubt. With 
 sombre heart he failed not to mark every point of this 
 all-human grace, but to him goddess-like beauty, the 
 triumph and glory of youth. The coy, dainty poise of 
 the adorable foot — pointed so — and treading the ground 
 with the softness of a kitten at play ; the maddening 
 curve of her waist, which a sacque, depending from an 
 exquisite nape, partly concealed, only to enhance its 
 lithe suppleness ; the divinely young throat and bust ; 
 and above all the dazzling black rays from eyes alter- 
 nately mocking, fierce or caressing. 
 
 Well might his hand be cold with all his young untried 
 blood, biting at his heart, singing in his head. Why did 
 God place such creatures on His earth to take all savour 
 from aught else under the sun ? 
 
 "Fair cousin, fair cousin, though I said serious admira- 
 tion, I did not mean you to look as if you were taking me 
 to a funeral. You are supposed to be enjoying yourself, 
 you know ! " 
 
 The youth struggled with a ghastly smile ; and the 
 father laughed outright. But Madame de Savenaye 
 checked herself into gravity once more. 
 
 "Alas! A'ous 71 en sotnmes pas eficore la," she said, 
 and relinquished her adorer's hand. "We have still to 
 
 fight for it Oh ! that I were free to be up and 
 
 doing ! " 
 
 The impatient exclamation was wrung out of her, ap- 
 parently, by the appearance of two nurses, each bearing 
 an infant in long, white robes for the mother's inspection ; 
 a preliminary to the daily outing. 
 
 The elder of these matrons was Adrian's own old nurse 
 who, much occupied with her new duties of attendant 
 to Madame de Savenaye and one of her babies, now be- 
 held her foster-son again for the first time since his return. 
 
 "Eh — but you've grown a gradely men, Hester 
 Adrian ! " she cried, in her long-drawn Lancastrian, 
 dandling her bundle energetically from side to side in 
 the excess of her admiration, and added with a laugh of
 
 DAY DREAMS : A PHILOSOPHER'S FATE 29 
 
 tender delight: "Eh, but you're my own lad still, as 
 how 'tis ! " when, blushing, the young man crossed the 
 room and stooped to kiss her, glancing shyly the while 
 at the white bundle in her arms. 
 
 "Well, and how are the little ones?" quoth Madame 
 de Savenaye, swinging her dainty person up to the group 
 and halting by beaming Sally — the second nurse, who 
 proudly held forth her charge — merely to lay a finger 
 lightly on the infant's little cheek. 
 
 "Ah, my good Sally, your child does you credit ! — Now 
 Margery, when you have done embracing that fine young 
 man, perhaps you will give me my child, hein P " 
 
 Both the nurses blushed ; Margery at the soft impeach- 
 ment as she delivered over the minute burden ; her 
 daughter in honest indignation at the insulting want of 
 interest shown for her foster-babe. 
 
 "No, I was not made to play with puppets like you, 
 mademoiselle," said the comtesse, addressing herself to 
 the unconscious little being as she took it in her arms, 
 but belying her words by the grace and instinctive mater- 
 nal expertness with which she handled and soothed the 
 infant. "Yes, you can go, Sarah — aurevoir, Mademoi- 
 selle Madeleine. Fie the little wretch, what faces she 
 pulls ! And you, Margery, you need not wait either ; I 
 shall keep this creature for a while. Poor little one ! " 
 sang the mother, walking up and down, and patting the 
 small back with her jewelled hand as she held the wee 
 thing against her shoulder, "indeed I shall have soon to 
 leave you " 
 
 "What's this — what's this?" exclaimed the master of 
 the house with sudden sharpness. He had been survey- 
 ing the scene from the hearthrug, chuckling in benevo- 
 lent amusement at little Madam's ways. 
 
 Yes, it was her intention to return to her place by the 
 side of her lord, she explained, halting in her walk to 
 face him gravely ; she had come to that resolution. No 
 doubt her uncle would take the children under his care 
 until better times — those good times that were so fast ap- 
 proaching. Buxom Sally could manage them both — and 
 to spare, too ! 
 
 Adrian felt his heart contract at the unexpected an- 
 nouncement ; a look of dismay overspread Sir Thomas's 
 face.
 
 30 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 "Why — what? what nonsense, child ! " cried he again 
 in rueful tones. " Fou, return to that place now .... 
 what good do you think you could do — eh ? " But here 
 recollecting himself, he hesitated and started upon a more 
 plausible line of expostulation. "Pooh, pooh! You 
 can't leave the little ones, your husband does not 
 ask you to come back and leave them, does he? In 
 any case," with assumed authority, "I shall not let 
 you go." 
 
 She looked up with a smile. 
 
 " Would _>'0z^ allow your friends to continue fighting 
 alone for all you love, because you happened to be in safe 
 and pleasant circumstances yourself? " she asked. Then 
 she added ingenuously: "1 have heard you say of one 
 that was strong of will and staunch to his purpose, that 
 he was a regular Briton. I thought that flattering : I am 
 a Briton, of Brittany, you know, myself, uncle : would 
 you have me be a worthless Briton ? As to what a 
 woman can do there — ah, you have no idea what it means 
 for all these poor peasants of ours to see their lords re- 
 main among them, sharing their hardship in defence of 
 their cause. Concerning the children," kissing the one 
 she held and gazing into its face with wistful look, " they 
 can better afford to do without me than my husband and 
 our men. A strong woman to tend them till we come 
 back, is all that is wanted, since a good relative is will- 
 ing to give them shelter. Rend cannot be long in return- 
 ing now, with the last news. Indeed, M. de Savenaye 
 says that he will only keep him a few days longer, and, 
 according to the tidings he brings must I fix the date for 
 my departure." 
 
 Sir Thomas, with an inarticulate growl, relapsed into 
 silence ; and she resumed her walk with bent head, lost 
 in thought, up and down the great room, out of the pale 
 winter sunshine into the shadow, and back again, to the 
 tune of " Malbrook s'en va t'en guerre," which she 
 hummed beneath her breath, while the baby's foolish 
 little head, in its white cap from which protruded one tiny 
 straight wisp of brown hair, with its beady, xmseeing 
 black eyes and its round mouth dribbling peacefully, 
 bobbed over her shoulder as she went. 
 
 Adrian stood in silence too, following her with his 
 eyes, while the picture, so sweet to see, so strange to one
 
 DAY DREAMS : A PHILOSOPHER'S FATE 31 
 
 who knew all that was brewing in the young mother's 
 head and heart, stamped itself upon his brain. 
 
 At the door, at length, she halted a moment, and looked 
 at them both. 
 
 " Yes, my friends," she said, and her eyes shot flame ; 
 "I must go soon." The baby bobbed its head against 
 her cheek as if in affirmative ; then the great door closed 
 upon the pair.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 DAY DREAMS : A FAIR EMISSARY 
 
 Many guests had been convened to the hospitable board 
 of Pulwick upon the evening which followed Adrian's re- 
 turn home ; and as, besides the fact that the fame of the 
 French lady had spread enthusiasm in most of the male 
 breasts of the district and anxious curiosity in gentler 
 bosoms, there was a natural neighbourly desire to criticise 
 the young heir of the house after his year's absence, the 
 county had responded in a body to the invitation. 
 
 It was a goodly company therefore that was assembled 
 in the great withdrawing rooms, when the Countess her- 
 self came tripping down the shallow oaken stairs, and 
 found Adrian waitmg for her in the hall. 
 
 He glanced up as she descended towards him to cover 
 her with an ardent look and feast his eyes despairingly 
 on her beauty ; and she halted a moment to return his 
 gaze with a light but meaning air of chiding. 
 
 " Cousin ! " she said, " you have very singular manners 
 for one supposed to be so shy with ladies. Do you 
 know that if my husband were here to notice them you 
 might be taken to task ? " 
 
 Adrian ran up the steps to meet her. The man in him 
 was growing apace with the growth of a man's passion, 
 and by the boldness of his answer belying all his recent 
 wise resolutions, he now astonished himself even more 
 than her. 
 
 "You are going back to him," he said, with halting 
 voice. "All is well — for him ; perhaps for you. For us, 
 who remain behind there is nothing left but the bitter- 
 ness of regret — and envy." 
 
 ^hen in silence they descended together. 
 
 As they were crossing the hall there entered suddenly 
 to them, stumbling as he went. Rend, the young Breton 
 
 32
 
 DAY DREAMS: A FAIR EMISSARY 33 
 
 retainer, whom the lord of Savenaye had appointed as 
 squire to his lady upon her travels, and who, since her 
 establishment at Pulwick, had been sent to carry news 
 and money back to Brittany. 
 
 No sooner had the boy— for such he was, though in 
 intelligence and blind devotion beyond his years — passed 
 into the light, than on his haggard countenance was read 
 news of disastrous import. Recent tears had blurred his 
 sunburnt cheek, and the hand that tore the hat from his 
 head at the unexpected sight of his mistress, partly in 
 instinctive humility, partly, it seemed, to conceal some 
 papers he held against his breast, twitched with nervous 
 anguish. 
 
 "Rene'!" cried the Countess, eagerly, in French. 
 " What hast thou brought .? Sweet Jesu ! Bad news — 
 bad news ? Give ! " 
 
 For an instant the courier looked around like a hunted 
 animal seeking a retreat, and then up at her in dumb 
 pleading ; but she stamped her foot and held him to the 
 spot by the imperiousness of her eye. 
 
 "Give, I tell thee," she repeated ; and, striking the hat 
 away, snatched the papers from his hand. " Dost thou 
 think I cannot bear ill news — My husband ? " 
 
 She drew nearer to a candelabra, and the little white 
 hands impatiently broke the seals and shook the sheets 
 asunder. 
 
 Sir Thomas, attracted by his favourites raised tones 
 and uneasy at her non-appearance, opened the drawmg- 
 room door and came forward anxiously, whilst his as- 
 sembled guests, among whom a sense that something of 
 importance was passing had rapidly spread, now gathered 
 curiously about the open doorway. 
 
 The Countess read on, unnoticing, with compressed 
 lips and knitted brows — those brows that looked so black 
 on the fair skin, under the powdered hair. 
 
 " My husband ! ah, I knew it, my Andre' .... the 
 common fate of the loyal ! " A sigh lifted the fair young 
 bosom, but she showed no other sign of weakness. 
 
 Indeed those who watched this unexpected scene were 
 struck by the contrast between the bearing of this young, 
 almost girlish creature, who, holding the written sheets 
 with firm hands to the light, read their terrible contents 
 with dry eyes, and that of the man who had sunk, kneel- 
 
 3
 
 34 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 ing, at her feet, all undone, to have had the bringing of 
 the news. 
 
 The silence was profound, save for the crackling of 
 the pages as she turned them over, and an occasional 
 long-drawn sob from the messenger. 
 
 When she came to the end the young widow — for such 
 she was now — remained some moments absorbed in 
 thought, absently refolding the letter into its original neat- 
 ness. Then her eyes fell on Rene's prostrate figure and 
 she stooped to lay a kind hand for an instant on his 
 shoulder. 
 
 "Bear up, my good Rene," she said. At her voice 
 and touch he dragged his limbs together and stood 
 humbly before her. 
 
 "We must be brave," she went on; "your master's 
 task is done — ours, yours and mine, is not." 
 
 He lifted his bloodshot eyes to her with the gaze of a 
 faithful dog in distress, scraped an uncouth bow and ab- 
 ruptly turned away, brushing the tears from his cheek 
 with his sleeve, and hurrying, to relieve his choking grief 
 in solitude. She stood a while, again absorbed in her 
 own reflection, and of those who would have rushed to 
 speak gentle words to her, and uphold her with tender 
 hands, had she wept or swooned, there was none who 
 dared approach this grief that gave no sign. 
 
 In a short time, however, she seemed to recollect her- 
 self and awaken to the consciousness of the many watch- 
 ing eyes. 
 
 "Good uncle," she said, going up to the old man and 
 kissing his cheek, after sweeping the assembled company 
 with dark, thoughtful gaze. "Here are news that I 
 should have expected sooner — but that I would not enter- 
 tain the thought. It has come upon us at last, the fate 
 of the others .... Andre has paid his debt to the king, 
 like many hundreds of true people before — though none 
 better. He has now his reward. I glory in his noble 
 death," she said with a gleam of exaltation in her eyes, 
 then added after a pause, between clenched teeth, almost 
 in a whisper : 
 
 "And my sister too— she too is with him — but I will 
 tell you of it later ; they are at rest now." 
 
 Jovial Sir Thomas, greatly discomposed and fairly at a 
 loss how to deal with the stricken woman, who was
 
 DAY DREAMS: A FAIR EMISSARY 35 
 
 so unlike any womankind he had ever yet come across, 
 patted her hand in silence, placed it within his arm and 
 quietly led her into the drawing-room, rolling, as he did 
 so, uneasy eyes upon his guests. But she followed the 
 current of her thoughts as her little feet kept pace beside 
 him. 
 
 "That is bad — but worse — the worst of all, the cause 
 of God and king is again crushed; everything to begin 
 afresh. But, for the present, we" — here she looked round 
 the room, and her eyes rested an instant upon a group of 
 young men, who were surveying her from a corner with 
 mingled admiration and awe — " we, that is Rene and I, 
 have work to do in this country before we return. For 
 you will keep us a little longer ? " she added with an 
 attempt at a smile. 
 
 "Will I keep you a little longer?" exclaimed the squire 
 hotly, " will I ever let you go, now ! " 
 
 She shook her head at him, with something of her 
 natural archness. Then, turning to make a grave curtsey 
 to the circle of ladies around her : 
 
 "I and my misfortune," she said, "have kept your 
 company and your dinner waiting, I hardly know how 
 long. No doubt, in their kindness they will forgive me." 
 
 And accepting again her uncle's arm which, delighted 
 at the solution of the present difficulty, and nodding to 
 Adrian to start the other guests, he hastened to offer her, 
 she preceded the rest into the dining-hall with her usual 
 alert bearing. 
 
 The behaviour of the Countess of Savenaye, had affected 
 the various spectators in various ways. The male sex, 
 to a man, extolled her fortitude ; the ladies, however, con- 
 demned such unfeminine strength of mind, while the 
 more charitable prophesied that she would pay dearly for 
 this unnatural repression. And the whispered remark of 
 one of the prettier and younger damsels, that the loss of 
 a husband did not seem to crush her, at any rate, met, on 
 the whole, with covert approval. 
 
 As for Adrian, who shall describe the tumult of his 
 soul — the regret, the hungering over her in her sorrow, 
 the wild unbidden hopes and his shame of them ? Care- 
 ful of what his burning eyes might reveal, he hardly dared 
 raise them from the ground ; and yet to keep them long 
 from her face was an utter impossibility. The whispered
 
 36 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 commentsof the young men behind him, their admiration, 
 and astonishment drove him to desperation. And the 
 high-nosed dowager, whom it was his privilege to escort 
 to his father's table, arose from it convinced that Sir 
 Thomas's heir had lost in his travels the few poor wits he 
 ever possessed. 
 
 The dinner that evening was without doubt the most 
 dismal meal the neighbourhood had ever sat down to at 
 the hospitable board of Pulwick, past funeral refections 
 not excepted. The host, quite taken up with his little 
 foreign relative, had words only for her ; and these, in- 
 deed, consisted merely in fruitless attempts to induce her 
 to partake largely of every course — removes, relieves, 
 side-dishes, joints, as their separate turn came round. 
 Long spells of silence fell upon him meantime, which he 
 emphasised by lugubriously clearing his throat. Except 
 for the pretty courtesy with which she would answer him, 
 she remained lost in her own thoughts — ever and anon 
 consulting the letter which lay beside her to fall again, it 
 seemed, into a deeper muse ; but never a tear glinted 
 between her black lashes. 
 
 More than once Adrian from his distant end of the 
 table, met her eyes, fixed on him for a moment, and the 
 look, so full of mysterious meanings made his heart beat 
 in anguish, expecting he knew not what. 
 
 Among the rest of the assembly, part deference to a 
 calamity so stoutly borne, part amazement at such strange 
 ways, part discomfort at their positions as feasters in the 
 midst of mourning, had reduced conversation to the 
 merest pretence. The ladies were glad enough when the 
 time came for them to withdraw ; nor did most of the 
 men view with reluctance a moment which would send 
 the decanters gliding freely over the mahogany, and re- 
 lieve them from this unwonted restraint. 
 
 Madame de Savenaye had, however, other interests in 
 store for these latter. 
 
 She rose with the rest of the ladies, but halted at the 
 door, and laying her hand upon her uncle's arm, said an 
 earnest word in his ear, in obedience to which he bundled 
 out his daughters, as they hung back politely, closed the 
 door upon the last skirt, and reconducted the Countess 
 to the head of the table, scratching his chin in some per- 
 plexity, but ready to humour her slightest whim.
 
 DAY DREAMS: A FAIR EMISSARY 37 
 
 She stood at her former place and looked for a mo- 
 ment in silence from one to another of the faces turned 
 with different expressions of astonishment and anticipa- 
 tion towards her — ruddy faces most of them, youngs, or 
 old, handsome or homely, the honest English stamp 
 upon each ; and distinct from them all, Adrian's pallid, 
 thoughtful features and his ardent eyes. 
 
 Upon him her gaze rested the longest. Then with a little 
 wave of her hand she prayed them to be seated, and 
 waited to begin her say until the wine had passed round. 
 
 "Gentlemen," then quoth she, "with my good uncle's 
 permission I shall read you the letter which I have this 
 iiight received, so that English gentlemen may learn how 
 those who are faithful to their God and their King are 
 being dealt with in my country. This letter is from 
 Monsieur de Puisaye, one of the most active partisans of 
 the Royal cause, a connection of the ancient house of 
 Savenaye. And he begins by telling me of the un- 
 expected reverses sustained by our men so close upon 
 their successes at Chateau-Gonthier, successes that had 
 raised our loyal hopes so high. *The most crushing 
 defeat,' he writes, 'has taken place near the town of 
 Savenaye itself, on your own estate, and your historic 
 house is now, alas ! in ruins .... During the last ob- 
 stinate fight your husband had been wounded, but after 
 performing prodigies of valour — such as, it was hoped or 
 trusted, the king should in time hear of — he escaped from 
 the hands of his enemies. For many weeks with a few 
 hundred followers he held the fields in the Marais, but 
 he was at last hemmed in and captured by one of the 
 monster Thureau's Colonnes Infernales, those hellish 
 legions with an account of whose deeds,' so says this 
 gallant gentleman our friend, ' I will not defile my pen, 
 but whose boasts are like those of Attila the Hun, and 
 who in their malice have invented obscene tortures 
 worthy of Iroquois savages for all who fall into their 
 
 clutches, be they men, women, or children But, 
 
 by Heaven's mercy, dear Madame,' says M. de Puisaye 
 to me, ' your noble husband was too weak to afford sport 
 to those demons, and so he has escaped torment. He 
 was hanged with all speed indeed, for fear he might die 
 first of his toils and his wounds, and so defeat them at 
 the last."'
 
 38 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 A rustling- murmur of horror and indignation went 
 round the table ; but the little woman faced the audience 
 proudly. 
 
 *' He died," she said, " as beseems a brave man. But 
 this is not all. I had a sister, she was very fair — like me 
 some people said, in looks — she used to be the merry one 
 at home in the days of peace," she gave a little smile, far 
 more piteous than tears would be — " She chose to remain 
 among her people when they were fighting, to help the 
 wounded, the sick," Here IVIadame de Savenaye paused 
 a moment and put down the letter from which she had 
 been reading ; for the first time since she had begun to 
 speak she grew pale ; knitting her black brows and with 
 downcast eyes she went on : " Monsieur de Puisaye says 
 he asks my pardon humbly on his knees for writing such 
 tidings to me, bereaved as I am of all I hold dear, but 
 'it is meet,' he says, 'that the civilised world should 
 know the deeds these followers of liberty and enlighten- 
 mefit have wrought upon gallant men and highborn 
 ladies,' and I hold that he says well." 
 
 She flashed once more her black gaze round upon the 
 men, who with heads all turned towards her and forget- 
 ting their wine, hung upon her words. "It is right that 
 I should know, and you too ! It is meet that such deeds 
 should be made known to the world : my sister was taken 
 by these men, but less fortunate than my husband she 
 had life enough left for torture — she too is dead now ; ]\I. 
 de Puisaye adds : Thank God ! And that is all that I can 
 say too — Thank God ! " 
 
 There was a dead silence in the room as she ceased 
 speaking, broken at last, here and there, along the table 
 by exclamations and groans and a deep execration from Sir 
 Thomas, which was echoed deep-mouthed by his guests. 
 
 Adrian himself, the pacific, the philosopher, with both 
 arms, stretched out on the table, clenched his hands, and 
 set his teeth and gazed into space with murderous looks. 
 
 Then the clear young voice went on again : 
 
 " You, who have honoured mothers and wives of your 
 own, and have young sweethearts, or sisters or dauglUers 
 — you English gentlemen who love to see justice, how 
 long will you allow such things to be done while you 
 have arms to strike ? We are not beaten yet ; there are 
 French hearts still left that will be up and doing so long
 
 DAY DREAMS: A FAIR EMISSARY 39 
 
 as they have a drop of blood to shed. Our gallant Bre- 
 tons and Vendeens are uniting once more, our emigres 
 are collecting, but we want aid, brave English friends, we 
 want arms, money, soldiers. My task lies to my hand ; 
 the sacred legacy of my dead I have accepted ; is there 
 any of you here who will help the widow to maintain 
 the fight ? " 
 
 She had risen to her feet ; the blood glowed on her 
 cheek as she concluded her appeal ; a thousand stars 
 danced in her eyes. 
 
 Old men and young they leapt up, with a roar ; press- 
 ing round her, pouring forth acclamations, asseverations 
 and oaths— Would they help her? By God — they would 
 die for her — Never had the old rafters of Pulwick rung to 
 such enthusiasm. 
 
 And when with proud smiles and crimsoned face she 
 withdraws at last from so much ardour, the door has 
 scarcely fallen behind her before Sir Thomas proposes her 
 health in a bellow, that trembles upon tears : 
 
 "Gentlemen, this lady's courage is such as might put 
 most men's strength to shame. Here is, gentlemen, to 
 Madame de Savenaye ! " 
 
 And she, halting on the stairs for a moment, to still her 
 high-beating heart, before she lay her babe against it, 
 hears the toast honoured with three times three. 
 
 When the Lancastrian ladies had succeeded at length 
 in collecting and carrying off such among the hiccupping 
 husbands, and maudlin sons, who were able to move, Sir 
 Thomas re-entering the hall, after speeding the last de- 
 parting chariot, and prudently leaning upon his tall son 
 — for though he had a seasoned head the night's potations 
 had been deep and fiery — was startled well-nigh into 
 soberness, at the sight of his niece waiting for him at the 
 foot of the stairs. 
 
 "Why, Cis, my love, we thought you had been in bed 
 this long while ! why — where have you been then since 
 you ran away from the dining-room ? By George ! " 
 chuckling, " the fellows were mad to get another glimpse 
 of you ! " 
 
 His bloodshot eye hung over her fondly. There was 
 not a trace of fatigue upon that delicate, pretty face. 
 
 "I wanted to think — I have much to think on now. I
 
 40 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 have had to read and ponder upoai my instructions here," 
 — tapping her teeth with the letter, she still carried, 
 "Good uncle, I would speak with you — yes, even now," 
 quick to notice Adrian's slight frown of disapproval (poor 
 fellow, he was sober enough at any rate !), " there is no 
 time like the present. I have my work to do, and I shall 
 not rest to-night, till I have planned it in my head." 
 
 Surely the brilliancy of those eyes was feverish ; the 
 little hands she laid upon them to draw them into the dim- 
 lit library were hot as fire. 
 
 " Why, yes, my pretty," quoth the good uncle, stifling 
 a portentous yawn, and striving to look wondrous wise, 
 "Adrian, she wants to consult me, sir, hie ! " 
 
 He fell into an armchair as he spoke, and she sank on 
 her knees beside him, the firelight playing upon her eager 
 face, while Adrian, in the shadow, watched. 
 
 "Do you think," she asked of the old man, eagerly, 
 "that these gentlemen, who spoke so kindly to me a 
 few hours ago, will be as much in earnest in the morning? " 
 
 ' ' Why d — n them ! if they go back on their word, I'll call 
 them out ! " thundered Sir Thomas, in a great rage all of 
 a sudden. She surveyed him inquiringly, and shot a swift 
 keen glance from the placid, bulky figure in the chair, to 
 Adrian pale and erect, behind it, then rose to her feet 
 and stood a few paces off, as it were pondering. 
 
 " What is now required of me — I have been thinking it 
 well over," she said at last, " can hardly be achieved by a 
 woman alone. And yet, with proper help and support, 
 I think I could do more than any man by himself. There 
 is that in a woman's entreaties which will win, when a 
 man may fail. But I must have a knight at my side ; a 
 protector, at the same time as a faithful servant. These 
 are not the times to stand on conventional scruples. Do 
 you think, among these gentlemen, any could be found 
 with sufficient enthusiasm, for the Royal cause, here 
 represented by me, to attend, and support me through all 
 the fatigues, the endless errands, the interviews — ay, also 
 the rebuffs, the ridicule at times, perhaps the danger of 
 the conjuration, which must be set on foot in this country 
 — to do all that, without hope of other reward than the 
 consciousness of helping a good cause, and — and the 
 gratitude of one, who may have nothing else to give? " 
 
 She stopped with a little nervous laugh: "No, it is
 
 DAY DREAMS: A FAIR EMISSARY 41 
 
 absurd! no man, on reflection would enter into such a 
 service unless it were for his own country." 
 
 As the last words fell from her lips, she suddenly turned 
 to Adrian and met his earnest gaze. 
 
 "Or for his kindred," said the young man, coming- up 
 to her with grave simplicity, "if his kindred required it." 
 
 A gleam of satisfaction passed across her face. The 
 father, who had caught her meaning — sharp enough, as 
 some men can be in their cups — nodded his head with 
 great vigour. 
 
 "Yes, why should you think first of strangers," he 
 grumbled, "when you have your own blood, to stand by 
 you — blood is thicker than water, ain't it ? Am I too old, 
 or is he too young, to wait on you — hey, madam ? " 
 
 She extended her hand, allowing it to linger in Adrian's 
 grasp, whilst she laid the other tenderly on the old man's 
 shoulder. 
 
 " My good uncle I my kind cousin 1 Have I the choice 
 already between two such cavaliers? I am fortunate 
 indeed in my misfortune. In other circumstances to 
 decide would be difficult between two men, each so 
 good; but," she added, after a moment's hesitation, and 
 looking at Adrian in a manner that made the young man's 
 heart beat thickly, " in this case it is obvious I must have 
 some one whom I need not fear to direct." 
 
 "Ay, ay," muttered the baronet, "I'd go with you, 
 my darling, to the world's end ; but there's that young 
 philosopher of mine breaking his heart for you. And 
 when all's said and done, it's the young fellow that'll 
 be the most use to you, I reckon. Ay, you've chosen 
 already, I'll be bound. The gouty old man had best stop 
 at home. Ho, ho, ho ! You've the luck, Adrian ; more 
 luck than you deserve." 
 
 " It is I who have more luck than I deserve," answered 
 Madame de Savenaye, smiling upon her young knight as, 
 taking heart of grace, he stooped to seal the treaty upon 
 her hand. "To say the truth, I had hoped for this, yet 
 hardly dared to allow myself to count upon it. And 
 really, uncle, you give your own son to my cause.'' — and 
 you, cousin, you are willing to work for me? I am in- 
 deed strengthened at the outset of my undertaking. I 
 shall pray that you may never have cause to regret your 
 chivalrous goodness."
 
 42 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 She dropped Adrian's hand with a faint pressure, and 
 moved sighing towards the door. 
 
 "Do you wonder that I have no tears, cousin ? " she 
 said, a little wistfully; "they must gather in my heart 
 till I have time to sit down and shed them." 
 
 Thus it was that a letter penned by this unknown M. de 
 Puisaye from some hidden fastness in the Bocage of 
 Brittany came to divert the course of Adrian Landale's 
 existence into a channel where neither he, nor any of 
 those who knew him, would ever have dreamed to see it 
 drift.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 THE AWAKENING 
 
 Oh, what hadst thou to do with cruel Death, 
 Who wast so full of life, or Death with thee ? 
 
 Longfellow. 
 
 Sir Adrian Landale, in his sea-girt fastness, still ab- 
 sorbed in dreams of bygone days, loosed his grasp of faith- 
 ful Rene's shoulder and fell to pacing the chamber with 
 sombre mien ; while Rene, to whom these fits of abstrac- 
 tion in his master were not unfamiliar, but yet to his 
 superstitious peasant soul, eerie and awe-inspiring visita- 
 tions, slipped unnoticed from his presence. 
 
 The light-keeper sate down by his lonely hearth and 
 buried his gaze in the glowing wood-embers, over which, 
 with each fitful thundering rush of wind round the 
 chimney, fluttered little eddies of silvery ash. 
 
 So, that long strife was over, which had wrought such 
 havoc to the world, had shaped so dismally the course of 
 his own life ! The monster of selfish ambition, the tyran- 
 nic, insatiable conqueror whose very existence had so 
 long made peaceable pursuits unprofitable to mankind, 
 the final outcome of that Revolution that, at the starting 
 point, had boded so nobly for human welfare — he was at 
 last laid low, and all the misery of the protracted struggle 
 now belonged to the annals of the past. 
 
 It was all over — but the waste ! The waste of life and 
 happiness, far and wide away among innocent and un- 
 interested beings, the waste remained. 
 
 And, looking back on it, the most bitter portion of his 
 own wrecked life was the short time he had yet thought 
 happy ; three months, spent as knight-errant. 
 
 How far they seemed, far as irrevocable youth, those 
 days when, in the wake of that love-compelling emissary, 
 he moved from intrigue to intrigue among the emigres in 
 
 43
 
 44 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 London, and their English sympathisers, to bustling yet 
 secret activity in seafaring parts ! 
 
 The mechanical instrument directed by the ingenious 
 mind of Ce'cile de Savenaye ; the discreet minister who, 
 for all his young years, secured the help of some impor- 
 tant political sympathiser one day, scoured the country 
 for arms and clothing, powder and assignats another; 
 who treated with smuggling captains and chartered vessels 
 that were to run the gauntlet on the Norman and Breton 
 coast, and supply the means of war to struggling and un- 
 daunted loyalists. All this relentless work, little suited, 
 on the whole, to an Englishman, and in a cause the rights 
 of which he himself had, up to then, refused to admit, 
 was then repaid a hundredfold by a look of gratitude, of 
 pleasure even, a few sweet moments of his lady's com- 
 pany, before being sent hence again upon some fresh 
 enterprise. 
 
 Ah, how he loved her ! He, the youth on the thresh- 
 old of manhood, who had never known passion before, 
 how he loved this young widowed mother who used him 
 as a man to deal for her with men, yet so loftily treated 
 him as aboy whenshedealt with him herself. And if he 
 loved her in the earlier period of his thraldom, when 
 scarce would he see her one hour in the twenty-four, to 
 what all-encompassing fervour did the bootless passion 
 rise when, the day of departure having dawned and sunk, 
 he found himself on board the privateer, sailing away 
 with her towards unknown warlike ventures, her knight 
 to protect her, her servant to obey ! 
 
 On all these things mused the recluse of Scarthey, sink- 
 ing deeper and deeper into the past : the spell of haunting 
 recollection closing on him as he sat by his hearthside, 
 whilst the increasing fury of the gale toiled and troubled 
 outside fighting the impassable walls of his tower. 
 
 Could it have been possible that she — the only woman 
 that had ever existed for him, the love for whom had so 
 distorted his mind from its natural sympathies, had killed 
 in him the spring of youth and the savour of life — never 
 really learnt to love him in return till the last .-' 
 
 And yet there was a woman's soul in that delicious 
 woman's body — it showed itself at least once, though 
 until that supreme moment of union and parting, it 
 seemed as if a man's mind alone governed it, becoming
 
 THE AWAKENING 45 
 
 sterner, more unbendable, as hardships and difficulties 
 multiplied. 
 
 In the melancholy phantasm passing- before his mind's 
 eye, of a period of unprecedented bloodshed and savagery, 
 when on the one side Chouans, Vend^ens, and such 
 guerillas of which Madame de Savenaye was the moving 
 spirit, and on the other the colonnes in/ernales of the 
 revolutionary leaders, vied with each other in ferocity and 
 cunning, she stood ever foremost, ever the central point 
 of thought, with a vividness that almost a score of years 
 had failed to dim. 
 
 When the mood was upon him, he could unfold the 
 roll of that story buried now in the lonely graves of the 
 many, or in the fickle memories of the few, but upon his 
 soul printed in letters of fire and blood — to endure for 
 ever. 
 
 Round this goddess of his young and only love clustered 
 the sole impressions of the outer world that had ever 
 stirred his heart : the grandeur of the ocean, of the storm, 
 the glory of sunrise over a dishevelled sea, the ineffable 
 melancholy of twilight rising from an unknown strand ; 
 then the solemn coldness of moonlight watches, the scent 
 of the burnt land under the fierce sun, when all nature 
 was hushed save the dreamy buzz of insect-life : the green 
 coolness of underwood or forest, the unutterable harmony 
 of the sighing breeze, and the song of wild birds during 
 the long patient ambushes of partisan war ; the taste of 
 bread in hunger, of the stream in the fever of thirst, of 
 approaching sleep in exhaustion — and, mixed with these, 
 the acrid emotions of fight and carnage, anguish of sus- 
 pense, savage exultation of victory — all the doings of a 
 life which he, bred to intellectual pleasures and high 
 moral ideas, would have deemed a nightmare, but which, 
 lived as it was in the atmosphere of his longing and de- 
 votion, yet held for him a strange and pungent joy : a 
 cup of cruel memories, yet one to be lingered over luxu- 
 riously till the savour of each cherished drop of bitterness 
 be gathered to the uttermost. 
 
 Now, in the brightness of the embers, between the 
 fitful flames of crumbling wood, spreads before his eyes 
 the dreary strand near Quiberon, immense in the gathering 
 darkness of a boisterous evening. Well hidden under the 
 stone table of a Druidical men-hir glows a small camp-fire
 
 46 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 sedulously kept alive by Rene for the service of The Lady. 
 She, wrapped up in a coarse peasant-cloak, pensively 
 gazes into the cheerless smoke and holds her worn and 
 muddy boots to the smouldering wood in the vain hope 
 of warmth. 
 
 And Adrian stands silently behind her, brooding on 
 many things — on the vicissitudes of that desultory war 
 which has left them not a roof whereunder they can lay 
 their heads, durmg which the little English contingent 
 has melted from them one by one ; on the critical action 
 of the morrow when the republican columns, now hasten- 
 ing to oppose the landing of the great royalist expedi- 
 tion to Quiberon (that supreme effort upon which all their 
 hopes centre) must be surprised and cut off at whatever 
 cost ; on the mighty doings to follow, which are to com- 
 plete the result of the recent* sea fight off Ushant and 
 crown their devoted toil with victory at last. . . . 
 
 And through his thoughts he watches the pretty foot, in 
 its hideous disguise of patched, worn, ill-fitting leather, 
 and he sees it as on the first day of their meeting, in its 
 gleaming slipper and dainty silken stocking. 
 
 Now and then an owl-cry, repeated from point to point, 
 tells of unremitting guard, but for which, in the vast 
 silence, none could suspect that a thousand men and 
 more are lying stretched upon the plain all around them, 
 fireless, well-nigh without food, yet patiently waiting for 
 the morrow when their chiefs shall lead them to death ; 
 nor that, in a closer circle, within call, are some fifty ^ars, 
 remnant of the indomitable "Savenaye band," and tacitly 
 sworn bodyguard to The Lady who came back from ease 
 and safety over seas to share their peril. 
 
 No sound besides, but the wind as it whistles and moans 
 over the heath — and the two are together in the mist 
 which comes closing in upon them as if to shroud them 
 from all the rest, for even Rene has crept away, to sleep 
 perhaps. 
 
 .She turns at last towards him, her small face in the 
 dying light of this sullen evening, how wan and weather- 
 beaten ! 
 
 "Pensive, as usual, cousin ?" she says in English, and 
 extends her hand, browned and scratched, that was once 
 so exquisite, and she smiles, the smile of a dauntless soul 
 from a weary body.
 
 THE AWAKENING 47 
 
 Poor little hands, poor little feet, so cold, so battered, 
 so ill-used ! He, who would have warmed them in his 
 bosom, given his heart for them to tread upon, breaks 
 down now, for the first time ; and falling- on his knees 
 covers the cold fingers with kisses, and then lays his lips 
 against those pitiful torn boots. 
 
 But she spurns him from her — even from her feet : 
 
 "Shame on you ! " she says angrily ; and adds, more 
 gently, yet with some contempt: ''Enfant, va ! — is this 
 the time for such follies?" 
 
 And, suddenly recalled to honour and grim actuality, 
 he realises with dismay his breach of trust — he, who in 
 their earlier days in London had called out that sprightly 
 little Emigre merely for the vulgar flippancy (aimed in com- 
 pliment, too, at the grave aide-de-camp), "that the fate 
 of the late Count weighed somewhat lightly upon Madame 
 de Savenaye ; " he, who had struck that too literary 
 countryman of his own across the face — ay, and shot him 
 in the shoulder, all in the secret early dawn of the day 
 they left England — for daring to remark within his hear- 
 ing : "By George, the handsome Frenchwoman and her 
 cousin may be a little less than kin, but they are a little 
 more than kind." 
 
 But yet, as the rage of love contending in his heart with 
 self-reproach, he rises to his feet in shame, she gives him 
 her hand once more, and in a different voice : 
 
 "Courage, cousin," says she, " perhaps some day we 
 may both have our reward. But will not my knight 
 continue to fight for my bidding, even without hope of 
 such .? " 
 
 Pondering on this enigmatic sentence he leaves her to 
 her rest. 
 
 When next he finds himself by her side the anticipated 
 action has begun ; and it is to be the last day that those 
 beautiful burning eyes shall see the glory of the rising sun. 
 
 The Chouansare fighting like demons, extended in long 
 skirmishing lines, picking out the cluster of gunners, 
 making right deadly use of their English powder ; imper- 
 ceptibly but unflinchingly closing their scattered groups 
 until the signal comes and with ringing cries : ''Notre 
 Dame d Auray r' and " Vive le roil " they charge, undis- 
 mayed by odds, the serried ranks of the Repubficans.
 
 48 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 She, from the top of the druidical stone, watches the 
 progress of the day. Her red, parted mouth twitches as 
 she follows the efforts of the men. Behind her, the ^ors 
 of Savenaye, grasping- with angry clutch, some a new 
 musket, others an ancient straightened scythe, gaze 
 fiercely on the scene from under their broad felts. Now 
 and then a flight of republican bullets hum about their 
 ears, and they look anxiously to Their Lady, but that 
 fearless head never bends. 
 
 Then the moment arrives, and with a fervent, " God be 
 with you, brave people," she hurls, by a stirring gesture, 
 the last reserve on to the fight. 
 
 And now he finds himself in the midst of the furious 
 medley, striking mechanically, his soul away behind on 
 that stone, with her. Presently, as the frenzy waxes 
 wilder, he is conscious that victory is not with them, but 
 that they are pressed back and encompassed, and that for 
 each blue coat cast down amidst the yells and oaths, two 
 more seem to come out of the rain and smoke ; whilst the 
 bare feet and wooden shoes and the longhair of his peas- 
 ants are seen in ever-lessening ranks. And, in time, they 
 find themselves thrown back to the men-hir ; she is there, 
 still calm but ghastly white, a pistol in each hand. 
 Around her, through the wet smoke, rise and fall with 
 sickening thuds the clubbed muskets of threeor four men, 
 and then one by one these sink to the ground too. With 
 a wailing groan like a man in a nightmare, he sees the 
 inevitable end and rushes to place his body before hers. A 
 bullet shatters his sword-blade ; now none are left around 
 them but the begrimed and sinister faces of their enemies. 
 
 As they stand prisoners, and unheeding the hideous 
 clamour, he, with despair thinking of her inevitable fate 
 at the hands of such victors, and scarcely daring to look 
 at her, suddenly sees that in her eyes which fills his soul 
 to overflowinor. 
 
 "All is lost," she whispers, "and I shall never repay 
 you for all you have done, cousin ! " 
 
 The words arc uttered falteringly, almost plaintively. 
 
 "We are not long now for this world, friend," she adds 
 more firmly. " Give me your forgiveness." 
 
 How often has Adrian heard this dead voice during the 
 strange vicissitudes of these long, long years ! And, 
 hearing it whisper in the vivid world of his brain, how
 
 THE AWAKENING 49 
 
 often has he not passionately longed that he also had 
 been able to yield his poor spark of life on the last day of 
 her existence. 
 
 For the usual fate of Chouan prisoners swiftly over- 
 takes the surviving leaders of the Savenaye " band of 
 brigands," as that doughty knot of loyalists was termed 
 by their arch-enemy, Thureau. 
 
 A long journey towards the nearest town, in an open 
 cart, under the pitiless rain, amidst a crowd of evil-smell- 
 ing, blaspheming, wounded republicans, who, when a 
 more cruel jolt than usual awakens their wounds, curse 
 the woman in words that should have drawn avenging 
 bolts from heaven. She sits silent, lofty, tearless ; but 
 her eyes, when they are not lost in the grey distance, ever 
 wistfully seek his face. 
 
 The day is drawing to a close ; they reach their goal, 
 a miserable, grey, draggled town at the mouth of the 
 Vilaine, and are roughly brought before the arbiter of their 
 lives — Thureau himself, the monstrous excrescence of the 
 times, who, like Marat and Carrier, sees nothing in the 
 new freedom but a free opening for the lowest instincts 
 of ferocity. 
 
 And before this monstrous beast, bedizened in his 
 general's frippery, in a reeking tavern-room, stand the 
 noble lady of Savenaye and the young heir of Pulwick. 
 
 The ruffian's voice rings with laughter as he gazes on 
 the silent youthful pair. 
 
 " Aha, what have we here ; a couple of drowned rats? 
 or have we trapped you at last, the ci-devant Savenaye 
 and her godam from England.? I ought really to send 
 you as a present to the Convention, but I am too soft- 
 hearted, you see, my pigeons ; and so, to save time and 
 make sure, we will marry you to-day." 
 
 One of the officers whispers some words in his ear, 
 which Thureau, suddenly growing purple with rage, 
 denies with a foul oath and an emphatic thump of his 
 huge fist on the table. 
 
 "Hoche has forbidden it, has he.? Hoche does not 
 command here. Hoche has not had to hunt down the 
 brigands these last two years. Dead the beast, dead the 
 venom, I say. And here is the order," scribbling hur- 
 riedly on a page torn from a pocket-book. " It shall not 
 be said that I have had the bitch of Savenaye in my 
 4
 
 50 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 hands and trusted her on the road again. Hoche has 
 forbidden it ! Call the cantineer and hop : the marriage 
 and quick — the soup waits." 
 
 Unable to understand the hidden meaning of the order, 
 Adrian looks at his lady askance, to find that, with eyes 
 closed upon the sight of the grinning faces, she is whisper- 
 ing prayers and fervently crossing herself. When she 
 turns to him again her face is almost serene. 
 
 "They are going to drown us together; that is their 
 republican marriage of aristocrats," she says in soft Eng- 
 lish. " I had feared worse. Thank heaven there is no 
 time now for worse. We shall be firm to the last, shall 
 we not, cousin .-' " 
 
 There is a pathetic smile on her worn weather-stained 
 face, as the cantineer and a corporal enter with ropes and 
 proceed to pinion the prisoners. 
 
 But, as they are marched away once more under the 
 slanting rain, are forced into a worn-out boat and lashed 
 face to face, her fortitude melts apace. 
 
 "There, my turtle-doves," sneers the truculent cor- 
 poral, "another kindness of the general. The Nantes 
 way is back to back, but he thought it would amuse you 
 to see each other's grimaces." 
 
 On the strand resounds the muffled roll of wet drums, 
 announcing the execution of national justice ; with one 
 blow of an axe the craft is scuttled ; a push from a gaff 
 sends it spinning on the swift swollen waters into the 
 estuary. Adrian's lips are on her forehead, but she lifts 
 her face ; her eyes now are haggard. 
 
 "Adrian," she sobs, " you have forgiven me? I have 
 your death on my soul ! Oh, Adrian, .... I could have 
 loved you ! " 
 
 Helpless and palsied by the merciless ropes, she tries 
 passionately to reach her little mouth to his. A stream 
 of fire rushes through his brain — maddening frenzy of re- 
 gret, furious clinging to escaping life ! — Their lips have 
 met, but the sinking craft is full, and, with a sudden lurch, 
 
 falls beneath the eddies A last roll of the drums, 
 
 and the pinioned bodies of these lovers of a few seconds 
 are silently swirling under the waters of the Vilaine. 
 
 And now the end of this poor life has come — with heart- 
 breaking sorrow of mind and struggle of body, over- 
 powering horror at the writhings of torture in the limbs
 
 THE AWAKENING 51 
 
 lashed against his — and vainly he strives to force his last 
 breath into her hard-clenched mouth. 
 
 Such was the end of Adrian Landale, aged twenty — the 
 end that should have been — The pity that it was not per- 
 mitted ! 
 
 After the pangs of unwelcome death, the misery of un- 
 welcome return to life. Oh, Rene, Rene, too faithful 
 follower ; thou and the other true men who, heedless of 
 danger, hanging on the flanks of the victorious enemy, 
 never ceased to watch your lady from afar. You would 
 have saved her, could courage and faithfulness and cun- 
 ning have availed ! But, since she was dead, Ren^, 
 would thou hadst left us to drift on to the endless sea ! 
 How often have I cursed thee, good friend, who staked 
 thy life in the angry bore to snatch two spent bodies from 
 its merciless tossing. It was not to be endured, said you, 
 that the remains of the Lady of Savenaye should drift 
 away unheeded, to be devoured by the beasts of the sea ! 
 They now repose in sacred ground, and I live on ! Oh, 
 hadst thou but reached us a minute later ! — ah, God, or a 
 minute earlier ! 
 
 Rarely had Sir Adrian's haunting visions of the past 
 assumed such lurid reality. Rising in torment from the 
 hearth to pace unceasingly the length and breadth of the 
 restful, studious room, so closely secure from the outer 
 turmoil of heaven and earth, he is once more back in 
 the unknown sea-cave, in front of the angry breakers. 
 Slowly, agonisingly, he is recalled to life through wheehng 
 spaces of pain and confusion, only that his bruised and 
 smarting eyes may see the actual proof of his own 
 desolateness — a small, stark figure wrapped in coarse 
 sailcloth, which now two or three ragged, long-haired 
 men are silently lifting between them. 
 
 He wonders, at first, vaguely, why the tears course 
 down those wild, dark faces ; and then, as vainly he 
 struggles to speak, and is gently held down by some 
 unknown hand, the little white bundle is gone, and he 
 knows that there was the pitiful relict of his love — that he 
 will never see her again ! 
 
 Sir Adrian halted in front of his seaward window, staring 
 at the driven rain, which bounded and plashed and spread
 
 52 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 in minute torrents down the glass, obscuring the already 
 darkening vision of furious sea and sky. 
 
 The dog, that for some moments had shown an anxious 
 restlessness in singular concert with his master's, now 
 rose at last to sniff beneath the door. No sound penetrated 
 the roar of the blast ; but the old retriever's uneasiness, 
 his sharp, warning bark at length recalled Sir Adrian's 
 wandering thoughts to the present. And, walking up to 
 the door, he opened it. 
 
 Oh, God ! Had the sea given up its dead ? 
 
 Sir Adrian staggered back, fell on his knees and clapped 
 his hands together with an agonised cry : 
 
 "Cecile .... 1"
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 THE WHEEL OF TIME 
 
 And to his eye 
 There was but one beloved face on earth, 
 And that was shining on him. 
 
 Byron. 
 
 Upon the threshold she stood, looking in upon him with 
 dark, luminous eyes ; round the small wet face tangles of 
 raven hair fell limp and streaming ; dark raiments clung 
 to her form, diapered with sand and sea-foam, sodden 
 with the moisture that dripped from them to the floor ; 
 under the hem of her skirt one foot peered forth, shoeless 
 in its mud-stained stocking. 
 
 Sir Adrian stared up at her, his brain whirling with a 
 frenzy of joy, gripped in its soaring ecstasy by terror of 
 the incomprehensible. 
 
 On the wings of the storm and the wind had she come 
 to him, his love — across the awful barriers that divide life 
 and death ? Had his longings and the clamour of his 
 desolate soul reached her, after all these years, in the far- 
 beyond, and was her sweet ghost here to bid him cease 
 from them and let her lie at rest .-* Or, yet, had she come 
 to call him from the weary world that their souls might 
 meet and be one at last ? . . . . Then let her but lay her 
 lips against his, as once in the bitterness of death, that 
 his sorely-tried heart may break with the exquisite pang 
 and he, too, may die upon their kiss. 
 
 Swift such thoughts were tossing in the turmoil of his 
 mind when the vision smiled .... a young, rosy, living 
 smile ; and then reason, memory, the wonder of her 
 coming, the haunting of her grave went from him ; pos- 
 sessed by one smgle rapturous certainty he started up 
 and gathered the wet form into his strong arms — yet 
 gently as if he feared to crush the vision into void — and 
 showered kisses on the wet face. 
 
 53
 
 54 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 Not death — but life ! A beating heart beneath his ; a 
 lithe young form under his hand, warm lips to his kisses, 
 .... Merciful Heaven ! Were, then, these twenty years 
 all an evil, fevered dream, and was he awake at length? 
 
 She turned her face from him after a moment and put 
 her hand against his breast to push him from her ; and as 
 she did so the wonder in the lovely, familiar eyes turned 
 to merriment, and the lips parted into laughter. 
 
 The sound of the girlish laughter broke the spell. Sir 
 Adrian stepped back, and passed his hand across his 
 forehead with a dazed look. 
 
 And still she laughed on. 
 
 "Why, cousin Landale," she said, at length between 
 the peals ; "I came to throw myself upon your kindness 
 for shelter from the storm, but — I had not anticipated 
 such a reception." 
 
 The voice, clear and sweet, with just a tinge of out- 
 landish intonation, struck Adrian to the heart. 
 
 "I have not heard," he faltered, "that voice for 
 twenty years . . . . ! " 
 
 Then, coming up to her, he took her hands ; and, draw- 
 ing her towards the firelight, scanned her features with 
 eager, hungering eyes. 
 
 "Do not think me mad, child," he said at last; "tell 
 me who you are — what has brought you here? Ah, God, 
 at such a moment ! Who is it," he pursued, as if to him- 
 self, whilst still she smiled mockingly and answered not ; 
 "who is it, then, since Cecile de Savenaye is dead — and 
 I am not dreaming — nor in fever? No vision either — 
 this is flesh and blood." 
 
 "Yes, indeed," mocked the girl with another burst of 
 merriment; " flesh and blood, please, and very living! 
 Why, cousin Landale, you that knew Cecile de Savenaye 
 so well have you forgotten two babes that were born at 
 your own house of Pulwick ? I believe, 'tis true, I have 
 somewhat altered since you saw me last." 
 
 And again the old room echoed to the unwonted sound 
 of a girl's laughter. 
 
 Now was the hallucination clearing ; but the reality 
 evoked a new and almost as poignant tenderness. Cdcile 
 — phantom of a life-time's love, reborn in the flesh, young 
 as on the last day of her earthly existence, coming back 
 into his life again, even the same as she had left it I A
 
 THE WHEEL OF TIME 55 
 
 second wonder, almost as sweet as the first ! He clung 
 to it as one clings to the presence of a dream, and, joy 
 unspeakable, the dream did not melt away, but remained, 
 smiling, beautiful, unchanged. 
 
 " Cecile's daughter . . . . " he murmured : " Cecile's 
 self again ; but she was not so tall, I think," and drew 
 trembling, reverent hands from her head to her straight 
 young shoulders. And then he started, crying in a 
 changed voice : 
 
 " How wet and cold you are ! Come closer to the fire 
 — sit you into this chair, here, in the warmth." 
 
 He piled up the hearth with faggots till the flames 
 roared again. She dropped into the proffered chair with 
 a little shiver ; now that he recalled her to it, she was 
 wet and cold too. 
 
 He surveyed her with gathering concern. 
 
 "My child," he began, and hesitated, continuing, after 
 a short pause of musing — for the thought struck him as 
 strange — ' ' I may call you so, I suppose ; I that am nearly 
 old enough to be your father ; my mind was so unhinged 
 by your sudden appearance, by the wonderful resem- 
 blance, that I have neglected all my duties as host. You 
 will suffer from this — what shall we do to comfort you ? 
 Here, Jem, good dog ! Call Rene ! " 
 
 The old retriever who, concluding that the visitor was 
 welcome, had returned to his doze, here gathered his 
 stiff limbs together, hobbled out through the doorway to 
 give two or three yelping barks at some point on the 
 stairs, and then crawl back to his cosy corner by the 
 hearth. 
 
 The girl laughed again. It was all odd, new, exciting, 
 Adrian looked down at her. Cecile, too, had had a merry 
 heart, even through peril and misfortune. 
 
 And now there were hasty steps upon the stairs, creak- 
 ing above the outer tumult of sea and wind ; and, in ac- 
 cordance with the lon"--established custom of summoning- 
 him, Rend appeared upon the threshold, holding a pair of 
 candles. 
 
 At the sight of the figure sitting by the fire he halted, as 
 if rooted to the ground, and threw up his hands, each still 
 clutching its candle. 
 
 "Mademoiselle . . . . ! " he ejaculated. " Mademoi- 
 selle here ! " Then, rapidly recovering his quick wits, he
 
 56 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 deposited his burden of light upon the table, advanced 
 towards the lady, made an uncouth but profound bow, 
 and turned to his master. 
 
 "And this, your honour," he remarked, oracularly, and 
 in his usual manner of literal adaptation, " was also part 
 of the news I had for your honour from my last journey ; 
 but, my faith, I did not know how to take myself to it, 
 as your honour was so much occupied with old times this 
 evening. But I had seen Mademoiselle at the castle, as 
 Mademoiselle can tell you herself. And if your honour,'' 
 he added, with a look of astonishment, " will have the 
 goodness to say how it is possible that Mademoiselle 
 managed to arrive here on our isle, in this weather of all 
 the devils — reverence speaking, and I humbly beg the 
 pardon of Mademoiselle for using such words — when it 
 was with pain I could land myself, and that before the 
 storm — I should be grateful to your honour. For I avow 
 I cannot comprehend it at all. Ah, your honour ! " con- 
 tinued Rene, with an altered tone, "'tis a strange thing, 
 this ! " 
 
 The looks of master and man crossed suddenly, and in 
 the frank blue eyes of the Breton peasant. Sir Adrian read 
 a reflex of his own thoughts. 
 
 " Yes," he said, more in answer to the look than to 
 the exclamation, "yes, it is a strange thing, triend." 
 
 " And his Honour cannot read the riddle any more 
 than you yourself, Rene," quoth Mademoiselle de Save- 
 naye, composedly from her corner; "and, as for me, I 
 can give no explanations until I am a little warmer. " 
 
 "Why, truly," exclaimed Sir Adrian, striking his fore- 
 head, " we are a very pair of dolts ! Hurry, Renny, 
 hurry, call up Margery, and bid her bring some hot drink 
 — tea, broth, or what she has — and blankets. Stay ! first 
 fetch my furred cloak ; quick, Rene, every moment is 
 precious ! " 
 
 With all the agitation of a rarely excited man Sir Adrian 
 threw more wood on the fire, hunted for a cushion to 
 place beneath her feet, and then, seizing the cloak from 
 Rente's hands, he helped her to rise, and wrapped its 
 ample folds round her as carefully as if she were too 
 precious almost to be touched. 
 
 Thus enveloped she sank back in the great arm-chair 
 with a cosy, deliberate, kitten-like movement, and
 
 THE WHEEL OF TIME 57 
 
 stretched out her feet to the blaze, laying the little shoe- 
 less one upon Jem's grey muzzle. 
 
 Adrian knelt beside her, and began gently to chafe it 
 with both hands. And, as he knelt, silence fell between 
 them, and the storm howled out yonder ; he heard her 
 give a little sigh — that sigh which would escape from 
 Cecile's weariness in moments of rest, which had once 
 been so familiar and so pathetic a sound in his ear. And 
 once more the power of the past came over him ; again 
 he was upon the heath near Quiberon, and Cecile was 
 sitting by him and seeking warmth by the secret fire. 
 
 "Oh, my darling," he murmured, "your poor little 
 feet were so cold ; and yet you would not let me gather 
 them to my breast." And, stooping slowly, he kissed 
 the pretty foot in its torn, stained stocking with a passion 
 he had not yet shown. 
 
 The girl looked on with an odd little smile. It was a 
 novel experience, to inspire — even vicariously — such feel- 
 ings as these ; and there was something not unpleasant 
 in the sense of the power which had brought this strange 
 handsome man prostrate before her — a maidenly tremor, 
 too, in the sensation of those burning lips upon her feet. 
 
 He raised his eyes suddenly, with the old expectation of 
 a rebuff ; and then, at the sight of the youthful, curious 
 face above him, betook himself to sighing too ; and, laying 
 the little foot back tenderly upon the cushion, he rose. 
 
 From between the huge fur collar which all but covered 
 her head, the black eyes followed him as alertly as a 
 bird's ; intercepting the soft melancholy of his gaze, she 
 smiled at him, mischievous, confident, and uncommuni- 
 cative, and snuggled deeper into the fur. 
 
 Leaning against the high mantel-board, he remained 
 silent, brooding over her ; the clock ticked off solemnly 
 the fleeting moments of the wonderful hour ; and ever and 
 anon the dog drew a long breath of comfort and stretched 
 out his gaunt limbs more luxuriously to the heat. After 
 a while Sir Adrian spoke. 
 
 "He who has hospitality to dispense," said he, smiling 
 down at her mutinous grace, "should never ask whence 
 or how the guest came to his hearth .... and yet — " 
 
 She made a slight movement of laziness, but volunteered 
 nothing ; and he continued, his look becoming more wist- 
 ful as he spoke :
 
 58 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 "Your having- reached this rock, during such weather, 
 is startling enough ; it is God's providence that there should 
 live those in these ruins who are able to give you succour. 
 But that you should come in to me at the moment you 
 did — " He halted before the bold inquisitive brightness 
 of her eyes. ' ' Some day perhaps you will let me explain," 
 he went on, embarrassed. " Indeed I must have seemed 
 the most absolute madman, to you. But he who thinks 
 he sees one returned from death in angry waters, may be 
 pardoned some display of emotion." 
 
 The girl sat up briskly and shook herself as if in protest 
 against the sadness of his smile and look. 
 
 "I rise indeed from a watery grave," she said lightly, 
 "or at least from what should have been my grave, had 
 I had my deserts for my foolishness ; as it has turned out 
 I do not regret it now ; though I did, about midway." 
 
 The red lips parted and the little teeth gleamed. "I 
 have found such kindness and welcome." She caressed 
 the dog who, lazily, tried to lick her hand. "It is all 
 such an adventure ; so much more amusing than Pul- 
 wick ; so much more interesting than ever I fancied it 
 might be ! " 
 
 " Pulwick ; you come from Pulwick ? " said Sir Adrian 
 musing; "true, Rene has said it but just now. Yet, it is 
 of a piece with the strangeness of it all." 
 
 "Yes," said Mademoiselle de Savenaye, once more 
 collecting her cloak, which her hurried movement had 
 thrown off her shoulder. " Madelon and I are now at Pul- 
 wick — I am Molly, cousin, please to remember — or rather 
 I am here, very warm now, and comfortable, and she is 
 somewhere along the shore— perhaps — she and John, as 
 wet as drowned rats. Well, well, I had best tell you the 
 tale from the beginning, or else we never shall be out of 
 the labyrinth. — We started from Pulwick, for a ride by the 
 shore, ^ladelon and I. When we were on the strand it came 
 on to rain. There was smoke out of your chimney. I pro- 
 posed a canter as far as the ruins, for shelter. I knew very 
 well Madelon would not follow ; but I threw poor Lucifer 
 — you know Lucifer, Mr. Landale has reserved him for me ; 
 of course you know Lucifer, I believe he belongs to you ! 
 Well, I threw him along tlie causeway. John, he's the 
 groom you know, and ^Iadclon, shrieked after me. But 
 it was beautiful — this magnificent tearing gallop in the
 
 THE WHEEL OF TIME 59 
 
 rain — I was not going to stop. — But when we were half 
 way, Lucifer and I, I saw suddenly that the foam seemed 
 to cover the sand in front of me. Then I pulled up quick 
 and turned round to look behind me. There was already 
 a frightful wind, and the sand and the rain blinded me 
 almost, but there was no mistake — the sea was running 
 between the shore and me. Oh ! my God ! but I was 
 frightened then ; I beat poor Lucifer until my whip 
 broke, and he started away with a will. But when his 
 feet began to splash the water he too became frightened 
 and stopped. I did not know what to do ; I pulled out 
 my broach to spur him with the pin, but, at the first prick 
 I gave him, he reared, and swerved and I fell right on my 
 face in the froth. I got up and began to run through the 
 water ; then I came to some stones and I knew I was 
 saved, though the water was up to my knees and rushing 
 by like a torrent. When I had clambered up the beach I 
 thought again of poor Lucifer. I looked about and saw 
 him a little way off. He was shaking and tossing his dear 
 black head, and neighing, though I really did not hear 
 him, for the wind was in my ears ; his body was stock 
 
 still, I could not see his legs And gradually he 
 
 sank lower, and lower, and lower, and at last the water 
 passed over his head. Oh ! it was horrible, horrible ! " 
 
 The girl shuddered and her bright face clouded. After 
 a moment she resumed : 
 
 "It was only then I thought of the moving sands they 
 spoke of the other day at Pulwick — and that was why 
 Madelon and that poltroon groom would not follow me ! 
 Yet perhaps they were wise, after all, for the thought of 
 being buried alive made me turn weak all of a sudden. 
 My knees shook and I had to sit down, although I knew I 
 had passed through the danger. But I was so sorry for 
 poor Lucifer ! I thought if I had come down and led 
 him, poor fellow, he might have come with me. Death 
 is so awful, so hideous ; he was so full of life and carried 
 me so bravely, only a few minutes before ! Is it not a 
 shame that there should be such a thing as death ? " she 
 cried, rebelliously, and looked up at the man above her, 
 whose face had grown white at the thought of the danger 
 she had barely escaped. 
 
 " I waited," she resumed at length, " till I thought he 
 must be quite dead, there below, and came up to the
 
 6o THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 ruins, and looked for an entrance. I knocked at some 
 doors and called, but the wind was so loud, no one heard. 
 And then, at last, there was one door I could open, so I 
 entered and came up the stairs and startled you, as you 
 know. And that is how I came here and how Lucifer is 
 drowned." 
 
 As she finished her tale at last, she looked up at her 
 companion. But Sir Adrian, who had followed her with 
 ever-deepening earnestness of mien, remained silent ; 
 noticing- which she added quickly and with a certain 
 tinge of defiance : 
 
 "And now, no doubt, you are not quite so pleased as 
 you seemed at first with the apparition which has caused 
 you the loss of one of your best horses ! '" 
 
 "Why child, " cried Sir Adrian, "so that you be safe 
 you might have left all Pulwick at the bottom of the sands 
 for me ! " And Rene who entered the room at that mo- 
 ment, heading the advance of Dame Margery with the 
 posset, here caught the extraordinary sound of a laugh on 
 his master's lips, and stepped back to chuckle to himself 
 and rub his hands. 
 
 "Who would have believed that ! " he muttered, "and 
 I who was afraid to tell his honour ! Oh, yes, there are 
 better times coming. Now in with you, Mother Margery, 
 see for yourself who is there." 
 
 Holding in both hands a fragrant, steaming bowl, the 
 old crone made her slow entrance upon the scene, peering 
 with dim eyes, and dropping tremulous curtseys every 
 two or three steps. 
 
 " Renny towd me as you wanted summat hot for a 
 lady, "she began cautiously ; and then having approached 
 near for recognition at last, burst forth into a long-drawn 
 cry ! 
 
 " Eh, you never says ! Eh, dear o' me," and was fain 
 to relinquish the bowl to her fellow-servant who narrowly 
 watching, dived forward just in time to catch it from her, 
 that she might clasp her aged hands together once and 
 again with ever-renewed gestures of astonishment. "An' 
 it were truth then, an' I that towd Renny to give over his 
 nonsense — I didn't believe it, I welly couldn't. Eh, 
 Mester Adrian, but she's like the poor lady that's dead 
 and gone, the spit an' image she is — c-eh, she is ! " 
 
 Molly de Savcnaye laughed aloud, stretched out her
 
 THE WHEEL OF TIME 6i 
 
 hand for the bowl, and began with dainty caution to sip 
 its scalding contents. 
 
 "Ah, my dear Margery," said the master, "we little 
 thought what a guest the sea would cast up at our doors 
 to-night ! and now we must do our best for her ; when 
 she's finished your comforting mixture I shall give her 
 into your charge. You ought to put her to bed — it will 
 not be the first time." 
 
 "Ah! it will not, and a troublesome child she was," 
 replied Margery, after the usual pause for the assimila- 
 tion of his remark, turning to the speaker from her palsied 
 yet critical survey of her whilom nursling. 
 
 "And I'll see to her, never fear, I'll fettle up a room 
 for her at once — blankets is airing already, an' sheets, an' 
 Renny he's seen to the fire, so that as soon as Miss, here, 
 is ready, I am." 
 
 Upon which, dropping a last curtsey with an assumed 
 dignity which would have befitted a mistress of the robes, 
 she took her departure, leaving Adrian smiling with amuse- 
 ment at her specious manner of announcing that his own 
 bedroom — the only one available for the purpose in the 
 ruins — was being duly converted into a lady's bower. 
 
 "It grieves me to think," mused he after a pause, while 
 Rend still bursting with ungratified curiosity, hung about 
 the further end of the room, " of the terrible anxiety they 
 must be in about you at Pulwick, and of our absolute 
 inability to convey to them the good news of your 
 safety. " 
 
 The girl gave a little laugh, with her lips over the cup, 
 and shrugged her shoulders but said nothing. 
 
 "My God, yes," quoth Rene cheerfully from his corner. 
 "Notre Dame d'Auray has watched over Mademoiselle 
 to-day. She would not permit the daughter to die like 
 the mother. And now we have got her ladyship we shall 
 keep her too. This, if your honour remembers his sailor's 
 knowledge, looks like a three-days' gale." 
 
 "You are right, I fancy," said Sir Adrian, going over 
 to him and looking out of the window. "Mademoiselle 
 de Savenaye will have to take up her abode in our light- 
 house for a longer time than she bargained. I do not 
 remember hearing the breakers thunder in our cave so 
 loud for many years. I trust, " continued the light-keeper, 
 coming down to his fair guest again, " that you may be
 
 62 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 able to endure such rough hospitality as ours must needs 
 be!" 
 
 "It has been much more pleasant and I feel far more 
 welcome already than at Puhvick," remarked Mademoi- 
 selle, between two deliberate sips, and in no way dis- 
 composed, it seemed, at the prospect held out to her. 
 
 " How ?" cried Sir Adrian with a start, while the un- 
 wonted flush mounted to his forehead, "you, not wel- 
 come at Puhvick ! Have they not welcomed a child of 
 Cecile de Savenaye at Puhvick? .... Thank God, then, 
 for the accident that has sent you to me ! " 
 
 The girl looked at him with an inquisitive smile in her 
 eyes ; there was something on her lips which she re- 
 strained. Surrendering her cup, she remarked demurely : 
 
 "Yes, it was a lucky accident, was it not, that there 
 was some one to offer shelter to the outcast from the sea? 
 It is like a tale of old. It is delightful. Delightful, too, 
 not to be drowned, safe and sound .... and welcome 
 in this curious old place." 
 
 She had risen and, as the cloak fell from her steaming 
 garments, again she shivered. 
 
 "But you are right," she said, " I must go to bed, and 
 get these damp garments off. And so, my Lord of Scar- 
 they, ' will retire to my apartments ; my Lady in Waiting 
 I see yonder is ready for me." 
 
 With a quaint mixture of playfulness and gravity, she 
 extended her hand, and Adrian stooped and kissed it — 
 as he had kissed fair Cdcile de Saven aye's rosy finger-tip 
 upon the porch of Pulwick, twenty years before.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 FOREBODINGS OF GLADNESS 
 
 Molly de Savenaye in her improvised bedroom, wet as 
 she was, could hardly betake herself to disrobing, so 
 amused was she in surveying- the fresh and romantic oddity 
 of her surroundings, with their mixture of barbarous rude- 
 ness and almost womanish refinement. 
 
 Old Margery's fumbling hands were not nimble either, 
 and it was long since she had acted as attendant upon one 
 of her own sex. And so the matter progressed but slowly ; 
 but the speed of Margery's tongue was apparently not 
 affected by its length of service. It wagged ceaselessly ; 
 the girl between her own moods of curious speculation 
 vouchsafing an amused, half-contemptuous ear. 
 
 Presently, however, as the nurse's reminiscences wan- 
 dered from the less interesting topic of her own vicissi- 
 tudes, the children she had reared or buried, and the mar- 
 vellous ailments she had endured, to an account of those 
 days when she had served the French Madam and her 
 babes, Molly, slowly peeling a clinging sleeve from her 
 arm, turned a more eager and attentive face to her. 
 
 "Ah," quoth Margery, appraising her with blear 
 eyes, '* it's a queer thing how ye favour your mother, miss. 
 She had just they beautiful shoulders and arms, as firm 
 an' as white ; but you're taller, I think, and may be so, to 
 speak, a stouter make altogether. Eh, dear, you were 
 always a fine child and the poor lady set a deal of store 
 on you, she did. She took you with her and left your 
 sister with my Sally, when she was trapesing up to London 
 and back with Mester Adrian, ay, and me with ye. And 
 many the day that 1 wished myself safe at Pulwick ! And 
 I mind the day she took leave of you, I do that, well." 
 
 Here Dame Margery paused and shook her head 
 solemnly, then pursued in another key : 
 
 ' ' See now, miss, dear, just step out of they wet things, 
 will ye now, and let me put this hot sheet round ye ? " 
 
 63
 
 64 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 " But I want to hear about myself," said Molly, grate- 
 fully wrappin,q; the hot linen round her young beauty, and 
 beginning to rub her black locks energetically. " Where 
 was it my mother parted from me ? " 
 
 "Why, I'll tell you, miss. When Madam — we alius 
 used to call her Madam, ye know — was goin' her ways to 
 the ship as was to take her to France, I took you after her 
 mysel' down to the shore that she might have the very 
 last of ye. Eh, I mind it as if it were yesterday. Mester 
 Adrian was to go with her — Sir Adrian, I should say, but 
 he was but Mester Adrian then — an' a two three more o' 
 th' gentry as was all fur havin' a share o' th' fightin'. Sir 
 Thomas himsel' was theer — I like as if I could see him 
 now, poor owd gentleman, talkin' an' laughin' very hard 
 an' jov'al, an' wipin' 's e'en when he thought nobody 
 noticed. Eh, dear, yes ! I could ha' cried mysel' to see 
 th' bonny young lady goin' off fro' her bairns. An' to 
 think she niver came back to them no more. Well, well ! 
 An' Mester Adrian too — such a fine well-set-up young 
 gentleman as he were — and he niver comed back for ten 
 year an' when he did, he was that warsened — " she 
 stopped, shook her head and groaned. 
 
 "Well, but how about me, nurse," observed Molly, 
 " what about nie P " 
 
 "■ Miss, please it was this way. Madam was wantin'a 
 last look at her bairn — eh, she did, poor thing ! You was 
 alius her favoryite, ye know, miss — our Sally was wet- 
 nurse to Miss Maddyline, but Madam had you hersel'. 
 Well, miss, I'd brought you well lapped up i' my shawl 
 an' William Shearman — that was Thomas Shearman's son, 
 feyther to William an' Tom as lives over yonder at Pulwick 
 village — well, William was standin' in 's great sea-boots 
 ready to carry her through th' surf into the boat ; an' 
 Mester Adrian — Sir Adrian, I mean — stood it might be 
 here, miss, an' there was Renny, an' yon were th' t'other 
 gentry. Well, Madam stopped an' took you out o' my 
 arms, an' hugged you to her breast — an' then she geet 
 agate o' kissin' you — your head an' your little 'ands. An' 
 you was jumpin' an' crowin' in her arms — the wind had 
 blown your cap off, an' your little downy black hair was 
 standing back. (Just let me get at your hair now, miss, 
 please — Eh ! it's cruel full of sand, my word, it is.)" 
 
 " It's 'ard, when all's said an' done, to part wi' th' babe
 
 FOREBODINGS OF GLADNESS 6$ 
 
 ye've suckled, an' Madam, though there was niver nought 
 nesh about 'er same as there is about most women, an' 
 specially ladies — she 'ad th' mother's 'eart, she 'ad, miss, 
 an when th' time coom for her to leave th' little un, I 
 could see, as it were, welly burstin'. There we stood wi' 
 th' wind blowin' our clothes an' our 'air, an' the waves 
 roarin', an' one bigger nor th' t'others ran up till th' foam 
 reached Madam's little feet, but she niver took no notice. 
 Then all of a sudden she gets th' notion that she'd like to 
 take you with 'er, an' she turns an' tells Mester Adrian so. 
 'She shall come with me,' she says, quite sharp an' de- 
 termined, an' makes a sign to William Shearman to carry 
 'em both over. ' No, no,' says Mester Adrian, ' quite im- 
 possible, ' says he, as wise as if he'd been an owd man 
 i' stead o' nobbut a lad, ye might say. ' It would be mad- 
 ness both for you an' th' child. Now,' he says, very quiet 
 an' gentle, ' if I might advise, I should say stay here with 
 the child.' Eh, I couldn't tell ye all he said, an' then Sir 
 Tummas coom bustlin' up, ' Do, now, my dear ; think of 
 it,' he says, pattin' her o' th' hand. 'Stay with us,' he 
 says, ' ye'U be welcome as th' flowers in May ! ' An' 
 there was Renny wi' 's 'at off, an' th' tears pourin' down 
 his face, beggin' an' prayin' Madam to stop — at least, I 
 reckoned that was what he were sayin' for it was all in 's 
 own outlandish gibberish. The poor lady ! she'd look 
 from one to th' t'other an' a body a' must think she'd give 
 in — an' then she'd unbethink hersel' again. An' Sir 
 Thomas, he'd say, ' Do now, my dear,' an' then when 
 she'd look at him that pitiful, he'd out wi' 's red 'andkercher 
 an' frown over at Mester Adrian, an', says he, 'I wonder 
 ye can ax her ! ' Well, all of a sudden off went th' big 
 gun in th' ship — that was to let 'em know, miss, do ye 
 see — an' up went Madam's head, an' then th' wind fetched 
 th' salt spray to her face, an' a kind o' change came over 
 her. She looked at the child, then across at the ship — an' 
 then she fair tossed ye back to me. Big William catched 
 her up in his arms just same as another bairn, an' carried 
 her to the boat." 
 
 "Yes," said Molly, gazing into the burning logs with 
 brilliant eyes, but speaking low, as if to herself, so that 
 her attendant's deaf ears failed to catch the meaning of 
 the words. " Ah, that was life indeed ! Happy mother 
 to have seen such life — though she did die young." 
 
 5
 
 (£ THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 "As ye say, miss," answered Margery, making a guess 
 at the most likely comment from a daughter's lips, "it 
 was cruel hard — it was that. ' Come, make haste ! ' cries 
 the other young gentlemen : my word, they were in a 
 hurry lest Madam happen to change her mind. I could 
 welly have laughed to see their faces when Mester Adrian 
 were trying to persuade her to stop at Pulwick, and let 
 the men go alone. 'T wern't for that they reckoned to 
 go all that road to France, ye may think, miss. Well, 
 miss, in a few minutes they was all out i' the boat wi' th' 
 waves tossin' 'em — an' I stood watchin' with you i' my 
 arms, cryin' and kickin' out wi' your little legs, an' hittin' 
 of me wi' your little 'ands, same as if ye knowed summat 
 o' what was agate, poor lamb, an' was angry wi' me for 
 keepin' ye. Then in a little while the big, white sails o' 
 th' ship went swellin' out an' soon it was gone. An' that 
 was th' last we saw o' Madam. A two-three year arter 
 you an' Miss Maddyline was fetched away, to France, as 
 I've been towd. I doubt you didn't so much as think 
 there was such a place as Pulwick, though many a one 
 there minds how they dandled and played wi' you when 
 you was a wee bairn, miss." 
 
 "Well, I am very glad to be back in England, any- 
 how," said Molly, nimbly slipping into bed. " Oh, Mar- 
 gery, what delicious warm sheets, and how good it is to 
 be in bed alive, dry, and warm, after all ! " 
 
 A new atmosphere pervaded Scarthey that night. The 
 peaceful monotony of years, since the master of Pulwick 
 had migrated to his "ruins," was broken at last, and 
 happily. A warm colour seemed to have crept upon the 
 hitherto dun and dull surroundings and brightened all the 
 prospects. 
 
 At any rate Rend, over his busy work in the lantern, 
 whistled and hummed snatches of song with unwonted 
 blithesomeness, and, after lighting the steady watch-light 
 and securing all his paraphernalia with extra care, dallied 
 some time longer than usual on the outer platform, striv- 
 ing to snatch through the driven wraith a glance of the 
 distant lights of Pulwick. For there, in the long distance, 
 ensconced among the woods, stood a certain gate-lodge 
 of greystone, much covered with ivy, which sheltered, 
 among other inmates, the gatekeeper's blue-eyed, ripe 
 and ruddy daughter — Dame Margery's pet grandchild.
 
 FOREBODINGS OF GLADNESS (^7 
 
 The idea of ever leaving the master — even for the sake 
 of the happiness to be found over yonder — was not one 
 to be entertained by Rene'. But what if dreams of a re- 
 turn to the Hfe of the world should arise after to-day in 
 the recluse's mind ? Ah, the master's eyes had been filled 
 with light I . . . . and had he not actually laughed ? 
 
 Rend peered again through the wind, but nothing could 
 be seen of the world abroad, save grey, tumbling waters 
 foaming at the foot of the islet ; fretful waters coalescing 
 all around with the driven, misty air. A desolate view 
 enough, had there been room for melancholy thoughts in 
 his heart. 
 
 Blithely did he descend the steep wooden stairs from 
 the roaring, weather-beaten platform, to the more secure 
 inhabited keep ; and, humming a satisfied tune, he en- 
 tered upon Margery in her flaming kitchen, to find the 
 old lady intent on sorting out a heap of feminine garments 
 and spreading them before the fire. 
 
 Rend took up a little shoe, sand-soiled and limp, and 
 reverentially rubbed it on his sleeve. 
 
 "Well, mother," he said, cheerfully, " it is a long while 
 since you had to do with such pretty things. My faith, 
 these are droll doings, ah — and good, too ! You will see, 
 Mother Margery, there will be good out of all this." 
 
 But Margery invariably saw fit, on principle, to doubt 
 all the opinions of her rival. 
 
 Eh, she didn't hold so much wi' wenches hersel', an' 
 Mester Adrian, she reckoned, hadn't come to live here all 
 by himsel' to have visitors breaking in on him that gate ! 
 
 "There be \\s\ioxs and visitors, mother — I tell you, I 
 who speak to you, that his honour is happy." 
 
 Margery, with a mysterious air, smoothed out a long 
 silk stocking and gave an additional impetus to the tremor 
 Nature had already bestowed upon her aged head. 
 
 Well, it wasn't for her to say. She hoped and prayed 
 there was nowt bad a coomin' on the family again ; but 
 sich likenesses as that of Miss to her mother was not lucky, 
 to her minding ; it was not. Nowt good had come to 
 Mester Adrian from the French Madam. Ah, Mester 
 Adrian had been happy like with her too, and she had 
 taken him away from his home, an' his people, an' sent 
 him back wi'out 's soul in the end. 
 
 "And now her daughter has come to give it him back,"
 
 68 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 retorted Rene', as he fell to, with a zest, on the savoury- 
 mess he had concocted for his own supper. 
 
 " Eh, well, I hope nowt bad's i' the road," said Mar- 
 gery with senile iteration. "They do say no good ever 
 comes o' saving bodies from drowning ; not that one 'ud 
 wish the poor Miss to have gone into the sands — an' she 
 the babby I weaned too ! " 
 
 Rene' interrupted her with a hearty laugh. "Yes, 
 every one knows it carries misfortune to save people from 
 the drowning, but there, you see, her ladyship, she saved 
 herself— so that ought to bring good fortune. Good- 
 night, Mother Margery, take good care of the lady. . . . 
 Ah, how I wish I had the care of her ! " he added simply, 
 and, seizing his lantern, proceeded to ascend once more 
 to his post aloft. 
 
 He paused once on his way, in the loud sighing stairs, 
 struck with a fresh aspect of the day's singular events — 
 a quaint thought, born of his native religious faith : The 
 Lady, the dear Mistress had just reached Heaven, no 
 doubt, and had straightway sent them the young one to 
 console and comfort them. Eh bien ! they had had their 
 time of Purgatory too, and now they might behappy. 
 
 Pleasant therefore were Rene's musings, up in the light 
 watcher's bunk, underneath the lantern, as, smoking a 
 pipe of rest, he listened complacently to the hissing storm 
 around him. 
 
 And in the master's sleeping chamber beneath him, 
 now so curiously turned into a feminine sanctum, pleas- 
 ant thoughts too, if less formed, and less concerned with 
 the future, lulled its dainty occupant to rest. 
 
 Luxuriously stretched between the warm lavender- 
 scented sheets, watching from her pillow the leaping fire 
 on the hearth. Miss Molly wondered lazily at her own 
 luck ; at the many possible results of the day's escapade ; 
 wondered amusedly whether any poignant sorrow — ex- 
 cept, indeed poor Madeleine's tears — for her supposed 
 demise, really darkened the supper party at Pul wick this 
 evening ; wondered agreeably how the Lord of the Ruined 
 Castle would meet her on the morrow, after his singular 
 reception of her this day ; how long she would remain in 
 these romantic surroundings and whether she would like 
 them as well at the end of the visitation. 
 
 And as the blast howled with increasing rage, and the
 
 FOREBODINGS OF GLADNESS 69 
 
 cold night drew closer on, and the great guns in the sea- 
 cave boomed more angrily with the risen tide, she dimly 
 began to dwell upon the thought of poor Lucifer being 
 sucked deeper into his cold rapacious grave, whilst she 
 was held in the warm embrace of a man whose eyes were 
 masterful and yet gentle, whose arm was strong, whose 
 kisses were tender. 
 
 And in the delight of the contrast. Mademoiselle de 
 Savenaye fell into the profound slumber of the young and 
 vigorous.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 THE PATH OF WASTED YEARS 
 
 And I only think of the woman that weeps ; 
 But I forget, always forget, the smiling child. 
 
 Luteplayer'' s Song. 
 
 That night, even when sheer fatigue had subdued the 
 currents of blood and thought that surged in his head, 
 Sir Adrian was too restless to avail himself of the emer- 
 gency couch providently prepared by Rend in a corner. 
 But, ceasing his fretful pacing to and fro, he sat down in 
 the arm-chair by the hearth where she had sat — -the waif 
 of the sea — wrapped round him the cloak that had en- 
 folded the young body, hugging himself in the salt 
 moisture the fur still retained, to spend the long hours in 
 half-waking, firelight dreams. 
 
 And every burst of tempest rage, every lash of rain at 
 the window, every thud of hurricane breaking itself on 
 impassable ramparts, andshriekof baffled winds searching 
 the roofless halls around, found a strangely glad echo in 
 his brain — made a sort of burden to his thoughts : 
 
 Heap up the waters round this happy island, most 
 welcome winds — heap them up high and boiling, and 
 retain her long captive in these lonely ruins ! 
 
 And ever the image in his mind's eye was, as before, 
 Cdcile — Cecile who had come back to him, for all sober 
 reason knew it was but the child. 
 
 The child ! Why had he never thought of the 
 
 children these weary years .-* They, all that remained of 
 Cecile, were living and might have been sought. Strange 
 that he had not remembered him of the children I 
 
 Twenty years since he had last set eyes upon the little 
 living creature in her mother's arms. And the picture 
 that the memory evoked was, after all, Cecile again, only 
 Cdcile — not the queer little black-eyed puppet, even then 
 associated with sea-foam and salty breeze. Twenty years 
 
 70
 
 THE PATH OF WASTED YEARS 71 
 
 during which she was growing and waxing in beauty, and 
 unawares, maturing towards this wonderful meeting — and 
 he had never given a thought to her existence. 
 
 In what sheltered ways had this fair duplicate of his 
 love been growing from a child to womanhood during 
 that space of life, so long to look back upon — or so short 
 and transient, according to the mood of the thinker ? 
 
 And, lazily, in his happier and tender present mood he 
 tried to measure once again the cycles of past discontent, 
 this time in terms of the girl's own lifetime. 
 
 It is bitter in misery to recall past misery — almost as 
 bitter, for all Dante's cry, as to dwell on past happiness. 
 But, be the past really dead, and a new and better life 
 begun, the scanning back of a sombre existence done with 
 for ever, may bring with it a kind of secret complacency. 
 
 Truly, mused Sir Adrian, for one who ever cherished 
 ideal aspirations, for the student, the " man of books " 
 (as his father had been banteringly wont to term him), 
 worshipper of the muses, intellectual Epicurean, and 
 would-be optimist philosopher, it must be admitted he had 
 strangely dealt, and been dealt with, since he first beheld 
 that face, now returned to light his solitude ! Ah, God 
 bless the child ! Pulwick at least nursed it warmly, 
 whilst unhappy Adrian, ragged and degraded into a mere 
 fighting beast, roamed through the Marais with Chouan 
 bands, hunted down by the merciless revolutionists, like 
 vermin ; falling, as months of that existence passed over 
 him, from his high estate to the level of vermin indeed ; 
 outlawed, predatory, cunning, slinking, filthy — trapped 
 at last, the fit end of vermin ! 
 
 Scarcely better the long months of confinement in the 
 hulks of Rochelle. How often he had regretted it, then, 
 not to have been one of the chosen few who, the day after 
 capture, stood in front of six levelled muskets, and were 
 sped to rest in some unknown charnel ! Then ! — not 
 now. No, it was worth having lived to this hour, to 
 know of that fair face, in living sleep upon his pillow, 
 under the safeguard of his roof. 
 
 Good it was, that he had escaped at last, though with 
 the blood of one of his jailors red upon his hands ; the 
 blood of a perhaps innocent man, upon his soul. It was 
 the only time he had taken a life other than in fair fight, 
 and the thought of it had been wont to fill him with a sort
 
 72 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 of nausea ; but to-night, he found he could face it, not 
 only without remorse, but without regret. He was glad 
 he had listened to Rene's insidious whispers — Rene, who 
 could not endure the captivity to which his master might, 
 in time, have fallen a passive, hopeless slave, and yet 
 who would have faced a thousand years of it rather than 
 escape alone — the faithful heart ! 
 
 Yes, it was good, and he was glad of it, or time would 
 not have come when she (stay, how old was the child 
 then ? — almost three years, and still sheltered and cherished 
 by the house of Landale) — when she would return, and 
 gladden his eyes with a living sight of Cecile, while Rend 
 watched in his tower above ; ay, and old Margery herself 
 lay once more near the child she had nursed. 
 
 Marvellous turn of the wheel of fate ! 
 
 But, who had come for the children, and where had 
 they been taken .-' To their motherland, perhaps ; even 
 it might have been before he himself had left it ; or yet to 
 Ireland, where still dwelt kinsfolk of their blood ? Probably 
 it was at the breaking up of the family, caused by the death 
 of Sir Thomas, that these poor little birds had been re- 
 moved from the nest, that had held them so safe and close. 
 
 That was in '97, in the yellow autumn of which year 
 Adrian Landale, then French fisherman, parted from his 
 brother Rend I'Apotre upon the sea off Belle Isle ; parted 
 one grizzly dawn after embracing, as brothers should. 
 Oh, the stealthy cold of that blank, cheerless daybreak, 
 how it crept into the marrow of his bones, and chilled 
 the little energy and spirits he had left ! For a whole year 
 they had fruitlessly sought some English vessel, to con- 
 vey this English gentleman back to his native land. He 
 could remember how, at the moment of separation, from 
 the one friend who had loved both him and her, his heart 
 sank within him — remember how he clambered from 
 aboard the poor little smack, up the forbidding sides of 
 the English brig ; how Rene's broken words had bidden 
 God bless him, and restore him safely home (home !) ; 
 remember how swiftly the crafts had moved apart, the 
 mist, the greyncss and dcsolateness ; the lapping of the 
 waters, the hoarse cries of the seamen, all so full of 
 heart-piercing associations to him, and the last vision of 
 Rent's simple face, with tears pouring down it, and his 
 open mouth spasmodically trying to give out a hearty
 
 THE PATH OF WASTED YEARS 73 
 
 cheer, despite the sobs that came heaving up to it. How- 
 little the simple fellow dreamed of what bitterness the 
 future was yet holding for his brother and master, to end 
 in these reunions at last ! 
 
 The vessel which had taken Adrian Landale on board, 
 in answer to the frantic signals of the fishing-smack, that 
 had sailed from Belle Isle obviously to meet her, proved 
 to be a privateer, bound for the West Indies, but cruising 
 somewhat out of her way, in the hope of outgoing prizes 
 from Nantes. 
 
 The captain, who had been led to expect something of 
 importance from the smack's behaviour, in high dudgeon 
 at finding that so much bustle and waste of time was only 
 to burden him with a mere castaway seeking a passage 
 home — one who, albeit a countryman, was too ragged 
 and disreputable in looks to be trusted in his assurances 
 of reward — granted him indeed the hospitality of his ship, 
 but on the condition of his becoming a hand in the com- 
 pany during the forthcoming expedition. 
 
 There was a rough measure of equity in the arrange- 
 ment, and Adrian accepted it. The only alternative, more- 
 over, would have been a jump overboard. And so began 
 a hard spell of life, but a few shades removed from his 
 existence among the Chouan guerillas ; a predatory cruise 
 lasting over a year, during which the only changes rung 
 in the gamut of its purpose were the swooping down, as 
 a vulture might, upon unprotected ships ; flying with 
 superior speed from obviously stronger crafts ; engaging, 
 with hawk-like bravery, everything afloat that displayed 
 inimical colours, if it offered an equal chance of fight. 
 
 And this for more than a year, until the privateer, much 
 battered, but safe, despite her vicissitudes made Halifax 
 for refitting. Here, at the first suitable port she had 
 touched, Adrian claimed and obtained his release from 
 obligations which made his life almost unendurable. 
 
 Then ensued a period of the most absolute penury ; 
 unpopular with most of his messmates for his melan- 
 choly taciturnity, despised by the more brutal as one who 
 had as little stomach for a carouse as for a bloody fight, 
 he left the ship without receiving, or even thinking of 
 his share of prize-money. And he had to support exist- 
 ence with such mean mechanical employment as came 
 in his way, till an opportunity was ofifered of engaging
 
 74 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 himself as seaman, again from sheer necessity, on a 
 homeward-bound merchantman — an opportunity which 
 he seized, if not eagerly, for there was no eagerness left 
 in him, yet under the pressure of purpose. 
 
 Next the long, slowly plodding, toilsome, seemingly 
 eternal course across the ocean. 
 
 But even a convoy, restricted to the speed of its slowest 
 member, if it escape capture or natural destruction, must 
 meet the opposite shore at length, and the last year of 
 the century had lapsed in the even race of time when, 
 after many dreary weeks, on the first of January 1801, 
 the long low lines of sandhills on the Lancastrian coast 
 loomed in sight. The escort drew away, swiftly south- 
 wards, as if in joyful relief from the tedious task, leaving 
 the convoy to enter the Mersey, safe and sound. 
 
 That evening Adrian, the rough-looking and taciturn 
 sailor, set foot, for a short while, on his native land, after 
 six years of an exile which had made of him at five and 
 twenty a prematurely aged and hopelessly disillusioned 
 man. 
 
 And Sir Adrian, as he mused, wrapped in the honoured 
 fur cloak, with eyes half closed, by his sympathetic fire, 
 recalled how little of joy this return had had for him. It 
 was the goal he had striven to reach, and he had reached 
 it, that was all ; nay, he recalled how, when at hand, he 
 had almost dreaded the actual arrival home, dreaded, 
 with the infinite heart-sickness of sorrow, the emotions of 
 the family welcome to one restored from such perils by 
 flood and field — if not indeed already mourned for and 
 forgotten — little wotting how far that return to Pulwick, 
 that seemed near and certain, was still away in the dim 
 future of life. 
 
 Yet, but for the fit of hypochondriacal humour which 
 had fallen black upon him that day of deliverance and 
 made him yearn, with an intensity increasing every 
 moment, to separate himself from his repugnant associates 
 and haste the moment of solitude and silence, he might 
 have been rescued, then and for ever, from the quagmire 
 in which perverse circumstances had enslaved him. 
 
 "Look'ee here, matey, "said one of his fellow-workers 
 to him, in a transient fit of good-fellowship which the 
 prospect of ajiproaching sprees had engendered in him 
 even towards one whom all on board had felt vaguely
 
 THE PATH OF WASTED YEARS 75 
 
 to be of a different order, and disliked accordingly, 
 "you don't seem to like a jolly merchantman — but, may- 
 be, you wouldn't take more kindly to a man-o'-war. Do 
 you see that there ship ? — a frigate she is ; and, whenever 
 there's a King's ship in the Mersey that means that it's 
 more wholesome for the likes of us to lie low. You take 
 a hint, matey, and don't be about Liverpool to-night, or 
 until she's gone. Now, I know a crib that's pretty safe, 
 Birkenhead way ; Mother Redcap's, we call it — no one's 
 ever been nabbed at Mother Redcap's, and if you'll come 
 along o' me — why then if you won't, go your way and 
 be damned to you for a " 
 
 This was the parting of Adrian Landale from his fellow- 
 workers. The idea of spending even one night more in 
 that atmosphere of rum and filth, in the intimate hearing 
 of blasphemous and obscene language, was too repulsive 
 to be entertained, and he had turned away from the offer 
 with a gesture of horror. 
 
 With half a dozen others, in whose souls the attractions 
 of the town at night proved stronger than the fear of the 
 press party, he disembarked on the Lancashire side, and 
 separating from his companions, for ever, as he thought, 
 ascended the miserable lanes leading from the river to 
 the upper town. 
 
 His purpose was to sleep in one of the more decent 
 hotels, to call the next day for help at the banking-house 
 with which the Landales had dealt for ages past, and 
 thence to take coach for Pulwick. But he had planned 
 without taking reck of his circumstances. No hotel of 
 repute would entertain this weather-beaten common 
 sailor in the meanest of work-stained clothes. After fail- 
 mg at various places even to obtain a hearing, being 
 threatened with forcible ejectment, derisively referred to 
 suitable cribs in Love Lane or Tower Street, he gave up 
 the attempt ; and, in his usual dejection of spirit, intensi- 
 fied by unavowed and unreasonable anger, wandered 
 through the dark streets, brooding. Thus aimlessly 
 wandering, the remembrance of his young Utopian 
 imaginings came back to him to mock him. Dreams of 
 universal brotherhood, of equality, of harmony. He had 
 already seen the apostles of equality and brotherhood at 
 work — on the banks of the Vilaine. And realising how 
 he himself, now reduced to the lowest level in the social
 
 76 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 scale, hunted with insult from every haunt above that 
 level, yet loathed and abhorred the very thought of asso- 
 ciating again with his recent brothers in degradation, he 
 laughed a laugh of bitter self-contempt. 
 
 But the night was piercing cold ; and, in time, the 
 question arose whether the stench and closeness of a river- 
 side eating-house would not be more endurable than the 
 cutting wind, the sleet, and the sharper pangs of hunger. 
 
 His roaming had brought him once more to that quarter 
 of the town " best suited to the likes of him," according 
 to the innkeeper's opinion, and he found himself actually 
 seeking a house of entertainment in the slimy, ill-lighted 
 narrow street, when, from out the dimness, running 
 towards him, with bare feet paddling in the sludge, came 
 a slatternly girl, with unkempt wisps of red hair hanging 
 over her face under the tartan shawl. 
 
 "Run, run, Jack," she cried, hoarsely, as she passed 
 by breathless, " t' gang's comin' up. ..." 
 
 A sudden loathly fear seized Adrian by the heart. He 
 too, took to his heels by the side of the slut with all the 
 swiftness his tired frame could muster. 
 
 "I'm going to warn my Jo," she gasped, as, jostling 
 each other, they darted through a maze of nameless alleys. 
 
 And then as, spent with running, they emerged at last 
 into a broader street, it was to find themselves in the very 
 midst of another party of man-of-war's men, whose brass 
 belt-buckles glinted under the flickering light of the oil- 
 lamp swinging across the way. 
 
 Adrian stopped dead short and looked at the girl in 
 mute reproach. 
 
 " May God strike me dead," she screamed, clapping 
 her hands together, " if I knew the bloody thieves were 
 there ! Oh, my bonny lad, I meant to save ye ! " And 
 as her words rang in the air two sailors had Adrian by 
 the collar and a facetious bluejacket seized her round the 
 waist with hideous bantering. 
 
 A very young officer, wrapped up in a cloak, stood a 
 few paces apart calmly looking on. To him Adrian 
 called out in fierce, yet anguished, expostulation : 
 
 " I am a free and independent subject, sir, an English 
 gentleman. I demand that you order your men to release 
 me. For heaven's sake," he added, pleadingly, "give 
 me but a moment's private hearing 1 "
 
 THE PATH OF WASTED YEARS 'jj 
 
 A loud guffaw rang through the group. In truth, if 
 appearances make the gentleman, Adrian was then but a 
 sorry specimen. 
 
 The officer smiled — the insufferable smile of a conceited 
 boy raised to authority. 
 
 " I can have no possible doubt of your gentility, sir," 
 he said, with mocking politeness, and measuring, under 
 the glimmering light, first the prisoner, from head to foot, 
 and then the girl who, scratching and blaspheming, vainly 
 tried to make her escape ; " but, sir, as a free-born English 
 gentleman, it will be your duty to help his Majesty to 
 fight his French enemies. Take the English gentleman 
 along, my lads ! " 
 
 A roar of approbation at the officer's facetiousness ran 
 through the party. 
 
 "An' his mother's milk not dry upon his lips, " cried the 
 girl, with a crow of derisive fury, planting as she spoke a 
 sounding smack on a broad tanned face bent towards her. 
 The little officer grew pink. "Come, my men, do your 
 duty," he thundered, in his deepest bass. 
 
 A rage such as he never had felt in his life suddenly 
 filled Adrian's whole being. He was a bigger man than 
 any of the party, and the rough life that fate had imposed 
 on him, had fostered a strength of limb beyond the 
 common. A thrust of his knee prostrated one of his 
 captors, a blow in the eye from his elbow staggered the 
 other ; the next instant he had snatched away the cutlass 
 which a third was drawing, and with it he cleared, for a 
 moment, a space around him. 
 
 But as he would have bounded into freedom, a felling 
 blow descended on his head from behind, a sheet of flame 
 spread before his eyes, and behind this blaze disappeared 
 the last that Adrian Landale was to see of England for 
 another spell of years. 
 
 When he came back to his senses he was once more on 
 board ship — a slave, legally kidnapped ; degraded by full 
 and proper warrant from his legitimate status for no crime 
 that could even be invented against him ; a slave to be re- 
 tained for work or war at his master's pleasure, liable 
 like a slave to be flogged to death for daring to assert his 
 right of independence. 
 
 The memory of that night's doing and of the odious bond-
 
 78 ^THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 age to which it was a prelude, rarely failed to stir the gall 
 of resentment in Sir Adrian ; men of peaceable instincts 
 are perhaps the most prone to the feeling of indignation. 
 
 But, to-night, a change had come over the spirit of his 
 dreams ; he could think of that past simply as the past — 
 the period of time which would have had to be spent until 
 the advent of the wonder-working present : these decrees 
 of Fate had had a purpose. Had the past, by one jot, been 
 different, the events of this admirable day might never 
 have been. 
 
 The glowing edifice on the hearth collapsed with a 
 darting of sudden flame and a rolling of red cinders. Sir 
 Adrian rose to rebuild his fire for the night ; and, being 
 once roused, was tempted by the ruddiness of the wine, 
 glinting under the quiet rays of the lamp, to advance to 
 the table and partake of his forgotten supper. 
 
 The calm atmosphere, the warmth and quiet of the 
 room, in which he broke his bread and sipped his wine, 
 whilst old Jem stretched by the hearth gazed at him with 
 yellow up-turned eyes full of lazy inquiry concerning this 
 departure from the usual nightly regularity ; the serene 
 placidity of the scene indoors as contrasting with the 
 angry voices of elements without, answered to the peace — 
 the strange peace — that filled the man's soul, even in the 
 midst of such uncongenial memories as now rose up 
 before him in vivid concatenation. 
 
 She was then five years old. Where was she, when he 
 began that seemingly endless cruise with the frigate 
 Porcupine P He tried to fancy a C^cile five years old — a 
 chubby, curly-headed mite, nursing dolls and teasing 
 kittens, whilst he was bullied and browbeaten by coarse 
 petty officers, shunned and hated by his messmates, and 
 flogged at length by a tyrannizing captain for obduracy — 
 but he could only see a Ce'cile in the spring of woman- 
 hood, nestling in the arm-chair yonder by the fire and 
 looking up at him from the folds of a fur cloak. 
 
 She was seven years old when he was flogged. Ah, 
 God ! those had been days ! And yet, in the lofty soul 
 of him he had counted it no disgrace ; and he had 
 been flogged again, ay, and a third time for that obstinate 
 head that would not bend, that obstinate tongue that 
 would persist in demanding restitution of liberty. The 
 life on board the privateer had been a matter of bargain ;
 
 THE PATH OF WASTED YEARS 79 
 
 he had bartered also labour and obedience with the mer- 
 chantman for the passage home, but the king had no 
 right to compel the service of a free man I 
 
 She was but twelve years old when he was finally re- 
 leased from thraldom — it had only lasted four years after 
 all ; yet what a cycle for one of his temper ! Four years 
 with scarce a moment of solitude — for no shore-leave was 
 ever allowed to one who openly repudiated any service 
 contract : four years of a life, where the sole prospect 
 of change was in these engagements, orgies of carnage, 
 so eagerly anticipated by officers and men alike, including 
 himself, though for a reason little suspected by his com- 
 panions. But even the historic sea-fights of the Porcupine, 
 so far as they affected Adrian Landale, formed in them- 
 selves a chain of monotony. It was ever the same hurl- 
 ing of shot from ship to ship, the same fierce exchange of 
 cutlass-throws and pike-pushes between men who had 
 never seen each other before ; the same yelling and exe- 
 crations, sights, sounds, and smells ever the same in 
 horror ; the same cheers when the enemy's colours were 
 lowered, followed by the same transient depression ; the 
 cleansing of decks from stains of powder and mire of 
 human blood, the casting overboard of human bodies 
 that had done their life's work, broken waste and other 
 rubbish. For weeks Adrian after would taste blood, smell 
 blood, dream blood, till it seemed in his nausea that all 
 the waters of the wide clean seas could never wash the 
 taint from him again. And before the first horrid impres- 
 sions had time to fade, the next occasion would have 
 come round again : it was not the fate of Adrian Landale 
 that either steel or shot, or splintered timber or falling 
 tackles should put an end to his dreary life, welcome as 
 such an end would have been to him then. 
 
 Then . . . but not now. Remembering now his unac- 
 countable escape from the destruction which had swept 
 from his side many another whose eagerness for the fray 
 had certes not sprung, like his own, from a desire to court 
 destruction, he shuddered. And there arose in his mind 
 the trite old adage : 
 
 " Man proposeth . . . . " 
 
 God had disposed otherwise.
 
 8o THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 It was not destined that Adrian Landale should be shot 
 on the high seas any more than he should be drowned in 
 the rolling mud of the Vilaine — he was reserved for this 
 day as a set-off to all the bitterness that had been meted 
 out to him ; he was to see the image of his dead love rise 
 from the sea once more. And, meanwhile, his very de- 
 spair and sullenness had been turned to his good. It 
 would not be said, if history should take count of the fact, 
 that while the Lord of Pulwick had served four years 
 before the mast, he had ever disgraced his name by 
 cowardice 
 
 Whether such reasonings were in accordance even with 
 the most optimistic philosophy. Sir Adrian himself at other 
 times might have doubted. But he was tender in thought 
 this stormy night, with the grateful relaxation that a 
 happy break brings in the midst of long-drawn melancholy. 
 
 Everything had been working towards this end — that 
 he should be the light-keeper ofScarthey on the day when 
 out of the raging waters Cdcile would rise and knock and 
 ask for succour at his chamber. 
 
 Cecile ! pshaw ! — raving again. 
 
 Well, the child ! Where was she on the cay or the last 
 engagement of that pugnacious Porcupine, in the year 
 1805, when England was freed from her long incubus of 
 invasion ? She was then twelve. 
 
 It had seemed if nothing short of a wholesale disaster 
 could terminate that incongruous existence of his. 
 
 The last action of the frigate was a fruitless struggle 
 against fearful odds. After a prolonged fight with an 
 enemy as dauntless as herself, with two-thirds of her 
 ship's company laid low, and commanded at length by 
 the youngest lieutenant, she was tackled as the sun went 
 low over the scene of a drawn battle, by a fresh sail 
 errant ; and, had it not been for a timely dismasting on 
 board the new-comer, would have been captured or finally 
 sunk then and there. But that fate was only held in 
 reserve for her. Bleeding and disabled, she had drawn 
 away under cover of night from her two hard-hit adver- 
 saries, to encounter a squall that further dismantled her, 
 and, in such forlorn conditions, was met and finally con- 
 quered by the French privateer Espoir de Brest, that 
 pounced upon her in her agony as the vulture upon his 
 prey.
 
 THE PATH OF WASTED YEARS 8i 
 
 Among the remainder of the once formidable crew, now 
 seized and battened down under French hatches, was of 
 course Adrian Landale — he bore a charmed life. And for 
 a short while the only change probable in his prospects 
 was a return to French prisons, until such time as it 
 pleased Heaven to restore peace between the two nations. 
 
 But the fortune of war, especially at sea, is fickle and 
 fitful. 
 
 The daring brig, lettre de marque, LEspoir de Brest, 
 soon after her unwonted haul of English prisoners, was 
 overtaken herself by one of her own species, the St. 
 Nicholas of Liverpool, from whose swiftness nothing over 
 the sea, that had not wings, could hope to escape if she 
 chose to give the chase. 
 
 Again did Adrian, from the darkness among his fellow- 
 captives, hear the familiar roar and crash of cannon fight, 
 the hustling and the thud of leaping feet, the screams and 
 oaths of battle, and, finally, the triumphant shouts of 
 English throats, and he knew that the Frenchman was 
 boarded. A last ringing British cheer told of the French- 
 man's surrender, and when he and his comrades were 
 once more free to breathe a draught of living air, after 
 the deathly atmosphere under hatches, Adrian learned 
 that the victor was not a man-of-war, but a free-lance, and 
 conceived again a faint hope that deliverance might be 
 at hand. 
 
 It was soon after this action, last of the fights that 
 Adrian the peace-lover had to pass through, and as the 
 two swift vessels, now sailing in consort, and under the 
 same colours cleaved the waters, bound for the Mersey, 
 that a singular little drama took place on board the ^5- 
 poir de Brest. 
 
 Among the younger officers of the English privateer, 
 who were left in charge of the prize, was a lad upon whom 
 Adrian's jaded eyes rested with a feeling of mournful 
 sympathy, so handsome was he, and so young ; so full 
 of hope and spirits and joy of life, of all, in fact, of which 
 he himself had been left coldly bare. Moreover, the ririg 
 of the merry voice, the glint of the clear eye awakened in 
 his memory some fitful chord, the key of which he vainly 
 sought to trace. 
 
 One day, as the trim young lieutenant stood looking 
 across the waters, with, his brave eager gaze that seeraed, 
 6
 
 82 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 to have absorbed some of the blue-green shimmer of the 
 element he loved, all unnoting the haggard sailor at his 
 elbow, a sudden flourish of the spy-glass which he, vi^ith 
 an eager movement, swung up to bear on some distant 
 speck, sent his watch and seals flying out of his fob upon 
 the deck at Adrian's feet. 
 
 Adrian picked them up, and as he waited to restore 
 them to their owner, who tarried some time intent on his 
 distant peering, he had time to notice the coat and crest 
 engraved upon one of the massive trinkets hanging from 
 their black ribbons. 
 
 When at last the officer lowered his telescope, Adrian 
 came forward and saluted him with a slight bow, all un- 
 consciously as unlike the average Jack Tar's scrape to his 
 superior as can be well imagined : 
 
 "Am I not," he asked, "addressing in you, sir, one of 
 the Cochranes of the Shaws .<* " 
 
 The question and the tone from a common sailor were, 
 of course, enough to astonish the young man. But there 
 must be more than this, as Adrian surmised, to cause him 
 to blush, wax angry, and stammer like a very school-boy 
 found at fault. Speaking with much sharpness : 
 
 "My name is Smith, my man," cried he, seizing his 
 belongings, "and you — ^just carry on with that coiling ! " 
 
 "And my name, sir, is Adrian Landale, of Pulwick 
 Priory. I would like a moment's talk with you, if you 
 will spare me the time. The Cochranes of the Shaws have 
 been friends of our family for generations." 
 
 A guffaw burst from a group of Adrian's mates work- 
 ing hard by, at this recurrence of what had become with 
 them a standing joke ; but the officer, who had turned on 
 his heels, veered round immediately, and stood eyeing the 
 speaker in profound astonishment. 
 
 "Great God, is it possible ! Did you say you were a 
 Landale of Pulwick ? How the devil came you here then, 
 and thus ? " 
 
 "Press-gang," was Adrian's laconic answer. 
 
 The lad gave a prolonged whistle, and was lost for a 
 moment in cogitation. 
 
 "If you are really Mr. Landale," he began, adding 
 hastily, as if to cover an implied admission — "of course 
 I have heard the name : it is well known in Lancashire — 
 you had better see the skipper. It must have been some
 
 THE PATH OF WASTED YEARS 83 
 
 damnable mistake that has caused a man of your stand- 
 ing to be pressed." 
 
 The speaker ended with almost a deferential air and 
 the smile that had already warmed Adrian's heart. At 
 the door of the Captain's quarters he said, with the sus- 
 picion of a twinkle in his eye : 
 
 "A curious error it was you made, I assure you my 
 name is Smith — Jack Smith, of Liverpool." 
 
 "An excusable error," quoth Adrian, smiling back, 
 "for one of your seals bear unmistakably the arms of 
 Cochrane of the Shaws, doubtless some heirloom, some 
 inter-marriage." 
 
 "No, sir, hang it ! " retorted Mr. Jack Smith of Liver- 
 pool, his boyish face flushing again, and as he spoke he 
 disengaged the trinket from its neighbours, and jerked it 
 pettishly overboard, " I know nothing of your Shaws or 
 your Cochranes." 
 
 And then he rapped loudly at the cabin-door, as if 
 anxious to avoid further discussion or comment on the 
 subject. 
 
 The result of the interview which followed — interview 
 during which Adrian in a few words overcame the skip- 
 per's scepticism, and was bidden with all the curiosity 
 men feel at sea foT any novelty, to relate, over a bottle of 
 wine, the chain of his adventures — was his passing from 
 the forecastle to the officers' quarters, as an honoured 
 guest on board the S/. Nicholas, during the rest of her 
 cruise. 
 
 Thinking back now upon the last few weeks of his sea- 
 going life, Sir Adrian realised with something of wonder 
 that he had always dwelt on them without dislike. They 
 were gilded in his memory by the rays of his new friend- 
 ship. 
 
 And yet that this young Jack Smith (to keep for him 
 the nondescript name he had for unknown reasons chosen 
 to assume) should be the first man to awaken in the mis- 
 anthropic Adrian the charm of human intercourse, was 
 singular indeed ; one who followed from choice the odious 
 trade of legally chartered corsair, who was ever ready to 
 barter the chance of life and limb against what fortune 
 might bring in his path, to sacrifice human life to secure 
 his own end of enrichment. 
 
 Well, the springs of friendship are to be no more dis-
 
 84 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 cerned than those of love ; there was none of high or low 
 degree, with the exception of Rene, whose appearance at 
 any time was so welcome to the recluse upon his rock, as 
 that of the privateersman. 
 
 And so, turning to his friend in to-night's softened 
 mood, Sir Adrian thought gratefully that to him it was 
 that he owed deliverance from the slavery of the King's 
 service, that it was Jack Smith who had made it possible 
 for Adrian Landale to live to this great day and await its 
 coming in peace. 
 
 The old clock struck two ; and Jem shivered on the 
 rug as the light-keeper rose at length from the table and 
 sank in his armchair once more. 
 
 Visions of the past had been ever his companions ; 
 now for the first time came visions of the future to com- 
 mingle with them. As if caught up in the tide of his 
 visitor's bright young life, it seemed as though he were 
 passing at length out of the valley of the shadow of 
 death. 
 
 Rene, coming with noiseless bare feet, in the angry 
 yellow dawn of the second day of the storm, to keep an 
 eye on his master's comfort, found him sleeping in his 
 chair with a new look of rest upon his face and a smile 
 upon his lips.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 A GENEALOGICAL EPISTLE 
 
 .... and braided thereupon 
 All the devices blazoned on the shield, 
 In their own tinct, and added, of her wit, 
 A border fantasy of branch and flower. 
 
 Idylls of the King. 
 
 PuLWiCK Priory, the ancestral home of the Cumbrian 
 Landales, a dignified if not overpoweringly lordly man- 
 sion, rises almost on the ridge of the green slope which 
 connects the high land with the sandy strand of More- 
 cambe ; overlooking to the west the great brown breezy 
 bight, whilst on all other sides it is sheltered by its 
 wooded park. 
 
 When the air is clear, from the east window of Scarthey 
 keep, the tall garden front of greystone is visible, in the 
 extreme distance, against the darker screen of foliage ; 
 whitely glinting if the sun is high ; golden or rosy at the 
 end of day. 
 
 As its name implies, Pulwick Priory stands on the site 
 of an extinct religious house ; its oldest walls, in fact, 
 were built from the spoils of once sacred masonry. It is 
 a house of solid if not regular proportions, full of un- 
 expected quaintness ; showing a medley of distinct styles, 
 in and out ; it has a wide portico in the best approved 
 neo-classic taste, leading to romantic oaken stairs ; here 
 wide cheerful rooms and airy corridors, there sombre 
 vaulted basements and mysterious unforeseen nooks. 
 
 On the whole, however, it is a harmonious pile of build- 
 ings, though gathering its character from many different 
 centuries, for it has been mellowed by time, under a hard 
 climate. And it was, in the days of the pride of the 
 Landales, a most meet dwelling-place for that ancient 
 race, insomuch as the history of so many of their ances- 
 tors was written successively upon stone and mortar, 
 
 85
 
 86 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 brick and tile, as well as upon carved oak, canvas-decked 
 vi^alls, and emblazoned windows. 
 
 Exactly one week before the disaster, which was sup- 
 posed to have befallen Mademoiselle Molly de Savenaye 
 on Scarthey sands, the acting Lord of Pulwick, if one 
 may so term Mr. Rupert Landale, had received a letter, 
 the first reading of which caused him a vivid annoyance, 
 followed by profound reflection. 
 
 A slightly-built, dark-visaged man, this younger brother 
 of Sir Adrian, and vicarious master of his house and 
 lands ; like to the recluse in his exquisite neatness of 
 attire, somewhat like also in the mould of his features, 
 which were, however, more notably handsome than Sir 
 Adrian's ; but most unlike him, in an emphasised arti- 
 ficiality of manner, in a restless and wary eye, and in 
 the curious twist of a thin lip which seemed to give hid- 
 den sarcastic meaning even to the most ordinary 
 remark. 
 
 As now he sat by his desk, his straight brows drawn 
 over his amber-coloured eyes, perusing the closely writ- 
 ten sheets of this troublesome missive, there entered to 
 him the long plaintive figure of his maiden sister, who 
 had held house for him, under his own minute directions, 
 ever since the death in premature child-birth of his young 
 year-wed wife. 
 
 Miss Landale, the eldest of the family, had had a dis- 
 appointment in her youth, as a result of which she now 
 played the ungrateful role of old maid of the family. She 
 suffered from chronic toothache, as well as from repressed 
 romantic aspirations, and was the anie damnee of Rupert. 
 One of the most melancholy of human beings, she was 
 tersely characterised by the village folk as a '■'wummicky 
 poor thing." 
 
 At the sight of Mr. Landale's weighted brow she 
 propped up her own long sallow face, upon its aching 
 side, with a trembling hand, and, full of agonised pre- 
 science, ventured to ask if anything had happened. 
 
 "Sit down," said her brother, with a sort of snarl — He 
 possessed an extremely irritable temper under his cooL 
 sarcastic exterior, a temper which his peculiar anoma- 
 lous circumstances, whilst they combined to excite it, 
 forced him to conceal rigidly from most, and it was a
 
 A GENEALOGICAL EPISTLE 87 
 
 relief to him to let it out occasionally upon Sophia's meek, 
 ringleted head. 
 
 Sophia collapsed with hasty obedience into a chair, 
 and then Mr. Landale handed to her the thin fluttering 
 sheets, voluminously crossed and re-crossed with fine 
 Italian handwriting : 
 
 "From Tanty," ejaculated Miss Sophia, "Oh my dear 
 Rupert ! " 
 
 "Read it," said Rupert peremptorily. "Read it 
 aloud." 
 
 And throwing himself back upon his chair, he shaded 
 his mouth with one flexible thin hand, and prepared him- 
 self to listen. 
 
 "Camden Place, Bath, October 29th," read the maiden 
 lady in those plaintive tones, which seemed to send out 
 all speech upon the breath of a sigh. " My Dear Rupert, 
 — You will doubtless be astonished, but your invariably 
 affectionate Behaviour towards myself inclines me to 
 believe that you will also be pleased to hear, from these 
 few lines, that very shortly after their receipt — if indeed 
 not before — you may expect to see me arrive at Pulwick 
 Priory." 
 
 Miss Landale put down the letter, and gazed at her 
 brother through vacant mists of astonishment. 
 
 " Why, I thought Tanty said she would not put foot in 
 Pulwick again till Adrian returned home." 
 
 Rupert measured the innocent elderly countenance 
 with a dark look. He had sundry excellent reasons, 
 other than mere family affection, for remaining on good 
 terms with his rich Irish aunt, but he had likewise rea- 
 sons, these less obvious, for wishing to pay his devoirs 
 to her anywhere but under the roof of which he was 
 nominal master. 
 
 "She has found it convenient to change her mind," 
 he said, with his twisting lip. " Constancy in your sex, 
 my dear, is merely a matter of convenience — or oppor- 
 tunity." 
 
 "Oh Rupert!" moaned Sophia, clasping the locket 
 which contained her dead lover's hair with a gesture with 
 which all who knew her were very familiar. Mr. Landale 
 never could resist a thrust at the faithful foolish bosom 
 always ready to bleed under his stabs, yet never resent- 
 ing them. Inexplicable vagary of the feminine heart !
 
 88 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 Miss Sophia worshipped before the shrine of her younger 
 brother, to the absolute exclusion of any sentiment for 
 the elder, whose generosity and kindness to her were yet 
 as great as was Rupert's tyranny. 
 
 "Go on," said the latter, alternately smiling at his 
 nails and biting them, '' Tanty O'Donoghue observes that 
 I shall be surprised to hear that she will arrive very 
 shortly after this letter, if not before it. Poor old Tanty, 
 there can be no mistake about her nationality. Have the 
 kindness to read straiglit on, Sophia. I don't want to 
 hear any more of your interesting comments. And don't 
 stop till you have finished, no matter how amazed you 
 
 It 
 
 are. 
 
 Again he composed himself to listen, while his sister 
 plunged at the letter, and, after several false starts, found 
 her place and proceeded : 
 
 "Since, owing to his most tcn/ortunaie peculiarity of 
 Temperament and consequent strange choice of abode, I 
 cannot apply to my nephew Adrian, a qui de droit (as 
 Head of the House) I must needs address myself to you, 
 my dear Rupert, to request hospitality for myself and the 
 two young Ladies now under my Charge." 
 
 The letter wavered in Miss Sophia's hand and an ex- 
 clamation hung upon her lip, but a sudden movement of 
 Rupert's exquisite crossed legs recalled her to her task. 
 
 "These young ladies are Mesdemoiselles de Save?iaye, 
 and the daughters of Madame la Comtesse de Savenaye, 
 who was my sister Mary's child. She and I, and Alice 
 your mother, were sister co-heiresses as you know, and 
 therefore these young ladies are 7fiy grand-nieces and 
 your own cousins once removed. Of Cdcile de Savenaye, 
 her strange adventures and ultimate sad Fate in which 
 your own brother was implicated, you cannot but have 
 heard, but you may probably have forgotten even to the 
 very existence of these charming young women, who were 
 nevertheless born at Puhvick, and whom you must at 
 some time or other have beheld as infants during your 
 excelle?it and lamented father's lifetime. They are, as you 
 are doubtless also unaware — for I have remarked a grow- 
 ing Tendency in the younger generations to neglect the 
 study of Genealogy, even as it affects their own Families 
 — as well born on the father's side as upon the maternal. 
 M. de Savenaye bore argent a la fasce-canton d'hermitie.
 
 A GENEALOGICAL EPISTLE 89 
 
 with an augmentation 0/ the fleurs de lis d'or, cleft in twain 
 for his ancestor's memorable deed at the siege of Dinan." 
 
 "There is Tante O'Donog-hue fully displayed, haut 
 volante as she might say herself," here interrupted Mr. 
 Landale with a laugh. "Always the same, evidently. 
 The first thing I remember about her is her lecturing me 
 on genealogy and heraldry, when I wanted to go fishing, 
 till, school-boy rampant as I was, I heartily wished her 
 impaled and debruised on her own Donoghue herse 
 proper. For God's sake, Sophia, do not expect me to 
 explain ! Go on. " 
 
 " He was entitled to eighteen quarters, and related to 
 such as Coucy and Armagnac and Tavannes," proceeded 
 Miss Sophia, controlling her bewilderment as best she 
 might, "also to Gwynne of Llanadoc in this kingdom — 
 Honours to which Mesdemoiselles de Savenaye, being 
 sole heiresses both of Kermelegan and Savenaye, not to' 
 speak of their own mother's share of O'Donoghue, which 
 now-a-days is of greater substance — are personally en- 
 titled. 
 
 " If I am the sole Relative they have left in these 
 Realms, Adrian and you are the next. I have had the 
 charge of my two young Kinswomen during the last six 
 months, that is since they left the Convent des Dames 
 Anglaises in Jersey. 
 
 " Now, I think it is time that your Branch of the Fam- 
 ily should incur the share of the responsibility your 
 relationship to them entails. 
 
 " If Adrian were as and where he should be, I feel sure 
 he would embrace this opportunity of doing his duty as 
 the Head of the House without the smallest hesitation, 
 and I have no doubt that he would offer the hospitality of 
 Pulwick Priory and his Protection to these amiable young 
 persons for as long as they remain unmarried. 
 
 "From you, my dear Nephew, who have undertaken 
 under these melancholy family circumstances to fill your 
 Brother's place, I do not, however, expect so much ; all 
 I ask is that you and my niece Sophia be kind enough to 
 shelter and entertain your cousins for the space of two 
 months, while I remain at Bath for the benefit of my 
 Health. 
 
 " At my age (for it is of no use, nephew, for us to deny 
 our years when any Peerage guide must reveal them
 
 90 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 pretty closely to the curious), and I am this month pass- 
 in<^^ sixty-nine, at my age the charge of two high-spirited 
 young Females, in whom conventual education has failed 
 to subdue Aspirations for worldly happiness whilst it has 
 left them somewhat inexperienced in the Conventions of 
 Society, I find a liille tryitig. It does not harmonise with 
 the retired, peaceful existence to which I am accustomed 
 (and at my time of life, I think, entitled), in which it is 
 my humble endeavour to wean myself from this earth 
 which is so full of Emptiness and to prepare myself for 
 that other and better Home into which we must all resign 
 ouselves to enter. And happy, indeed, my dear Rupert, 
 such of us as will be found worthy ; for come to it we all 
 must, and the longer we live, the sooner we may expect 
 to do so. 
 
 "The necessity of producing them in Society, is, how- 
 ever, rendered a matter of greater responsibility by the 
 fact of the Jiandsome Fortunes which these young 
 creatures possess already, not to speak of their expec- 
 tations." 
 
 Rupert, who had been listening to his aunt's letter, 
 through the intermediary of Miss Sophia's depressing 
 sing-song, with an abstracted air, here lifted up his head, 
 and commanded the reader to repeat this last passage. 
 She did so, and paused, awaiting his further pleasure, 
 while he threw his handsome head back upon his chair, 
 and closed his eyes as if lost in calculations. 
 
 At length he waved his hand, and Miss Sophia pro- 
 ceeded after the usual floundering : 
 
 "A neighbour of mine at Bunratty, Mrs. Hambledon of 
 Brianstown, a lively widow (herself one of the Macnamaras 
 of the Reeks, and thus a distant connection of the 
 Ballinasloe branch of O'Donoghues), and whom I had 
 reason to believe I could trust — but I will not anticipate 
 — took a prodigious fancy to Miss Molly and proposed, 
 towards the beginning of the Autumn, carrying her away 
 to Dublin. At the same time the wet summer, producing 
 in me an acute recurrence of that Affection from which, 
 as you know, I suffer, and about which you never /ail io 
 make such kind Enquiries at Christmas and Easter, com- 
 pelled me to call in Mr. O'Mally, the apothecary, who 
 has been my very obliging medical adviser for so many 
 years, and who strenuously advocated an immediate
 
 A GENEALOGICAL EPISTLE 91 
 
 course of waters at Bath. In short, my dear Nephew, 
 thus the matter was settled, your cousin Molly departed 
 radiant with good spirits, and good looks for a spell of 
 gayety in Dublin, while your cousin Madeleine, prepared 
 (with equal content) to accompany her old aunt to Bath. 
 It being arranged with Mrs. Hambledon that she should 
 herself conduct Molly to us later on. 
 
 " We have been here about three weeks. Though per- 
 suaded by good Mr. O'Mally that the waters would ben- 
 efit my old bones, I was actuated, I must confess, by 
 another motive in seeking this Fashionable Resort. In 
 such a place as this, thronged as it is by all the Rank and 
 Family of England, one can at least know who is who, 
 and I was not without hopes that my nieces, with their 
 faces, their name, and their fortunes, would have the 
 opportunity of contracting suitable Alliances, and thus 
 relieve me of a charge for which I am, I fear, little fitted. 
 
 "But, alas ! my dear Rupert, I was most woefully mis- 
 taken. Bath is distinctly not the place for two beautiful 
 and unsophisticated Heiresses, and I am certainly neither 
 possessed of the Spirits, nor of the Health to guard them 
 from fortune-hunters and needy nameless Adventurers. 
 While it is my desire to impress upon you, and my niece 
 Sophia, that the conduct of these young ladies has been 
 quite beyond reproach, I will not conceal from you that 
 the attentions of a certain person, of the name of Smith, 
 known here, and a favorite in the circles of frivolity and 
 fashion as Captaiti Jack, have already made Madeleine 
 conspicuous, and although the dear girl conducts herself 
 with the utmost propriety, there is an air of Romance 
 and mystery about the Young Man, not to speak of his 
 unmistakable good looks, which have determined me to 
 remove her from his vicinity before her Affections be 
 irreparably engaged. As for Molly, v>'ho is a thorough 
 O'Donoghue and the image of her grandmother, that 
 celebrated Murthering Moll (herself the toast of Bath in 
 our young days), whose elopement with the Marquis 
 de Kermelegan, after he had killed an English rival in 
 a duel, was once a nine-days' wonder in this very town, 
 and of whom you must have heard, Mrs. Hambledon 
 restored her to my care only three days ago, and she 
 has already twenty Beaux to her String, though favour- 
 ing nobody, I am bound to say, but her own amuse-
 
 92 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 ment. Yesterday she departed under Mrs. Hambledon's 
 chaperonage, in the Company of a dozen of the highest 
 in rank here, on an expedition to Clifton ; the while my 
 demure Madeleine spends the day at the house of her 
 dear friend Lady Maria Harewood, whither, I only learnt 
 upon her return at ten o'clock under his escort, Captain 
 Jack — in my days that sort of captain would have been 
 strongly suspected, of having a shade too much of the 
 Heath or the London Road about him — had likewise been 
 convened. It was long after midnight when, with a 
 great tow-row, a coach full of very merry company 
 (amongst whom the widow Hambledon struck me as 
 over-merry, perhaps) landed my other Miss sur le perron. 
 
 "This has decided me. We shall decamp saws tam- 
 bour ni trompette. To-morrow, without allowing discus- 
 sion from the girls (in which I should probably be 
 worsted), we pack ourselves into my travelling coach, 
 and find our Way to you. But, until we are fairly on 
 the Road, I shall not even let these ladies know whither 
 we are bound. 
 
 "With your kind permission, then, I shall remain a 
 few days at Pulwick, to recruit from the fatigues of 
 such a long Journey, before leaving your fair cousins 
 in your charge, and in that of the gentle Sophia (whom 
 I trust to entertain them with something besides her 
 usual melancholy), till the time comes for me to bring 
 them back with me to Bunratty. 
 
 "Unless, therefore, you should hear to the contrary, 
 
 you will know that on Tuesday your three unprotected 
 
 female relatives will be hoping to see your travelling 
 
 carriage arrive to fetch them at the Crown in Lancaster. 
 
 " Your Affectionate Aunt, 
 
 "Rose O'Donoghue." 
 
 As Miss Landale sighed forth the concluding words, 
 she dropped the little folio on her lap, and looked at her 
 brother with a world of apprehension in her faded eyes. 
 
 "Oh, Rupert, what shall we do.'" 
 
 "Do," said Mr. Landale. quickly turning on her, out 
 of his absorption, ' ' you will kindly see that suitable rooms 
 are prepared for your aunt and cousins, and you will en- 
 deavour, if you please, to show these ladies a cheerful 
 countenance, as your aunt requests."
 
 A GENEALOGICAL EPISTLE 93 
 
 (( ' 
 
 The oak and the chintz rooms, I suppose," Sophia 
 timidly suggested. " Tanty used to say she liked the 
 aspect, and I daresay the young ladies will find it pleas- 
 ant to look out on the garden." 
 
 "Ay," returned Rupert, absently. He had risen from 
 his seat, and fallen to pacing the room. Presently a short 
 laugh broke from him. " Tolerably cool, I must say," he 
 remarked, "tolerably cool. It seems to be a tradition 
 with that Savenaye family, when in difficulties, to go to 
 Pulwick." 
 
 Miss Landale looked up with relief. Perhaps Rupert 
 would think better of it, and make up his mind to elude 
 receiving the unwelcome visitors after all. But his next 
 speech dashed her budding hopes. 
 
 "Ay, as in the days of their mother before them, when 
 she came here to lay her eggs, like a cuckoo in another 
 bird's nest — I wish they had been addled, I do indeed — 
 we may expect to have the whole place turned topsy-turvy, 
 I suppose. It is a pretty assortment, faith (asTanty says 
 herself) ; an old papist, and two young ones, fresh from a 
 convent school — and of these, one a hoyden, and the other 
 lovesick ! Faugh ! Sophia you will have to keep your 
 eyes open when the old lady is gone. I'll have no un- 
 seemly pranks in this house." 
 
 "Oh, Rupert," with a moan of maidenly horror, and 
 conscious incompetence. 
 
 "Stop that," cried the brother, with a contained inten- 
 sity of exasperation, at which the poor lady jumped and 
 trembled as if she had been struck, "All your whining 
 won't improve matters. Now listen to me," sitting down 
 beside her, and speaking slowly and impressively, " you 
 are to make our relatives feel welcome, do you under- 
 stand ? Everything is to be of the best. Get out the em- 
 broidered sheets, and see that there are flowers in the 
 rooms. Tell the cook to keep back that haunch of venison, 
 the girls won't like it, but the old lady knows a good thing 
 when she gets it — let there be lots of sweet things for the 
 young ones too, I shall be giving some silver out this 
 afternoon. I leave it to you to see that it is properly 
 cleaned. What are you mumbling about to yourself? 
 Write it down if you can't remember, and now go, go — 
 I am busy."
 
 PART II 
 
 '*MURTHERING MOLL THE SECOND" 
 
 Then did the blood awaken in the veins 
 
 0/ the young maiden wandering in the fields. 
 
 Luteplayer's Song.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 THE THRESHOLD OF WOMANHOOD 
 
 Onward floweth the water, onward through meadows broad, 
 •* How happy," the meadows say, " art thou to be rippling onward." 
 " And my heart is beating, beating beneath my girdle here ; '' 
 " O Heart," the girdle saith, " how happy art thou that thou beatest." 
 
 Luteplayer^s Song. 
 
 Dublin, October i^/h, 1814. — This day do I, Molly de 
 Savenaye, begin my diary. 
 
 Madeleine writes to me from Bath that she has pur- 
 chased a very fine book, in which she intends to set forth 
 each evening all that has happened her since the morn- 
 ing- ; she advises me to do so too. She says that since 
 real life has begun for us ; life, of which every succeeding 
 day is not, as in the convent, the repetition of the previous 
 day, but brings some new discovery, pleasure, or pain, 
 we ought to write down and preserve their remembrance. 
 
 It will be so interesting for us to read when a new life 
 once more begins for us, and we are married. Besides it 
 is WiQ fashion, and all the young ladies she knows do it. 
 And she has, she says, already plenty to write down. 
 Now I should like to know what about. 
 
 When ought one to start such a record .'' Surely not on 
 a day like this. 
 
 " Why </e;;zwe" (as Mrs. Hambledon's nephew says), 
 " what the deyvil have I got to say } " 
 
 Item : I went out shopping this morning with Mrs. 
 Hambledon, and, bearing Madeleine's advice in mind, 
 purchased at Kelly's, in Sackville Street, an album book, 
 bound in green morocco, with clasp and lock, which Mr. 
 Kelly protests is quite secure. 
 
 Item.: We met Captain Segrave of the Royal Dragoons 
 (who was so attentive to me at Lady Rigtoun's rout, two 
 days ago). He looked very well on his charger, but how 
 conceited ! When he saw me, he rolled his eyes and 
 
 97
 
 98 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 grew quite red ; and then he stuck his spurs into his 
 horse, that we might admire how he could sit it ; which 
 he did, indeed, to perfection. 
 
 Mrs. Hambledon looked vastly knowing, and I laughed. 
 If ever I try to fancy myself married to such a man 1 can- 
 not help laughing. 
 
 This, however, is not diary. — lieyji : We returned home 
 because it began to rain, and to pass the time, here am I 
 at my book. 
 
 But is this the sort of thing that will be of interest to 
 read hereafter? I have begun too late ; I should have 
 written in those days when I saw the dull walls of our 
 convent prison for the last time. It seems so far back 
 now (though, by the calendar it is hardly six months), 
 that I cannot quite recall how it felt to live in prison. 
 And yet it was not unhappy, and there was no horror in 
 the thought we both had sometimes then, that we should 
 pass and end our lives in the cage. It did not strike us 
 as hard. It seemed, indeed, in the nature of things. But 
 the bare thought of returning to that existence now, to 
 resume the placid daily task, to fold up again like a plant 
 that has once expanded to sun and breeze, to have never 
 a change of scene, of impression, to look forward to noth- 
 ing but suhrnission, sleep, and death ; oh, it makes me 
 turn cold all over ! 
 
 And yet there are women who, of their own will, give 
 up \\iQ freedom of (he world to enter a convent a/ter they 
 have tasted life ! Oh, I would rather be the poorest, the 
 ugliest peasant hag, toiling for daily bread, than one of 
 these cold cloistered souls, so that the free air of heaven, 
 be it with the winds or the rain, might beat upon me, so 
 that I might live and love as I like, do right as 1 like ; ay, 
 and do wrong if I liked, with the free will which is my 
 cwn. 
 
 We were told that the outer world, with all its sorrows 
 and trials, and dangers — how I remember the Reverend 
 Mother's words and face, and how they impressed me 
 then, and how I should laugh at them, now I — that the 
 world was but a valley of tears. We were warned that 
 all that awaited us, if we left the fold, was misery ; that 
 the joys of this world were hitter to the taste, its pleasures 
 hollow, and its griefs lasting. 
 
 We believed it. And yet, when the choice was actually
 
 THE THRESHOLD OF WOMANHOOD 99 
 
 ours to make, we chose all we had been taught to dread 
 and despise. Why ? I wonder. For the same reason as 
 Eve ate the apple, I suppose. I would, if I had been Eve. 
 I almost wish I could go back now, for a day, to the cool 
 white rooms, to see the nuns flitting about like black and 
 white ghosts, with only a jingle of beads to warn.one of 
 their coming, see the blue sky through the great bare 
 windows, and the shadows of the trees lengthening on the 
 cold flagged floors, hear the bells going ding-dong, ding- 
 dong, and the murmur of the sea in the distance, and the 
 drone of the school, and the drone of the chapel, to go 
 back, and feel once more the dull sort of content, the 
 calmness, the rest ! 
 
 But no, no ! I should be trembling all the while lest 
 the blessed doors leading back to that horrible world 
 should never open to me again. 
 
 The sorrows and trials of the world ! I suppose the 
 Reverend Mother really meant it ; and if I had gone on 
 living there till my face was w^rinkled like hers, poor 
 woman, I might have thought so too, in the end, and 
 talked the same nonsense. 
 
 Was it really I that endured such a life for seventeen 
 years ? O God ! I wonder that the sight of the swallows 
 coming and going, the sound of the free waves, did not 
 drive me mad. Twist as I will my memory, I cannot 
 recall /^a/ Molly of six months ago, whose hours and days 
 passed and dropped all alike, all lifeless, just like the slow 
 tac, tac, tac of our great horloge in the Refectory, and 
 were to go on as slow and as alike, for ever and ever, till 
 she was old, dried, wrinkled, and then died. The real 
 Molly de Savenaye's life began on the April morning 
 when that dear old turbaned fairy godmother of ours car- 
 ried us, poor little Cinderellas, away in her coach. Well 
 do I remember my birthday. 
 
 I have read since in one of those musty books of 
 Bunratty, that moths and hutttrflies come to life by shak- 
 ing themselves out, one tine day, from a dull-looking, 
 shapeless, ugly thing they call a grub, in which they have 
 been buried for a long time. They unfold their wings 
 and fly out in the sunshine, and flit from flower to flower, 
 and they look beautiful and happy — the world, the wicked 
 world, is open to them. 
 
 There were pictures in the book ; the ugly grub below.
 
 loo THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 dreary and brown, and the lovely buUerfly in all its colours 
 above, I showed them to Madeleine, and said: "Look, 
 Madeleine, as we were, and as we are." 
 
 And she said : "Yes, those brown gowns they made 
 us wear were ugly ; but I should not like to put on any- 
 thing so bright as red and yellow. Would you ? " 
 
 That is the worst of Madeleine ; she never realises in 
 the least what I mean. And she does love her clothes ; 
 that is the difference between her and me, she loves fine 
 things because they are fine and dainty and all that — I 
 like them because they make me fine. 
 
 And yet, how she did weep when she left the convent. 
 Madeleine would have made a good nun after all ; she 
 does so hate anything ugly or coarse. She grows quite 
 white if she hears people fighting ; if there is a " row " or 
 a "shindy," as they say here. Whereas Tanty and I 
 think it all the fun in the world, and would enjoy joining 
 in the fray ourselves, I believe, if we dared. 1 know / 
 should ; it sets my blood tingling. But Madeleine is a 
 real princess, a sort of Ermine ; and yet she enjoys her 
 new life, too, the beauty of it, the refinement, being waited 
 upon and delicately fed and clothed. But although she 
 has ceased to weep for the convent, if it had npt been for 
 me she would be there still. The only thing," I believe, 
 that could make me weep now would be to find one fine 
 morning that this had only been a dream, and that I was 
 once more the grub ! To find that I could not open my 
 window and look into the wide, wide world over to the 
 long, green hills in the distance, and know that I could 
 wander or gallop up to them, as I did at Bunratty, and 
 see for myself what lies beyond — surely that was a taste 
 of heaven that day when Tanty Rose first allowed me to 
 mount her old pony, and I flew over the turf with the 
 wind whistling in my ears — to find that I could not go 
 out when I pleased and hear new voices and see new 
 faces, and men and women -who live each their own life, and 
 not the same life as mme. 
 
 When I think of what I am now, and what I might 
 have remained, I breathe deep and feel like singing ; I 
 stretch my arms out and feel like flying. 
 
 Our aunt told us she thought Bunratty would be dull 
 for us, and so it was in comparison with this place. 
 Perhaps this is dull in comparison with what may come.
 
 THE THRESHOLD OF WOMANHOOD loi 
 
 For good Tanty, as she likes us to call her, is intent on 
 doing great things for us. 
 
 "Je vous marierai," she tells us in her funny old 
 French, *' Je vous marierai bien, mes falles, si vous etes 
 sages," and she winks both eyes. 
 
 Marriage I That, it is quite evident, is the goal of every 
 properly constituted young female ; and every respect- 
 able person who has the care of said young female is 
 consequently bent upon her reaching that goal. 
 
 So marriage is another good thing to look forward to. 
 And love, that love all the verses, all the books one reads 
 are so full of ; that will come to us. 
 
 They say that love is life. Well, all I want is to live. 
 But with a grey past such as we have had, the present is 
 good enough to ponder upon. We now can lie abed if 
 we have sweet dreams and pursue them waking, and be 
 lazy, yet not be troubled with the self-indulgence as with 
 an enormity ; or we can rise and breathe the sunshine 
 at our own time. We can be frivolous, and yet meet with 
 smiles in response, dress our hair and persons, and be 
 pleased with ourselves, and with being admired or envied, 
 yet not be told horrid things about death and corruption 
 and skeletons. And, above all — oh, above all, we can 
 think of the future as different from the past, as changing, 
 be it even for the worse ; as unknown and fascinating, 
 not as a repetition, until death, of the same dreary 
 round. 
 
 In Mrs. Hambledon's parlour here are huge glasses at 
 either end ; whenever you look into them you see a 
 never-ending chain of rooms with yourself standing in 
 the middle, vanishing in the distance, every one the same, 
 with the same person in the middle, only a little smaller, 
 a little more insignificant, a little darker, till it all be- 
 comes nothing. It always reminds me of life's prospects 
 in the convent. 
 
 I dislike that room. When I told Mrs. Hambledon the 
 reason why, she laughed, and promised me that, with 
 my looks and disposition, my life would be eventful 
 enough. I have every mind that it shall. 
 
 October \Zth. — Yesterday, I woke up in an amazing state 
 of happiness, though for no particular reason that I can 
 think of. It could not be simply because we were to go
 
 I02 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 out for a visit to the country and see new people and 
 places, for I have already learned to find that most new 
 people are cut out on the same pattern as those one 
 already knows. It must have been rather because I 
 awoke under the impression of one of my lovely dreams 
 — such dreams as I have only had since I left my grub 
 state ; dreams of space, air, long, long views of beautiful 
 scenery, always changing, always wider, such as swallows 
 flying between sky and earth might see, under an ex- 
 quisite and brilliant light, till for very joy I wake up, my 
 cheeks covered with tears. 
 
 This time, I was sitting on the prow of some vessel 
 with lofty white sails, and it was cutting through the 
 water, blue as the sky, with wreaths of snow-like foam, 
 towards some unknown shores, ever faster and faster, and 
 I was singing to some one next to me on the prow — some 
 one I did not know, but who felt with me — singing a song 
 so perfect, so sweet (though it had no human words) that 
 I thought it €xplai7ied all : the blue of the heaven, the 
 freshness of the breeze, the fragrance of the earth, and 
 why we were so eagerly pressing onwards. I thought 
 the melody was such that when once heard it could never 
 be forgotten. When I woke it still rang in my ears, but 
 now I can no more recall it. How is it we never know 
 such delight in waking hours ? Is that some of the joy we 
 are to feel in Heaven, the music we are to hear .'' And yet 
 it can be heard in this life if one only knew where to go 
 and listen. And this life is beautiful which lies in front 
 of us, though they would speak of it as a sorrowful span 
 not to be reckoned. It is good to be young and think of 
 the life still to come. Every moment is precious for its 
 enjoyment, and yet sometimes I find that one only knows 
 of a pleasure when it is just gone. One ought to try and 
 be more awake at each hour to the happiness it may 
 bring. I shall try, and you, my diary, shall help me. 
 
 This is really tio diary-keeping. It is not a bit like 
 those one reads in books. It ought to tell of other people 
 and the events of each day. But other people are really 
 very uninteresting; as for events, well, so far, they are 
 uninteresting too ; it is only what they cause to spring 
 up in our hearts that is worth thinking upon ; and that is 
 so difficult to put in words that mostly I spend my time 
 merely pondering and not writing.
 
 THE THRESHOLD OF WOMANHOOD 103 
 
 Last night Mrs. Hambledon took me to the play. It 
 was for the first time in my life, and I was full of curiosity. 
 It was a long drama, pretty enough and sometimes very 
 exciting. But I could see that though the actress was 
 very handsome and mostly so unhappy as to draw tears 
 from the spectators, there were people, especially some 
 gentlemen, who were more interested in looking at the 
 box where I sat with Mrs. Hambledon. Indeed, I could 
 not pretend, when I found myself before my glass that 
 night, that I was not amazingly prettier than that Mrs. 
 Colebrook, about whose beauty the whole town goes mad. 
 
 When I recalled the hero's ravings about his Matilda's 
 eyes and cheeks, and her foot and her sylph-like waist, 
 and her raven hair, I wondered what that young man 
 would say of me if he were my lover and I his persecuted 
 mistress. The Matilda was a pleasing person enough ; 
 but if I take her point by point, it would be absurd to 
 speak of her charms in the same breath with mine. Oh, 
 my dear Molly, how beautiful I thought you last night ! 
 How happy I should be, were I a dashing young lover and 
 eyes Ukejyours smiled on me. I never before thought 
 myself prettier than Madeleine, but now I do. 
 
 Lovers, love, mistress, bride ; they talked of nothing 
 else in the play. And it was all ecstasy in their words, 
 and nothing but misery in fact (j'^st as the Reverend 
 Mother would have had it). 
 
 The young man who played the hero was a very fine 
 fellow ; and yet when I conceive him making love to me 
 as he did last night to Mrs. Colebrook, the notion seems 
 really too ludicrous ! 
 
 What sort of man then is it I would allow to love me? 
 I do not mind the thought of lovers sighing and burning 
 for me (as some do now indeed, or pretend to) I like to 
 feel that I can crush them with a frown and revive them 
 with a smile ; I like to see them fighting for my favour. 
 But to give a man the right to love me, the right to my 
 smiles, the right to me! Indeed, I have yet seen none 
 who could make me bear the thought. 
 
 And yet I think that I could love, and I know that 
 the man that I am to love must be living somewhere 
 till fate brings him to me. He does not think of me. He 
 does not know of me. And neither of us, I suppose, will 
 taste life as life is till the day when we meet
 
 I04 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 Camden Place, Bath, November is/. — Bath at last, which 
 must please poor Mrs. Hambledon exceeding-ly, for she 
 certainly did no/ enjoy the transit. I cannot conceive 
 how people can allow themselves to be so utterly dis- 
 traught by illness. I feel I can never have any respect 
 for her again ; she moaned and lamented in such 
 cowardly fashion, was so peevish all the time on board 
 the vessel, and looked so very begrimed and untidy and 
 p/ai'n when she was carried out on Bristol quay. The 
 captain called it dtr/j/ weather, but I thought it lovely, 
 and I don't think I ever enjoyed myself more — except 
 when Captain Segrave's Black Douglas ran away with me 
 in Phoenix Park. 
 
 It was beautiful to see our brave boat plough the sea 
 and quiver with anger, as if it were a living thing, when 
 it was checked by some great green wave, then gather 
 itself again under the wind and dash on to the fight, until 
 it conquered. And when we came into the river and the 
 sun shone once more it glided on swiftly, though looking 
 just a little tired for a while until its decks and sails were 
 dry and clean again, and I thought it was just like a bird 
 that has shaken and plumed itself. I was sorry to leave 
 it. The captain and the mate and the sailors, who had 
 wrapped me up in their great, stiff tarpaulin coats and 
 placed me in a safe corner where I could sit out and look, 
 were also sorry that I should go. 
 
 But it was good to be with Madeleine again and Tanty 
 Donoghue, who always has such a kind smile on her old 
 wrinkled face when she looks at me. 
 
 Madeleine was astonished when I told her I had loved 
 the storm at sea and when I mimicked poor Mrs. Ham- 
 bledon. She says she also thought she was dying, so ill 
 was she on her crossing, and that she was quite a week 
 before she got over the impression. 
 
 It seems odd to think that we are sisters, and twin sis- 
 ters too ; in so many things she is different from me. 
 She has changed in manner since I left her. She seems 
 so absorbed in some great thought that all her words and 
 smiles have little meaning in them. I told her I had tried 
 to keep my diary, but had not done much work, and when 
 I asked to see hers (for a model) Madeleine blushed, and 
 said I should see it this day year. 
 
 Madeleine is in love ; that is the only way I can account
 
 THE THRESHOLD OF WOMANHOOD 105 
 
 for that blush. I fear she is a sly puss, but there is such 
 a bustle around us, and so much to do and see, I have no 
 time to make her confess. So I said I would keep mine 
 from her for that period also. 
 
 It seems a long span to look ahead. What a number 
 of things will happen before this day year I 
 
 Bath, November yd. — Bath is delightful ! I have only 
 been here two days, and already I am whatTanty, in her 
 old-fashioned way, calls the belle. Already there are a 
 dozen sparks who declare that my eyes have shot death 
 to them. This afternoon comes my Lord of Manning- 
 ham, nicknamed King of Bath, to "drink a dish of tea," 
 as he has it, with his " dear old friend Miss O'Donoghue." 
 
 Tanty has been here three weeks, and he has only just 
 discovered her existence, and remembered their tender 
 friendship. Of course, I know very well what has really 
 brought him. He is Lord Dereham's grandfather on the 
 mother's side, and Lord Dereham, who is the son of the 
 Duke of Wells, is "the catch," as Mrs. Hambledon vows, 
 of the fashionable world this year. And Lord Dereham 
 has seen me twice, and is in love iviih me. 
 
 But as Lord Dereham is more like a little white rat than 
 a man, and swears more than he converses — which would 
 be very shocking if it were not for his lisp, which makes 
 it very funny — needless to say, my diary dear, your Molly 
 is not in love with him — He has no chance. 
 
 And so Lord Manningham comes to tea, and Tanty 
 orders me to remain and see her " old friend" instead of 
 going to ride with the widow Hambledon. The widow 
 Hambledon and I are everywhere together, and she knows 
 all the most entertaining people in Bath, whereas Made- 
 leine, whom I have hardly seen at all except at night, 
 when I am so dead tired that I go to sleep as soon as my 
 head touches the pillow (I vow Tanty's manner of speech 
 is catching). Miss Madeleine keeps to her own select circle, 
 and turns up her haughty little nose at my friends. 
 
 So now Madeleine is punished, for Tanty and I have 
 had the honour of receiving the King of Bath, and I have 
 been vouchsafed the stamp of his august approval. 
 
 " My dear Miss O'Donoghue," he cried, as I curtsied, 
 "do my senses deceive me, or do I not once more behold 
 Murthering Moll ? "
 
 io6 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 " I thought you could not fail to notice the likeness ; my 
 niece is, indeed, a complete O'Donoghue," says Tanty, 
 amazingly pleased. 
 
 ' ' Likeness, ma'am, " cried the old wretch, bowing again, 
 and scattering his snuff all over the place, while I sweep 
 him another splendid curtsey, " likeness, ma'am, why this 
 is no feeble copy, no humble imitation, 'tis Murdering 
 Moll herself, and glad I am to see her again." And then 
 he catches me under the chin, and peers into my face with 
 his dim, wicked old eyes. "And so you are Murdering 
 Moll's daughter," says he, chuckling to himself. "Ay, 
 she and I were very good friends, my pretty child, very 
 good friends, and that not so long ago, either. Ay, 
 Mater pulchra, film pulchrior. " 
 
 "But I happen to be her grand-daughter, please my 
 lord," said I, and then I ran to fetch him a chair (for I 
 was dreadfully afraid he was going to kiss me). But 
 though no one has ever accused me of speaking too 
 modestly to be heard, my lord had a sudden fit of deaf- 
 ness, and I saw Tanty give me a little frown, while the 
 old thing — he must be much older than Tanty even — tot- 
 tered into a chair, and went on mumbling. 
 
 " I was only a boy in those days, my dear, only a boy, 
 as your good aunt will tell you. I can remember how 
 the bells rang the three beautiful Irish sisters into Bath, 
 and I and the other dandies stood to watch them drive 
 by. The bells rang in the belles in those days, my dear, 
 he, he, he ! only we used to call them ' toasts ' then, and 
 your mother was the most beautiful of ' the three Graces ' 
 — we christened them ' the three Graces ' — and by gad she 
 led us all a pretty dance ! " 
 
 "Ah, my lord," says Tanty, and I could see her old 
 eyes gleam though her tone was so pious, "I fear we 
 were three wild Irish girls indeed ! " 
 
 Lord Manningham was too busy ogling me to attend to 
 her. 
 
 " Your mother was just such another as you, and she 
 had just such a pair of dimples," said he. 
 
 "You mean my grandmother," shouted I in his ear, 
 just for fun, though Tanty looked as if she were on pins 
 and needles. But he only pinched my cheek again and 
 went on : 
 
 ' ' Before she had been here a fortnight all the bucks in the
 
 THE THRESHOLD OF WOMANHOOD 107 
 
 town were at her feet. And so was I, so was I. Only, by 
 gad, I was too young, you know, as Miss O'Donoghue here 
 will tell you. But she liked me ; she used to call me her 
 ' little manny.' I declare I might have married her, only 
 there were family reasons, and I was such a lad, you know. 
 And then Jack Waterpark, some of us thought she would 
 have had hi7n in the end — being an Irishman, and a rich 
 man, and a marquis to boot — he gave her the name of 
 Murthering Moll, because of her killing eyes, young lady — 
 he ! he ! he ! — and there was Ned Cuffe ready to hang 
 himself for her, and Jim Denham, and old Beau Vernon, 
 ay, and a score of others. And then one night at the 
 Assembly Rooms, after the dancing was over and we 
 gay fellows were all together, up gets Waterpark, he was 
 a little tipsy, my dear, and by gad I can hear him speak 
 now, with that brogue of his, ' Boys, he says, ' it's no 
 use your trying for her any more, for by God Fve won her' 
 And out of his breast-pocket he pulls a little knot of blue 
 ribbon. Your mother, my dear, had worn a very fine 
 gown that evening, with little knots of blue ribbon all 
 over the bodice of it. The words were not out of his 
 mouth when Ned Cuffe starts to his feet as white as a 
 sheet : ' It's a damned lie,' he cries, and out of his pocket 
 he pulls another little knot. 'She gave it to me with her 
 own hands,' he cried and glares round at us all. And 
 then Vernon bursts out laughing and flourishes a third 
 little bow in our eyes, and I had one too, I need not tell 
 you, and so had all the rest, all save a French fellow — I 
 forget his name — and it was he she had danced with the 
 most of all. Ah, Miss O'Donoghue, how the little jade's 
 eyes sparkle 1 I warrant you have never told her the story 
 for fear she would want to copy her mother in other ways 
 besides looks — Hey ? Well, my pretty, give me your Httle 
 hand, and then I shall go on — pretty little hand, um — um 
 — um ! " and then he kissed my hand, the horrid, snuffy- 
 thing ! but I allowed it, for I did so want to hear how it 
 all ended. 
 
 '^ And then, and then," I said. 
 
 "And then, my dear, this French fellow, your papa he 
 must have been — so I suppose I must not abuse him, and 
 he was a very fine young man after all, and a man of 
 honour as well — he stood and cursed us all." 
 
 "'You English fools,' he said, 'you braggards —
 
 io8 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 cowards." And he seized a glass of wine from the table 
 and with a sweep he dashed it at us and ended by fling- 
 ing the empty glass in Lord Waterpark's face. It was the 
 neatest thing you ever saw, for we all got a drop except 
 Waterpark, and he got the glass. 'I challenge you all,' 
 said the Frenchman, ' I'll fight you one by one, and I shall 
 have her into the bargain.' And so he did, my dear, he 
 fought us all, one after the other ; there were five of us ; 
 he was a devil with the sword, but Ned Cuffe ran him 
 through for all that — and he was a month getting over it, 
 but as soon as he could crawl again he vowed himself 
 ready for Waterpark, and weak as he was he ran poor 
 Waterpark through the lungs. Some said Jack spitted 
 himself on his sword — but dead he was anyhow, and mon- 
 sieur your father — what was his name .-* Kerme-some- 
 thing — was off with your mother before the rest of us were 
 well out of bed." 
 
 " Fie, fie, my lord," said Tanty, " you should not recall 
 old stories in this manner ! " 
 
 " Gad, ma'am, I warrant this young lady is quite ready 
 to provide you with a few new ones," chuckled my lord ; 
 and as there was no more to be extracted from him but 
 foolish old jokes and dreadful smiles, I contrived to free 
 my "pretty little hand," and sit down demurely by 
 Tanty's side like the modest retiring young female I 
 should be. 
 
 But my blood was dancing in my veins — the blood of 
 Murthering Moll — doddering old idiot as he is, Lord 
 Manningham is right for once, I mean to take quite as 
 much out of life as she did. That indeed is worth being 
 young and beautiful for ! We know nothing of our family, 
 save that both father and mother were killed in Vendue. 
 Tanty never will tell us anything about them (except their 
 coats of arms), and I am afraid even to start the subject, 
 for she always branches off upon heraldry and then we 
 are in for hours of it. But after Lord Manningham 
 was gone I asked her when and how my grandmother 
 died. 
 
 " She died when your mother was born, my dear," said 
 Tanty, "she was not as old as you are now, and your 
 grandfather never smiled again, or so they said." 
 
 That sobered me a little. Yet she lived her life so well, 
 while she did live, that I who have wasted twenty pre-
 
 THE THRESHOLD OF WOMANHOOD 109 
 
 cious years can find in my heart rather to envy than to 
 pity my beautiful grandmother. 
 
 November ^tli. — It is three o'clock m the morning, but I 
 do not feel at all inclined to go to bed. Madeleine is 
 sleeping, poor pretty pale Madeleine ! with the tears 
 hardly dry upon her cheeks and I can hear her sighing in 
 her sleep. 
 
 I was right, she is in love, and the gentleman she loves 
 is not approved of by Tanty and the upshot of it all is we 
 are to leave dear Bath, delightful Bath, to-morrow — to-day 
 rather — for some unknown penitential region which our 
 stern relative as yet declines to name. I am longing to 
 hear more about it ; but Tanty, who, though she talks so 
 much, can keep her own counsel better than any woman 
 I know, will not give me any further information beyond 
 the facts that the delinquent who has dared to aspire to 
 my sister is a person of the name of Smith, and that it 
 would not do at all. 
 
 I have not the heart to wake Madeleine to make her 
 tell me more, though I really ought to pinch her well for 
 being so secretive — besides, my head is so full of my own 
 day that I want to get it all written down, and I shall 
 never have done so unless I begin at the beginning. 
 
 Yesterday, then, at 3 o'clock in the afternoon Lord 
 Dereham's coach and four came clattering up to our door 
 to call for me. Mrs. Hambledon was already installed 
 and Lady Soames and a dozen other of ih.e /ashionables 
 of Bath. My little Lord Marquis had kept the box seat 
 for me, at which the other ladies, even my dear friend 
 and chaperon, looked rather green. The weather was 
 glorious, and off we went with a flourish of trumpets and 
 whips, and I knew I should enjoy myself monstrously. 
 
 And so I did. But it was the drive back that was the 
 best of all. We never started till near nine o'clock, and 
 Lord Dereham insisted on my sitting beside him again — 
 at which all the ladies looked daggers at me and all the 
 gentlemen daggers at him. And then we sang songs and 
 tore along uphill and down dale, under the beautiful moon- 
 light, through the still air, till all at once we found we had 
 lost our way. We had to drive on till we came to an inn 
 and we could make inquiries. There the gentlemen 
 opened another hamper of wine, and when we set off
 
 no THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 again I promise you they were all pretty lively (and most 
 of the ladies too, for the matter of that). As for me, who 
 never drank anything but milk or water till six months 
 ago, I have not learnt to like wine yet, so, though I 
 sipped out of the glass to keep the fun going, I contrived 
 to dispose of the contents, quietly over the side of the 
 coach, when no one was looking. 
 
 It was a drive to remember. We came to a big hill, 
 and as we were going down it at a smart pace the coach 
 began to sway, then the ladies began to screech, and 
 even the men looked so scared that I laughed outright. 
 Lord Dereham was perfectly tipsy and he did not know 
 the road a bit, but he drove in beautiful style and was ex- 
 traordinarily amusing ; as soon as the coach took to sway- 
 ing, instead of slackening speed as they all begged him, he 
 lashed the horses into a tearing gallop, looking over his 
 shoulder at the rest and cursing them with the greatest 
 energy, grinning with rage, and looking more like a little 
 white rat than ever. 
 
 "Give me the whip," said I, " and I shall whip the 
 team while you drive." 
 
 " Cu/h me," cried he, " if you are not worth the whole 
 coach-load a dozen times over." 
 
 On we went ; the coach rocked, the horses galloped, 
 and I knew at any moment the whole thing might upset, 
 and I flourished my whip and lashed at the steaming 
 flanks and I never felt what it was to really enjoy myself 
 before. 
 
 Presently, although we were tearing along so fast, the 
 coach steadied itself and went as straight as an arrow ; 
 and this, it seems, it would never have done had not 
 Lord Dereham kept up the pace. 
 
 And all the rest of the drive his lordship wanted to kiss 
 me. I was not a bit frightened, though he was drunk, 
 but every time he grew too forward I just flicked at the 
 horses with the whip, and I think he saw that I would 
 have cracked him across the face quite as readily if he 
 dared to presume. 
 
 No doubt a dozen times during the day I could have 
 secured a coronet for myself, not to speak of future 
 'strawberry leaves,' as my aunt says, if I had cared to ; 
 but who could think of loving a man like Ihal P He can 
 manage four horses, and he has shot two men in a duel,
 
 THE THRESHOLD OF WOMANHOOD in 
 
 and he can drink three bottles of wine at a sitting, and 
 when one tries to find something more to say for him, 
 lo ! that is all ! 
 
 When we at length arrived at Camden Place, for I 
 vowed they must leave me home the first, there was the 
 rarest sport. My lord's grooms must set to blow the 
 horns, for they were as drunk as their master, while one 
 of the gentlemen played upon the knocker till the whole 
 crescent was aroused. 
 
 Then the doors opened suddenly, aiid Tanty appears on 
 the threshold, holding a candle. Her turban was quite 
 crooked, with the birds of Paradise over one eye, and I 
 never saw her old nose look so hooked. All the gentle- 
 men set up a shout, and Sir Thomas Wrexham began to 
 crow like a cock for no reason on earth that I can think 
 of. The servants were holding up lanterns, but the moon 
 was nigh as bright as day. 
 
 Tanty just looked round upon them one after another, 
 and in spite of her crooked turban I think they all grew 
 frightened. Then she caught hold of me, and just whisked 
 me behind her. Next she spied out Mrs. Hambledon, 
 who had been asleep inside the coach, and now tumbled 
 forth, yawning and gaping. 
 
 "And so, madam," cries Tanty to her, not very loud, 
 but in a voice that made even me tremble ; "so, madam, 
 this is how you fulfil the confidence I placed in you. A 
 pretty chaperon you are to have the charge of a young 
 lady; though, indeed, considering your years, madam, I 
 might have been justified in trusting you." 
 
 Mrs. Hambledon, cut short in the middle of a loud 
 yawn by this attack, was a sight to see. 
 
 " Hoighty-toighty, ma'am!" she cried, indignantly, as 
 soon as she could get her voice; "here's a fine to-do. It 
 is my fault, of course, that Lord Dereham should mistake 
 the road. And my fault too, no doubt, that your miss 
 should make an exhibition of herself riding on the box 
 with the gentlemen at this hour of night, when I implored 
 her to come inside with me, were it only for the sake of 
 common female propriety." 
 
 "Common female indeed!" echoed Tanty, with a 
 snort ; "the poor child knew better." 
 
 "Cuth the old cats! they'll have each other'th eyeth 
 out," here cried my lord marquis, interposing his little
 
 112 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 tipsy person between them. He had scrambled down the 
 box after me, and was listening- with an air of profound 
 wisdom that made me feel fit to die laughing-. "Don't 
 you mind her, old lady," he went on, addressing Tanty ; 
 ' ' Mith Molly ith quite able to take care of herself — damme 
 if she'thnot." 
 
 Aunt Donoghue turned upon him majestically. 
 
 "And then that is more than can be said for you, my 
 poor young man," she exclaimed ; and I vow he looked 
 as sobered as if she had flung a bucket of cold water over 
 him. Upon this she retired and shut the door, and marched 
 me upstairs before her without a word. 
 
 Before my room door she stopped. 
 
 "Mrs. Dcmpsey has already packed your sister's 
 trunks," she said, in a very dry way; "and she will 
 begin to pack yours early — I was going to say to-morrow 
 — but you keep such hours, my dear — it will be to-day." 
 
 I stared at her as if she had gone mad. 
 
 "^ You and your sister," she went on, "have got be- 
 yond me. I have taken my resolution and given my 
 orders, and there is not the least use making a scene." 
 
 And then it came out about Madeleine. At first I 
 thought I would go into a great passion and refuse to 
 obey, but after a minute or two I saw it was, as she said, 
 no use. Tanty was as cool as a cucumber. Then I 
 thought perhaps I might mollify her if I could cry, but 
 I couldn't pump up a tear ; I never can ; and at last when 
 I went into my room and saw poor Madeleine, who has 
 cried herself to sleep, evidently, I understood that there 
 was nothing for us but to do as we were told. 
 
 And now I can hear Tanty fussing about her room still 
 —she has been writing, too— era, era, era — this last hour. 
 I wonder who to } After all there is some fun in being 
 taken off mysteriously we don't know where. I should 
 like to go and kiss her, but she thinks I am abed.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 A MASTERFUL OLD MAID 
 
 No contrary advice having reached Pulwick since Miss 
 O'Donoghue's letter of invoice, as Mr. Landale facetiously 
 described it, he drove over to Lancaster on the day ap- 
 pointed to meet the party. 
 
 And thus it came to pass that through the irresistible 
 management of Miss O'Donoghue, who put into the pro- 
 motion of her scheme all the energy belonging to her 
 branch of the family, together with the long habit of au- 
 thority of the Tante d heritage, the daughters of Cdcile de 
 Savenaye returned to that first home of theirs, of which 
 they had forgotten even the name. 
 
 Mr. Landale had not set eyes on his valuable relative 
 for many years, but her greeting, at the first renewal of 
 intercourse which took place in the principal parlour of 
 the Lancaster Inn, was as easily detached in manner as 
 though they had just met again after a trifling absence 
 and she was bringing her charges to his house in accord- 
 ance with a mutual agreement. 
 
 " My dear Rupert," cried she, "I am glad to see you 
 again. I need not ask you how you are, you look so 
 extremely sleek and prosperous. Adrian's wide acres are 
 succulent, hey } I should have known you anywhere ; 
 though to be sure, you are hardly large enough for the 
 breed, you have the true Landale stamp on you, the un- 
 mistakable Landale style of feature. Semper eadem. In 
 that sense, at least, one can apply your ancient and once 
 worthy motto to you ; and you know, nephew, since you 
 have conveniently changed your faith, both to God and 
 king, this sentiment strikes one as a sarcasm amidst the 
 achievements of Landale, you backsliders ! Ah, we 
 O'Donoghues have better maintained our device, sans 
 changier." 
 
 8 113
 
 114 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 Rupert, to whom the well-known volubility of his aunt 
 was most particularly disagreeable, but who had never- 
 theless saluted the stalwart old lady's cheek with much 
 affection, here bent his supple back with a sort of mock- 
 ing gallantry. 
 
 " You maintain your device, permit me to say, my dear 
 aunt, as ostentatiously in your person as we renegade 
 Landales ourselves." 
 
 "Pooh, pooh ! I am too old a bird to be caught by such 
 chaff, nephew ; it is pearls before .... I mean it is too 
 late m the day, my dear. Keep it for the young things. 
 And indeed I see the sheep's eyes you have been casting 
 in their direction. Come nearer, young ladies, and make 
 your cousin's acquaintance," beckoning to her nieces, 
 who, arrayed in warm travelling pelisses and beaver 
 bonnets of fashionable appearance, stood in the back- 
 ground near the fireplace. 
 
 "They are very like, are they not.-* "she continued. 
 "Twins always are; as like as two peas. And yet these 
 are as different as day and night when you come to know 
 them. Madeleine is the eldest ; that is she in the beaver 
 fur ; Molly prefers bear. Without their bonnets you will 
 distinguish them by their complexion. Molly has raven 
 hair (she is the truest O'Donoghue), whilst Madeleine is 
 fair, blonde, like her Breton father." 
 
 The sisters greeted their new-found guardian, each in 
 her own way. And, in spite of the disguising bonnets 
 and their surprising similarity of voice, height, and build, 
 the difference was more marked than that of beaver and 
 bear. 
 
 Madeleine acknowledged her kinsman's greeting with a 
 dainty curtsey and little half-shy smile, marked by that 
 air of distinction and breeding which was her peculiar 
 characteristic. Molly, however, who thought she had 
 reasonable cause for feeling generally exasperated, and 
 who did not see in Mr. Rupert Landale, despite his good 
 looks and his good manner, a very promising substitute 
 for her Bath admirers (nor in the prospect of Pulwick a 
 profitable exchange for Bath), came forward with her 
 bolder grace to flounce him a saucy " reverence," measur- 
 ing him the while with a certain air of mockery which 
 his thin-skinned susceptibility was quick to seize. 
 
 He looked back at her down the long tunnel of her
 
 A MASTERFUL OLD MAID 115 
 
 bonnet, appraising the bloom and beauty within with cold 
 and curious gaze, and then he turned to Madeleine and 
 made to her his courteous speech of welcome. 
 
 This was sufficient for Miss Molly, who, for six months 
 already accustomed to compel admiration at first sight 
 from all specimens of the male sex that came across her 
 path, instantly vowed a deadly hatred to her cousin, and 
 followed the party into the Landale family coach — Rupert 
 preceding, with a lady on each arm — in a temper as black 
 as her own locks. 
 
 It fell to her lot to sit beside the objectionable relative 
 on the back seat, while, by the right of her minute's 
 seniority, Madeleine sat beside Tanty in the front. The 
 projecting wings of her headgear efTectively prevented 
 her from watching his demeanour, unless, indeed, she had 
 turned to him, which was, of course, out of the question ; 
 but certain fugitive conscious blushes upon the young 
 face in front of her, certain castings down of long lashes 
 and timid upward glances, made Molly shrewdly con- 
 jecture that Mr. Landale, through all the apparent devo- 
 tion with which he listened to Tanty's continuous flow 
 of observations, was able to bestow a certain amount of 
 attention upon her pretty neighbour. 
 
 Tanty herself conducted the conversation with her 
 usual high hand, feigning utter oblivion of the thunder- 
 cloud on Molly's countenance ; and, if somewhat rambling 
 in her discourse, nevertheless contriving to plant her 
 points where she chose. 
 
 Thus the long drive wore to its end. The sun was 
 golden upon Pulwick when the carriage at length drew 
 up before the portico. Miss Sophia received them in the 
 hall, in a state of painful flutter and timidity. She had a 
 constitutional terror of her aunt's sharp eyes, and, though 
 she examined her young cousins wistfully, Madeleine's 
 unconscious air of dignity repelled her as much as Molly's 
 deliberate pertness. 
 
 Rupert conducted his aunt upstairs, and down the long 
 echoing corridor towards her apartment. 
 
 "Ha, my old quarters," quoth Tanty, disengaging 
 herself briskly from her escort to enter the room and look 
 round approvingly, "and very comfortable they are. 
 And my two nieces are next door, I see, as gay as chintz 
 can make them. Thank you, nephew, I shall keep you
 
 ii6 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 no longer. We shall dine shortly, I feel sure. Well, 
 well, I do not pretend I am not quite ready to do justice 
 to your excellent fare — beyond doubt, it will be excel- 
 lent ! Go to your room, girls, your baggage is coming 
 up, you see ; I shall send Dempsey to assist you pres- 
 ently. No, not you, Sophia, I was speaking to the young 
 ones. I sliould like to have a little chat with you, my 
 dear, if you have no objection." 
 
 One door closed upon Rupert as he smiled and bowed 
 himself out, the other upon Molly hustling her sister 
 before her. 
 
 Tanty in the highest good humour, having accom- 
 plished her desire, and successfully "established a lodg- 
 ment " (to use a military term not inappropriate to such a 
 martial spirit) for her troublesome nieces in the strong- 
 hold of Puhvick, once more surveyed her surroundings : 
 the dim old walls, the great four-post bed, consecrated, 
 of course, by tradition to the memory of some royal 
 slumberer, the damask hangings, and the uncomfortable 
 chairs, with the utmost favour, ending up with a humor- 
 ous examination of the elongated figure hesitating on the 
 hearthrug. 
 
 " Be seated, Sophia. I am glad to stretch my old 
 limbs after that terrible drive. So here we are together 
 again. What are you sighing for. J* Upon my soul, you 
 are the same as ever, I see, the same tombstone on your 
 chest, and blowing yourself out with sighs, just as you 
 used. That will never give you a figure, my poor girl ; 
 it is no wonder you are but skin and bones. Ah, can't 
 you let the poor fellow rest in his grave Sophia ? it is 
 flying in the face of Providence, I call it, to go on per- 
 petually stirring up his ashes like that. I hope you mean 
 to try and be a little more cheerful with those poor girls. 
 But, there, I believe you are never so happy as when you 
 are miserable. And it's a poor creature you would be at 
 any time," added the old lady to herself, after a second 
 thoughtful investigation of Miss Landalc's countenance, 
 which had assumed an expression of mulishness in addi- 
 tion to an increase of dolefulness during this homily. 
 
 Here, to Miss Landale's great relief, the dying sunset, 
 wavering into crimson and purple, from its first glory of 
 liquid gold, attracted her aunt's attention, and Miss 
 O'Donoghue went over to the window.
 
 A MASTERFUL OLD MAID 117 
 
 Beneath her spread the quaint garden, with its clipped 
 box edges, and beyond the now leafless belt of trees, 
 upon the glimmer of the bay, the outline of Scarthey, a 
 dark silhouette rose fantastically against the vivid sky. 
 Even as she gazed, there leapt upon its fairy turret a 
 minute point of white. 
 
 The jovial old countenance changed and darkened. 
 
 "And Adrian is still at his fool's game over there, I 
 suppose,'' she said irately turning upon Sophia. "When 
 have you seen him last ? How often does he come here ? 
 I gather Master Rupert is nothing if not the master. 
 Why don't you answer me, Sophia ? " 
 
 The dinner was as well cooked and served a meal as 
 any under Rupert's rule, which is saying a good deal, 
 and if the young ladies failed to appreciate the "floating 
 island," the " golden nests," and "silver web, "so thought- 
 fully provided for them, Tanty did ample justice to the 
 venison. 
 
 Indeed the cloud which had been visible upon her 
 countenance at the beginning of dinner, and which ac- 
 cording to that downright habit of mind, which rendered 
 her so terrible or so delightful a companion, she made no 
 attempt to conceal, began to lift towards the first remove, 
 and altogether vanished over her final glass of port. 
 
 After dinner she peremptorily ordered her grandnieces 
 into the retirement of their bedchambers, unblushingly 
 alleging their exhausted condition in front of the perfect 
 bloom of their beautiful young vigour. 
 
 She then, over a cup of tea, luxuriously stretching her 
 thin frame in the best armchair the drawing-room could 
 afford, gave Rupert a brief code of directions as to the 
 special attentions and care she desired to be bestowed 
 upon her wards, during their residence at Pulwick, de- 
 scanting generously upon their various perfections, 'gliding 
 dexterously over her reasons for wishing to be rid of them 
 herself, and concluding with the hint — either pregnant or 
 barren of meaning as he chose to take it — that if he made 
 their stay pleasant to them, she would not forget the 
 service. 
 
 Then, as Mr. Landale began, with apparent guileless- 
 ness, to put a few little telling questions to her anent the 
 episodes which had made Bath imdesirable as a residence
 
 ii8 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 for these young paragons, the old lady suddenly became 
 overwhelmed with fatigue and sleepiness, and professed 
 herself ready to be conducted to her bower immediately. 
 
 Meanwhile, despite the moue de circonstance which 
 Molly thought it incumbent on her to assume, neither she 
 nor Madeleine regretted their compulsory withdrawal 
 from the social circle downstairs. 
 
 Madeleine had her own thoughts to follow up, and that 
 these were both engrossing and pleasant was easily evi- 
 dent ; and Molly, bursting with a sense of injury arising 
 from many causes, desired a special explanation with her 
 sister, which the presence in and out upon themof Tanty's 
 woman had prevented her from indulging in before 
 dinner. 
 
 "So here we are at last," cried she, indignantly, after 
 she had walked round and severely inspected her quarters, 
 pausing to "pull a lip " of extreme disfavour at the hand- 
 some portrait of Mr. Landale that hung between the 
 windows, "we are, Madeleine, at last, kidnapped, im- 
 prisoned, successfully disposed of, in fact." 
 
 "Yes, here we are at last," echoed Madeleine, abstract- 
 edly, warming her slender ankles by the fire. 
 
 " Have you made out yet what particular kind of new 
 frenzy it was that seized chbre Tante } " asked Miss Molly, 
 with great emphasis, as she sat down at her toilet-table. 
 "You are the cause of it all, my dear, and so you ought 
 to know. It is all very well for Tanty to pretend that I 
 have brought it on myself by not coming home till three 
 o'clock (as if that was my fault). She cannot blink the 
 fact that her Dempsey creature had orders to pack my 
 boxes before bedtime. Your Smith must be a desperately 
 dangerous individual. Well," she continued, looking 
 round over her shoulder, "why don't you say something, 
 you lackadaisical thing ? " 
 
 But Madeleine answered nought and continued gazing, 
 while only the little smile, tilting the corners of her lips, 
 betrayed that she had heard the petulant speech. 
 
 The smile put the finishing touch to Molly's righteous 
 anger. Brandishing a hairbrush threateningly, she 
 marched over to her sister and looked down upon the 
 slender figure, in its clinging white dress, with blazing eyes.
 
 A MASTERFUL OLD MAID 119 
 
 "Look here," she cried, "there must be an end of this. 
 I can put up with your slyness no longer. How dare you 
 have secrets from me, miss ? — your own twin sister ! 
 You and I, who used never to have a thought we did not 
 share. How dare you have a lover, and not tell me all 
 about him.? What was the meaning of your weeping 
 like a fountain all the way from Bath to Shrewsbury, and 
 then, without rhyme or reason apparently, smiling to 
 yourself all the way from there to Lancaster. You have 
 
 had a letter, don't attempt to deny it, it is of no use 
 
 Oh, it is base of you, it is indeed ! And to think that it 
 is all through you that I am forced into this exile, through 
 your airs pencMs, and your sighing and dreaming, and 
 
 your mysterous Smith To think that to-night, 
 
 this very night, is the ball of the season, and we are 
 going to bed ! Oh, and to-morrow and to-morrow, and 
 to-morrow, with nothing but a knave and a fool to keep us 
 company — for I don't think much of your female cousin, 
 Madeleine, and, as for your male cousin, I perfectly de- 
 test him — and all the tabbies of the country-side for diver- 
 sion, with perhaps a country buck on high days and holi- 
 days for a relish ! Pah ! " 
 
 Molly had almost talked her ill-humour away. Her 
 energetic nature could throw off most unpleasant emotions 
 easily enough so long as it might have an outlet for 
 them ; she now laid down the threatening brush, and, 
 kneeling beside her, flung both her arms round Madeleine's 
 shoulders. 
 
 " Ma petite Madeleine," she coaxed, in the mother 
 tongue, " tell thy little sister thy secrets." 
 
 A faint flush crept to Madeleine's usually creamy cheeks, 
 a light into her eyes. She turned impulsively to the face 
 near hers, then, as if bethinking herself, pursed her lips 
 together and shook her head slightly. 
 
 " Do you remember, ma cherie,"shesaid, at last, "that 
 French tale Mrs. Hambledon lent us in which it is said 
 * Qui /uji r amour, l' amour suit.'" 
 
 " Well? " asked Molly, eagerly, her lips parted as if to 
 drink in the expected confidence. 
 
 "Well," replied the other, " well, perhaps things may 
 not be so bad after all. Perhaps." rising from her seat, 
 and looking at her sister with a little gentle malice, while 
 she, too, began to disrobe her fairer beauty for the night.
 
 I20 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 " some of your many lovers may come after you from 
 Bath ! Oh, :Molly ! " with a little scream, for Molly, 
 with eyes flashing once more, had sprung up from her 
 knees to inflict a vicious pinch upon the equivocator's 
 arm. 
 
 "Yes, miss, you shall he pinched till you confess." 
 Then flouting her with a sudden change of mood, " I am 
 sure I don't want to know your wonderful secret," — 
 seizing her comb and passing it crackling through her 
 hair with quite unnecessary energy — " Mademoiselle la 
 
 Cachotiere. Any how, it cannot be very interesting 
 
 Mrs. Smith ! Fancy caring for a man called Smith ! If 
 you smile again like that, Madeleine, I shall beat you." 
 
 The two sisters looked at each other for a second as 
 if hesitating on the brink of anger, and then both 
 laughed. 
 
 " Never mind, I shall pay you out yet," quoth Molly, 
 tugging at her black mane. " So our lovers are to come 
 after us, is thai it ? Do you know, Madeleine," she went 
 on, calming down, *' I almost regret now that I would 
 not listen to young Lord Dereham, simpleton though he 
 be. He looked such a dreadful little fright that I only 
 
 laughed at him I should have laughed at him all 
 
 my life. But it would perhaps have been better than this 
 dependence on Tanty, with her sudden whims and scam- 
 pers and whisking of us away into the wilderness. Then 
 I should have had my own way always. Now it's too 
 late. Tanty told me yesterday that she sees he is a dis- 
 solute young man, and that his dukedom is only a Charles 
 II, creation, and ' We know what that means,' she added, 
 and shook her head. I am sure I had not a notion, but 
 I shook my head too, and said, ' Of course, that made it 
 impossible.' I was really afraid she would want me to 
 marry him. She was dreadfully pleased and said I was 
 a true O'Donoghue. Oh, dear ! I don't know a?i_yihmg 
 about love. I can't imagine being in love ; but one thing 
 is certain, I could never, never, never allow a horrid little 
 rat like Lord Dereham to make love to me, to kiss me, 
 nor, indeed, any man — oh, horror ! How you are blush- 
 ing, my dear ! Come here into the light. It would be 
 good for your soul, indeed it would, to confess ! '' 
 
 But Madeleine, burying her hot cheeks in her sister's 
 neck and clasping her with gentle caresses, was not to be
 
 A MASTERFUL OLD MAID 121 
 
 drawn from her reticence. Molly pushed her off at last, 
 and gave a hard little good-night kiss like a bird-peck. 
 
 "Very well; but you might as well have confessed, for 
 I shall find out in the long run. And who knows, perhaps 
 you may be sorry one day that you did not tell me of 
 your own accord."
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 A RECORD AND A PRESENTMENT. 
 
 The gallery of family portraits at Pulvvick is one of the 
 most remarkable features of that ancient house. 
 
 It was a custom firmly established at the Priory — ever 
 since the first heralds' visitation in Lancashire, when 
 some mooted point of claims to certain quarterings had 
 been cleared in an unexpected way by the testimony of a 
 well-authenticated ancestral portrait — for each successive 
 representative to add to the collection. One of the first 
 cares of every Landale, therefore, on succeeding to the 
 title was to be painted, with his proper armorial and 
 otherwise distinguishing honours jealously delineated, and 
 thus hung in the place of honour over the high mantel- 
 shelf of the gallery — displacing on the occasion his own 
 immediate and revered predecessor. 
 
 The chain was consequently unbroken from the Eliza- 
 bethan descendants of the first acquirers of ecclesiastical 
 property at Pulwick, down to the present Light-keeper of 
 Scarthey. 
 
 But whilst the late Sir Thomas appeared in all the maj- 
 esty of deputy-lieutenant, colonel of Militia, magistrate, 
 and sundry other honourable offices, in his due place on 
 the right of the present baronet, the latter figured in a 
 character so strange and so incongruous that it seemed 
 as if one day the dignified array of Landales — old, young, 
 middle-aged, but fine gentlemen, all of them — must turn 
 their backs upon their degenerate kinsman. 
 
 Over the chimney-piece, in the huge carved-oak frame 
 (now already two centuries old), a common sailor, in the 
 striped loose trousers, the blue jacket with red piping of 
 a man-of-war's man, with pigtail and coarse open shirt — 
 stood boldly forth as the representative of the present 
 owner of Pulwick. 
 
 122
 
 A RECORD AND A PRESENTMENT 123 
 
 Proud of their long line of progenitors, it was a not 
 unusual thing for the Landales to entertain their guests 
 at breakfast in a certain sunny bow-window in the por- 
 trait gallery rather than in the breakfast parlour proper, 
 which in winter, unmistakably harboured more damp 
 than was pleasant. 
 
 It was, therefore, with no surprise that Miss Landale 
 received an early order from her brother to have a fire 
 lighted in the apartment sacred to the family honours, 
 and the matutinal repast served there in due course. 
 
 Whether Mr. Landale was actuated by a regard for the 
 rheumatism of his worthy relative, or merely a natural 
 family pride, or by some other and less simple motive, 
 he saw no necessity for informing his docile housewife 
 on the matter. 
 
 As Sophia was accustomed to no such condescension 
 on his part even in circumstances more extraordinary, 
 she merely bundled out of bed unquestioningly in the 
 darkness and cold of the morning to see his orders 
 executed in the proper manner ; which, indeed, to her 
 credit was so successfully accomplished that Tanty and 
 her charges, when they made their entry upon the scene, 
 could not fail to be impressed with the comfortable aspect 
 of the majestic old room. 
 
 Mr. Landale examined his two young uninvited guests 
 with new keenness in the morning light. Molly was de- 
 mure enough, though there was a lurking gleam in her 
 dark eye which suggested rather armed truce than ac- 
 cepted peace. As for Madeleine, though to be serene 
 was an actual necessity of her delicate nature, there was 
 more than resignation in the blushing radiance of her 
 look and smile. 
 
 "Portraits of their mother," said Rupert, bringing his 
 critical survey to a close, and stepping forward with a 
 nice action of the legs to present his arm to his aunt. 
 "Portraits of their mother both of them — I trust to that 
 miniature which used to grace our collection in the draw- 
 ing-room rather than to the treacherous memory of a 
 school-boy for the impression — but portraits by different 
 masters and in different moods." 
 
 There was something patronising in the tone from so 
 young a man, which Molly resented on the spot. 
 
 "Oh, we should be as like as two peas, only that we
 
 124 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 are as different as day and night, as Tanty says," she 
 retorted, tossing- her white chin at her host, while Miss 
 O'Donoghue laughed aloud at her favourite's sauciness. 
 
 "And after all," said Rupert, as he bestowed his ven- 
 erable relative on her chair, with an ineffable air of 
 politeness, contradicted, though only for an instant, by 
 the look which he shot at Molly from the light hazel 
 eyes, "Tanty is not so far wrong — the only difference 
 between night and day is the difference between the 
 brunelie and the blonde," with a little bow to each of the 
 sisters, " an Irish bull, if one comes to analyse it, is but 
 the expression of the too rapid working of quick wits." 
 
 "Faith, nephew," said Tanty, sitting down in high 
 good humour to the innumerable good things in which her 
 Epicurean old soul delighted, "that is about as true a 
 thing as ever you said. Our Irish tongues are apt to 
 get behind a thing before it is there, and they call that 
 making a bull." 
 
 Rupert's sense of humour was as keen as most of his 
 other faculties, and at the unconscious humour of this sally 
 his laugh rang out frankly, while Molly and Madeleine 
 giggled in their plates, and Miss O'Donoghue chuckled 
 quietly to herself in the intervals of eating and drinking, 
 content to have been witty, without troubling to discover 
 how. 
 
 Sophia alone remained unmoved by mirth ; indeed, as 
 she raised her drooping head, amazed at the clamour, an 
 unwary tear trickled down her long nose into her tea. 
 She was given to revelling in anniversaries of dead and 
 gone joys or sorrows ; the one as melancholy to her to 
 look back upon as the other ; and upon this November 
 day, now very many years ago, had the ardent, con- 
 sumptive rector first hinted at his love. 
 
 "And now," said Miss O'Donoghue, who, having dis- 
 posed of the most serious part of the breakfast, pushed 
 away her plate with one hand while she stirred her second 
 cup of well-creamed tea lazily with the other, "Now, 
 Rupert, will you tell me the arrangements you propose to 
 make to enable me to see your good brother?" 
 
 Rupert had anticipated being attacked upon this subject, 
 and had fully prepared himself to defend the peculiar 
 position it was his interest to maintain. To encourage a 
 meeting between his brother and the old lady (to whom
 
 A RECORD AND A PRESENTMENT 125 
 
 the present position of affairs was a grievous offence) did 
 not, certainly, enter into his plan of action ; but Tanty 
 had put the question in an unexpected and slightly 
 awkward shape, and for a second or two he hesitated 
 before replying. 
 
 " I fear," said he then, gliding into the subject with his 
 usual easy fluency, ' ' that you will be disappointed if you 
 have been reckoning upon an interview with Adrian, my 
 dear aunt. The hermit will not be drawn from his shell 
 on any pretext." 
 
 "What," cried Tanty, while her withered cheek flushed, 
 "do you mean to tell me thai my nephew. Sir Adrian 
 Landale, will decline to come a few hundred yards to see 
 his old aunt — his mother's own sister — who has come 
 three hundred miles, at seventy years of age, to see him 
 in his own house — in his own house P " repeated the irate 
 old lady, rattling the spoon with much emphasis against 
 her cup. " If you mean this, Rupert, it is an insult to me 
 which I shall never forget — never." 
 
 She rose from her seat as she concluded, shaking with 
 the tremulous anger of age. 
 
 "For God's sake, Tanty," cried Rupert, throwing into 
 his voice all the generous warmth he was capable of simu- 
 lating, "do not hold me responsible for Adrian in this 
 matter. His strange vagaries are not of my suggesting^ 
 heaven knows." 
 
 "Well, nephew," said Miss O'Donoghue, loftily, "if 
 you will kindly send the letter I am about to write to your 
 brother, by a safe messenger, immediately, I shall believe 
 that it is your wish to treat me with proper respect, 
 whatever may be Adrian's subsequent behaviour." 
 
 Mr. Landale's countenance assumed an expression of 
 very genuine distress ; this was just the one proof of 
 dutiful attachment that he was loth to bestow upon his 
 cherished aunt. 
 
 "I see how it is," he exclaimed earnestly, coming up 
 to the old lady, and laying his hand gently upon her arm, 
 "you entirely misunderstand the situation. I am not a 
 free agent in this matter. I cannot do what you ask ; I 
 am bound by pledge. Adrian is, undoubtedly, more 
 than — peculiar on certain points, and, really, I dare not, 
 if I would, thwart him." 
 
 "Oh!" cried Tanty, shooting off the ejaculation as
 
 126 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 from a pop-gun. Then, shaking herself free of Rupert's 
 touch, she sat down abruptly in her chair again, and 
 began fanning herself with her handkerchief. Not even 
 in her interchange of amenities with Mrs. Hambledon, had 
 Molly seen her display so much indignation. 
 
 "You want me to believe he is mad, I suppose?" she 
 snapped, at last. 
 
 " Dear me ! No, no, no ! " responded the other, in his 
 airy way. " I did not mean to go so far as that ; but — 
 well, there are very painful matters, and hitherto I have 
 avoided all discussion upon them, even with Sophia. My 
 affection for Adrian " 
 
 "Fiddlesticks!" interrupted Tanty. "You meant 
 something, I suppose; either the man's mad, or he is not. 
 And I, for one, don't believe a word of it. The worst 
 sign about him, that I can see, is the blind confidence the 
 poor fellow seems to put in you." 
 
 Here Molly, who had been listening to the discussion 
 "with all her ears" — anything connected with the mys- 
 terious personality of the absent head of the house was 
 beginning to have a special fascination for her — gave an 
 irrepressible little note of laughter. 
 
 Rupert looked up at her quickly, and their eyes met. 
 
 "Hold your tongue. Miss," cried Miss O'Donoghue, 
 sharply ; aware that she had gone too far in her last re- 
 mark, and glad to relieve her oppression in another 
 direction, "how dare you laugh? Sophia, this is a ter- 
 rible thing your brother wants me to believe — may I ask 
 what _your opinion is? Though I'll not deny I don't 
 think that will be worth much." 
 
 Sophia glanced helplessly at Rupert, but he was far 
 too carefully possessed of himself to affect to perceive 
 her embarrassment. 
 
 "Come, come," cried Miss O'Donoghue, whose eyes 
 nothing escaped, " you need not look at Rupert, you can 
 answer for yourself. I suppose — you are not absolutely a 
 drivelling idiot— (7// the Landales are not ripening for 
 lunatic asylums — collect your wits, Sophia, I know you 
 have not got any, but you have ejioug-h to be able to 
 give a plain answer to a plain question, I suppose. Do 
 you think your brother mad, child ?" 
 
 "God forbid," murmured Sophia, at the very extremity 
 of those wits of which Miss O'Donoghue had so poor an
 
 A RECORD AND A PRESENTMENT 127 
 
 opinion. "Oh, no, dear aunt, not mad, of course, not 
 
 in the least mad." 
 
 Then, gathering from a restless movement of Rupert's 
 that she was not upon the right tack she faltered, floun- 
 dered wildly, and finally drew forth the inevitable pocket- 
 handkerchief, to add feelingly if irrelevantly from its 
 folds, "And indeed if I thought such a calamity had 
 really fallen upon us — and of course there are symptoms, 
 no doubt there are symptoms . . . ." 
 
 "What are his symptoms — has he tried to murder any 
 of you, hey?" 
 
 " Oh, my dear aunt ! No, indeed, dear Adrian is gen- 
 tleness itself" 
 
 " Does he bite ? Does he gibber ? Oh, away with 
 you, Sophia ! I am sure I cannot wonder at the poor 
 fellow wanting to live on a rock, between you and 
 Rupert. I am sure the periwinkles and the gulls must 
 be pleasant company compared to you. That alone 
 would show, I should think, that he knows right well 
 what he is about. Mad indeed ! There never was any 
 madness among the O'Donoghues except your poor uncle 
 Michael, who got a box on the ear from a windmill — and 
 he wasn't an O'Donoghue at all ! You will be kind 
 enough, nephew, to have delivered to Sir Adrian, no later 
 than to-day, the letter which I shall this moment indite 
 to him." 
 
 "Perhaps," said Rupert, "if you will only favour me 
 with your attention for a few minutes first, aunt, and 
 allow me to narrate to you the circumstances of my 
 brother's return here, and of his subsequent self-exile, 
 you will see fit to change your opinion, both as regards 
 him and myself." 
 
 A self-controlled nature will in the long run, rightly or 
 wrongly, always assume the ascendency over an excit- 
 able one. The moderateness of Rupert's words, the cool- 
 ness of his manner, here brought Tanty rapidly down 
 from her pinnacle of passion. 
 
 Certainly, she said, she was not only ready, but anxious 
 to hear all that Rupert could have to say for himself ; 
 and, smoothing down her black satin apron with a shak- 
 ing hand, the old lady prepared to listen with as much 
 judicial dignity as her flustered state allowed her to 
 assume. Rupert drew his chair opposite to hers and
 
 128 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 leant his elbow on the table, and fixed his bright, hard 
 eyes upon her. 
 
 "You remember, of course," he began after a mo- 
 ment's pause, "how at the time of my poor father's death, 
 Adrian was reported to have lost his life in the Vencle'e 
 war — though without authoritative confirmation — at the 
 same time as the fair and unhappy Countesse de Save- 
 naye, to whose fortune he had so chivalrously devoted 
 himself." 
 
 Tanty bowed her head in solemn assent ; but Molly, 
 watching with the most acute attention, felt her face 
 blaze at the indefinable shade of mockery she thought to 
 catch upon the speaker's curling lip. 
 
 " It was," continued he, "the constant strain, the long 
 months of watching in vain for tidings, that told upon my 
 father, rather than the actual grief of loss. When he died, 
 the responsibilities of the headship of the house devolved 
 naturally upon me, the only male representative left, 
 seemingly, to undertake them. The months went by ; 
 to the most sanguine the belief in Adrian's death became 
 inevitable. Our hopes died slowly, but they died at last ; 
 we mourned for him," here Rupert cast down his eyes 
 till the thick black lashes which were one of his beauties 
 swept his cheek ; his tone was perfect in its simple gravity. 
 "At length, urged thereto by all the family, if I remember 
 rightly by yourself as well, dear aunt, I assumed the title 
 as well as the position which seemed mine by right. I 
 was very young at the time, but I do not think that 
 cither then, or during the ten years that followed, I 
 unworthily filled my brother's place." 
 
 There was a proud ring of sincerity in the last words, 
 and the old lady knew that they were true ; that during 
 the years of his absolute power as well as of his present 
 more restricted mastership, Rupert's management of the 
 estate was unimpeachable. 
 
 "Certainly not, my dear Rupert," she said in softer 
 tones than she had hitherto used to him, "no one would 
 dream of suggesting such a thing — pray go on." 
 
 "And so," pursued the nephew, with a short laugh, 
 relapsing into that light tone of banter which was his most 
 natural mode of expression ; "when, one fine day, a 
 hired coach clattered up Sir Rupert Landale's avenue and 
 deposited upon his porch a tattered mariner who an-
 
 A RECORD AND A PRESENTMENT 129 
 
 nounced himself, in melancholy tones that would have 
 befitted the ghost no doubt many took him for, as the 
 rightful Sir Adrian, erroneously supposed defunct, I con- 
 fess that it required a little persuasion to make me recog- 
 nise my long-lost brother — and yet there could be no 
 doubt of it. The missing heir had come to his own 
 again ; the dead had come back to life. Well, we killed 
 the fatted calf, and all the rest of it — but I need not 
 inflict upon you the narrative of our rejoicing." 
 
 "Faith, no," said Tanty, drily, "I can see it with 
 half an eye." 
 
 "You know, too, I believe, the series of extraordinary 
 adventures, or misadventures, which had kept him roam- 
 ing on the high seas while we at home set up tablets to 
 his memory and 'wore our blacks' as people here call 
 it, and cultivated a chastened resignation. There was a 
 good deal of correspondence going on at the time between 
 Pulwick and Bunratty, if I remember aright, and you 
 heard all about Adrian's divers attempts to land in Eng- 
 land, about his tight with the King's men, his crack on 
 the head and final impressment. At least you heard as 
 much as we could gather ourselves. Adrian is not what 
 one would call a garrulous person at the best of times. 
 It was really with the greatest difficulty that we managed 
 to extract enough out of him to piece together a coherent 
 tale." 
 
 "Well, well," quoth Tanty, with impatience, "you 
 are glib enough for two anyhow, my dear ! All this does 
 not tell me how Adrian came to live on a lighthouse, and 
 why you put him down as a lunatic." 
 
 "Not as a lunatic," corrected Rupert, gently, "merely 
 as slightly eccentric on certain points. Though, indeed, if 
 you had seen him during those first months after his re- 
 turn, I think even you with your optimistic spirit would 
 have feared, as we did, that he was falling into melan- 
 cholia. Thank heaven he is better now. But, dear me, 
 what we went through ! I declare I expected every 
 morning to be informed that Sir Adrian's corpse had been 
 found hangmg from his bedpost or discovered in a jelly 
 at the bottom of the bluffs. And, indeed, when at length 
 he disappeared for three days, after he had been last ob- 
 served mooning along the coast, there was a terrible 
 panic lest he should have sought a congenial and sooth- 
 
 9
 
 I30 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 ing end in the embraces of the quicksands It 
 
 turned out, however, that he had merely strolled over to 
 Scarthey — where, as you know, my father established a 
 beacon and installed a keeper to warn boats off our 
 shoals — and, finding the place to his liking, had remained 
 there, regardless of our feelings." 
 
 "Tut, tut ! " said Tanty ; but whether in reproof of 
 Rupert's flippant language or of her elder nephew's 
 erratic behaviour, it would have been difficult to de- 
 termine. 
 
 "Of course," went on Rupert, smoothly, "I had re- 
 solved, after a decent period, to remove my lares and 
 penates from a house where I was no longer master and 
 to establish myself, with my small patrimony (I believe 
 I ought to call it matrimony, as we younger children 
 benefit by our O'Donoghue mother) in an independent 
 establishment. But when I first broached the subject, 
 Adrian was so vastly distressed, expressed himself so well 
 satisfied with my management of the estate and begged 
 me so earnestly to consider Pulwick as my home, vowing 
 that he himself would never marry, and that all he looked 
 forward to in life was to see me wedded and with future 
 heirs to the name springing around me, that it would 
 have been actual unkindness to resist. Moreover, as you 
 can imagine, Adrian is not exactly a man of business, 
 and his spasmodic interferences in the control of the 
 property being already then of a very injudicious nature, 
 I confess that, having nursed it myself for eleven years 
 with some success, I dreaded to think what it would be- 
 come under his auspices. And so I agreed to remain. But 
 the position increased in difficulty. Adrian's moroseness 
 seemed to grow upon him ; he showed an exaggerated 
 horror of company ; either flying from visitors as from 
 the pest, and shutting himself up in his own apartments, 
 or (on the few disastrous occasions when my persuasions 
 induced him to show himself to some old family friends) 
 entertaining them with such unusual sentiments concern- 
 ing social laws, the magistracy, the government, his 
 Majesty the King himself, that the most extraordinary 
 reports about him soon spread over the whole county. 
 This was about the time — as you may remember — of my 
 own marriage." 
 
 Here an alteration crept into INIr. Landale's voice, and
 
 A RECORD AND A PRESENTMENT 131 
 
 Molly looked at him curiously, while Miss Sophia gave 
 vent to an audible sniff. 
 
 "To be sure," said Tanty, hastily. Comfortably' 
 egotistic old ladies have an instinctive dislike to painful 
 topics. And that Rupert's sorrow for his young wife had 
 been, if self-centred and reserved, of an intense and pro- 
 longed nature was known to all the family. 
 
 The widower himself had no intention of dilating upon 
 it. His wife's name he never mentioned, and no one 
 could guess, heavily as the blow was known to have 
 fallen upon him, the seething bitterness that her loss had 
 left in his soul, nor imagine how different a man he might 
 have been if that one strong affection of his life had been 
 spared to soften it. 
 
 "Adrian fled from the wedding festivities, as you may 
 remember, for you were our honoured guest at the time, 
 and greatly displeased at his absence," he resumed, after 
 a few seconds of darkling reflection, " None of us knew 
 where he had flown to, for he did not evidently consider 
 his owl's nest sufficiently remote ; but we had his fraternal 
 blessing to sustain us. And after that he continued to 
 make periodical disappearances to his retreat, stopping 
 away each time longer and longer. One fine day he sent 
 workmen to the island with directions to repair certain 
 rooms in the keep, and he began to transfer thereto fur- 
 niture, his books and his organ. A dilapidated little 
 French prisoner next appeared on the scene (whom my 
 brother had extracted from theTower of Liverpool, which 
 was then crammed with such gentry), and finally we 
 were informed that, with this worthy companion, Sir 
 Adrian Landale was determined to take up his abode 
 altogether at Scarthey, undertaking the duties of the 
 recently defunct light-keeper. So off he went, and there 
 he is still. He has extracted from us a solemn promise 
 that his privacy is to be absolutely respected, and that 
 no communications, or, above all, visits are to be made 
 to him. Occasionally, when we least expect it, he de- 
 scends upon us from his tower, upsets all my accounts, 
 makes the most absurd concessions to the tenants, rides 
 round the estate with his eyes on the ground and disap- 
 pears again. Etvoila, my dear aunt, how we stand." 
 
 " Well, nephew," said Miss O'Donoghue, "I am much 
 obliged to you, I am sure, for putting me au courant of
 
 132 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 the family affairs. It is all very sad — very sad and very 
 deplorable ; but " 
 
 But Mr. Landale was quite aware that Tanty was not 
 yet convinced to the desired extent. He therefore here 
 interrupted her to play his last card — that ace he had up 
 his sleeve, in careful preparation for this trial of skill with 
 his keen-witted relative, and to the suitable production 
 of which he had been all along leading-. 
 
 Rising from his chair with slow, deliberate movement, 
 he proceeded, as if following his own train of thought, 
 without noticing that Miss O'Donoghue was intent on 
 speech herself: 
 
 " You have not seen him, I believe, since he was quite 
 a lad. You would have some difficulty in recognising 
 him, though he bears, like the rest of us, what you call 
 the unmistakable Landale stamp. His portrait is here, 
 by the way — duly installed in its correct position. That," 
 with a laugh, " was one of his freaks. It was his duty to 
 keep up the family traditions, he said — and there you will 
 approve of him, no doubt ; but hardly, perhaps, of the 
 manner in which he has had that laudable intention carried 
 out. My own portrait was, of course, deposed (like the 
 original)," added Mr. Landale, with something of a sneer ; 
 " and now hangs meekly in some bedroom or other — in 
 that, if I mistake not, at present hallowed by my fair 
 cousins' presence. Well, it is good for the soul of man 
 to be humbled, as we are taught to believe from our 
 earliest years ! " 
 
 Tanty was fumbling for her eye-glasses. She was glad 
 to hear that Adrian had remembered some of his obliga- 
 tions (she observed, sententiously, as she hauled herself 
 stiffly out of her chair to approach the chimney-piece); it 
 was certainly a sign that he was more mindful of his 
 duties as head of the house than one would expect from 
 a person hardly responsible, such as Rupert had repre- 
 sented him to be, and .... 
 
 Here, the glasses being adjusted and focussed upon the 
 portrait, Miss O'Donoghue halted abruptly with a drop- 
 ping jaw. 
 
 " There is a curious inscription underneath the escutch- 
 eon," said Mr. Landale composedly, " which latter, by 
 the way, you may notice is the only one in the line which 
 has no room for an irnpaled coat (Adrian's way of indicat-
 
 A RECORD AND A PRESENTMENT 133 
 
 ing not only that he is single, but means to remain such) ; 
 Adrian composed it himself and indeed attached a marked 
 importance to it. Let me read it for you, dear Tanty, 
 the picture hangs a little high and those curveting letters 
 are hard to decipher. It runs thus : 
 
 Sir Adrta?i William Hugh Landale, Lord of Pulwick 
 and Scarihey in the County Palatine of Lancaster, eighth 
 Baronet, horn March \2th, 1775. Succeeded to the title and 
 estate on the loth February lygg, whilst abroad. Ijiiqui- 
 tously pressed i?ito the King's service on the day o/his return 
 hom.e,fanuary 2?id, 1801. Twice flogged for alleged insub- 
 ordination, and o?ily released at last by the help of a friend 
 after five years of slavery. Died [Here a space 
 
 for the date.] It is a record with a vengeance, is it not .? 
 Notice my brother's determination to die unmarried and 
 to retire, once for all, from all or any of the possible 
 honours connected with his position !" 
 
 They had all clustered in front of the picture ; even 
 Madeleine roused from her sweet day-dreams to some 
 show of curiosity ; Miss Landale's bosom, heaving with 
 such sighs as to make the tombstone rise and fall like a 
 ship upon a stormy sea ; Molly with an eagerness she 
 did not attempt to hide ; and Miss O'Donoghue still 
 speechless with horror and indignation. 
 
 Mr. Landale had gauged his aunt's temperament cor- 
 rectly enough. To one whose ruling passion was pride 
 of family, this mockery of a consecrated family custom, 
 this heirloom destined to carry down a record of degrada- 
 tion into future generations, was an insult to the name 
 only to be explained to her first indignation by deliberate 
 malice — or insanity. 
 
 And from the breezy background of blue sky and sea, 
 contrasting as strangely with the dark solemnity of the 
 other portraits as did the figure itself in its incongruous 
 sailor dress, the face of the eighth baronet looked down 
 in melancholy gravity upon the group gathered in judg- 
 ment upon him. 
 
 " Disgraceful ! Positively disgraceful ! " at length cried 
 the last representative of the O'Donoghues of Bunratty, in 
 scandalised tones. " My dear Rupert, you should have 
 a curtain put up, that this exhibition of folly — of madness, 
 I hardly know what to call it — be not exposed to every 
 casual visitor. Dear me, dear me, that I should live to
 
 134 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 see any of my kin deliberately throw discredit on his 
 family, if indeed the poor fellow is responsible ! Rupert, 
 my good soul, can you ascribe any reason for this terrible 
 state of affairs .... that blow on the head ? " 
 
 " In part perhaps, " said ]\Ir. Landale. " And yet there 
 have been other causes at work. If I could have a private 
 word in your ear," glancing meaningly over his shoulder 
 at the two young girls who were both listening, though 
 with very different expressions of interest and favou, "I 
 could give you my opinion more fully." 
 
 "Go away now, my dear creatures, " hereupon said 
 Miss O'Donoghue, promptly addressing her nieces. "It 
 is a fine morning, and you will lose your roses if you 
 don't get the air. I don't care if it has begun to rain, 
 miss ! Go and have a game of battledore and shuttle- 
 cock then. Young people musi have exercise. Well, my 
 dear Rupert, well ! " — when Molly, with a pettish "battle- 
 dore and shuttlecock indeed ! " had taken her sister by the 
 arm and left the room. 
 
 "Well, my dear aunt, the fact is, I believe my unhappy 
 brother has never recovered from — from his passion for 
 Ce'cile de Savenaye, that early love affair, so suddenly and 
 tragically terminated — well, it seems to have turned his 
 brain ! " 
 
 " Pooh, pooh ! why that was twenty years ago. Don't 
 tell me it is in a man to be so constant." 
 
 " In no sa?ie man perhaps ; but then, you know,Tanty, 
 that is just the point .... Remember the circum- 
 stances. He loved her madly ; he followed her, lived 
 near her for months and she was drowned before his eyes, 
 1 believe. I never heard, of course, any details of that 
 strange period of his life, but we can imagine." This 
 was a difficult, vague, subject to deal with, and Mr. Lan- 
 dale wisely passed on. " Moreover, his behaviour when 
 in this house on his return at first has left me no doubt. 
 I watched him closely. He was for ever haunting those 
 rooms which she had inhabited. When he found her 
 miniature in the drawing-room he went first as white as 
 death, then he took it in his hand and stood gazing at it 
 (I am not exaggerating) for a whole hour without mov- 
 ing ; and, finally, he carried it off, and I know he used to 
 talk to it in his room. And now, even if I had not given 
 my poor brother my word of honour never to disturb his
 
 A RECORD AND A PRESENTMENT 135 
 
 chosen solitude, I should have felt it a heavy responsi- 
 bility to promote a meeting which would inevitably bring 
 back past memories in a troublous manner upon him. 
 In fact, were he to come across the children of his dead 
 love — above all Molly, who must be startlingly like her 
 mother — what might the result be ? I hardly like to 
 contemplate it. The human brain is a very delicately 
 balanced organ, my dear aunt, and once it gets ever so 
 slightly out of order one cannot be too careful to avoid 
 risk." 
 
 He finished his say with an expressive gesture of the 
 hand. Miss O'Donoghue remained for a moment plunged 
 in reflection, during which the cloud upon her counte- 
 nance gradually lifted. 
 
 "It is a strange thing," she said at last, "but con- 
 stancy seems to run in the family. There is no denying 
 that. Here is Sophia, a ridiculous spectacle — and you 
 
 yourself, my dear Rupert And now poor Adrian, 
 
 too, and his case of mere calf-love, as one would have 
 thought." 
 
 "A calf may grow into a fine bull, you know," re- 
 turned Mr. Landale, who had winced at his aunt's allu- 
 sion to himself and now spoke in the most unemotional 
 tone he could assume, " especially if it is well fostered in 
 its youth." 
 
 "And I suppose," said Miss O'Donoghue, with a faint 
 smile, " you think I ought to know all about bulls." She 
 again put up her glasses to survey the portrait with crit- 
 ical deliberation ; after which, recommending him once 
 more strenuously to have a curtain erected, she observed, 
 that it would break her heart to look at it one moment 
 longer and requested to be conducted from the room. 
 
 Mr. Landale could not draw any positive conclusion 
 from his aunt's manner of receiving his confidence, nor 
 determine whether she had altogether grasped the whole 
 meaning of what he had intended delicately to convey to 
 her concerning his brother's past as well as present posi- 
 tion ; but he had said as much as prudence counselled.
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 THE DISTANT LIGHT 
 
 In spite of their first petulant or dolorous anticipation, 
 and of the contrast between the even tenor of country- 
 life and the constant stream of amusement which young 
 people of fashion can find in a place like Bath, the two 
 girls discovered that time glided pleasantly enough over 
 them at Pulwick. 
 
 Instead of the gloomy northern stronghold their novel- 
 fed imagination had pictured (the more dismally as their 
 sudden removal from town gaieties savoured distantly of 
 punishment at the hand of their irate aunt), they found 
 themselves delivered over into a bright, admirably- 
 ordered house, replete with things of beauty, comfortable 
 to the extremity of luxury ; and allowed in this place of 
 safety to enjoy almost unrestricted liberty. 
 
 The latter privilege was especially precious, as the 
 sisters at that time had engrossing thoughts of their own 
 they wished to pursue, and found more interest in solitary 
 roamings through the wide estate than in the company of 
 the hosts. 
 
 On the fifth day Miss O'Donoghue took her departure. 
 Her own travelling coach had rumbled down the avenue, 
 bearing her and her woman away, in its polished 
 yellow embrace, her flat trunk strapped behind, and the 
 good-natured old face nodding out of the window, till 
 Molly and Madeleine, standing (a little disconsolate) upon 
 the porch to watch her departure, could distinguish even 
 the hooked nose no longer. Mr. Landale, upon his 
 mettled grey, a gallant figure, as Molly herself was forced 
 to admit, in his boots and buckskins, had cantered in the 
 dust alongside, intent upon escorting his aged relative to 
 the second stage of her journey. 
 
 That night, almost for the first time since their arrival, 
 there was no company at dmner, and the young guests 
 
 136
 
 THE DISTANT LIGHT 137 
 
 understood that the household would now fall back into 
 its ordinary routine. 
 
 But without the small flutter of seeing strangers, or 
 Tanty's lively conversation, the social intercourse soon 
 waned into exceeding dulness, and at an early hour Miss 
 Molly rose and withdrew to her room, pretexting a head- 
 ache, for which Mr. Landale, with his usual high courtesy, 
 affected deep concern. 
 
 As she was slowly ascending the great oaken staircase, 
 she crossed Moggie, the gatekeeper's daughter, who in 
 her character of foster-sister to one of the guests had 
 been specially allotted to them as attendant, during the 
 remainder of their visit to Pulwick. 
 
 Molly thought that the girl eyed her hesitatingly, as if 
 she wished to speak : 
 
 " Well, Moggie.?" she asked, stopping on her way. 
 
 "Oh, please, miss," said the buxom lass, blushing and 
 dropping a curtsey, " Renny Potter, please, miss, is up at 
 our lodge to-night, he don't care to come to the 'ouse so 
 much, miss. But when he heard about you, miss, you 
 could have knocked him down with a feather he was so 
 surprised and that excited, miss, we have never seen 
 him so. And he's so set on being allowed to see ye 
 both ! " 
 
 Molly as yet failed to connect any memories of interest 
 with the possessor of the patronymic mentioned, but the 
 next phrase mentioned aroused her attention. 
 
 " He is Sir Adrian's servant, now, miss, and goes back 
 yonder to the island, that is where the master lives, to- 
 morrow morning. But he would be so happy to see the 
 young ladies before he goes, if the liberty were forgiven, 
 he says. He was servant to the Madam your mother, 
 miss." 
 
 "Well, Moggie," answered Miss Molly, smiling, "if 
 that is all that is required to make Renny Potter happy, 
 it is very easily done. Tell Renny Potter : to-morrow 
 morning." And she proceeded on her way pondering, 
 while the successful emissary pattered down to the lodge 
 in high glee to gather her reward in her sweetheart's 
 company. 
 
 When later on Madeleine joined her sister, she found 
 her standing by the deep recessed window, the curtains
 
 138 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 of which were drawn back, resting her head on her hand 
 against the wainscot, and gazing abroad into the night. 
 
 She approached, and passing her hand round Molly's 
 waist looked out also. 
 
 "Again at your window.'' " 
 
 "It is a beautiful night, and the view very lovely," 
 said Molly. And indeed the moon was riding high in a 
 deep blue starry heaven, and shimmered on the strip of 
 distant sea visible from the windows. 
 
 * ' Yes, but yesterday the night was not fine, and nothing 
 was to be seen but blackness ; and it was the same the 
 day before, and yet you stared out of this window, as you 
 have every night since our coming. It is strange to see 
 you so. What is it, why don't you tell me ? " 
 
 "Madeleine," said I\Iolly, suddenly, after a lengthy 
 pause, " I am simply haunted by that light over yonder, 
 the Light of Scarthey. There is a mystery about those 
 ruins, on which I keep meditating all day long. I want 
 to know more. It draws me. I would give anything to 
 be able, now, to set sail and land there all unknown to 
 any one, and see what manner of life is led where that 
 light is burning." 
 
 But Madeleine merely gave a pout of little interest. 
 "What do you think you would find.'' A half-witted 
 middle-aged man, mooning among a litter of books, with 
 an old woman, and a little Frenchman to look after him. 
 Why, Mr. Landale himself takes no trouble to conceal 
 that his poor brother is an almost hopeless lunatic." 
 
 "Mr. Landale — " Molly began, with much contempt ; 
 but she interrupted herself, and went on simply, " ]\Ir. 
 Landale is a very fine gentleman, with very superior 
 manners. He speaks like a printed book — but for all that 
 I would like to know." 
 
 Madeleine laughed. "The demon of curiosity has a 
 hold of you, Molly ; remember the fable they made us 
 repeat : De loiti cest quelque chose, el de pres ce 7iesl rien. 
 Now you shall go straight into your bed, and not take cold. " 
 
 And Miss Madeleine, after authoritatively closing the 
 curtains, kissed her sister, and was about to commence 
 immediate disrobing, when she caught sight of the sha- 
 green-covered book, lying open on the table. 
 
 "So your headache was your diary — how I should like 
 to have a peep."
 
 THE DISTANT LIGHT 139 
 
 " I daresay ! " said Molly, sarcastically, and then sat 
 down and, pen in hand, began to re-read her night's entry, 
 now and then casting a tantalising glance over her shoul- 
 der at her sister. The lines, in the flowing convent hand, 
 ran thus : 
 
 " Aunt O'Donoghue left us this morning, and so here 
 we are, planted in Pulwick ; and she has achieved her plan, 
 fully. But what is odd is that neither Madeleine nor 1 
 seem to mind it, now. What has come over Madeleine 
 is her secret, and she keeps it close; but that /should 
 like being here is strange indeed. 
 
 "And yet, every day something happens to make me 
 feel connected with Pulwick — something more, I mean, 
 than the mere fact that we were born here. So many 
 of the older people greet me, at first, as if they knew me 
 — they all say I am so like * the Madam ; ' they don't see 
 the same likeness in Madeleine for all her grand air. 
 There was Mrs. Mearson, the gatekeeper, was struck 
 in amazement. And the old housekeeper, whenever she 
 has an opportunity tries to entertain me about the beauti- 
 ful foreign lady and the grand times they had at Pulwick 
 when she was here, and "Sir Tummas ' was still alive. 
 
 "But, though we are made to feel that we are more 
 than ordinary guests, it is not on account of Mr. Landale, 
 hxxi 071 accotmt 0/ Sir Adrian — the Master, as they call him, 
 whom we never see, and whom his brother would make 
 out to be mad. Why is he so anxious that Sir Adrian 
 should not know that Aunt Rose has brought us here .? 
 He seemed willing enough to please her, and yet nothing 
 that she could say of her wish could induce him even to 
 send a messenger over to the rock. And now we maybe 
 here all these two months and never even have caught a 
 sight of the Master. I wonder if he is still like that por- 
 trait — whether he bears that face still as he now sits, all 
 alone, brooding as his brother says, up in those ruined 
 chambers, while the light burns calm and bright in the 
 tower ! What can this man of his have to say to me ? " 
 
 Molly dotted her last forgotten "i," blotted it, closed 
 and carefully locked the book. Then, rising, she danced 
 over to her sister, and forced her into a pirouette. 
 
 "And now," she cried gaily, "our dear old Tanty is 
 pulling on her nightcap and weeping over her posset in 
 the stuffy room at Lancaster regretting me ; and I should
 
 I40 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 be detesting her with all my energies for leaving me 
 behind her, were it not that, just at present, I actually find 
 Pulwick more interesting than Bath." 
 
 Madeleine lifted her heavy-lidded eyes a little wonder- 
 ingly to her sister's face, as she paused in her gyration. 
 
 " What fly stings thee now ? " she inquired in French, 
 
 "You do not tell me about jy our wounds, my dear, 
 those wounds which little Dan Cupid has made upon your 
 tender heart, with his naughty little arrow, and which give 
 you such sweet pain, apparently, that you revel in the 
 throes all day long. And yet, I am a good child ; you 
 shall guess. If you guess aright, I shall tell you. So 
 now begin." 
 
 They stood before the fire, and the leaping tongues of 
 light played upon their white garments, Madeleine's night- 
 gear scarcely more treacherously tell-tale of her slender 
 woman's loveliness than the evening robe that clung so 
 closely to the vigorous grace of Molly's lithe young 
 figure. 
 
 The elder, whose face bore a blush distinct from the 
 reflected glow of the embers, fell to guessing, as com- 
 manded, a little wildly : 
 
 "You begin to find the beau cousin Rupert a little more 
 interesting than you anticipated." 
 
 "Bah," cried Molly, with a stamp of her sandalled foot, 
 "it is not possible to guess worse ! He is more insuffer- 
 able to me, hour by hour." 
 
 "I think him kind and pleasant," returned Madeleine 
 simply. 
 
 "Ah, because he makes sweet eyes at you, I suppose — 
 yet no — I express myself badly — he could not make any- 
 thing sweet out of those hard, hard eyes of his, but he is 
 very — what they call here in England — attentive to you. 
 And he looks at you and ponders you over when you 
 little think it — you poor innocent — lost in your dream 
 of ... . Smith I There, I will not tease you. Guess 
 again." 
 
 "You are pleased to remain here because you are a 
 true weather-cock — because you like one thing one day 
 another the next — because the country peace and quiet is 
 soothing to you after the folly and noise of the great world 
 of Bath and Dublin, and reminds you refreshingly, as it 
 does me, of our happy convent days." The glimmer of
 
 THE DISTANT LIGHT 141 
 
 a dainty malice lurked in the apparent candour of Made- 
 leine's grave blue eyes, and from thence spread into her 
 pretty smile at the sight of Molly's disdainful lip, "Well 
 then, I give it up. You have some mischief on foot, of 
 that at least I am sure." 
 
 "No mischief — a work of righteousness rather. Sister 
 Madeleine, you heard all that that gallant gentleman you 
 think so highly of — your cousin Rupert, my dear" (it was 
 a little way of Molly's to throw the responsibility of any- 
 thing she did not like, even to an obnoxious relationship, 
 upon another person's shoulders), ' ' narrated of his brother 
 Sir Adrian, and how he persuaded Tanty that he was, as 
 you said just now, a hopeless madman — " 
 
 "But yes — he does mad things," said the elder twin, a 
 little wonderingly. 
 
 " Well, Madeleine, it is a vile lie. I am convinced of 
 it." 
 
 " But, my darling " 
 
 "Look here, Madeleine, there is something behind it 
 all. I attacked that creature, that rag, you cannot call 
 her a woman, that female cousin of yours, Sophia, and I 
 pressed her hard too, but she could not give me a single 
 instance about Sir Adrian that is really the least like in- 
 sanity ; and last night, when the young fool who escorted 
 me to dinner, Coventry his name was, told me that every 
 one says Sir Adrian is shut up on the island and that his 
 French servant is really his keeper, and that it was a 
 shame Rupert was not the eldest brother, I quite saw the 
 sort of story Master Rupert likes to spread — don't inter- 
 rupt, please ! When you were wool-gathering over the 
 fire last night (in the lively and companionable way, per- 
 mit me to remark in parenthesis, that you have adopted 
 of late), and you thought I was with Tanty, I had marched 
 off with my flat candlestick to the picture gallery to have 
 a good look at the so-called lunatic. I dragged over a 
 chair and lit the candles in the candelabra each side of 
 the chimney-piece, and then standing on my perch, still, 
 I held up my own torch and I saw the sailor really well. 
 I think he has a beautiful face and that he is no more mad 
 than I am. But he looks so sad, so sad ! I longed to 
 make those closed lips part and tell me their secret. And, 
 as I was looking and dreaming, my dear, just as you 
 might, I heard a little noise, and there was Rupert, only
 
 142 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 a few yards off, surveying me with such an angry gaze — 
 Ugh ! " (with a shiver) " I hate such ways. He came in 
 upon me with soft steps like some animal. Look at his 
 portrait there, Madeleine ! — Stay ! I shall hold up the 
 light as I did last night to Sir Adrian — see, it flickers and 
 glimmers and makes him seem as if he were alive — oh, 
 1 wish he were not hanging in front of our beds, staring 
 out at us with those eyes ! You think them very fine, I 
 daresay, that is because his lashes are as thick and dark 
 as a woman's — but the look in them, my dear — do you 
 know what it reminds me of.? Of the beautiful, cruel 
 greyhound we saw at the coursing at that place near 
 Bunratty (you remember, just before they started the 
 hare), when he stood for a moment motionless, looking 
 out across the plain. I can never forget the expression 
 of those yellow-circled eyes. And, when I see Rupert 
 look at you as if he were fixing something in the far dis- 
 tance, it gives me just the feeling of horror and sickness 
 I had then. (You remember how dreadful it was .-') 
 Rupert makes me think of a greyhound, altogether he is 
 so lithe and so clean-cut, and so full of eagerness, a sort 
 of trembling eagerness underneath his seeming quiet, and 
 I think he could be cruel." 
 
 IMolly paused with an unusually grave and reflective 
 look ; IMadelcine yawned a little, not at all impressed. 
 
 " How you exaggerate ! " she said. "Well what hap- 
 pened when he came in and caught you ? The poor 
 man ! I suppose, he thought you were setting the house 
 on fire." 
 
 " My dear, I turned as red as a poppy and began blow- 
 ing out all my illumination, feeling dreadfully guilty, and 
 then he helped me off my chair with such an air of polite- 
 ness that I could have struck him with pleasure, but I 
 soon gathered my wits again. And, vexed with myself 
 for being a ninny, I just dropped him a little curtsey and 
 said, 'I've been examining my mad cousin.' 'Well, and 
 what do you think of hini ? ' he asked me, smiling (his 
 abominable smile !). But lean keep my thoughts to my- 
 self as well as other people. 'I think he is very hand- 
 some,' I answered, and then I wagged my head and 
 added, ' Poor fellow,' just as if I thought he was re.illy 
 mad. ' Poor fellow ! ' said cousin Rupert, still with his 
 smile. Whereupon we interchanged good-nights, and he
 
 THE DISTANT LIGHT 143 
 
 ceremoniously reconducted me to my door. What was 
 he spying- after me for, like that ? My dear, your cousin 
 has a bad conscience. — But I can spy too — I have been 
 questioning the servants to-day, and some of the people 
 on the estate." 
 
 "Oh, Molly!" 
 
 "Come, don't be so shocked. It was diplomatically, 
 of course, but I am determined to find out the truth. 
 Well, so far from looking upon Sir Adrian as a lunatic, 
 they all adore him, it seems to me. He comes here 
 periodically — once every three months or so — and it is 
 like the King's Justices, you know — St. Louis of France 
 — he redresses all wrongs, and listens to grievances and 
 gives alms and counsel, and every one can come with 
 his story, down to the poorest wretch on the estate, and 
 they certainly gave me to understand that they would 
 fare pretty hardly under Mr. Landale if it were not for 
 that mild beneficent restraining influence in his tovver 
 yonder. It is very romantic, do you know (you like 
 romance, Madeleine). I wonder if Sir Adrian will come 
 over while we are here. Oh, I hope, I hope he will. I 
 shall never rest till I have seen him." 
 
 " Silly child," said Madeleine, " and so that is the rea- 
 son you are glad to remain here ? " 
 
 "Even so, my dear," answered the other, skipped into 
 the big four-post bed, carefully ascertained and selected 
 the softest pillow, and then, smiling sweetly at her sister 
 from under a frame of dark curls, let her white lids drop 
 over the lustre of her eyes and so intimated she desired 
 to sleep.
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 THE TOWER OF LIVERPOOL: MASTER AND MAN 
 
 A prison is a house of care, 
 A place where none can thrive, 
 A Touchstone True to try a friend, 
 A Grave for man alive. 
 Sometimes a place of right, 
 Sometimes a place of wrong, 
 Sometimes a place of rogues and thieves, 
 And honest men among. 
 
 Old Inscription. 
 
 It was soon after sunrise — at that time of year an 
 hour not exorbitantly early— when Molly awoke from a 
 tangle of fantastic dreams in which the haunting figure 
 of her waking thoughts, the hermit ofScarthey, appeared 
 to her in varied shapes ; as an awe-inspiring, saintly 
 ascetic with long, white hair; as a young, beautiful, 
 imprisoned prince ; even as a ragged imbecile staring 
 vacantly at a lantern, somewhere in a dismal sea-cave. 
 
 The last vision was uppermost in her mind when she 
 opened her eyes ; and the girl, under the impression of 
 so disgusting a disillusion, remained for a while ponder- 
 ing and yawning, before making up her mind to exchange 
 warmth and featherbed for her appointment without. 
 
 But the shafts of light growing through the chinks in 
 the shutters ever brighter and more full of dancing motes, 
 decided her. 
 
 "A beautiful morning, Madeleine," .she said, leaning 
 over and pulling one of the long fair strands upon her 
 neighbour's pillow with sisterly authority. "Get up, 
 lazy-bones, and come and have a walk with me be- 
 fore breakfast." 
 
 The sleeping sister awoke, smiled with her usual ex- 
 quisite serenity of temper, and politely refused. Molly in- 
 sisted, threatened, coaxed, but to no avail. Madeleine 
 
 144
 
 THE TOWER OF LIVERPOOL 145 
 
 was luxuriously comfortable, and was not to be disturbed 
 either mentally or bodily ; and Molly, aware of the resist- 
 ing power of will hidden under that soft exterior, at 
 length petulantly desisted ; and wrapped up in furs, with 
 hands plunged deep into the recesses of a gigantic muff, 
 soon sallied forth herself alone into the park. 
 
 Half-way down the avenue she met blue-eyed Moggie 
 with round face shining out of the sharp, exhilarating 
 atmosphere like a small sun. The damsel was overcome 
 with blushes and rapture at her young mistress's un- 
 expected promptitude in carrying out her promise, and 
 ran back to warn her sweetheart of that lady's approach. 
 
 As Molly drew near the keeper's lodge — a sort of Doric 
 temple, quaintly standing in the middle of a hedge-en- 
 closed garden, and half-buried under thickly-clustering, 
 interlacing creepers — from the side of the enormous nest 
 of evergreen foliage there emerged, in a state of high ex- 
 citement strenuously subdued, a short, square-built man 
 (none other than Rene L'Apotre), whilst between the 
 boughs of the garden-hedge peeped forth the bashful, 
 ruddy face of the lady of his fancy, eager to watch the 
 interview. 
 
 Rene ran forward, then stopped a few paces away, hat 
 in hand, scraping and bowing in the throes of an over- 
 whelming emotion that strove hard with humility. 
 
 "Ah, Mademoiselle, Mademoiselle!" he ejaculated 
 between spells of amazed staring, and seemed unable to 
 bring forth another word. 
 
 "And so you have known my mother, Rene," said 
 Miss Molly (in her native tongue) with a smile. 
 
 At the sound of the voice and of the French words, 
 Rene's face grew pale under its bronze, and the tears he 
 had so strongly combated, glistened in his eyes. 
 
 " If I had not heard last night," he said at length, 
 "that these ladies had come back — it was Moggie Mear- 
 son who told me, who was foster sister to you, or was it 
 Mademoiselle your sister? and proud she is of it — if I had 
 not known that the young ladies were here again, when I 
 saw Mademoiselle I would have thought that my lady 
 herself had returned to us (may the good God have her 
 soul !). Ah, to think that I should ever see her again in 
 the light of the sun ! " 
 10
 
 146 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 He stopped, suffocated with the sob that his respect 
 would not allow him to utter. 
 
 But Molly, who had had other objects in view when she 
 rose from her couch this cold, windy morning, than to 
 present an objective to a serving-man's emotion, now 
 thought the situation had lasted long enough for her enjoy- 
 ment and determined to put an end to it. 
 
 " Eh bien, Ren^/' she said gaily, " orshould I call you 
 Monsieur Potter ? which, by the way, is a droll name for 
 a Frenchman, I am very glad to see that you are pleased 
 to see me. If you would care to have some talk with me 
 you may attend me if you like. But I freeze standing 
 here," stamping her feet one after the other on the hard 
 ground. " I must absolutely walk ; and you may put on 
 your hat again, please ; for it is very cold for you too," she 
 added, snuggling mto her muff and under her fur tippet. 
 
 The man obeyed after another of his quaint salutes, and 
 as Molly started forward, followed her respectfully, apace 
 in rear. 
 
 " I daresay you will not be sorry to have a little talk 
 with a compatriot in your own tongue, all English as you 
 may have grown," said the young lady presently ; " and 
 as Moggie has told me that you were in my mother's 
 service, there is a whole volume of things which, I be- 
 lieve, you alone can relate to me. You shall tell me all 
 that, one day. But what seems to me the most curious, 
 first of all, is your presence here. 'V\''e ourselves are only 
 at Pulwick by chance." 
 
 "Mademoiselle," said Rene in an earnest voice, "if 
 you knew the whole story, you would soon understand 
 that, since it was not to be, that I should remain the 
 humble servitor of Monseigneur le Comte de Savenaye, 
 Mademoiselle's father, or of Madame, who followed him 
 to heaven, notwithstanding all oureffortsto preserve her, 
 it is but natural that I should attach myself (since he would 
 allow it) to my present master." 
 
 "Mr. Landale.-*" asked Molly, affecting ignorance. 
 
 "No, Mademoiselle," cried the Frenchman, hotly. 
 "My master is Sir Adrian. Had Mr. Landale remained 
 the lord of this place, I should have been left to die in my 
 prison — or at least have remained there until this spring, 
 for it seems there is peace again, and the Tower of Liver- 
 pool is empty now."
 
 THE TOWER OF LIVERPOOL 147 
 
 " Vqyons, voyons, conte moi cela, Rene," said Molly, 
 turning her face, beautifully glowing from the caress of 
 the keen air, eagerly to her companion. And he, nothing 
 loth to let loose a naturally garrulous tongue in such com- 
 pany, and on such a theme, started off upon a long story 
 illustrated by rapid gesticulation. 
 
 " I will tell you," cried he, and plunged into explana- 
 tion with more energy than coherence, "it was like this : 
 
 " I had been already two years in that prison ; we were 
 some hundreds of prisoners, and it was a cruel place. A 
 cruel place. Mademoiselle, almost as bad as that where 
 we were shut up, my master and I together, years before, 
 at La Rochelle — and that I will tell you, if you wish, 
 afterwards. 
 
 " I had been taken by the marine conscription, when their 
 Republic became the French Empire. And a sailor I was 
 then (just, as I heard later, as Sir Adrian also was at the 
 time ; but that I did not know, you understand), for they 
 took all those that lived on the coast. Now I had only 
 served with the ship six months, when she was taken by the 
 English, and, as I say, we were sent to the prison in 
 Liverpool, where we found so many others, who had been 
 already there for years. When I heard it was Liverpool, 
 I knew it was a place nearPulwick, and I at once thought 
 of Mr. Landale, not him, of course, they now call Mr. 
 Landale, but him who had followed my mistress, Madame 
 your mother, to help to tight the Republicans in the old 
 time. And I thought I was saved : I knew he would get 
 me out if it was possible to get any one out. For, you 
 see, I thought his honour was home again, after we had 
 been beaten, and there was no more to be done for my 
 lady. We had contrived to find an English ship to take 
 him home, and he had gone back, as I thought, Made- 
 moiselle. Well, a prisoner becomes cunning, and be- 
 sides, I had been in prison before ; I managed to make 
 up a letter, and as I knew already some English, I ended 
 by persuading a man to carry it to Pulwick for me. It 
 was a long way, and I had no money, but I made bold 
 to assure him that Mr. Landale — oh, no ! not Ihts one," 
 Ren^ interrupted himself again with a gesture eloquent 
 of resentful scorn, " but my master ; I assured the man 
 that he would receive recompence from him. You see, 
 Mademoiselle, I knew his heart was so good, that he
 
 148 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 would not allow your mother's servant to rot in the 
 
 tower But days afterwards the man came back. 
 
 Oh, he was angry ! terribly angry with me, and said he 
 should pay me out — And so he did, but it is useless to 
 tell you how. He had been to Pulwick, he said, and had 
 seen Mr. Landale. I\Ir. Landale never knew anything 
 of any French prisoner, and refused to give any money to 
 the messenger. Ah, Mademoiselle, it was very sad ! I 
 had not signed my letter for fear of its getting into wrong 
 hands, but I spoke of many things which I knew he could 
 not have forgotten, and now I thought that he would not 
 trouble his mind about such a wretch as Rene' — triple 
 brute that I was to conceive such thoughts, I should have 
 deserved to remain there for ever !....! did remain. 
 Mademoiselle, more than three years ; many and many 
 died. As for me, I am hard, but I thought I should never 
 never walk free again ; nor would I, Mademoiselle, these 
 seven years, but for him." 
 
 "He came, then.''" said the girl with sympathetic 
 enthusiasm. She was listening with attention, carried 
 away by the speakers earnestness, and knew instinctively 
 to whom the " him," and the " he " referred. 
 
 " He came," said Rend with much emphasis. " Of 
 course he came — the moment he knew." And after a 
 moment of half-smiling meditation he pursued : 
 
 " It was one May-day, and there was some sun ; and 
 there was a smell of spring in the air which we felt even in 
 that dirty place. Ah, how I remember me of it all ! I was 
 sitting against the wall in the courtyard with two others 
 who were Bretons, like you and me. Mademoiselle, shifting 
 with the sun now and then, for you must know a prisoner 
 loves the sun above all ; and there, we only had it a few 
 hours in the day, even when it did shine. I was carving 
 some stick-heads, and brcad-platcs in wood — the only thing 
 I could do to put a little more than bread, into our own 
 platters," with a grin, " and whistling, whistling, for if you 
 
 can't be gay, it is best to play at it Well, that day 
 
 into our courtyard there was shown a tall man — and I knew 
 him at once, though he was different enough in his fine 
 coat, and hat and boots, from the time when I had last 
 seen him, when he was like me, in rags and with a woollen 
 cap on his head, and no stockings under his shoes — I knew 
 him at once 1 And when I saw him I stood still, with my
 
 THE TOWER OF LIVERPOOL 149 
 
 mouth round, but not whistling more. My blood went 
 phizz, phizz, all over my body, and suddenly something 
 said in my head : ' Rene, he has come to look for you. " He 
 was searching for some one, for he went round with the 
 guardian looking into each man's face, and giving money 
 to all who begged — and seeing that, they all got up, and 
 surrounded him, and he gave them each a piece. But I 
 could not get up ; it was as if some one had cut out my 
 knees and my elbows. And that was how he saw me the 
 sooner. He noticed I remained there, looking at him 
 like a dog, saying nothing. When he saw me, he stood 
 a moment quite quiet ; and without pretending anything 
 he came to me and looked down smiling. — 'But if I am 
 not mistaken I know this man,' he said to the guardian, 
 pretending to be astonished. 'Why, this is Rene 
 L'Apotre ? Who would have thought of seeing you here, 
 Rend L'Apotre ? 'says he. And then he smiled again, as 
 much as to say, 'You see I have come at last, Rene.' 
 And once more, as if to explain : * I have only lately 
 come back to England,' in a gentle way, all full of mean- 
 ing I don't know what took me, but I cried like 
 
 an infant, in my cap. And the guardian and some of 
 the others laughed, but when I looked up again, his eyes 
 shone also. He looked so good, so kind, Mademoiselle, 
 that it was as if I understood in words all he meant, but 
 thought better not to say at the time. Then he spoke to 
 the guardian, who shook his head doubtfully. And after 
 saying, 'Have good courage, Rene L'Apotre,' and giv- 
 ing me the rest of his money, he went away — but I knew 
 I was not forgotten, and I was so happy that the black, 
 black walls were no more black. And I sang, not for 
 pretence this time, ah no ! and I spent all my money in 
 buying a dinner for those at our end of the prison, and 
 we even had wine ! You may be sure we drank to his 
 happiness." 
 
 Here the man, carried away by his feelings, seized his 
 hat and waved it in the air. Then, ashamed of his ebulli- 
 tion, halted and glanced diffidently at the young lady. 
 But Molly only smiled in encouragement. 
 
 " Well, and then ? " she asked. 
 
 "Well, Mademoiselle," he resumed, " it was long be- 
 fore I saw him again ; but I kept good courage, as I was 
 told. One day, at last, the guardian came to fetch me
 
 I50 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 and took me to the g^overnor's cabinet ; and my master 
 was there — I was told that my release had been obtained, 
 though not without trouble, and that Sir Adrian Landale, 
 of Pulwick Priory, had gone warranty for me that I should 
 not use my liberty to the prejudice of His INIajesty, the 
 King of England, and that 1 was to be grateful to Sir 
 Adrian. I almost laughed at him, Mademoiselle. Oh ! 
 he took care to advise me to be grateful ! " And here 
 Rene paused ironically, but there was a quiver on his 
 lips. "Ah, he little knew. Monsieur the Governor, that 
 when my master had taken me to an inn, and the door was 
 closed over the private room, he who had looked so grand 
 and careless before the governor, took me by both hands 
 and then, in his fine clothes, embraced me — me the dirty 
 prisoner — ^just as he did when he left me in the old days, 
 and was as poor and ragged as I was ! And let me weep 
 there on his breast, for I had to w^eep or my heart would 
 have broken. But I wander. Mademoiselle, you only 
 wanted to know how I came to be in his service still. 
 That is how it was ; as I tell you." 
 
 Molly was moved by this artless account of fidelity 
 and gratitude, and as she walked on in attentive silence, 
 Rene went on : 
 
 "It was then his honour made me know how, only by 
 accident, and months after his own return, he chanced 
 to hear of the letter that some one had sent to INIr. Lan- 
 dale from the Tower of Liverpool, and that Mr. Landale 
 had said he knew nothing of any French prisoner and 
 had thought it great impudence indeed. And how he — 
 my master — had suddenly thought (though my letter had 
 been destroyed) that it might be from me, the servant of 
 my lady your mother, and his old companion in arms 
 (for his honour will always call me so). He could not 
 sleep, he told me, till he had found out. He started for 
 Liverpool that very night. And, having discovered that 
 it was me. Mademoiselle, he never rested till he had 
 obtained my liberty." 
 
 Walking slowly in the wnnter sunshine, the one talking 
 volubly, the other intently listening, the odd pair had 
 reached a rising knoll in the park where, under the shelter 
 of a cluster of firs, stood a row of carved stone seats that 
 had once been sedillas in the dismantled Priory Church.
 
 THE TOWER OF LIVERPOOL 151 
 
 From this secluded spot could be obtained the most 
 superb view of the whole country-side. At the end of the 
 green, gently-sloping stretch of pasture-land, which ex- 
 tended, broken only by irregular clusters of trees, down 
 to the low cliffs forming the boundary of the strand, lay 
 the wide expanse of brown sand, with its streamlets and 
 salt pools scintillating under the morning sun. 
 
 Further in the western horizon, a crescent of deep blue 
 sea, sharply defined under a lighter blue sky and fringed 
 landwards with a straggling border of foam, advanced 
 slowly to the daily conquest of the golden bay. In the 
 midst of that frame the eye was irresistibly drawn, as to 
 the chief object in the picture, to the distant rock of 
 Scarthey — a green patch, with the jagged red outline of 
 the ruins clear cut against the sky. 
 
 Since this point of view in the park had been made 
 known to her, on the first day when she was piloted 
 through the grounds, Molly had more than once found 
 her way to the sedillas, yielding to the fascination of the 
 mysterious island, and in order to indulge in the fancies 
 suggested by its ever-changing aspect. 
 
 At the fall of day the red glow of the sinking sun would 
 glint through the dismantleci windows ; and against the 
 flaming sky the ruins would stand out black and grim, 
 suggesting nought but abandonment and desolation until 
 suddenly, as the gloom gathered upon the bay, the light 
 of the lamp springing to the beacon tower, would reverse 
 the impression and bring to mind a picture of faithful 
 and patient watching. 
 
 When the sun was still in the ascendant, the island 
 would be green and fresh to the gaze, evoking no dismal 
 impression ; and as the rays glanced back from the two 
 or three glazed windows, and from the roofed beacon- 
 tower, the little estate wore a look of solid security and 
 privacy in spite of its crumbling walls, which was almost 
 as tantalising to her romantic curiosity. 
 
 It was with ulterior motives, therefore, that she had again 
 wended her way to the knoll this sunny, breezy morning. 
 She now sat down and let her eyes wander over the wide 
 panorama, whilst Rene stood at a humble distance, look- 
 ing with eyes of delight from her to the distant abode of 
 his master. 
 
 "And now you live with Sir Adrian, in that little isle
 
 152 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 yonder," said she, at length. "How came it that you 
 never sought to go back to your country? " 
 
 "There was the war then, Mademoiselle, and it was 
 difficult to return." 
 
 " But there has been peace these six months," insisted 
 Molly. 
 
 "Yes, Mademoiselle, though I only learned it yester- 
 day. But then, bah ! What is that? His honour needs 
 me. I have stopped with him seven years, and my faith, 
 I shall stop with him for ever." 
 
 There was a long silence. 
 
 "Does any one know," asked Molly, at length, with a 
 vague air of addressing the trees, mindful, as she spoke, 
 of the manner in which Mr. Landale had practically dis- 
 missed her and her sister at a certain point of his version 
 of his brother's history, " w/ijy Sir Adrian has shut him- 
 self up in that place instead of living at the Hall all this 
 time?" 
 
 A certain dignity seemed to come over the servant's 
 squat figure. He hesitated for a moment, and then said 
 very simply, his honest eyes fixed upon the girl's face : 
 " I am only his humble servant. Mademoiselle, and it is 
 enough for me that it is his pleasure to live alone." 
 
 "You are indeed faithful," said Molly, with a little 
 generous flush of shame at this peasant's delicacy com- 
 pared to her own curiosity. And, after another pause, 
 she added, pensively: "But tell me, does Sir Adrian 
 never leave his solitude ? I confess I should like to meet 
 one who had known my mother, who could talk of her 
 to me." 
 
 Ren^ looked at the young girl with a wistful counte- 
 nance, as though the question had embarked him on a new 
 train of thought. But he answered evasively: "His 
 honour comes rarely to Pulwick — rarely." 
 
 Molly, with a little movement of pique, rose abruptly 
 from her seat. But quickly changing her mood again 
 she turned round as she was about to depart, and smil- 
 ing : "Thank you. Rend," she said, and held out her 
 dainty hand, which he, blushing, engulfed in his great 
 paw, " I am going in, I am dreadfully hungry. We shall 
 be here two months or more, and 1 shall want to see you 
 again .... if you come back to Pulwick." 
 
 She walked quickly away towards the house. Rend
 
 THE TOWER OF LIVERPOOL 153 
 
 followed the retreating figure with a meditative look, so 
 long as he could keep her in sight, then turned his gaze 
 to the island and there stood lost in a deep muse, regard- 
 less of the fact that his sweetheart, Moggie, was awaiting 
 a parting interview at the lodge, and that the tide that 
 would wait for no man was swelling under his boat upon 
 the beach. 
 
 A sudden resolution was formed in Molly's mind as the 
 immediate result of this conversation, and she framed her 
 behaviour that morning solely with a view to its further- 
 ance. 
 
 Breakfast was over when, glowing from her morning 
 walk, she entered the dining-room ; but, regardless of Mr. 
 Landale's pointedly elaborate courtesy in insisting upon 
 a fresh repast being brought to her, his sarcastically over- 
 acted solicitude, intended to point out what a deal of 
 avoidable trouble she gave to the household, Molly re- 
 mained perfectly gracious, and ate the good things, 
 plaintively set before her by Miss Landale, with the most 
 perfect appetite and good humour. 
 
 She expatiated in terms of enthusiasm on the beauty of 
 the estate and the delight of her morning exploration, and 
 concluded this condescending account of her doings (in 
 which the meeting with Rene did not figure) with a re- 
 quest that Mr. Landale should put horses at the disposal 
 of herself and her sister for a riding excursion that very 
 afternoon. And with determined energy she carried the 
 point, declaring, despite his prognostications of coming 
 bad weather, that the sunshine would last the day. 
 
 In this wise was brought about the eventful ride which 
 cost the life of Lucifer, and introduced such heart-stirring 
 phantasmagories into the even tenor of Sir Adrian Lan- 
 dale's seclusion. 
 
 That evening the news rapidly spread throughout Pul- 
 wick that the cruel sands of the bay had secured yet 
 another victim. 
 
 In an almost fainting condition, speechless with horror, 
 and hardly able yet to realise to the full her own anguish,
 
 154 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 Madeleine was conducted by the terrified groom, through 
 the howling wind and drenching rain, back to the Priory. 
 
 And there, between the fearful outcries of Miss Landale, 
 and the deep frowning gravity of her brother, the man 
 stammered out his tale. — How the young lady when the 
 rain first began, had insisted, notwithstanding his remon- 
 strances, upon taking the causeway to the island, and 
 how it was actually by force that he prevented the other 
 lady from following so soon as she understood the danger 
 into which her sister was running. 
 
 There was no use, he had thought (explained the man, 
 half apologetically), for two more to throw away their 
 lives, just for no good, that way. And so they had sat 
 on their horses and watched in terror, as well as they 
 could through the torrents of rain. They had seen in the 
 distance Lucifer break from the young lady's control, and 
 swerve from the advancing sea. And then had come the 
 great gust that blew the rain and the sand in their faces 
 and set their horses dancing ; and, when they could see 
 again, all traces of horse and rider had disappeared, and 
 there lay nothing before them but the advancing tide, 
 though the island and its tower were still just visible 
 through the storm. 
 
 No amount of cross-examination could elicit any fur- 
 ther information. The girl's impulse seemed to have been 
 quite sudden, and she had only laughed back at the groom 
 over her shoulder upon his earnest shout of warning, 
 though she had probably expected them to follow her. 
 And as there could be no doubt about the calamity which 
 had ensued, and no possible rescue even of the body, he 
 had returned home at once to bring the disastrous news. 
 
 Madeleiiie had been carried completely unconscious to 
 her bed, but presently Miss Sophia was summoned to her 
 side as the girl showed signs of returning animation, and 
 Rupert was left alone. 
 
 He fell to pacing the room, lost in a labyrinth of com- 
 plicated and far-reaching reflections. 
 
 Beyond doubt he was shocked and distressed by the 
 sudden and horrible disaster ; and yet as an undercurrent 
 to these first natural thoughts, there ran presently a dis- 
 tinct notion that he would have felt the grievousness of 
 it more keenly had Madeleine perished in that cruel man- 
 ner and her sister survived to bring the tale home.
 
 THE TOWER OF LIVERPOOL 155 
 
 The antagonism which his cousin, in all the insolence 
 of her young beauty and vigorous self-esteem, had shown 
 for him had been mutual. He had instinctively felt that 
 she was an enemy, and more than that — a danger to him. 
 This danger was now removed from his path, and by no 
 intervention or even desire of his own. 
 
 The calamity which had struck the remaining sister 
 into such prostration would make her rich indeed ; by 
 anticipation one of the great heiresses in England. 
 
 "Sorrow," thought Mr. Landale, and his lip curled dis- 
 dainfully, "a girl's sorrow, at least, is a passing thing. 
 Wealth is an everlasting benefit." 
 
 Madeleine was a desirable woman upon all counts, even 
 pecuniary considerations apart, or would be to one who 
 had a heart to give — and even if the heart was dead. . . . ? 
 
 Altogether the sum of his meditations was assuming 
 a not unpleasing aspect ; and the undercurrent in time 
 assumed almost the nature of self-congratulation. Even 
 the ordeal which was yet to come when he would have 
 to face Miss O'Donoghue and render an account of his 
 short trust, could not weigh the balance down on the 
 wrong side. 
 
 And yet a terrible ordeal it would be ; women are so 
 unreasonable, and Aunt Rose so much more so even than 
 the average woman. Still it had to be done ; the sooner 
 the better ; if possible while the storm lasted and while 
 roaring waters kept all ill news upon land and the inter- 
 loping heir on his island. 
 
 And thus that very evening, whilst Madeleine sobbed 
 on her pillow and Molly was snugly enjoying the warm 
 hospitality of Scarthey, a mounted messenger departed 
 from the Priory to overtake Miss O'Donoghue on the road 
 to Bath and acquaint her with the terrible fatality that 
 had befallen her darling and favourite.
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 UNDER THE LIGHT 
 
 December i6th. — Again I separate your green boards, 
 my diary. No one has opened you ; for your key, now 
 a little rusty, still hangs upon my watch — my poor watch 
 whose heart has ceased to beat, who, unlike its mistress, 
 has not survived the ordeal by sand and water ! What 
 is better, no one has attempted to force your secrets from 
 you ; which, since it appears that it had been agreed that 
 Molly de Savenaye was dead and buried in Scarthey 
 sands, speaks well for all concerned. But she is not 
 dead. She is very much alive ; and very happy to be so. 
 
 This will indeed be an adventure worth reading, in the 
 days to come ; and it must be recounted — though were I 
 to live to a hundred years I do not think I could ever forget 
 it. Tanty Rose (she has not yet stopped scolding every- 
 body for the fright she has had) is in the next room with 
 Madeleine, who, poor dear, has been made quite ill by 
 this prank of mine ; but since after the distress caused 
 by her Molly's death she has had the joy of finding her 
 ]\Iolly alive again, things are balanced, I take it ; and 
 all being well that ends well, the whole affair is pleasant 
 to remember. It has been actually as interesting as I 
 expected — now that I think it over — even more. 
 
 Of all the many pictures that I fancied, not one was 
 at all like the reality — and this reality I could not have 
 rested till I had found. It was Rent's account decided 
 me. I laid my plans very neatly to pay the recluse a 
 little visit, and plead necessity for the intrusion. My 
 machinations would have been perfect if they had not 
 caused Madeleine and poor old Tanty unnecessary grief. 
 
 But now that I know the truth, I cannot distinctly re- 
 member what it was that I did expect to find on that 
 island. 
 
 ^56
 
 UNDER THE LIGHT 157 
 
 If it had not been that I had already gone through 
 more excitement than I bargained for to reach that mys- 
 terious rock, how exciting I should have found it to 
 wander up to unknown ruins, to knock at the closed doors 
 of an enchanted castle, ascend unknown stairs and engage 
 in devious unknown passages — all the while on the tip-toe 
 of expectation ! 
 
 But when I dragged myself giddy and faint from the 
 boiling breakers and scrambled upon the desolate island 
 under the rain that beat me like the lashes of a whip, push- 
 ing against a wind that bellowed and rushed as though de- 
 termined to thrust me back to the waters I had cheated of 
 their prey, my only thoughts were for succour and shelter. 
 
 Such warm shelter,such loving welcome, it was of course 
 impossible that I could for a moment have anticipated ! 
 
 Conceive, my dear diary, the feelings of a poor, semi- 
 drowned wanderer, shivering with cold, with feet torn by 
 cruel stones, who suddenly emerges from howl and tur- 
 moil into a warm, quiet room to be received as a long and 
 eagerly expected guest, whose advent brings happiness, 
 whose presence is a highly prized favour ; in fact not as 
 one who has to explain her intrusion, but as one who in 
 the situation holds the upper hand herself 
 
 And this was my welcome from him whose absence 
 from Pulwick was more haunting than any presence I can 
 think of! 
 
 Of course I knew him at once. Even had I not expected 
 to see him — had I not come to seek him in fact — I should 
 have known him at once from the portrait whose melan- 
 choly, wide-open eyes had followed me about the gallery. 
 But I had not dreamed to see him so little altered. Now, 
 apart from the dress, if he is in any way changed from 
 the picture, it is in a look of greater youth and less 
 sombreness. The portrait is handsome, but the original 
 is better. 
 
 Had it not been so, I imagine I might have felt vastly 
 different when I was seized and enfolded and — kissed ! 
 As it was I cannot remember that, even at the moment 
 of this extraordinary proceeding, I was otherwise than 
 pleased, nor that the dark hints of Mr. Landale concerning 
 Sir Adrian's madness returned to disturb my mind in the 
 least. 
 
 And yet I found myself enveloped in great strong arms
 
 158 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 out of which I could not have extricated myself by the 
 most frantic efforts — although the folding was soft and 
 tender — and I loved that impression. Why? I cannot 
 say. 
 
 His words of love were not addressed to me ; from his 
 exclamation I knew that the real and present Molly was 
 not the true object of his sudden ecstasy. 
 
 And yet I am glad that this is the first man who has 
 been able to kiss Molly de Savenaye. It is quite incom- 
 prehensible ; I ought to be indignant. 
 
 Now the whole secret of my reception is plain to see, 
 and it is pathetic ; Sir Adrian I.andale was in love with 
 my mother ; when she was an unprotected widow he 
 followed her to our own country ; if she had not died 
 soon after, he would have married her. 
 
 What a true knight must this Sir Adrian be, to keep so 
 fresh for twenty years the remembrance of his boyish 
 love that when I came in upon him to look at him with 
 her eyes, it was to find him pondering upon her, and to 
 fill his soul with the rapturous thought that his love had 
 come back to him. Though I was aware that all this 
 fervour was not addressed to me, there was something 
 very gratifying in being so like one who could inspire 
 such long-lived passion. — Yes, it was unexpectedly 
 pleasant and comforting to be so received. And the 
 tender care, the thoughtful solicitude next bestowed on 
 the limp and dishevelled waif of the sea by my beatc 
 ienebreux 7vere unmistakably meant for Molly and no one 
 else, whatever his first imaginings may have been, and 
 they were quite as interesting to receive. 
 
 The half-hour I spent, cosily ensconced by his hands, 
 and waited upon by his queer household, was perhaps the 
 best I have ever known. He stood by the fireplace, 
 looking down from his great height, with a wondering 
 smile upon me. I declare that the loving kindness of his 
 eyes, which he has wide, grey, and beautiful, warmed 
 me as much as the pyramid of logs he had set burning on 
 the hearth 1 
 
 I took a good reckoning of the man, from under the 
 gigantic collar, in which, I felt, my head rested like a 
 little egg at the bottom of a warm nest. "And so," I 
 thought, "here is the Light-keeper of Scarthey Island ! " 
 And I was obliged to confess that he was a more romantic-
 
 UNDER THE LIGHT 159 
 
 looking person than even in my wildest dreams I had 
 pictured to myself — that in fact I had found out for the 
 first time the man really approved of. 
 
 And I congratulated myself on my own cleverness — 
 for it was evident that, just as I had suspected from Rene's 
 reticent manner, even by him our existence at Pulwick 
 had not been mentioned to " the master." 
 
 And as Mr. Landale was quite determined to avail 
 himself of his brother's sauvagerie not to let him know 
 anything about us, on his side, but for me we might have 
 remained at and departed from Pulwick unknown to the 
 head of the house ! And what a pity that would have been ! 
 
 Now, why did not Mr. Landale wish his brother to 
 know ? Did he think (as indeed has happened) that the 
 Light-keeper would take too kindly to the Savenaye 
 children ? Or to one of them .? If so, he will be bten 
 attrappe, for there is no doubt that my sudden and dramatic 
 arrival upon his especial domain has made an impression 
 on him that no meeting prepared and discussed before- 
 hand could have produced. 
 
 Adrian Landale may have been in love with our beautiful 
 mamma in his boyish days, but now, Sir Adrian, the mav- 
 is in love with the beautiful Molly ! 
 
 That is positive. 
 
 I was a long time before I could go to sleep in tte 
 tower ; it was too perfect to be in bed in such a place, 
 safe and happy in the midst of the rage I could hear 
 outside ; to have seen the unknown, to have found him 
 such as he is — to be under the Light! 
 
 What would have happened if my cousin had really 
 been mad (and Rend his keeper, as that stupid country- 
 side wit suggested in my ear the other night at dinner) ? 
 It would have been still more of an adventure of course, 
 but not one which even " Murthering Moll the Second" 
 can regret. Or if he had been a dirty, untidy hermit, as 
 Madeleine thought.'' That would have spoilt all. 
 
 Thus in the owl's nest, as Mr. Landale (spiteful crea- 
 ture !) called it to Tanty, there lives not owl any more 
 than lunatic. A polished gentleman, with white, exqui- 
 site hands, who, when he is discovered by the most 
 unexpected of visitors, is shaven as smooth as Rupert 
 himself; has the most unexceptionable of snowy linen 
 and old-fashioned, it is true, but most well-fitting clothes.
 
 i6o THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 As for the entertainment for the said casual visitor, not 
 even Pulwick with all its resources (where housekeeping, 
 between the fussy brother and the docile sister is a 
 complicated science) could have produced more real 
 comfort. 
 
 In the morning, when I woke late (it was broad day- 
 light), feeling as if I had been beaten and passed through 
 a mangle, for there was not an inch of my poor body 
 that was not sore, I had not turned round and so given 
 sign of life, before I heard a whisper outside my door ; 
 then comes a sturdy knock and in walks old Margery, 
 still dignified as a queen's housekeeper, bearing a bowl 
 of warm frothy milk. 
 
 And this being gratefully drunk by me, she gravely 
 inquires, in her queer provincial accent, how I am this 
 morn ; and then goes to report to some anxious inquirer 
 (whom ? — I can easily guess) that with the exception of 
 my cut foot I am very well. 
 
 Presently she returns and lights a blazing fire. Then in 
 come my dress and linen and my one shoe, all cleaned, 
 dried and mended, only my poor habit is so torn and so 
 stiff that I have to put up with Margery's best striped 
 skirt in lieu of it, till she has time to mend and wash it. 
 As it is she must have been at work all night upon these 
 repairs for me. 
 
 Again she goes out — for another consultation, I sup- 
 pose — and comes back to find me half clad, hopping 
 about the room ; this time she has got nice white linen 
 bandages and with them ties up my little foot, partly for 
 the cuts, partly for want of a sandal, till it is twice the 
 size of its companion. But I can walk on it. 
 
 Then my strange handmaid — who by the way is a droll, 
 grumbling old soul, and orders me about as if she were 
 still my nurse — dresses me and combs my hair, which 
 will not yet awhile be rid of all its sand. And so, in due 
 course, Molly emerges from her bower, as well tended 
 almost as she might have been at Bath, except that Mar- 
 gery's striped skirt is a deal too short for her and she dis- 
 plays a little more of one very nice ankle and one gouty 
 foot than fashion warrants. 
 
 And in this manner the guest goes to meet her host in 
 the great room. 
 
 He was walking up and down as if impatiently expect-
 
 UNDER THE LIGHT i6i 
 
 ing me, and when I hobbled in, he came forward with a 
 smile on his face which, once more, I thought beautiful. 
 
 "God be praised!" he said, taking both my hands 
 and kissing one of them, with his fine air of gallantry 
 which was all the more delightful on account of his evi- 
 dent earnestness, "you seem none the worse for this 
 terrible adventure. I dreaded this morning to hear that 
 you were in a fever. You know," he added so seriously 
 that I had to smile, "you might easily have had a fever 
 from this yesterday's work ; and what should we have 
 done without doctor and medicines ! " 
 
 "You have a good surgeon, at least," said I laughing 
 and pointing at my swaddled extremity. He laughed too 
 at the enmitouflage. " I tried to explain how it was to be 
 done," he said, "but I thmk I could have managed it 
 more neatly myself." 
 
 Then he helped me to the armchair, and Rene' came in, 
 and, after a profound bow (which did not preclude much 
 staring and smiling at me afterwards), laid, on a dazzling 
 tablecloth, a most tempting breakfast, explaining the 
 while, in his odd English, "The bread is stale, for we 
 bake only twice a month. But there are some cakes hot 
 from the fire, some eggs, new laid last evening, some 
 fresh milk, some tea. It was a happy thing I arrived 
 yesterday for there was no more tea. The butter wants, 
 but Mistress Margery will have some made to-morrow, 
 so that the demoiselle will not leave without having 
 tasted our Scarthey butter." 
 
 All the while Sir Adrian looked on with a sort of dreamy 
 smile — a happy smile ! 
 
 " Poor Rene ! " he said, when the man had left the 
 room, " one would think that you have brought to him 
 almost as much joy as to me." 
 
 I wondered what Mr. Landale would have said had he 
 through some magic glass been able to see this little 
 feast. I never enjoyed a meal more. As for my host, 
 he hardly touched anything, but, I could see, was all 
 absorbed in the delight of looking at me ; and this he 
 showed quite openly in the most child-like manner. 
 
 Not one of the many fine gentlemen it has been my 
 
 fate to meet in my six months' apprenticeship to the 
 
 "great world," not cousin Rupert himself with all his 
 
 elaborate politeness <'and Rupert has de grandes manieres^ 
 
 I
 
 i62 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 as Tanty says), could have played the host with a more 
 exquisite courtesy, and more true hospitality. So I 
 thought, at least. Now and again, it is true, while his 
 eyes were fixed on me, I would see how the soul behind 
 them was away, far in the past, and then at a word, even 
 at a movement, back it would come to me, with the ten- 
 derest softening I have ever seen upon a human face. 
 
 It was only at the end of breakfast that he suddenly 
 adverted to the previous day. 
 
 " Of course," he said, hesitatingly, but keeping a frank 
 gaze on mine, "you must have thought me demented 
 when — when you first entered, yesterday." 
 
 Now, I had anticipated this apology as inevitable, and 
 I was prepared to put him at his ease. 
 
 "I_? Not at all," I said quite gravely; and, seeing 
 the puzzled expression that came upon his face, I hastened 
 to add in lower tones : "I know I am very like my mother, 
 and it was her name you called out upon seeing me." 
 And then I stopped, as if that had explained everything. 
 
 He looked at me with a wondering air, and fell again 
 into a muse. After a while he said, with his great sim- 
 plicity which seems somehow in him the last touch of the 
 most perfect breeding: "Yes, such an apparition was 
 enough to unhinge any one's mind for the morrjent. You 
 never knew her, child, and therefore never mourned her 
 death. But we — that is, Rene and I, who tried so hard 
 to save her — though it is so long ago, we have not for- 
 gotten." 
 
 It was then I asked him to tell me about the mother I 
 had never known. At first it was as if he could not ; he 
 fell into a great silence, through which I could feel the 
 working of his old sorrow. So then I said to him quickly, 
 for I feared he thought me an indiscreet trespasser upon 
 sacred ground, that he must remember my right to know 
 more than the vague accounts I had been given of my 
 mother's history, 
 
 "No one will tell me of her," I said. " It is hard, for 
 I am her own daughter. " 
 
 "It is wrong," he said very gently ; "you ought to 
 know, for you are indeed, most verily, her own daughter." 
 
 And then by fragments he tried to tell me a little of her 
 beauty, her loving heart, her faithfulness and bravery.
 
 UNDER THE LIGHT 163 
 
 At first it was with great tripping sighs as if the words 
 hurt him, but by and by it came easier, and with his eyes 
 fixed wistfully on me he took me, as it were, by his side 
 through all their marvellous adventures. 
 
 And thus I heard the stirring story of the "Savenaye 
 band," and I felt prouder of my race than I had ever been 
 before. Hitherto, being a Savenaye only meant the pride 
 our aunt tried to instil into us of being undeniably bten- 
 nees and connected with numbers of great families. But 
 the tale of the deeds mine had done for the King's cause, 
 and especially the achievements of my own mother in 
 starting such an expedition after my father's death, and 
 following its fortunes to the bitter end, made my blood 
 tingle with a new emotion. 
 
 Little wonder that Sir Adrian should have devoted his 
 life to her service. How madly enthralled I should have 
 been, being a man, and free and strong, by the presence 
 of a woman such as my mother, I, too, would have pros- 
 trated myself to worship her image returning to life — 
 and I am that living, living portrait ! 
 
 When he came to the story of her death, he hesitated 
 and finally stopped. It must have been horrible. I could 
 see it in his eyes, and I dared not press him. 
 
 Now, I suppose I am the only one in the world, be- 
 sides Ren^, who knows this man as he is. And I am 
 proud of it. 
 
 And it is for this constancy, which no vulgar soul of 
 them can understand, that Rupert and his class have 
 dubbed the gallant gentleman a madman. It fills me 
 with scorn of them. I do not yet know what love is, 
 therefore of course I cannot fathom its grief; but this 
 much I know — that if I loved and yet could not reach as 
 high as ever love may reach both in joy and sorrow, I 
 should despise myself. I, too, would draw the utmost 
 from life that life can give. 
 
 He never even hinted at his love for my mother ; 
 speaking of himself throughout as Rene might, as of her 
 humble devoted servant merely. And then the question 
 began to gnaw at me. " Did she love him ? " and some- 
 how, I felt as if I could not rest till I knew ; and I had it 
 on my lips twenty times to cry out to him: "I know 
 you loved her: oh! tell me, did she love you?" And 
 yet I dared no more have done so, and overstepped the
 
 i64 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 barrier of his gentle, reticent dignity, than I could have 
 thrust the lighthouse tower down ; and I could not think, 
 either, whether I should be glad to hear that she had 
 loved him, or that she had not. Not even here, alone 
 with myself, can I answer that question. 
 
 But though I respect him because he is as I have found 
 him, and understand how rare a personality it takes to 
 achieve such refinement of faithfulness, it seems to me, 
 that to teach this constant lover to forget the past in the 
 present, would be something worth living for — something 
 worthy of Jne ! 
 
 Molly! — What is the meaning of this? You have 
 never before put that thought in words, even to yourself! 
 But let me be frank, or else what is the use of this diary? 
 
 Looking back to those delightful three days, did not 
 the ihought come to me, if not the words? Well, well, it 
 is better, sometimes, I believe, to let oneself drift, than 
 to try and guide the boat ; and I must hurry back to 
 Scarthey or I shall never have told my story. . . . 
 
 How swiftly time had flown by us ! I sitting in the 
 armchair, with the old dog's muzzle on my lap, and Sir 
 Adrian standing by his great chimney ; the clock struck 
 twelve, in the midst of the long silence, and 1 had thought 
 that barely an hour had passed. 
 
 I got up, and, seeing me limp in my attempt to walk, 
 Sir Adrian gave me his arm ; and so we went round the 
 great room bras dessus, bras dessous, and it already 
 seemed quite natural to feel like an intimate friend in 
 that queer dwelling. 
 
 We paused a long time in silence by the window, the 
 tempest wind was still raging, but the sky was clear, and 
 all round us was a wonderful sight ; the sea, as far as 
 eyes could reach, white with foam, lashed and tossing in 
 frenzy round the rock on which we stood so safely, and 
 rising in long jets of spray, which now and then dashed as 
 far as our window ; and when I looked down nearer, I 
 could see the little stunted trees, bending backwards and 
 forwards under the blast, and an odd idea came to my 
 mind : — they looked to me when they caught my sight, 
 as though they were bowing deep, hurriedly and frantic- 
 ally greeting me among them. 
 
 I glanced up at my silent companion, the true knight, 
 and found his wide grey eyes fixed upon me with the
 
 UNDER THE LIGHT . 165 
 
 same expression that was already familiar to me, which I 
 had especially noted as he told me his long tale of olden 
 times. 
 
 This time I felt the look go to my heart. A7id thenihe 
 thought first came to my mind, all unformed, hut still sweet. 
 
 I don't know exactly why, but in answer to his sad 
 look, I smiled at him, without a word, upon which he 
 suddenly grew pale. After a while he gave a sigh, and, 
 as he drew my arm again through his, I fancy his hand 
 trembled a little. 
 
 When he had taken me back to my chair, he walked to 
 and fro in silence, looking at me ever and anon. 
 
 A long time we passed thus, without speaking ; but it 
 seemed as if our thoughts were intermixing in harmony 
 in the midst of our silence. And then the spell was 
 broken by Rene, who never came in without making me 
 his great scrape, trying hard not to beam too obtrusively 
 in the delight that evidently overtakes him whenever he 
 sets eyes on me. 
 
 It was after a prolonged talk between him and the 
 master, I fancy, concernuig the means of attending fitly 
 upon my noble and delicate person, that Sir Adrian, 
 brought back, evidently, to the consideration of present 
 affairs, began to be exercised about the best means of 
 whiling away my time. When he hinted at the difficulty, 
 I very soon disposed of it. 
 
 I told him I had never been so happy in my life before 
 — that the hours went all too quickly — I told him there 
 was so much he and Rene had yet to tell me of their 
 wonderful adventures, that I thought I should have to 
 carry them back to Pulwick with me. At the mention of 
 Pulwick his brow darkened, and Rene turned away to 
 cough into his hand, and I saw that I had gone too fast. 
 (N. B. — Pulwick is evidently a sore subject ; I am sure I 
 am not surprised. I can conceive how Rupert and Sophia 
 would drive a man of Sir Adrian's sensitiveness nearly to 
 desperation. Yet I have brought Sir Adrian back to Pul- 
 wick, in spite of all. Is not that a feather in my cap .'') 
 
 But to return ; I next made Rene laugh aloud and Sir 
 Arian give his indulgent smile — such as a father might give 
 to his child — by adding that when I was bored I would 
 soon let them know. "I always do," I said, " for I con- 
 sider that a duty to myself."
 
 i66 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 " God knows, " said this strange man then, half smil- 
 ing, " I would we could keep you here for ever." 
 
 It was almost a declaration, but his eyes were far off — 
 it was not addressed to me. 
 
 1 soon found that the recollection of all the extraordi- 
 nary incidents Sir Adrian had lived through, is one neither 
 of pride nor pleasure to him, but, all the same, never has 
 anything in books seemed to me so stirring, as the tale 
 of relentless fate, of ever-recurring battles and struggles 
 and misfortunes told by the man who, still in the 
 strength of life, has now chosen to forego everything 
 that might for the remainder of his days have compen- 
 sated him. 
 
 Willing as he was to humour me, however, and dispro- 
 portionately anxious to amuse me, it was little more 
 than the dry bones of his history, I was able to obtain 
 from him. 
 
 With Rent's help, however, and my own lively imagi- 
 nation I have been able to piece together a very wonder- 
 ful skeleton, from these same dry bones, and, moreover, 
 endow it with flesh and blood and life. 
 
 Rene was very willing to descant upon his master's 
 exploits, as far as he knew them : " Whew, Mademoiselle 
 should have seen him fight!" he would say, "a lion, 
 Mademoiselle, a real lion ! " 
 
 And then I would contrast the reposeful, somewhat 
 immobile countenance, the dreaming eye, the almost 
 womanly softness of his smile, with the picture, and find 
 the contrast piquant in the extreme. 
 
 Concerning his i)resent home Sir Adrian was more 
 willing to speak — I had told him how the light on the 
 little island had fascinated me from the distance, and all 
 the surmises I had made about it. 
 
 " And so, it was in order to see what sort of dungeon 
 they kept the madman in," he said, laughing quietly, 
 "that you pushed the reconnaissance, which nearly sent 
 you into the jaws of death ! " 
 
 I was so struck, at first, by his speaking of himself as 
 the reputed "madman" that I could not answer. To 
 think of him as serenely contemptuous of the world's 
 imputation — and an imputation so galling as this one of 
 being irresponsible for his actions — and deliberately con- 
 tinuing his even way without taking the trouble to refute
 
 UNDER THE LIGHT 167 
 
 it, has given me an insight into his nature, that fills me 
 with admiration, and yet, at the same time, with a sort 
 of longing to see him reinstated in his proper place, and 
 casting out those slandering interlopers. 
 
 But, as he was waiting to be answered, I had to collect 
 my thoughts and admit, not without a little bashfulness, 
 that my first account of my exploit had contained a slight 
 prevarication. 
 
 In all he has to say about his little Scarthey domain, 
 about the existence he has made for himself there, I can- 
 not help noticing with what affection he speaks of Rend 
 Ren^, according to Sir Adrian, is everything and every- 
 where ; a perfect familiar genius ; he is counsellor as well 
 as valet, plays his master's game of chess as well as 
 shaves him, can tune his organ, and manage his boat, 
 and cast his nets, for he is fisherman as well as gardener ; 
 he is the steward of this wonderful little estate, and its 
 stock of one pony, one cow, and twelve hens ; he tends 
 the light, and can cook a dinner a great deal better than 
 his great rival, old Margery. 
 
 Of this last accomplishment we had good proof in the 
 shape of various dainties that appeared at our dinner. 
 For when I exclaimed in astonishment, the master said, 
 well pleased, and pointing to the attentive major-domo : 
 " This is Rene's way of spoiling me. But now he has 
 surpassed himself to celebrate so unique an occasion. 
 
 And Rene's face was all one grin of rapture. I observe 
 that on occasions his eyes wander quite tenderly from 
 me to his master. 
 
 Shall I ever enjoy dinners again like those in that old 
 ruined tower ! Or hours like those during which I lis- 
 tened to tales of peril and adventure, or to the music that 
 pealed forth from the distant corner, when Sir Adrian sat 
 down to his organ and made it speak the wordless lan- 
 guage of the soul : that language that made me at times 
 shiver with a mad yearning for life, more life; at times 
 soothed my heart with a caress of infinite softness. 
 
 How is it that our organ-songs at the convent never 
 moved me in this fashion ? 
 
 Ah ! those will be days to remember ; all the more for 
 being certain that they will not be forgotten by him. 
 Yes, those days have brought some light into his melan- 
 choly life.
 
 i68 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 Even Ren^ knows that. "Oh, my lady," said he to 
 me as he was leaving the island yesterday. "You have 
 come like the good fairy, you have brought back the joy 
 of life to his honour : 1 have not heard him really laugh 
 — before this year passed I did not believe he knew any 
 more how to laugh — what you can call laugh ! " 
 
 It is quite true. I had made some droll remark about 
 Tanty and Cousin Sophia, and when he laughed he 
 looked like a young man. 
 
 He was quick enough in grasping at a pretext for keep- 
 ing me yet another day. Yesterday the wind having sud- 
 denly abated in the night, there was quite a bevy of little 
 fishing-boats sailing merrily away. And the causeway 
 at low water was quite visible. As we looked out I know 
 the same idea came to both our minds, thoug-h there was 
 no word between us. At last it was I who spoke. " The 
 crossing is quite safe," said I. And I added, as he 
 answered nothing, "I almost wish now it was not. 
 How quick the time has gone by, here ! " 
 
 His countenance when I looked up was darker. He 
 kept his eyes fixed in the distance. At last he said in a 
 low voice : 
 
 "Yes, I suppose it is high time you should go back." 
 
 "I am sure I don't wish it," I said quite frankly — he 
 is not the sort of man with whom one would ever think 
 oi ininauderie, "but Madeleine will be miserable about 
 me." 
 
 "And so you would really care to stop here," said he, 
 witli a smile of wonder on his face, " if it were not for 
 that reason } " 
 
 " Naturally I would," said I. "I feel already as cosy 
 as a tame cat here. And if it were not for Madeleine, 
 poor little Madeleine, who must be breaking her heart ! — 
 But then how can I go back ? — I have no wraps and only 
 one shoe ? " 
 
 His face had cleared again. He was walking up and 
 down in his usual way, whilst I hopped back, with more 
 limping than was at all necessary, to my favourite arm- 
 chair. 
 
 "True, true," he said, as if speaking to himself, "you 
 cannot walk, with one shoe and a bandaged foot. And 
 your clothes are too thin for the roundabout sea journey 
 in this cold wind. This is what we shall do, child," he
 
 UNDER THE LIGHT 169 
 
 went on, coming up to me with a sage expression that 
 struggled with his evident eager desire. " Rene shall go 
 off, as soon as the tide permits, carrying the good news 
 of your safety to your sister, and bring back some warm 
 things for you to wear to-morrow morning, and I shall 
 write to Rupert to send a carriage, to wait for you on 
 the strand." 
 
 And so, pleased like two children who have found a 
 means of securing a further holiday, we wrote both our 
 letters. I wonder whether it occurred to Sir Adrian, as it 
 did to me, that, if we had been so very anxious that I 
 should be restored to the care of Pulwick with the briefest 
 delay, I might have gone with Rene that same day, 
 wrapped up in a certain cloak which had done good warm- 
 ing service already ; and that, as Rene had constructed 
 with his cunning hands a sufficient if not very pretty 
 sandal for my damaged foot out of some old piece of felt, 
 I might have walked from the beach to the fishing vil- 
 lage ; and that there, no doubt, a cart or a donkey might 
 have conveyed me home in triumph. 
 
 Perhaps it did «o/ occur to him ; and certainly I had no 
 desire to suggest it on my side. 
 
 Thus, soon after mid-day. Master Rene departed alone. 
 And Sir Adrian and I, both very glad of our reprieve, 
 watched, leaning side by side upon the window-sill, the 
 brave little craft glide away on the still ruffled waters, 
 until, when it had grown very small in the distance, we 
 saw the sail lowered and knew Rene had reached main- 
 land. 
 
 And that was perhaps the best day of the three. Rend 
 having been unexpectedly despatched, we had to help to 
 do everything ourselves with old Margery, who is rather 
 feeble. The sky was clear and beautiful ; and, followed 
 gravely by Jem the dog, we went round the little outer 
 domain. I fed the hens, and Sir Adrian carried the pail 
 when Margery had milked the cow ; we paid a visit in his 
 wide paddock to the pony, who trotted up to his master 
 whinnying with pleasure. We looked at the waters rush- 
 ing past like a mill race on the further side of the island, 
 as the tide was rising, and he explained to me that it was 
 this rush which makes the neighbourhood of Scarthey so 
 dangerous to unwary crafts ; we went down into the sea- 
 caves which penetrate deep under the ruins, — They say
 
 170 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 that in olden days there was a passage under the rocky- 
 causeway that led as far as the old Priory, but all traces 
 of it have been effaced. 
 
 Then, later on, Sir Adrian showed me in detail his 
 library. 
 
 "I was made to be a man of books," he said, when I 
 •wondered at the number he had accumulated around him 
 — there must be thousands, "a man of study, not of 
 action. And you know how fate has treated me. These 
 have been my one consolation of late years." 
 
 And it marvelled me to think that one who had achieved 
 so many manly deeds, should love musty old tiresome 
 things so much. He really turned them over quite rev- 
 erentially. I myself do not think much of books as com- 
 panions. 
 
 When I made that little confession he smiled rather 
 sadly, and said that one like me never would lack the 
 suitable companions of youth and happiness ; but that a 
 creature of his unfortunate disposition could find, in these 
 long rows of folded leaves, the society of the best and 
 the loftiest minds, not of our age, but of all ages, and, 
 what was more, could find them ready for intercourse 
 and at their best humour, just in those hours when he 
 himself was fit and disposed for such intercourse — and 
 this without dread of inflicting his own misery and dul- 
 ness upon them. 
 
 But 1 could not agree with his appreciation. I felt my 
 nose curl with disdain at the breath of dust and must and 
 age these old tomes gave forth, and I said again it was, 
 to my mind, but a poor and tame sort of fellowship. 
 
 He was perched on his ladder and had some odd vol- 
 ume in his hand, from which he was about to give an 
 example in point ; on hearing, however, this uncongenial 
 sentiment he pushed back the book and came down 
 quickly enough to talk to me. And this was the last of 
 our excursions among the bookshelves. 
 
 Of this I was glad, for I confess it was there I liked 
 Sir Adrian the least. 
 
 When the end of the short day drew near it was time 
 to go and attend to the beacon. We ascended the ladder- 
 like wooden stairs leading to the platform. Then I had 
 the reverse of that view that for so many days had en- 
 grossed my interest.
 
 UNDER THE LIGHT 171 
 
 Pulwick from Scarthey ! . . . . What a long time it 
 seemed then since I had left those rooms the windows of 
 which now sent us back the rays of the setting sun ! and 
 I had no desire to return, though return I must on the 
 morrow. 
 
 Rend, of course, had left everything in his usual trim 
 order, so all we had to do was to see to the lamp. It 
 pleased my fantasy to light the beacon of Scarthey my- 
 self, and I struck the steel and kindled the brimstone and 
 set fire to the huge, ill-smelling wicks until they gave a 
 flame as big as my hand; and "there is the light of 
 Scarthey at close quarters," I thought. And the Light- 
 keeper was bending over me with his kindly look, 
 humouring me like a child. 
 
 As we sat there silently for a while in the twilight, there 
 came from the little room adjoining the turret an odd 
 sound of flapping and uncanny, melancholy cries. Sir 
 Adrian rose, and we remembered the seagull by which 
 he had played the part of good Samaritan. 
 
 It had happened on the second day, as the storm was 
 at its height. There had come a great crash at the win- 
 dow, and we saw something white that struggled on the 
 sill outside ; Sir Adrian opened the casement (when we 
 had a little tornado of our own inside, and all his papers 
 began dancing a sarabande in the room), and we gathered 
 in the poor creature that was hurt and battered and more 
 than half stunned, opening alternately its yellow bill and 
 its red eyes in the most absurd manner. 
 
 With a solicitude that it amused me to watch. Sir Adrian 
 had tended the helpless, goose-like thing and then handed 
 it to Rene's further care. 
 
 Rene, it seemed, had thought of trying to tame the wild 
 bird, and had constructed a huge sort of cage with laths 
 and barrel-hoops, and installed it there with various nasty, 
 sea-fishy, weedy things, such as seagulls consider dainty. 
 But the prisoner, now its vigour had returned, yearned for 
 nothing but the free air, and ever and anon almost broke 
 its wings in sudden frenzy to escape. 
 
 "I wonder at Rend, " said Sir Adrian, contemplating the 
 animal with his grave look of commiseration; "Rend, 
 who, like myself, has been a prisoner ! He will be disap- 
 pointed, but we shall make one of God's creatures happy 
 this day. There is not overmuch happiness in this world."
 
 172 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 And, regardless of the vicious pecks aimed at his hands, 
 he with firmness folded the great strong wings and legs 
 and carried the gull outside on the parapet. 
 
 There the bird sat a moment, astonished, turning its head 
 round at its benefactor before taking wing ; and then it rose 
 flying away in great swoops — flap, flap — across the waves 
 till we could see it no longer. Ugly and awkward as the 
 creature looked in its cage, it was beautiful in its joyful, 
 steady flight, and I was glad to see it go. I must have 
 been a bird myself in another existence, for I have often 
 that longing to fly upon me, and it makes my heart swell 
 with a great impatience that I cannot. 
 
 But I could not help remarking to Sir Adrian that the 
 bird's last look round had been full of anger rather than 
 gratitude, and his answer, as he watched it sweep heavily 
 away, was too gloomy to please me : 
 
 " Gratitude," said he, "is as rare as unselfishness. If 
 it were not so this world would be different indeed. As it 
 is, we have no more right to expect the one than the other. 
 And, when all is said and done, if doing a so-called kind 
 action gives us pleasure, it is only a special form of self- 
 indulgence. " 
 
 There is something wrong about a reasoning of this 
 kind, but I could not exactly point out where. 
 
 We both stood gazing out from our platform upon the 
 darkening waters. Then across our vision there crept, 
 round the promontory, a beautiful ship with all sails set, 
 looking like some gigantic white bird ; sailing, sailing, so 
 swiftly yet so surely by, through the dim light ; and I cried 
 out in admiration : for there is something in the sight of 
 a ship silently gliding that always sets my heart beating. 
 But Sir Adrian's face grew stem, and he said : "A ship is 
 a whitened sepulchre." 
 
 But for all that he looked at it long and pensively. 
 
 Now it had struck me before this "that Sir Adrian, with 
 all his kindness of heart, takes but a dismal view of human 
 nature and human destiny ; that to him what spoils the 
 face of this world is that strife of life — which to me is as 
 the breath of my nostrils, the absence of which made my 
 convent days so grey and hateful to look back upon, 
 
 I did not like to feel out of harmony with him, and so 
 almost angrily I reproached him. 
 
 " Would you have every one live like a limpet on a
 
 UNDER THE LIGHT 173 
 
 rock?" cried I. "Great heavens! I would rather be 
 dead than not be up and doing." 
 
 He looked at me gravely, pityingly. 
 
 " May _>'<9« never see what I have seen," said he. "May 
 you never learn what men have made of the world. God 
 keep your fair life from such ways as mine has been made 
 to follow."' 
 
 The words filled me, I don't know why, with sudden 
 misgiving. Is this life, I am so eager for, but horror and 
 misery after all? Would it be better to leave the book 
 unopened? They said so at the convent. But what can 
 they know of life at a convent ? 
 
 He bent his kind face towards mine in the thickening 
 gloom, as though to read my thoughts, and his lips 
 moved, but he did not speak aloud. Then, above the 
 song of the waves as they gathered, rolled in, and fell 
 upon the shingle all around, there came the beat of oars. 
 
 "Hark," said Sir Adrian, " our good Rene ! " 
 
 His tone was cheerful again, and, as he hurried me 
 away down the stairs, I knew he was glad to divert me 
 from the melancholy into which he had allowed himself 
 to drift. 
 
 And then "good Rend" came, bringing breezy life and 
 cheerfulness with him, and a bundle and a letter for me. 
 
 Poor Madeleine ! It seems she has been quite ill with 
 weeping for Molly ; and, indeed, her dear scrawl was so 
 illegible that I could hardly read it. Rene says she was 
 nearly as much upset by the joy as by the grief. Mr. 
 Landale was not at home ; he had ridden to meet Tanty 
 at Liverpool, for the dear old lady has been summoned 
 back in hot haste with the news of my decease ! 
 
 He for one, I thought to myself, will survive the shock 
 of relief at learning that Molly has risen from the dead ! 
 
 Ting, ting, ting .... There goes my little clock, 
 fussily counting the hour to tell me that I have written so 
 long a time that I ought to be tired. And so I am, though 
 I have not told you half of all I meant to tell I
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 THE RECLUSE AND THE SQUIRE 
 
 I THOUGHT I should nevcr get away from supper and be 
 alone ! Rupert' s air of cool triumph — it was triumph, 
 however he may have wished to hide it — and Tanty's flow 
 of indignation, recrimination, speculation, and amaze- 
 ment were enough to drive me mad. But I held out. I 
 pretended I did not mind. My cheeks were blazing, and 
 I talked d tort ei a travers. I should have died rather than 
 that Rupert should have guessed at the tempest in my 
 heart. Now I am alone at last, thank God ! and it will 
 be a relief to confide to my faithful diary the feelings that 
 have been choking me these last two hours. 
 
 " Pride must have a fall." Thus Rupert at supper, with 
 reference, it is true, to some trivial incident, but looking 
 at me hard and full, and pointing the words with his 
 meaningsmile. The fairies who attended at my birth en- 
 dowed me with one power, which, however doubtful a 
 blessing it may prove in the long run, has nevertheless 
 been an unspeakable comfort to me hitherto. This is the 
 reverse of what I heard a French gentleman term I ' esprit 
 de I'escalier. Thanks to this fairy godmother of mine, the 
 instant some one annoys or angers me there rises on the 
 tip of my tongue the most galling rejoinder that can pos- 
 sibly be made in the circumstances. And I need not add : 
 / make it. 
 
 To-night, when Rupfert flung his scoff at me, I was 
 ready for him. 
 
 "I trust the old adage has not been brought home to 
 you, Sir Rupert," said I, and then pretending confusion. 
 " I beg your pardon," I added, " I have been so accus- 
 tomed to address the head of the house these last days 
 that the word escaped me unawares," The shot told zf;e//, 
 and I was glad — glad of the murderous rage in Rupert's 
 eyes, for I knew I had hit him on the raw. Even Tanty 
 
 174
 
 THE RECLUSE AND THE SQUIRE 175 
 
 looked perturbed, but Rupert let me alone for the rest of 
 supper. 
 
 He is right nevertheless, that is what stung me. I am 
 humbled, and I cannot hear it ! 
 
 Sir Adrian has left. 
 
 I was so triumphant to bring him back to Pulwick this 
 morning, to have circumvented Rupert's plans, and (let 
 me speak the truth,) so happy to have him with me that 
 I did not attempt to conceal my exultation. And now he 
 has gone, gone without a word to me ; only this miser- 
 able letter of determined farewell. I will copy it — for in 
 my first anger I have so crumpled the paper that it is 
 scarcely readable. 
 
 " My child, I must go back to my island. The world 
 is not for me, nor am I for the world, nor would I cast 
 the shadow of my gloomy life further upon your bright 
 one. Let me tell you, however, that you have left me 
 the better for your coming ; that it will be a good thought 
 to me in my loneliness to know of your mother's daughters 
 so close to me. When you look across at the beacon of 
 Scarthey, child, through the darkness, think that though 
 I may not see you again I shall ever follow and keep 
 guard upon your life and upon your sister's, and that, even 
 when you are far from Pulwick, the light will burn and 
 the heart of Adrian Landale watch so long as it may beat." 
 
 I have shed more tears — hot tears of anger — since I 
 received this than I have wept in all my life before. 
 Madeleine came in to me just now, too full of the happi- 
 ness of having me back, poor darling, to be able to bear 
 me out of sight again ; but I have driven her from me 
 with such cross words that she too is in tears. I must be 
 alone and I must collect myself and my thoughts, for I 
 want to state exactly all that has happened and then per- 
 haps I shall be able to see my way more clearly. 
 
 This morning then, early after breakfast, I started 
 across the waters between Rene and Sir Adrian, regret- 
 ting to leave the dear hospitable island, yet with my 
 heart dancing within me, as gaily as did our little boat 
 upon the chopping waves, to be carrying the hermit back 
 Mnth me. I had been deadly afraid lest he should at the 
 last moment have sent me alone with the servant ; but 
 when he put on his big cloak, when I saw Rene place a
 
 1/6 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 bag at the bottom of the boat, I knew he meant to come 
 — perhaps remain some days at Pulwick, and my spirits 
 went up, up ! 
 
 It was a lovely day, too ; the air had a crisp, cold 
 sparkle, and the waters looked so blue under the clear, 
 frosty sky. I could have sung as we rowed along, and 
 every time I met Sir Adrian's eye I smiled at him out of 
 the happiness of my heart. His look hung on me — we 
 French have a word for that which is not translatable, // 
 7ne couvait des yeiix — and, as every day of the three we 
 had spent together I had thought him younger and hand- 
 somer, so this morning out in the bright sunlight I said to 
 myself, I could never wish to see a more noble man. 
 
 When we landed — and it was but a little way, for the 
 tide was low — there was the carriage waiting, and Rend, 
 all grins, handed over our parcels to the footman. Then 
 we got in, the wheels began slowly dragging across the 
 sand to the road, the poor horses pulling and straining, 
 for it was heavy work. And Rene stood watching us by 
 his boat, his hand over his eyes, a black figure against 
 the dazzling sunshine on the bay ; but I could see his 
 white teeth gleam in that broad smile of his from out of 
 his shadowy face. As, at length, we reached the high 
 road and bowled swiftly along, I would not let Sir Adrian 
 have peace to think, for something at my heart told me 
 he hated the going back to Pulwick, and I so chattered 
 and fixed his attention that as the carriage drew up he 
 was actually laughing. 
 
 When we stopped another carriage in front moved off, 
 and there on the porch stood — Rupert and Tanty ! 
 
 Poor Tanty, her old face all disfigured with tears and 
 a great black bonnet and veil towering on her head. I 
 popped my head out of the window and called to them. 
 
 When they caught sight of me, both seemed to grow 
 rigid with amazement. And then across Rupert's face 
 came such a look of fury, and such a deathly pallor ! I 
 had thought, certainly, he would not weep the eyes out 
 of his head for me ; but that he should be stricken with 
 anger to see me alive I had hardly expected, and for the 
 instant it frightened me. 
 
 But then I had no time to observe anything else, for 
 Tanty collapsed upon the steps and went off into as fine 
 a iit of hysterics as I have ever seen. But fortunately it
 
 THE RECLUSE AND THE SQUIRE 177 
 
 did not last long. Suddenly in the middle of her screams 
 and rocking-s to and fro she perceived Sir Adrian as he leant 
 anxiously over her. With the utmost energy she clutched 
 his arm and scrambled to her feet. 
 
 "Is it you, me poor child ? " she cried, "Is it you ? " 
 
 And then she turned from him, as he stood with his 
 gentle, earnest face looking down upon her, and gave 
 Rupert a glare that might have slain him. I knew at 
 once what she was thinking : I had experienced myself that 
 it was impossible to see Sir Adrian and connect his 
 dignified presence for one second with the scandalous 
 impression Rupert would have conveyed. 
 
 As for Rupert, he looked for the first time since I knew 
 him thoroughly unnerved. 
 
 Then Tanty caught me by the arm and shook me : 
 
 " How dare you, miss, how dare you ? " she cried, her 
 face was flaming. 
 
 ** How dare I what ? " asked I, as I hugged her. 
 
 " How dare you be walking about when it is dead you 
 are, and give us all such a fright — there — there, you know 
 what I mean. — Adrian," she whimpered, "give me your 
 arm, my nephew, and conduct me into your house. All 
 this has upset me very much. But, oh, am I not glad to 
 see you both, my children ! " 
 
 In they went together. And my courage having risen 
 again to its usual height, I waited purposely on the porch 
 to tease Rupert a little. I had a real pleasure in noticing 
 how he trembled with agitation beneath his mask. 
 
 " Well, are you glad to see me. Cousin Rupert ? " said I. 
 
 He took my hand ; his fingers were damp and cold. 
 
 "Can you ask, my fair cousin?" he sneered. "Do 
 you not see me overcome with joy ? Am I not indeed 
 especially favoured by Providence, for is not this the 
 second time that a beloved being has been restored into 
 my arms like Lazarus from the grave } " 
 
 I was indignant at the heartlessness of his cynicism, 
 and so the answer that leaped to my lips was out before 
 I had time to reflect upon its unladylikeness. 
 
 "Ay," said I, "and each time you have cried in your 
 soul, like Martha, ' Behold, he stinketh.'" 
 
 My cousin laughed aloud. 
 
 "You have a sharp tongue," he said, "take care you 
 are not cut with it yourself some day." 
 
 12
 
 178 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 Just then the footmen who had been unpacking Tanty's 
 trunks from the first carriage laid a great wooden box 
 upon the porch, and one of them asked Rupert which 
 room they should bring it to. 
 
 Rupert looked at it strangely, and then at me. 
 
 " Take it where you will," he exclaimed at last. ** There 
 lies good money-value wasted — though, after all, one 
 never knows." 
 
 " What is it ? " said I, struck by a sinister meaning in 
 his accents. 
 
 "Mourning, beautiful Molly — mourning for you — crape 
 — gowns — weepers — wherewith to have dried your sister's 
 tears — but not needed yet, you see."' 
 
 He bared his teeth at me over his shoulder — I could not 
 call it a smile — and then paused, as he was about to brush 
 past into the hall, to give me the pas, with a mocking bow. 
 
 He does not even attempt now to hide his dislike of 
 me, nor to draw for me that cloak of suave composure 
 over the fierce temper that is always gnawing at his vitals 
 as surely as fox ever gnawed little Spartan. He sees 
 that it is useless, I suppose. As I went upstairs to greet 
 Madeleine, I laughed to myself to think how Fate had 
 circumvented the plotter. 
 
 Alas, how foolish I was to laugh ! Rupert is a danger- 
 ous enemy, and I have made him mine ; and in a few 
 hours he has shuffled the cards, and now he holds the 
 trumps again. For that there is dii Rupert in this sudden 
 departure of my knight, I am convinced. Of course, his 
 reasons are plain to see. It is the vulgarest ambition 
 that prompts him to oust his brother for as long as pos- 
 sible — for ever, if he can. 
 
 And now, /am outwitted. Je rage. 
 
 I have never been so unhappy. My heart feels all 
 crushed. I see no help anywhere. I cannot in common 
 decency go and seek Sir Adrian upon his island again, 
 and so I sit and cry. 
 
 Immediately upon his arrival Tanty was closeted with 
 Sir Adrian in the chamber allotted to her for so long a 
 space of time that Rupert, watching below in an inward 
 fever, now flung back in his chair biting his nails, now 
 restlessly pacing the room from end to end, his mind
 
 THE RECLUSE AND THE SQUIRE 179 
 
 working on the new problem, his ears strained to catch 
 the least sound the while, was fain at last to ring and give 
 orders for the immediate sounding of the dinner bell (a 
 good hour before that meal might be expected) as the only- 
 chance of interrupting a conference which boded so ill to 
 his plans. Meanwhile Madeleine sobbed out the story of 
 her grief and joy on Molly's heart ; and Miss Sophia, who 
 thus inconsiderately arrested in the full congenial flow of 
 a new grief, was thrown back upon her old sorrows for 
 consolation, had felt impelled to pay a visit to the rec- 
 tor's grave with the watering-can, and an extra pocket- 
 handkerchief. 
 
 Never perhaps since that worthy clergyman had gasped 
 out his last struggling breath upon her bosom had she 
 known more unmixed satisfaction than during those days 
 when she hovered round poor prostrate Madeleine's bed 
 and poured into her deaf ear the tale of her own woes and 
 the assurances of her thoroughly understanding sympathy. 
 She had been looking forward, with a chastened eager- 
 ness, to the arrival of the mourning, and had already de- 
 rived a good deal of pleasure from the donning of certain 
 aged weeds treasured in her wardrobe ; it was therefore 
 a distinct though quite unconscious disappointment when 
 the news came which put an untimely end to all these 
 funereal revels. 
 
 At the shrill clamour of the bell, as Rupert anticipated, 
 Adrian emerged instantly from his aunt's room, and a 
 simultaneous jingle of minor bells announced that the 
 ladies' attention was in all haste being turned to toilet 
 matters. 
 
 Whatever had passed between his good old relative and 
 his sensitive brother, Rupert's quick appraising glance at 
 the latter's face, as he went slowly down the corridor to 
 his own specially reserved apartment, was sufficient to 
 confirm the watcher in his misgiving that matters were 
 not progressing as he might wish. 
 
 Sir Adrian seemed absorbed, it is true, in grave thought, 
 but his countenance \\^as neither distressed nor gloomy. 
 With a spasm of fierce annoyance, and a bitter curse on 
 the meddling of old females and young, Rupert had to 
 admit that never had he seen his brother look more hand- 
 some, more master of the house and of himself, more 
 sane.
 
 i8o THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 A few minutes later the guests of Pulvvick assembled 
 in the library one by one, with the exception of Sophia, 
 still watering the last resting-place of the Rev. Herbert 
 Lee. 
 
 Adrian came first, closely followed by Tanty, who 
 turned a marked shoulder upon her younger nephew and 
 devoted all her attention to the elder — in which strained 
 condition of affairs the conversation between the three 
 was not likely to be lively. Next the sisters, attired alike 
 in white, entered together, bringing a bright vision of 
 youth and loveliness into the old room. 
 
 At sight of them Adrian sprang to his feet with a sudden 
 sharp ejaculation, upon which the two girls halted on the 
 threshold, half shy, half smiling. For the moment, in the 
 shadow of the doorway, they were surprisingly like each 
 other, the difference of colouring being lost in their curi- 
 ous similarity of contour. 
 
 My God, were there then two Cdciles .-' 
 
 Beautiful, miraculous, consoling had been to the 
 mourner in his loneliness the apparition of his dead love 
 restored to life, every time his eyes had fallen upon ]\Iolly 
 during these last few blessed days ; but this new develop- 
 ment was only like a troublous mocking dream. 
 
 Tanty turned in startled amazement. She could feel 
 the shudder that shook his frame, through the hand with 
 which he still unconsciously grasped at the back of her 
 chair. An irrepressible smile crept to Rupert's lips. 
 
 The little interlude could not have lasted more than a 
 few seconds when Molly, recovering her usual self-posses- 
 sion, came boldly forward, leading her sister by the tips 
 of her fingers. 
 
 "Cousin Adrian,'' she said, "my sister Madeleine has 
 many things to say to you in thanks for your care of my 
 valuable person, but just now she is too bashful to be 
 able to utter one quarter of them."' 
 
 As the girls emerged into the room, and the light from 
 the great windows struck upon Madeleine's fair curls and 
 the delicate pallor of her cheek ; 'as she extended her 
 hand, and raised to Adrian's face, while she dropped her 
 pretty curtsey, the gaze of two unconsciously plaintive 
 blue eyes, the man dashed the sweat from his brow with 
 a gesture of relief. 
 
 Nothing could be more unlike the dark beauty of the
 
 THE RECLUSE AND THE SQUIRE i8i 
 
 ghost of his dreams or its dashing presentment now smil- 
 ing confidently upon him from Tanty's side. 
 
 He took the little hand with tender pressure : Cecile's 
 daughter must be precious to him in any case. Madeleine, 
 moreover, had a certain appealing grace that was apt to 
 steal the favour that Molly won by storm, 
 
 " But, indeed, I could never tell Sir Adrian how grate- 
 ful I am," said she, with a timidity that became her as 
 thoroughly as Molly's fearlessness suited her own stronger 
 personality. 
 
 At the sound of her voice, again the distressful night- 
 mare-like feeling seized Sir Adrian's soul. 
 
 Of all characteristics that, as the phrase is, " go in 
 families," voices are generally the most peculiarly generic. 
 
 When Molly first addressed Sir Adrian, it had been to 
 him as a voice from the grave ; now Madeleine's gentle 
 speech tripped forth upon that self-same note — Cdcile's 
 own voice ! " 
 
 And next Molly caught up the sound, and then Made- 
 leine answered again. What they said, he could not 
 tell ; these ghosts — these speaking ghosts — brought back 
 the old memories too painfully. It was thus Cecile had 
 spoken in the first arrogance of her dainty youth and 
 loveliness ; and in those softer tones when sorrow and 
 work and failure had subdued her proud spirit. And now 
 she laughs ; and hark, the laugh is echoed ! Sir Adrian 
 turns as if to seek some escape from this strange form of 
 torture, meets Rupert's eye and instinctively braces him- 
 self into self-control. 
 
 "Come, come," cried Miss O'Donoghue, in her com- 
 fortable, commonplace, cheerful tone : "This dinner bell 
 of yours, Adrian, has raised false hopes, which seem to tarry 
 in their fulfilment. What are we waiting for, may I ask ? " 
 
 Adrian looked at his brother. 
 
 " Rupert, you know, my dear aunt," he said, " has the 
 ordering of these matters." 
 
 " Sophia is yet absent," quoth Rupert drily, "but we 
 can proceed without her, if my aunt wishes." 
 
 " Pooh, yes. Sophia ! " snorted Miss O'Donoghue, 
 grasping Sir Adrian's arm to show herself quite ready for 
 the march, " Sophia ! We all know what she is. Why, 
 my dear Adrian, she'll never hear the bell till it has 
 stopped this half hour."
 
 i82 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 " Dinner," cried Rupert sharply to the butler, whom his 
 pull of the bell-rope had summoned. And dinner being 
 served, the guests trooped into that dining-room which 
 was full of such associations to Sir Adrian. It was a little 
 thing, but, nevertheless, intensely galling to Rupert to have 
 to play second gentleman, and give up his privileges as 
 host to his brother. Usually indeed Adrian cared too little 
 to stand upon his rights, and insisted upon Rupert's con- 
 tinuing to act in his presence as he did in his absence ; but 
 this afternoon Tanty had left him no choice. 
 
 Nevertheless, as Mr. Landale sat down between the 
 sisters, and turned smiling to address first one and then the 
 other, it would have taken a very practised eye to discern 
 under the extra urbanity of his demeanour the intensity 
 of his inward mortification. He talked a great deal and ex- 
 erted himself to make the sisters talk likewise, bantering 
 Molly into scornful and eager retorts, and preventing 
 Madeleine from relapsing into that state of dreaminess 
 out of which the rapid succession of her recent sorrow and 
 joy had somewhat shaken her. 
 
 The girls were both excited, both ready to laugh and 
 jest. Tanty, satisfied to see Adrian preside at the head 
 of the table with a grave, courteous, and self-contained 
 manner that completely fulfilled her notions of what 
 family dignity required of him, cracked her jokes, ate her 
 dinner, and quaffed her cup with full enjoyment, laughing 
 indulgently at her grand-nieces' sallies, and showing as 
 marked a disfavour to Rupert as she deemed consistent 
 with good manners. 
 
 The poor old lady little guessed how the workings in 
 each brother's mind were all the while, silently but inevit- 
 ably, tending towards the destruction of her newly awak- 
 ened hopes. 
 
 There was silence between Sir Adrian and Rupert when 
 at last they were left alone together. The elder's gaze 
 wandering in space, his absent hand softly beating the 
 table, his relaxed frame — all showed that his mind was 
 far away from thought of the younger's presence. The 
 relief to be delivered from the twin echoes of a haunting 
 voice — once the dearest on earth to him — was immense. 
 But his whole being was still quivering under the first 
 acuteness of so disturbing an impression.
 
 THE RECLUSE AND THE SQUIRE 183 
 
 His years of solitude, moreover, had ill prepared him 
 for social intercourse ; the laughter, the clash of conver- 
 sation, the noise on every side, the length of the meal, the 
 strain to maintain a fit and proper attitude as host, had 
 tried to the utmost nerves by nature hypersensitive. 
 
 Rupert, who had leisure to study the suddenly lined and 
 tired lineaments of the abstracted countenance before him, 
 noted with self-congratulation the change that a few hours 
 seemed to have wrought upon it, and decided that the 
 moment had come to strike. 
 
 "So, Adrian," he said, looking down demurely as he 
 spoke into the glass of wine he had been toying with — 
 Rupert was an abstemious man. "So, Adrian, you have 
 been playing the chivalrous role of rescuer of distressed 
 damsels — squire of dames and what not. The last one 
 would have ascribed to you at least at this end of your 
 life. Ha," throwing up his head with a mirthless laugh ; 
 " how little any of us would have thought what a blessing 
 in disguise your freak of self-exile was destined to become 
 to us ! " 
 
 At the sound of the incisive voice Adrian had returned 
 with a slight shiver from distant musing to the con- 
 sciousness of the other's presence. 
 
 "And did you not always look upon my exile as a 
 blessing undisguised, Rupert ?" answered he, fixing his 
 brother with his large grave gaze. 
 
 Rupert's eyelids wavered a little beneath it, but his 
 tone was coolly insolent as he made reply : 
 
 "If it pleases you to make no count of our fraternal 
 affection for you, my dear fellow ; if by insisting upon 
 our unnatural depravity you contrive a more decent 
 excuse for your own vagaries, you have my full per- 
 mission to dub me Cain at once and have done with 
 it." 
 
 A light sigh escaped the elder man, and then he reso- 
 lutely closed his lips. It was by behaviour such as this, 
 by his almost diabolical ingenuity in the art of being 
 imcongenial, that Rupert had so largely contributed to 
 make his own house impossible to him. But where was 
 the use of either argument or expostulation with one 
 so incapable of even understanding the mainsprings of 
 his actions ? Moreover {Jie, above all, must not forget 
 it) Rupert had suffered through him in pride and self-
 
 i84 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 esteem. And yet, despite Sir Adrian's philosophic mind, 
 despite his vast, pessimistic though benevolent tolerance 
 for erring human nature, his was a very human heart ; 
 and it added not a little to the sadness of his lot at 
 every return to Puhvick (dating from that first most 
 bitter home-coming) to feel in every tibre of his being 
 how little welcome he was where the ties of flesh and 
 blood alone, not to speak of his most ceaseless yet deli- 
 cate generosity, should have ensured him a very differ- 
 ent reception. 
 
 Again he sighed, this time more deeply, and the cor- 
 ners of Rupert's lips, the arch of his eyebrows, moved 
 upwards in smihng interrogation. 
 
 "It must have given you a shock," said Mr. Landale, 
 carelessly, "to see the resemblance between Molly and 
 poor Cecile ; not, of course, that / can remember her ; 
 but Tanty says it is something startling." 
 
 Adrian assented briefly. 
 
 "I daresay it seems quite painful to you at first," pro- 
 ceeded Rupert, much in the same deliberate manner as a 
 surgeon may lay bare a wound, despite the knowledge of 
 the suffering he is inflicting, "I noticed that you seemed 
 upset during dinner. But probably the feeling will wear 
 off.'' 
 
 "Probably." 
 
 "Madeleine resembles her father, I am told ; but then 
 you never saw Wvo. fen Conite, did you .'' Well, they are 
 both fine handsome girls, full of life and spirits. It is 
 our revered relative's intention to leave them here — as 
 perhaps she has told you — for two months or so." 
 
 "I have begged her, "said Sir Adrian gravely, " to make 
 them understand that I wish them to look upon Puhvick 
 as their home. " 
 
 "Very right, very proper," cried the other ; " in fact I 
 knew that was what you would wish — and your wishes, 
 of course, are my law in the matter. By the way, I 
 hope you quite understand, Adrian, how it happened that 
 I did not notify to you the arrival of these guests extraor- 
 dinary — knowing that you have never got over their 
 mother's death, and all that — it was entirely from a wish 
 to spare you. Besides, tliere was your general prohibi- 
 tion about my visitors ; I did not dare to take the respon- 
 sibility in fact. And so I told Tanty."
 
 THE RECLUSE AND THE SQUIRE 185 
 
 I do not wish to doubt the purity of your motives, 
 though it would have grieved me had these visitors (no 
 ordinary ones as you yourself admit) come and gone 
 without my knowledge. As it fell out, however, even 
 without that child's dangerous expedition, I should have 
 been informed in any case — Rene knew." 
 
 "Rene knew?" cried Rupert, surprised; and "damn 
 Rene " to himself with heart-felt energy. 
 
 That the infernal httle spy, as he deemed his brother's 
 servant, should have made a visit to Pulwick without his 
 knowledge was unpleasant news, and it touched him on 
 his tenderest point. 
 
 But now, replenishing his half-emptied glass to give 
 Adrian no excuse for putting an end to the conference 
 before he himself desired it, he plunged into the heart 
 of the task he had set himself without further delay : 
 
 "And what would you wish me to do, Adrian," he 
 asked, with a pretty air of deference, "in the matter of 
 entertaining these ladies.? I have thought of several 
 things likely to afford them amusement, but, since you 
 are here, you will readily understand that I should like 
 your authorisation first. I am anxious to consult you 
 when I can," he added, apologetically. "So forgive my 
 attacking you upon business to-night when you seem 
 really so little fitted for it — but you know one cannot 
 count upon you from one minute to another ! What 
 would you say if I were to issue invitations for a ball .? 
 Pulwick was noted for its hospitality in the days of our 
 fathers, and the gloom that has hung over the old home 
 these last eight years has been (I suppose) unavoidable 
 in the circumstances — but none the less a pity. No fear 
 but that our fair cousins would enjoy such a festivity, and 
 I think I can promise you that the sound of our revels 
 should not reach as far as your hermitage." 
 
 A slow colour had mounted to Adrian's cheeks ; he 
 drew his brows together with an air of displeasure ; 
 Rupert, quick to read these symptoms, hastened to pursue 
 the attack before response should be made : 
 
 "The idea does not seem to please you," he cried, as 
 if in hurt surprise. " 'Tis true I have now no legal right 
 to think of reviving the old hospitable traditions of the 
 family ; but you must remember, Adrian, you yourself 
 have insisted on giving me a moral right to act host here
 
 i86 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 in your absence — you have over and over again laid 
 stress upon the freedom you wished me to feel in the 
 matter. Hitherto I have not made use of these privileges ; 
 have not cared to do so, beyond an occasional duty dinner 
 to our nearest neighbours. A lonely widower like my- 
 self, why should I ? But now, with these gay young 
 things in the house — so near to us in blood — I had 
 thought it so much our duty to provide fitting entertain- 
 ment for them that your attitude is incomprehensible to 
 me. Come ! does it not strike you as savouring a little 
 of the unamiable dog in the fable.? I know you hate 
 company yourself, and all the rest of it ; but how can 
 these things here affect you upon your island.'' As for 
 the budget, it will stand it, I assure you. I speak hotly ; 
 pray excuse me. I own I have looked forward to the 
 thought of seeing once more young and happy faces 
 around me." 
 
 " You mistake me," said Sir Adrian with an effort ; 
 " while you are acting as my representative you have, as 
 you know, all liberty to entertain what guests you 
 choose, and as you see fit. It is natural, perhaps, that 
 you should now believe me anxious to hurry back to the 
 lighthouse, and I should have told you before that it is 
 my intention this time to remain longer than my wont, in 
 wliich circumstance the arrangements for the entertain- 
 ing of our relatives will devolve upon myself." 
 
 Rupert broke into a loud laugh. 
 
 "Forgive me, but the idea is too ludicrous! What 
 sort of funeral festivities do you propose to provide to 
 the neighbourhood, with you and Sophia presiding, the 
 living images of mourning and desolation? There, my 
 dear fellow, I tnust laugh. It will be the skeleton at the 
 feast with a vengeance. Why, even to-night, in the 
 bosom of your family, as it were, your presence lay so 
 like a wet blanket upon us all that, 'pon my soul, I nearly 
 cracked my voice trying to keep those girls from notic- 
 ing it ! Seriously, I am delighted, of course, that you 
 should feel so sportive, and it is high time indeed that 
 the neighbourhood should see something of you, but I 
 fear you are reckoning beyond your strength. Any- 
 how, command me. I shall be anxious to help you all I 
 can in this novel departure. What are your plans?" 
 
 "I have laid no plans," answered Sir Adrian coldly.
 
 THE RECLUSE AND THE SQUIRE 187 
 
 after a slight pause, "but you do not need me to tell you, 
 Rupert, that to surround myself with such gaiety as you 
 suggest is impossible." 
 
 "You mean to make our poor little cousins lead as 
 melancholy an existence as you do yourself then," cried 
 Rupert with an angry laugh. Matters were not progress- 
 ing as he could have wished. " I fear this will cause a 
 good deal of disappointment, not only to them but to our 
 revered aunt — for she is very naturally anxious to see her 
 charges married and settled, and she told me that she 
 more or less counted upon my aid in the matter. Now 
 as you are here of course I have, thank Heaven, nothing 
 more to say one way or another. But you will surely 
 think of asking a few likely young fellows over to the 
 house, occasionally ? We are not badly off for eldest sons 
 in the neighbourhood ; Molly, who is as arrant a little flirt, 
 they tell me, as she is pretty, will be grateful to you for 
 the attention, on the score of amusement at least." 
 
 Mr. Landale, speaking somewhat at random out of his 
 annoyance to have failed in immediately disgusting the 
 hermit of the responsibilities his return home might entail, 
 here succeeded by chance in producing the desired impres- 
 sion. 
 
 The idea of Molly — Cecile's double — marrying — worse 
 still, making love, coquetting before his eyes, was intol- 
 erable to Adrian. To have to look on, and see Cecile's 
 eyes lavish glances of love; her lips, soft words and lin- 
 gering smiles, upon some country fool ; to have himself 
 to give this duplicate of his love's sweet body to one un- 
 worthy perhaps — it stung him with a pain as keen as it 
 was unreasonable. It was terrible to be so made, that 
 the past was ever as living as the present ! But he must 
 face the situation, he must grapple with his own weak- 
 ness. Tender memories had lured him from his retreat 
 and made him for a short time almost believe that he 
 could live with them, happy a little while, in his own 
 home again ; but now it was these very memories that 
 were rising like avengers to drive him hence. 
 
 Of course the child must marry if there her happiness 
 lay. Ay, and both Cdcile's children must be amused, 
 made joyful, while they still could enjoy life — Rupert 
 was right — right in all he said — but he, Adrian, could not 
 be there to see. That was beyond his endurance.
 
 i88 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 It was impossible of course, for one so single-minded 
 himself, to follow altogether the doublings of such a mind 
 as Rupert's ; but through the melancholy relief of this 
 sudden resolution, Adrian was distinctly conscious of the 
 underlying duplicity, the unworthy motives which had 
 prompted his brother's arguments. 
 
 He rose from the table, and looked down with sad 
 gaze at the younger's beautiful mask of a face. 
 
 " God knows," he said, " God knows, Rupert, I do not 
 so often inflict my presence upon you that you should be 
 so anxious to show me how much better 1 should do to 
 keep away. I admit nevertheless the justice of all you 
 say. It is but right that Mesdemoiselles de Savenaye 
 should be surrounded with young and cheerful society ; 
 and even were I in a state to act as master of the revels 
 (here he smiled a little dreamily), my very presence, as 
 you say, would cast a gloom upon their merrymaking — I 
 will go. I will go back to the island to-night — I can rely 
 upon you to assist me to do so quietly without unneces- 
 sary scenes or explanations — yes — yes — I know you will 
 be ready to facilitate matters ! Strange ! It is only a 
 few hours ago since Tanty almost persuaded me that it 
 was my duty to remain here ; now you have made me 
 see that I have no choice but to leave. Have no fear, 
 Rupert— I go. I shall write to Tanty. But remember 
 only, that as you treat Cecile's children, so shall I shape 
 my actions towards you in future." 
 
 Slowly he moved away, leaving Rupert motionless in 
 his seat ; and long did the younger brother remain 
 moodily fixing the purple bloom of the grapes with un- 
 seeing eyes.
 
 PART III 
 "CAPTAIN JACK," THE GOLD SMUGGLER
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 THE GOLD SMUGGLER AND THE PHILOSOPHER 
 
 On the evening of the day which had seen Miss Molly's 
 departure for the main land, Rene, after the usual brisk 
 post-prandial altercation with old Margery by her kitchen 
 fire, was cheerfully finding his way, lantern in hand, to 
 his turret, when in the silence of the night he heard the 
 door of the keep open and close, and presently recognised 
 Sir Adrian's tread echoing on the flagged steps beneath 
 him. 
 
 Astonished at this premature return and full of vague 
 dismay, he hurried down to receive his master. 
 
 There was a cloud on Sir Adrian's face, plainly dis- 
 cernible in spite of the unaltered composure of his manner. 
 
 "I did not expect your honour back so soon," said 
 Rend, tentatively. 
 
 "I myself did not anticipate to return. I had thought 
 I might perhaps stay some days at Pulwick. But I find 
 there is no home like this one for me, Rene." 
 
 There was a long silence. But when Rend had re- 
 kindled a blaze upon the hearth and set the lamp upon 
 the table, he stood a moment before withdrawing, almost 
 begging by his look some further crumb of information. 
 
 "My room is ready, I suppose ? " inquired Sir Adrian. 
 
 "Yes, your honour," quoth the man ruefully, "Mar- 
 gery and I put it back exactly as — as before. " 
 
 "Good-night then, good-night ! " said the master after 
 a pause, warming his hands as the flames began to leap 
 through the network of twigs. " I shall go to bed, I am 
 tired ; I had to row myself across. You will take the 
 boat back to-morrow morning." 
 
 Rend opened his mouth to speak ; caught the sound of 
 a sigh coming from the hearthside, and, shaking his head, 
 in silence obeyed the implied dismissal. And bitterly did 
 he meditate in his bunk, that night, upon the swift crum- 
 
 191
 
 192 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 bling of those air-castles he had built himself so gaily- 
 erstwhile, in the rose and blue atmosphere that La 
 Demoiselle had seemed to bring with her to Scarthey. 
 
 From the morrow the old regular mode of life began 
 again in the keep. 
 
 Sir Adrian read a good deal, or at least appeared so to 
 do ; but Rene, who kept him more than ever under his 
 glances of wistful sympathy, noted that far from being 
 absorbed, as of old, in the pages of his book, the recluse's 
 eyes wandered much off its edges into space ; that when 
 writing, or at least intent on writing, his pen would linger 
 long in the bottle and hover listlessly over the paper; 
 that he was more abstracted, even than his wont, when 
 looking out of the eastern window; and that on the plat- 
 form of the beacon it was the landward view which most 
 drew his gaze. 
 
 There was also more music in the keep than was the 
 custom in evener days. Seated at his organ the light- 
 keeper seemed to find a voice for such thoughts as were 
 not to be spoken or written, and relief for the nameless 
 pity of them. But never a word passed between the two 
 men on the subject that filled both their hearts. 
 
 It was Sir Adrian's pleasure that things at Scarthey 
 should seem to be exactly the same as before, and that 
 was enough for Rend. 
 
 "And yet," mused the faithful fellow, within his dis- 
 turbed mind, " the ruins now look like a house the day 
 after an interment. If we were lonely before, my faith, 
 now we are desolate.^ " and, trying to find something or 
 somebody to charge with the curse of it, he invariably 
 fell to upon Mr, Landale's sleek head, why, he could 
 hardly have explained. 
 
 Three new days had thus passed in the regularity, if 
 not the serenity of the old — they seemed old already, 
 buried far back in the past, those days that had lapsed so 
 evenly before the brightness of youthful and beautiful life 
 had entered the keep for one brief moment, and depart- 
 ing, again left it a ruin indeed — when the retirement of 
 Scarthey was once more invaded by an unexpected 
 visitor. It was about sundown of the shortest day. Sir 
 Adrian was at his organ, almost unconsciously interpret- 
 ing his own sadness into music. In time the yearning of
 
 THE GOLD SMUGGLER 193 
 
 his soul had had expression, the echo of the last sighing 
 chord died away in the tranquil air, yet the musician, 
 with head bent upon his breast, remained lost in far- 
 away thoughts. 
 
 A slight shuffling noise disturbed him ; turning round 
 to greet Rene as he supposed, he was astonished to see a 
 man's figure lolling in his own arm-chair. 
 
 As he peered inquiringly into the twilight, the intruder 
 rose to his feet, and cried with a voice loud and clear, 
 pleasant withal to the ear : 
 
 "Sir Adrian, I am sorry you have stopped so soon ; I 
 never heard anything more beautiful ! The door was 
 ajar, and I crept in like a cat, not to disturb you." 
 
 Still in doubt, but with his fine air of courtesy, the 
 light-keeper advanced towards the uninvited guest. 
 
 "Am I mistaken,'' he said, with some hesitation, 
 "surely this is Hubert Cochrane's voice.'' " 
 
 "Jack Smith's voice, my dear fellow; Jack Smith, at 
 your service, please to remember," answered the visitor, 
 with a genial ring of laughter in his words. " Not that 
 it matters much here, I suppose ! Had I not heard the 
 peal of your organ I should have thought Scarthey de- 
 serted indeed. I could find no groom of the chambers to 
 announce me in due form.'' 
 
 As he spoke, the two had drawn near each other and 
 clasped hands heartily. 
 
 "Now, to think of your knowing my voice in this 
 manner ! You have a devilish knack of spotting your 
 man, Sir x\drian. It is almost four years since I was here 
 last, is it not .? " 
 
 " Four years ? — so it is ; and four years that have done 
 well by you, it would appear. What a picture of strength 
 and lustiness ! It really seems to regenerate one, and 
 put heart of grace in one, only to take you by the hand. 
 — Welcome, Captain Smith ! " 
 
 Nothing could have more succinctly described the 
 outer man of him who chose to be known by that most 
 nondescript of patronymics. Sir Adrian stood for a 
 moment, contemplating, with glances of approval such 
 as he seldom bestowed on his fellow-man, the symmet- 
 rical, slender, yet vigorous figure of his friend, and re- 
 sponding with an unwonted cheerfulness to the smile 
 that lit up the steel-blue eyes, and parted the shapely, 
 
 13
 
 194 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 strong, and good-humoured mouth of the privateers- 
 man. 
 
 " Dear me, and what a buck we have become ! " con- 
 tinued the baronet, " what splendid plumage ! It is good 
 to see you so prosperous. And so this is the latest 
 fashion ? No doubt it sets forth the frame of a goodly- 
 man, though no one could guess at the ' sea dog ' beneath 
 such a set of garments. I used to consider my brother 
 Rupert the most especial dandy I had ever seen ; but 
 that, evidently, was my limited experience : even Rupert 
 cannot display so perfect a fit in bottle-green coats, so 
 faultless a silken stock, buckskins of such matchless 
 drab ! " 
 
 Captain Jack laughed, blushed slightly under the friendly 
 banter, and allowed himself to be thrust back into the 
 seat he had just vacated. 
 
 "Welcome again, on my lonely estate. I hope this is 
 not to be a mere flying visit ? You know my misanthropy 
 vanishes when I have your company. How did you 
 come.'' Not by the causeway, I should say," smiling 
 again, and glancing at the unblemished top-boots. 
 
 '' I have two men waiting for me in the gig below ; my 
 schooner, the Peregrme, lies in the offing." 
 
 The elder man turned to the window, and through the 
 grey curtain of crepuscule recognised the rakish topsail 
 schooner that had excited Molly's admiration some days 
 before. He gazed forth upon it a few meditative moments. 
 
 " Not knowing whether I would find you ready to re- 
 ceive me," pursued the captain, "I arranged that the 
 Peregrine was to wait for me if I had to return to-night." 
 
 "Which, of course, is not to be heard of," said Sir Adrian. 
 *'Here is Renny ; he will carry word that with me you 
 remain to-night .... Come, Renny, do you recognise 
 an old acquaintance? " 
 
 Already well disposed towards any one who could call 
 this note of pleasure into the loved voice, the Breton, who 
 had just entered, turned to give a broad stare at the hand- 
 some stranger, then burst into a guffaw of pure delight. 
 "By my faith, it is Mr. the Lieutenant ! " he ejaculated ; 
 adding, as ingeniously asTanty herself might have done, 
 that he would never have known him again. 
 
 " It is ]\Ir. the Captain now, Renny," said that person, 
 and held out a strong hand to grip that of the little French-
 
 THE GOLD SMUGGLER 195 
 
 man, which the latter, after the preliminary rubbing upon 
 his trousers that his code of manners enjoined, readily 
 extended. 
 
 "Ah, it is a good wind that sent you here this day," 
 said he, with a sigh of satisfaction when this ceremony 
 had been duly gone through. 
 
 "You say well, " acquiesced his master, "it has ever 
 been a good wind that has brought Captain Jack across 
 my path." 
 
 And then receiving directions to refresh the gig's crew 
 and dismiss them back to their ship with instructions to 
 return for orders on the morrow, the servant hurried forth, 
 leaving the two friends once more alone. 
 
 "Thanks," said Captain Jack, when the door had closed 
 upon the messenger. " That will exactly suit my purpose. 
 I have a good many things to talk over with you, since you 
 so kindly give me the opportunity. In the first place, let 
 me unburden myself of a debt which is now of old stand- 
 ing — and let me say at the same time," added the young 
 man, rising to deposit upon the table a letter-case which 
 he had taken from his breast-pocket, "that though my 
 actual debt is now met, my obligation to you remains the 
 same and will always be so. You said just now that I 
 looked prosperous, and so I am — owing somewhat to good 
 luck, it is true, but owing above all to you. No luck 
 would have availed me much without that to start upon." 
 And he pointed to the contents of the case, a thick bundle 
 of notes which his host was now smilingly turning over 
 with the tip of his fingers. 
 
 ** I might have sent you a draft, but there is no letter- 
 post that I know of to Scarthey, and, besides, it struck 
 me that just as these four thousand pounds had privately 
 passed between you and me, you might prefer them to 
 be returned in the same manner." 
 
 " I prefer it, since it has brought you in person," said 
 Sir Adrian, thrusting the parcel into a drawer and pulling 
 his chair closer towards his guest. ' ' Dealings with a man 
 like you give one a taste of an ideal world. Would that 
 more human transactions could be carried out in so simple 
 and frank a manner as this little business of ours ! " 
 
 Captain Jack laughed outright. 
 
 " Upon my word, you are a greater marvel to me every 
 time I see you — which is not by any means often enough ! "
 
 196 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 The other raised his eyebrows in interrogation, and the 
 sailor went on : 
 
 "Is it really possible that it is to my mode of dealing 
 that you attribute the delightful simplicity of a transaction 
 involving a little fortune from hand to hand ? And where 
 pray, in this terraqueous sublunary sphere — I heard that 
 good phrase from a literary exquisite at Bath, and it seems 
 to me comprehensive — where, then, on this terraqueous 
 sublunary globe of ours. Sir Adrian Landale, could one 
 expect to find another person ready to lend a privateers- 
 man, trading under an irresponsible name, the sum of four 
 thousand pounds, without any other security than his 
 volunteered promise to return it — if possible ? " 
 
 Sir Adrian, ignoring the tribute to his own merits, arose 
 and placed his friendly hand on the speaker's shoulder : 
 "And now, my dear Jack," he said gravely, "that the 
 war is over, you will have to turn your energies in an- 
 other direction. I am glad you are out of that unworthy 
 trade." 
 
 Captain Jack bounded up: "No, no, Sir Adrian, I 
 value your opinion too much to allow such a statement 
 to pass unchallenged. Unworthy trade ! We have not 
 given back those French devils one half of the harm they 
 have done to our own merchant service ; it was war, you 
 know, and you know also, or perhaps you don't — in 
 which case let me tell you — \^7iivi\y Cormorant has made 
 her goodly name, ay, and brought her commander a 
 fair share of his credit, by her energy in bringing to an 
 
 incredible number of those d d French sharks — beg 
 
 pardon, but you know the pestilent breed. Well, we 
 shall never agree upon the subject I fear. As for me, 
 the smart of the salt air, the sting of the salt breeze, the 
 fighting, the danger, they have got into my blood ; and 
 even now it sometimes comes over me that life will not 
 be perfect life to me without the dancing boards under 
 my feet and the free waves around me, and my jolly boys 
 to lead to death or glory. Yet, could you but know it, 
 this is the veriest treason, and I revoke the words a thou- 
 sand times. You look amazed, and well you may : ah, 
 I have much to tell you ! But I take it you will not care 
 to hear all I have been able to achieve on the basis of 
 your munificent help at my — ahem, unworthy trade." 
 
 "Well, no," said Sir Adrian smiling, "I can quite
 
 THE GOLD SMUGGLER 197 
 
 imagine it, and imagine it without enthusiasm, though, 
 perhaps, as you say, such things have to be. But I 
 should like to know of these present circumstances, these 
 prospects which make you look so happy. No doubt the 
 fruits of peace ? " 
 
 "Yes, I suppose in one way they may be called so. 
 Yet without the war and your helping hand they would 
 even now hang as far from me as the grapes from the fox. 
 — When I arrived in England three months after the peace 
 had been signed, I had accumulated in the books of 
 certain banks a tolerably respectable account, to the 
 credit of a certain person, whose name, oddly enough, 
 you on one or two occasions have applied, absently, to 
 Captain Jack Smith. I was, I will own, already feeling 
 inclined to discuss with myself the propriety of assuming 
 the name in question, when, there came something in 
 my way of which 1 shall tell you presently ; which some- 
 thing has made me resolve to remain Captain Smith for 
 some time longer. The old Cormorant lay at Bristol, and 
 being too big for this new purpose, I sold her. It was 
 like cutting off a limb. I loved every plank of her ; knew 
 every frisk of her ! She served me well to the end, for 
 she fetched her value — almost. Next, having time on 
 my hands, I bethought myself of seeing again a little of 
 the world ; and when I tell you that I drove over to Bath, 
 you may perhaps begin to see what I am coming to." 
 
 Sir Adrian suddenly turned in his chair to face his friend 
 again, with a look of singular attention. 
 
 "Well, no, not exactly, and yet — unless — ? Pshaw! 
 
 impossible ! " upon which lucid commentary he 
 
 stopped, gazing with anxious inquiry into Captain Jack's 
 smiling eyes. "Ah, I believe you have just a glimmer 
 of the truth with that confounded perspicacity of yours," 
 saying which the sailor laughed and blushed not unbecom- 
 ingly. "This is how it came about : I had transactions 
 with old John Harewood, the banker, in Bristol, trans- 
 actions advantageous to both sides, but perhaps most to 
 him — sly old dog. At any rate, the old fellow took a 
 monstrous fancy to me, over his claret, and when I men- 
 tioned Bath, recommended me to call upon his wife 
 (a very fine dame, who prefers the fashion of the Spa to 
 the business of Bristol, and consequently lives as much 
 in the former place as good John Harewood will allow).
 
 198 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 Well, you wonder at my looking- prosperous and happy. 
 Listen, for here is the hie : At Lady Maria Harewood's 
 I met one who, if I mistake not, is of your kin. Already, 
 then, somewhere at the back of my memory dwelt the 
 
 name of Savenaye Halloa, bless me ! I have surely 
 
 said nothing to ! " 
 
 The young man broke off, disconcerted. Sir Adrian's 
 face had become unwontedly clouded, but he waved the 
 speaker on impatiently: "No, no, I am surprised, of 
 course, only surprised ; never mind me, my thoughts 
 wandered — please go on. So you have met her .-* " 
 
 "Ay, that I have! Now it is no use beating about 
 the bush. You who know her — you do know her of 
 course — will jump at once to the only possible con- 
 clusion. Ah, Adrian ! " Captain Jack pursued, pacing 
 enthusiastically about, "I have been no saint, and no 
 doubt I have fancied myself as a lover once or twice ere 
 this ; but to see that girl, sir, means a change in a man's 
 life : to have met the light of those sweet eyes is to love, 
 to love in reality. It is to feel ashamed of the idiotic 
 make-believes of former loves. To love her, even in vague 
 hope, is to be glorious already ; and, by George, to have 
 her troth, is to be — I cannot say what .... to be what 
 I am now ! " 
 
 The lover's face was illumined ; he walked the room 
 like one treading on air as the joy within him found its 
 voice in words. 
 
 Sir Adrian listened with an extraordinary tightness at 
 his heart. He had loved one woman even so ; that love 
 was still with him, as the scent clings to the phial ; but 
 the sight of this young, joyful love made him feel old in 
 that hour — old as he had never realised before. There 
 was no room in his being for such love again. And yet 
 . . . . ? There was a tremulous anxiety in the question 
 he put, after a short pause. "There are two Demoiselles 
 de Savenaye, Jack ; which is it? " 
 
 Captain Jack halted, turned on his heels, and exclaimed 
 enthusiastically : "To me there is but one — one woman 
 in the world — Madeleine ! " His look met that of Sir 
 Adrian in full, and even in the midst of his own self- 
 centred mood he could not fail to notice the transient 
 gleam that shot in the cider's eyes, and the sudden re- 
 laxation of his features. He pondered for a moment or
 
 THE GOLD SMUGGLER 199 
 
 two, scannings the while the countenance of the recluse ; 
 then a smile lighted up his own bronzed face in a very- 
 sweet and winning way. " As her kinsman, have I your 
 approval ? " he asked and proceeded earnestly : " To tell 
 the truth at once, I was looking to even more than your 
 approval — to your support." 
 
 Sir Adrian's mood had undergone a change : as a 
 breeze sweeping from a new quarter clears in a moment 
 a darkening mist from the face of the earth. Captain Jack's 
 answer had blown away for the nonce the atmosphere of 
 misgiving that enveloped him. He answered promptly, 
 and with warmth: "Being your friend, I am glad to 
 know of this ; being her kinsman, I may add, my dear 
 Hubert" — there was just a tinge of hesitation, followed 
 by a certain emphasis, on the change of name — " I prom- 
 ise to support you in your hopes, in so far as I have any 
 influence ; for power or right over my cousin I have 
 none." 
 
 The sailor threw himself down once more in his arm- 
 chair ; and, tapping his shining hessians with the stem 
 of his long clay in smiling abstraction, began, with all a 
 lover's egotism, to expatiate on the theme that filled his 
 heart. 
 
 " It is a singular, an admirable, a never sufficiently-to- 
 be-praised conjunction of affairs which has ultimately 
 brought me near you when I was pursuing the Light o' 
 my Heart, ruthlessly snatched away by a cunning and 
 implacable dragon, known to you as Miss O'Donoghue. 
 I say dragon in courtesy ; I called her by better names 
 before I realised what a service she was unconsciously 
 rendering us by this sudden removal." 
 
 "Known to me!" laughed Sir Adrian. "My own 
 mother's sister ! " 
 
 "Then I still further retract. Moreover, seeing how 
 things have turned out, I must now regard her as an 
 angel in disguise. Don't look so surprised ! Has she 
 not brought my love under your protection? I thought 
 I was tolerably proof against the little god, but then he 
 had never shot his arrows at me from between the long 
 lashes of Madeleine de Savenaye. Oh, those eyes, 
 Adrian ! So unlike those southern eyes I have known 
 so well, too well in other days, brilliant, hard, challeng- 
 ing battle from the first glance, and yet from the first
 
 200 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 promising that surrender which is ever so speedy. Pah ! 
 no more of such memories. Before her blue eyes, on my 
 first introduction, I felt — well, I felt as the novice does 
 under the first broadside." 
 
 The speaker looked dreamily into space, as if the deli- 
 cious moment rose again panoramically before him. 
 
 " Well," he pursued, "that did me no harm, after all. 
 Lady Maria Harewood, who, I have learned since, deals 
 strongly in sentiment, and, being unfortunately debarred 
 by circumstances from indulgence in the soothing luxury 
 on her own behalf, loves to promote matches more 
 poetical — she calls it more ' harmonious ' — than her own 
 very prosaic one, she, dear lady, was delighted with 
 such a rarity as a bashful privateersman — her 'tame 
 corsair,* as I heard her call your humble servant. — I 
 was a hero, sir, a perfect hero of romance in the course 
 of a few days ! On the strength of this renown thrust 
 upon me I found grace before the most adorable blue 
 eyes ; had words of sympathy from the sweetest lips, 
 and smiles from the most bewitching little mouth in all 
 the world. So you see I owe poor Lady Maria a good 
 thought You laugh } " 
 
 Sir Adrian was smiling, but all in benevolence, at the 
 artlessness of this eager youth, who in all the uncon- 
 scious glory of his looks and strength, ascribed the credit 
 of his entrance into a maiden's heart to the virtue of a 
 few irresponsible words of recommendation. 
 
 " Ah ! those were days ! Everything went on smoothly, 
 and I was debating with myself whether I would not, at 
 once, boldly ask her to be the wife of Hubert Cochrane ; 
 though the casting of Jack Smith's skin would have neces- 
 sitated the giving up of several of his free-trading engage- 
 ments. " 
 
 "Free trading! You do not mean to say, man alive, 
 that you have turned smuggler now ! " interrupted Sir 
 Adrian aghast. 
 
 " Smuggler," cried Jack with his frank laugh, "peace, 
 I beg, friend ! Miscall not a gentleman thus. Smug- 
 gler — pirate ? I cut a pretty figure evidently in your 
 worship's eyes. Lucky for me you never would be 
 sworn as a magistrate, or where should I be ... . and 
 you too, between duty and friendship.? — But to proceed : 
 I was about, as I have said, to give that up for the
 
 THE GOLD SMUGGLER 201 
 
 reasons I mentioned, when, upon a certain fine evening, I 
 crossed the path of one of the most masterful old maids I 
 have ever seen, or even heard of; and, would you believe 
 it ? " — this with a quizzical look at his host's grave face — 
 *'this misguided old lady took such a violent dislike to 
 me at first sight, and expressed it so thoroughly well, 
 that, hang me if I was not completely brought to. And 
 all for escorting my dear one from Lady Maria's house 
 to her own ! Well, the walk was worth it — though the 
 old crocodile was on the watch for us, ready to snap ; 
 had got wind of the secret, somehow, a secret unspoken 
 even between us two. This first and last interview took 
 place on the flags, in front of No. 17 Camden Place, 
 Bath. Oh ! It was a very one-sided affair from the 
 beginning, and ended abruptly in a door being banged 
 in my face. Then I heard about Miss O'Donoghue's 
 peculiarities in the direction of exclusiveness. And then, 
 also, oddly enough, for the first time, of the great fortune 
 going with my Madeleine's hand. Of course I saw it all, 
 and, I may say, forgave the old lady. In short, I realised 
 that, in Miss O'Donoghue's mind, I am nothing but an 
 unprincipled fortune-seeker and adventurer. Now you, 
 Adrian, can vouch that, whatever my faults, I am none 
 such." 
 
 Sir Adrian threw a quiet glance at his friend, whose 
 eyes sparkled as they met it. 
 
 "God knows," continued the latter, *' that all I care 
 for, concerning the money, is that she may have it. This 
 last venture, the biggest and most difficult of all, I then 
 decided to undertake, that I might be the fitter mate for 
 the heiress — bless her ! Oh, Adrian, man, could you have 
 seen her sweet tearful face that night, you would under- 
 stand that I could not rest upon such a parting. In the 
 dawn of the next morning I was in the street — not so 
 much upon the chance of meeting, though I knew that 
 such sweetness would have now to be all stolen — but to 
 watch her door, her window ; a lover's trick, rewarded 
 by lover's luck ! Leaning on the railings, through the 
 cold mist (cold it was, though I never felt it, but I mind 
 me now how the icicles broke under my hand), what 
 should I see, before even the church-bells had set to chi- 
 ming, or the yawning sluts to pull the kitchen curtains, 
 but a bloated monster of a coach, dragging and sliding
 
 202 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 up the street to halt at her very door. Then out came 
 the beldam herself, and two muffled-up slender things — 
 my Madeleine one of course ; but I had a regular turn at 
 sight of them, for I swear I could not tell which was 
 which ! Off rattled the chariot at a smart pace ; and 
 there I stood, friend, feeling as if my heart was tied be- 
 hind with the trunks." 
 
 The sailor laughed, ran his fingers through his curls and 
 stamped in lively recollection. 
 
 "Nothing to be drawn from their landlady. But I am 
 not the man to allow a prize to be snatched from under 
 my very nose. So, anathematising Miss O'Donoghue's 
 family-tree, root, stem, and branch — except that most 
 lovely off-shoot I mean to transplant (you will forgive 
 this heat of blood ; it was clearing for action so to speak) 
 — I ran out and overtook the ostler whom I had seen put- 
 ting the finishing touch to the lashing of boxes behind ! 
 ' Gloucester V says he. The word was worth the guinea 
 it cost me, a hundred times over. — In less than an hour 
 I was in the saddle, ready for pursuit, cantering boot to 
 boot with my man — a trusty fellow who knows how to 
 hold his tongue, and can sit a horse in the bargain. 
 Neither at Gloucester, nor the next day, up to Worcester, 
 could we succeed in doing more than keep our fugitives in 
 view. When they had alighted atone inn, as ascertained 
 by my squire, we patronised the opposition hostelry, and 
 the ensuing morning cantered steadily in pursuit, on our 
 new post-horses half an hour after they had rumbled 
 away with their relays. But the evening of our arrival at 
 Worcester, my fellow found out, at last, what the next 
 stage was to be, and — clever chap, he lost nothing for 
 his sharpness — that the Three Kings' Heads had been 
 recommended to the old lady as the best house in Shrews- 
 bury. This time we took the lead, and on to Shrewsbury, 
 and were at the glorious old Kings' Heads (I in a private 
 room, tight as wax) a good couple of hours before the 
 chariot made its appearance. And there, man, there ! 
 my pretty one and I met again ! " 
 
 "That was, no doubt," put in Sir Adrian, in his gentle, 
 indulgent way, "what made the Kings' Heads so glo- 
 rious .-* " 
 
 "Ay. Right! And yet it was but a few seconds, 
 on the stair, under a smoky lamp, but her beauty filled
 
 THE GOLD SMUGGLER 203 
 
 the landing with radiance as her kindness did my soul. 
 — It was but for a moment, all blessed moment, too 
 brief, alas ! Ah, Adrian, friend — old hermit in your 
 cell— :you have never known life, you who have never 
 tasted a moment such as that ! Then we started 
 apart : there was a noise below, and she had only time 
 to whisper that she was on her way to Pulwick to some 
 relatives — had only heard it that very day — when steps 
 came up the stairs, creaking. With a last promise, a last 
 word of love, I leaped back into my own chamber, there 
 to see (through the chink between door and post) the un- 
 timely old mischief-maker herself pass slowly, sour and 
 solemn, towards her apartments, leaning upon her other 
 niece's arm. How could I have thought ihaf baggage 
 like my princess? Handsome, if you will; but, with 
 her saucy eye, her raven head, her brown cheek, no 
 more to be compared to my stately lily than brass to 
 gold ! " 
 
 The host listening wonderingly, his eyes fixed with 
 kindly gravity upon the speaker as he rattled on, here 
 gave a slight start, all unnoticed of his friend. 
 
 "The next morning, when I had seen the coach and its 
 precious freight move on once more northward, I began 
 the retreat south, hugging myself upon luck and success. 
 I had business in Salcombe — perhaps you may have heard 
 of the Salcombe schooners — in connection with the fitting 
 out of that sailing wonder, the Peregrine. And so," con- 
 cluded Captain Jack, laughing again in exuberance of 
 joy, "you mav possibly guess one of the reasons that 
 has brought her and me round by your island." 
 
 There ensued a long silence, filled with thoughts, 
 equally pressing though of widely different complexion, 
 on either side of the hearth. 
 
 During the meal, which was presently set forth and 
 proclaimed ready by Ren^, the talk, as was natural in 
 that watchful attendant's presence, ran only on general 
 topics, and was in consequence fitful and unspontaneous. 
 But when the two men, for all their difference of age, 
 temper, and pursuits so strongly, yet so oddly united in 
 sympathy, were once more alone, they naturally fell 
 back under the influence of the more engrossing strain of 
 reflection. Again there was silence, while each mused,
 
 204 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 gazing into space and vaguely listening to the plash of 
 high water under the window. 
 
 "It must have been a strong motive," said Sir Adrian, 
 after his dreamy fashion, like one thinking aloud, " to 
 induce a man like you to abandon his honourable name." 
 
 Captain Jack flushed at these words, drew his elbows 
 from the table, and shot a keen, inquiring glance at his 
 friend, which, however, fell promptly before the latter's 
 unconscious gaze and was succeeded by one of reflective 
 melancholy. Then, with a slight sigh, he raised his glass 
 to the lamp, and while peering abstractedly through 
 the ruby, " The story of turning my back upon my 
 house," he said musingly, " shaking its very dust off my 
 feet, so to speak, and starting life afresh unbeholden to 
 my father (even for what he could not take away from 
 me — my own name), — is a simple affair, although pitiful 
 enough perhaps. But memories of family wrongs and 
 family quarrels are of their nature painful ; and, as I am 
 a mirth-loving fellow, I hate to bring them upon me. 
 But perhaps it has occurred to you that I may have 
 brought some disgrace upon the name I have forsaken." 
 
 " I never allowed myself to think so," said Sir Adrian, 
 surprised. " Your very presence by my fireside is proof 
 of it." 
 
 Again the captain scrutinised his host; then with a 
 little laugh: "Pardon me," he cried, "with another 
 man one might accept that likely proof and be flattered. 
 But with you? why, I believe I know you too well not to 
 feel sure that you would have received me as kindly and 
 unreservedly, no matter what my past if only you 
 thought that I had repented ; that you would forgive 
 
 even a crime regretted ; and having forgiven, forget 
 
 But, to resume, you will beheve me when I say that 
 there was nothing of the sort. No," he went on, with a 
 musing air, " but I could tell you of a boy, disliked at home 
 for his stubborn spirit, and one day thrashed, thrashed 
 mercilessly — at a time when he had thought he had 
 reached to the pride of man's estate, thrashed by his own 
 
 father, and for no just cause Oh, Adrian, it is a 
 
 terrible thing to have put such resentment into a lad's 
 heart." He rose as he spoke, and placed himself before 
 the hearth. 
 
 " If ever I have sons," he added after a pause, and at
 
 THE GOLD SMUGGLER 205 
 
 the words his whole handsome face relaxed, and became 
 suffused with a tender glow, " I would rather cut my 
 right hand off than raise such a spirit in them. Well, I 
 daresay you can guess the rest ; I will even tell you in a 
 few words, and then dismiss the subject. — I have always 
 had a certain shrewdness at the bottom of my reckless- 
 ness. Now there was a cousin of the family, who had 
 taken to commerce in Liverpool, and who was therefore 
 despised, ignored and insulted by us gentry of the Shaws. 
 So when I packed my bundle, and walked out of the park 
 gate, I thought of him ; and two days later I presented 
 myself at his mansion in Rodney Street, Liverpool. I 
 told him my name, whereat he scowled ; but he was 
 promptly brought round upon hearing of my firm deter- 
 mination to renounce it and all relations with my father's 
 house for ever, and of my reasons for this resolve, which 
 he found excellent. I could not have lighted upon a 
 better man. He hated my family as heartily as even I 
 could wish, and readily, out of spite to them, undertook 
 to aid me. He was a most enterprising scoundrel, had 
 a share in half a dozen floating ventures. I expressed a 
 desire for life on the ocean wave, and he started me 
 merrily as his nephew. Jack Smith, to learn the business 
 on a slaver of his. The 'ebony trade,' you know, was 
 all the go then, Adrian. Many great gentlemen in Lan- 
 cashire had shares in it. Now it is considered low. To 
 say true, a year of it was more than enough for me — too 
 much ! It sickened me. My uncle laughed when I de- 
 murred at a second journey, but to humour me, as I had 
 learned something of the sailing trade, he found me an- 
 other berth, on board a privateer, the Sf. Nicholas. My 
 fortune was made from the moment I set foot on that 
 lucky ship, as you know." 
 
 "And you have never seen your father since?" 
 " Neither father, nor brothers, nor any of my kin, save 
 the cousin in question. All I know is that my father is 
 dead — that he disinherited me expressly in the event of 
 my being still in the flesh ; my eldest brother reigns ; 
 many of us are scattered, God knows where. And my 
 mother" — the sailor's voice changed slightly — "my 
 mother lives in her own house, with some of the younger 
 ones. So much I have ascertained quite recently. She 
 believes me dead, of course. Oh, it will be a good day,
 
 2o6 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 Adrian, when I can come back to her, independent, pros- 
 perous, bringing my beautiful bride with me ! .... But 
 until I can resume my name in all freedom, this cannot be." 
 
 " But why, my dear fellow, these further risks and ad- 
 ventures? Surely, even at your showing you have 
 enough of this world's goods ; why not come forward, 
 now, at once, openly? I will introduce you, as soon as 
 may be, in your real character, for the sake of your 
 mother — of Madeleine herself." 
 
 The sailor shook his head, tempted yet determined. 
 
 " I am not free to do so. I have given my word ; my 
 honour is engaged," he said. Then abruptly asked: 
 *' Have you ever heard of guinea smuggling ? " 
 
 "Guinea smuggling ! No, "said Sir Adrian, his amaze- 
 ment giving way to anxiety. 
 
 "No? You surprise me. You who are, or were, I 
 understand, a student of philosophical matters, freedom 
 of exchange, and international intercourse and the rest 
 of it — things we never shall have so long as govern- 
 ments want money, lam thinking. — However, this guinea 
 smuggling is a comparatively new business. Now, / 
 don't know anything about the theory ; but I know this 
 much of the practice that, while our preventive service 
 won't let guineas pass the Channel (as goods) this year, 
 somebody on the other side is devilish anxious to have 
 them at almost any cost. And the cost, you know, is 
 heavy, for the risk of confiscation is great. Well, your 
 banker or your rich man will not trust his bullion to your 
 common free trader — he is not quite such a fool." 
 
 "No," put in Sir Adrian, as the other paused on this 
 mocking proposition. "In the old days, when I was 
 busy in promoting the Savenaye expedition, I came across 
 many of that gentry, and I cannot mind a case where 
 they could have been trusted with such a freight. But 
 perhaps," he added with a small smile, "the standard 
 may be higher now." 
 
 Captain Jack grinned appreciatively. "That is where 
 the 'likes of me' comes in. I will confess this not to be 
 my first attempt. It is known that I am one of the few 
 whose word is warranty. What is more, as I have said, 
 it is known that I have the luck. Thus, even if I could 
 bring my own name into such a trade, I would not ; it 
 would be the height of folly to change now."
 
 THE GOLD SMUGGLER 207 
 
 For all his disapproval Sir Adrian could not repress a 
 look of amusement. "I verily believe, Jack," he said, 
 shaking his head, "that you are as superstitious yourself 
 as the best of them ! " 
 
 "I ought to make a good thing out of it," said Jack, 
 evasively. "And even with all that is lovely to keep me 
 on shore, I would hardly give it up, if I could. As things 
 stand I could not if I would. Do not condemn me, 
 Adrian, — that would be fatal to my hopes — nay, I actually 
 want your help." 
 
 "I would you were out of it," reiterated Sir Adrian ; 
 "it takes so little to turn the current of a man's life when 
 he seems to be making straight for happiness. As to the 
 morals of it, I fail, I must admit, to perceive any wrong 
 in smuggling, at least in the abstract, except that a cer- 
 tain kind of moral teaches that all is wrong that is against 
 the law. And yet so many of our laws are so ferocious 
 and inept, and as such the very cause of so much going 
 wrong that might otherwise go well ; so many of those 
 who administer them are themselves so ferocious and 
 inept, that the mere fact of a pursuit being unlawful is no 
 real condemnation in my eyes. But, as you know. Jack, 
 those who place themselves above some laws almost in- 
 variably renounce all. If you are hanged for stealing a 
 horse, or breaking some fiscal law and hanged for killing 
 a man, the tendency, under stress of circumstances is 
 obvious. Aye, have we not a proverb about it : as well be 
 hanged for a sheep as for a lamb .?.... There are grue- 
 some stories about your free traders — and gruesome end- 
 ings to them. I well remember, in my young days, the 
 clanking gibbet on the sands near Preston and the three 
 tarred and iron-riveted carcases hanging, each in its 
 chains, with the perpetual guard of carrion crows. . . . 
 Hanging in chains is still on the statute book, I believe. 
 But I'll stop my croaking now. You are not one to be 
 drawn into brutal ways ; nor one, I fear, to be frightened 
 into prudence. Nevertheless," laughing quietly, "I am 
 curious to know in what way you expect help from me, 
 in practice. Do you, seriously, want me to embark 
 actually on a smuggling expedition ? — I demur, my dear 
 fellow." 
 
 Obviously relieved of some anxiety, the other burst out 
 laughing. "Never fear! I know your dislike to bilge
 
 2o8 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 water too well. I appreciate too well also your comfort- 
 able surroundings," he returned, seating himself once 
 more complacently in his arm-chair, "much as I should 
 love your company on board my pleasure ship — for, if 
 you please, the Peregrine is no smuggling lugger, but 
 professes to be a yacht. Still, you can be of help for all 
 that, and without lifting even a finger to promote this 
 illicit trade. You may ignore it completely, and yet you 
 will render me incalculable service, provided you do not 
 debar me from paying you a few more visits in your soli- 
 tude, and give me the range of your caves and cellars." 
 
 "You are welcome enough," said the recluse. "I 
 trust it may end as well as it promises." And, after a 
 pause, "Madeleine does not know the nature of your 
 present pursuit .''" 
 
 "Oddly enough, and happily (for our moments of in- 
 terview are short, as you may imagine) she is not curious 
 on the subject. I don't know what notions the old Lady 
 Maria may have put into her head about me. I think she 
 believes that I am engaged on some secret political in- 
 trigue and approves of such. At least I gathered as much 
 from her sympathetic reticence ; and, between ourselves, 
 I am beginning to believe it myself" 
 
 "How is that.?" asked the listener, moved to fresh 
 astonishment by this new departure. 
 
 " Well, I may tell you, who not only can be as silent 
 as the tomb, but really have a right to know, since you 
 are tacitly of the conspiracy. This time the transaction 
 is to be with some official of the French Court. They 
 want the metal, and yet wish to have it secretly. What 
 their motive may be is food for reflection if you like, but 
 it is no business of mine. And, besides the fact that one 
 journey will suffice for a sum which at the previous rate 
 would have required half a score, all the trouble and un- 
 certainty of landing are disposed of ; at any rate, I am, 
 when all is ready, to be met by a government vessel, get 
 my quid pro quo as will be settled, and there the matter is 
 to end." 
 
 " A curious expedition," mused Sir Adrian. 
 
 " Yes," said the sailor, " my last will be the best. By 
 the way, will you embark a few bags with me ? I will 
 take no commission." 
 
 Sir Adrian could not help laughing.
 
 THE GOLD SMUGGLER 209 
 
 " No, thank you ; I have 110 wash to launch any more 
 of my patrimony on ventures — since it would be of no 
 service to you. I had almost as lief you had made use 
 of my old crow's nest without lettmg- me mto the ins 
 and outs of your projects. But, be it as it may, it is 
 yours, night and day. Your visits I shall take as being 
 for me." 
 
 ' ' What a man you are, upon my soul, Sir Adrian ! " 
 cried Captain Jack, enthusiastically. 
 
 Later on, when the " shaking down " hour, in Captain 
 Jack's phraseology, had sounded, and the two friends 
 separated to rest, the young man refused the offer, dic- 
 tated by hospitality, of his host's own bedroom. Sir 
 Adrian did not press the point, and, leaving his guest at 
 liberty to enjoy the couch arranged by Rene in a corner 
 under the bookshelves, even as when Mademoiselle de 
 Savenaye had been the guest of the peel, himself retired 
 to that now hallowed apartment. 
 
 ' ' Odd fellow, that, " soliloquised Captain Jack, as, slowly 
 divesting himself, he paced about the long room and, in 
 the midst of roseate reflections, examined his curious 
 abode. "Withal, as good as ever stepped. It was a fine 
 day's work our old S/. NicJiolas did, about this time eight 
 years ago. Rather unlike a crowded battery deck, this," 
 looking from the solemn books to the glinting organ 
 pipes, and conscious of the great silence. "As for me, 
 I should go crazy by myself here. But it suits him. 
 Queer fish ! " again ruminated the young sailor. " He 
 hates no one and yet dislikes almost everybody, except 
 that funny little PVenchy and me. Whereas / like every 
 man I meet — unless I detest him ! . . . . My beautiful 
 plumage ! " this whilst carefully folding the superfine coat 
 and thereon the endless silken stock. " Now there's a 
 fellow who does not care a hang for any woman under the 
 sun, and yet enters into another chap's love affairs as if 
 he understood it all. I believe it will make him happy 
 to win my cause with Madeleine. I wish one could do 
 something for his happiness. It is absurd, you know," 
 as though apostrophising an objector, " a man can't be 
 happy without a woman. And yet again, my good Jack, 
 you never thought that before you met Madeleine. He 
 has not met his Madeleine, that's what it means. Where 
 14
 
 2IO THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 ignorance is bliss .... Friend Adrian ! Let us console 
 ourselves and call you ignorantly happy, in your old 
 crow's nest. You have not stocked it so badly either. — 
 For all your ignorance in love, you have a pretty taste in 
 liquor. 
 
 So thinking, he poured himself a last gla§s of his host's 
 wine, vv'hich he held for a moment in smiling cogitation, 
 looking, with the mind's eye, through the thick walls of 
 the keep, across the cold mist-covered sands of Scarthey 
 and again through the warm and scented air of a certain 
 room (imagination pictured) where Madeleine must at 
 that hour lie in her slumber. After a moment of silent 
 adoration he sent a rapturous kiss landwards and tossed 
 his glass with a last toast : 
 
 "Madeleine, my sweet ! To your softly closed lids." 
 And again Captain Jack fell to telling over the precious 
 tale of that morning's interview, furtively secured, by that 
 lover's luck he so dutifully blessed, under the cluster of 
 Scotch firs near the grey and crumbling boundary walls 
 of Pulwick Park.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 " LOVE GILDS THE SCENE AND WOMAN GUIDES 
 
 THE PLOT" 
 
 Tanty's wrath upon discovering- Sir Adrian's departure 
 was all the greater because she could extort no real ex- 
 planation from Rupert, and because her attacks rebounded, 
 as it were, from the polished surface he exposed to them 
 on every side. Madeleine's indifference, and Molly's ap- 
 parently reckless spirits, further discomposed her during 
 supper ; and upon the latter young lady's disappearance 
 after the meal, it was as much as she could do to finish 
 her nightly game of patience before mounting to seek her 
 with the purpose of relieving her overcharged feelings, 
 and procuring what enlightenment she might. 
 
 The unwonted spectacle of the saucy damsel in tears 
 made Miss O'Donoghue halt upon the threshold, the hot 
 wind of anger upon which she seemed to be propelled 
 into the room falling into sudden nothing-ness. 
 
 There could be no mistake about it. Molly was weep- 
 ing ; so energetically indeed, with such a passion of tears 
 and sobs, that the noise of Tanty's tumultuous entrance 
 fell unheeded upon her ears. 
 
 All her sympathies stirred within her, the old lady 
 advanced to the girl with the intention of gathering her 
 to her bosom. But as she drew near, the black and white 
 of the open diary attracted her eye under the circle of 
 lamplight, and being possessed of excellent long sight, she 
 thought it no shame to utilise the same across her grand- 
 niece's prostrate, heaving form, before making known her 
 presence. 
 
 "And so I sit and cry!' 
 
 Miss Molly was carrying out her programme with much 
 precision, if indeed her attitude, prone along the table, 
 could be described as sitting. 
 
 211
 
 212 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 Miss O'Donog^hue's eyes and mouth grew round, as 
 with the expression of an outraged cockatoo she read and 
 re-read the tell-tale phrases. Here was a complication 
 she had not calculated upon. 
 
 " Dear, dear," she cried, clacking her tongue in discon- 
 solate fashion, so soon as she could get her breath. 
 *' What is the meaning of this, my poor girl .' " 
 
 Molly leaped to her feet, and turning a blazing, dis- 
 figured countenance upon her relative, exclaimed with 
 more energy than politeness: "Good gracious, aunt, 
 what do you want ? " 
 
 Then catching sight of the open diary, she looked 
 suspiciously from it to her visitor, and closed it with a 
 hasty hand. But Miss O'Donoghue's next words settled 
 the doubt. 
 
 "Well, to be sure, what a state you have put yourself 
 into, " she pursued in genuine distress. " What has hap- 
 pened then between you and that fellow, whom I de- 
 clare I begin to believe as crazy as Rupert says, that you 
 should be crying your eyes out over his going back to 
 his island? — you that I thought could not shed a tear if 
 you tried. Nothing left but to sit and cry, indeed." 
 
 ' ' So you have been reading my diary, you mean thing, " 
 cried Miss Molly, stamping her foot. " How dare you 
 come creeping in here, spying at my private concerns ! 
 Oh ! oh ! oh ! " with unpremeditated artfulness, relapsing 
 into a paroxysm of sobs just in time to avert the volley 
 of rebuke with which the hot-tempered old lady was 
 about to greet this disrespectful outburst. "I am the 
 most miserable girl in all the world. I wish I were dead, 
 I do." 
 
 Again Tanty opened her arms, and this time she did 
 draw the stormy creature to a bosom, as warm and 
 motherly as if all the joys of womanhood had not been 
 withheld from it. 
 
 "Tell me all about it, my poor child." There was a 
 distinct feeling of comfort in the grasp of the old arms, 
 comfort in the very ring of the deep voice. Molly was 
 not a secretive person by nature, and moreover she re- 
 tained quite enough shrewdness, even in her unwonted 
 break-down, to conjecture that with Tanty lay her sole 
 hope of help. So rolling her dark head distractedly on 
 the old maid's shoulder, the young maid narrated her
 
 LOVE GILDS THE SCENE 213 
 
 tale of woe. Pressed by a pointed question here and 
 there, Tanty soon collected a series of impressions of 
 Molly's visit to Scarthey, that set her busy mind working 
 upon a startlingly new line. It was her nature to jump 
 at conclusions, and it was not strange that the girl's 
 passionate display of grief should seem to be the un- 
 mistakable outcome of tenderer feelings than the wounded 
 pride and disappointment which were in reality its sole 
 motors. 
 
 " I am convinced it is Rupert that is at the bottom of 
 it," cried Molly at last, springing into uprightness again, 
 and clenching her hands. " His one idea is to drive his 
 brother permanently from his own home — and he hates 
 me." 
 
 Tanty sat rigid with thought. 
 
 So Molly was in love with Sir Adrian Landale, and he 
 — who knows — was in love with her too ; or if not with 
 her, with her likeness to her mother, and that was much 
 the same thing when all was said and done. Could any- 
 thing be more suitable, more fortunate ? Could ever two 
 birds be killed with one stone with more complete felicity 
 than in this settling of the two people she most loved upon 
 earth } Poor pretty Molly I The old lady's heart grew 
 very tender over the girl who now stood half sullenly, 
 half bashfully averting her swollen face ; five days ago 
 she had not known her handsome cousin, and now she 
 was breaking her heart for him. 
 
 It might be, indeed, as she said, that they had to thank 
 Rupert for this — and off flew Tanty's mind upon another 
 tangent. Rupert was very deep, there could be no doubt 
 of that ; he was anxious enough to keep Adrian away 
 from them all ; what would it be then when it came to a 
 question of his marriage .? 
 
 Tanty, with the dehghtful optimism that seventy years' 
 experience had failed to damp, here became confident of 
 the approach of her younger nephew's complete discom- 
 fiture, and in the cheering contemplation of that event 
 chuckled so unctuously that Molly looked at her amazed. 
 
 "It is well for you, my dear," said the old lady, rising 
 and wagging her head with an air of enigmatic resolution, 
 *'that you have got an aunt." 
 
 Some two days later, Rend, sitting upon a ledge of the
 
 214 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 old Scarthey wall, in the spare sunshine which this still, 
 winter's noon shone pearl-like through a universal mist, 
 busy mending a net, to the tune of a melancholy, inward 
 whistle, heard up above the licking of the waves all 
 around him and the whimper of the seagulls overhead, 
 the beat of steady oars approaching from land side. 
 
 Starting to his feet, the little man, in vague expectation, 
 ran to a point of vantage from which to scan the tideway ; 
 after a few seconds' investigation he turned tail, dashed 
 into the ruins, up the steps, and burst open the door of 
 the sitting-room, calling upon his master with a scared 
 expression of astonishment. 
 
 Captain Jack, poring over a map, his pipe sticking 
 rakishly out of one side of his mouth, looked up amused 
 at the Frenchman's evident excitement, while Adrian, who 
 had been busy with the uppermost row of books upon his 
 west wall, looked down from his ladder perch, with the 
 pessimist's constitutional expectation of evil growing upon 
 his face. 
 
 "One comes in a boat," ejaculated. Rene, " and I 
 thought I ought to warn his honour, if his honour will give 
 himself the trouble to look out." 
 
 " It must be the devil to frighten Renny in this fashion," 
 muttered Captain Jack as distinctly as the clench of his 
 teeth upon the pipe would allow him. Sir Adrian paled a 
 little, he began to descend his ladder, mechanically flick- 
 ing the dust from his cuffs. 
 
 " Your honour," said Rend, drawing to the window and 
 looking out cautiously, "I have not yet seen her, but I 
 believe it is old miss — the aunt of your honour and these 
 ladies." 
 
 Captain Jack's pipe fell from his dropping jaw and was 
 broken into many fragments as he leaped to his feet with 
 an elasticity of limb and a richness of expletive which of 
 themselves would have betrayed his calling. 
 
 Flinging his arm across one of Adrian's shoulders he 
 peeped across the other out of the window, with an alarm 
 half mocking, half genuine. 
 
 " The devil it is, friend Renny," he cried, drawing back 
 and running his hands with an exaggerated gesture of 
 despair through his brown curls; "Adrian, all is lost 
 unless you hide me." 
 
 "My aunt here, and alone," exclaimed Adrian, retreat-
 
 LOVE GILDS THE SCENE 215 
 
 ing from the window perturbed enough himself, "I must 
 go down to meet her. Pray God it is no ill news ! 
 Hurry, Renny, clear these glasses away." 
 
 " In the name of all that's sacred, clear me away first ! " 
 interposed Captain Jack, this time with a real urgency ; 
 through the open lattice came the sound of the grating of 
 the boat's keel upon the sand and a vigorous hail from 
 a masculine throat — "Ahoy, Renny Potter, ahoy!" 
 "Adrian, this is a matter of life and death to my hopes, 
 hide me in your lowest dungeon for goodness' sake ; I do 
 not know my way about your ruins, and I am convinced 
 the old lady will nose me out like a badger," 
 
 There was no time for explanation ; Sir Adrian made a 
 sign to Rene, who highly enjoying the situation and 
 grinning from ear to ear, was already volunteering to 
 "well hide Mr. the Captain," and the pair disappeared 
 with much celerity into the inner room, while Adrian, 
 unable to afford himself further preparation, hurried down 
 the great stairs to meet this unexpected guest. 
 
 He emerged bareheaded into the curious mist which 
 hung pall-like upon the outer world, and seemed to com- 
 bine the opposite elements of glare and dulness, just as 
 Tanty, aided by the stalwart arm of the boatman, who 
 had rowed her across, succeeded in dragging her rheu- 
 matic limbs up the last bit of ascent to the door of the keep. 
 
 She halted, disengaged herself, and puffing and blowing 
 surveyed her nephew with a stony gaze. 
 
 "My dear aunt," cried Adrian, "nothing has hap- 
 pened, I trust.'' " 
 
 "Sufficient has already happened, nephew, I should 
 hope," retorted the old lady with extreme dignity, "suf- 
 ficient to make me desire to confer with you most 
 seriously. I thank you, young man," turning to William 
 Shearman who stood on one side, his eager gaze upon 
 " the master," ready to pull his forelock so soon as he 
 could catch his eye, "be here again in an hour, if you 
 please." 
 
 "But you will allow me to escort you myself," ex- 
 claimed Adrian, rising to the situation, "and I hope 
 there need be no hurry so long as daylight lasts — Good- 
 morning, Will, I am glad the new craft is a success — you 
 need not wait. "Tanty, take my arm, I beg, the steps 
 are steep and rough."
 
 2i6 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 Gripping her nephew's arm with her bony old woman's 
 hand, Miss O'Donoghue began a laborious ascent, paus- 
 ing every tive steps to breathe stertorously and reproach- 
 fully, and look round upon the sandstone walls with 
 supreme disdain ; but this was nothing to the air with 
 which, when at last installed upon a high hard chair, in 
 the sitting-room (having sternly refused the easy one Sir 
 Adrian humbly proffered), she deliberately proceeded to 
 survey the scene. In truth, the neatness that usually 
 characterised Adrian's surroundings was conspicuously 
 absent from them, just then. 
 
 Two or three maps lay overlapping each other upon the 
 table beside the tray with its flagon of amber ale, which 
 had formed the captain's morning draught ; and the soiled 
 glass, the fragments of his pipe, and its half-burnt con- 
 tents lay strewn about the prostrate chair which that 
 lively individual had upset in his agitation. Adrian's 
 ladder, the books he had been handling and had not re- 
 placed, the white ash of the dying fire, all contributed to 
 the unwonted aspect of somewhat melancholy disorder ; 
 worse than all, the fumes of the strong tobacco which 
 the sailor liked to smoke in his secluded moments hung 
 rank, despite the open window, upon the absolute motion- 
 lessness of the atmosphere. 
 
 Tanty snorted and sniffed, while Adrian, after picking 
 up the chair, began to almost unconsciously refold the 
 maps, his eyes fixed wonderingly upon his visitor's face. 
 
 This latter delivered herself at length of some of the 
 indignation that was choking her, in abrupt disjointed 
 sentences, as if she were uncorking so many bottles, 
 
 "Well I'm sure, nephew, I am not surprised at your 
 extraordinary behaviour, and if this is the style you pre- 
 fer to live in — style, did I say ? — sty would be more 
 appropriate. Of course it is only what I have been led 
 to expect, but I must say I was ill prepared to be treated 
 by you with actual disrespect. My sister's child and I 
 your guest, not to speak of your aunt, and you your 
 mother's son, and her host besides ! It is a slap in the face, 
 Adrian, a slap in the face which has been a very bitter 
 pill to have to swallow, I assure you — I may say without 
 exaggeration, in fact, that it has cut me to the quick." 
 
 " But surely," cried the nephew, laughing with gentle 
 indulgence at this complicated indictment, " surely you
 
 LOVE GILDS THE SCENE 217 
 
 cannot suppose I would have been willingly guilty of the 
 smallest disrespect to you. I am a most unfortunate man, 
 most unfortunately situated, and if I have offended, it is, 
 you must believe, unwittingly and unavoidably. But you 
 got my letter — I made my motives clear to you." 
 
 " Oh yes, I got your letter yesterday," responded 
 Tanty, not at all softened, " and a more idiotic produc- 
 tion from a man of your attainments, allow me to remark, 
 I never read. Adrian, you are making a perfect fool of 
 yourself, andjyou canjioi afford it ! " 
 
 " I fear you will never really understand my position," 
 murmured Adrian hopelessly. 
 
 Tanty rattled her large green umbrella upon the floor 
 with a violence that made her nephew start, then turned 
 upon him a countenance inflamed with righteous anger. 
 
 " It is only three days ago since I gave you fully my 
 view of the situation," she remarked, "you were good 
 enough at the time to admit that it was a remarkably 
 well-balanced one. I should be glad if you will explain 
 in what manner your position could have changed in the 
 space of just three hours after, to lead you to rush back 
 to your island, really as if you were a mole or a wild 
 Indian, or some other strange animal that could not bear 
 civilised society, without even so much as a good-bye to 
 me, or to your cousins either ? What is that ? — you say 
 you wrote — oh, ay — you wrote — to Molly as well as to 
 me ; rigmaroles, my dear nephew, mere absurd state- 
 ments that have not a grain of truth in them, that do not 
 hold water for an instant. You are not made for the 
 world forsooth, nor the world for you ! and if that is not 
 flying in the face of your Creator, and wanting to know 
 better than Providence ! — And then you say, ' you cast a 
 gloom by your mere presence.' Fiddle-de-dee ! It was 
 not much in the way of gloom that Molly brought back 
 with her from her three days' visit to you — or if that is 
 gloom — well, the more your presence casts of it the 
 better— that is all I can say. Ah, but you should have 
 seen her, poor child, after you went away in that heart- 
 less manner and you had removed yourself and your 
 shadow, and your precious gloom — if you could have seen 
 how unhappy she has been ! " 
 
 " Good God ! " exclaimed the man with a paling face, 
 " what are you saying? "
 
 2i8 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 ' ' Only the truth, sir— Molly is breaking her heart because 
 of your base desertion of her," 
 
 " Good God," muttered Adrian again, rose up stiffly in 
 a sort of horrified astonishment and then sat down again 
 and passed his hand over his forehead like a man striving 
 to awaken from a painful dream. 
 
 " Oh, Adrian, don't be more of a fool than you can pos- 
 sibly help ! " cried his relative, exasperated beyond all ex- 
 pression by his inarticulate distress. " You are so busy 
 contemplating all sorts of absurdities miles away that I 
 verily believe you cannot see an inch beyond your nose. 
 My gracious ! what is there to be so astonished at ? How- 
 did you behave to the poor innocent from the very instant 
 she crossed your threshold ? Fact is, you have been a 
 regular gay Lothario. Did you not " — cried Tanty, start- 
 ing again upon her fine vein of metaphor — " did you not 
 deliberately hold the cup of love to those young lips only 
 to nip it in the bud .? The girl is not a stock or a stone. 
 You are a handsome man, Adrian, and the long and the 
 short of it is, those w^ho play with fire must reap as they 
 have sown." 
 
 Tanty, who had been holding forth with the rapidity of 
 a loose windmill in a hurricane, here found herself forced 
 to pause and take breath : which she did, fanning herself 
 with much energy, a triumphant consciousness of the 
 unimpeachability of her logic written upon her heated 
 countenance. But Adrian still stared at her with the 
 same incredulous dismay ; looking indeed as little like a 
 gay Lothario as it was possible, even for him. 
 
 " Do you mean," he said at last, in slow broken sen- 
 tences, as his mind wrestled with the strange tidings ; 
 " am I to understand that Molly, that bright beautiful 
 creature, has been made unhappy through me ? Oh, my 
 dear Tanty," striving with a laugh, " the idea is too 
 absurd, I am old enough to be her father, you know — 
 what evidence can you have for a statement so distressing, 
 so extraordinary." 
 
 " I am not quite in my dotage yet," quoth Tanty, drily ; 
 " neither am I in the habit of making unfounded asser- 
 tions, nephew. I have heard what the girl has said with 
 her own lips, I have read what she has written in her 
 diary ; she has sobbed and cried over your cruelty in 
 these very arms — I don't know what further evidence "
 
 LOVE GILDS THE SCENE 219 
 
 But Sir Adrian had started up again — "Molly crying, 
 Molly crying for me — God help us all — Cecile's child, 
 whom 1 would give my life to keep from trouble ! Tanty, 
 if this is true — it must be true since you say so, I hardly 
 know myself what I am saying — then I am to blame, 
 deeply to blame — and yet — I have not said one word to 
 the child — did nothing . . . ." here he paused and a deep 
 flush overspread his face to the roots of his hair ; "except 
 indeed in the first moment of her arrival — when she came 
 in upon me as I was lost in memories of the past — like 
 the spirit ofC^cile." 
 
 " Humph," said Tanty, pointedly, " but then you see 
 what you took for Cecile's spirit happened to be Molly in 
 the flesh." She fixed her sharp eyes upon her nephew, 
 who, struck into confusion by her words, seemed for the 
 moment unable to answer. Then, as if satisfied with the 
 impression produced, she folded her hands over the um- 
 brella handle and observed in more placid tones than she 
 had yet used : 
 
 " And now we must see what is to be done." 
 
 Adrian began to pace the room in greater perturbation. 
 
 " What is to be done.?" he repeated, " alas ! what can 
 be done ? Tanty, you will believe me when I tell you 
 that I should have cut off my right hand rather than 
 brought this thing upon the child — but she is very young 
 — the impression, thank heaven, cannot in the nature of 
 things endure. She will meet some one worthy of her — 
 with you, Tanty, kindest of hearts, I can safely trust her 
 future. But that she should suffer now, and through me, 
 that bright creature who flitted in upon my dark life, like 
 some heaven-sent messenger — these are evil tidings. 
 Tanty, you must take her away, you must distract her 
 mind, you must tell her what a poor broken-down being 
 I am, how little worthy of her sweet thoughts, and she 
 will learn, soon learn, to forget me, to laugh at herself." 
 
 Although addressing the old lady, he spoke like a man 
 reasoning with himself, and the words dropped from his 
 lips as if drawn from a very well of bitterness. Tanty 
 listened to him in silence, but the tension of her whole 
 frame betrayed that she was only gathering her forces for 
 another explosion. 
 
 When Adrian's voice ceased there was a moment's silence 
 and then the storm burst ; whisking herself out other chair.
 
 220 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 the umbrella came into play once more. But though it 
 was only to thump the table, it was evident Miss O'Don- 
 oghue would more willingly have laid it about the delin- 
 quent's shoulders. 
 
 " Adrian, are you a man at all ? " she ejaculated fiercely. 
 Then with sudden deadly composure : "So ihi's is the 
 reparation you propose to make for the mischief you have 
 wrought .■* " 
 
 " In God's name ! " cried he, goaded at length into 
 some sort of despairing anger himself, " what would you 
 have me do .'' " 
 
 The answer came with the promptitude of a return 
 shot : 
 
 " Do? why marry her, of course ! " 
 
 "Marry her!" 
 
 There was a breathless pause. Tanty, leaning forward 
 across the table, crimson, agitated, yet triumphant ; 
 Adrian's white face blasted with astonishment. "Marry 
 her," he echoed at length once more, in a whisper this 
 time. Then with a groan : " This is madness ! " 
 
 Miss O'Donoghue caught him up briskly. " IMadness.? 
 My good fellow, not a bit of it ; on the contrary, sanity, 
 happiness, prosperity. — Adrian, don't stand staring at me 
 like a stuck pig ! Why, in the name of conscience, 
 should not you marry ? You are a young man still — pooh, 
 pooh, what is forty ! — you are a very fine-looking man, 
 clever, romantic — hear me out, sir, please — a?idyou have 
 made the child love you. There you are again, as if you 
 had a pain in your stomach ; you would try the patience 
 of Job ! Why, I don't believe there is another man on 
 earth that would not be wild with joy at the mere thought 
 of having gained such a prize. A beautiful creature, with 
 a heart of gold and a purse of gold to boot." 
 
 "Oh, heavens, aunt!" interrupted the man, passion- 
 ately, "leave that question out of the reckoning. The 
 one thing, the only thing, to consider is her happiness. 
 You cannot .make me believe it can be for her happiness 
 that she should marry such as me." 
 
 " And why shouldn't it be for her happiness .' " answered 
 the dauntless old lady. "Was not she happy enough 
 with you here in this God-forsaken hole, with nothing but 
 the tempest besides for company ? Why should not she 
 be happy, then, when you come back to your own good
 
 LOVE GILDS THE SCENE 221 
 
 place ? Would not you be kind to her ? — would not you 
 cherish her if she were your wife ? " 
 
 "Would I not be kind to her? — would I not cherish 
 her ?— would I not ? My God ! " 
 
 "Why, Adrian," cried Tanty, charmed at this unex- 
 pected disclosure of feeling and the accent with which it 
 was delivered, '* I declare you are as much in love with 
 the girl as she is with you. Why, now you shall just 
 come back with me to Pulwick this moment, and she shall 
 tell you herself if she can find happiness with you or not. 
 Oh — I will hear no more — your own heart, your feelings 
 as a gentleman, as a man of honour, all point, my dear 
 nephew, in the same direction. And if you neglect this 
 warning voice you will be blind indeed to the call of 
 duty. Come now, come back to your home, where the 
 sweetest wife ever a man had awaits you. And when I 
 shall see the children spring up around you, Adrian, then 
 God will have granted my last wish, and I shall die in 
 
 peace There, there, I am an old fool, but when the 
 
 heart is over full, then the tears fall. Come, Adrian, come, 
 I'll say no more; but the sight of the poor child who loves 
 you shall plead for her happiness and yours. And hark, a 
 word in your ear : let Rupert bark and snarl as he will ! 
 And what sort of a devil is it your generosity has made of 
 him P You have done a bad day's work there all these 
 years, but, please God, there are better times dawning for 
 us all. — What are you doing, Adrian ? Oh ! writing a few 
 orders to your servant to explain your departure with me 
 — quite right, quite right, I won't speak a word then to 
 interrupt you. Dear me ! I really feel quite in spirits. 
 Once dear Molly and you settled, there will be a happy 
 home for Madeleine : with you, we can look out a suitable 
 husband for her. Well, well, I must not go too fast yet, 
 I suppose : but I have not told you in what deep anxiety 
 I have been on her account by reason of a most deplorable 
 affair — a foolish girl's fancy only, of course, with a most 
 undesirable and objectionable creature called 6'wz///f. . . . 
 Oh ! you are ready, are you } — My dear Adrian, give me 
 your arm then, and let us proceed." 
 
 Silence had reigned for but a few seconds in the great 
 room of the keep when Captain Jack re-entered, bearing 
 on his face an expression at once boyishly jubilant and
 
 222 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 mockingly astonished. He planted himself in front of 
 the landward window, and gazed forth a while. 
 
 "There goes my old Adrian, as dutifully escorting that 
 walking sack of bones, that tar-barrel ornament — never 
 mind, old lady, from this moment I shall love you for 
 your brave deeds of this morning — escorting his worthy 
 aunt as dutifully as though he were a penniless nephew .... 
 Gently over the gunnel, madam ! That's done ! So you 
 are going to take my gig ? Right, Adrian. Dear me, 
 how she holds forth ! I fancy I hear her from here. — 
 Give way, my lads ! That's all right. Gad! Old Adrian's 
 carried off on a regular journey to Cythera, under a proper 
 escort ! " 
 
 With this odd reminiscence of early mythological read- 
 ing, the sailor burst into a loud laugh and walked about 
 slapping his leg. 
 
 " Would ever any one have guessed anything approach- 
 ing this ? Star-gazing, book-grubbing Sir Adrian .... 
 in love ! Adrian the solitary, the pessimist, the I-don't- 
 know-what superior man, in love ! Neither more nor less ! 
 In love, like an every-day inhabitant of these realms, and 
 with that black-eyed sister of mine that is to be ! My 
 word, it's too perfect ! Adrian my brother-in-law — for if 
 I gauge that fine creature properly — splendid old lady — 
 she won't let him slide back this time. No, my dear 
 Adrian, you are hooked for matrimony and a return to the 
 living world. That black-eyed jade too, that Molly sister 
 of my Madeleine, will wake up and lead you a life, by 
 George ! . . . . Row on, my lads," once more looking 
 at the diminishing black spot upon the grey waters. 
 " Row on — you have never done a better day's work ! " 
 
 Rene, entering a few moments later, with an open note 
 in his hand, found his master's friend still chuckling, and 
 looked at him inquisitively. 
 
 " His honour has returned to Pulwick," said he, in 
 puzzled tones, handing the missive. 
 
 "Ay, lad," answered the sailor, cheerily. "The fact 
 is, my good Renny, that in that room of Sir Adrian's where 
 you ensconced me for safety from that most wonderful 
 specimen of her sex (I refer to your master's worthy 
 aunt), it was impossible to avoid overhearing many of 
 her remarks — magnificent voice for a storm at sea, eh? 
 Never mind what it was all about, my good man ; what
 
 LOVE GILDS THE SCENE 223 
 
 I heard was good news. Ah ! " directing his attention to 
 the note ; "his honour does not say when he will return, 
 but will send back the gig immediately ; and you, M. 
 Potter, are to look after me for as long as I choose to stop 
 here." 
 
 Ren^ required no reflection to realise that anything in 
 the shape of good news which took his master back to 
 his estate must be good news indeed ; and his broad face 
 promptly mirrored, in the broadest of grins, the captain's 
 own satisfaction. 
 
 "For sure, we will try to take care of M. the captain, 
 as well as if his honour himself was present. He told me 
 you were to be master here." 
 
 "Make it so. I should like some dinner as soon as 
 
 possible, and one of my bro of Sir Adrian's best bottles. 
 
 It's a poor heart that never rejoices. Meanwhile, I want 
 to inspect your ruins and your caves in detail, if you will 
 pilot me, Renny. This is a handy sort of an old Robin- 
 son Crusoe place for hiding and storing, is it not ? "
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 A JUNIOR'S OPINION 
 
 A RARELY failing characteristic of very warm-hearted 
 and strongly impulsive people is their inability of gradu- 
 ating their likes and dislikes ; a state of mind which can- 
 not fail to lead to frequent alterations of temper. 
 
 On more than one occasion, since the domineering old 
 lady had started upon her peregrinations, had her favour 
 for the two brothers undergone reversal ; but the ground 
 Rupert gained by Adrian's offences was never of safe 
 tenure. At the present hour, under the elation of her 
 victorious sally upon the hermit's pessimistic entrench- 
 ments — the only thing in him of which she disapproved — 
 he at once resumed the warm place she liked to keep for 
 him in her heart. And as a consequence "Master Ru- 
 pert," as she contemptuously called the " locum tenens 
 Squire," who, in the genealogical order of things, should 
 have been a person of small importance, fell promptly 
 into his original state of disgrace. 
 
 During the drive from the village (where she had 
 ordered the carriage to await her return) to the gates of 
 Pulwick, Miss O'Donoghue entertained her companion 
 with an indignant account of his brother's ingratitude, of 
 his hypocritical insinuating method of disparagement of 
 Sir Adrian himself, winding up each indictment with 
 a shrewd, "but he could not impose upon me" which, 
 indeed, she firmly believed. 
 
 Her object was, of course, to strengthen the baronet in 
 his resolve to return to the headship of his family — little 
 guessing what a strong incentive to seclusion these very 
 tales of a state of things he suspected but too well would 
 have proved, had it not been for the new unforeseen mo- 
 tive that the morning's revelation had brought. 
 
 " Does Molly know of your visit to me? " he asked, as 
 the carriage halted before the gate, and the enormous, 
 
 224
 
 A JUNIOR'S OPINION 225 
 
 red-headed Cumbrian gatekeeper with his rosy Mog-gie, 
 proudly swung it open to stand on either side, the one 
 bowing with jubilant greeting and the other curtseying 
 with bashful smiles at the real master. " Does she expect 
 my visit ? " relapsing into gravity after returning the salu- 
 tation in kindliness. 
 
 "I have told no one of my purpose this day. Rupert 
 walked off to the stables immediately after breakfast — 
 going a-hunting he said he was, and offered to bear the 
 girls to the meet. And then, feeling lonely without his 
 company," added Tanty, M'ith a wink, "I ordered the 
 carriage and thought I would go and have a peep at the 
 place where poor Molly was drowned, just for a little 
 diversion. Whether the little rogue expects you or not, 
 after your note of the other day, I am sure I could not 
 take upon myself to say. She sits watching that crazy 
 old tower of yours by day and your light by night. 
 Well, well, I must not tell tales out of school, you 
 may find out for yourself. But mind you, Adrian," 
 she impressed on him, sagely, "it is not I who bring 
 you back : you return of your own accord. The child 
 would murder me, if she knew — with that proud heart 
 of hers." 
 
 "My dear Tanty, trust me. This incomprehensible 
 discovery of yours, which I cannot yet believe in, really 
 is, so far as my discretion is concerned, as if I had never 
 heard of it. Heavens ! I have been a blundering fool, 
 but I could not insult her with a hint of it for the world. 
 I have come to see Rupert to-day, as usual, of course — 
 and, as you say .... I shall see for myself. You have 
 opened my eyes." 
 
 Miss O'Donoghue looked at her nephew with admiration. 
 " Voyez U7i pen," she said, " conime V amour vous degourdit 
 even a doleful Sir Adrian ! Faith, here we are. This has 
 been a pleasant ride, but my old bones are so tired, and 
 you and yours have set them jogging so much of late, 
 that I think I'll never want to stir a foot again once I get 
 back to Bunratty .... except indeed to come and be 
 godmother to the heir." 
 
 Having lent a dutiful arm up the stairs to his now- 
 beaming relative. Sir Adrian came down pensively and 
 entered the library. 
 
 There, booted and spurred, but quietly installed at a 
 
 15
 
 226 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 writing table, sat Mr. Landale, who rose in his nonchalant 
 manner and with cold looks met his brother. 
 
 There was no greeting between them, but simply thus : 
 
 "I understood from Aunt Rose you were out hunt- 
 ing." 
 
 "Such was my intention, but when I found out that 
 she had gone to see you — don't look so astonished, Adrian 
 — a man must know what is going on in his household — 
 I suspected you would escort her back ; so I desisted and 
 waited for you. It is an unexpected pleasure to see you, 
 for I thought we had sufficiently discussed all business, 
 recently. But doubtless you will profit of the opportu- 
 nity to go into a few matters which want your attention. 
 Do you mean to remain .'' " 
 
 Speaking these words in a detached manner, Mr. Lan- 
 dale kept a keenly observant look upon his brother's 
 countenance. In a most unwonted way the tone and 
 the look irritated Sir Adrian, 
 
 " I came back, Rupert, because there were some things 
 I wished to see for myself here," he answered frigidly. 
 And going to the bell, rang it vigorously. 
 
 On the servant's appearance, without reference to his 
 brother, he himself, and very shortly, gave orders : 
 
 " I shall dine here to-day. Have the tapestry-room 
 made ready for me." 
 
 Then turning to Rupert, whose face betrayed some of 
 the astonishment aroused by this most unusual assump- 
 tion of authority, and resuming as it were the thread of 
 his speech, he went on : 
 
 "No, Rupert, I have no desire to talk business with 
 you. It is a pity you should have given up your day. 
 Is it yet too late? " 
 
 "Upon my word, Adrian," said Mr. Landale, clench- 
 ing his hand nervously round his fine cambric handker- 
 chief, "there must be something of importance in the 
 wind to have altered your bearing towards me to this 
 extent. I have no wish to interfere. I came back and 
 gave up good company for the reason I have stated. I 
 will now only point out that, with your sudden whims, 
 you render my position excessively false in a house 
 where, at your own wish, I am ostensibly established as 
 master." 
 
 And without waiting for another word, the younger
 
 A JUNIOR'S OPINION 227 
 
 brother, having shot the arrow which hitherto never 
 failed to reach the bull's-eye of the situation, left the 
 room with much dignity. 
 
 Once more alone, Sir Adrian, standing motionless in 
 the great room, darkened yet more in the winter light by 
 the heavy festoons of curtains that hung over the numer- 
 ous empty bookshelves, the souls of which had migrated 
 to the peel to keep the master company, cogitated upon 
 this first unpleasant step in his new departure, and won- 
 dered within himself why he had felt so extraordmarily 
 moved by anger to-day at the cold inquisitiveness of his 
 brother. No doubt the sense of being watched thus, held 
 away at arm's-length as it were, was cause sufficient. 
 And yet that was not it ; ingratitude alone, even to enmity, 
 in return for benefits forgot could not rouse this bitterness. 
 But had it not been for Tanty's interference he would be 
 now exiled from his home until the departure of Cecile's 
 child, just as, but for chance, he would have been kept 
 in actual ignorance of her arrival. It was his brother's 
 doing that he had blindly withdrawn himself when his 
 presence would have caused happiness to her. Yes, that 
 was it. Rupert had a scheme. That was what dwelt in 
 his eyes, — a scheme which would bring, indeed did bring, 
 unhappiness to that dear guest. . . . No wonder, now, 
 that the unconscious realisation of it awoke all the man's 
 blood in him. 
 
 " No, Rupert," Sir Adrian found himself saying aloud, 
 "I let you reign at Pulwick so long as you crossed not 
 one jot of such pleasure and happiness that might belong 
 to Cecile's child. But here our wills clash ; and now, 
 since there cannot be two masters in a house as you say, 
 / am the master here." 
 
 As Sir Adrian's mind was seething in this unusual 
 mood. Miss O'Donoghue, entering her nieces' room, 
 found Molly perched, in riding dress, on the window-sill, 
 looking forth upon the outer world with dissatisfied coun- 
 tenance. 
 
 Mr. Landale had sent word at the last moment that, 
 to his intense regret, he could not escort the ladies to 
 the meet, some important business having retained him 
 at Pulwick. 
 
 So much did Miss Molly pettishly explain in answer
 
 228 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 to the affectionate inquiry concerning the cloud on her 
 brow, slashing her whip the while and pouting, and gen- 
 erally out of harmony with the special radiance of the 
 old lady's eye and the more than usual expansiveness of 
 the embrace which was bestowed upon her. 
 
 "Tut, tut, tut, now," observed the artful person in 
 tones of deep commiseration. "Ah well, Rupert's a poor 
 creature which ever side he turns up. Will you go now, 
 my child, and fetch me the letters I left on the drawing- 
 room table ? Isn't it like me to spend half the morning 
 writing them and leave them down there after all !" 
 
 Molly rose unwillingly, threw her whip on the bed, 
 her hat on the floor ; and mistily concerned over Tanty's 
 air of irrepressible and pleasurable excitement, walked 
 out of the room, bestowing as she passed her long pier 
 glass a moody glance at her own glowering beauty. 
 
 "What's the use of j^ou P" she muttered to herself, 
 "Anybody can fetch and carry for old aunts and look 
 out of windows on leafless trees ! " 
 
 The way to the drawing-room was through the library. 
 As Molly, immersed in her reflections, passed along this 
 room, she stopped with a violent start on perceiving the 
 figure of Sir Adrian, a tall silhouette against the cold light 
 of the window. As she came upon him, her face was 
 fully illumined, and there was a glorious tale-telling in 
 the widening of her eyes and the warm flush that mounted 
 to her cheek that on the instant scattered in the man's 
 mind all wondering doubts. A rush of tenderness filled 
 him at one sweep, head and heart, to the core. 
 
 " Molly !" he cried, panting; and then with halting 
 voice as she advanced a pace and stood with mouth 
 parted and brilliant expectant eyes : "You took away all 
 light and warmth with you when you left my lonely 
 dwelling. I tried to take up my life there, but " 
 
 " But you have come back — for me? " And drawn by 
 his extended hands she advanced, her burning gaze fixed 
 upon his. 
 
 " I dared not think of seeing you again," he murmured, 
 clasping her hands ; " yet my return .... pleases you ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 Thus was crowned this strange wooing, was clenched 
 a life's union, based upon either side on fascinating un- 
 realities.
 
 A JUNIOR'S OPINION 229 
 
 She was drawn into his arms ; and against his heart 
 she lay, shaking with little shivers of delight, looking into 
 the noble face bent so lovingly over hers, her mind float- 
 ing between unconscious exultation and languorous joy. 
 
 For a long while without a word he held her thus on 
 his strong arm, gazing with a rending conflict of rapture 
 and anguish on the beautiful image of his life's love, until 
 his eyes were dimmed with rising tears. Then he slowly 
 stooped over the upturned face, and as she dropped her 
 lids with a faint smile, kissed her lips. 
 
 There came a warning rattle at the door handle, and 
 Molly, disengaging herself softly from her betrothed's 
 embrace, but still retaining his arm, turned to witness the 
 entrance of Miss O'Donoghue and Mr. Landale. 
 
 On the former's face, under a feigned expression of sur- 
 prise, now expanded itself in effulgence the plenitude of 
 that satisfaction which had been dawning there ever since 
 her return from the island. 
 
 Rupert held himself well in hand. He halted, it is true, 
 for an instant at the first sight of Sir Adrian and Molly, 
 and put his handkerchief furtively to his forehead to wipe 
 the sudden cold sweat which broke out upon it. But the 
 hesitation was so momentary as to pass unperceived ; 
 and if his countenance, as he advanced again, bore an 
 expression of disapproval, it was at once dignified and 
 restrained. 
 
 "So you are there, Molly," exclaimed the old lady with 
 inimitable airiness. " Just imagine, my dear, I had those 
 letters in my pocket all the while, after all. You did not 
 find them, did you .-* " 
 
 But Adrian, still retaining the little hand on his arm, 
 came forward slowly and broke through the incipient flow. 
 
 "Aunt Rose," said he in a voice still veiled by emotion, 
 "I know your kind heart will rejoice with me, although 
 you may not be so surprised, as no doubt Rupert will be, 
 at the news we have for you, Molly and I." 
 
 "You are right, Adrian," interrupted Rupert gravely, 
 "to any who know your life and your past as I do, the 
 news you seem to have for us must seem strange indeed. 
 So strange that you will excuse me if I withhold congrat- 
 ulations. For, if I mistake not," he added, with a deli- 
 cately shaded change of tone to sympathetic courtesy, 
 and slightly turning his handsome face towards Molly,
 
 230 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 " I assume that my fair cousin de Savenayehas even but 
 now promised to be my sister, Lady Landale. " 
 
 Sir Adrian who, softened by the emotion of this won- 
 derful hour, had made a movement to grasp his brother's 
 hand, but had checked himself with a passionate move- 
 ment of anger, instantly restrained, as the overt imperti- 
 nence of the first words fell on his ears, here looked with 
 a shadowing anxiety at the girl's face. 
 
 But Molly, who could never withhold the lash of her 
 tongue when Rupert gave the slightest opening, imme- 
 diately acknowledged her enemy's courtly bow with 
 sauciness. 
 
 " What ! No congratulations from the model brother? 
 Not even a word of thanks to Molly de Savenaye for 
 bringing the truant to his home at last ? But you malign 
 yourself, my dear Rupert. I believe 'tis but excess of joy 
 that ties your tongue." 
 
 With gleaming smile Mr. Landale would have opposed 
 this direct thrust by some parry of polished insult ; but 
 he met his elder's commanding glance, remembered his 
 parting words on two previous occasions, and wisely 
 abstained, contenting himself with another slight bow 
 and a contemptuous shrug of the shoulders. 
 
 At the same time Miss O'Donoghue, with an odd mix- 
 ture of farcically pretended astonishment and genuine 
 triumph, fell on the girl's neck. 
 
 " It is possible, soul of my heart, my sweet child — I 
 can't believe it — though I vow I knew it all along ! So I 
 am to see my two favourites made one by holy matri- 
 mony ! " punctuating her exclamation with kisses on the 
 fair young face, and wildly seeking in space with her 
 dried-up old fingers to meet Adrian's hand. " I, the one 
 barren stock of the O'Donoghues, shall see my sister's 
 children re-united. Ah, Adrian, what a beautiful coat this 
 will make for you to hand to your children ! O'Donoghue, 
 Landale, Kermel^gan, Savenaye — eighteen quarters with 
 this heiress alone, Adrian child, for the descendants of 
 Landale of Pulwick ! " And Miss O'Donoghue, over- 
 come by this culminating vision of happiness and perfec- 
 tion, fairly burst into tears. 
 
 In the midst of this scene, Mr. Landale, after listening 
 mockingly for a few instants, retired with ostentatious 
 discretion.
 
 A JUNIOR'S OPINION. 231 
 
 Later in the day, as Madeleine bent her pretty ears, 
 dutifully yet with wandering attention, to Molly's gay 
 prognostications concerning Pulwick under her sway ; 
 whilst the servants in the hall, pantry and kitchen dis- 
 cussed the great news which, by some incomprehensible 
 agency, spread with torrent-like swiftness through the 
 whole estate ; while Miss O'Donoghue was feverishly 
 busy with the correspondence which was to disseminate 
 far and wide the world's knowledge of the happy be- 
 trothal, Sir Adrian met his brother walking meditatively 
 along the winding path of the garden, flicking with the 
 loop of his crop the border of evergreens as he went. 
 From their room, Molly and Madeleine, ensconced in the 
 deep window-seat, could see the meeting. 
 
 " How I should like to hear," said Molly. "I know 
 this supple wretch will be full of Adrian's folly in marry- 
 ing me — first, because, from the Rupertian point of view, 
 it is a disastrous thing that his elder should marry at all ; 
 and secondly, because Molly, mistress at Pulwick Priory, 
 means a very queer position indeed for Mr. Rupert 
 Landale. How I wish my spirit could fly into Adrian's 
 head just for a moment ! Adrian is too indulgent. It 
 requires a Molly to deal with such impertinence." 
 
 "Indeed you are unjust with our cousin," said Made- 
 leine, gently. " Why this hatred ? I cannot understand. " 
 
 "No, of course not, Madeleine. Rupert is charming 
 — with you. I am not blind. But take care he does not 
 find outjyour secret, miss. Oh, I don't ask you any more 
 about it. But if he ever does — gare, ma chere." 
 
 But at the present juncture, Molly's estimate of Sir 
 Adrian's mood was mistaken. His love of peace, which 
 amounted to a well-known weakness where he alone was 
 concerned, weighed not a feather in the balance when 
 such an interest as that now engaged was at stake. 
 
 As a matter of fact, Rupert Landale was to be taken 
 by surprise again, that day, and again not pleasantly. 
 On noticing his brother's approach, he stopped his angry 
 flickings, and slowly moved to meet him. At first they 
 walked side by side in silence. Presently Sir Adrian 
 began : 
 
 "Rupert," he said gravely, " after our first interview 
 to-day, it was my intention to have begged your pardon 
 for a certain roughness in my manner which I should
 
 232 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 have controlled and which you resented. I would have 
 done so, had you allowed me, at that moment when I 
 announced my forthcoming marriage and my heart was 
 full of good-will to all, especially to you. Now, on the 
 contrary, to re-establish at least that outward harmony 
 without which life in common would be impossible, I 
 expect from you some expression of regret for your be- 
 haviour." 
 
 The first part of his brother's say was so well in ac- 
 cordance with his more habitual mood, that Mr. Landale 
 had already sketched his equally habitual deprecating 
 smile ; but the conclusion changed the entire standpoint 
 of their relations. 
 
 "An expression of regret — from nie?" cried he, exag- 
 gerating his astonishment almost to mockery. 
 
 " From any one but my brother." said Adrian, with a 
 slight but perceptible hardening in his tone, " I should say 
 an apology for an impertinence." 
 
 Mr. Landale, now genuinely taken aback, turned a little 
 pale and halted abruptly. 
 
 "Adrian, Adrian ! " he retorted, quickly. "This is one 
 of your mad moments. I do not understand." 
 
 "No, brother, I am not mad, and never have been, 
 dearly as you would wish me to be so in reality — since 
 Death would have none of me. But though you know 
 this yourself but too well, you have never understood me 
 really. Now listen — once for all. Try and see our posi- 
 tions as they are : perhaps then matters will go more 
 pleasantly in the future for you as well as for me." 
 
 Mr. Landale looked keenly at the speaker's face for a 
 second, and then without a word resumed his walk, while 
 Sir Adrian by his side pursued with quiet emphasis : 
 
 " When I returned, from the other world so to speak, 
 at least from your point of view (one which I fully un- 
 derstood), I found that this very return was nothing 
 short of a calamity for all' that remained of my kin. I 
 had it in my power to reduce that misfortune to a great 
 extent. You loved the position — that worldly estimation, 
 that fortune, all those circumstances which, with perfect 
 moral right, you had hitherto enjoyed. They presented 
 little attraction to me. Moreover, there were many 
 reasons, which I am quite aware you know, that made 
 this very house of mine a dismal dwelling for me. You
 
 A JUNIOR'S OPINION 233 
 
 see I have no wish to give too generous a colour to my 
 motives, too self-denying- a character to the benefits I 
 conferred upon you. But, as far as you are concerned, 
 they were benefits. For them I received no gratitude ; 
 but as I did not expect gratitude it matters little. I 
 might, however, have expected at least that you should 
 
 be neutral, not directly hostile to me Pray let me 
 
 finish" (in anticipation of a rising interruption from his 
 companion), "I shall soon have done, and you will see 
 that I am not merely recriminating. Hostile you have 
 been, and are now. So long as the position you as- 
 sumed towards me only bore on our own relations, I ac- 
 quiesced : you had so much more to lose than I could 
 gain by resenting your hidden antagonism. I held you, 
 so to speak, in the hollow of my hand ; I could afford to 
 pass over it all. Moreover, I had chosen my own path, 
 which was nothing if not peaceful. I say, you always 
 were hostile to me ; you have been so, more than ever 
 since the arrival of Cecile de Savenaye's children. You 
 were, however, grievously mistaken if you thought — 
 I verily believe you did — that I did not realise the true 
 motives that prompted you to keep me away from them. 
 — I loved them as their mother's children ; I love Molly 
 with a sort of love I myself do not understand, but deep 
 enough for all its strangeness. Yet I submitted to your 
 reasoning, to your plausible representations of the disas- 
 trous effects of my presence. I went back to my solitude 
 because it never entered my mind that it could be in my 
 power to help their happiness ; you indeed had actually 
 persuaded me of the contrary, as you know, and I myself 
 thought it better to break the unfortunate spell that was 
 cast on me. Unfortunate I thought it, but it has proved 
 far otherwise." 
 
 They had reached the end of the alley, and as they 
 turned back, facing each other for a moment. Sir Adrian 
 noticed the evil smile playing upon his brother's lips. 
 
 "It has proved otherwise," he repeated. "How I 
 came to change my views, I daresay you have guessed, 
 for you have, of late, kept a good watch on your mad 
 brother, Rupert. At any rate you know what has come 
 to pass. Now I desire you to understand this clearly — 
 interference with me as matters stand means interference 
 with Molly : and as such I must, and shall, resent it."
 
 234 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 • 
 
 "Well, Adrian, and what have I done now ? " was Mr. 
 Landale's quiet reply. He turned a gravely attentive, 
 innocently injured countenance to the paling light. 
 
 " When I said you did not understand me," returned 
 Sir Adrian with undiminished firmness; "when I said 
 you owed me some expression of regret, it was to warn 
 you never again to assume the tone of insinuation and 
 sarcasm to me, which you permitted yourself to-day in 
 the presence of Molly. You could not restrain this long 
 habit of censuring, of unwarrantable and impertinent 
 criticism, of your elder, and when you referred to my 
 past, Molly could not but be offended by the mockery of 
 your tones. Moreover, you took upon yourself, if I 
 have heard aright, to disapprove openly of our marriage. 
 Upon what ground that would bear announcing I know 
 not, but let this be enough : try and realise that our re- 
 spective positions are totally changed by this unforeseen 
 event, and that, as Molly is now to be mistress at Pul- 
 wick, I must of course revoke my tacit abdication. Never- 
 theless, if you think you can put up with the new state 
 of things, there need be little alteration in your present 
 mode of life, my dear Rupert ; if you will only make a 
 generous efifort to alter your line of conduct." 
 
 And here, Sir Adrian, succumbing for a moment to the 
 fault, so common to kindly minds, of discounting the 
 virtue of occasional firmness by a sudden return to 
 geniality, offered his hand in token of peace. 
 
 Mr. Landale took it ; his grasp, however, was limp 
 and cold. 
 
 " I am quite ready to express regret," he said in a tone- 
 less voice, "since that would seem to be gratification to 
 you, and moreover seems to be the tacit condition on 
 which you will refrain from turning me out. I ought in- 
 deed to have abstained from referring, however vaguely, 
 to past events, for the plain reason that anything I could 
 say would already have come too late to prevent the 
 grievous deed you have now pledged yourself to commit." 
 
 " Rupert — ! " exclaimed Sir Adrian stepping back a pace, 
 too amazed, at the instant, for indignation. 
 
 " Now, in your turn, hear me, Adrian," continued Mr. 
 Landale with his blackest look. " I have listened to your 
 summing up of our respective cases with perfect patience, 
 notwithstanding a certain assumption of superiority which
 
 A JUNIOR'S OPINION 235 
 
 — allow me to insist on this — is somewhat ridiculous from 
 you to me. You complain of my misunderstanding you. 
 Briefly, this is absurd. As a matter of fact I understand 
 you better than you do yourself. On the other hand it 
 is you that do not understand me. I have no wish to 
 paraphrase your little homily of two minutes ago, but 
 the heads of my refutation are inevitably suggested by 
 the points of your indictment. To use your own manner 
 of speech, my dear Adrian, I have no wish to assume in- 
 jured disinterestedness, when speaking of my doings with 
 regard to you and your belongings and especially to this 
 old place of yours, of our family. You have only to look 
 and see for yourself. ..." 
 
 Mr. Landale made a wide comprehensive gesture which 
 seemed to embrace the whole of the noble estate, the ad- 
 mirably kept mansion with walls now flushed in the light 
 of the sinking sun, the orderly maintenance of the vast 
 grounds, the prosperousness of its dependencies — all in 
 fact that the brothers could see with the eyes of the body 
 from where they stood, and all that they could see with 
 the eyes of the mind alone : "Go and verify whether I 
 fulfilled my duty with respect to the trust which was yours, 
 but which you have allowed to devolve upon my shoulders, 
 and ask yourself whether you would have fulfilled it bet- 
 ter — if as well. I claim no more than this recognition ; 
 for, as you pointed out, the position carried its advan- 
 tages, if it entailed arduous responsibility too. It was my 
 hope that heirs of my body would live to perpetuate this 
 pride — this work of mine. It was not to be. Now that 
 you step in again and that possibly your flesh will reap 
 the benefits I have laboured to produce, ask yourself, 
 Adrian, whether you, who shirked your own natural 
 duties, would have buckled to the task, under my circum- 
 stances — distrusted by your brother, disliked and secretly 
 despised by all your dependants, who reserved all their 
 love and admiration for the "real master" (oh, I know 
 the cant phrase), although he chose to abandon his posi- 
 tion and yield himself to the stream of his own inertness, 
 the real master who in the end can find no better descrip- 
 tion for these years of faithful service than ' hostility 'and 
 ' ingratitude.' " 
 
 Sir Adrian halted a pace, a little moved by the specious- 
 ness of the pleading. The incidental reference to that
 
 236 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 one grief of his brother's life was of a kind which could 
 never fail to arouse generous sympathy in his heart. But 
 Mr. Landale had not come to the critical point of his say, 
 and he did not choose to allow the chapter of emotion to 
 begin just yet. 
 
 "But," he continued, pursuing his restless walk, 
 "again to use your own phraseology, I am not merely 
 recriminating. I, too, wish you to understand me. It 
 would be useless to discuss now, what you elect to call 
 my hostility in past days. I had to keep up the position 
 demanded by our ancient name ; to keep it up amid a 
 society, against whose every tenet almost — every pre- 
 judice, you may call them — you chose to run counter. 
 My antagonism to your mode of acting and thinking was 
 precisely measured by your own against the world in 
 which the Landales, as a family, hold a stake. Let that, 
 therefore, be dismissed ; and let us come at once to the 
 special hostility you complain of in me, since the trouble- 
 some arrival of Aunt Rose and her wards. As the very 
 thing which I was most anxious to prevent, if possible, 
 has, after all, come to pass, the present argument may 
 seem useless ; but you have courted it yourself." 
 
 " Most anxious to prevent — if possible ....!" re- 
 peated Sir Adrian, slowly. "This, from a younger 
 brother, is almost cynical, Rupert ! " 
 
 "Cynical ! " retorted Mr. Landale, with a furious laugh. 
 " Why, you have given sound to the very word I would, 
 in anyljody else's case, have applied to a behaviour such 
 as yours. Is it possible, Adrian," said Rupert, turning to 
 look his brother in the eyes with a look of profound 
 malice, " that it has not occurred to you yet, that cynical 
 will be the verdict the world will pass on the question of 
 your marriage with that young girl ? " 
 
 Sir Adrian flushed darkly, and remained silent for a pace 
 or two ; then, with a puzzled look : 
 
 "I fail to understand you," he said simply. "I am 
 no longer young, of course ; yet, in years, I am not pre- 
 posterously old. As for the other points — name and 
 fortune " 
 
 But Rupert interrupted him with a sharp exclamation, 
 which betrayed the utmost nervous exasperation. 
 
 " Pshaw ! If I did not know you so well, I would say 
 you were playing at candour. This — this unconvention-
 
 A JUNIOR'S OPINION 237 
 
 ality of yours would have led you into curious pitfalls, 
 Adrian, had you been obliged to live in the world. My 
 'hostility' has saved you from some already, I know — 
 more is the pity it could not save you from thiS' — for it 
 passes all bounds that you should meditate such an un- 
 natural act, upon my soul, in the most natural manner in 
 the world. One must be an Adrian Landale, and live on 
 a tower for the best part of one's life, to reach such a 
 pitch of — unconventionality, let us call it. " 
 
 "For God's sake," exclaimed Sir Adrian, suddenly los- 
 ing patience, "what are you driving at, man ? In what 
 way can my marriage with a young lady, who, incon- 
 ceivable as it may be, has found something to love in 
 me ; in what way, I say, can it be accounted cynical ? I 
 am not subtle enough to perceive it." 
 
 "To any one but you," sneered the other, coming to 
 his climax with a sort of cruel deliberation, "it would 
 hardly require special subtleness to perceive that for the 
 man of mature age to marry the daughter, after having, 
 in the days of his youth, been the lover of the mother, is 
 a proceeding, the very idea of which is somewhat revolt- 
 ing in the average individual. . . . There are many rou^s 
 in St. James' who would shrink before it ; yet you, the 
 enlightened philosopher, the moralist " 
 
 But Sir Adrian, breathing quickly, laid his hand heavily 
 on his brother's shoulder. 
 
 *' When you say the mother's lover, Rupert," he said, in 
 a contained voice, which was as ominous of storm as the 
 first mutters of thunder, " you mean that I loved her — 
 you do not mean to insinuate that that noble woman, 
 widowed but a few weeks, whose whole soul was filled 
 with but one lofty idea, that of duty, was the mistress — 
 the mistress of a boy, barely out of his teens ? " 
 
 Rupert shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 "I insinuate nothing, my dear Adrian ; I think nothing. 
 All this is ancient history which after all has long con- 
 cerned only you. You know best what occurred in the 
 old days, and of course a man of honour is bound to deny 
 all tales affecting a lady's virtue ! Even you, I fancy, 
 would condescend so far. But nevertheless, reflect how 
 this marriage will rake up the old story. It will be re- 
 membered how you, for the sake of remaining by Cecile de 
 Savenaye's side, abandoned your home to fight in a cause
 
 238 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 that did not concern you ; nay, more, turned your back 
 for the time upon those advanced social theories which 
 even at your present season of life you have not all shaken 
 off. You travelled with her from one end of England to 
 the other, in the closest intimacy, and finally departed 
 over seas, her acknowledged escort. She on her side, 
 under pretext of securing the best help on her political 
 mission that England can afford her, selected a young 
 man notoriously in love with her, at the very age when 
 the passions are hottest, and wisdom the least consider- 
 ation — as her influential agent, of course. Men are men, 
 Adrian — especially young men — small blame to you, 
 young that you were, if then .... but you cannot 
 expect, in sober earnest, the world to believe that you 
 went on such a wild pilgrimage for nothing ! Women are 
 women — especially young women, of the French court 
 — who have never had the reputation of admiring bash- 
 fulness in stalwart young lovers " 
 
 Sir Adrian's hand, pressing upon his brother's shoulder, 
 as if weighted by all his anger, here forced the speaker 
 into silence. 
 
 "Shame! Shame, Rupert!" he cried first, his eyes 
 aflame with a generous passion ; then fiercely : "Silence, 
 fellow, or I will take you by that brazen throat of yours 
 and strangle the venomous lie once for all." And then, 
 with keen reproach, " That you, of my blood, of hers too, 
 should be the one to cast such a stigma on her memory 
 — that you should be unable even to understand the 
 nature of our intercourse .... Oh, shame, on you for 
 your baseness, for your vulgar, low suspiciousness ! .... 
 But, no, I waste my breath upon you, you do not believe 
 this thing. You have outwitted yourself this time. Hear 
 me now : If anything could have suggested to me this 
 alliance with the child of one I loved so madly and so 
 hopelessly, the thought that such dastardly slander could 
 ever have been current would have done so. The world, 
 having nothing to gain by the belief, will never credit 
 that Sir Adrian Landale would marry the daughter of his 
 paramour — however his own brother may deem to his 
 advantage to seem to think so ! The fact of Molly de 
 Savenaye becoming Lady Landale would alone, had such 
 ill rumours indeed been current in the past, dispel the 
 ungenerous legend for ever."
 
 A JUNIOR'S OPINION 239 
 
 There were a few moments of silence while Sir Adrian 
 battled, in the tumult of his indignation, for self-control 
 again ; while Rupert, realising that he had outwitted him- 
 self indeed, bestowed inward curses upon most of his 
 relations and his own fate. 
 
 The elder brother resumed at length, with a faint 
 smile : 
 
 "And so, you see, even if you had spoken out in time, 
 it v/ould have been of little avail." Then he added, bit- 
 terly. "I have received a wound from an unforeseen 
 quarter. You have dealt it, to no purpose, Rupert, as 
 you see .... though it may be some compensation to 
 such a nature as yours to know that you have left in it a 
 subtle venom." 
 
 The sun had already sunk away, and its glow behind 
 the waters had faded to the merest tinge. In the cold 
 shadow of rising night the two men advanced silently 
 homewards. Sir Adrian's soul, guided by the invidious 
 words, had flown back to that dead year, the central 
 point of his existence — It was true : men will be men — 
 in that very house, yonder, he had betrayed his love to 
 her; on board the ship that took them away and by the 
 camp fire on the eve of fight, he had pleaded the cause 
 of his passion, not ignobly indeed, with no thought of 
 the baseness which Rupert assigned to him, yet with a 
 selfish disregard of her position, of his own grave trust. 
 And it was with a glow of pride, in the ever living object 
 of his life's devotion — of gratitude almost — that he re- 
 called the noble simplicity with which the woman, whom 
 he had just heard classed among the every-day sinners 
 of society, had, without one grandiloquent word, without 
 even losing her womanly softness, kept her lover as well 
 as herself in the path of her lofty ideal — till the end. And 
 yet she did love him : at the last awful moment, sinking 
 into the very jaws of death, the secret of her heart had 
 escaped her. And now — now her beauty, and something 
 of her own life and soul was left to him in her child, as 
 the one fit object on which to devote that tenderness 
 which time could not change. 
 
 After a while, from the darkness by his side came the 
 voice of his brother again, in altered, hardly recognisable 
 accents.
 
 240 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 "Adrian, those last words of yours were severe — un- 
 just. I do not deserve such interpretation of my motives. 
 Is it my fault that you are not as other men? Am I to 
 be blamed for judging you by the ordinary standard? 
 But you have convinced me : you were as chivalrous as 
 Cecile was pure, and if needs be, believe me, Adrian, I 
 will maintain it so in the face of the world. Yes, I mis- 
 understood you — and wounded you, as you say, but 
 such was not my intention. Forgive me." 
 
 They had come to the door. Sir Adrian paused. 
 There was a rapid revulsion in his kindly mind at the 
 extraordinary sound of humble words from his brother ; 
 and with a new emotion, he replied, taking the hand that 
 with well-acted diffidence seemed to seek his grasp : 
 
 "Perhaps we have both something to forgive each 
 other. I fear you did not misjudge me so much as you 
 misjudged her who left me that precious legacy. But 
 believe that, believe it as you have just now said, Rupert, 
 the mother of those children never stooped to human 
 frailty — her course in her short and noble life was as 
 bright and pure as the light of day." 
 
 Without another word the two brothers shook hands 
 and re-entered their home. 
 
 Sir Adrian sought Miss O'Donoghue whom he now 
 found in converse with Molly, and with a grave eager- 
 ness, that put the culminating touch to the old lady's 
 triumph, urged the early celebration of his nuptials. 
 
 Mr. Landale repaired to his own study where in soli- 
 tude he could give loose rein to his fury of disappoint- 
 ment, and consider as carefully as he might in the circum- 
 stances how best to work the new situation to his own 
 advantage. 
 
 Even on that day that had been filled with so many 
 varied and poignant emotions for him ; through the 
 dream in which his whole being seemed to float, Sir 
 Adrian found a moment to think of the humble followers 
 whom he had left so abruptly on the island, and of the 
 pleasure the auspicious news would bring to them. 
 
 It was late at night, and just before parting with the 
 guest who was so soon to be mistress under his roof, he 
 paused on the stairs before a window that commanded a 
 view of the bay. Molly drew closer and leant against
 
 A JUNIOR'S OPINION 241 
 
 his shoulder ; and thus both gazed forth silently for some 
 time at the clear distant light, the luminous eye calmly 
 watching over the treacherous sands. 
 
 That light of Scarthey — it was the image of the soli- 
 tary placid life to which he had bidden adieu for ever ; 
 which even now, at this brief interval of half a day, 
 seemed as far distant as the years of despair and vicissi- 
 tude and disgust to which it had succeeded. A man can 
 feel the suddenly revealed charm of things that have 
 ceased to be, without regretting them. 
 
 With the dear young head that he loved, with a love 
 already as old as her very years, pressing his cheek ; with 
 that slender hand in his grasp, the same, for his love was 
 all miracle, that he had held in the hot-pulsed days of 
 old — he yet felt his mind wander back to his nest of 
 dreams. He thought with gratitude of Rene, the single- 
 minded, faithful familiar ; of old Margery, the nurse who 
 had tended Cecile's children, as well as her young mas- 
 ter ; thought of their joy when they should hear of the 
 marvellous knitting together into the web of his fate, of 
 all those far-off ties. 
 
 In full harmony with such fleeting thoughts, came 
 Molly's words at length breaking the silence. 
 
 "Will you take me back to that strange old place of 
 yours, Adrian, when we are married ? " 
 
 Sir Adrian kissed her forehead. 
 
 "And would you not fear the rough wild place, child," 
 he murmured. 
 
 "Not for ever, I mean," laughed the girl, "for then 
 my mission would not be fulfilled — which was to make 
 of Adrian, Sir Adrian, indeed. But now and again, to 
 recall those lovely days, when — when you were so dis- 
 tracted for the love of Murthering Moll and the fear lest 
 she should see it. You will not dismantle those queer 
 rooms that received so hospitably the limping, draggled- 
 tailed guest — they must again shelter her when she 
 comes as proud Lady Landale ! How delicious it would 
 be if the tempest would only rage again, and the sea- 
 mew shriek, and the caverns roar and thunder, and I 
 knew you were as happy as I am sure to be ! " 
 
 "All shall be kept up even as you left it," answered 
 Sir Adrian moved by tender emotion ; "to be made glo- 
 rious again by the light of your youth and fairness. And 
 16
 
 242 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 Renny shall be cook again, and maid of all work. My 
 poor Renny, what joy when he hears of his master's hap- 
 piness, and all through the child of his beloved mistress ! 
 But he will have to spend a sobering time of solitude out 
 there, till I can find a substitute for his duties." 
 
 "You are very much attached to that funny little 
 retainer, Adrian ! "' said INIolly after a pause. 
 
 "To no man alive do I owe so much. With no one 
 have I had, through life, so much in common," came the 
 grave reply. 
 
 "Then," returned the girl, "you would thank me for 
 telling you of the means of making the good man's exile 
 less heavy, until you take him back with you." 
 
 " No doubt." There was a tone of surprise and inquiry 
 in his voice. 
 
 "Why, it is simple enough. Have you never heard of 
 his admiration for Moggie Mearson, our maid ? Let 
 them marry. They will make a good pair, though funny. 
 What, you never knew it .'' Of course not, or you would 
 not have had the heart to keep the patient lovers apart so 
 long. Let them marry, my Lord of Pulwick : it will 
 complete the romance of the persecuted Savenayes of 
 Brittany and their helpful friends of the distant North." 
 
 Musing, Sir Adrian fell into silence. The faithful, 
 foolish heart that never even told its secret desire, for 
 very fear of being helped to win it ; by whom happiness 
 and love were held to be too dearly bought at the price 
 of separation from the lonely exile ! 
 
 ^' Eh J2'(?n, dreamer?" cried the girl gaily. 
 
 "Thank you, Molly," said Sir Adrian, turning to her 
 with shining eyes. "This is a pretty thought, a good 
 thought. Renny will indeed doubly bless the day when 
 Providence sent you to Pulwick." 
 
 And so, the following morn, Mr, Renny Potter was 
 summoned to hear the tidings, and informed of the 
 benevolent prospects more privately concerning his own 
 life ; was bidden to thank the future Lady Landale for 
 her service ; was gently rebuked for his long reticence, 
 and finally dismissed in company of the glowing Moggie 
 with a promise that his nuptials should be celebrated at 
 the same time as those of the lord of the land. The good 
 fellow, however, required first of all an assurance that 
 these very fine plans would not entail any interference
 
 A JUNIOR'S OPINION 243 
 
 with his duties to his master before he would allow him- 
 self to be pleased at his fortunes. Great and complex, 
 then, was his joy ; but it would have been hard to say, 
 as Moggie confessed to her inquiring mistress that night, 
 when he had returned to his post, whether the pride and 
 delight in his master's own betrothal was not upper- 
 most in his bubbling spirits.
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 TWO MONTHS LATER : THE QUICK AND THE DEAD 
 
 Neighbour, what doth thy husband when he cometh 
 
 home from work ? 
 He thinks of her he loved before he knew me 
 
 Lutef layer's Song. 
 
 February i8/h. Upon the 1 8th of January, 1815, did I 
 commit that most irreparable of all follies ; then by my 
 own hand I killed fair Molly de Savenaye, who was so 
 happy, so free, so much in love with life, and whom I 
 loved so dearly, and in her stead called into existence 
 Molly Landale, a poor-spirited miserable creature who has 
 not given me one moment's amusement. How could I 
 have been so stupid ? 
 
 Let me examine. 
 
 It is only a month ago, only a month, 4 weeks, 31 days, 
 millions of horrible dreary minutes. Oh, Molly, Molly, 
 Molly ! since you stood, that snowy day, in the great 
 drawing-room {my drawing-room now, I hate it), and 
 vowed twice over, once before the Jesuit father from 
 Stonyhurst, once before jolly, hunting heretical parson 
 Cochrane to cleave to Adrian Landale till death bid you 
 part ! Brr — what ghastly words and with what a light 
 heart I said them, tripped them out, ma foi, as gaily as 
 "good-morning" or "good-night!" They were to be 
 the open sesame to joys untold, to lands flowing with 
 milk and honey, to romance, adventure, splendour — and 
 what have they brought me ? 
 
 It is a cold day, sleeting, snowing, blowing, all that is 
 abominable. My lord and master has ridden off, despite 
 it, to some distant farm where there has been a fire. The 
 "Good Sir Adrian," as they call him now — he is ihai ; 
 but, oh dear me — there ! I must yawn, and I'll say no 
 more on this head, at present, for I want to think and 
 
 244
 
 THE QUICK AND THE DEAD 245 
 
 work my wretched problem out in earnest, and not go to 
 sleep. 
 
 It is the first time I have taken heart to write since 
 yonder day of doom, and God knows when I shall have 
 heart again ! Upon such an afternoon there is nothing 
 better to do, since Sir Adrian would have none of my 
 company — he is so precious of me that he fears I should 
 melt like sugar in the wet — he never guessed that it was 
 just because of the storm I wished the ride ! Were we to 
 live a hundred years together — which, God forfend — he 
 would never understand me. 
 
 Ah, lack-a-day, oh, misery me! (My lady, you are 
 wandering ; come back to business.) 
 
 What, then, has marriage brought me ? First of all a 
 husband. That is to say, another person, a man who 
 has the right to me — to whom I myself have given that 
 right — to have me, to hold me, as it runs in the terrible 
 service, the thunders of which were twice rolled out upon 
 my head, and which have been ringing there ever since. 
 And I, Molly, gave of my own free will, that best and 
 most blessed of all gifts, my own free will, away. I am 
 surrounded, as it were, by barriers ; hemmed in, bound 
 up, kept in leading strings. I mind me of the seagull on 
 the island. Tis all in the most loving care in the world, 
 of course, but oh ! the oppression of it ! I must hide my 
 feelings as well as I can, for in my heart I would not 
 grieve that good man, that excellent man, that pattern of 
 kind gentleman — oh, oh, oh — it will out — that dreary man, 
 that dull man, that most melancholy of all men ! Who 
 sighs more than he smiles, and, I warrant, of the two, his 
 sighs are the more cheerful ; who looks at his beautiful 
 wife as if he saw a ghost, and kisses her as if he kissed a 
 corpse ! 
 
 There is a mate for Molly I the mate she chose for her- 
 self ! 
 
 So much for the husband. What else has marriage 
 brought her ? 
 
 Briefly I will capitulate. 
 
 A title — I am my lady. For three days it sounded 
 prettily in my ears. But to the girl who refused a duchess' 
 coronet, who was born comtesse — to be the baronet's lady 
 — Tanty may say what she likes of the age of creation, 
 and all the rest of it — that advantage cannot weigh heavy
 
 246 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 in the balance. Again then, I have a splendid house — 
 which is my prison, and in which, like all prisoners, I have 
 not the right to choose my company — else would Sophia 
 and Rupert still be here ? They are going, I am told 
 occasionally ; but my intimate conviction is, however 
 often they may be going, they will never go. Item four : 
 I have money, and nothing to spend it on — but the poor. 
 
 What next? What next? — alas, I look and I find 
 nothing ! This is all that marriage has brought me ; and 
 what has it not taken from me ? 
 
 My delight in existence, my independence, my hopes, 
 my belief in the future, my belief in love. Faith, hope, 
 and charity, in fact, destroyed at one fell sweep. And 
 all, to gratify my curiosity as to a romantic mystery, my 
 vanity as to my own powers of fascination ! Well, I have 
 solved the mystery, and behold it was nothing, I have 
 eaten of the fruit of knowledge, and it is tasteless in my 
 mouth. 
 
 I have made my capture with my little bow and spear, 
 and I am as embarrassed of my captive as he of me. We 
 pull at the chain that binds us together ; nay, such being 
 the law of this world between men and women, the posi- 
 tions are reversed, my captive is now my master, and 
 Molly is the slave. 
 
 Tanty, I could curse thee for thy officiousness, from the 
 tip of thy coal black wig to the sole of thy platter shoe — 
 but that I am too good to curse thee at all ! 
 
 Poor book of my life that I was so eager to fill in, that 
 was to have held a narrative all thrilling, and all varied, 
 now will I set forth in thee, my failure, my hopelessness, 
 and after that close thee for ever. 
 
 Of what use indeed to chronicle, when there is nought 
 to tell but flatness, chill monotony, on every side ; when 
 even the workings of my soul cannot interest me to 
 follow, since they can now foreshadow nothing, lead to 
 nothing but fruitless struggle or tame resignation ! 
 
 I discovered my mistake — not the whole of it, but 
 enough to give me a dreadful foreboding of its hideous- 
 ness, not two hours after the nuptial ceremony. 
 
 Adrian had borne himself up to that with the ro- 
 mantic, mysterious dignity of presence that first caught 
 my silly fancy ; behind which I had pictured such fasci- 
 nating depths of passion — of fire — Alas ! When he looked
 
 THE QUICK AND THE DEAD 247 
 
 at me it was with that air of wondering, almost timid, 
 affection battling with I know not what flame of rapture, 
 with which look I have become so fatally familiar 
 since — without the flame of rapture, be it understood, 
 which seems to have rapidly burnt away to a very ash of 
 grey despondency and self-reproach, I could have sworn 
 even as he gave me his arm to meet and receive the con- 
 gratulations of our guests, that the glow upon his cheek, 
 the poise of his head denoted the pride any man, were 
 he not an idiot nor a brute, must feel in presenting his 
 bride — such a bride ! — to the world. Then we went in 
 to the great dining hall where the wedding feast, a very 
 splendid one, was spread. All the gentlemen looked 
 with admiration at me ; many with envy at Adrian. I 
 knew that I was beautiful in my fine white satin with my 
 veil thrown back, without the flattering whispers that 
 reached me now and again ; but these were sweet to hear 
 nevertheless. I knew myself the centre of all eyes, and 
 it elated me. So too did the tingling flavour of the one 
 glass of sparkling wine I drank to my fortunes. Imme- 
 diately upon this silent toast of Lady Landale to herself, 
 Rupert rose and in choice words and silver-ringing voice 
 proposed the health of the bride and bridegroom. There 
 was a merry bustling pause while the glasses were filled ; 
 then rising to their feet as with one man, all the gentle- 
 men stood with brimming goblets one instant extended, 
 the next emptied to the last drop ; and then the cheers 
 rang out, swelling up the rafters, three times three, seem- 
 ing to carry my soul along with them. I felt my heart 
 expand and throb with an emotion I never knew in it 
 before, which seemed to promise vast future capacities of 
 pain and delight. I turned to my husband instinctively ; 
 looking for, expecting, I could not explain why, an 
 answering fire in his eyes. This was the last moment of 
 my illusions. From thence they began to shrivel away 
 with a terrifying rapidity. 
 
 Adrian sat with a face that looked old and lined and 
 grey ; with haggard unseeing eyes gazing forth into 
 space as though fixing some invisible and spectre show. 
 He seemed as if wrapt in a world of his own, to which 
 none of us had entrance ; least of all, I, his wife. 
 
 The shouts around us died away, there were cries upon 
 him for " Speech — speech," then playful queries — " How
 
 248 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 is this, Sir Adrian ? So bashful, egad ! " next nudges were 
 exchanged, looks of wonder, and an old voice speaking 
 broadly : 
 
 " Ves, by George,^'' it was saying, '^ I remember it well ^ 
 by George, in this very room, now twenty years ago, ' Here, 
 gentlemen,' says old Sir Tummas, ''Here's to Madam de 
 Savenaye,' and gad, ma'am, we all yelled, — she was a lovely 
 creature— Eh— Eh ? " 
 
 "Hush," said some one, and there was a running 
 circle of frowns and the old voice ceased as abruptly as 
 if its owner had been seized by the weasand. In the 
 heavy embarrassed silence, I caught Tanty's red per- 
 turbed look and Rupert's smile. 
 
 But Adrian sat on — like a ghost among the living, or a 
 live man among the dead. And this was my gallant bride- 
 groom! I seized him by the hand — " Are you ill, Adrian ? " 
 
 He started and looked round at me — Oh that look ! It 
 seemed to burn into my soul, I shall never forget the 
 hopelessness, the dull sadness of it, and then — ^I don't 
 know what he read in my answering glance — the mute 
 agonised question, followed by a terror. 
 
 "They want you to speak," I whispered, and shook 
 the cold hand I held in a fury of impatience. 
 
 His lips trembled : he stared at me blankly. "My 
 God, my God, what have I done?" he muttered to him- 
 self, " Ce'cile's child— «cile's child ! " 
 
 I could have burst out sobbing. But seeing Rupert's 
 face bent down towards his plate, demure and solemn, 
 yet stamped, for all his cleverness, with an almost devilish 
 triumph, my pride rose and my courage. Every one else 
 seemed to be looking towards us : I stood up. 
 
 " Good friends," I said, " I see that my husband is so 
 much touched by the welcome that you are giving his bride, 
 the welcome that you are giving him after his long exile 
 from his house, that he is quite unable to answer you as 
 he would wish. But lest you should misunderstand this 
 silence of his, I am bold enough to answer you in his name, 
 and — since it is but a few moments ago that you have seen 
 
 us made one, I think I have the right to do so We 
 
 thank you." 
 
 My heart was beating to suffocation — but I carried 
 bravely on till I was drowned in a storm of acclamations 
 to which the first cheers were as nothing.
 
 THE QUICK AND THE DEAD 249 
 
 They drank my health again, and again I heard the old 
 gentleman of the indiscreet voice — I have learned since 
 he is stone deaf, and I daresay he flattered himself he spoke 
 in a whisper — proclaim that I was my mother all over again : 
 begad — so had she spoken to them twenty years ago in this 
 very r 00771 ! 
 
 Here Tanty came to the rescue and carried me off. 
 
 I dared not trust myself to look at Adrian as I left, but 
 I knew that he followed me to the door, from which 
 I presumed that he had recovered his presence of mind in 
 some degree. 
 
 Since that day we have been like two who walk along 
 on opposite banks of a widening stream — ever more and 
 more divided. 
 
 I have told no one of my despair. It is curious, but, 
 little wifely as I feel towards him, there is something in 
 me that keeps me back from the disloyalty of discussing 
 my husband with other people. 
 
 And it is not even as it might have been — this is what 
 maddens me. We are always at cross purposes. Some 
 wilful spirit wakes in me, at the very sound of his voice 
 (always gentle and restrained, and echoing of past sad- 
 ness) ; under his mild, tender look ; at the every fresh 
 sign of his perpetual watchful anxiety — I give him way- 
 ward answers, frowning greetings, sighs, pouts ; I feel at 
 times a savage desire to wound, to anger him, and as far 
 as I dare venture I have ventured, yet could not rouse in 
 him one spark, even of proper indignation. 
 
 The word of the riddle lay in that broken exclamation 
 of his at our wedding feast. 
 
 "Cecile's child ! " 
 
 His wife, then, is only Cdcile's child to him. I have 
 failed when I thought to have conquered — and with the 
 consciousness of failure have lost my power, even to the 
 desire of regaining it. My dead mother is my rival ; her 
 shade rises between me and my husband's love. Could 
 he have loved me, I might perhaps have loved him — and 
 now — now I, Molly, I, shall perhaps go down to my grave 
 without having known love. 
 
 I thought I had found it on that day when he took me 
 in his arms in that odious library — my heart melted when 
 he so tenderly kissed my lips. And now the very remem- 
 brance of that moment angers me. Tenderness ! Am I
 
 250 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 only a weak, helpless child that I can arouse no more 
 from the man to whom I have given myself ! I thought 
 the gates of life had been opened to me — behold, they led 
 me to a warm comfortable prison ! And this is Molly's 
 end ! 
 
 There is a light in Madeleine's eyes, a ring in her voice, 
 a smile upon her lip. She has bloomed into a beauty 
 that I could hardly have imagined, and this is because of 
 this unknown whom she loves. She breathes the fulness 
 of the flower ; and by-and-by, no doubt, she will taste 
 the fulness of the fruit ; she will be complete ; she will be 
 fed and I am to starve. What is coming to me ? I do 
 not know myself. I feel that I could grudge her these 
 mvours, that I do grudge them to her. I am sick at heart. 
 
 And she — even she has proved false to me. I know 
 that she meets this man. Adrian too knows it, and more 
 of him than he will tell me ; and he approves. I am 
 treated like a child. The situation is strange upon every 
 side ; Madeleine loving a plebeian — a sailor, not a king's 
 officer — stooping to stolen interviews ! Adrian the punc- 
 tilious, in whose charge Tanty solemnly left her, pretend- 
 ing ignorance, virtually condoning my sister's behaviour ! 
 For though he has distmctly refused to enlighten me or 
 help me to enlighten myself, he could not, upon my tax- 
 ing him with it, deny that he was in possession of facts 
 ignored by me. 
 
 Then there is Rupert paying now open court to this sly 
 damsel — for the sake of her beautiful eyes, or for the 
 beautiful eyes of her casket ? And last and strangest, the 
 incongruous friendship struck up this week between her 
 and that most irritating of melancholy fools, Sophia. The 
 latter bursts with suppressed importance, she launches 
 glances of understanding at my sister ; sighs, smiles (when 
 Rupert's eye is not on her), starts mysteriously. One 
 would say that Madeleine had made a confidant of her — 
 only that it would be too silly. What ? Make a confidant 
 of that funereal mute and deny me the truth ! If I had the 
 spirit for it I would set myself to discovering this grand 
 mystery ; and then let them beware ! They would have 
 none of Molly as a friend : perhaps she will yet prove one 
 too many upon the other side. 
 
 If I have grown bitter to Madeleine, it is her own fault ; 
 I would have been as true as steel to her if she had but
 
 THE QUICK AND THE DEAD 251 
 
 trusted me. Now and again, when a hard word and look 
 escape me, she gives me a great surprised, reproachful 
 glance, as of a petted child that has been hurt ; but mostly 
 she scarcely seems to notice the change in me — Moonlike 
 in dreamy serenity she sails along, wrapt in her own 
 thoughts, and troubles no more over Molly's breaking her 
 heart than over Rupert's determined suit. To me when 
 she remembers me, she gives the old caresses, the old 
 loving words ; to him smiles and pretty courtesy. Oh, 
 she keeps her secret well ! But I came upon her in the 
 woods alone, last Friday, fresh, no doubt, from her lover's 
 arms ; tremulous, smiling, yet tearful, with face dyed rose. 
 And when to my last effort to attain the right of sister- 
 hood she would only stammer the tell-tale words : she 
 had promised I and press her hot cheeks against mine, I 
 thrust her from me, indignant, and from my affections for 
 ever. Yet I hold her in my power, I could write to 
 
 Tanty, put Rupert on the track Nay, I have not 
 
 fallen so low as to become Rupert's accomplice yet ! 
 
 And so the days go on. Between my husband's in- 
 creasing melancholy, my own mad regrets, Rupert's 
 watchfulness, Madeleine's absorption and Sophia's 
 twaddle, my brain reels. I feel sometimes as if I could 
 scream aloud, as we all sit round the table, and I know 
 that this is the life that I am doomed to, and that the days 
 may go on, go on thus, till I am old. Poor Murthering 
 Moll the second ! Why even the convent, where at least 
 I knew nothing, would have been better ! No, it is not 
 possible ! Something is still to come to me. Like a bird, 
 my heart rises within me. I have the right to my life, 
 the right to my happiness, say what they may.
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 THE DAWN OF AN EVENTFUL DAY 
 
 Rupert's behaviour at home, since his brother's wedding-, 
 had been, as even Molly was bound to admit to herself, 
 beyond reproach in tactfulness, quiet dignity, and seem- 
 ing cheerfulness. 
 
 He abdicated from his position of trust at once and 
 without the smallest reservation ; wooed Madeleine with 
 so great a discretion that her dreamy eyes saw in him only 
 a kind relative ; and he treated his sister-in-law, for all 
 her freaks of bearing to him, with a perfect gentleness 
 and gentility. 
 
 At times Sir Adrian would watch him with great eyes. 
 What meant this change.-* the guileless philosopher would 
 ask himself, and wonder if he had judged his brother too 
 harshly all through life ; or if it was his plain speaking in 
 their last quarrel which had put things in their true light 
 to him, and awakened some innate generosity of feeling; 
 or yet if — this with misgiving — it was love for pretty 
 Madeleine that was working the marvel. If so, how 
 would this proud rebellious nature bear another failure.? 
 
 Rupert spoke with unaffected regret about leaving 
 Pulwick, at the same time, in spite of Molly's curling lip, 
 giving it to be understood that his removal was only a 
 matter of time. 
 
 For the ostensible purpose, indeed, of finding himself 
 another home he made, in the beginning of March, the sec- 
 ond month after his brother's marriage, several absences 
 which lasted a couple of days or more, and from which 
 he would return with an eager sparkle in his eye, almost 
 a brightness on his olive check, to sit beside Madeleine's 
 embroidery frame, pulling her silks and snipping with her 
 scissors, and talking gaily, persistently, with such humour 
 and colour as at last to draw that young lady's attention 
 from far off musings to his words with smiles and laughter. 
 
 252
 
 THE DAWN OF AN EVENTFUL DAY 253 
 
 Meanwhile, Molly would sit unoccupied, brooding, 
 watching- them, now fiercely, from under her black brows, 
 now scornfully, now abstractedly ; the while she nibbled 
 at her delicate finger-nails, or ruthlessly dragged them 
 along the velvet arms of her chair with the gesture of a 
 charming, yet distracted, cat. 
 
 Sir Adrian would first tramp the rooms with unwitting 
 restlessness, halting, it might be, beside his wife to strive 
 to engage her into speech with him ; and, failing, would 
 betake himself at length with a heavy sigh to solitude ; 
 or, yet, he would sit down to his organ — the new one in 
 the great hall which had been put up since his marriage, 
 at Molly's own gay suggestion, during their brief betrothal 
 — and music would peal out upon them till Lady Lan- 
 dale's stormy heart could bear it no longer, and she would 
 rise in her turn, fly to the shelter of her room and roll her 
 head in the pillows to stifle the sound of sobs, crying 
 from the depths of her soul against heaven's injustice ; 
 anon railing in a frenzy of impotent anger against the 
 musician, who had such passion in him and gave it to his 
 music alone. 
 
 During Rupert's absences that curious intimacy which 
 Molly had contemptuously noted between her sister and 
 sister-in-law displayed itself in more conspicuous manner. 
 
 Miss Landale's long sallow visage sported its airs of 
 mystery and importance, its languishing leers undisguis- 
 edly, so long as her brother Rupert's place was empty ; 
 and though her visits to the rector's grave were now al- 
 most quotidian, she departed upon them with looks of 
 wrapt importance, and, returning, sought Madeleine's 
 chamber (when that maiden did not herself stroll out to 
 meet her in the woods), her countenance invariably 
 wreathed with suppressed, yet triumphant smiles, instead 
 of the old self-assertive dejection. 
 
 The 15th of March of that year was to be a memorable 
 day in the lives of so many of those who then either 
 dwelt in Pulwick, or had dealings on that wide estate. 
 
 Miss Landale, who had passed the midnight hour in 
 poring over the delightful wickedness of Lara, and, upon 
 at length retiring to her pillow, had had a sentimental 
 objection to shutting out the romantic light of the moon
 
 254 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 by curtain or shutter, was roused into wakefulness soon 
 after dawn by a glorious white burst of early sunshine. 
 As a rule, the excellent soul liked to lie abed till the last 
 available moment; but that morning she was up with the 
 sun. When dressed she drew a letter from a secret casket 
 with manifold precautions as though she were surrounded 
 with prying eyes, and, placing it in her reticule, hastened 
 forth to seek the little lonely disused churchyard by the 
 shore. She afterwards remarked that she could never 
 forget in what agitation of spirits and with what strange 
 presentiment of evil she was led to this activity at so 
 unwonted an hour. The truth was, however, that Miss 
 Landale tripped along through the damp wooded path as 
 gaily as if she were going to visit her living lover instead 
 of his granite tomb ; and that in lieu of evil omens 
 a hundred fantastically sentimental thoughts floated 
 through her brain, as merrily and irresponsibly as the 
 motes in the long shafts of brilliancy that cleaved, sword- 
 like through the mists, upon her from out the east. 
 Visions of Madeleine's face when she would learn before 
 breakfast that Sophia had actually been to the churchyard 
 already ; visions of whom she might meet there ; re- 
 hearsals of a romantic scene upon that hallowed spot, of 
 her own blushes, her knowing looks, her playful remon- 
 strances, with touching allusions to one who had loved 
 and lost, herself, and who thus, &c. &c. 
 
 Miss Landale tossed her long faded ringlets quite 
 coquettishly, turned one slim bony hand with coy gesture 
 before her approving eyes. Then she patted her reticule 
 and hurried on with fresh zest, enjoying the tart whisper 
 of the wind against her well bonneted face, the exquisite 
 virginal beauty of the earth in the early spring of the day 
 and of the year. 
 
 As she stepped out of the shadow of the trees, her heart 
 leaped and then almost stood still as she perceived in the 
 churchyard lying below her, beside the great slab of 
 granite which lay over the remains of her long-departed 
 beloved one, the figure of a man, whose back was turned 
 towards her, and whose erect outline was darkly 
 silhouetted against the low, dazzling light. 
 
 Then a simper of exceeding archness crept upon Miss 
 Landale's lips ; and with as genteel an amble as the some- 
 what precipitate nature of the small piece of ground that
 
 THE DAWN OF AN EVENTFUL DAY 255 
 
 yet divided her from the graveyard would allow, she pro- 
 ceeded on her way. 
 
 At the click of the lych-gate under her hand the man 
 turned sharply round and looked at her without moving 
 further. An open letter fluttered in his hand. 
 
 His face was still against the light, and Miss Landale's 
 eyes had wept so many tears by day and night that her 
 sight was none of the best. She dropped a very elegant 
 curtsey, simpered, drew nearer, and threw a fetching 
 glance upwards. Then her shrill scream rang through 
 the still morning air and frightened the birds in the ruined 
 church. 
 
 " You are early this morning, Sophia," said Mr. Landale. 
 
 Sophia sank upon the tombstone. To say that she was 
 green or yellow would ill describe the ghastliness of the 
 tint that suffused her naturally bilious countenance ; still 
 speechless, she made a frantic plunge towards the great 
 urn that adorned the head of the grave. Mr. Landale 
 looked up from his reading again with a quiet smile. 
 
 "I shall have done in one minute," he remarked, " It 
 is a fine production, egad ! full of noble protestations and 
 really high-sounding words. And then, my dear Sophia, 
 you can take charge of it, and I shall be quite ready for 
 the other, which I presume you have as usual with you — 
 ah, in your bag ! Thanks." 
 
 "Rupert?" ejaculated the unfortunate lady, first in 
 agonised query, and next in agonised reproach, clasping 
 her hands over the precious reticule — " Rupert !" 
 
 Mr. Landale neatly folded the sheet he had been read- 
 ing, moistened with his tongue a fresh wafer which he 
 drew from his waistcoat pocket, and, deftly placing it 
 upon the exact spot from which the original one had been 
 removed, handed the letter to his sister with a little bow. 
 But, as with a gesture of horror the latter refused to take 
 it, he shrugged his shoulders and tossed it carelessly into 
 the urn. 
 
 " Now give me Madeleine's," he said, peremptorily. 
 
 Rolhng upwards eyes of appeal the unhappy Iris called 
 upon heaven to witness that she would die a thousand 
 deaths rather than betray her solemn trust. But even as 
 she spoke the fictitious flame of courage withered away 
 in her shrinking frame ; and at the mere touch of her 
 brother's finger and thumb upon her wrist, the mere sight
 
 256 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 of his face bending masterfully over her with white teeth 
 just gleaming between his twisting smile and half-veiled 
 eyes of insolent determination, she allowed him, unresist- 
 ing, to take the bag from her side ; protesting against the 
 breach of faith only by her moans and the inept wringing 
 of her hands. 
 
 Mr. Landale opened the bag, tossed with cynical con- 
 tempt upon the flat tombstone, sundry precious relics of 
 the mouldering bones within, and discovered at length in 
 an inner pocket a dainty flower-scented note. Then he 
 flung down the bag and proceeded with the same delibera- 
 tion to open the letter and peruse its delicate flowing hand- 
 writing. 
 
 "Upon my word," he vowed, "I think this is the 
 prettiest she has written yet ! What a sweet soul it is ! 
 Listen, Sophia : 'You praise me for my trust in you — 
 but, Jack, dear love, my trust is so much a part of my 
 love that the one would not exist without the other. 
 Therefore, do not give me any credit, for you know I 
 could not help loving you.' Poor heart! poor confiding 
 child! Oh!" ejaculated Mr. Landale as if to himself, 
 carefully proceeding the while with his former manoeuvres 
 to end by placing the violated missive, to all appearance 
 intact, beside its fellow, " we have here a rank fellow, a 
 foul traitor to deal with ! " 
 
 Then, wheeling round to his sister, and fixing her with 
 piercing eyes : "Sophia," he exclaimed, in tones of stern- 
 est rebuke, " I am surprised at you. I am, indeed ! " 
 
 Miss Landale raised mesmerised, horror-stricken eyes 
 upon him ; his dark utterances had already filled her fool- 
 ish soul with blind dread. He sat down beside her, and 
 once more enclosed the thin arm in his light but warning 
 grasp. 
 
 "Sophia," he said solemnly, "you little guess the mag- 
 nitude of the harm you have been doing ; the frightful 
 fate you have been preparing for an innocent and trusting 
 girl ; the depth of the villainy you are aiding and abetting. 
 You have been acting, as I say, in ignorance, without 
 realising the awful consequences of your folly and duplic- 
 ity. But that you should have chosen ihis sacred place 
 for such illicit and reprehensible behaviour ; that by the 
 grave of this worthy man who loved you, by the stones 
 chosen and paid foi* by my fraternal affection, you should
 
 THE DAWN OF AN EVENTFUL DAY 259 
 
 plot and scheme to deceive your family, and help to leaur 
 a confiding and beautiful creature to ruin, I should never 
 have expected from_>'o«, Sophia — Sophia ! " 
 
 Miss Landale collapsed into copious weeping. 
 
 " I am sure, brother," she sobbed, " I never meant any 
 harm. I am sure nobody loves the dear girl better than I 
 do. I am sure I never wished to hide anything from you ! 
 — Only — they told me — they trusted me — they made me 
 promise — Oh brother, what terrible things you have been 
 saying ! I cannot believe that so handsome a young 
 gentleman can mean anything wrong — I only wish you 
 could have seen him with her, he is so devoted — it is quite 
 beautiful. " 
 
 "Alas — the tempter always makes himself beautiful in 
 the eyes of the tempted ! Sophia, we can yet save this 
 unhappy child, but who knows how soon it may be too 
 late ! — You can still repair some of the wrong you have 
 done, but you can only do so by the most absolute obe- 
 dience to me .... Believe me, I know the truth about 
 this vile adventurer, this Captain Jack Smith." 
 
 " Good Heavens ! " cried Sophia, "Rupert, do not tell 
 me, lest I swoon away, that he is married already ? " 
 
 "The man, my dear, whose plots to compromise and 
 entangle a lovely girl you have favoured, is a villain of 
 the deepest dye — a pirate." 
 
 "Oh ! " shivered Sophia with fascinated misery — thrill- 
 ing recollections of last night's reading shooting through 
 her frame. 
 
 " A smuggler, a criminal, an outlaw in point of fact," 
 pursued Mr. Landale. " He merely seeks Madeleine for 
 her money — has a wife in every port, no doubt — " 
 
 Miss Landale did not swoon ; but her brother's watch- 
 ful eye was satisfied with the effect produced, and he 
 went on in a well modulated tone of suppressed emotion : 
 
 "And after breaking her heart, ruining her body and 
 soul, dragging her to the foulest depths he would have 
 cast her away like a dead weed — perhaps murdered her ! 
 Sophia, what would your feelings be then ? " 
 
 A hard red spot had risen to each of Miss Landale's 
 cheek bones ; her tears had dried up under the fevered 
 glow. 
 
 "We believed," she said trembling in every limb, " that 
 he was working on a mission to the French court — ■" 
 17
 
 258 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 " Faugh — " cried Mr, Landale, contemptuously, 
 "smuggling French brandy for our English drunkards 
 and traitorous intelligence for our French enemies ! " 
 
 "Such a handsome young man, so gentlemanly, such 
 an air!" maundered the miserable woman between her 
 chattering teeth. "It was quite accidental that we met, 
 Rupert, quite accidental, I assure you. Madeleine — poor 
 dear girl — came down with me here, I wanted to show 
 
 her the g-grave " here Sophia gurgled convulsively, 
 
 remembering her brother's cruel reproaches. 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "She came here with me, and as I was kneeling down, 
 planting crocuses just here, Rupert, and she was stand- 
 ing there, a young man suddenly leaped over the wall, 
 and fell at her feet. He had not seen me — Alas, it re- 
 minded me of my own happiness ! And he was so well- 
 dressed, so courteous — and seemed such a perfect gentle- 
 man — and he took off his hat so gracefully I am sure I 
 never could have believed it of him. And they confided 
 in me and I promised by — by — those sacred ashes to 
 keep their secret. I remembered of course what Tanty 
 had said in her letter, and quite understood he was the 
 young gentleman in question — but they explained to me 
 how she was under a wrong impression altogether. He 
 said that the instant he laid eyes upon me, he saw I had 
 a feeling heart, and he knew they could trust me. He 
 spoke so nobly, Rupert, and said : What better place 
 could they have for their meetings than one consecrated 
 to such faithful love as this ? It was so beautiful — and 
 oh dear 1 I can't but think there is some mistake." And 
 Miss Landale again wrung her hands. 
 
 "But I have proof!" thundered her brother," convinc- 
 ing proof, of what I have told you. At this very moment 
 the man who would marry Madeleine, forsooth, runs the 
 risk of imprisonment — nay, of the gallows ! You may 
 have thought it strange that I should have opened and 
 read letters not addressed to me, but with misfortune 
 hanging over a beloved object I did not pause to con- 
 sider myself. My only thought was to save her." 
 
 Here Mr. Landalelooked very magnanimous, and thrust 
 his fingers as he spoke through the upper buttons of his 
 waistcoat with the gesture which traditionally accom- 
 panies such sentiments : these cheap efifeets proved
 
 THE DAWN OF AN EVENTFUL DAY 259 
 
 generally irresistible with Sophia. But his personality 
 had paled before the tremendous drama into which the 
 poor romance-loving soul was so suddenly plunged, and 
 in which in spite of all her woe she found an awful kind 
 of fascination. Failing to read any depth of admiration 
 in her roving eye, Rupert promptly abandoned grandilo- 
 quence, and resuming his usual voice and manner, he 
 dropped his orders upon her heat of agitation like a cool 
 relentless stream under which her last protest fizzed, 
 sputtered, and went out. 
 
 " I mean to unmask the gay lover at my own time and 
 in my own way ; never fear, I shall deal gently with her. 
 You will now take this letter of his and put it in your bag, 
 leaving hers in that curious post-office of yours." 
 
 "Yes, Rupert." 
 
 "And you will give his letter to her at once when you 
 go in without one word of having met me." 
 
 " Y . ... yes, Rupert." 
 
 "As you are too great a fool to be trusted if you once 
 begin to talk, you will have a headache for the rest of the 
 day and go to bed in a dark room." 
 
 " Y . . . . yes, Rupert." 
 
 "You will moreover swear to me, now, that you will 
 not speak of our interview here till I give you leave ; say 
 I swear I will not." 
 
 "I swear I will not." 
 
 "So help me God!" 
 
 "Oh, Rupert." 
 
 " So help me God, you fool ! " 
 
 Sophia's lips murmured an inaudible something ; but 
 there was such complete submission in every line and 
 curve of her figure, in the very droop of her ringlets and 
 the helpless appeal of her gaze that Rupert was satisfied. 
 He assisted her to arise from her tombstone, bundled the 
 clerical love-tokens back into the bag, duly placed Cap- 
 tain Jack's letter in the inner pocket, and was about to 
 present her with his arm to conduct her homewards, when 
 he caught sight of a little ragged urchin peeping through 
 the bars of the gate, and seemingly in the very act of 
 making a mysterious signal in the direction of Miss Lan- 
 dale's unconscious figure. 
 
 Rupert stared hard at the ruddy, impudent face, which 
 instantly assumed an appearance of the most defiant un-
 
 26o THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 concern, while its owner began to devote his energies to 
 shying stones at an invisible rook upon the old church 
 tower with great nicety of aim. 
 
 "Sophia," said her brother in alow tone, "go to the 
 gate : that boy wants to speak to you. Go and see what 
 he wants and return to me." 
 
 Miss Landale gasped, gazed at her brother as if she 
 thought him mad, looked round at the little boy, coloured 
 violently, then meeting Rupert's eye again staggered off 
 without a word of protest. 
 
 Rupert, shaken with silent laughter, humming a little 
 song to himself, stooped to pick a couple of tender spring 
 flowers from the border beside the grave, and after slip- 
 ping them into a button-hole of his many caped overcoat, 
 stood looking out over the stretch of land and sea, where 
 Scarthey rose like a dream against the sparkle of the water 
 and the exquisite blue of the sky. 
 
 Presently rapid panting breaths and a shuffling rustle of 
 petticoats behind him informed him of his sister's return. 
 
 "So you are there, my dear," he said loudly. "One 
 of your little fishing friends from the village, I suppose — 
 a Shearman, unless I am mistaken. Yes, a Shearman ; 
 I thought so. Well, shall we return home now .'' They 
 will be wondering what has become of us. Pray take 
 my arm." Then beneath his breath, seeing that words 
 were struggling to Sophia's lips, " Hold your tongue." 
 
 The small ragged boy watched their departure with a 
 derisive grin, and set off at a brisk canter down to the 
 shore, jingling some silver coin in his pocket with relish 
 as he went. 
 
 When Rupert and Sophia had reached the wood the 
 former paused. 
 
 " Letter or message .-* " 
 
 " Oh, Rupert, it was a letter ; had I not better destroy 
 it .? " 
 
 " Give it to me." 
 
 A hasty scrawl, it seemed, folded anyhow. Only two 
 or three lines, yet Rupert conned them for a curiously 
 long time. 
 
 " My darling," it ran, "meet me to-day in the ruins at 
 noon. A misfortune has happened to me, but if you 
 trust me, all will still be well.— ^ Your Jack/'
 
 THE DAWN OF AN EVENTFUL DAY 261 
 
 Mr. Landale at length handed it back to Sophia. 
 
 "You will give it to Madeleine with the other," he said 
 briefly. "Mention the fact of the messenger having 
 brought it." And then in a terrible bass he added, "And 
 remember your oath ! " 
 
 She trembled ; but as he walked onwards through the 
 wood, his lips were smiling, and his eyes were alight 
 with triumph.
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 THE DAY : MORNING 
 
 The appointment of a regular light-keeper at Scarthey, 
 intended to release Rene and old Margery from their exile, 
 had been delayed so as to suit the arrangement which 
 was to leave for a time the island domain of Sir Adrian 
 at the disposal of Captain Jack. Meanwhile Moggie's 
 presence greatly mitigated the severity of her husband's 
 separation from his master. 
 
 On his side the sailor was in radiant spirits. All 
 worked as he could wish, and Sir Adrian's marriage, be- 
 sides being a source of unselfish satisfaction, was, with 
 regard to his own prospects, an unexpected help ; for, 
 his expedition concluded, he would now be able in the 
 most natural manner to make his appearance at Puhvick, 
 an honoured guest of the master, under the pride of his 
 own name. And for the rest, hope unfolded warm- 
 coloured visions indeed. 
 
 During the weeks which had elapsed since Sir Adrian's 
 departure, Captain Jack's visits to the island had been 
 fitful and more or less secret — He always came and left 
 at night. But as it was understood that the place was his 
 to be used and enjoyed as he thought best, neither his 
 sudden appearances with the usual heavy travelling-bag, 
 nor his long absences excited any disturbance in the 
 arcadian life led by Ren^ between his buxom young wife 
 and the old mother — as the good-humoured husband now 
 termed the scolding dame. 
 
 A little sleeping closet had been prepared and allotted 
 to the use of the peripatetic guest in one of the disused 
 rooms when Rent's own accommodation under the light 
 tower had been enlarged for the new requirements of his 
 matrimonial status. And so Monsieur the Captain (in 
 Rent's inveterate outlandish phraseology) found his 
 liberty of action complete. Both the women's curiosity 
 
 262
 
 THE DAY: MORNING 263 
 
 was allayed, and all tendency to prying into the young 
 stranger's mysterious purposes amid their seclusion con- 
 demned beforehand, by Rene's statement : that Monsieur 
 the Captain was a trusted friend of the master — one in- 
 deed (and here the informant thought fit to stretch a 
 point, if but slightly) to whom the Lord of Pulwick was 
 indebted, in bygone days, for life and freedom. 
 
 Except when weather-bound, a state of things which at 
 that time of year occurred not unfrequently, Rene jour- 
 neyed daily as far as the Hall, ostensibly to report prog- 
 ress and take possible orders, but really to gratify 
 himself with the knowledge that all was well with the 
 master. 
 
 About the breakfast hour, upon this 15th of March, as 
 Sir Adrian was discussing with the bailiff sundry matters 
 of importance to the estate, a tap came to the door, which 
 he recognised at once as the Frenchman's own long ac- 
 customed mode of self-announcement. 
 
 Since he had assumed the reins of government, the 
 whilom recluse had discovered that the management of 
 such a wide property was indeed no sinecure ; and more- 
 over — as his brother, who certainly understood such mat- 
 ters in a thoroughly practical manner, had warned him — 
 that a person of his own philosophical, over-benevolent 
 and abstracted turn of mind, was singularly ill-fitted for 
 the task. But a strong sense of duty and a determination 
 to act by it will carry a man a long way. He had little 
 time for dreaming and this was perhaps a providential 
 dispensation, for Sir Adrian's musings had now lost much 
 of the grave placidity born of his long, peaceful residence 
 in his Thelema of Scarthey. The task was long and 
 arduous ; on sundry occasions he was forced to consult 
 his predecessor on the arcana of landed estate govern- 
 ment, which he did with much simplicity, thereby giving 
 Mr. Landale, not only inwardly mocking satisfaction, but 
 several opportunities for the display of his self-effacing 
 loyalty and superior capacities. 
 
 The business of this day was of sufficiently grave mo- 
 ment to make interruption unwelcome — being nothing 
 less than requests from a number of tenants to the " Good 
 Sir Adrian," " the real master come to his own again " — 
 for a substantial reduction of rent ; a step towards which 
 the master's heart inclined, but which his sober reason
 
 264 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 condemned as preposterous. But Rene's countenance, 
 as he entered, betrayed news of such import that Sir 
 Adrian instantly adjourned the matter on hand, and, when 
 the baihff had retired, anxiously turned to the new-comer, 
 who stood in the doorway mopping his steaming brow. 
 
 "Well, Renny," said he, "what is wrong? Nothing 
 about your wife — ? " 
 
 "No, your honour," answered the man, "your honour 
 is very good. Nothing wrong with our Moggie. But the 
 captain I ran all the way from the Shearmans." 
 
 "No accident there, I hope." 
 
 "I fear there is, your honour. The captain — he has 
 been attacked this morning." 
 
 " Not wounded — ! " exclaimed Sir Adrian. " Not dead, 
 Renny ?" 
 
 "Oh no, your honour, well. But he has, I fear, killed 
 one of the men .... the revenue men — " 
 
 Then, seeing his master start aghast, he went on rapidly ; 
 
 " Al least he is very bad — but what for did he come to 
 make the spy upon our island ? We have left him at the 
 Shearmans — the mother Shearman will nurse him. But 
 the captain, your honour " — the speaker lowered his voice 
 to a whisper and advanced a step, looking round — "that 
 is the worst of all, the captain has turned mad, I believe 
 — Instead of going off with his ship and his crew, (they 
 are safe out to sea, as they should be) he remains at 
 Scarthey. Yes — in your honour's rooms. He is walking 
 up and down and clutching his hair and talking to him- 
 self, like a possessed. And when I respectfully begged 
 him to consider that it was of the last folly his having 
 rested instead of savino- himself, I micfht as well have 
 tried to reason a mule. And so, knowing that your 
 honour would never forgive me if misfortune arrived, I 
 never drew breath till I reached here to tell you. If his 
 honour would come himself he might be able to make 
 Mr. his friend hear reason — Your honour will run no risk, 
 for it is only natural that you should go to the peel after 
 what has occurred — but if you cannot get Mr. the captain 
 to depart this night, there will arrive to us misfortune — it 
 is I who tell you so, " 
 
 "I will go back with you, at once," said Sir Adrian, 
 rising much perturbed. "Wait here while I speak to 
 Lady Landale. "
 
 THE DAY: MORNING 265 
 
 Molly was standing by the great log fire in the hall, 
 yawning fit to dislocate her pretty jaws, and teasing the 
 inert form of old Jim, as he basked before the flame, 
 with the tip of her pretty foot. She allowed her eyes 
 to rest vaguely upon her husband as he approached, 
 but neither interrupted her idle occupation nor en- 
 deavoured to suppress the yawn that again distended 
 her rosy lips. 
 
 He looked at her for a moment in silence ; then laying 
 a hand upon her shoulder, said gently : " My child, I 
 am called back to Scarthey and must leave instantly. 
 You — you will be careful of yourself — amuse yourself 
 during my absence — it may be for two or three days." 
 
 Lady Landale raised her black brows with a fine air of 
 interrogation, and then gazed down at the old dog till 
 the lashes swept her cheek, while a mocking dimple just 
 peeped from the corner of her mouth and was gone again. 
 "Oh yes," she answered drily, " I shall take endless care 
 of myself and amuse myself wildly. You need have no 
 fear of that." 
 
 Sir Adrian sighed, and his hand fell listless from her 
 shoulder. 
 
 "Good-bye, then," he said, and stooped it seemed 
 hesitatingly to lay his lips between the little dark tendrils 
 of hair that danced upon her forehead. But with a sudden 
 movement she twitched her face away. "Despite all 
 the varied delights which bind me to Pulwick," she re- 
 marked carelessly, " the charms of Sophia and Rupert's 
 company, and all the other amusements — I have a fancy 
 to visit your old owl's nest again — so we need not waste 
 sentiment upon a tender parting, need we? " 
 
 Sir Adrian's cheek flushed, and with a sudden light in 
 his eyes he glanced at her quickly ; but his countenance 
 faded into instant melancholy again, at sight of her curl- 
 ing lip and cold amused gaze. 
 
 "Will you not have me ? " she asked. 
 
 "If you will come — you will be welcome — as wel- 
 come," his voice shook a little, " as my wife must always 
 be wherever I am." 
 
 "Ah — oh," yawned Lady Landale, " (excuse me pray 
 — it's becoming quite an infirmity) so that is settled. I 
 hope it will storm to-night, that the wind will blow and 
 howl — and then I snuggle in the feather bed in that queer
 
 266 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 old room and try and fancy I am happy Molly de Save- 
 naye again." 
 
 Adrian's lip quivered ; yet in a second or two he spoke 
 lightly. "I do not want to hurry you, but I have to 
 leave at once." Then struck by a sudden thought, by 
 that longing to bring pleasure to others which was always 
 working in him, " Why not let Madeleine come with you 
 too?" he asked, "she could share your room, and — it 
 would be a pleasure to her I think." He sighed as he 
 thought of the trouble in store for the lovers. 
 
 Lady Landale grew red to the roots of her hair and 
 shot a look of withering scorn at her husband's uncon- 
 scious face. "It would be charming," she said, sar- 
 castically, "but after all I don't know that I care to go 
 so much — oh, don't stare at me like that, for goodness' 
 sake ! A woman may change her mind, I suppose — at 
 least, in a trifle here and there if she can't as regards the 
 whole comfort of her life. — Well, well, perhaps I shall go 
 — this afternoon — later — you can start now. I shall 
 follow — I can always get a boat at the Shearmans. And 
 I shall bring Madeleine, of course — it is most kind and 
 thoughtful of you to suggest it. Mon Dieu, I have a hus- 
 band in a thousand ! " 
 
 She swept him a splendid curtsey, kissed her hand at 
 him, and then burst out laughing at the pale bewilder- 
 ment of his face. 
 
 When Sir Adrian returned to the morning-room, he 
 found Rend, half hidden behind the curtain folds, peering 
 curiously out of the window which overlooked the 
 avenue. On his master's entrance, the man turned his 
 head, placed his finger on his lip, and beckoned him to 
 approach. "If I may take the liberty," said he with 
 subdued voice, "will his honour come and look out, 
 without showing himself?" 
 
 And he pointed to a group, consisting of Mr. Landale 
 and two men in blue jackets and cockaded hats of semi- 
 naval appearance, now slowly approaching the house. 
 Mr. Landale was listening with bent head, slightly 
 averted, to the smaller of his two companions — a stout 
 square-looking fellow, who spoke with evident volubility, 
 whilst the other followed defferentially one pace in 
 rear. Presently the trio halted, a few yards from the
 
 THE DAY: MORNING 267 
 
 entrance, and Mr. Landale, cutting designs upon the sand 
 with the end of his stick in a meditative way, appeared 
 to be giving directions at some length, on the conckision 
 of which the two men, touching their hats with much 
 respect, departed together, while the magistrate pen- 
 sively proceeded on his way to the house. 
 
 " Those, your honour," said Rene, ' ' were with him that 
 was struck in the fight this morning. It was I rowed 
 them over, together with the wounded. I left them at 
 the Shearmans, and slipped away myself to carry the 
 news. If I might take upon myself to advise, it would 
 be better if your honour would come with me now, at 
 once, for fear Mr. Landale should delay us by questioning 
 me — Mr, Landale being a magistrate, as I heard these 
 men say ; and Moggie has assured me that he always ar- 
 ranges himself for knowing when I arrive from the island 
 — ever since the day when the demoiselles had just come, 
 and I found it out. Ever since then he has not liked me, 
 Mr. Landale. Come away, your honour, before he finds 
 out I have been here to-day." 
 
 Following upon this advice, which he found to the 
 point, Sir Adrian left his house by a back passage ; and, 
 through a side garden, found his way to the coast and to 
 the fishing village. 
 
 The wounded man who had not recovered conscious- 
 ness, lay in the brother Shearman's hut, as Rend had said, 
 surrounded by such uncouth attendance as the rude 
 fisherfolk could dispense. After giving directions for the 
 summoning of medical aid and the removal, if it should 
 prove advisable, of the patient to the Hall, but without a 
 single comment upon the unfortunate occurrence. Sir 
 Adrian then took the road of the peel. 
 
 During the transit, walking rapidly by his master's 
 side, across the now bare causeway, Rene gave his ac- 
 count of events. 
 
 The captain (he related) after three days' absence had 
 reappeared the night before the last, and requested him 
 to warn the womankind not to be alarmed if they heard, 
 as no doubt they would, strange noises on the beach at 
 night. He was, said he, storing provisions and water 
 for the forthcoming journey, and the water in the well 
 was so excellent that he had determined to take in his 
 store. Of course his honour understood well that Rene
 
 268 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 did not concern himself in these matters ; but that was 
 the explanation he conveyed to his wife, lest she should 
 be alarmed and wonder. As for the old mother, she was 
 too deaf to be awakened out of sleep by anything short 
 of the trumpet of the last judgment. 
 
 As announced, there had been during the night the 
 noise of a party of men landing, of the hoisting and roll- 
 ing of barrels — a great remue-menage altogether — and the 
 next morning, that was yesterday, the captain had slept 
 sound in his bunk till late. 
 
 During several hours of the following day, he had some 
 secret work to do in the caves of which Ren^ had shown 
 the ins and outs, and whilst so engaged had requested 
 that watch should be kept from the light-tower, and mes- 
 sage sent by some arranged signal should any one ap- 
 proach the island. But no one had come near. Whilst at 
 his post, the watcher had heard at different times the sound 
 of hammering ; and when the captain had come to relieve 
 him, the good gentleman was much begrimed with dust 
 and hot with work, but appeared in excellent humour. 
 In the castle, he sang and whistled for joyfulness, and 
 made jokes with Moggie, all in his kind way, saying that 
 if he were not to be married himself soon, he would feel 
 quite indignant and jealous at the happiness of such a 
 rascal as her husband. 
 
 Oh ! he was happy — Monsieur the Captain — he had 
 brought Moggie a beautiful shawl ; and to Ren6, he had 
 given a splendid watch, telling him to keep count of the 
 hours of his unmerited bliss. Alas, this morning all had 
 been different indeed ! The captain looked another man ; 
 his face was as white as linen. The very look of him 
 would have told any one that a misfortune had occurred. 
 Ren6 did not quite understand it himself, but this is what 
 had taken place : 
 
 The captain had left Scarthey on foot late in the even- 
 ing, and when he returned (he was not long away) he 
 bade Rene again not to mind what he heard during the 
 night ; and, in faith, once more there had been a real 
 noise of the devil ; men coming to and fro, a deal of row- 
 ing on the water, away and back again, in the early night 
 and then once more before dawn. 
 
 " But I was not unquiet," said Rent^, " I knew they had 
 come for the remainder of what ]\Ir. Smith *vas pleased
 
 THE DAY: MORNING 269 
 
 to call his provisions. From our room I could see by the 
 light on the stairs that the lamp was burning well, and 
 Moggie slept like a child, so sound, she never moved. Just 
 before the rising sun, I had got up and put out the lamp, 
 and was going to bed again, when there came thumps of the 
 devil at the lower door. Well knowing that the captain 
 had his own way of entering — for he had spent many days 
 in finding out all sorts of droll passages in the ruins — I 
 was quite seized ; and as I hurried down, the thumps came 
 again and great cries for the lighthouse-keeper. And, your 
 honour, when I unbarred the door, there was a man in 
 uniform whom I did not know, and he asked me, grum- 
 bling, if I knew of the pretty doings on the beach, whilst 
 I slept like pig, he said — Of course I made the astonished 
 as his honour may imagine : I knew nothing, had heard 
 nothing, though my heart was beating like to burst not 
 knowing what was coming. Then he ordered me to lend a 
 hand and bring a ladder to carry away one of his men who 
 had been murdered by the smugglers, he said. And there, 
 on the sands, in front of the small cave was another man, 
 in a blue coat too, watching over the body of one who was 
 stretched out, quite tranquil, his face covered with blood 
 and his eyes closed. They are gone, says the gross man. 
 And I was glad, as your honour may well think, to see the 
 chaloupe full of the captain's men rowing hard towards 
 the vessel. She had just come out of the river mouth 
 and was doubling round the banks. We carried the man 
 on his ladder to the kitchen and we and the women did 
 all we could, but he remained like a log. So after a time 
 the two men (who said they had come along the dyke 
 soon after midnight, on foot, as they thought it would be 
 more secret, and had watched all night in the bent) 
 wanted to eat and drink and rest. They had missed their 
 game, the big man said ; they had been sent to find out 
 what sort of devil's tricks were being played on in the 
 island unbeknown to Sir Adrian ; — but it was the devil's 
 luck altogether, for the smugglers had slipped away and 
 would not be seen in this part of the world again. That 
 is the way the fat man spoke. The other had nothing to 
 say, but swallowed our bacon and our beer as if he did 
 not care. And then, your honour, they told me I should 
 have to lend them the yawl to go on land, and go myself 
 to help, and take the body with us. And as he was
 
 270 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 speaking-, I saw Moggie the wife, who had been back- 
 wards and forwards serving- them, looking at me very- 
 straight but without blowing a word, as if she had fear. 
 And all at once I felt there was something on foot. So I 
 drew the men more beer and said I would see after the 
 yawl. Outside the door the wife whispered : ' Upstairs, 
 quick ! Renny,' and she herself whisked back into the 
 kitchen so that she should not cause suspicion to those 
 others — Ah, your honour, that is a woman ! " 
 
 "Well, well," interrupted his master, anxiously. 
 
 "Well, 1 went upstairs, four by four; and there, in 
 your honour's room, without an attempt to conceal him- 
 self (when any moment it might have entered into those 
 brigands' heads downstairs to search the place), there 
 was Monsieur the Captain, raging up and down, like a 
 wolf in cage, as I had the honour to describe before. No 
 wonder Moggie was afraid for him. A woman is quick 
 to feel danger ahead. He looked at me as if he did not 
 know me, his face all unmade. ' You know what has 
 happened ; ' he says. ' Am I not the most unfortunate 
 .....? All is lost' 'With respect,' says I ; 'nothing 
 is lost so long as life is safe, but it is not a good thing 
 Monsieur the Captain that you are here, like this, when 
 you should be on your good ship as many miles away as 
 she can make. Are you mad ? ' to him I say, and he to 
 me, 'I think I am.' 'At least let me hide you,' I beg of 
 him, 'I know of many beautiful places, ' and so for the 
 matter of that does he. But it was all lost trouble. At 
 length he sits down at the table and begins to write, and 
 his look brightens : ' You can help me, my good friend,' 
 he says ; * I have a hope left — who knows — who knows,' 
 — and he writes a few lines like an enraged and folds 
 them and kisses the billet. ' Find means, ' says he, ' Rene, 
 to get Johnny, the Shearman boy, to take this to the old 
 churchyard and place it in the place he knows of ; or, 
 better still, should he chance upon Miss Landale to give 
 it to her. He is a sharp rogue,' says he, ' and I can trust 
 his wits ; but should you not find him, dear Ren^, you 
 must do the commission for me yourself. Now go — go,' 
 he cries, and pushes me to the stairs. And, as I dared 
 remain no more, I had to leave him. Of course Monsieur 
 the Captain has not been here all this time without telling 
 me of his hopes, and it is clear that it is to bid farewell
 
 THE DAY: MORNING 271 
 
 to Mademoiselle Madeleine that he is playing with his 
 life. It is as ill reasoning with a lover as a lunatic : they 
 are the same thing, Ma foi, but I trust to your honour to 
 bring him to his senses if any one can. And so, to con- 
 tinue, I went down and I told the men in blue the boat 
 was ready, we carried the body ; I left them at the Shear- 
 mans, as your honour knows. I found Johnny and gave 
 him the letter ; he knew all about what to do, it seemed. 
 And then I came straight to the Hall." 
 
 "It is indeed a miserable business ! " said Sir Adrian. 
 
 Rend heaved a great sigh of sympathy, as he noticed 
 the increasing concern on his master's face. 
 
 " You heard them mention my brother's name ?" in- 
 quired the latter, after following the train of his misgivings 
 for a few moments. " You have reason to think that Mr. 
 Landale knew of these men's errand ; other reason, I 
 mean, than having seen them with him just now ? " 
 
 Rene's quick mind leaped at the meaning of the 
 question : 
 
 " Yes, your honour. ' Mr. Landale will want to know 
 of this, ' says the fat one ; ' though it is too late, ' he says. " 
 And Rend added ruefully : "I have great fear. The 
 captain is not at the end of his pains, if Mr. Landale is 
 ranged against him ! " 
 
 Such was also Sir Adrian's thought. But he walked on 
 for a time in silence ; and, having reached Scarthey, 
 rapidly made his way into the peel. 
 
 Captain Jack was still pacing the room much as Rene 
 had described when Sir Adrian entered upon him. The 
 young man turned with a transient look of surprise to the 
 new-comer, then waved away the proffered hand with a 
 bitter smile. 
 
 " You do not know," he said, " who it is you would 
 shake hands with — an outlaw — a criminal. Ah, you have 
 heard } Then Renny, I suppose, has told you." 
 
 "Yes," groaned the other, holding his friend by both 
 shoulders and gazing sorrowfully into the haggard face, 
 " the man may die — oh, Jack, Jack, how could you be so 
 rash ? " 
 
 " I can't say how it all happened," answered Captain 
 Jack, falling to his walk to and fro again in the extremity 
 of his distress, and ever and anon mopping his brow. " I 
 felt such security in this place. All was loaded but the
 
 2/2 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 last barrel, when, all of a sudden, from God knows where, 
 the man sprang^ on me and thrust his dark lantern in my 
 face. ' It is Smith,' I heard him say. I do believe now 
 that he only wanted to identify me. No man in his senses 
 could have dared to try and arrest me surrounded by my 
 six men. But I had no time to think then, Adrian. I 
 imagined the fellow was leading a general attack .... 
 If that last barrel was seized the whole secret was out ; 
 and that meant ruin. Wholesale failure seemed to menace 
 me suddenly in the midst of my success. I had a hand- 
 spike in my hand with which I had been helping to roll 
 the kegs. I struck with it, on the spur of the moment ; 
 the man went down on the spot, with a groan. As he fell 
 I leaped back, ready for the next. I called out, ' Stretch- 
 ers, lads ; they want to take your captain ? ' My lads 
 gathered round me at once. But there was silence ; not 
 another creature to be seen or heard. They set to work 
 to get that last blessed bit of cargo, the cause of all the 
 misery, on board with the rest ; while I stood in the grow- 
 ing dawn, looking down at the motionless figure and at 
 the blood trickling into the sand, trying to think, to settle 
 what to do, and only conscious of one thing : the intense 
 wish that I could change places with my victim. Can you 
 wonder, Adrian, that my brain was reeling ? You who 
 know all, all this means to me, can you wonder that I 
 could not leave this shore — even though my life depended 
 on it — without seeing her again ! Curwen, my mate, 
 came up to me at last, and I woke up to some sort of rea- 
 son at the idea that they, the crew and the ship, must be 
 removed from the immediate danger. But the orders I 
 gave must have seemed those of a madman : I told him 
 to sail right away but to double back in time to have the 
 schooner round again at twelve noon to-day, and then to 
 send the gig's crew to pick me up on Pulwick sand. 
 
 * Life and death,' said I to him, and he, brave fellow, 
 
 * Ay, ay, sir,' as if it was the most simple thing in the 
 world, and off with him without another word." 
 
 " What imprudence, what imprudence ! " murmured 
 Sir Adrian. 
 
 " Who knows ? None will believe that I have not 
 seized the opportunity of making my escape with the 
 others. The height of imprudence may become the height 
 of security. I have as yet no plan — but it will come.
 
 THE DAY: MORNING 273 
 
 My luck shall not fail me now ! who knows : nothing 
 perhaps is damaged but an excise man's crown. Thank 
 heaven, the wind cannot fail us to-day." 
 
 "But, meanwhile, "urged Sir Adrian, quite unconvinced, 
 highly disturbed, "that treasure on board .... I know 
 what has been your motive. Jack, but indeed it is all noth- 
 ing short of insanity, positive insanity. Can you trust 
 your men ? " 
 
 " I would trust them with my own secrets, willingly 
 enough ; but not with those of other people. So they do 
 not know what I have in those barrels. Four thousand 
 golden guineas in each . . . .! No, the temptation would 
 be too terrible for the poor lads. Not a soul knows that, 
 beyond you and me. Curwen has charge of the cargo, 
 such as it is. But I can answer for it none of them will 
 dream of tampering with the casks. They are picked men, 
 sober, trusty ; who have fought side by side with me. I 
 am their best friend. They are mine, body and soul, I be- 
 lieve. They do know there is some risk in the business, 
 but they trust me. They are sure of treble pay, and be- 
 sides, are not troubled with squeamishness. As for Curwen, 
 he would go to hell for me, and never ask a question. 
 No, Adrian, the scheme was perfect, but for this cursed 
 blow of mine this morning. And now it is a terrible 
 responsibility," continued the young man, again Mnping 
 his forehead ; " every ounce of it weighs on my shoulders. 
 But it is not that that distracts me. Oh, Adrian .... 
 Madeleine ! " 
 
 The elder man felt his heart contract at the utter de- 
 spairing of that cry. 
 
 " When my handspike crashed on that damned inter- 
 ferer's skull," the sailor went on, " I felt as if the blow 
 had opened an unfathomable chasm between her and me. 
 Now I am felon — yes, in law, a felon ! And yet I am the 
 same man as yesterday. I shall have to fly to-night, and 
 may never be able to return openly to England again. 
 All my golden dreams of happiness, of honour, vanished 
 at the sound of that cursed blow. But I must see her, 
 Adrian, I viiist see her before I go. I am going to meet 
 her at noon, in the ruins of Pulwick. " 
 
 "Impossible ! " ejaculated the other aghast. "Listen, 
 Jack, unfortunate man ! When I heard of the — the mis- 
 fortune, andof your folly in remaining, I instantly planned 
 18
 
 274 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 a last meeting for you. As it fell out, my wife has a fancy 
 to spend the night here : I have asked her to bring her 
 sister with her. But this inconceivably desperate plan of 
 leaving in your ship, in broad light of day, frustrates all I 
 would have done for you. For God's sake let us contrive 
 some way of warning the P^re^nwe off till midnight ; keep 
 hidden, yourself ; do not wilfully run your head into the 
 noose ! " 
 
 But the young man had stopped short in his tramping, 
 and stood looking at his friend, with a light of hope flam- 
 ing in his eye. 
 
 "You have done that, Adrian ! You have thought of 
 that ! " he repeated, as if mechanically. A new whirl- 
 wind of schemes rushed through his mind. For a while 
 he remained motionless, with his gaze fixed on Sir Adrian, 
 putting order in his own thoughts with that genius of pre- 
 cision and swiftness which, in strong natures, rises to 
 meet a crisis. Then advancing, and seizing him by both 
 hands : 
 
 "Adrian," he cried, in something more like his own 
 voice, again, ' ' I shall yet owe my happiness to you, to 
 this thought, this sublime thought of your heart ! " 
 
 And, as Sir Adrian, astounded, unable to understand 
 this extremity of hopefulness, following upon the previous 
 depth of misery, stared back at him, speechless, the latter 
 proceeded in still more surprising fashion. 
 
 ' ' Now, you listen to me, this time. I have been selfish 
 in running the risk of having you mixed up in my dan- 
 gerous affairs. But, God is my witness, I acted under 
 the belief that all was absolutely secure. Now, however, 
 you must do nothing more that might implicate you. 
 Remember, do nothing to let people suspect that you have 
 seen me to-day. Renny, too, must keep close counsel. 
 You know nothing of my future movements. Remain 
 herefor a while, do not even look out of the window . . . . 
 I fear we shall not meet for a long time. Meanwhile, 
 God bless you — God bless you ! *' 
 
 After another wrench of the hands he held in his, the 
 sailor released them and fairly ran out of the room, with- 
 out heeding his friend's bewildered expostulations. At the 
 door of the keep he met Ren^ again. And after a brief but 
 earnest colloquy, the man whose life was now forfeit to the 
 community and upon whose head there would soon be a
 
 THE DAY: MORNING 275 
 
 price, was quietly walking along the causeway, making 
 for the shore, with the greatest apparent unconcern and 
 deliberation. 
 
 And whilst Sir Adrian, alone in his chamber, with his 
 head resting upon his hand, anxiously pondered upon the 
 possible issues of this nefarious day's doings, the sailor 
 advanced, in broad daylight towards the land to keep his 
 appointment. 
 
 A solitary speck of life upon the greac waste, with the 
 consciousness of the precarious thread of chance upon 
 which it hung ! What wonder that, for all his daring, the 
 traveller felt, as he deliberately regulated his pace to the 
 most nonchalant gait, a frantic desire to run forward, or 
 to lie down ! How many approach glasses might now be 
 laid, like so many guns, upon him from secret points of the 
 coast until he came within range of recognition ; what 
 ambushes those clumps of gorse and juniper, those planta- 
 tions of alders and young firs on the bluffs yonder, might 
 conceal ? The eye could reach far and wide upon the 
 immense stretch of sand, along the desert coast ; and his 
 solitary figure, moving upon the yellow strand was a mark 
 for miles around. Steadily, nevertheless did he advance ; 
 the very daring, the unpardonable foolhardiness of the 
 deed his safety. And yet the strain was high. Were they 
 watching the island? Among the eager crew, to each of 
 whom the capture might mean a splendid prize and chance 
 of promotion, was there one would have the genius of 
 suddenly suspecting that this foolhardy wayfarer might be 
 the man they wanted and not merely Sir Adrian returning 
 on foot towards his home ? . . . . And then came the 
 
 answer of hopeful youth and hardy courage . 
 
 No. The preventive are a lubberly lot — It will require 
 something better than a water-guard to track and take 
 Lucky Jack Smith ! 
 
 But for all his assurance Lucky Jack Smith drew a long 
 breath of relief when he felt the shadow of Pulwick woods 
 closing around him at last.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 THE DAY: NOON 
 
 There stood two men and they did point their fingers at 
 
 that house. 
 And on his finger one had blood; the other's finger shook. 
 
 Ljtteplayer' s Song. 
 
 Broken lengths of wall, a crumbling- indication of the 
 spring of once exquisite arches, windows gaping darkly 
 like the eye sockets of a skull — this was all that was left 
 of the old priory of Pulwick, whilom proud seat of cleri- 
 cal power and learning. But the image of decay was 
 robbed of all melancholy by the luxuriance of climbing 
 vegetation, by the living screen of noble firs and larches 
 arranged in serried ranks upon the slopes immediately 
 behind it, with here and there a rugged sentinel within 
 the ruinous yards and rooms themselves ; by wild bushes 
 of juniper and gorse and brambles. And, with the bright 
 noon sun pouring down upon the worn red sandstone, 
 and gilding the delicate tassels of the larches' green 
 needles ; with the light of young love, spreading glamour 
 upon every leaf and stone, m the eyes of the lovers, the 
 scene, witness of so many sweet meetings, bore that day 
 a beautiful and homelike aspect. 
 
 Captain Jack was standing upon the grass-grown floor 
 of what had been the departed monks' refectory, with 
 ears eagerly bent to listen. 
 
 Three ragged walls, a clump of fir trees, and a bank of 
 brambles screened him from any chance passer-by, and 
 he now and again peered through a crevice on to a path 
 through the woods, cautiously, as if fearful to venture 
 forth. His face was pale beneath its tan, and had none 
 of its usual brightness ; his attire for him was disordered ; 
 his whole appearance that of a man under the pressure of 
 doubt and anxiety. Yet, when the sound of a light foot- 
 fall struck among the thousand whispering noises of wind 
 
 276
 
 THE DAY: NOON 277 
 
 and leaf that went to make up the silence of the ruins, 
 the glory of joy that lit up eye and lip left no room for 
 any other impression. 
 
 Madeleine stood in the old door-way : a vision of 
 beautiful life amid emblems of decay and death. 
 
 " I come alone to-day," she said, with her half-shy 
 smile. And then, before she could utter a further word 
 of explanation, she was gathered into her lover's strong 
 arms with a passion he had never as yet shown in his 
 chivalrous relations with her. But it was not because 
 they met without the sympathetic rapture of Miss Lan- 
 dale's eye upon them ; not because there was no other 
 witnesses but the dangling ivy wreath, the stern old walls, 
 the fine dome of spring sky faintly blue ; not because of 
 lover's audacious joy. This Madeleine, feeling the stormy 
 throbbing of his heart against hers, knew with sure in- 
 stinct. She pushed him gently from her as soon as she 
 could, the blushes chased from her cheeks by pale mis- 
 givings, and looked at him with eyes full of troubled 
 questioning. 
 
 Then he spoke, from his full heart : 
 
 " Madeleine, something has happened — a misfortune, as 
 I wrote to you. I must now start upon my venture sooner 
 than I thought — at once. I shall have \.ofly in fact, to-day. 
 There have been spies upon me, and my secret trust is in 
 danger. How they have tracked me, how suspicion has 
 been aroused, I cannot guess. But I have been tracked. 
 A fellow came at dawn. I had to defend my secret — the 
 secret not my own, the charge entrusted to me. The man 
 was hurt. I cannot explain, dear love, there is no time ; 
 even now I run the risk of my life by being here, and life 
 is so dear to me now, my Madeleine ! Hush ! No, do not 
 be afraid ! I am afraid of nothing, so long as you trust 
 me. Will you trust me .? I cannot leave you here behind ; 
 and now, with this cursed stroke of ill-luck, this suspicion 
 upon me, it may be long before I can return to England. 
 I cannot leave you behind, I cannot ! Will you trust me, 
 Madeleine, will you come with me ? We shall be married 
 in France, my darling. You should be as a queen in the 
 guard of her most humble slave. I am half mad to think 
 I must go. Ah, kiss me, love, and say yes ! Listen ! I 
 must sail away and make believe that I have gone. My 
 Peregrine is a bird that none can overtake, but I shall
 
 2/8 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 come back to-night. Listen : If you will be on the island 
 to-night — Sir Adrian is there already, and I hear your 
 sister is coming — a freak of fancy — and he, God bless him, 
 has told her to bring you too (it shows my luck has not 
 deserted me yet). I shall be there, unknown to all except 
 Renny. I cannot meet you nearer home, but you will 
 be my own brave bride and keep your own counsel. You 
 will not be frightened, will you, my beautiful love.^ All 
 you have to do is to follow Renny's instructions. My 
 ship will be back, waiting, an hour after dark, ready, 
 when you set foot on it, to spread its wings with its 
 treasures — treasures, indeed ! And then we shall have 
 the world before us — riches, love, such love ! And once 
 safe, I shall be free to prove to you that it is no common 
 blood I would mate w^ith that dear and pure stream that 
 courses in your veins. You shall soon know all ; will you 
 trust me ? " 
 
 She hung upon his hot words, looking at him with 
 loving, frightened eyes. Now he gathered her to his arms 
 again, again his bursting heart throbbed its stormy passion 
 to her ear. She was as one carried away by a torrent 
 against which resistance is useless. He bent his head 
 over her face ; the scent of the bunch of violets in her 
 breast rose deliciously to his nostrils. Alas ! Hubert 
 Cochrane was not to reach that kiss of acquiescence, that 
 kiss from which it seemed that but so small a fraction of 
 space and time divided him ! Someone, who had stepped 
 along in the shadow as silently as a cat coming upon a 
 bird, clapped here a hand upon his shoulder. 
 
 " Who are you, sir, and what do you want .'' " exclaimed 
 Captain Jack, wrenching himself free, falling back a pace 
 and measuring the new-comer from head to foot with 
 furious glances, while, with burning blushes Madeleine 
 faltered : 
 
 "Rupert!" 
 
 Nothing awakens anger in hot blood sooner than an 
 unsanctioned touch. In certain moods the merest contact 
 is as infuriating as a blow. Such an insult, added to the 
 irreparable injury of interrupting their meeting at the most 
 exquisite and crucial moment, drove Captain Jack beside 
 himself with rage. 
 
 But Madeleine's hand was still on his arm. She felt 
 it suddenly harden and twitch with murderous anger.
 
 THE DAY: NOON 279 
 
 But, by an effort that made the veins of his temple swell 
 like whipcord, he refrained from striking the double 
 offender. 
 
 Mr, Landale surveyed the pair for a moment in silence 
 with his grave look ; then coldly he answered the sailor's 
 irate speech. 
 
 " My name, fellow, is Rupert Landale. I am here to 
 protect my cousin from an unprincipled and criminal 
 adventurer." 
 
 " You take a sharp tone sir," cried Captain Jack, the 
 flush on his face deepening yet a shade, his nostrils 
 ominously dilated, yet speaking without further loss of 
 self-control. "You probably count upon the presence of 
 this lady to prevent my resenting it ; but as my time with 
 her is short and I have still much to say, I shall beforced 
 promptly to eject you from the ruins here, unless you will 
 be good enough to immediately remove yourself I shall 
 hope for another meeting with you to discuss the question 
 as to your right of interference ; but to-day — 1 cannot 
 spare the time." 
 
 Rupert smiled without moving ; then the sailor gently 
 disengaging himself from Madeleine would have put her 
 behind him but that she pressed forward and laid a hand 
 upon an arm of each of the men. 
 
 "Stay, Jack," she pleaded, "let me speak. There is 
 some mistake here. Cousin Rupert, you cannot know 
 that I am engaged to this gentleman and that he is a 
 friend of your brother's as well as of other good friends 
 of mine." 
 
 " My poor child," answered Rupert, closing a cold 
 hand gently over hers and speaking with a most delicate 
 tenderness of accent, "you have been grossly imposed 
 upon, and so have others. As for my poor brother 
 Adrian, he is, if anything, easier to deceive than you, 
 innocent convent-bred girl ! I would have you to go 
 home, my dear, and leave me to deal with this — gentle- 
 man. You have bitter truths to learn ; would it not be 
 better to wait and learn them quietly without further 
 scandal ? " 
 
 This was too much for Captain Jack, who fairly ground 
 his teeth. Rupert's honeyed tones, his grasp of Made- 
 leine's hand were more unbearable even than the words. 
 He advanced upon the elder man and seizing him by
 
 28o THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 the collar whirled him away from the girl as easily as a 
 straw puppet. 
 
 The fine gentleman of sensitive nerves and unworked 
 sinews had no chance against the iron strength of the 
 man who had passed all the years of virility fighting 
 against sea and storm. The two faced each other ; Jack 
 Smith, red and panting with honest rage, only the sense 
 of his lady's proximity keeping him from carrying his 
 high-handed measures a little further. Mr. Landale, 
 livid, with eyes suddenly black in their orbits, moisten- 
 ing his white lips while he quivered from head to foot 
 with a passion so tense that not even his worst enemy 
 could have attributed it to fear. 
 
 An unequal match it would seem, yet unequal in a 
 way that the young man, in the conscious glory of his 
 strength could not have conceived. Madeleine neither 
 screamed nor fainted ; she had grown white, in natural 
 apprehension, but her eyes fixed upon her lovers face 
 shone with admiration. Mr. Landale turned slowly 
 towards her. 
 
 "Madeleine," he said, readjusting his stock and 
 smoothing the folds of his collar with a steadfast striving 
 after coolness, "you have been grossly deceived. The 
 man you would trust with your life and honour is a mere 
 smuggler. He has no doubt told you fine stories, but 
 if he has given himself out for aught else he lied, take 
 my word for it — he lied. He is a common smuggler, 
 and the vessel he M'^ould carry you away in is packed 
 with smuggled goods. To-day he has attacked and 
 wounded an officer, who, in the discharge of his duty, 
 endeavoured to find out the nature of his suspicious 
 purpose. Your would-be lover's neck is in danger. A 
 felon, he runs the risk of his life every moment he remains 
 on land — but he would make a last effort to secure the 
 heiress ! Look at him," his voice raising in spite of him- 
 self to a shriller pitch — " he cannot deny it ! " 
 
 Madeleine gazed from one to the other. Her mind, 
 never a very quick one at decision, was too bewildered 
 to act with clearness ; moreover with her education and 
 ignorance of the world the indictment conveyed no 
 special meaning to her. 
 
 But there was an agony of suspense and beseeching in 
 the glance that her lover cast upon her ; and to that
 
 THE DAY: NOON 281 
 
 appeal she smiled proudly. Hers were no true love, she 
 felt, were its confidence shaken by the slandering of 
 anger. Then the thought of his danger, danger admitted 
 by his own lips, flashed upon her with terror. She rushed 
 to him, 
 
 "Oh go, Jack, go ! — As you love me, go ! " 
 
 Mr. Landale, who had already once or twice cast 
 impatient looks of expectation through a window of the 
 east wall, taken by surprise at this unforeseen result of 
 his speech, suddenly climbed up upon a broken piece of 
 stone-work, from which there was an abrupt descent 
 towards the shore, and began to signal in eager gesticu- 
 lation. There was a sound of heavy running footfalls 
 without. Captain Jack raised his head, every nerve on 
 the alert. 
 
 "Go, go," again cried Madeleine, dreading she knew 
 not what. — A fat panting red face looked over the wall ; 
 Mr. Landale turned for a second to throw at the lovers a 
 glance of elation. 
 
 But it seemed as if the sailor's spirits rose at the breath 
 of danger. He rapidly looked round upon the ruins from 
 which there were no other outlets than the window 
 guarded by Mr. Landale, and the doorway in which the 
 red-faced new-comer now stood, framed in red stone; 
 then, like a cat he darted on to the ledge of the wall at 
 the opposite end, where some invading boughs of larch 
 dropped over the jagged crest, before the burly figure in 
 the blue coat of the preventive service had recovered 
 from the surprise of finding a lady in his way, or gathered 
 his wits and his breath sufficiently to interfere. 
 
 There the nimble climber stood a moment balancing 
 himself lightly, though the ivied stones rocked beneath 
 him. 
 
 "I go, love," he cried in ringing voice, "but one word 
 from you and I go " 
 
 "Oh, I trust you! I will trust you!" screamed the 
 girl in despair, while her fascinated gaze clung to the 
 erect figure silhouetted against the sky and the stout 
 man looked up, open-mouthed. Mr. Landale snarled at 
 him : 
 
 "Shoot, fool — shoot!" And straining forward, him- 
 self drew a pistol from the man's belt, cocked it and 
 thrust it into his grasp.
 
 282 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 Captain Jack kissed his hand to Madeleine with a joy- 
 ful gesture, then waved his hat defiantly in Rupert's 
 direction, and with a spring disappeared, just as the 
 pistol cracked, drawing a shriek of terror from the girl, 
 and its bullet flattened itself against the upper stone of 
 the wall — considerably wide of the mark. 
 
 "Come, this way !" screamed Mr. Landale from 
 
 his window sill, " you have another I " 
 
 But the preventive shook his head, and thrust his 
 smoking barrel back through his belt, with an air of 
 philosophical resignation ; and slowly approaching the 
 window, through which the fugitive could now be seen 
 steadily bowling down the seaward slope, observed in 
 slow, fat tones : 
 
 "Give you a hand, sir?" 
 
 Rupert, thrusting his extended arm aside jumped down 
 beside him as if he would have sprung at his throat. 
 
 "Why are you so late.? — why have you brought no 
 one with you ? I gave you notice enough. You fool ! 
 You have let him slip through your fingers, now, after 
 all ! Couldn't you even shoot straight ? Such a mark as 
 he made against the sky — Pah ! well may the sailors say, 
 lubberly as a land preventive ! " 
 
 ' ' Why, there you are, Mr. Landale ! " answered the 
 man with imperturbable, greasy good-humour. "The 
 way you shoved that there pistol into my hand was 
 enough to put off anybody. But you country magistrate 
 gentlemen, as I have always said, you are the real sort 
 to make one do illegal actions with your flurry and your 
 hurry over everything. ' Shoot ! ' says you, and damme, 
 sir, if I didn't shoot straight off before I knew if I were on 
 my head or on my heels. It's a mercy I didn't hit the 
 sweet young lady — it is indeed. And as for the young 
 gentleman, though to be sure he did show a clean pair 
 of heels at the sight of me, I had no proper time for 
 i-dentification — no time for i-den-ti-fi-cation, Mr. Landale, 
 sir. So I say, sir, it's a mercy I did not hit him either, 
 now I can think of it. Ah, slow and sure, that's my 
 motter ! I takes my man on his boat, in the very middle 
 of his laces and his brandy and his silk — I takes him, sir, 
 in the very act of illegality, red-handed, so to speak, and 
 then, if he shows fight, or if he runs away, then I shoots, 
 sir, and then if I hits, why it's a good job too — but none
 
 THE DAY: NOON 283 
 
 of this promiscuous work for Augustus Hobson. Slow 
 and sure, that's my motter." 
 
 The speaker who had been rolHng a quid of tobacco in 
 his mouth during this exposition of policy, here spat em- 
 phatically upon the grass, and catching Madeleine's ab- 
 stracted eye, begged pardon for the liberty with a gallant 
 air. 
 
 " Aye, so slow, man, that you are pretty sure to fail," 
 muttered Mr. Landale. 
 
 "I knows my business, sir, meaning no offence," re- 
 torted Mr. Hobson serenely. "When I has no orders I 
 acts on regulation. I brought no one with me because I 
 had no one to bring, having sent, as per regulation, my one 
 remaining man to give notice to the water service, seeing 
 that that there schooner has had the impudence to come 
 back, and is at this very moment cruising quite happy- 
 like just the other side of the bank ; though if ever their 
 cutter overhauls her — well, I'm a Dutchman ! You might 
 have done wiser, perhaps (if I may make so bold as to 
 remark), to leave the management of this business to them 
 as understands such things. As to being late, sir, you 
 told me to be in the ruins at twelve noon, and I beg to 
 insinuate that it's only just past the hour now." 
 
 At this point the preventive man drew from his capa- 
 cious breeches a brass time-piece, of congenial stoutness, 
 the face of which he turned towards the magistrate. 
 
 The latter, however, waved the proffered witness impa- 
 tiently aside. Furtively watching his cousin, who, lean- 
 ing against the door-post, her pale head thrown out in 
 strong relief by the dark stones, stood as if absolutely de- 
 tached from her surroundings, communing over troubled 
 thoughts with her own soul, he said with deliberate dis- 
 tinctness : 
 
 "But have I been misled, then, in understanding that 
 you were with the unfortunate officer who was so fero- 
 ciously assaulted this morning.? that you and he did 
 come upon this Captain Smith, red-handed as you call it, 
 loading or unloading his vessel on Scarthey Island.?" 
 
 "Aye, sir," rolled out the other, unctuously, "there 
 you are again, you see. Poor Nat Beavor, he was one 
 of your hot-headed ones, and see what it has brought him 
 to — a crack in his skull, sir, so that it will be days before 
 he'll know himself again, the doctor says, if ever he does
 
 284 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 in this world, which I don't think. Ah, I says to him, 
 when we started in the dawn this morning agreeable to 
 our arrangement with you : ' For peeping and prying on 
 the quiet without any running risks and provokino^ others 
 to break the law more than they're doing, I'm your man,' 
 says I ; ' but as for attacking desperate individles without 
 proper warrant and authority, not to speak of being one 
 to ten, I tell you fair, Nat Beavor, I'll have nothing to 
 do with it.' But Nat, he went off his head, clean, at the 
 sight of Captain Jack and his men a trundling the little 
 kegs down the sands, as neat and tidy as could be ; and 
 so he cut out from behind the rocks, and I knew there 
 was mischief ahead ! Ah, poor fellow, if he would only 
 have listened to me ! I did my best for him, sir ; started 
 off to call up the other man, who was on the other side 
 of the ruins, as soon as I saw his danger, but when I 
 came back " 
 
 "The birds were flown, of course," interrupted Rupert 
 with a sneer, " and you found the body of your comrade 
 who had been dastardly wounded, and who, I hear, is 
 dead now. So the villain has twice escaped you. Cousin 
 Madeleine," hastily breaking off to advance to the girl, 
 who now awakening from her reflective mood seemed 
 about to leave the rums, "Cousin Madeleine, are you 
 going .'' Let me escort you back." 
 
 She slowly turned her blue eyes, burning upon him 
 from her white face. "Cousin Rupert, I do not want 
 your company." Then she added in a whisper, yet with 
 a passion for which Rupert would never have given her 
 credit and which took him vastly by surprise, "I shall 
 never forgive you. '' 
 
 " My God, Madeleine," cried he, with genuine emo- 
 tion, ' ' have I deserved this ? I have had no thought but 
 to befriend you, I have opened your eyes to your own 
 danger " 
 
 " Hold your tongue, sir," she broke in, with the same 
 repressed anger. " Cease vilifying the man I love. All 
 your aspersions, your wordy accusations will not shake 
 my faith in him. Mofi Di'cu," she cried, with an unsteady 
 attempt at laughter, looking under her lashes and tilting 
 her little white round chin at Mr. Hobson, who, now 
 seated upon a large stone, and with an obtrusive quid of 
 tobacco bulging in an imperfectly shorn cheek, was mop-
 
 THE DAY: NOON 285 
 
 ping his forehead with a doubtful handkerchief. " That 
 is the person, I suppose, whose testimony I am to believe 
 against my Jack ! " 
 
 " Your Jack was prompt enough in running away 
 from him, such as he is," retorted her cousin bitterly. 
 He could not have struck, for his purpose, upon a weaker 
 joint in her poor woman's armour of pride and trust. 
 
 She caught her breath sharply, as if indeed she had 
 received a blow. " Well, say your say," she exclaimed, 
 coming to a standstill and facing him ; "I will hear all 
 that you and your — your friend have to say, lest," with a 
 magnificent toss of her head, " you fancy I am afraid, or 
 that I believe one word of it all. I know that Jack — 
 that Captain Smith, as he is called — is engaged upon a 
 secret and important mission ; but it is one, Rupert, 
 which all English gentlemen should wish to help, not 
 impede." 
 
 "Do you know what the mission is — do you know to 
 whom ? And if, my fair cousin, it is such that all Eng- 
 lish gentlemen would help, why then this secrecy? " 
 
 She bit her lip; but it trembled. "What is it you 
 accuse him of.? " she asked, with a stamp of her foot. 
 
 " Listen to me," said Rupert gently, "it is the kinder 
 thing that you should know the truth, and believe me, 
 every word I say I can substantiate. This Captain Jack 
 Smith, whatever his real name may be, was picked up 
 when a mere boy by an old Liverpool merchant, starving 
 in the streets of that town. This merchant, by name 
 Cochrane, an absurd person who gave himself out to be 
 a relative of Cochrane of Shaws, adopted the boy and 
 started him upon a slaver, that is a ship which does trade 
 in negro slaves, my dear — a pretty trade. He next en- 
 tered a privateer's ship as lieutenant. You know what 
 these are — ocean freebooters, tolerated by government 
 for the sake of the harm they wreck upon the ships of 
 whatever nation we may happen to be at war with — a 
 sort of pirate ship — hardly a much more reputable busi- 
 ness than the slaver's ; but Captain Smith made himself a 
 name in it. Now that the war is over, he has taken to a 
 lower traffic still — that of smuggling." 
 
 "■ 'QxiX what is smuggling?" cried the girl, tears brim- 
 ming up at last into her pretty eyes, and all her heat of 
 valiance suddenly gone. "What does it mean ? "
 
 286 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 " What is smuggling? Bless your innocence! I beg 
 your pardon, my dear — miss I should say — but if you'll 
 allow me I think I'm the man to explain that 'ere to you." 
 The husky mellifluous tones of the preventive-service 
 man, who had crept up unnoticed to listen to the con- 
 versation, here murmured insinuatingly in her ear. 
 
 Rupert hesitated ; then reading shrinking aversion upon 
 Madeleine's face, shrewdly conjectured that the exposi- 
 tion of her lover's doings might come with more force 
 from Mr. Hobson's lips than from his own, and allowed 
 the latter to proceed unmolested. 
 
 " Smuggling, my pretty," wheezed the genial represent- 
 ative of the custom laws, " again asking pardon, but it 
 slipped out, smuggling is, so to say, a kind of stealing, a 
 kind of cheating and that of a most rank and heinous 
 kind. For, mind you, it ain't stealing from a common 
 man, nor from the likes of you and me, nor from a no- 
 bleman eithe : it's cheating and stealing from his most 
 gracious Majesty himself. For see you, how 'tis, his 
 Majesty he says, 'Every keg of brandy,' says he, 'and 
 every yard of lace and every pipe o' tobacco as is brought 
 into.this here country shall be paid for, so much on, to 
 me, and that's called a tax, miss, and for that there are 
 the custom houses and custom officers — which is me — to 
 see his Majesty paid right and proper his lawful dues. 
 But what does your smuggler do, miss — your rollicking, 
 dare-devil chap of a smuggler? Why he lands his lace 
 and his brandy and his 'baccy unbeknownst and sells 'em 
 on the sly — and pockets the profit ! D'ye see ? — and so 
 he cheats his Majesty, which is a very grievous breaking 
 of the law ; so much so that he might as well murder at 
 once — Kind o' treason, you may say — and that's what 
 makes 'em such desperate chaps. They knows if they're 
 caught at it, with arms about them, and two or three 
 together — it's — clck. " 
 
 Mr. Hobson grasped his own bull neck with an un- 
 pleasantly significant gesture and winked knowingly at 
 the girl, who turned white as death and remained gazing 
 at him with a sort of horrified fascination which he pres- 
 ently noted with an indulgent smile. 
 
 "Don't take on now, my lass — no offence, miss — but 
 I can't bear to see a fine young 'oman like you upset-like 
 — I'm a damned, hem, hem, a real soft hearted fellow.
 
 THE DAY: NOON 287 
 
 Your sweetheart's heels have saved his gullet this time — 
 and though he did crack poor Nat upon the skull (as I 
 can testify for I as good as saw him do it — which makes 
 it a hanging matter twice over I won't deny), yet there's 
 a good few such as him escapes the law and settles down 
 arter, quite respectable-like. A bit o' smuggling now is 
 a thing many a pretty fellow has taken to in his day, and 
 has made a pretty penny out of too, and is none the 
 worse looked to arter, as I said. Aye, and there's many 
 a gentleman and a magistrate to boot as drinks his glass 
 of smuggled brandy and smokes his smuggled baccy and 
 finds them none the worse, oh dear no ! Human nature 
 it is and human nature is a queer thing. Even the ladies, 
 miss, are well-known to be soft upon the smuggled lace : 
 it's twice as cheap you see as t'other, and they can get 
 double as handsome for the money. Begging your par- 
 don — if I may make so bold — " stretching out a great, 
 coarse, tobacco-stained finger and thumb to close them 
 appreciatively upon the hanging lace of Madeleine's neck 
 handkerchief, "may be your spark brought you that 
 there, miss, now? He, he, he — as pretty a bit of French 
 point it is as has ever been my fate to lay hands on — 
 Never fear," as the girl drew back with a gesture of loath- 
 ing from the contact. " I ain't agoing to seize it off you 
 or take you up, he — he — he — eh, Mr. Landale f I'm a 
 man o' my duty, 1 hope, but our orders don't run as far 
 as that." 
 
 " Rupert !" cried Madeleine, piteously turning a dark 
 gaze of anguish at him — it seemed as if she were going 
 to faint. 
 
 He hastened up to her, shouldering the clumsy form of 
 Mr. Augustus Hobson unceremoniously out of the way : 
 the fellow had done his work for the time being, and this 
 last piece of it so efficaciously indeed that his present 
 employer felt, if not remorse, at least a certain pity stir 
 within him at the stricken hopelessness of the girl's 
 aspect. He passed his arm round her waist as she 
 shivered and swayed. "Lean on me," he said, his fine 
 eyes troubled with an unwonted softness and anxiety. 
 
 "Rupert," she whispered, clutching at his sleeve, 
 eagerly fixing him with a look eloquent of unconscious 
 pleading, "all these things this — this man talks of are 
 things which are brought into England — are they not? I
 
 288 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 kno^v that — he was bringing nothing into the country, 
 but he was going to another country upon some im- 
 portant trust, the nature of which he had promised not to 
 reveal. Therefore he cannot be cheating the King, if 
 that is smuggling — Oh Rupert, is there not some grievous 
 mistake ? " 
 
 " INIy poor child," said Rupert, holding her close and 
 tenderly, and speaking with a gentle gravity in which 
 there was this time less hypocrisy, "there is one thing 
 which is smuggled out of England, and it is as dishonest 
 and illegal work as the other, the most daring and dan- 
 gerous smuggling of all in fact ; one in which none but 
 a desperate man would engage — that of gold. " 
 
 "Yes, gold,'" exclaimed the girl sharply, withdrawing 
 herself from her cousin's arms, while a ray of intelligence 
 and hope lit up her face. " Gold for the French King's 
 service." 
 
 Rupert betrayed no emotion ; he drew from the inner 
 pocket of his coat a crushed news-sheet. 
 
 " Deceived there, as well as everywhere else, poor little 
 cousin," he said. "And did the scoundrel say so.? Nay, 
 he is a damnable scoundrel who could betray your trust- 
 fulness to your own sweet face. Gold indeed — but not 
 for the King — gold for the usurper, for the tyrant who was 
 supplied already, no doubt, by the same or similar traitor 
 hands with enough to enable him to escape from the 
 island where he was so justly imprisoned. See here, 
 Madeleine, Bonaparte is actually landed in France : it has 
 all been managed with the most devilish ingenuity and 
 takes the whole world by surprise. And your lover, 
 doubtless, is engaged upon bringing him fresh supplies 
 to enable him to begin again and rack humanity with 
 hideous wars. Oh, he never told you of the Corsican's 
 escape, yet this news is three days old. See you, my 
 dear, this explains the whole mystery, the necessity for 
 absolute secrecy ; all England is friendly to the French 
 monarch; no need to smuggle gold for his aid — but the 
 other. . . . ! It is treason, the blackest treason on every 
 side of it, treason to his King, to his country, to your 
 King, to you. And he would have cozened you with tales 
 of his loyalty to the rightful cause ! " 
 
 " Give me the paper," said Madeleine. A tide of blood 
 had swept into her face ; she was no longer white and
 
 THE DAY: NOON 289 
 
 shaken, but erect and beautiful in strong indignation. 
 Rupert examined her, as if a little doubtful how to take 
 the sudden change ; but he handed her the printed sheet 
 in silence. She read with lips and nostrils expanded by 
 her quick breathing ; then crumpled up the sheet and cast 
 it at his feet. And after a pause, with her princess air of 
 dignity, "I thank you, cousin Rupert," she said ; then, 
 passing him with stately steps, moved towards the house. 
 
 He pressed forward to keep up with her ; and upon the 
 other side, smiling, irrepressible, jocose, Mr. Hobson did 
 the same. 
 
 "You are not fit to go alone," urged the former, while 
 the latter engagingly protruding an elbow, announced 
 that he'd be proud to give her an arm as far as the Hall. 
 
 She drew away from this well-meaning squire of dames 
 with such shuddering distaste, and looked once more so 
 white and worn and sickened after her sudden blaze of 
 passion, that Mr. Landale, seeing that the only kindness 
 was to let her have her will, arrested his companion 
 roughly enough, and allowed her to proceed as she 
 wished. 
 
 And so, with bent head, Madeleine hurried forth. And 
 the same glorious sun smiled down upon her in her an- 
 guish that had greeted her when she hastened an hour 
 before glowing and light-hearted — if, indeed, a heart so 
 full of love could be termed light — to meet her lover ; the 
 same brambles caught her dress, the same bird trilled his 
 song. But Madeleine thought neither of ray nor leaf, nor 
 yet of mating songsters : all the spring world, as she went, 
 was to her strewn with the wreck of her broken hopes, 
 and encompassed by the darkness of her lonely future. 
 
 Mr. Landale and the preventive service man stood some 
 time watching her retreating figure through the wood, 
 and then walked slowly on for a while, in silent com- 
 pany. 
 
 Presently the latter, who during the last part of the in- 
 terview, had begun to feel a little ruffled by the magis- 
 trate's persistently overbearing manner, inquired with 
 something of dudgeon in his voice : " Begging your 
 pardon, sir, what was that I heard the young lady call 
 out just now? 'Gold!' she cries. Is it guineas that 
 
 19
 
 290 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 nipping young man is a taking over seas, if I may make 
 so bold? Now you see, sir, we haven't had no orders 
 about no gold on this station — that sort of thing is mostly 
 done down south. But what I wants to know is : Why, 
 if you knew all about the fellow's little games, you sent 
 us to spy on him ? Ah, poor Nat would want a word or 
 two with you on that score, I fancy ! Now it's as plain 
 as Salisbury . . . . " 
 
 " But I know nothing certain," impatiently interrupted 
 Mr. Landale. "I know no more than you do yourself. 
 Only not being a perfect idiot, I can put two and two 
 together. What in the name of goodness can a man 
 smuggle out of England but gold ? But I wanted the 
 proofs. And your business, it was agreed with the Chief 
 Officer, was to follow my instructions." 
 
 "And so we did," grumbled Mr. Hobson ; " and a pretty 
 business it's turned out ! Nat's to pocket his bludgeoning, 
 I suppose, and I am to bear the blame and lose my share. 
 A cargo of guineas, by God ! I might hav^e nosed it, 
 down south, but here .... Blast it ! But since you was 
 so clever over it, sir, why in blazes — if I may speak so to 
 a gentleman and a magistrate," pursued the man with a 
 rueful explosion of disgust, " didn't you give mei\\Q hint? 
 Why, guineas is contraband of war — it's treason, sir — and 
 guineas is a cargo i\\-^\!s fought for, sir ! I shouldn't have 
 moved with two men in a boat patrol, d'ye think ? I 
 should have had the riding officers, and the water-guard, 
 and a revenue cruiser in the offing, and all tight and 
 regular. But you would have all the credit, and where are 
 you ? and where s my share? and where is Nat? — Bah ! " 
 
 " You are forgetting yourself, officer," said Mr. Landale, 
 looking severely into the eyes of the disappointed pre- 
 ventive man, whose rising ebullition became on the in- 
 stant reduced. 
 
 "So I am, sir, so I am — and beg your pardon. But 
 you must admit, it's almost enough to make .... but 
 never mind, sir, the trick is done. Whatever it may be 
 that that there schooner carries in her bottom, she is free 
 now to take it, barring accident, wherever she pleases. 
 I'll trouble you to look this way, sir." 
 
 They had emerged from the wooded part of the park, 
 and the rising ground on which they stood commanded a 
 wide sea-view, west of the great bay.
 
 THE DAY: NOON 291 
 
 < < • 
 
 There she is again, sir," said Mr. Hobson, waving his 
 broad paw, like a showman displaying his goods, with a 
 sort of enraged self-satisfaction. " There is the schooner, 
 ready to hoist sail as soon as he comes alongside. And 
 that there black point which you may see, if your eyes are 
 good enough, is a six-oared galley with as ship-shaped a 
 crew — if it's the same as I saw making off this morning — 
 as ever pulled. Your Captain Smith, you may take your 
 oath, is at the tiller, and making fun of us two to the lads. 
 In five minutes he will be on board, and then the revenue 
 cutter from the station may give chase if she likes I . . . . 
 And there she is, due to the time — about a mile astern. 
 But bless you, that's all my eye, you may take your oath ! 
 They know well enough that in an open sea they can't 
 run down a Salcombe schooner. But to earn their pay 
 they will hang on till they lose her, and then sail home, 
 all cosy. — I'm thinking," he added slily, with a side glance 
 at the magistrate : "we won't hang him /his time." 
 
 Mr. Landale made no answer ; during the last few 
 minutes his reflections had enabled him to take a new 
 view of the situation. After all the future fate of Captain 
 Jack was of little moment. He had been successfully 
 exposed before Madeleine, whose love for the young man 
 was, as had just been sufficiently proved, chiefly composed 
 of those youthful illusions which dispelled once, never 
 can return. 
 
 Rupert fell gradually into a reverie in which he found 
 curious satisfaction. His work had not been unsuccess- 
 ful, whatever Mr. Hobson's opinion might be. But, as 
 matters stood between Madeleine and her lover, the girl's 
 eyes had been opened in time, and that without scan- 
 dal And even the escape of Captain Jack was, 
 
 upon reflection, the best thing that could have happened. 
 
 And so it was with a return to his usual polite bearing, 
 that he listened to the officer's relapse into expostulation. 
 
 "Now if you had only given me the hint first of all," 
 the man was grumblingly saying, '* and then let me act 
 — for who would have suspected a boat, yacht-rigged like 
 that? — A friend of Sir Adrian's, too ! If you'd only left 
 it to me ! Why that six-oared galley alone is agin the 
 law unless you can prove good reason for it .... as 
 for the vessel herself . . . ." 
 
 "Yes, my dear Mr. Hobson," interrupted Mr. Landale,
 
 292 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 smiling propitiously. " I have no doubt you would have 
 secured him. I have made a mess of it. But now you 
 understand, least said, soonest mended, both for me and 
 (between ourselves, Mr. Hobson) for the young lady." 
 
 The man, in surprise at this sudden alteration of man- 
 ner, stopped short and gaped ; and presently a broad 
 smile, combined with a knowing wink, appeared on his 
 face. He received the guineas that Mr. Landale dropped 
 in his palm with an air of great candour, and, without 
 further parley, acted on the kind advice to repair to the 
 Priory and talk with one Mrs. Puckett the housekeeper, 
 on the subject of corporeal refreshment. 
 
 "Well," said Molly, bursting in upon her sister, who 
 sat by her writing-table, pen in hand, and did not even 
 raise her head at the unceremonious entrance. " This is 
 evidently the day for mysterious disappearances. First 
 Rupert and Sophia ; then my lord and master who is 
 fetched hurriedly to his island (that isle of misfortune !) 
 God knows for what — though /mean to know presently ; 
 then you. Mademoiselle, and Rupert again. It is, faith, 
 quite a comedy. But the result has been that I have had 
 my meals alone, which is not so gay. Sophia is in bed, 
 it turns out ; Rupert out a-riding, on important business. 
 of course ! all he does is desperately important. And 
 there you are — alone in your room, moping. God, child, 
 how pale you are ! What ails you then ? " 
 
 "Molly," cried Madeleine, ignoring Lady Landale's 
 question and feverishly folding the written sheet which 
 lay under her hand, "if you love me, if ever you loved 
 me, will you have this letter conveyed by a safe messen- 
 ger to Scarthey, and given to Rend — to none but Rene, 
 at once .'' Oh, Molly, it will be a service to me, you little 
 guess of what moment ! " 
 
 " Voyez un peu ! " said Lady Landale coolly. " What 
 trust in Molly, all at once ! Aha, I thought it would come. 
 If I love you ? Hum, I'm not so sure about that. If ever 
 I loved you i* — a droll sort of plea, in truth, considering 
 how you have requited my love ! " 
 
 Madeleine turned a dazed look upon her sister, who 
 stood surveying her, glowing like a jewel of dazzling 
 radiance, from her setting of black mantle and black 
 plumed hat. " So you will not ! " she answered hope-
 
 THE DAY: NOON 293 
 
 lessly, and let her forehead fall upon her hand without 
 further protest. 
 
 "But I did not say I would not — as it happens I am 
 going to the island myself. How you stare — oh you re- 
 member now do you? Who told you I wonder? — of 
 course, such a couple as we are, Adrian and I, could not 
 be divided from each other for over half a day, could we ? 
 By the way, I was to convey a gracious invitation to you 
 too. Will you come with me ? — No ? — strange girl. So 
 even give me the letter, I will take it to — no, not to Rene, 
 'tis addressed to Captain Smith, I see. Dear me — you 
 don't mean to say, Madeleine, that you are corresponding 
 with that person ; that he is near us ? What would Tanty 
 say ? " 
 
 "Oh, Molly, cease your scoffs," implored poor Made- 
 leine, wearily. "You are angry with me, well, now rejoice, 
 for I am punished — well punished. Oh, I would tell you 
 all but I cannot ! my heart is too sick. See, you may read 
 the letter, and then you will understand — but for pity's 
 sake go — Do not fail to go ; he will be there on the island 
 at dark — he expects me — Oh, Molly ! I cannot explain — 
 indeed I cannot, and there is no time, it will soon be dusk ; 
 but there is terrible danger in his being there at all." 
 
 Molly took the letter, turned it over with scornful 
 fingers and then popped it in her pocket. " If he expects 
 you," she asked, fixing cold, curious eyes on her sister's 
 distress, " and he is in danger, why do7i/ you go? " 
 
 A flush rose painfully to Madeleine's face, a sob to her 
 throat. " Don't ask me," she murmured, turning away 
 to hide her humiliation. "I have been deceived, he is 
 not what I thought." 
 
 Lady Landale gazed at the shrinking figure for a little 
 while in silence. Then remarking contemptuously : 
 "Well you are a poor creature," turned upon her heel to 
 leave her. As she passed the little altar, she paused to 
 whisk a bunch of violets out of a vase and dry the stems 
 upon her sister's quilt. 
 
 ''Molly," cried Madeleine, in a frenzy, "give me back 
 my letter, or go." 
 
 " I go, I go," said Lady Landale with a mocking laugh. 
 " How sweet your violets smell ! — There, do not agitate 
 yourself : I'm going to meet your lover, my dear. I vow 
 I am curious to see the famous man, at last. "
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 THE NIGHT 
 
 So the blood burned within her, 
 And thus it cried to her : 
 And there, beside the maize field 
 The other one was waiting — 
 He, the mysterious one. 
 
 Luteplayer's Song. 
 
 The mantle of night had already fallen upon the land 
 when Lady Landale, closely wrapped in her warmest 
 furs, with face well ensconced under her close bonnet, 
 and arms buried to the elbow in her muff, sallied from 
 her room on the announcement that the carriage was 
 waiting. As, with her leisurely daintiness, she tripped it 
 down the stairs, she crossed ]\Ir. Landale, and paused a 
 moment, ready for the skirmish, as she noticed the cyni- 
 cal curiosity with which he examined her. 
 
 "Whither, my fair sister," said he, ranging himself 
 with his best courtesy against the bannisters, "so late in 
 the day ? " 
 
 " To my lord and master's side, of course," said Molly. 
 
 "Why — is not Adrian coming back to-night? " 
 
 "Apparently not, since he has graciously permitted me 
 to join him upon his rock. I trust you will not find it too 
 unhappy in our absence : that would be the crowning 
 misfortune of a day when everything seems to have gone 
 wrong. Sophia invisible with her vapours ; Madeleine 
 with the megrim ; and you in and out of the house as 
 excited and secret as the cat when she has licked all the 
 cream. I suppose I shall end by knowing what it is all 
 about. Meanwhile I think I shall enjoy the tranquillity 
 of the island — although I have actually to tear myself 
 away from the prospect of a tete-^-tete evening with 
 you." 
 
 But as Rupert's serenity was not to be moved, her 
 
 294
 
 . THE NIGHT 295 
 
 ladyship hereupon allowed herself to be escorted to the 
 carriage without further parley. 
 
 As she drove away through the dark night, first down 
 the level, well-metalled avenue, then along the uneven 
 country road, and finally through the sand of the beach 
 in which hoofs and tyres sank noiselessly, inches deep, 
 Molly gave herself up, with almost childish zest to the 
 leaven of imagination Here, in this dark car- 
 riage, was reclining, not Lady Landale (whose fate deed 
 had already been signed, sealed and delivered to bring 
 her nothing but disappointment), but her happier sister, 
 still confronted with the fascinating unknown, hurrying 
 under cover of night, within sound of the sea, to that en- 
 thralling lure, a lover — a real lover, ardent, daring, young, 
 ready to risk all, waiting to spread the wings of his boat, 
 and carry her to the undiscovered country. 
 
 Glowing were these fleeting images of the "might have 
 been," angry the sudden relapses into the prose of reality. 
 
 No, Madeleine, the coward, who thought she had loved 
 her lover, was now in her room, weak and weeping, 
 whilst he, no doubt, paced the deck in mad impatience 
 (as a lover should), now tortured by the throes of anxiety, 
 now hugging himself with the thought of his coming 
 bliss .... that bliss that never was to be his. And in 
 the carriage there was only Molly, the strong-hearted but 
 the fettered by tie and vow, the slave for ever of a first 
 girlish fancy but too successfully compassed ; only Lady 
 Landale rejoining her husband in his melancholy soli- 
 tude ; Lady Landale who never — never! awful word! 
 would know the joys which yonder poor fool had had 
 within her grasp and yet had not clutched at. 
 
 Molly had read, as permitted, her sister's letter, and to 
 some purpose ; and scorn of the girl who from some 
 paltry quibble could abandon in danger the man she 
 professed to love, filled her soul to the exclusion of any 
 sisterly or ever womanly pity. 
 
 At the end of half an hour the carriage was stopped by 
 the black shadow of a man, who seemed to spring up 
 from the earth, and who, after a few rapid words inter- 
 changed with the coachman, extinguished both the 
 lights, and then opened the door. 
 
 Leaning on the offered elbow Molly jumped down upon 
 the yielding sand.
 
 296 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 "Ren^?" she asked; for the darkness even on the 
 open beach was too thick to allow of recognition. 
 
 "Rene, your ladyship — or Mademoiselle is it?" an- 
 swered the man in his unmistakable accent. "I must 
 ask ; for, by the voice no one can tell, as your ladyship, 
 or Mademoiselle knows — and the sky is black like a 
 chimney." 
 
 " Lady Landale, Rene," and as he paused, she added, 
 " My sister would not come." 
 
 "Ah, mo7i Dieti / She would not come," repeated the 
 man in tones of dismay ; and the black shadow was 
 struck into a moment of stillness. Then with an audible 
 sigh Mr. Potter roused himself, and saying with melan- 
 choly resignation, "The boat is there, I shall be of return 
 in a minute, My Lady," took the traveller's bag on his 
 shoulder and disappeared. 
 
 The carriage began to crunch its way back in the dark- 
 ness and Molly was left alone. 
 
 In front of her was a faint white line, where the rollers 
 spread their foam with mournful restless fugue of long 
 drawn roar and hissing sigh. 
 
 In the distance, now and then glancing on the crest of 
 the dancing billows, shone the steady light of Scarthey. 
 The rising wind whistled in the prickly star-grass and sea- 
 holly. Beyond these, not a sight, not a sound — the earth 
 was all mystery. 
 
 Molly looked at the light — marking the calm spot where 
 her husband waited for her ; its very calm, its familiar 
 placidity, monotony, enraged her ; she hearkened to the 
 splashing, living waves, to the swift flying gusts of the 
 storm wind, and her soul yearned to their life, and their 
 mysteriousness. 
 
 What she longed for, she herself could not tell. No 
 words can encompass the desire of pent-up young vitality 
 for the unknown, for the ideal, for the impossible. But 
 one thing was overpoweringly real : that was the dread 
 of leaving just then the wide, the open world whose 
 darkness was filled to her with living scenes of freedom 
 and space, and blood-stirring emotions ; of re-entering 
 the silent room under the light ; of consorting with the 
 shadowy personality, her husband ; of feeling the web of 
 his melancholy, his dreaminess, imprison as it were the
 
 THE NIGHT 297 
 
 wings of her imagination and the thoughtful kindness of 
 his gaze, paralyse the course of her hot blood through 
 her veins. 
 
 And yet, thither she was going, must be going ! Ah 
 Madeleine, fool — you may well weep, yonder on your 
 pillow, for the happiness that was yours and that you 
 have dropped from your feeble hands ! 
 
 In a few minutes the black shadow re-appeared close 
 to her. 
 
 "If My Lady will lean on my shoulder, I shall lead her 
 to the boat." And after a few steps, the voice out of the 
 darkness proceeded in explanation : "I have not taken 
 a lantern, I have put out those of the carriage, for I must 
 tell My Lady, that since what arrived this morning, there 
 may be gabelous — they call them the preventive here — in 
 every corner, and the light might bring them, as it does 
 the night papilions, and .... as I thought Mademoi- 
 selle was to accompany you — they might have frightened 
 her. These people want to know so much ! " 
 
 "I know nothing of what has happened this morning, 
 that you speak of as if the whole world must know," 
 retorted Lady Landale coolly. "You are all hatching 
 plots and sitting on secrets, but nobody confides in me. 
 It seems then, that you expected Mademoiselle, my sister, 
 here for some purpose and that you regret she did not 
 come ; may I ask for an explanation ? " 
 
 A few moments elapsed before the man replied, and 
 then it was with embarrassment and diffidence: "For 
 sure, I am sorry. My Lady .... there have been mis- 
 fortunes on the island this morning — nothing though to 
 concern her ladyship — and, as for Mademoiselle, mother 
 
 Margery would have liked to see her, no doubt 
 
 and Maggie the wife also — and — and no doubt also Ma- 
 demoiselle would have liked to come .... What do I 
 know ? " 
 
 "Oh, of course!" said Molly with her little note of 
 mocking laughter. 
 
 Then again they walked a while in silence. As Ren^ 
 lifted his mistress in his arms to carry her over the lick- 
 ing hissing foam, she resumed: " It is well, Rene, you 
 are discreet, but I am not such a fool as people seem to 
 think. As for her, you were right in thinking that she
 
 298 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 might easily be frightened. She was afraid even to come 
 out ! " 
 
 Rene' shoved his boat off, and falling to his sculls, sud- 
 denly relapsed into the old vernacular : "Ah Madame,'' he 
 sighed, c'est bientriste — un geniilhomme si beau — si brave ! " 
 
 During the crossing no further words passed between 
 them. 
 
 "So brave — so handsome.?'' The echo of the words 
 came back to the woman in every lap of the water on the 
 sides of the boat, in every strain of the oars. 
 
 The keel ground against the beach, and Rene leaped 
 out to drag the boat free of the surf As he did so, two 
 blacker outlines segregated themselves from the darkness 
 and a rough voice called out, subdued but distinct : 
 "Savenaye, St. Malo !" 
 
 "Savenaye, St. Malo!" repeated Ren^, and helped 
 Lady Landale to alight. Then one of the figures darted 
 forward and whispered a rapid sentence in the French- 
 man's ear. Ren^ uttered an exclamation, but his mistress 
 intervened with scant patience : 
 
 "My good Rene'," said she, "take the bag into the 
 peel, and come back for me. I have a message for these 
 gentlemen." 
 
 Rene hesitated. As he did so a rustle of anger shook 
 the lady in her silks and furs. " Do you hear me .? " she 
 repeated, and he could guess how her little foot stamped 
 the yielding sand. 
 
 " Oiii, Madame" said he, hesitating no longer. Imme- 
 diately the other two drew near. Molly could just see 
 that they stood in all deference, cap in hand. 
 
 " Madam," began one of these in hurried words, "there 
 is not a moment to be lost : the captain had to remain on 
 board." 
 
 " What !" interrupted Lady Landale with much as- 
 perity, "not come in person ! " She had been straining 
 her eyes to make out somethingof her interlocutor's form, 
 unable to reconcile her mind's picture with the coarse 
 voice that addressed her — And now all her high expecta- 
 tions fell from her in an angry rush. " Have I come all 
 this way to be met by a messenger ! Who are you.?" 
 
 "Madam." entreated the husky voice, " I am the mate 
 of the Peregrine. The captain has directed me to beg 
 and pray you not to be afraid, but to have good courage
 
 THE NIGHT 299 
 
 and confidence in us — the schooner is there ; in five 
 minutes you can be safe on board. You see, madam," 
 continued the man with an earnestness that spoke well of 
 his devotion, "the captain found he couldn't, he dared 
 not leave the ship — he is the only one who knows the 
 bearings of these waters here — any one of us might run 
 her on the bank, and where would we be then, madam, 
 and you, if we were found in daylight still in these 
 parts ? — ' For God's sake, Curwen,' says he, 'implore the 
 lady not to be afraid and tell her to trust, as she has 
 promised, ' so he says. And for God's sake, say I, madam, 
 trust us. In five minutes you will be with him ? Say the 
 word, madam, am I to make the signal ? There he is, 
 eating his heart out. There are all the lads ready waiting 
 for your foot on the ladder, to hoist sail. No time to lose, 
 we are already behind. Shall I signal.?" 
 
 Molly's heart beat violently ; under the sudden im- 
 pulse, the fascination of the black chasm, of the peril, 
 the adventure, the unfathomed, took possession of her, 
 and whirled her on, 
 
 "Yes," she said. 
 
 On the very utterance of the word the man, who had 
 not yet spoken, uncovered a lantern, held it aloft, as 
 rapidly replaced it under his coat, and moved away. 
 
 Almost immediately, against the black pall, behind the 
 dim line of grey that marked the shore, suddenly sprang 
 up three bright points in the form of a triangle. 
 
 It was as if all the darkness around had been filled with 
 life ; as if the first fulfilment of those promises with which 
 it had been drawing this woman's soul was now held out 
 to her to lure her further still. 
 
 "See, madam, how they watch! — By your leave." 
 
 And with no further warning, Molly felt herself seized 
 with uncompromising, but deferential, energy, by a pair 
 of powerful arms ; lifted like a child, and carried away at 
 a bear-like trot. By the splashing she judged it was 
 through the first line of breakers. 'Then she was handed 
 into another irresistible grasp. The boat lurched as the 
 mate jumped in. Then : 
 
 "Now give way, lads," he said, "and let her have it. 
 Those lights must not be burning longer than we can 
 help. Tain't wholesome for any of us." 
 
 And under the pulse of four willing pairs of arms the
 
 300 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 skiff, like a thing of life, clove the black waters and rose 
 to the billows. 
 
 " You see, madam," explained the mate, "we could 
 not do without the lights, to show us where she lay, and 
 give us a straight course. We are all right so long as we 
 keep that top 'un in the middle — but he won't be sorry, 
 I reckon, when he can drop them overboard. They can't 
 be seen from the offing yet, but it's astounding how far a 
 light will reach on a night like this. Cheerily, lads, let 
 her have it ! " 
 
 But Molly heeded him not. She had abandoned herself 
 to the thrilling delight of the excitement. The die was 
 cast — not by her own hand, no one should be able to hold 
 her responsible — she had been kidnapped. Come what 
 might she must now see the adventure out. 
 
 The lights grew larger ; presently a black mass, sur- 
 mounted by a kind of greyish cloud, loomed through the 
 pitch of the night ; and next it vi'as evident that the 
 beacon was hanging over the side of a ship, illuminating 
 its jagged leaping water line. 
 
 A voice, not too loud, yet, even through the distance, 
 ringing clear in its earnestness sounded from above. 
 " Boat ahoy ! what boat is that ? " 
 
 And promptly the helmsman by Molly's side returned : 
 "Savenaye, St. Malo." 
 
 On the instant the lights went out. There was a 
 creaking of block and cordage, and new ghostly clouds 
 rose over the ship — sails loosened to the wind. As the 
 skiff rowers came alongside, boat-hooks leaped into action 
 and gripped the vessel ; an arm, strong as steel, was held 
 out for the passenger as she fearlessly put her foot on the 
 ladder ; another, a moment later, with masterful tender- 
 ness bent round her waist, and she was fairly lifted on 
 board the Feregn7ie. But before her foot touched the 
 deck, she felt upon her lips, laid like a burning seal, a 
 passionate kiss ; and her soul leaped up to it, as if called 
 into sudden life from slumber, like the princess of fairy 
 lore. She heard Madeleine's mysterious lover whisper in 
 her ear : "At last ! Oh, what I have suffered, thinking 
 you would not come ! " 
 
 From the warm shelter of her loosened cloak the violets 
 in her bosom sent forth a wave of sweetness. 
 
 For a moment these two were in all creation alone to
 
 THE NIGHT 301 
 
 each other, while in a circle the Peregrine's crew stood 
 apart in respectful silence : a broad grin of sympathy 
 upon the mouth of every mother's son. 
 
 Released at last, Lady Landale took a trembling step 
 on the deck. Into what strange world had she come 
 this night ? 
 
 The schooner, like a mettled steed whose head is 
 suddenly set free, was already in motion, and with gentle 
 forward swaying leaps rising to the wave and gathering 
 speed under her swelling sails. 
 
 Captain Jack had seized Molly's hand, and the strong 
 clasp trembled round the little fingers ; he said no more 
 to her ; but, in tones vibrating with emotion which all the 
 men, now silently seeking their posts in the darkness, 
 could hear : 
 
 "My lads," he cried, "the lady is safe with us after 
 all. Who shall say that your skipper is not still Lucky 
 Smith? Thank you, my good fellows ! Now we have 
 yet to bring her safe the other side. Meanwhile — no 
 cheering, lads, you know why — there is a hundred guineas 
 more among you the hour we make St. Malo. Stand to, 
 every man. Up with those topsails ! " 
 
 Scarcely had the last words been spoken when, from 
 the offing, on the wings of the wind, came a long-drawn 
 hail, faint through the distance, but yet fatally distinct : 
 "Ahoy, what schooner is that.?" 
 
 Molly, who had not withdrawn her hand, felt a shock 
 pass over Captain Jack's frame. He turned abruptly, and 
 she could see him lean and strain in the direction of the 
 voice. 
 
 The call, after an interval, was repeated. But the 
 outlook was impenetrable, and it was weird indeed to feel 
 that they were seen yet could not see. 
 
 Molly, standing close by his side, knew in every fibre 
 of her own body that this man, to whom she seemed in 
 some inexplicable fashion already linked, was strongly 
 moved. Nevertheless she could hardly guess the ex- 
 tremity of the passion that shook him. It was the frenzy 
 of the rider who feels his horse about to fail him within a 
 span of the winning post ; of the leader whose men waver 
 at the actual point of victory. But the weakness of dis- 
 may was only momentary. Cnlm and clearness of mind 
 returned with the sense of emergency. He raised his
 
 302 
 
 TilK L[(.irr Ol- SCARTFIKY 
 
 i)ij;ht-(H.'iS'i, with a stcatly hand this tiirn;, aiifl Hcaniicd 
 the «l<|)lh '.I l.l.K kiicsH in front ol liini : out of it after a 
 moineiit, tli(;n; scrrricd tf) shape itseK the «iini outline of 
 a 'i.iil, and he knew that he had wailed too lonjf and had 
 l.ill'ii in aj^'iin with tlie preventive; (:utt(T. Then jdancinpr 
 ah»(t, he un(h'r;itood how it war; that the I'r.re^rinr. \vm\ 
 been re(:ojoiis("(|. 
 
 'rh(! overcast sky ha<l p;iilly cleared to windw.ud dtninjj 
 the h'lsl uiinuleH ; a few HtarH jdintcd where hilhi-rto iioth- 
 in)^ IhiI tlir uio'it inipc:netrahie pall had hl^l)^ In the 
 east, the lays of a yet invisihle moon, ed)onj; with faint 
 silver thf; banks of clouds just above tin; horizon, liad 
 rnad(; for the schooner a tell-tale back/aound imleed. 
 
 On brtani no sound was heard now save the struj^j^h; 
 ol ioj)e and < anvas, the yx^-wVxwy ol timber and the swift 
 plashiii)^ in .h ol vv;ili'i aj^ainst Iht lonndcd sides as she 
 sped her ( oni .e. 
 
 " IVIadel(;ine," he said, (ok ibiy (.ontioiliii); his voice, 
 ;iiid biinjMiiff, as h(! spoke, his face close to Molly's to 
 peer anxiously at its imir. I im t while oval, "we ar(; not 
 free yet ; but in ash(Hl linir, with fJod's help, vvcr shall 
 have left tlio:',r infci nir<ldlin;^ fools yonder who would bar 
 oiii vv.iy, mill"; oil! ol Ihc nmninj;. but I < ;iiinot remain 
 with y<iu a moincnl lonjMM ; I must lake the helm myself. 
 Oh, lorjove me lor havinjf broujdil you to this ! And, 
 should you hear liriii)^, for llfraven s sak»* do not lose; 
 coiuajM", See now, I will briii)^ you to your cabin ; there 
 you will find vv.irmth and shelter. And in a little whih;, 
 a very htlle while-, I will retiun to you to tell you all is 
 well. f 'omr, ui y d'snesl love. " 
 
 Oently he would have drawn her toward.s the little deck- 
 ( abin, (Miidin)i; h(;l stcrps, as yet tndutored to Hh; motion 
 of the shi]), when out ol (he black chasm, upon tlu; 
 weatlurrbovv of tin- I'lt rfn iin\ hsiped forth a yellow toiijMie 
 of liidit lrin)M-d wilh led and en( ircle(| by a inddy cloud ; 
 and three seconds later the boom of a jnin bioke with a <lull, 
 oiriiiious clanj^our abov< (he wran)din(^ of se.i and wmd. 
 Molly strai)ditened hersell. " What is that.'' "she; asked. 
 
 " 'I'he v\'arnin); )Mm," he answered, hurriedly, " to say 
 (hat they mcran to see who we are and that if we do not 
 slop till- next will be sholti'd. Time presses, Madeleine, 
 j'(» in (e;n nodiiii)' I We shall soon be on (heir other 
 side, out ol si^ht in daikness aj^ain."
 
 TIIF. NFGHT 303 
 
 " I shall stop willi you. I>» I no tliou|;hl ol inr liiiulcr 
 you. I am not afraid. I want to sco. " 
 
 At tlicso words the U)vcr was struck witli a sur])riso that 
 incited into a proud an<l new joy. lie had loved IViadc- 
 leinc lor her wonian's grace and hei woman's heart ; now, 
 he told himself, he must worship in r also loi her brave 
 soul. Ihd Ihis was no time for useless words. it was 
 not more unsafe for her on deck than in tlie c.-d)in, and 
 ,at the Ihoujdit of her l)(;sidc him during the (onnng 
 struggle the strength of a god rose within hini. " Come," 
 he answered, briefly, and moved with her to the helm 
 which a sailor silently surrendered to him whilst she 
 steadied herself by holding lo llie binnacle (he only 
 place on board at thai time where (from shetir necessily) 
 any lijdit had been allowed t<» remain. It was faint 
 enough, but th(' reflection from the compass-board, as he 
 bent (o cxandne it, was Huflicicnt lo make just visible, 
 with a dim fantastic glow, the strong beauty of his face, 
 and put a Hash into each wide; dilated eye. 
 
 And thus did Molly, for the first time, sec Capl.iin ja( k. 
 She sank down at tin- foot of the binnach;, her hands 
 clasped round her knees, as if hugging the new rajjturc as 
 closely to her as she could. And looking up at tlie alert 
 figure before her which she now began to discern more 
 clearly under the lightening sky ; at tlie face which slu- di- 
 vined, although she coidd only see the watchfid gleam of 
 the eye» as now and again they sought her (h)wn in lh<- 
 shadow at his feet, she fell herself liindh- in answer to 
 the glow of his glorious life-energy. They were going, 
 side by side, this young hero of romance and she, to 
 fight lln;ir way through some unKnown peril! 
 
 "Madeleine, my sweet bri<lc, my |)rav<; love, they are 
 about to lire a)^ain, an<I this time you will hear the shot 
 burring; but be not afraid, it will strike rdn-ad of us." 
 
 Another Hash sprang out oflhenighl, much nearer this 
 
 time, and louder, for it belched forth a shot which 
 
 ploughed its way in the water across the schooner's bow. 
 
 " lam not afraid," said Molly again ; and she laughed 
 
 a little li(;rce, n<'rvous laugh. 
 
 "They are between us and the open sea. Thus far 
 the luck is on their side. Had you come but half an hour 
 sooner, Madeleine, we should Ix; running as Iree as any 
 king's ship. Now they think, no doul)t, they will drive
 
 304 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 me on to the sand ; but," he tossed back his head with a 
 superb gesture ; "there is no power from heaven or hell 
 that can keep me out of my course to-night." 
 
 By this time the preventive cutter was faintly discerni- 
 ble two cables length on the larboard bow. There came 
 another hail — a loud, husky bellow from over the water, 
 " Schooner ahoy ! Heave to, or we'll sink you ! " 
 
 "Madeleine," said Captain Jack; "come closer to 
 me, lie down, behind me, quick — The next shot will be 
 in my rigging. Heave to ? — with my treasures, my bride 
 on board and a ten knot breeze. ... I" And he looked 
 down at Molly, laughing in his contempt. Then he 
 shouted some order which brought the Peregrine some 
 points more off the wind, and she bounded forward with 
 renewed zest. "Sink us ! Why don't you fire now, you 
 lubbers ? " He glanced back over his shoulder to see the 
 beacon of Scarthey straight over the stern. " You have 
 got us in line with the light, and that's your last chance. 
 In another minute I shall be past you. Ah, I can see you 
 now, my fine fellows ! — Courage, Madeleine." 
 
 To Molly, of course, his words conveyed no meaning, 
 except that the critical moment had come, that the ship 
 which carried her flying upon the water like a living thing, 
 eager, yet obedient in all its motions to the guiding will of 
 the man beside her, was rushing to the fray. The thought 
 fired her soul, and she sprang up to look over the side. 
 
 "What," she exclaimed, for the little cutter on close 
 quarters looked insignificant indeed by the side of the 
 noble vessel that so scornfully bore down on her. " Is 
 that all ! " 
 
 "They have a gun, and we have none,'' answered Cap- 
 tain Jack. "Down, Madeleine! down behind, in the 
 name of God ! " 
 
 "Why should I crouch if you stand up V 
 
 The man's heart swelled within him ; but as he looked 
 with proud admiration at the cloaked and hooded figure 
 by his side, the cutter's gun fired for the third time. With 
 roar and hiss the shot came over the bow of the schooner, 
 as she dipped into the trough, and raking the deck, 
 crashed through her side on the quarter, Molly gave a 
 shriek and staggered. 
 
 A fearful malediction burst from Captain Jack's lips : 
 he left the tiller and sprang to her.
 
 THE NIGHT 305 
 
 One of the hands, believing his skipper to have been 
 struck, ran to the helm, and again put the vessel on her 
 proper course which a few moments later was to make 
 her shoot past the revenue cutter. 
 
 " Wounded, Madeleine ! Wounded through my fault ! 
 By the living God, they shall pay for this ! " 
 
 " Oh," groaned Molly, "something has cut me in the 
 arm and shoulder." Then rapidly gathering composure, 
 "But it's not much, I can move it." 
 
 At one glance the sailor saw from the position of the 
 shot hole in the vessel's side that the wound could only 
 have been made by a splinter. But the possibility of 
 exposing his beloved to such another risk was not to be 
 borne — a murderous rush of blood flew to his brain. 
 
 The cutter, perceiving the tactics of the swifter schooner, 
 was now tacking about with the intention of bringing the 
 gun to bear upon her once more as she attempted to slip 
 by. But Captain Jack in his new-fanned fury had made 
 up his mind to a desperate cast of the die. 
 
 " Starboard, hard a starboard," he called out in a voice 
 that his men had known well in old fighting days and 
 which was heard as far as the cutter itself. "They shall 
 not fire that gun again ! '" 
 
 With a brief, ' ' Starboard it is, sir," the man who had 
 taken the helm brought the ship round, and the silent, 
 active crew in a trice were ready to go about. Majestic- 
 ally the schooner changed her course, and as the mean- 
 ing of the manoeuvre became fearfully apparent, shouts 
 and oaths arose in confusion from the cutter. 
 
 "What are you going to do?" eagerly asked Molly, 
 enthralled by the superb motion of the vessel under her 
 foot as it swept round and increased speed upon the new 
 tack. 
 
 He held her in his arms. His hand had sought her 
 wounded shoulder and pressed the lacerated spot in his 
 effort to staunch the precious blood that rose warm through 
 the cloth, torturing his cold fingers. 
 
 " I am going to clear those men from our way to free- 
 dom and to love ! I am going to sink that boat : they 
 shall pay with their lives for this ! Come to the other side, 
 Madeleine, and watch how my stout Peregrine sweeps 
 our course — and then I may see how these scoundrels 
 have mangled you, my love. But, nay, this is no sight 
 20
 
 3o6 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 for you. Hold on close to me, sweet, and hide your 
 eyes while they go." 
 
 He steadied himself firmly with one hand on the rig- 
 ging- 
 
 Now musket shots flashed on board the cutter in quick 
 
 succession, and sundry balls whizzed over the poop, in- 
 tended for the helmsman by their side. Captain Jack 
 gnashed his teeth, as the menacing drone of one of them 
 came perilously close to the beloved head by his cheek. 
 
 " Look out, every man. We'll run her down ! " he 
 called. His voice was like the blast of bugles. Cheers 
 broke out from every part of the ship, drowning the yells 
 of execration and the shouts of fear from below. And 
 now, with irresistible sway, the rushing Peregri7ie heavy 
 and powerful was closing and bearing down upon her 
 frailer enemy. 
 
 There was a spell of suspense when all was silence, 
 save the rush and turmoil of the waters, and the flapping 
 of the cutter's sails, helpless for the moment in the teeth 
 of the breeze. Like a charging steed the schooner seemed 
 to leap at her foe. Then came the shock. There was a 
 brief check in her career, she rose by the head ; the rig- 
 ging strained and sighed, the masts swayed groaning, 
 but stood. Over the bows, in the darkness was heard a 
 long-drawn crash, was seen a vi'hite wall of foammg 
 water rising silently to break the next moment with a 
 great roar. 
 
 The cutter, struck obliquely amidships, was thrown 
 straightway on her beam ends : the Peregrine, with every 
 sail spread and swollen, held her as the preying bird with 
 outstretched wings holds its quarry, and pressed her 
 down until she began to fill and settle. It was with 
 wide-open eyes, with eager, throbbing heart that ]\Iolly 
 watched it all. 
 
 "Lights, my lads," cried Captain Jack, with a shout 
 of exultation, when the anxious instant had passed. 
 "Take in every man you can save but handspike is the 
 word for the first who shows fight ! Curwen, do you get 
 her clear again." 
 
 All around upon the deck, sprang rumour and turmoil, 
 came shouts and sounds of scuffling and the rushing of 
 feet; from the blank waters came piteous calls for help. 
 But paying little heed to aught but Molly, Captain Jack
 
 THE NIGHT 307 
 
 seized a lighted lantern from the hands of a passing sailor 
 and drew her aside. 
 
 Fevered with pain and fascinated by the horror of fight 
 and death's doings, yet instinctively remembering to pull 
 her hood over her face, she allowed herself to be taken 
 into the little deck cabin. 
 
 He placed the lantern upon the table : 
 
 "Rest here," he said quickly, once more striving to 
 see her beneath the jealous shade. "I must find out if 
 anything is amiss on board the ship and attend to these 
 drowning men — even before you, my darling ! But I 
 shall be back instantly. You are not faint ? " 
 
 The light shone full on his features which Molly eagerly 
 scanned from her safe recess. When she met his eyes, 
 full of the triumph of love and hope, her soul broke into 
 fierce revolt — again she felt upon her lips that kiss of 
 young passionate love that had been the first her life had 
 ever known. . . . and might be the last, for the dis- 
 closure was approaching apace. 
 
 She was glad of the respite. 
 
 " Go," she said with as much firmness as she could 
 muster. ' ' Let me not stand between you and your duty. 
 I am strong," 
 
 Strong indeed — Captain Jack might have wondered 
 whence had come to this gentle Madeleine this lioness- 
 strength of soul and body, had he had time to wonder, 
 time for aught but his love thoughts and his fury, as he 
 dashed back again panting for the moment when he could 
 have her to himself. 
 
 "Any damage, Curwen ? " 
 
 "Bowsprit broken, and larboard bulwark stove in, other- 
 wise everything has stood." 
 "Casualties.? " 
 
 "No, sir. We have three of the cutter's men on board 
 already. They swarmed over the bows. One had his 
 cutlass out and had the devil's impudence to claim the 
 schooner, but a boat-hook soon brought him to reason. 
 There tliey be, sir," pointing to a darker group huddled 
 round the mast. "I have lowered the gig to see if we 
 can pick up the others, damn them ! " 
 
 "As soon as they are all on board bring them aft, I 
 will speak to them." 
 
 When, with a master's eye, he had rapidly inspected
 
 3o8 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 his vessel from the hold to the rigging, without finding 
 aught to cause anxiety for its safety, Captain Jack re- 
 turned to the poop, and there found the party of prisoners 
 arranged under the strong guard of his own crew. IVIolly 
 stood, wrapped up in her cloak, at the door of the cabin, 
 watching. 
 
 One of the revenue men came forward and attempted 
 to speak — but the captain impatiently cut him short. 
 
 "I have no time to waste in talk, my man," he said 
 commandingly. "How many were you on board the 
 cutter ? " 
 
 " Nine," answered the man sullenly. 
 
 " How many have we got here ? " 
 
 "Six, sir," interposed Curwen. "Those three," point- 
 ing to three disconsolate and dripping figures, "were 
 all we could pick up." 
 
 "Hark ye, fellows," said the captain. "You barred 
 my road, I had to clear you away. You tried to sink me, 
 I had to sink you. You have lost three of your ship- 
 mates, you have yourselves to blame for it ; your shot has 
 drawn blood from one for whom I would have cut down 
 forty times your number. I will send you back to shore. 
 Away with you ! No, I will hear nothing. Let them 
 have the gig, Curwen, and four oars." 
 
 "And now God speed the Peregrine," cried Jack Smith, 
 as the revenue men pushed off in the direction of the 
 light and the wind was again swelling every sail of his 
 gallant ship. " We are well out of our scrape. Shape 
 her course for St. Malo, Curwen. If this wind holds 
 we should be there by the nineteenth in the morning, at 
 latest."
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 THE FIGHT FOR THE OPEN 
 
 As o'er the grass, beneath the larches there 
 We gaily stepped, the high noon overhead, 
 Then Love was born — was born so strong and fair. 
 Knowest thou ! Love is dead. 
 
 Gipsy Song. 
 
 At last he was free. He had wrested his bride and the 
 treasure trusted to his honour from the snares so unex- 
 pectedly laid on his path ; whatever troubles might remain 
 stored against him in the dim distance of time, he would 
 not reck them now. The present and the immediate 
 future were full of splendour and triumph. 
 
 All those golden schemes worked out under yonder 
 light of Scarthey — God bless it — now receding in the gloom 
 behind his swift running ship, whether m the long 
 watches of the night, or in the recent fevered resolves of 
 imminent danger, they had come to pass after all ! And 
 she, the light of his life, was with him. She had trusted 
 her happiness, her honour, herself, to his love. The 
 thought illumined his brain with glory as he rushed back to 
 the silent muffled figure that still stood awaiting his coming. 
 
 " At last ! " he said, panting in the excess of his joy ; 
 "At last, Madeleine .... I can hardly believe it! But 
 selfish brute that I am, you must be crushed with fatigue. 
 My brave darling, you would make me forget your tender 
 woman's frame, and you are wounded ! '' 
 
 Supporting her — for the ship, reaching the open sea, had 
 begun to roll more wildly — he led her back into the little 
 room now lighted by the fitful rays of a swinging lamp. 
 With head averted, she suffered herself to be seated on a 
 kind of sofa couch. 
 
 When he had closed the door, he seized her hand, on 
 which ran streaks of half-dried blood, and covered it with 
 kisses. 
 
 309
 
 310 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 "Ah, Madeleine! here in the sanctuary I had prepared 
 for you, where I thought you would be so safe, so guard- 
 ed, tell me that you forgive me for having brought this 
 injury to you. Wounded, torn, bleeding .... I who 
 would give all my blood, my life, if life were not so pre- 
 cious to me now that you have come into it, to save you 
 from the slightest pain ! At least here you are secure, here 
 you can rest, but — but there is no one to wait on you, 
 Madeleine." He fell on his knees beside her, "Made- 
 leine, my wife, you must let me tend you." Then, as 
 she shivered slightly, but did not turn to him, he went on 
 in tones of the most restrained tenderness mingled with 
 humblest pleading : 
 
 " Had it not been for your accident, I had not ventured 
 even to cross the threshold of this room. But your wound 
 must be dressed ; darling, darling, allow me, forgive me ; 
 the risk is too great." 
 
 Rising to his feet again he gently pulled at her cloak, 
 Molly spoke not a word, but untied it at the neck and let 
 it fall away from her fair young body; and keeping her 
 hooded face still rigidly averted, she surrendered her 
 wounded arm. 
 
 He muttered words of distress at the sight of the broad 
 blood stains ; stepped hurriedly to a little cupboard where 
 such surgical stores as might be required on board were 
 hoarded, and having selected scissors, lint, and bandages, 
 came back and again knelt down by her side to cut off, 
 with eager, compassionate hands, the torn and maculated 
 sleeve. 
 
 The wound was but a surface laceration, and a man 
 wouldnot have given a thought to it in the circumstances. 
 But to see this soft, white woman's skin, bruised black in 
 parts, torn with a horrid red gap in others; to see the beauty 
 of this round arm thus brutally marred, thus twitching with 
 pain — it was monstrous, hideously unnatural in the lover's 
 eyes ! 
 
 With tenderness, but unflinchingly, he laved the mangled 
 skin with cool, fresh water ; pulled out, with far greater 
 torture to himself than to her, some remaining splinters 
 embedded in the flesh ; covered the wound with lint, and 
 finished the operation by a bandage as neat as his neat 
 sailor's touch, coupled with some knowledge of surgery, 
 gained in the experiences of his privateering days, could
 
 THE FIGHT FOR THE OPEN 311 
 
 accomplish it. He spoke little : only a word of encour- 
 agement, of admiration for her fortitude now and then ; 
 and she spoke not at all during the ministration. She had 
 raised her other hand to her eyes, with a gesture natural to 
 one bracing herself to endurance, and had kept it there 
 until, his task completed, her silence, the manner in which 
 she hid her face from him awoke in him all that was best 
 and loftiest in his generous heart. 
 
 As he rose to his feet and stood before her, he too dared 
 not speak for fear of bruising what he deemed an ex- 
 quisite maidenliness, before which his manhood was 
 abashed at itself. For some moments there was no sound 
 in the cabin save that of the swift rushing waters behind 
 the wooden walls and of the labour and life of the ship 
 under full sail ; then he saw the tumultuous rising of her 
 bosom, and thought she was weeping. 
 
 " Madeleine," he cried with passionate anxiety, " speak ! 
 Let me see your face — are you faint.? Lie upon this 
 couch. Let me get you wine — oh that these days were 
 passed and I could call you wife and never leave you 1 
 Madeleine, my love, speak ! " 
 
 Molly rose to her feet, and with a gesture of anger 
 threw off her hood and turned round upon him. And 
 there in the light of the lamp, he glared like one distraught 
 at the raven locks, the burning eyes of a strange woman. 
 
 She was very pale. 
 
 "No," said Molly, defiantly, when twice or thrice his 
 laboured breath had marked the passing of the horrible 
 moment, "I am not Madeleine." Then she tried to 
 smile ; but unconsciously she was frightened, and the 
 smile died unformed as she pursued at random : 
 
 " You know me — perhaps by hearsay — as I know you, 
 Captain Smith." 
 
 But he, shivering under the coldness of his disappoint- 
 ment, answered in a kind of weary whisper : 
 
 "Who are you — you who speak with her voice, who 
 stand at her height and move and walk as she does ? I 
 have seen you surely — Ah, 1 know .... Madam, what 
 a cruel mockery ! And she, where is she ? " 
 
 Still staring at her with widely dilated eyes, he seized 
 his forehead between his hands. The gesture was one 
 of utter despair. Before this weakness Molly promptly 
 resumed the superiority of self-possession.
 
 o 
 
 12 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 " Yes," she said, and this time the smile came back to 
 her face, " I am Lady Landale, and my sister Madeleine 
 — I grieve to have to say so — has not had that courage 
 for which you gave her credit to-night.'' 
 
 Little was required at a moment like this to transmute 
 such thoughts as seethed in the man's head to a burst of 
 fury. Fury is action, and action a relief to the strained 
 heart. There was a half-concealed, unintended mockery 
 in her tones which brought a sudden fire of anger to his 
 eyes. He raised both hands and shook them fiercely 
 above his head : 
 
 " But why — why in the name of heaven — has such a 
 trick been played on me .... at such a time .-' " 
 
 He paused, and trembling with the effort, restrained 
 himself to a more decent bearing before the woman, the 
 lady, the friend's wife. His arms fell by his side, and he 
 repeated in lower tones, though the flame of his gaze 
 could not be subdued : 
 
 " Why this deception, this playing with the blindness 
 of my love.? Why this comedy, which has already had 
 one act so tragic ? — Yes, think of it, madam, think of the 
 tragedy this is now in my life, since she is left behind 
 and I never now, with these men's lives to account for, 
 may go back and claim her who has given me her troth ! 
 Already I staked the fortune of my trust, on the bare 
 chance that she would come. What though her heart 
 failed her at the eleventh hour? — God forgive her for it ! 
 — surely she never sanctioned this masquerade? .... 
 Oh no ! she would not stoop to such an act, and human 
 life is not a thing to jest upon. She never played this 
 trick, the thought is too odious. What have you done ! 
 Had I known, had I had word sooner — but half an hour 
 sooner — those corpses now rolling under the wave with 
 their sunken ship would still be live men and warm, 
 .... And I — I should not be the hopeless outlaw, the 
 actual murderer that tliis night's work has made of me ! " 
 
 His voice by degrees rose once more to the utmost ring 
 of bitterness and anger. Molly, who had restored her 
 cloak to her shoulders and sat down, ensconced in it as 
 closely as her swaddled arm would allow her, contem- 
 plated him with a curious mixture of delight and terror ; 
 delight in his vigour, his beauty, above everything in his 
 mastery and strength ; and delight again at the new thrill
 
 THE FIGHT FOR THE OPEN 313 
 
 of the fear it imposed upon her daring- soul. Then she 
 flared into rage at the thought of the coward of her blood 
 who had broken faith with such a man as this, and she 
 melted all into sympathy with his anger — A right proper 
 man most cruelly used and most justifiably wrathful ! 
 
 And she, being: a woman whose face was at most times 
 as a book on which to read the working of her soul, there 
 was something in her look, as in silence she listened and 
 gazed upon him, which struck him suddenly dumb. Such 
 a look on a face so like, yet so unlike, that of his love was 
 startling in the extreme — horrible. 
 
 He stepped back, and made as if he would have rushed 
 from the room. Then bethinking himself that he was a 
 madman, he drew a chair near her in a contrary mood, 
 sat down, and fixed his eyes upon her very steadily. 
 
 She dropped her long lids, and demurely composed her 
 features by some instinct that women have, rather than 
 from any sense of the impression she had produced. 
 
 A little while they sat thus again in silence. In the 
 silence, the rolling of the ship and the manner in which, 
 as she raced on her way, she seemed to breathe and strain, 
 worked in with the mood of each ; in his, with the storm 
 and stress of his soul ; in hers, as the very expression of 
 her new freedom and reckless pleasure. 
 
 Then he spoke ; the strong emotion that had warmed 
 her had now left his voice. It was cold and scornful. 
 
 "Madam, I await your explanation. So far, I find my- 
 self only the victim of a trick as unworthy and cruel as it 
 is purposeless." 
 
 She had delayed carrying out her mission with the most 
 definite perverseness. She could not but acknowledge 
 the justice of his reproof, realise the sorry part she must 
 play in his eyes, the inexcusable folly of the whole pro- 
 ceeding, and yet she was strung to a very lively indigna- 
 tion by the tone he had assumed, and suddenly saw her- 
 self in the light of a most disinterested and injured virtue. 
 
 "Captain Smith," she exclaimed, flashing a hot glance 
 at him, " you assume strangely the right to be angry with 
 me ! Be angry if you will with things as they are ; rail 
 against fate if you will, but be grateful to me. — I have 
 risked much to serve you." 
 
 The whole expression of his face changed abruptly to 
 one of eager, almost entreating, inquiry.
 
 314 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 " Do me the favour," she continued, " to look into the 
 pocket of my cloak — my arm hurts me if I move — you 
 will find there a letter addressed to you. I was adjured 
 to see that it should reach you in safety. I promised to 
 place it in your own hands. This could hardly have been 
 done sooner, as you know." 
 
 The words all at once seemed to alter the whole situa- 
 tion. He sprang- up and came to her quickly. 
 
 "Oh, forgive me, make allowances for me, Lady 
 Landale, I am quite distracted ! " There had returned a 
 tinge of hope into his voice. " Where is it.? " he eagerly 
 asked, seeking, as directed, for the pocket. "Ah! " and 
 mechanically repeating, "Forgive me ! " he drew out the 
 letter at last and retreated, feverishly opening it under the 
 light of the lamp. 
 
 Molly had turned round to watch. Up to this she had 
 felt no regret for his disillusion, only an irritable heat of 
 temper that he should waste so much love upon so poor 
 an object. But now all her heart went to him as she saw 
 the sudden greyness that fell on his face from the reading 
 of the very first line ; there was no indignation, no blood- 
 stirring emotion ; it was as if a cold pall had fallen upon 
 his generous spirit. The very room looked darker when 
 the fire within the brave soul was thus all of a sudden 
 extinguished. 
 
 He read on slowly, with a kind of dull obstinacy, and 
 when he came to the miserable end continued looking at 
 the paper for the moment. Then his hand fell ; slowly 
 the letter fluttered to the floor, and he let his eyes rest 
 unseeingly, wonderingly upon the messenger. 
 
 After a little while words broke from him, toneless, 
 the mere echo of dazed thoughts : "It is over, all over. 
 She has lost her trust. She does not love me any 
 more." 
 
 He picked up the letter again, and sitting down placed 
 it in front of him on the table. "Tis a cruel letter, 
 madam, that you have brought me," he said then, looking 
 up at Molly with the most extraordinary pain in his eyes. 
 "A cruel letter ! Yet 1 am the same man now that I was 
 this morning when she swore she would trust me to the 
 end — and she could not trust me a few hours longer ! 
 Why did you not speak ? One word from you as you 
 stepped upon the ship would have saved my soul from
 
 THE FIGHT FOR THE OPEN 315 
 
 the guilt of these men's death ! " Then with a sharper 
 uplifting- of his voice, as a new aspect of his misfortune 
 struck him : "And you — you, too ! What have I to do 
 with you, Adrian's wife? He does not know ? " 
 
 She did not reply, and he cried out, clapping his hands 
 together : 
 
 " It only wanted this. My God, it is I — I, his friend, 
 who owes him so much, who am to cause him such fear, 
 such misery ! Do you know, madam, that it is impossible 
 that I should restore you to him for days yet. And then 
 when, and where, and how ? God knows ! Nothing 
 must now come' between me and my trust. I have 
 already dishonourably endangered it. To attempt to re' 
 turn with you to-night, as perhaps you fancy I will — as, 
 of course, I would instantly do had I alone myself and 
 you to consider, would be little short of madness. It 
 would mean utter ruin to many whom I have pledged 
 myself to serve. And yet Adrian — my honour pulls me 
 two ways — poor Adrian ! What dumb devil possessed 
 you that you did not speak before. Had you no thought 
 for your woman's good name.? Ill-fated venture, ill-fated 
 venture, indeed ! Would God that shot had met me in its 
 way — had only my task been accomplished ! " 
 
 He buried his head in his hands. 
 
 Lady Landale flushed and paled alternately, parted her 
 lips to speak, and closed them once more. What could 
 she say, and how excuse herself? She did not repent 
 what she had done, though it had been sin all round ; she 
 had little reck of her woman's good name, as he called it ; 
 the death of the excise men weighed but lightly, if at all, 
 upon her conscience ; the thought of Adrian was only 
 then a distasteful memory to be thrust away ; nay — even 
 this man's grief could not temper the wild joy that was in 
 her soul to-night. Fevered with fatigue, with excitement, 
 by her wound, her blood ran burning in her veins, and 
 beat faster in every pulse. 
 
 And as she felt the ship rise and fall, and knew that 
 each motion was an onward leap that separated her 
 further and ever further from dull home and dull husband, 
 and isolated her ever more completely with her sister's 
 lover, she exulted in her heart. 
 
 Presently he lifted his head. 
 
 "Forgive me," he said, 'T believe that you meant
 
 3i6 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 most kindly, and as you say, I should be grateful. Your 
 service is ill-requited by my reproaches, and you have 
 run risk indeed — merciful Heaven, had my old friend's 
 wife been killed upon my ship through my doings ! But 
 you see I cannot command myself; you see how I am 
 situated. You must forgive me. All that can be done to 
 restore you to your home as soon as possible shall be 
 done, and all, meanwhile, to mitigate the discomfort you 
 must suffer here — And for your good intention to her and 
 me, I thank you." 
 
 He had risen, and now bowed with a dignity that sat 
 on his sailor freedom in no wise awkwardly. She, too, 
 with an effort, stood up as if to arrest his imminent de- 
 parture. A tall woman, and he but of average height, 
 their eyes were nearly on a level. For a second or two her 
 dark gaze sought his with a strange hesitation, and then, 
 as if the truth in him awoke all the truth in her, the 
 natural daring of her spirit rose proudly to meet this kin- 
 dred soul. She would let no falsehood, no craven femi- 
 nine subterfuge intervene between them. 
 
 "Do not thank me," she exclaimed, glowing with a 
 brilliant scorn in which the greatness of her beauty, all 
 worn as she was, struck him into surprise, yet evoked no 
 spark of admiration. " What I did I did, to gratify my- 
 self. Oh, aye, if I were as other women I should smile 
 and take your compliments, and pose as the martyr and 
 as the self-sacrificing devoted sister. But I will not. It 
 was nothing to me how Madeleine got in or out of her 
 love scrapes. I would not have gone one step to help 
 her break her promise to you, or even to save your life, 
 but that it pleased me so to do. Madeleine has never 
 chosen to make me her confidant. I would have let her 
 manage her own affairs gaily, had I had better things to 
 occupy my mind — but I had not. Captain Smith. Life at 
 Pulwick is monotonous. I have roaming blood in my 
 veins : the adventure tempted, amused me, fascinated 
 me — and there you have the truth ! Of course I could 
 have given the letter to the men and sent them back to 
 you with it — it was not because of my promise that I did 
 not do it. Of course I could have spoken the instant I 
 
 got on board, perhaps " here a flood of colour dyed 
 
 her face with a gorgeous conscious crimson, and a dim- 
 ple faintly came and went at the corner of her mouth,
 
 THE FIGHT FOR THE OPEN 317 
 
 "perhaps I would have spoken. But then, you must re- 
 member, you closed my lips ! " 
 
 " My God ! " said Captain Jack, and looked at her with 
 a sort of horror. 
 
 But this she could not see for her eyes were downcast. 
 "And now that I have come," she went on, and would 
 have added, " I am glad I did," but that all of a sudden a 
 new bashfulness came upon her, and she stammered in- 
 stead, incoherently: "As for Adrian — Rend knew I had 
 a message for you, and Rene will tell him — he is not stupid 
 — you know — Rend, I mean." 
 
 " I am glad," answered the man gravely, after a pause, 
 " if you have reasonable grounds for believing that your 
 husband knows you to be on my ship. He will then be 
 the less anxious at your disappearance : for he knows too, 
 madam, that his wife will be as honoured and as guarded 
 in my charge as she would be in her mother's house." 
 
 He bowed again in a stately way and then immediately 
 left her. 
 
 Molly sank back upon her couch, and she could not 
 have said why, burst into tears. She felt cold now, and 
 broken, and her stiffening wound pained her. But never- 
 theless, as she lay upon the little velvet pillow, and wept 
 her rare tears were strangling sobs, the very ache of her 
 wound had a strange savour that she would not have 
 exchanged for any past content. 
 
 Rene, having obeyed his mistress's orders, and left her 
 alone with the sailors on the beach, withdrew within the 
 shelter of the door, but remained waiting, near enough 
 to be at hand in case he should be called. 
 
 It was still pitch dark and the rollers growled under a 
 rough wind ; he could catch the sound of a man's voice, 
 now and again, between the clamour of the sea and the 
 wuthering of the air, but could not distinguish a word. 
 Presently, however, this ceased, and there came to him the 
 unmistakable regular beat of oars retreating. The inter- 
 view was over, and breathing a sigh of relief at the thought 
 that, at last, his master's friend would soon be setting 
 on his way to safety, the servant emerged to seek her 
 ladyship. 
 
 A few minutes later he dashed into Sir Adrian's room 
 with a livid face, and poured forth a confused tale :
 
 3i8 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 Milady had landed without Mademoiselle ; had stopped 
 to speak to two of the Peregrine, whilst he waited apart. 
 The men had departed in their boat. 
 
 " The /*erc^ri>2e men 1 But the ship has been out of 
 sight these eight hours ! " ejaculated Sir Adrian, bewil- 
 dered. Then, catching fear from his servant's distraught 
 countenance : 
 
 "My wife," he exclaimed, bounding up; and added, 
 "you left her, Renny ? " 
 
 The man struck his breast : he had searched and called 
 .... My Lady was nowhere to be found. " As God is 
 my witness," he repeated, " I was within call. My Lady 
 ordered me to leave her. Your honour knows My Lady 
 has to be obeyed." 
 
 "Get lanterns!" said Sir Adrian, the anguish of a 
 greater dread driving the blood to his heart. Even to one 
 who knew the ground well, the isle of Scarthey, on a 
 black, stormy night, with the tide high, was no safe 
 wandering ground. For a moment, the two — comrades 
 of so many miserable hours — faced each other with 
 white and haggard faces. Then with the same deadly 
 fear in their hearts, they hurried out into the soughing 
 wind, down to the beach, baited on all sides by the swift- 
 darting hissing surf. Running their lanterns close to the 
 ground, they soon found, by the trampled marks upon 
 the sand, where the conclave had been held. From thence 
 a double row of heavy footprints led to the shelving bit 
 of beach where it was the custom for boats to land from 
 seawards. 
 
 " See, your honour, see," cried Rene, in deepest agita- 
 tion, " the print of this little shoe, here — and there, and 
 here again, right down to the water's edge. Thank God 
 — thank God ! I\Iy Lady has had no accident. She has 
 gone with the sailors to the boat. Ah 1 here the tide has 
 come — we can see no farther." 
 
 " But why should she have gone with them .? " came, 
 after a moment, Sir Adrian's voice out of the darkness. 
 
 "Surely that is strange — and yet Yes, that is 
 
 indeed her foot-print in the sand." 
 
 "And if your honour will look to sea, he will perceive 
 the ship's lights yonder, upon the water. That is the cap- 
 tain's ship. . . . Your honour, I must avow to you that I 
 have concealed something from you — it was wrong, in-
 
 THE FIGHT FOR THE OPEN 319 
 
 deed, and now I am punished — but that poor Monsieur 
 the Captain, 1 was so sorry for him, and he so enamoured. 
 He had made a plan to lift off Mademoiselle Madeleine 
 with him to-night, marry her in France ; and that was 
 why he came back again, at the risk of his life. He sup- 
 plicated me not to tell you, for fear you would wish to 
 prevent it, or think it your duty to. Mademoiselle had 
 promised, it seemed, and he was mad with her joy, the 
 poor gentleman ! and as sure of her faith as if she had 
 been a saint in Heaven. But My Lady came alone, your 
 honour, as I said. The courage had failed to Mademoi- 
 selle, I suppose, at the last moment, and Madame bore 
 a message to the captain. But the captain was not able 
 to leave his ship, it seems; and, my faith," cried Mr. 
 Potter ; his spirits rising, as the first ghastly dread left 
 him, "the mystery explains itself! It is quite simple, 
 your honour will see. As the captain did not come to the 
 island, according to his promise to Mademoiselle — he had 
 good reasons, no doubt — Madame went herself to his 
 ship with her message. She had the spirit for it — Ah ! if 
 Mademoiselle had had but a little of it to-night, we should 
 not be where we are ! " 
 
 Sir Adrian caught at the suggestion out of the depths of 
 his despair. "You are right, Renny, you must be right. 
 Yet, on this rough sea, in this black night — what mad- 
 ness ! The boat, instantly ; and let us row for those 
 lights as we never rowed before ! " 
 
 Even as the words were uttered the treble glimmer 
 vanished. In vain they strained their eyes : save for the 
 luminous streak cast by their own beacon lamp, the 
 gloom was unbroken. 
 
 '* His honour will see, a boat will be landing instantly 
 with My Lady safe and sound," said Rene at last. But 
 his voice lacked confidence, and Sir Adrian groaned 
 aloud. 
 
 And so they stood alone in silence, forced into inac- 
 tion, that most cruel addition to suspense, by the dark- 
 ness and the waters which hemmed them in upon every 
 side. The vision of twenty dangerous places where one 
 impetuous footfall might have hurled his darling into the 
 cruel beating waves painted themselves — a hideous phan- 
 tasmagory — upon Sir Adrian's brain. Had the merciless 
 waters of the earth that had murdered the mother, grasped
 
 320 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 at the child's life also ? He raised his voice in a wild cry, 
 it seemed as if the wind caught it from him and tore it 
 into shreds. 
 
 " Hark ! " whispered Rene, and clasped his master's icy 
 hand. Like an echo of Sir Adrian's cry, the far-off ring 
 of a human voice had risen from the sea. 
 
 Again it came. 
 
 " C'estdela mer, Monseigneur I " panted the man ; even 
 as he spoke the darkness began to lift. Above their heads, 
 unnoticed, the clouds had been rifted apart beneath the 
 breath of the north wind ; the horizon widened, a misty 
 wing-like shape was suddenly visible against the receding 
 gloom. 
 
 The captain's ship ! The Peregrine ! 
 
 As master and man peered outward as if awaiting un- 
 consciously some imminent solution from the gliding 
 spectre, it seemed as if the night suddenly opened on the 
 left to shoot forth a burst of red fire. A few seconds 
 later, the hollow boom of cannon shook the air around 
 them. Sir Adrian's nails were driven into Rend's hands. 
 
 The flaming messenger had carried to both minds an 
 instant knowledge of the new danger. 
 
 "Great Heavens!" muttered Adrian, " He will sur- 
 render ; he must surrender ! He could not be so base, 
 so wicked, as to fight and endanger her I" 
 
 But the servant's keener sight, trained by long stormy 
 nights of watching, was followmg in its dwindling, mys- 
 terious course that misty vision in which he thought to 
 recognize the Peregrine. 
 
 " Elle file, elle file joliment la goelelle ! Mother ot 
 Heaven, there goes the gun again ! I never thought my 
 blood would turn to water only to hear the sound of one 
 like this. But your honour must not be discouraged ; he 
 can surely trust the captain. Ah, the clouds — I can see 
 no more." 
 
 The wild blast gathering fresh droves of vapour from 
 the huddled masses on the horizon was now, in truth, 
 herding them fiercely across the spaces it had cleared a 
 few moments before. Confused shouts, strange clamour 
 seemed to rmg out across the waves to the listeners : or 
 it might have been only the triumphant bowlings of the 
 rising storm. 
 
 "Will not your honour come in ? The rain is falling."
 
 THE FIGHT FOR THE OPEN 321 
 
 "No, Renny, no, give me my lantern again, friend, 
 and let us examine anew." 
 
 Both knew it to be of no avail, but physically and men- 
 tally to move about was, at least, better than to stand 
 still. Step by step they scanned afresh the sand, the 
 shingle, the rocks, the walls, to return once more to the 
 trace of the slender feet, leading beside the great double 
 track of heavy sea boots to the water's edge. 
 
 Sir Adrian knelt down and gazed at the last little im- 
 print that seemed to mock him with the same elusive 
 daintiness as Molly herself, as if he could draw from it 
 the answer to the riddle. 
 
 Rene endeavouring to stand between his master and 
 the driving blast laid down his lantern too, and strove by 
 thumping his breast vigorously to infuse a little warmth 
 into his numbed limbs and at the same time to relieve his 
 overcharged feelings. 
 
 As he paused at length, out of breath, the noise of a 
 methodical thud and splash of oars arose, above the 
 tumult of the elements, very near to them, upon their 
 left. 
 
 Sir Adrian sprang to his feet. 
 
 "She returns, she returns," shouted Rene, capering, in 
 the excess of the sudden joy, and waving his lantern ; 
 then he sent forth a vigorous hail which was instantly 
 answered close by the shore. 
 
 "Hold up your light, your honour — ah, your honour, 
 did I not say it ? — while I go to help Madame. Now 
 then, you others down there," running to the landing 
 spot, " make for the light ! '"' 
 
 The keel ground upon the shingle. 
 
 " My Lady first," shouted Rene. 
 
 Some one leaped up in the boat and flung him a rope 
 with a curse. 
 
 "The lady, ay, ay, my lad, you'd better go and catch 
 her yourself. There she goes," pointing enigmatically 
 behind him with his thumb. 
 
 Sir Adrian, unable to restrain his impatience, ran for- 
 ward too, and threw the light of his lantern upon the dark 
 figures now rising one by one and pressing forward. Five 
 or six men, drenched from head to foot, swearing and 
 grumbling ; with faces pinched with cold, all lowering 
 with the same expression of anger and resentment and 
 21
 
 322 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 shining whitely at him out of the confusion. He saw the 
 emptying seats, the shipped oars, the name Peregrine in 
 black letters upon the white paint of the dingey; and 
 she ? . . . . she was not there ! 
 
 The revulsion of feeling was so cruel that for a while 
 he seemed turned to stone, even his mind becoming 
 blank. The waves lashed in up to his knees ; he never 
 felt them. 
 
 Rene's strong hands came at last to drag him away, 
 and then Rene's voice, in a hot whisper close to his ear, 
 aroused him : 
 
 " It is good news, your honour, after all, good news. 
 My Lady is on board the Peregrine. I made these men 
 speak. They are the revenue men — that God may damn 
 them ! and they were after the captain ; but he ran down 
 their cutter, that brave captain. And these are all that 
 were saved from her, for she sank like a stone. The 
 Peregrine is as sound as a bell, they say — ah, she is a 
 good ship I And the captain, out of his kind heart, sent 
 these villains ashore in his own boat, instead of braining 
 them or throwing them overboard. But they saw a lady 
 beside him the whole time, tall, in a great black cloak. 
 My Lady in her black cloak, just as she landed here. 
 Of course Monsieur the Captain could not have sent her 
 back home with these brigands then — not even a mes- 
 sage — that would have compromised his honour. But his 
 honour can see now how it is. And though My Lady 
 has been carried out to sea, he knows now that she is 
 safe, "
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 THE THREE COLOURS 
 
 The sun was high above the Welsh hills ; the Peregrine 
 had sheered her way through a hundred miles or more of 
 fretted waters before her captain, in his hammock slung 
 for the nonce near the men's quarters, stirred from his 
 profound sleep — nature's kind restorer to healthy brain 
 and limbs — after the ceaseless fatigue and emotions of the 
 last thirty-six hours. 
 
 As he leaped to his feet out of the swinging canvas, the 
 usual vigour of life coursing through every fibre of him, 
 he fell to wondering, in half-awake fashion, at the mean- 
 ing of the unwonted weight lurking in some back recess 
 of consciousness. 
 
 Then memory, the ruthless, arose and buffeted his 
 soul. 
 
 The one thing had failed him without which all else 
 was as nothing ; fate, and his own hot blood, had con- 
 spired to place his heart's desire beyond all reasonable 
 hope. Certain phrases in Madeleine's letter crossed and 
 recrossed his mind, bringing now an unwonted sting of 
 anger, now the old cruel pain of last night. The thought 
 of the hateful complication introduced into his already 
 sufficiently involved affairs by the involuntary kidnapping 
 of his friend's wife filled him with a sense of impotent 
 irritation, very foreign to his temper ; and as certain looks 
 and words of the unwished-for prisoner flashed back upon 
 him, a hot colour rose, even in his solitude, to his whole- 
 some brown cheek. 
 
 But in spite of all, in spite of reason and feeling alike 
 his essential buoyancy asserted itself. He could not de- 
 spair. He had not been given this vigour of soul and 
 body to sit down under misfortune. Resignation was for 
 the poor of heart ; only cravens gave up while it was yet 
 possible to act. His fair ship was speeding with him as 
 
 323
 
 324 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 he loved to feel her speed ; around him spread the vast 
 spaces in which his spirit rejoiced — salt sea and vaulted 
 heavens ; the full air of the open, the brisk dash of the 
 wind filled him with physical exhilaration at every breath, 
 and tingled in his veins ; the sporting blood, which had 
 come to him from generations of hunting squires, found 
 all its craving satisfied in this coursing across the green 
 ocean fields, and the added element of danger was as the 
 sting of the brine to his palate. What — despair now ? 
 with his perilous enterprise all but accomplished, the 
 whole world, save one country, before him, and Made- 
 leine unwed ! Another might, but not Jack Smith ; not 
 Hubert Cochrane ! 
 
 He was actually trolling out the stave of a song as 
 he sprang up the companion ladder after his rough break- 
 fast in the galley, but the sound expired at the sight of 
 the distant flutter of a woman's scarf in the stern of the 
 ship. He halted and ran his fingers through his crisp 
 hair with an expressive gesture of almost comical per- 
 plexity ; all would be plain sailing enough, with hope at 
 the prow again, but for this — he stamped his foot to 
 choke down the oath of qualification — this encumbrance. 
 Adrian's wife and Madeleine's sister, as such entitled to 
 all honour, all care, and devotion ; and yet, as such again, 
 hideously, doubly unwelcome to him ! 
 
 As he stood, biting his lips, while the gorgeous sun- 
 shine of the young spring morning beat down upon his 
 bare head, the brawny figure of the mate, his mahogany- 
 tinted face wrinkled into as stiff a grin as if it had been 
 indeed carved out of the wood in question, intervened be- 
 tween his abstracted gaze and the restless amber beyond. 
 
 " It's a fine day, sir," by way of opening conversation. 
 
 The irrepressible satisfaction conveyed by the wide 
 display of tobacco-stained teeth, by the twinkle in the 
 hard, honest eyes called up a queer, rueful grimace to the 
 other man's face. 
 
 "Do you know, Curwen," he said, "that you brought 
 me the wrong young lady last night .-* " 
 
 The sailor jumped back in amazement. "The wrong 
 young lady, sir, "staring with starting, incredulous eye- 
 balls, "the wrong, young lady!" here he clapped his 
 thigh, "Well of all — the wrong young lady! Are you 
 quite sure, sir ? ''
 
 THE THREE COLOURS 325 
 
 Captain Jack laughed aloud. But it was with a bitter 
 twist at the corners of his lips. 
 
 " Well I'm ," said poor Curwen. All his importance 
 
 and self-satisfaction had left him as suddenly as the 
 starch a soused collar. He scanned his master's face 
 with almost pathetic anxiety. 
 
 "Oh, I don't blame you — you did your part all right. 
 Why, I myself fell into the same mistake, and we had 
 not much time for finding it out, had we .'' The lady you 
 see — the lady — she is the other lady's sister and she 
 came with a message. And so we carried her oft" before 
 we knew where we were — or she either," added Captain 
 Jack as a mendacious after thought. 
 
 " Well I'm ," reiterated Curwen who then rubbed 
 
 his scrubby, bristling chin, scratched his poll and finally 
 broke into another grin — this time of the kind classified 
 as sheepish. 
 
 "And what'U be to do now ? " 
 
 " By the God that made me, I haven't a notion ! We 
 must take all the care of her we can, of course. Serve 
 her her meals in her cabin, as was arranged, and see 
 that she is attended to, just as the other young lady 
 would have been you know, only that I think she had 
 better be served alone, and I shall mess downstairs as 
 usual. And then if we can leave her at St. Malo, we 
 shall. But it must be in all safety, Curwen, for it's a 
 terrible responsibility. Happily we have now the time 
 to think. Meanwhile I have slept like a log and she — I 
 see is astir before me." 
 
 "Lord bless you, sir, she has been up these two hours ! 
 Walking the deck like a sailor, and asking about things 
 and enjoying them like. Ah, she is a rare lady, that she 
 is! And it is the wrong one — well this is a go ! And I was 
 remarking to Bill Baxter, just now, that it was just our 
 captain's luck to have found such a regular sailor's young 
 woman, so I said — begging pardon for the word. And 
 not more than he is worth, says he, and so said I also. 
 And she the wrong lady after all ! Well, it's a curious 
 thing, sir, nobody could be like to guess it from her. 
 She's a well-plucked one, with her wound and all. She 
 made me look at it this morning, when I brought her a 
 cup of coffee and a bite : ' You're old enough to be my 
 father,' says she, as pretty as can be, 'so you shall be
 
 326 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 doctor as well as lady's maid ; and, if you've got a girl 
 of your own, it'll be a story to tell her by the fire at night, 
 when you're home again,' so she said; and never winced 
 when I put my great fingers on her arm. I was all of a 
 tremble, I declare, with her a smiling up at me, but the 
 wound — it's doing finely ; healing as nice as ever I see, 
 and not a sign of sickness on her. The very lady as I 
 was saying, for our captain — but here she comes." 
 
 This was an unwontedly long speech for Curwen ; and, 
 silent again, he effaced himself discreetly, just in time to 
 avoid the angry ejaculation that had sprung to his cap- 
 tain's lips, but not without a backward glance of admira- 
 tion at the tall, alert figure now bearing down in their 
 direction with steps already firmly balanced to the move- 
 ment of the ship. 
 
 At a little distance from Captain Jack, Molly paused as 
 if to scrutmise the horizon, and enjoy the invigorating 
 atmosphere. In reality her heart was beating fast, her 
 breath came short ; and the gaze she flung from the faint 
 outline of coast upon one side to the vast monotony of 
 sparkling sea upon the other conveyed no impression to 
 her troubled mind. The next instant he was by her side. 
 As she smiled at him, he noticed that her face was pale, 
 and her eyes darkly encircled. 
 
 "Ah, madam," said he, as he drew close and lifted his 
 hand to his head, with a gesture of formal courtesy that 
 no doubt somewhat astonished a couple of his men who 
 were watching the group with covert smiles and nudges, 
 being as yet unaware of the misadventure, "you relieve 
 my mind of anxiety. How is the arm? Does it make 
 you suffer much.'* No ! You must be strong indeed." 
 
 "Yes, I am strong," answered she, and flushed, and 
 looked out across the sea, inhaling the air with dilated 
 nostrils. 
 
 Within her, her soul was crying out to him. It was as 
 if there was a tide there, as fierce and passionate as the 
 waves around her, all bearing, straining to him, and this 
 with a struggle and flow so resistless, that she could nei- 
 ther remember the past, nor measure the future, but only 
 feel herself carried on, beaten and tossed upon these great 
 waters, like a helpless wreck. 
 
 "I trust you are well attended to," began the man con- 
 strainedly again. " I fear you will have to endure much
 
 THE THREE COLOURS 327 
 
 discomfort, I had reckoned . " Here he halted galled 
 
 by the thought of what it was he had reckoned upon, the 
 thought of the watchful love that was to have made of 
 the little ship a very nest for his bride, of the exquisite 
 joy it was to have harboured ! And he set his teeth at 
 fate. 
 
 She played for a while with her little finger tips upon 
 the rail, then turned her gaze, full and bold, upon him. 
 
 " I do not complain," she said. 
 
 He bowed gravely. " We will do our best for you, and 
 if you will take patience, the time will pass at last, as all 
 time passes. I have a few books, they shall be brought 
 into your cabin. In three days we shall be in St. Malo^ 
 There, if you like " he hesitated, embarrassed. 
 
 "There !" echoed Lady Landale with her eyes still 
 fixed upon his downcast face — " If I like — what?" 
 
 "We could leave you " 
 
 Her bosom rose and fell quickly with stormy breaths. 
 "Alone, moneyless, in a strange town — that is well and 
 kindly thought ! " she said. 
 
 Whence had come to her this strange power of feeling 
 pain ? She had not known that one could suffer in one's 
 heart like this ; she, whose quarrel with life hitherto had 
 been for its too great comfort, security and peace. She 
 felt a lump rise to her throat, and tears well into her eyes, 
 blurring all the sunlit vision and she turned her head 
 away and beat her sound left hand clenched upon the 
 ledge. 
 
 " Before heaven," cried Jack, distressed out of his 
 unnatural stiffness, "you mistake me. Lady Landale I I 
 am only anxious to do what is best for you, what Adrian 
 would wish. To leave you alone, deserted, helpless at 
 St. Malo, you could not have thought I should mean that ? 
 No, indeed, I would have seen you into safe hands, in 
 some comfortable hotel, with a maid to wait upon you — 
 I know of such a place — Adrian could not have been 
 long in coming to fetch you. I should have had a letter 
 ready to post to him the instant we landed. As to money," 
 flushing boyishly, " that is the least consideration — there 
 is no dearth of that to fear. If you prefer it I can, however, 
 convey you somewhere upon the English coast after we 
 quit St. Malo ; but that will entail a longer residence for 
 you here on board ship ; and it is no fit place for you."
 
 328 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 Still looking^ out across the sea, Molly replied, in a deep 
 shaken voice, unlike her own, "You did not think it unfit 
 for my sister." 
 
 " Your sister? But your sister was to have been my 
 wife ! •' 
 
 Burning through the mists of her unshed tears once 
 more her glance returned to his : ' ' And I — " she cried and 
 here was suddenly silent again, gazing at the thin circlet of 
 gold upon her left hand, beneath the flashing diamonds. 
 After a moment then, she broke out fiercely — "Oh do 
 with me what you will, but for God's sake leave me in 
 peace ! " And stamping, turned her shoulder on him to 
 stare straiyfht outwards as before. 
 
 Captain Jack drew back, paused an instant, clutched 
 his hair with a desperate gesture and slowly walked 
 away. 
 
 The voyage of the Peregrine was as rapid as her captain 
 had hoped, and the dawn of the fourth day broke upon 
 them from behind the French coast, where Normandy 
 joins old Armorica. 
 
 For a little while, Lady Landale, awakened from her 
 uneasy sleep by the unusual stir on deck, lay languidly 
 watching the light as it filtered through the port-hole of 
 her little cabin, the colours growing out of greyness on 
 the walls ; listening to the tramp of feet and the mate's 
 husky voice without. Then her heart tightened with a 
 premonition of the coming separation. She sat up and 
 looked out of her window : as the horizon rose and fell 
 giddily to her eye there lay the fatal line of land. The 
 land of her blood but to her now, the land of exile ! 
 
 She had seen but little of Captain Jack these last two 
 days ; interchanged but few and formal words with him, 
 now and then, as they met morning and evening or came 
 across each other during the day. She felt that he avoided 
 her. But she had seen him, she had heard his voice, they 
 had been close to each other upon the great seas, however 
 divided, and this had been something to feed upon. Now 
 what prospect before her hungry heart but — starvation ? 
 
 At least the last precious moments should not be lost 
 to her. She rose and dressed in haste ; a difficult opera- 
 tion in her maimed state. Before leaving her narrow 
 quarters, she peered into the looking-glass with an
 
 THE THREE COLOURS 329 
 
 eag-erness she had never displayed in the days of her vain 
 girlhood. 
 
 "What a fright!" she said to the anxious face that 
 looked back at her with yearning eyes and dark burning 
 lips. And she thought of Madeleine's placid fairness as 
 Cain might of Abel's modest altar. 
 
 When she emerged upon deck, a strange and beautiful 
 scene was spread to her gaze. A golden haze enveloped 
 the water and the coast, but out of it, in brown jagged 
 outline, against the blazing background of glowing sun- 
 light rose the towers, the pointed roofs and spires of that 
 old corsair's hive, St. Malo. The waters were bright green, 
 frothed with oily foam around the ship. The masts cast 
 strange long black shadows, and Molly saw one spring 
 from her own feet as she moved into the morning glow. 
 The Peregrine, she noticed, was cruising parallel with the 
 coast, instead of making for the harbour, and just now all 
 was very still on board. Two men, conspicuous against 
 the yellow sky, stood apart, a little forward, with their 
 backs turned to her. 
 
 One of these was Captain Jack, gazing steadily at the 
 town through a telescope ; the other the mate. Both were 
 silent. Silently herself and unnoticed Molly went up and 
 stood beside them ; observing her sister's lover as intently 
 as he that unknown distant point, she presently saw the 
 lean hand nearest her tremble ever so slightly as it held 
 the glass ; then he turned and handed it to his companion, 
 saying briefly, " See what you make of it." 
 
 The man lifted the glass, set it, looked, dropped his 
 hand and faced his captain. Their eyes met, but neither 
 spoke for a second or two. 
 
 "It is so, then .? " said the captain at last. 
 
 "Aye, sir, no mistake about that. There's the tricolour 
 up again — and be damned to it — as large as life, to be 
 sure ! " 
 
 The healthy tan of the captain's face had not altered 
 by one shade : his mouth was set in its usual firm line, 
 but, by the intuition of her fiery soul, the womaii beside 
 him knew that he had received a blow. 
 
 " A strange thing," went on Curwen in a grumbling 
 guttural bass, "and it's only a year ago since they set up 
 the old white napkm again. You did not look for this, 
 sir ? " He too had his intuitions.
 
 330 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 "No, Curwen, it is the last thing I looked for. And 
 it spells failure to me — failure once more ! " 
 
 As he spoke he turned his head slightly and perceiving 
 Molly standing close behind him glanced up sharply and 
 frowned, then strove to smooth his brow into conven- 
 tional serenity and greeted her civilly. 
 
 Curwen, clenching his hard hands together round the 
 telescope, retired a stsp and stood apart, still hanging on 
 his captain's every gesture like a faithful dog. 
 
 "What does it mean.?" asked Molly, disregarding the 
 morning salutation. 
 
 "It means strange things to France," responded Cap- 
 tain Jack slowly, with a bitter smile ; ' ' and to me. Madam, 
 it means that I have come on a wild goose chase " 
 
 He stretched out his hand for the glass once more as 
 he spoke — although even by the naked eye the flag, minute 
 as it was, could be seen to flash red in the breeze — and 
 sought the far-off flutter again ; and then closing the 
 instrument with an angry snap, tossed it back. 
 
 "But what does it mean?" reiterated Molly, a wild 
 impatience, a wild hope trembling in her breast. 
 
 " It means. Madam, that I have brought my pigs to the 
 wrong market," cried Captain Jack, still with the smile 
 that sat so strangely upon his frank lips ; " that the goods 
 I have to deliver, I cannot deliver. For if there is any 
 meaning in symbols, by the wave of that tricolour yonder 
 the country has changed rulers again. My dealings were 
 to be with the king's men, and as they are not here, at 
 least, no longer in power — how could they be under that 
 rag ? — I must even trot the cargo home again. Not a 
 word to the men, Curwen, but give the order to sheer off! 
 We have lowered the blue, white and red too often, have 
 not we ? to risk a good English ship, unarmed, under the 
 nozzles of those Republican or Imperial guns." 
 
 The man grinned. The two could trust each other. 
 Molly turned away and moved seawards, for she knew 
 that the joy upon her face was not to be hidden. Cap- 
 tain Jack fell to pacing the deck with bent head, and 
 long, slow steps. 
 
 Absorbed in dovetailing the last secret arrangements 
 of his venture, and more intent still, during his very few 
 hours of idleness, on the engrossing thought of love, he 
 had had no knowledge of the extraordinary challenge to
 
 THE THREE COLOURS 33i 
 
 fate cast by Bonaparte, of that challenge which was to 
 end in the last and decisive clash of French and English 
 hosts. He had not even heard of the Corsican's return 
 to France with his handful of grenadiers, for newspapers 
 were scarce at Scarthey. But even had he heard, like 
 the rest of the world, he would no doubt have thought 
 no more of it than as a mad freak born of the vanquished 
 usurper's foolhardy restlessness. 
 
 But the conclave of plenipotentiaries assembled at 
 Vienna were not more thunderstruck when, on that very 
 19th of March, the semaphore brought them news of the 
 legitimate King of France once more fled, and of his 
 country once more abandoned to the hated usurper, than 
 was Captain Jack as he watched the distant flagstaff in 
 the sunrise, and saw, when the morning port gun had 
 vomited forth its white cloud on the ramparts of St. Malo, 
 the fatal stripes run up the slender line in lieu of the 
 white standard. 
 
 But Jack Smith's mind, like his body, was quick in 
 action. The sun had travelled but a degree or two over 
 the wide undulating land, the mists were yet rising, 
 when suddenly he halted, and called the mate in those 
 commanding tones that had, from the first time she had 
 heard them, echoed in Molly's heart : 
 
 "Bring her alongside one of those smacks yonder, the 
 furthest out to sea." 
 
 Thereupon followed Curwen's hoarse bellow, an ordered 
 stampede upon the deck, and gracefully, with no more 
 seeming effort than a swan upon a garden pond, the 
 Peregrine veered and glided towards the rough skiff with 
 its single ochre sail and its couple of brown-faced fisher- 
 men, who had left their nets to watch her advance. 
 Captain Jack leant over the side, his hands over his 
 mouth, and hailed them in his British-French — correct 
 enough, but stiff to his tongue, as Molly heard and smiled 
 at, and loved him for, in woman's way, when she loves 
 at all. 
 
 "Ahoy, the friend ! A golden piece for him who will 
 come on board and tell the news of the town." 
 
 A brief consultation between the fisher pair. 
 
 " Un icu d'or," repeated Captain Jack. Then there was 
 a flash of white teeth on the two weather-beaten faces. 
 " Ony va, patron," cried one of the fellows, cheerfully,
 
 332 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 and jumped into his dinghey, while his comrade still 
 stared and grinned, and the stalwart lads of the Peregrine 
 grinned back at the queer foreign figure with the brown 
 cap and the big gold earrings. 
 
 Soon the fisherman's bare feet were thudding on the 
 deck, and he stood before the English captain, cap in 
 hand, his little, quick black eyes roaming in all direc- 
 tions, over the wonders of the beautiful white ship, with 
 innocent curiosity. But before Captain Jack could get 
 his tongue round another French phrase, Molly, detach- 
 ing herself from her post of observation, came forward, 
 smiling. 
 
 "Let me speak to him," she said, "he will understand 
 me better, and it will go quicker. What is it you want 
 to know ? " 
 
 Captain Jack hesitated a moment, saw the advantage 
 of the suggestion, and then accepted the offer with the 
 queer embarrassment that always came over him in his 
 relations with her. 
 
 " You are very good," he said. 
 
 " Oh, I like to talk the father and mother tongue," she 
 said, gaily and sweetly. Her eyes danced ; he had never 
 seen her in this mood, and, as before, grudgingly had to 
 admit her beauty. 
 
 " And if you will allow it," she went on, " I am glad 
 to be of use too." 
 
 The fisherman, twirling his cap in his knotted fingers, 
 stared at her open mouthed. Une si belle dame ! like a 
 queen and speaking his tongue that it was a music to 
 listen to. This was in truth a ship of marvels. Ah, bon 
 Dieu, oui, Madame, there were news at St. Malo, but it 
 depended upon one's feelings whether they were to be 
 regarded as good or bad — Dame, every one has one's 
 opinions — but for him — poiirvu qu'oti lui fiche la paix — 
 what did it matter who sat on the throne — His Majesty 
 the King — His Majesty the Emperor, or Citizen Bona- 
 parte. Oh, a poor fisherman, what was it to him .•• He 
 occupied himself with his little fishes, not with great folk. 
 (Another white-teethed grin.) What had happened.? Par- 
 bleu, it began by the military, those accursed military 
 (this with a cautious look around, and gathering courage 
 by seeing no signs of disapproval, proceeding with greater 
 volubility). The poor town was full of them, infantry
 
 THE THREE COLOURS 333 
 
 and artillery ; regiments of young devils — and a band of 
 old ones too. The veterans of celui la (spitting on the 
 deck contemptuously) they were the worst ; that went 
 without saying. A week ago there came a rumour that 
 he had escaped — was in France — and then the ferment 
 began — duels every day — rows in the caf^s, fights in the 
 ports. At night one would hear shouts in the streets — 
 Vive r Empereur ! and it spread, it spread. Ala /oi — one 
 regiment mutinied, then another — and then it was known 
 that the Emperor had reached Paris. Oh, then it was 
 warm ! All those gentlemen, the officers who were for 
 the King, were arrested. Then there was a grand 
 parade on the place d'armes — Yes, he went there too, 
 though he did not care much about soldiers. All the 
 garrison was there. The colonel of the veterans came 
 out with a flag in its case. Portez armes ! Good. They 
 pull out the flag from the case : it's the old tricolour with 
 the eagle on the top ! Presentez armes ! And this time 
 it was all over. Ah, one should have seen that, heard 
 the houras, seen the bonfires ! Monsieur le Maire and the 
 rest, appointed by the King, they were in a great fright, 
 they had to give way — what does Madame say.? Trait- 
 ors } Oh, hedame (scratching his head), it was no joke 
 with the military just noW' — the whole place was under 
 military law and, saperlotte, when the strong commands 
 it is best for the weak to obey. As for him, he was only 
 a poor fisherman. What did he know .'' he was not a 
 politician : every one to his trade. So long as they let 
 one have the peace — He thanked the gentleman, thanked 
 him much ; thanked the lady, desired to wish her the 
 good-morning and Monsieur too. Did they like no little 
 fresh soles this morning? He had some leaping then 
 below in his boat. No ? well the good-morning then. 
 
 They had heard enough. The fisherman paddled back 
 to his skiff, and Molly stood watching from a little distance 
 the motionless figure of the captain of the Peregrine as 
 with one hand clenching the hand-rail he gazed towards 
 St. Malo with troubled eyes. 
 
 After a few minutes Curwen advanced and touched him 
 lightly on the arm. 
 
 Captain Jack turned slowly to look at him : his face 
 was a little pale and his jaw set. But the mate, who had 
 served under him since the day he first stepped upon the
 
 334 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 old S/. Nicholas, a gallant, fair-faced lad (and who knew 
 " every turn of him," as he would have expressed it him- 
 self), saw that he had taken his decision ; and he stepped 
 back satisfied, ready to shape his course for the near 
 harbour, or for the Pacific Ocean, or back to Scarthey 
 itself at his master's biddincr. 
 
 * ' Call the men up, " said the captain, ' ' they have earned 
 their bounty and they shall have it. Though their skip- 
 per is a poorer man than he thought to be, by this fool's 
 work yonder, his good lads shall not suffer. Tush, man, 
 that's the order — not a word. And after that, Curwen, 
 let her make for the sea again, northwards."
 
 CHAPTER XXVII 
 THE LIGHT AGAIN— THE LADY AND THE CARGO 
 
 Does not all the blood within me 
 Leap to meet thee, leap to meet thee, 
 As the spring to meet the sunshine 1 
 
 Hiawatha. 
 
 "CuRWEN," said Captain Jack, suddenly — the two stood 
 together at the helm on the afternoon of the same day, 
 and the Peregrine was once more alone, a speck upon 
 the waste of waters, " I have made up my mind to return 
 to Scarlhey." 
 
 The mate wagged his bushy eyebrows and shifted his 
 hand on the helm. "Ay, ay, sir," he said, after just an 
 instant's pause. 
 
 " I would not run you and the men into unnecessary 
 danger, that you may be sure of ; but the fact is. Cur- 
 wen, I'm in a devil of a fix all round. There's no use 
 hiding it from you. And, all things considered, to land 
 the lady and the cargo at the lighthouse itself, gives me 
 as fair a chance of getting out of it as any plan I can 
 think of. The cargo's not all my own and it's a valuable 
 one, I daresay you have guessed as much ; and it's not 
 the kind we want revenue men to pry into. I could not 
 unload elsewhere that I know of, without creating sus- 
 picion. As to storing it elsewhere, it's out of the ques- 
 tion. Scarthey's the place, though it's a damned risky 
 one just now ! But we've run many a risk together in 
 our day, have we not ? " 
 
 " Ay, sir ; who's afraid ? " 
 
 "Then there's the lady," lowering his voice; "she's 
 Lady Landale, my friend's wife, the wife of the best 
 friend ever man had. Ay, you remember him, I doubt 
 not — the gentleman seaman of the Porcupine — I owe him 
 more than I can ever repay, and he owes me something 
 
 335
 
 336 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 too. That sort of thing binds men together ; and see 
 what I have done to him — carried off his wife ! " 
 
 Curwen grunted, enigmatically, and disengaged a hand 
 to scratch his chin. 
 
 " I must have speech with him. I must, it is enough 
 to drive me mad to think what he may be thinking of me. 
 What I purpose is this : we'll disguise the ship as far as 
 we can (we have the time), paint her a new streak and 
 alter those topsails, change the set of the bowsprit and 
 strike out her name." 
 
 "That's unlucky," said the mate. 
 
 "Unlucky, is it.? Well, she's not been so lucky this 
 run that we need fear to change the luck. Then, Curwen, 
 we'll slip in at night at a high tide, watching for our op- 
 portunity and a dark sky ; we'll unship the cargo, and 
 then you shall take command of her and carry her off to 
 the East Coast and wait there, till I am able to send you 
 word or join you. It will only be a few hours danger 
 for the men, after all." 
 
 Still keeping his seaman eye upon the compass, Cur- 
 wen cleared his throat with a gruesome noise. Then in 
 tones which seemed to issue with difficulty from some 
 immense depth : 
 
 "Beg pardon, sir," he said, "that ain't a bargain," 
 
 "How now.?" cried his captain, sharply. 
 
 "No, sir," rolling his head portentously ; "that don't 
 run to a bargain, that don't. The lads of the Peregrine 
 '11 stick to their skipper through thick and thin. I'll war- 
 rant them, every man Jack of them ; and if there was 
 one who grumbled, I'd have my knife in him before an- 
 other caught the temper from him — I would, or my name's 
 not Curwen. If ye bid us steer to hell we'll do it for you, 
 sir, and welcome. But for to go and leave you there — 
 no, sir, it can't be done." 
 
 Captain Jack gave a little laugh that was as tender as 
 a woman's tear. Curwen rolled his head again and 
 mumbled to himself: 
 
 " It can't be done." 
 
 Then Jack Smith clapped his hand on the sailor's 
 shoulder. 
 
 " But it's got to be done ! " he cried. " It is the only 
 thing you can do to help me, Curwen. To have our 
 Peregrine out in the daylight on that coast would be stark
 
 THE LIGHT AGAIN 337 
 
 madness — no disguise could avail her, and you can't 
 change your ugly old phiz, can you ? As for me, I must 
 have a few days on shore, danger or no danger. Ah, 
 Curwen," with a sudden, passionate outbreak, " there are 
 times when a man's life is the least of his thoughts 1 " 
 
 " Couldn't I stop with you, sir?" 
 
 " I would not trust the ship to another, and you would 
 double the risk for me. " 
 
 " I could double a blow for you too," cried the fellow, 
 hoarsely. "But if it's got to be — it must be. I'll do it, 
 sir. " 
 
 "I count on it," said the captain, briefly. 
 
 As the ring of his retreating steps died away upon his 
 ear the mate shook his head in melancholy fashion : 
 
 "Women," he said, "is very well, I've nought to say 
 against them in their way. And the sea's very well — as 
 I ought to know. But women and the sea, it don't agree. 
 They's jealous one of the other and a man gets torn 
 between." 
 
 As Molly sat in her cabin, watching the darkening sky 
 outside with dreaming eyes, she started on seeing Cap- 
 tain Jack approach, and instead of passing her with cold 
 salute, halt and look in. 
 
 " I would speak a word with you," he said. 
 
 "On deck, then," said Molly. She felt somehow as if 
 under the broad heaven they were nearer each other than 
 in that narrow room. The sea was rough, the wind had 
 risen and still blew from the north, it was cold ; but her 
 blood ran too fast these days to heed it. 
 
 She drew one of the capes of her cloak over her head 
 and staggering a little, for the schooner, sailing close 
 to the wind, pitched and rolled to some purpose, she 
 made for her usual station at the bulwarks. 
 
 "Well? "she asked. 
 
 He briefly told her his purpose of returning to Scar- 
 they direct. 
 
 Her eye dilated ; she grew pale. 
 
 "Is that not dangerous? " 
 
 He made a contemptuous gesture, 
 
 " But they must be watching for you on that coast. 
 You have sunk the boat — killed those men. To return 
 there— My God, what folly ! " 
 
 "I must land my goods, Madam. You forget that I 
 2?
 
 338 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 have more contraband on board than, smuggler as I am, 
 even I bargained for. " 
 
 "If it is for me? — I would rather fling myself into the 
 waves this instant than that you should expose yourself 
 to danger." 
 
 "Then I should fling myself after you, and that would 
 be more dangerous still." 
 
 He smiled a little mockingly upon her as he spoke ; 
 but the words called a transient fire into her face. 
 
 "You would risk your life to save me? " she cried. 
 
 "To save Adrian's wife. Madam." 
 
 ''Bah!" 
 
 He would have gone then, but she held him with her 
 free hand. She was again white to the lips. But her 
 eyes — how they burned ! 
 
 He would have given all his worth to avoid what he 
 felt was coming, A woman, at such a juncture may for- 
 bid speech, or deny her ear : a man, unless he would 
 seem the first of Josephs or the last of coxcombs, dare not 
 even hint at his unwelcome suspicions. 
 
 "I will not have you go into this danger, I will not ! " 
 stammered Molly incoherently. The dusk was spread- 
 ing, and her eyes seemed to grow larger and larger in 
 the uncertain light. 
 
 "Lady Landale, you misunderstand. It is true that to 
 see you safely restored to your husband's roof is an added 
 reason for my return to Scarthey — but were you not on 
 board, I should go all the same. I will tell you why, it 
 is a secret, but you shall know it. I have treasures on 
 board, vast treasures confided to me, and I must store 
 them in safety till I can give them back to their rightful 
 owners. This I can only do at Scarthey — for to cruise 
 about with such a cargo indefinitely is as impossible as 
 to land it elsewhere. And more than this, had I not that 
 second reason, I have yet a third that urges me to Scar- 
 they still." 
 
 "For Madeleine?" she whispered, and her teeth 
 gleamed between her lips. 
 
 He remained silent and tried gently to disengage him- 
 self from her slender fingers, but the feeling of their 
 frailness, the knowledge of her wound, made her feeble 
 grasp as an iron vice to his manliness. 
 
 She came closer to him.
 
 THE LIGHT AGAIN 339 
 
 *' Do you not remember then — what she has said to 
 you ? what she wrote to you in cold blood — the coward — 
 in the very moment when you were staking your life for 
 love of her? I remember, if you do not — ' You have de- 
 ceived me,' she wrote, and her hand never trembled, 
 for the words ran as neatly and primly as ever they did 
 in her convent copy books. ' You are not what you 
 represented yourself to be — You have taken advantage 
 of the inexperience of an ignorant girl, I have been de- 
 luded and deceived. I never wish to see you, to hear 
 of you again.' " 
 
 " For Heaven's sake, Lady Landale "cried the man 
 
 fiercely. 
 
 Molly laughed — one of those laughs that have the ring 
 of madness in them. 
 
 "Do I not remember .? Ah, that is not all ! She knows 
 you now for what you are, knows what your ' mission ' 
 is — but you must not believe she writes in anger. No, 
 she " 
 
 Captain Jack's patience could bear no further strain. 
 
 " Be silent," he commanded fiercely, and wrenched his 
 arm away to face her with menacing eyes. 
 
 "Ah, does it rouse so much anger in you even to hear 
 repeated what she did not hesitate to write, did not hesi- 
 tate to allow me to read ? And yet you love her.? If you 
 had seen her, if you knew her as I do ! I tell you she 
 means it ; when she wrote that she was not angry ; it 
 was the truth — she did it in cold blood. She loved you, 
 you think, and yet she believed you a liar ; she loved 
 you, and she thinks you a traitor to all she holds dear. 
 She believes that oi jyou, and you .... you love her 
 still ! " 
 
 "Lady Landale! " 
 
 " Listen — she could never love you, as you should be 
 loved. She was not born your kin. Between you and 
 her there is nothing — nothing but your own fancy. Do 
 not risk your life again for her — your life !" 
 
 She stopped, drew her breath with a long gasp, the 
 spray from a turbulent wave came dashing across the 
 bows into her face, and as once the blood of Cecile de 
 Savenaye had been roused by the call of the wild waters 
 to leave safety and children and seek her doom, so now 
 the blood she had transmitted to her child, leaped to the
 
 340 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 same impulse and bore her onwards with irresistible 
 force. 
 
 "When," she pursued, "in the darkness you took me 
 in your arms and kissed me ; what did the touch of my 
 lips bring- to you? My lips, not Madeleine's. . . . Were 
 you not happy then ? Oh, you were, do not deny it, I 
 felt, I knew our souls met ! My soul and yours, not 
 yours and Madeleine's. And I knew then that we were 
 made for each other. The sea and the wide free life upon 
 it : it draws me as it draws you ; it was that drew me to 
 you before I had ever seen you. Listen, listen. Do not 
 go to Scarthey — you have your beautiful ship, your faith- 
 ful crew — there are rich and wonderful worlds, warm seas 
 that beckon. You can have life, money, adventure — and 
 love, love if you will. Take it, take me with you ! 
 What should I care if you were an adventurer, a smug- 
 gler, a traitor ? What does anything matter if we are 
 only together? Let us go, we have but one life, let us 
 go!" 
 
 Bereft of the power of movement he stood before her, 
 and the sweat that had gathered upon his brow ran down 
 his face. But, as the meaning of her proposition was 
 borne in upon him, a shudder of fury shook him from 
 head to foot. No man should have offered dishonour to 
 Jack Smith and not have been struck the next instant at 
 his feet. But a woman — a woman, and Adrian's wife ! 
 
 " Lady Landale," he said, after a silence during which 
 the beating of her heart turned her sick and cold, and all 
 her fever heat fell from her, leaving nothing but the 
 knowledge of her shame, her misery, her hopeless love. 
 "Lady Landale, let me bring you back to your cabin — 
 it is late." 
 
 She went with him as one half-conscious. At the door 
 she paused. The light from within fell upon his face, 
 deeply troubled and white, but upon the lips and brows, 
 
 what scorn ! He was a god among men How 
 
 she loved him, and he scorned her ! Poor Murthering 
 Moll! 
 
 She looked up, 
 
 " Have you no word for me ? " she cried passionately. 
 
 " Only this, Lady Landale : I will forget." 
 
 Back towards the distant northern light the schooner
 
 THE LIGHT AGAIN 341 
 
 clove her valiant way in spite of adverse winds and high 
 seas. 
 
 The return journey was slower than the outward, and 
 since the second day of it the lady kept much to her cabin, 
 while the captain would pace the deck till far into the 
 night, with unwonted uneasiness. To him the white 
 wings of his Peregrine were bearing him all too slowly 
 for endurance, while to the stormy woman's heart that 
 beat through the night watches in passionate echo to his 
 restless tread, every instant that passed but brought 
 nearer the prospect of a future so intolerable that she 
 could not bring herself to face it, 
 
 A gloom seemed to have come over the tight little craft, 
 and to have spread even to the crew, who missed the 
 ring of their captain's jolly laugh and the sound of his 
 song. 
 
 When, within a day's sail of the goal, the planned dis- 
 guise was finally carried out upon the schooner's fair sides 
 and rigging, her beautiful stretch of sail curtailed, and her 
 name (final disgrace), superseded by the unmeaning title 
 of The Pretty Jane, open murmurs broke out which it re- 
 quired all Curwen's severity — and if the old martinet did 
 not execute the summary justice he had threatened he 
 was quite equal to the occasion nevertheless — and all 
 Jack's personal influence to quell. 
 
 The dawn of the next day crept gloomily upon a world 
 of rain ; with long faces the men paddled about the deck, 
 doing their duty in silence ; Curwen's old countenance, 
 set into grimmer lines than ever, looked as if it had just 
 been detached from the prow of some vessel after hard 
 experience of stress and storm. The spirits of the captain 
 alone seemed to rise in proportion as they drew nearer 
 land. 
 
 " The moon sets at half-past eleven," he said to Curwen, 
 ' ' but we need not fear her to-night. By half-past twelve 
 I reckon on your having those twenty-five damned casks 
 safe in the cave you took them from ; it is a matter of 
 three journeys. And then the nose of the Pretty Jane 
 must be pointed for the Orkneys. All's going well," 
 
 Night had fallen. " The gaudy bubbling and remorse- 
 ful day" had "crept into the bosom of the sea." From 
 the cross-trees the look-out man had already been able to
 
 342 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 distinguish through the glass the faint distant glimmer of 
 Scarthey beacon, when Captain Jack knocked for admit 
 tance at Lady Landale's cabin for the last time, as he 
 thought, with a sigh of relief. 
 
 " In the course of an hour, Madam," he said in a grave 
 tone, " I hope to restore you to land. As for me, 1 shall 
 have again to hide in the peel, though I hope it will not 
 be for long. My fate — and by my fate I mean not only 
 my safety, but my honour, which, as you know, is now 
 bound up in the safety of the treasures — will be in your 
 hands. For I must wait at Scarthey till I can see Adrian 
 again, and upon your return to Pulwick I must beg you 
 to be the bearer of a message to ask him to come and 
 see me." 
 
 She replied in a voice that trembled a little : 
 
 " I will not fail you." 
 
 But her great eyes, dark circled, fixed upon him with a 
 meek, sorrowful look, spoke dumbly the troublous tale of 
 her mind. In her subdued mood the likeness to Made- 
 leine was more obtrusive than it had ever yet been. He 
 contemplated her with melancholy, and drew a heavy 
 sigh. 
 
 Molly groaned in the depths of her soul, though her lips 
 tight set betrayed no sound. Oh, miserable chaos of the 
 human world, that such pent up love should be wasted — 
 wasted; that they, too, young and strong and beautiful, 
 alone together, so near, with such glorious happiness 
 within their reach, should yet be so perversely far asun- 
 der ! 
 
 There was a long silence. They looked into each 
 other's eyes; but he was unseeing; his mind was far 
 away, dwelling upon the memory of that last meeting 
 with his love under the fir trees of Pulwick only ten days 
 ago, but now as irrevocably far as things seem that may 
 never again be. At length, she made a movement which 
 brought him back to present reality — a movement of her 
 wounded arm as if of pain. And he came back to Lady 
 Laiidale, worn with the fatigue of these long days in the 
 cramped discomfort of a schooner cabin, thinned by pain 
 and fevered thinkings, shorn of all that daintiness of ap- 
 pearance which can only be maintained in the midst of 
 luxury, and yet, by the light of the flickering lamp, more 
 triumphantly beautiful than ever.
 
 THE LIGHT AGAIN 343 
 
 His thoughts leaped to his friend with a pang of re- 
 morse. 
 
 " You are suffering — you are ill," he said. " Thus do 
 I bring you back to him who last saw you so full of 
 strength But you will recover at Pulwick. " 
 
 " Suffering, ill ! Ah, my God ! " As if suffocating, she 
 pressed her hand upon her heart, and bowed her head till 
 it rested on the table. And then he heard her murmur in 
 a weary voice : 
 
 " Recover at Pulwick ! My God, my God ! The air 
 at Pulwick will stifle me, I think." 
 
 He waited a moment in silence and saw that she was 
 weeping. Then he went out and closed the door behind 
 him with gentle hand. 
 
 Nearly all the lights of the ship were now extinguished, 
 and in a gloom as great as that in which they had started 
 upon their unsuccessful venture, the Peregrine and her 
 crew returned to the little island which had already been 
 so fateful to them. 
 
 Captain Jack had taken the helm himself, and Curwen 
 stood upon his right hand waiting patiently for his com- 
 mands. For an hour or so they hung off the shore. The 
 rain fell close and fine around them ; it was as if sea and 
 sky were merging by slow imperceptible degrees into 
 one. The beacon light looming, halo encircled, through 
 the mist, seemed, like a monster eye, to watch with un- 
 moved contempt the restlessness of these pigmies in the 
 grand solitude of the night. 
 
 Who shall say with what conflict of soul Molly, in her 
 narrow seclusion, saw the light of Scarthey grow out of 
 the dimness till its rays fell across the darkened cabin and 
 glimmered on her wedding ring ? 
 
 At last the captain drew his watch, and by the faint 
 rays upon the binnacle saw the hour had come. 
 
 " Boat loaded, Curwen ? " he asked in a low voice. 
 
 "This hour, sir." 
 
 "Ready to cast?" 
 
 "Right, sir." 
 
 "Now, Curwen." 
 
 Low, from man to man, the order ran inrough the 
 
 ship, and the anchor was dropped, almost within a 
 
 -musket shot of the peel. It was high tide, but no hand 
 
 but Captain Jack's would have dared risk the vessel so
 
 344 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 close. She swung round, ready to slip at a moment's 
 notice. 
 
 He left the helm ; and in the wet darkness cannoned 
 against the burly figure of his mate. 
 
 "You, Curwen .? Remember we have not a moment 
 to lose. Remain here — as soon as the men are back from 
 the last run, sheer off." 
 
 He grasped the horny hand. 
 
 Curwen made an inarticulate noise in his big throat, but 
 the grip of his fingers upon his master's was of eloquence 
 sufficient. 
 
 "Let some one call the lady." 
 
 A couple of men ran forward with dark lanterns. The 
 rest gathered round. 
 
 "Now, my lads, brisk and silent is the word." 
 
 The cabin door opened, and Molly came forth, the dark- 
 ness hid the pallor of her face, but it could not hide the 
 faltering of her steps. Captain Jack sprang forward and 
 gave her his arm, and she leant upon it without speaking, 
 heavily. For one moment she stopped as if she could not 
 tear her feet from the beloved planks, but Curwen caught 
 her by the other arm ; and then she was on the swinging 
 ladder. And so she left the Peregrine. 
 
 The gig was almost filled with barrels ; there was only 
 room for the four oarsmen selected, besides the captain 
 and herself. The boat shoved off. She looked back and 
 saw, as once before, the great wall of the ship's side rise 
 sheer above the sea, saw the triangle of light again slide 
 down to lie a span above the water-line. With what a 
 leaping heart she had set forth, that black night, away 
 from the hateful lighthouse beam to that glimmer of 
 promise and mystery ! And now ! She felt herself grow 
 sick at the thought of that home-coming ; at the vision 
 of the close warm rooms, of her husband's melancholy 
 eyes. Yet, as she sat, the sleeve of the captain's rough 
 sailor coat touched her shoulder, and she remembered she 
 was still with him. It was not all death yet. 
 
 In less than three minutes they touched ground. He 
 jumped into the water, and stretched out his arms for 
 Molly, She rose giddily, and his embrace folded her 
 round. The waves rolled in with surge and thud and 
 dashed their spray upon them ; and still the rain fell and
 
 THE LIGHT AGAIN 345 
 
 beat upon her head, from which she had impatiently- 
 pushed her hood. But her spirit had no heed for things 
 of the body this night. 
 
 Oh, if the sea would open sudden deeps before them ! 
 if even the quicksand would seize them in its murderous 
 jaws, what ecstasy the hideous lingering death might 
 hold for her, so that only she lay, thus, in his arms to 
 the end ! 
 
 It was over now ; his arms had clasped her for the last 
 time. She stood alone upon the dry sand, and her heart 
 was in hell. 
 
 He was speaking ; asking her pardon for not going at 
 once with her to see her into the keep, but he dared not 
 leave the beach till his cargo was landed, and he must 
 show the men the way to the caves. Would she forgive 
 him, would she go with him ? 
 
 Forgive him ! Go with him ! She almost laughed 
 aloud. A few poor moments more beside him ; they 
 would be as the drops of water to the burning tongue of 
 Dives. 
 
 Yes, she would go with him. 
 
 One by one the precious caskets were carried between 
 a couple of men, who stumbled in the darkness, close on 
 their captain's heels. And the lady walked beside him 
 and stood beside him without a word, in the falling rain. 
 The boat went backwards and forwards twice ; before 
 the hour had run out, the luckless cargo was all once 
 more landed, and the captain heard with infiniterelief the 
 last oar-strokes dwindling away in the distance, and saw 
 the lights suddenly disappear. 
 
 " You have been very patient," he said to Molly then, 
 with a gentle note in his voice. 
 
 But she did not answer. Are the souls of the damned 
 patient? 
 
 " My Lady and Mr. the Captain ! My God — my God ! 
 so wet — so tired! Enter — enter in the name of heaven. 
 It is good, in verity, to have My Lady back, but, Mr, 
 the Captain, is it well for him to be here ? And Madam 
 is ill ? She goes pale and red by turns. Madam has the 
 fever for sure ! And her arm is hurt, and she is as wet as 
 the first time she came here. Ah, Lord God, what are we 
 coming to? Fire we must have. I shall send the wife."
 
 346 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 "Ay, do so, man," cried Captain Jack, looking with 
 concern at Lady Landale, who in truth seemed scarcely 
 able to stand, and whose fluctuating- colour and cracked 
 fevered lips gave painful corroboration to Rene's surmise, 
 " your mistress must be instantly attended to." 
 
 But Molly arrested the servant as he would have hur- 
 ried past upon his errand. 
 
 "Your master.^ " she said in a dry whisper, "is he at 
 Pulwick?" 
 
 "His honour! My faith, I must be but half-awake 
 yet. Imbecile that I am, his honour — where is he ? Is 
 he not with you ? No, indeed, he is not at Pulwick, My 
 Lady ; he has gone to St. Malo to seek you. Nothing 
 would serve him but that he must go. And so he did not 
 reach in time to meet you ? Ah, the poor master — what 
 anxiety for him ! " 
 
 Captain Jack glanced in dismay at his friend's wife, 
 met her suddenly illumined gaze and turned abruptly on 
 his heel, with a grinding noise. 
 
 " See to your mistress," he said harshly, " I hear your 
 women folk are roused overhead ; hurry them, and when 
 Lady Landale no longer requires you, I must speak with 
 you on an urgent business of my own. You will find me 
 in my old room." 
 
 " Go with the captain at once. Rend, since he wants 
 you," interposed Molly quickly, "here comes Moggie. 
 She will take care of me. Leave me, leave me. I feel 
 strong again. Good-night, Captain Smith, I shall see you 
 to-morrow ? " 
 
 There was a wistful query in her voice and look. 
 
 Captain Smith bowed distantly and coldly, and hast- 
 ened from the room, accompanied by Rend, while open- 
 mouthed and blinking, rosy, blowsy, and amazed, Mrs. 
 Potter made her entry on the scene and stared at her 
 mistress with the roundest of blue eyes. 
 
 " My good Renny," said the captain, " I have no time 
 to lose. I have a hard hour's work to do, before I can 
 even think of talking. I want your help. Your light 
 will burn all safe for the time, will it not? Hark ye, 
 man, you have been so faithful a fellow to my one friend 
 that I am going to trust to you matters which concern 
 my own honour and my own life. Ask no question, but
 
 THE LIGHT AGAIN 347 
 
 do what I tell you, if you would help one who has helped 
 your master long ago ; one whom your master would 
 wish you to help." 
 
 Thus adjured, Rene repressed his growing astonish 
 ment at the incomprehensible development of events. 
 And having, under direction, provided the sailor with a 
 lantern, and himself with a wide tarpaulin and sundry 
 carpenter's tools, he followed his leader readily enough 
 through the ruinous passages, half choked up with sand, 
 which led from the interior of the ruins to one of the sea 
 caves. 
 
 Before reaching the open-mouthed rocky chamber, the 
 captain obscured the light, and Ren^ promptly barked his 
 shins against a barrel. 
 
 ^' Sacj-ebleu," he cried, feeling with quick hands the 
 nature of the obstruction, " more kegs ? " 
 
 "The same, my friend! Now hang that tarpaulin 
 against the mouth of the cave and be sure it is close ; 
 then we may again have some light upon the matter. 
 What we must do will not bear interference, and moving 
 glimmers on a dark night have told tales before this." 
 
 As soon as the beach entrance was made secure, the 
 captain uncovered his lantern ; and as the double row 
 of kegs stood revealed, his eyes rapidly scanned their 
 number. Yes, they were all there : five and twenty. 
 
 "Now, to work, man ! We have to crack every one 
 of these nuts, and take the kernels out." 
 
 Even as he spoke, he turned the nearest cask on end, 
 with a blow of chisel and mallet stove in the head and 
 began dragging out quantities of loose tow. In the 
 centre of the barrel, secured in position on to a stout 
 middle batten, was a bag of sail-cloth closely bound 
 with cord. This he lifted with an effort, for it was 
 over a hundred-weight, and flung upon the sand in a 
 corner. 
 
 "That's the kernel you see," he said to Rend, who had 
 watched the operation with keen interest. " And when 
 we have shelled them all I will show you where to put 
 them in safety. Now carry on — the quicker the better. 
 The sooner we have it all upstairs, the freer I shall 
 breathe." 
 
 Without another word, entering into the spirit of haste 
 which seemed to fill his companion, and nobly control-
 
 348 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 ling his seething curiosity, Rend set to work on his side, 
 with his usual dexterousness. 
 
 Half an hour of speechless destructive labour completed 
 the first part of the task. Then the two men carried the 
 weighty bags into the room which had been Captain 
 Jack's in the keep. And when they had travelled to and 
 fro a dozen times with each heavy load, and the whole 
 treasure was at length accumulated upstairs, Rend, with 
 fresh surprise and admiration, saw the captain lift the 
 hearthstone and disclose a recess in the heavy masonry — 
 presumably a flue, in the living days of Scarthey peel 
 — which, although much blocked with stony rubbish, 
 had been evidently improved by the last lodger during his 
 period of solitary residence into a convenient and very 
 secure hiding-place. 
 
 Here was the precious pyramid now heaped up ; the 
 stone was returned to its place, and the two stood in front 
 of each other mopping their faces. 
 
 "Thank goodness, it is done," said Jack Smith, " And 
 thank you too, Renny. To-morrow, break up these casks 
 and add the staves to your firewood stack ; then nobody 
 but you, in this part of the world, need be any the wiser 
 about our night's work. — A smart piece of running, eh .'' — 
 Phew, I am tired ! Bring me some food, and some 
 brandy, like a good fellow. Then you can back to your 
 pillow and flatter yourself that you have helped Jack 
 Smith out of a famous quandary." 
 
 Rene grinned and rushed to execute the order. He had 
 less desire for his pillow than for the gratification of his 
 hyper-excited curiosity. 
 
 But although pressed to quaff one cup of good fellow- 
 ship and yet another, he was not destined to get his infor- 
 mation, that night, from the captain, who had much ado 
 to strangle his yawns sufficiently to swallow a mouthful 
 or two of food. 
 
 " No one must know, Renny," was all he said, at last, 
 between two gapes, kicking the hearthstone significantly, 
 and stretching his arms, " not even the wife." Then he 
 flung himself all dressed upon his bed. 
 
 "And my faith," said Rend, when he sought his wife a 
 moment later, "he was fast asleep before I had closed the 
 door."
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII 
 THE END OF THE THREAD 
 
 Madeleine had appeared greatly distressed at the 
 thought that, through her, her sister was now in so doubtful 
 and precarious a situation. It was part of her punish- 
 ment, she told herself for her sins of deceit and unmaiden- 
 liness in encouraging and meeting a clandestine lover. 
 
 She had gone through some very bitter hours since her 
 tryst at the ruins. The process of cutting off a malignant 
 growth that has become part of oneself is none the less 
 painful because the conviction is clear that it is for one's 
 health to do so, and the will is firm not to falter. Not 
 the less is the flesh mangled, do nerves throb, and veins 
 bleed. But Madeleine was determined that nobody 
 should even guess her sufferings. 
 
 Rupert had counted upon Sophia's old habit of obedi- 
 ence to him, and upon her superstitious terrors not to be- 
 tray to the young girl the part he had played in the un- 
 masking of her lover ; but he had an unexpected, and 
 even more powerful ally in Madeleine's own pride. When 
 Miss Sophia had tremblingly endeavoured to falter out a 
 few words of sympathy and sorrow, upon the distressing 
 subject, Madeleine quickly interrupted her. 
 
 " Never speak even his name again, Sophia ; all that is 
 finished for me." 
 
 There was such a cold finality in her voice, that the 
 poor confidant's expansiveness withered vip within her 
 beyond even the hope of blossoming again. 
 
 When Rupert heard of Captain Jack's latest doings, 
 and especially of his sister-in-law's disappearance, he 
 thought that the fates were propitious indeed. In his 
 wildest schemes he could not have planned anything that 
 would have suited his game more perfectly. 
 
 Though he thought it incumbent upon him to pull 
 a face of desperate length whenever the subject was 
 
 349
 
 350 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 touched, in his innermost soul he had hardly ever en- 
 joyed so delightful a joke as this denouement to his 
 brother's marriage and to his cousin's engagement. And, 
 strange to say, though he would most gravely protest 
 against any interpretation of his kinswoman's disappear- 
 ance save the one which must most redound to her credit, 
 the story, started by the gossips in the village upon the 
 return of the revenue men, that Lady Landale had bolted 
 with the handsome smuggler, grew and spread apace all 
 over the county, more especially from such houses as 
 Rupert was wont to visit. 
 
 That all his hints and innuendoes should fail, appar- 
 ently, to make Madeleine put upon the case the interpre- 
 tation he would have liked, was at once a matter of secret 
 sneering and of admiration to his curiously complicated 
 mind. 
 
 The days went by, to all appearance placidly enough, 
 for the trio at Pulwick. Madeleine shunned none of the 
 usages of life in common, worked and talked with Sophia 
 of a morning, rode or walked out with Rupert of an 
 afternoon ; and passed the evening at her embroidery 
 frame meeting his efforts to entertain her as amiably as 
 before. 
 
 Rupert thought he knew enough of the human heart, 
 and more especially the feminine, to draw satisfactory 
 conclusions from this behaviour. For a girl to bear no 
 malice to the man who had taken it upon himself to 
 demonstrate to her the unworthiness of her lover, argued, 
 to his mind, that her affections could not have been very 
 deeply engaged in that quarter. It was clear that she felt 
 gratitude for a timely rescue. Nay, might he not go 
 further, and lay the flattering unction to his soul that she 
 would not be unwilling to transfer these same blighted 
 feelings to a more suitable recipient ? 
 
 A slight incident which took place a few nights later, 
 tended still more to increase the kindness of Madeleine's 
 manner to him upon the next day ; but this was for a 
 reason that he little suspected. 
 
 It had been an anniversary with Sophia — none less in- 
 deed than that of the lamented Rector's demise. When 
 her young cousin had retired to her room, the desire to 
 pursue her thither with a packet of old letters, and \3ther 
 treasures exhumed from the depths of her cupboards, had
 
 THE END OF THE THREAD 351 
 
 proved too strong for a soul burning for congenial sympa- 
 thy ; and Sophia had spent a couple of very delightful hours 
 pouring forth reminiscences and lamentations into the 
 bosom of one who, as she said, she knew could under- 
 stand her. 
 
 Madeleine a little wearied, stifling a sigh or a yawn as 
 the minutes ticked by, was too gentle, too kind-hearted 
 to repel the faithful, if loquacious mourner ; so she had 
 sat and listened, which was all that Sophia required. 
 
 Upon the stroke of twelve, Miss Landale rose at length, 
 collected her relics, and mopping her swollen eyes, em- 
 braced her cousin, and bade her good-night with much 
 effusion, while with cordial alacrity the latter conducted 
 her to the door. 
 
 But here Sophia paused. Holding the flatsilver candle- 
 stick with one hand, with the other clasping to her bosom 
 her bundle of superannuated love letters, she glanced out 
 into the long black chasm of corridor with a shudder, 
 and vowed she had not the courage to traverse it alone 
 at such an hour. She cast as she spoke such a meaning 
 glance at Madeleine's great bed, that, trembling lest her 
 next words should be a proposal to share it for the night, 
 the young girl hurriedly volunteered to re-conduct her to 
 her own apartment. 
 
 Half way down the passage they had to pass the door 
 of the picture gallery, which was ajar, disclosing light 
 within. At the sight of Rupert standing with his back to 
 them, looking fixedly at the picture upon the opposite 
 wall, Sophia promptly thought better of the scream she 
 was preparing, and seized her cousin by the arm. 
 
 "Come away, come away," she whispered, "he will 
 be much displeased if he sees us." 
 
 Madeleine allowed herself to be pulled onward, but 
 remembering Molly's previous encounter upon the same 
 spot, was curious enough to demand an explanation of 
 Rupert's nocturnal rambles when they had reached the 
 haven of Sophia's bedroom. It was very simple, but it 
 struck her as exceedingly pathetic and confirmed her in 
 her opinion of the unreasonableness of her sister's dislike 
 to Rupert. 
 
 He was gazing at his dead wife's picture. He could 
 not bear, Sophia said, for any one to find him there ; could 
 not bear the smallest allusion to his grief, but at night, as
 
 352 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 she had herself discovered quite by accident, he would 
 often spend long spells as they had just seen him. 
 
 There was something- in Madeleine's own nature, a 
 susceptible proud reserve which made this trait in her 
 cousm's character thoroughly congenial ; moreover, what 
 woman is not drawn with pity towards the man who can 
 so mourn a woman. 
 
 She met him therefore, the next day, with a softness, 
 almost a tenderness, of look and smile which roused his 
 highest hopes. And when he proposed, after breakfast, 
 that they should profit by the mild weather to stroll in the 
 garden while Sophia was busy in the house, she willingly 
 consented. 
 
 Up the gravel paths, between the gooseberry bushes, to 
 the violet beds they went. It was one of thoSe balmy 
 days that come sometimes in earl)'' spring and encourage 
 all sorts of false hopes in the hearts of men and vegetables. 
 "A growing day," the farmers call them ; indeed, at such 
 times you may almost hear the swelling and the bursting 
 of the buds, the rising of the sap, the throbbing and 
 pushing of the young green life all around. 
 
 Madeleine grew hot with the weight of her fur tippet, 
 the pale face under the plumy hat took an unusual pink 
 bloom ; her eyes shone with a moist radiance. Rupert, 
 glancing up at her, as, bent upon one knee, he sought for 
 stray violets amid the thick green leaves, thought it was 
 thus a maiden looked who waited to be won ; and though 
 all of true love that he could ever give to woman lay 
 buried with his little bride, he felt his pulses quicken with 
 a certain aesthetic pleasure in the situation. Presently he 
 rose, and, after arranging his bunch of purple sweetness 
 into dainty form, offered it silently to his companion. 
 
 She took it, smiling, and carried it mechanically to her 
 face. 
 
 Oh, the scent of the violets ! Upon the most delicate 
 yet mighty pinions she was carried back, despite all her 
 proud resolves to that golden hour, only five days ago, 
 when she lay upon her lover's broad breast, and heard 
 the beating of his heart beneath her ear. 
 
 Again she felt his arm around her, so strong, yet so 
 gentle ; saw his handsome face bent towards her, closer — 
 ever closer — felt again the tide of joy that coursed through 
 her veins in the expectation of his kiss.
 
 THE END OF THE THREAD 353 
 
 No, no, she must not — she would not yield to this 
 degrading folly. If it were not yet dead, then she must 
 kill it. 
 
 She had first grown pale, but the next moment a deep 
 crimson flooded her face. She turned her head away, and 
 Rupert saw her tremble as she dropped the hand that held 
 the flowers close clenched by her side. He formed his 
 own opinion of what was passing within her, and it made 
 even his cold blood course hotly in his veins. 
 
 "Madeleine," he said, with low rapid utterance; "I 
 am not mistaken, I trust, in thinking you look on me as 
 a good friend ? " 
 
 "Indeed, yes ; " answered the girl, with an effort, turn- 
 ing her tremulous face towards him; "a good friend 
 indeed. '' 
 
 Had he not been so five days ago ? Aye, most truly, 
 and she would have it so, in spite of the hungry voice 
 within her which had awaked and cried out against the 
 knowledge that had brought such misery. 
 
 He saw her set her little teeth and toss her head, and 
 knew she was thinking of the adventurer who had dared 
 aspire to her. And he gained warmer courage still, 
 
 "Nothing more than a friend, sweet? " 
 
 "A kind cousin ; almost a brother." 
 
 "No, no; not a brother, Madeleine. Nay, hear me," 
 taking her hands and looking into her uncomprehending 
 eyes, "I would not be a brother, but something closer, 
 dearer. We are both alone in the world, more or less. 
 Whom have you but a mad-cap sister, a poor dreamer of 
 a brother-in-law, an octogenarian aunt, to look to .'' I have 
 no one, no one to whom my coming or my going, my 
 living or my dying makes one pulse beat of difference — 
 except poor Sophia. Let us join our loneliness and make 
 of it a beautiful and happy home. Madeleine, I have 
 learned to love you deeply ! " 
 
 His eyes glowed between their narrowing eyelids, his 
 voice rang changes upon chords of most exquisite tender- 
 ness ; his whole manner was charged with a courtly rev- 
 erence mingled with the subtlest hint of passion. Rupert 
 as a lover had not a flaw in him. 
 
 Yet fear, suspicion, disgust chased each other in Made- 
 leine's mind in quick succession. What did he mean ? 
 How could it be that he loved her ? Oh ! if /his had been 
 
 23
 
 354 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 his purpose, what motive was prompting him when he 
 divided her from her deceiving lover ? Was no one true 
 then ? Was this the inconsolable widower whose grief 
 she had been so sympathetically considering all the morn- 
 ing; for whose disinterested anxiety and solicitude on her 
 behalf her sore heart had forced itself to render gratitude ? 
 Oh ! how terrible it all was .... what a hateful world ! 
 
 "Well, Madeleine?" he pressed forward and slid his 
 arm around her. 
 
 All her powers of thought and action restored by the 
 deed, she disengaged herself with a movement of uncon- 
 scious repulsion. 
 
 "Cousin Rupert, I am sure you mean kindly by me, 
 but it is quite impossible — I shall never marry." 
 
 He drew back, as nonplussed as if she had struck him 
 in the face. 
 
 " Pshaw, my dear Madeleine." 
 
 "Please, Cousin Rupert, no more." 
 
 "My dear girl, I have been precipitate." 
 
 "Nothing can make any difference. That I could never 
 marry you, so much you must believe ; that I shall never 
 marry at all you are free to believe or not, as you please. 
 I am sorry you should have spoken." 
 
 "Still hankering after that beggarly scoundrel?" mut- 
 tered Rupert, a sneer uncovering his teeth betrayed hide- 
 ously the ungenerous soul within. He was too deeply 
 mortified, too shaken by this utter shattering of his last 
 ambitions to be able to grasp his usual self-control. 
 
 Madeleine gave him one proud glance, turned abruptly 
 away, and walked into the house. 
 
 She went steadily up to her room, and, once there, with- 
 out hesitation proceeded to unlock a drawer in her writing- 
 table and draw from it a little ribbon-tied parcel of letters 
 — Jack's letters. 
 
 Her heart had failed her, womanlike, before the little 
 sacrifice when she had unshrinkingly accomplished the 
 larger one. Now, however, with determined hand, she 
 threw the letters into the reddest cavern of her wood-fire 
 and with hard dry eyes watched them burn. When the 
 last scrap had writhed and fluttered and flamed into grey 
 ash, she turned to her altar, and, extending her arm, 
 called out aloud : 
 
 " I have done with it all for ever "
 
 THE END OF THE THREAD 355 
 
 And the next instant flinging herself upon her bed, she 
 drew her brown ringlets before her face, and under this 
 veil wept for her broken youth and her broken heart, and 
 the hard cold life before her. 
 
 There is a kind of love a man can give to woman but 
 once in his lifetime : the love of the man in the first flush 
 of manhood for the woman he has chosen to be his mate, 
 untransferable and never to be forgotten : love of passion 
 so exquisite, of devotion so pure, born of the youth of 
 the heart and belonging to an existence and personality 
 lost for ever. A man may wed again, and (some say) 
 love again, but between the boards of the coffin of his 
 first wife — if he has loved her — lie secrets of tenderness, 
 and sweetness, and delight, which, like the spring flowers, 
 may not visit the later year. 
 
 But, notwithstanding this, a second wooing may have 
 a charm and an interest of its own, even the wooing 
 which is to precede a marriage of convenience. 
 
 So Rupert' found. The thought of an alliance with 
 Madeleine de Savenaye was not only engrossing from 
 the sense of its own intrinsic advantages, but had become 
 the actual foundation-stone of all his new schemes of 
 ambition. 
 
 Nay, more : such admiration and desire as he could 
 still feel for woman, he had gradually come to centre 
 upon his fair and graceful cousin, who added to her per- 
 sonal attractions the other indispensable attributes, blood, 
 breeding and fortune. Mr. Landale was as essentially 
 refined and fastidious in his judgment as he was un- 
 measured in his ambition. 
 
 His error of precipitancy had been pardonable enough ; 
 and mere self-reproach for an ill-considered manoeuvre 
 would not have sufficed to plunge him into such a depth 
 of bitter and angry despondency as that in which he now 
 found himself. But the rebuff had been too uncompro- 
 mising to leave him a single hope. He was too shrewd 
 not to see that here was no pretty feminine nay, precursor 
 of the yielding yea, not to realise that Madeleine had 
 meant what she said and would abide by it. And, under 
 the sting of the moment betrayed into a degradingly ill- 
 mannered outburst, he had shown that he measured the 
 full bearings of the position.
 
 356 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 So, the wind still sat in that quarter ! 
 
 Failing- the mysterious smuggler, it was to be nobody 
 with the Savenaye heiress — and least of all Rupert Lan- 
 dale. 
 
 And this, though the scoundrel had been thoroughly 
 shown up ; though he had started upon his illegal venture 
 and was gone, never to return if he valued his neck, after 
 murdering four officers of the crown and sinking a king's 
 vessel ; though he had carried away with him (ah ! there 
 was consolation in that excellent jest which had so far 
 developed into Sir Adrian's wild goose chase to France 
 and might still hold some delicate denouement), had carrietl 
 with him no less a person than Lady Landale herself 
 (the fellow had good taste, and either of the sisters was 
 a dainty morsel), he still left the baneful trail of his in- 
 fluence behind him upon the girl he had deluded and 
 beguiled ! 
 
 Rupert Landale, who, for motives of his own had 
 pleased himself by hunting down Madeleine's lover, had 
 felt, in the keenness of his blood-hound work, something 
 of the blood-hound instinct of destruction and ferocity 
 spring up within him before he had even set eyes on his 
 quarry. And the day they had stood face to face this 
 instinctive hatred had been intensified by some singular 
 natural antagonism. Added to this there was now per- 
 sonal injury and the prey was out of reach. Impotence 
 for revenge burned into the soul of him like a corrosive 
 poison. Oh, let him but come within his grip again and 
 he should not escape so easily. 
 
 Sits the wind still in that quarter? 
 
 The burthen droned in his head, angry conclusion to 
 each long spell of inconclusive thought, as he still paced 
 the garden, till the noon hour began to wane. And it 
 was in this mood, that, at length, returning to his study, 
 he crossed in one of the back passages a young woman 
 enveloped in a brilliant scarlet and black shawl, who 
 started in evident dismay on being confronted with 
 him. 
 
 Rupert knew by sight and name every wench of kitchen 
 and laundry, as well as every one of the buxom lasses or 
 dames whom business brought periodically to the great 
 hall. That this person was neither of the household nor 
 one of the usual back-door visitors, he would have seen
 
 THE END OF THE THREAD 357 
 
 at a glance, even had not her own embarrassment drawn 
 his closer attention. He looked keenly and recognised 
 the gatekeeper's daughter Moggie. 
 
 Having married Sir Adrian's servant and withdrawn to 
 take up her abode in the camp of the enemy, so to speak, 
 she was not one whom Mr. Landale would have regarded 
 with favour in any case ; but now, concentrating his 
 thoughts from their aimless whirl of dissatisfaction upon 
 the present encounter, he was struck by the woman's 
 manner. 
 
 Yes, she was most undoubtedly frightened. He ex- 
 amined her with a malevolent eye which still discoun- 
 tenanced her. And, though he made no inquiry, she 
 forthwith stammered out : "I — I came, sir, to see if there 
 be news of her Ladyship .... or of Sir Adrian, sir — 
 Renny can't leave the island, you know, and he be down- 
 right anxious." 
 
 "Well, my good woman, calm yourself. Nothing 
 wrong ; nothing to hide in this very laudable anxiety of 
 you and your good man ! No, we have no news yet — 
 that is quickly told, Mrs. Potter." 
 
 He kept her for a moment quailing and scared under 
 his cruel gaze, then went on his way, working upon the 
 new problems she had brought him to solve. No matter 
 was too small for Rupert's mind, he knew how inextricably 
 the most minute and apparently insignificant may be 
 connected with the most important events of life. 
 
 The woman was singularly anxious to explain, reflected 
 he, pausing at his chamber door, singularly ready with 
 her explanation — too ready. She must have lied. No 
 doubt she lied. Liar was written upon every line of the 
 terrified face of her. What was that infernal little French 
 husband of hers hatching now.? He had been in the 
 Smith plot, of course. Ah, curse that smuggling fellow : 
 he cropped up still on every side ! Pray the fates he 
 would crop up once too often for his own safety yet ; 
 who knew ! 
 
 Meanwhile Mrs. Potter, the innocent news-gatherer, 
 must not be allowed to roam unwatched at her own 
 sweet will about the place. Hark ! what clumping, 
 creaking, steps ! These could only be produced by Rent's 
 fairy-footed spouse : the house servants had been too 
 well drilled by his irritable ear to venture in such shoe
 
 358 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 leather within its range. He closed his door, and gently- 
 walked back along the corridor. 
 
 As he passed Molly's apartment, he could hear the 
 creaking of a wardrobe door ; and, a startling surmise 
 springing into his brain, he quietly slipped into an oppo- 
 site room and waited, leaving the door slightly ajar. 
 
 As he expected, a few minutes later, Moggie reap- 
 peared loaded with a bulky parcel, glancing anxiously 
 right and left. She tiptoed by him ; but, after a few steps, 
 suddenly turning her head once more, met his eyes 
 grimly fixed upon her through the narrow aperture. With 
 a faint squeal she paddled off as though a fiend were at 
 her heels. 
 
 "Something more than anxiety for news there, Mrs. 
 Potter," said Mr. Landale, apostrophising the retreating 
 figure with a malignant, inward laugh ! Then, when 
 the last echo of her stout boots had faded away, he en- 
 tered his sister-in-law's room, looked around and medi- 
 tatively began to open various presses and drawers. 
 " You visited this one at any rate, my girl." thought he, 
 as he recognised the special sound of the hinges. " And. 
 for a lady's maid, you have left it in singular disorder. 
 As for this," pulling open a linen drawer half-emptied, 
 and showing dainty feminine apparel, beribboned and 
 belaced, in the most utter disorder — "why, fie on you, 
 Mrs. Potter ! Is this the way to treat these pretty 
 things ? " 
 
 He had seen enough. He paused a moment in the 
 middle of the room with his nails to his lips, smiling to 
 himself. 
 
 "Ah, Mrs. Potter, I fancy you might have given us a 
 little news, yourself ! Most unkind of my Lady Landale 
 to prefer to keep us in this unnatural anxiety — most un- 
 kind indeed ! She must have singularly good reasons for 
 so doing. . . . Captain Smith, my friend, Mr. Cochrane, 
 or whatever may be your name, we have an account to 
 settle. And there is that fool of an Adrian scurrying over 
 the seas in search of his runaway wife! By George 1 
 my hand is not played out yet ! " 
 
 Slowly he repaired to his study. There he sat down 
 and wrote, without any further reflection, an urgent letter 
 to the chief officer of the newly established Preventive 
 Service Station. Then he rang the bell.
 
 THE END OF THE THREAD 359 
 
 " One of the grooms will ride at once to Lancaster with 
 this," he said to the servant, looking at the missive in his 
 hand. But instead of delivering it he paused : a new 
 idea had occurred. How many of these servants might 
 not be leagued in favour of that interloper, bribed, or know- 
 ing him, perhaps, to have been a friend of Sir Adrian, or 
 yet again out of sheer spite to himself .-* No ; he would 
 leave no loop-hole for treachery now. 
 
 "Send the groom to me as soon as he is ready, "he con- 
 tinued, and when the footman had withdrawn, enclosed 
 the letter, with its tale-telling superscription, in another 
 directed to a local firm of attorneys, with a covering note 
 instructing them to see that the communication, on His 
 Majesty's Service, should reach the proper hands without 
 delay. 
 
 When the messenger had set forth, Mr. Landale, on 
 his side, had his horse saddled and sallied out in the direc- 
 tion of Scarthey sands. 
 
 As from the top of the bluff he took a survey of the 
 great bay, a couple of figures crossing the strand in the 
 distance arrested his attention ; he reined in his horse 
 behind a clump of bushes and watched. 
 
 " So ho ! Mrs. Potter, your careful husband could not 
 leave the island.-*" muttered he, as he marked the unmis- 
 takable squat figure of the one, a man carrying a burden 
 upon his shoulder, whilst, enveloping the woman who 
 walked briskly by his side, flared the brilliant-hued shawl 
 of Moggie. " That lie alone would have been sufficient 
 to arouse suspicion. Hallo, what is the damned crapaud 
 up to ? " 
 
 The question was suggested by the man's movements, 
 as, after returning the parcel to his consort at the begin- 
 ning of the now bare causeway, he turned tail, while she 
 trudged forward alone. 
 
 "The Shearman's house ! I thought as much. Out he 
 comes again, and not by himself I have made acquaint- 
 ance with those small bare legs before. I should have 
 been astonished indeed if none of the Shearman fellows 
 had been mixed up with the affair. I shall be even yet 
 with those creditable friends of yours, brother Adrian. 
 So, it's you again, Johnny, my lad ; the pretty Mercury 
 .... Can it be possible that Captain Smith is at his old 
 games once more.?''
 
 36o THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 Mr, Landale's eyes shone with a curious eager light ; 
 he laughed a little mirthless laugh, which was neither 
 pleasant to hear nor to give. " Dear me," he said aloud, 
 as he watched the pair tramp together towards Scarthey, 
 "for plotters in the dark, you are particularly easy to 
 detect, my good friends ! " 
 
 Then he checked himself, realising what a mere chance 
 it had been, after all — a fortuitous meeting in the passage 
 — that had first aroused his suspicions, and placed be- 
 tween his fingers the end of the thread he now thought it 
 so simple to follow up. But he did hold the thread, and 
 depended no longer upon chance or guess-work, but on 
 his own relentless purpose to lay the plotters by the 
 heels, whatever their plot might be. 
 
 In the course of an hour and a half, Johnny Shearman, 
 whistling, lighthearted, and alone, was nearing his native 
 house once more, when the sight of a horseman, rapidly 
 advancing across the sands, brought him to a standstill, 
 to stare with a boy's curiosity. Presently, however, rec- 
 ognising Mr. Landale — a person for whom he had more 
 dread than admiration — he was starting off homeward 
 again at a brisk canter, when a stern hail from the rider 
 arrested him. 
 
 "Johnny!" The boy debated a moment, measured 
 the distance between the cottage and himself, and 
 shrewdly recognised the advisability of obeying. 
 "Johnny, my boy, I want you at the Hall ; take hold of 
 my stirrup, and come along with me." 
 
 The boy, with every symptom of reluctance, demurred, 
 pleading a promise to return to his mother. Then he 
 suddenly perceived a look in the gentleman's eye, which 
 gave him a frantic, unreasoned desire to bolt at once, and 
 at any cost. But the horseman anticipated the thought ; 
 bending in the saddle, he reached out his arm and seized 
 the urchin by the collar. 
 
 ' ' Why, you little devil, what is the matter with you ? " 
 he asked, grinning ominously into the chubby, terrified 
 face. " It strikes me it is time you and I should come 
 to a little understanding. Any more letters from the 
 smuggler to-day, eh ? Ah, would you, you young idiot ! " 
 and Mr. Landale's fingers gave a sudden twist to the collar, 
 which strangled the rising yell. " Listen, Johnny," 
 tightening his grasp gradually until the brown face grew
 
 THE END OF THE THREAD 361 
 
 scanet, then purple, and the goggling eyes seemed to start 
 out of their sockets ; "that is what it feels like to be 
 hanged. They squeeze your neck so ; and they leave 
 you dangling at the end of a rope till you are dead, dead, 
 dead, and the crows come and eat you. Do you want to 
 be hanged.!*" 
 
 For some moments more he kept the writhing lad under 
 the torture ; then loosening his grip, without however 
 relinquishing his hold, allowed him to taste once more 
 the living air. 
 
 " Do you want to be hanged, Johnny Shearman ? " he 
 asked again gravely. The lad burst into gasping sobs, 
 and looked up at his captor with an agony of fear in his 
 bloodshot eyes. " No," continued Mr. Landale, " I am 
 sure you don't, eh ? " with a renewed ominous contrac- 
 tion of the hand. " It's a fearful thing, is hanging. And 
 yet many a lad, hardly older than you, has been hanged 
 for less than you are doing. Magistrates can get people 
 hanged, and I am a magistrate, you know. S/op that 
 noise ! " 
 
 " Now," continued the gentleman, " there are one or 
 two little things I want to know myself, Johnny, and it's 
 just possible I might let you off for this time if by chance 
 you were able to tell them to me. So, for your sake, I 
 hope you may be." 
 
 He could see that the boy's mind was now completely 
 turned with fright. 
 
 " If you were to try to run away again I should know 
 you had secrets to keep from me, and then, Johnny Shear- 
 man, it would go hard with you indeed ! Now come 
 along beside me, up to the Hall." 
 
 Quite certain of his prey, he released him, and, setting 
 his horse to a trot, smiled to note the desperate clutch of 
 the lad upon his stirrup leather, as, with the perspiration 
 dripping from his face, and panting breath, he struggled 
 to keep up the pace alongside. 
 
 Marched with tremendous ceremony into the magis- 
 trate's study and directed to stand right opposite the light, 
 while Mr. Landale installed himself in an arm-chair with a 
 blood-curdling air of judicial sternness, Johnny Shearman, 
 at most times as dare-devil a pickle of a boy as ever ran, 
 but now reduced to a state of mental and physical jelly, 
 underwent a terrible cross-examination. It was compar-
 
 362 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 atively little that he had to say, and no doubt he wished 
 most fervently he had greater revelations to make, and 
 could thus propitiate the arbiter of the appalling fate he 
 firmly believed might lie in store for him. Meagre as his 
 narrative vv^as, however, it quite sufficed for Mr. Landale. 
 
 "I think, Johnny," he said more pleasantly, well 
 knowing the inducement that a sudden relaxation from 
 fear offers to a witness's garrulity, "I think I may say 
 you will not hang this time — that is," with a sudden 
 hardening of his voice, and making a great show of 
 checking the answers with pen and ink in his most 
 magisterial manner, " that is if you have really told me 
 all you know and it be all true. Now let us see, and take 
 care. You saw no one at the peel to-day but Renny 
 Potter, I\Irs. Potter and Mrs. Crackenshaw } " 
 
 "No, sir." 
 
 "But you heard other voices in the next room — a man's 
 voice — whilst you were waiting ? " 
 
 "Yes, sir." ' 
 
 "Then Renny Potter came back and gave you a mes- 
 sage for your brothers. This message they made you 
 repeat, over and over again. How did it go .'' " And as 
 Mr. Landale frowningly looked at his paper, the boy 
 tremblingly repeated : 
 
 "I mun tell brothers Will an' Rob, that one or t'other 
 mun watchen the light o' nights, to-night, to-morrow 
 night, an' ontil woord coom again. If light go out they 
 mun setten forth in they ketch thot moment, fettled op 
 for a two-three days' sailing. If wind is contrairy like, 
 they mun take sweeps. This for the master's service — 
 for Sir Adrian's service ! " — amending the phrase with a 
 sharp reading of the blackness of Mr. Landale's swift 
 upward look. 
 
 "Yes," murmured the latter after a pause. " And you 
 were to tell no one else. You were to keep it above all 
 from getting to my ears. Very good, Johnny. If you 
 have spoken the truth, you are safe." 
 
 There was a special cell, off the official study, with 
 high windows, bolts and bars, and a wooden bench, for 
 the temporary housing of such desperate criminals as 
 might be brought to the judgment of Rupert Landale, 
 Esquire, J. P. There he now disposed of tlie young 
 offender who snivelled piteously once more ; and having
 
 THE END OF THE THREAD 363 
 
 locked the door and pocketed the key, returned to his 
 capacious arm-chair, where, as the twilight waned over 
 the land, he fell to co-ordinating his scheme and gloating 
 upon this unexpected turn of Fortune's wheel. 
 
 At that hour Madeleine, alone in her chamber, knelt 
 before her little altar, wrestling with the rebellion of her 
 soul and besieging the heavens with a cry for peace. 
 
 Sir Adrian having failed to hear aught of the Peregrine 
 at St. Malo, filled with harassing doubt about its fate but 
 clutching still at hope — as men will, even such pessimists 
 as he — stood on the deck of his homeward bound ship, 
 straining his eyes in the dusk for the coast line. 
 
 In the peel, the beacon had just been lighted by Ren^, 
 in whose company, up in his secluded turret, sat Captain 
 Jack, smoking a pipe, but so unusually silent as to have 
 reduced even the loquacious Frenchman to silence too. 
 Below them Lady Landale, torn between the dread of a 
 final separation from the loadstar of her existence and 
 the gnawing anxiety roused in her bosom by Moggie's 
 account of Mr. Landale's watchfulness, was pacing the 
 long book-lined room with the restlessness of a caged 
 panther. 
 
 On the road from Lancaster to Pulwick a posse of rid- 
 ing officers and a carriage full of hastily gathered prevent- 
 ive men were trotting on their way to the Priory.
 
 CHAPTER XXIX 
 THE LIGHT GOES OUT 
 
 The light of Scarthey had not been shining for quite an 
 hour over the wilderness, when Lady Landale, suddenly 
 breaking the chain of her restless tramp, ran to the door 
 and called for Moggie. 
 
 There was so shrill a tone of anguish in the summons 
 that the young woman rushed into the room in trembling 
 expectancy : yet it was to find her mistress alone and the 
 place undisturbed. 
 
 "Moggie," said Lady Landale, panting and pressing 
 her hands upon her side as if in the endeavour to control 
 the beating of her heart, " something is going to happen ; 
 I know it, I feel it ! Tell Captain Smith that I must speak 
 to him, here, at once." 
 
 Infected by the terror upon her mistress's face, Madame 
 Lapotre flew upon her errand ; a moment later, Captain 
 Jack entered the room and stood before Lady Landale 
 with a look of impatient inquiry. 
 
 " Oh, it is wicked, it is mad ! " cried she passionately ; 
 "it is tempting God to remain here ! " 
 
 " Of whom are you speaking .? " he asked, with an in- 
 voluntary glance of contempt at the distracted figure. 
 " If it is of yourself, I entirely concur. How often these 
 last days, and how earnestly have I not begged of you to 
 return to Pulwick .? Was not the situation you placed me 
 in with regard to Adrian already odious enough that it 
 needed this added folly ? Oh, I know — I know what you 
 would say : spare it me. My safety ? You fear for me ? 
 Ah, Lady Landale, that you could have but left me in 
 peace ! " 
 
 He had waxed hot with anger from his first would-be 
 calmness, as he spoke. This dismal life of close but 
 inharmonious proximity, started upon the seas and con- 
 tinued under his absent friend's own roof had tried his 
 
 364
 
 THE LIGHT GOES OUT 365 
 
 impetuous temper to the utmost. Upon the morrow of 
 their return he had, indeed, exercised all his powers of 
 persuasion to induce Lady Landale to proceed to the 
 Priory ; but, impelled by her frantic dread of the separa- 
 tion, and entrenching herself behind the argument that 
 her mysterious re-appearance would awaken suspicion 
 where people would otherwise believe the Peregrine still 
 in foreign parts, she had declared her irrevocable deter- 
 mination not to quit the island until she knew him to be 
 safe. And he had remained, actuated by the dual desire, 
 first to exonerate himself personally in her husband's eyes 
 from any possible suspicion of complicity in Molly's flight 
 — the bare thought of which had become a horrible tor- 
 ment to him — then to encompass through that good 
 friend's means an interview and full explanation with 
 Madeleine, which not only the most ordinary precaution 
 for his life, but likewise every instinct of pride forbade 
 him now to seek himself. 
 
 Thus began a state of affairs which, as the days suc- 
 ceeded each other without news of Sir Adrian, became 
 every moment more intolerable to his loyalty. The inac- 
 tion, the solitary hours of reflection ; the maddening feel- 
 ing of unavailing proximity to his heart's dearest, of im- 
 potency against the involving meshes of the present false 
 and hateful position ; all this had brought into the young 
 man's soul a fever of anger, which, as fevers will, con- 
 sumed him the more fiercely because of his vigour and 
 strength. 
 
 It was with undisguised hatred and with scorn immeas- 
 urable that he now surveyed the woman who had de- 
 graded him in his own eyes. At another time Molly 
 might have yielded before his resentment, but at this hour 
 her whole being -was encompassed by a single thought. 
 
 "It is for you — for you ! " she repeated with ashen lips ; 
 "you must go before it is too late." 
 
 "And is it not too late.? " stormed he. "Too late, in- 
 deed, do I see my treachery to Adrian, my more than 
 brother ! Upon my ship I could not avoid your com- 
 pany, but here — Oh, I should have thought of him and 
 not of myself, and done as my honour bade me ! You 
 are right ; since you would not go, I should have done so. 
 It was weak ; it was mad ; worse, worse — dishonourable! " 
 
 But she had no ears for his reproaches, no power to
 
 366 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 feel the wounds he dealt her woman's heart with such 
 relentless hand. 
 
 "Then you will go," she cried. "Tell Ren^, the 
 signal." 
 
 He started and looked at her with a different expres- 
 sion. 
 
 " Have you heard anything ; has anything happened.? " 
 he asked, recovering self-restraint at the thought of danger. 
 
 " Not yet," she replied, " not yet, but it is coming." 
 
 Her look and voice were so charged with tragic force 
 that for the moment he was impressed, and, brave man 
 though he was, felt a little cold thrill run down his spine. 
 She continued, in accents of the most piercing misery : 
 
 "And it will have been through me — it will have been 
 through me ! Oh, in mercy let me make the signal ! Say 
 you will go to-night." 
 
 "I will go." 
 
 There followed a little pause of breathless silence be- 
 tween them. Then as, without speaking, he would have 
 turned away, a loud, peremptory knock resounded upon 
 the door of the keep and echoed and re-echoed with 
 lugubrious reverberation through the old stone passages 
 around them. 
 
 At first, terror-stricken, her tongue clave to her palate, 
 her feet were rooted to the ground ; then with a scream 
 she flung herself upon him and would have dragged him 
 towards the door. 
 
 "They have come — hide — hide ! " 
 
 He threw up his head to listen, while he strove to dis- 
 engage himself The blood had leaped to his cheek, and 
 fire to his eye. " And if it be Adrian ? " he cried. 
 
 Another knock thundered through the still air. 
 
 " It is but one man," cried Ren^ from his tower down 
 the stairs. "You may open, Moggie." 
 
 " No — no," screamed Molly beside herself, and tighter 
 clasped her arms round Captain Jack's neck. 
 
 "Adrian, it is Adrian ! " said he. " Hush, Madam, let 
 me go ! Would you make the breach between me and 
 my friend irreparable ? " 
 
 Both his hands were on her wrists in the vain endeavour 
 to disengage himself from her frenzied grip ; the door was 
 flung open and Rupert Landale stood in the opening, and 
 looked in upon them.
 
 THE LIGHT GOES OUT 367 
 
 "Damnation !" muttered Jack between his teeth and 
 flung her from him, stamping his foot. 
 
 Rupert gazed from one to the other ; from the woman, 
 who, haggard and dishevelled, now turned like a fury upon 
 him, to the sailor's fierce erect figure. Then he closed the 
 door with an air of grave deliberation. 
 
 "What do you want ? " demanded Molly — " you have 
 come here for no good purpose. What do you want .? " 
 
 As she spoke she strove to place herself between the 
 two men. 
 
 "I came, my dear sister-in-law," said Rupert in his 
 coldest, most incisive voice, "to learn why, since you 
 have come back from your little trip, you choose to re- 
 main in the ruins rather than return to your own house 
 and family. The reason is clear to see now. My poor 
 brother ! " 
 
 The revulsion of disappointment had added to the wrath 
 which the very sight of Rupert Landale aroused in Jack 
 Smith's blood ; this insinuation was the culminating 
 injury. He took a step forward. 
 
 "Have a care, sir," he exclaimed, "how you outrage 
 in my presence the wife of my best friend ! Have a care 
 — I am not in such a hurry to leave you as when last we 
 met ! " 
 
 Mr. Landale raised his eyebrows, and again sent a look 
 from Molly back to the sailor, the insolence of which 
 lashed beyond all control the devils in the sailor's soul. 
 
 "We have an account to settle, it seems to me, Mr. 
 Landale," said he, taking another step forward and slightly 
 stooping his head to look the other in the eye. Crimson 
 fury was in his own. " I doubt much whether it was quite 
 wise of you, assuming that you expected to find me here, 
 to have come without that pistolling retinue with which 
 you provided yourself last time." 
 
 Rupert smiled and crossed his arms. Cowardice was 
 no part of his character. He had come in advance of his 
 blood-hounds, in part to assure himself of the correctness 
 of his surmises, but also to feast upon the discomfiture 
 of this man and this woman whom he hated. To have 
 found them together, and thus, had been an unforeseen 
 and delicious addition to his dish of vengeance, and he 
 would linger over it while he could. 
 
 " Well, Captain Smith, and about this account } Lady
 
 368 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 Landale, I beg of you, be silent. You have brought 
 sufficient disgrace upon our name as it is. Nay, sir," 
 raising his voice, " it is useless to shake your head at me 
 in this furious style ; nothing can alter facts. / saw. 
 Who has an account to demand then — you, whose life 
 is already forfeit for an accumulation of crimes ; you, 
 screened by a conspiracy of bribed servants and .... 
 your best friend's wife, as you dare call your paramour; 
 or I, in my brother's absence the natural guardian of his 
 family, of his honour .? But I am too late. One sister I 
 saved from the ignominy you would have brought upon 
 her. The other I could not save." 
 
 With a roar Jack Smith would have sprung at the 
 speaker ; but, once more, his friend's wife rushed be- 
 tween. 
 
 "Let him speak," she cried, "what matter what he 
 says ? But you — remember your promise. I will make 
 the signal." 
 
 The signal ! The mask of Rupert's face, sternly and 
 sadly rebuking, was not proof against the exquisite apt- 
 ness of this proposal. His men outside were waiting for 
 the signal, surrounding the island from land and seaward, 
 (for the prey was not to be allowed to escape them again) ; 
 but how to make it without creating suspicion had not 
 yet suggested itself to his fertile brain. Now, while he 
 held her lover in play, Molly would herself deliver him 
 to justice. Excellent, excellent ! Truly life held some 
 delightful jokes for the man of humour ! 
 
 The light of triumph came and went upon his counte- 
 nance like a tlash, but when the life hangs upon the deci- 
 sion of a moment the wits become abnormally sharp. 
 Jack Smith saw it, halted upon his second headlong on- 
 slaught, and turned round. — Too late : Molly was gone. 
 He brought his gaze back upon his enemy and saw he 
 had been trapped. 
 
 Their gleams met like duelling blades, divining each 
 other's purpose with the rapidity of thrust answering 
 thrust. Both made a leap for the door. But Rupert was 
 nearest ; he first had his hand on the key and turned it, 
 and, with newly-born genius of fight, suddenly begotten 
 of his hatred, quickly stooped, eluded the advancing 
 grasp, was free for one second, and sent the key crashing 
 through the window into the darkness of the night.
 
 THE LIGHT GOES OUT 369 
 
 Baffled by the astounding swiftness of the act, the 
 sailor, wheeling round, had already raised his fist to crush 
 his feebler foe, when, in the midst of his fury, a glimmer 
 of the all-importance of every second of time stayed his 
 hand. He threw himself upon the heavy ladder that 
 rested against Sir Adrian's rows of books, and, clasping it 
 by the middle, swung it above his head. The battering 
 blow would, no doubt, have burst panel, lock, and hinges 
 the next instant, but again Rupert forestalled him, and 
 charged him before the door could be reached. 
 
 Overbalanced by the weight he held aloft. Captain Jack 
 was hurled down headlong beneath the ladder, and lay 
 for a moment stunned by the violence of the fall. 
 
 When the clouds cleared away it was to let him see 
 Rupert's face bending over him, his pale lips wreathed 
 into a smile of malignant exultation. 
 
 "Caught!" said Mr. Landale, slowly, pausing over 
 each word as though to prolong the savour of it in his 
 mouth, "caught this time! And it is your mistress's 
 hand that puts the noose round your neck. That is what 
 I call poetical justice." 
 
 The prostrate man, collecting his scattered wits and his 
 vast strength, made a violent effort to spring to his feet. 
 But Rupert's whole weight was upon him, his long thin 
 fingers were gripping him by each shoulder, his face 
 grinned at him, close, detested, infuriating. The grasp 
 that held him seemed to belong to no flesh and blood, it 
 was as the grasp of skeleton hands, the grinning face 
 became like a death's head. 
 
 "I shall come to your hanging, Captain Jack Smith, or 
 rather, Mr. Hubert Cochrane of the Shaws." 
 
 These were the last words of Rupert Landale. A red 
 whirl passed through the sailor's brain, his hands fell like 
 lashes round the other's neck and drew it down. If 
 Hubert Cochrane dies so does Rupert Landale : that throat 
 shall never give sound to that name again. 
 
 Over and over they roll like savage beasts, but yet in 
 deathly silence. For the pressure of the fingers on his 
 gullet, fingers that seem to gain fresh strength every 
 moment and pierce into his very flesh, will not allow even 
 a sigh to pass Rupert's lips, and Jack can spare no atom 
 of his energy from the fury of fight : not one to spare 
 even for the hearing of the frantic knocks at the door, the 
 24
 
 370 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 calls, the hammering at the lock, the desperate efforts 
 without to prise it open. 
 
 But if Rupert Landale must die so shall Hubert Cochrane, 
 and by the hangman's hand, treble doomed by this. The 
 same thought fills both these men's heads ; the devil of 
 murder has possession of both their souls. But, true to 
 himself to the last, it is with Rupert a calculating devil. 
 The officers must soon be here : he will hold the scoun- 
 drel yet with the grasp of death, and his enemy shall be 
 found red-handed — red-handed ! 
 
 His hatred, his determination of vengeance, the very 
 agony of the unequal struggle for life gave him a power 
 that is almost a match for the young athlete in his 
 frenzy. 
 
 The dying efforts of his victim tax Jack's strength more 
 than the living fight ; but his hands are still locked in 
 their fatal clutch when at last, with one fearful and spas- 
 modic jerk, Rupert Landale falls motionless. Then ex- 
 haustion enwraps the conqueror also, like a mantle. He, 
 too, lies motionless with his cheek on the floor, face to 
 face with the corpse, dimly conscious of the voluptuous- 
 ness of victory. But the dead grasp still holds him by 
 the wrists, and it grows cold now, and rigid upon them. 
 It is as if they were fettered with iron. 
 
 Lady Landale's dread of her once despised kinsman, 
 now that she knew what a powerful weapon he held in 
 his hands, this night, was almost fantastic. 
 
 As she darted from the room, she fell against Rend, 
 who, with a white face and bent ear, stood at the door, 
 eavesdropping, ready to rush to the help of Sir Adrian's 
 friend upon the first hint of necessity. But he had heard 
 more than he bargained for. 
 
 The scared, well-nigh agonised look of inquiry with 
 which he turned to his mistress was lost upon her. In 
 her whirlwind exit, she seized upon him and dragged him 
 with her to the ladder that led to the tower. 
 
 "Quick, Rend, the signal ! " 
 
 And with the birdlike swiftness of a dream flight she 
 was up the steps before him. 
 
 Panting in her wake, ran the sturdy fellow, his brain 
 seething in a chaos of conflicting thought. Mr. the 
 Captain must be helped, must be saved : this one thingj
 
 THE LIGHT GOES OUT 371 
 
 was clear at any rate. His honour would wish it so — no 
 matter what had happened. Yes, he would obey My 
 Lady and make the signal. But, what if Mr. Landale 
 were right? Not indeed in his accusation of Mr. the 
 Captain, Rene knew, Rene had seen enough to trust him : 
 he was no false friend ; but as regarded My Lady ? 
 Alas ! My Lady had indeed been strange in her manner 
 these days ; and even Moggie, as he minded him now, 
 even Moggie had noticed, had hinted, and he had not 
 understood. 
 
 The man's fingers fumbled over the catch of the great 
 lantern, he shook as if he had the palsy. Goodness 
 divine, if his master were to come home to this ! 
 
 Impatiently Lady Landale pushed him upon one side. 
 What ailed the fellow, when every second was crucial, 
 life or death bringing ? Medusa-like for one second her 
 face hung, white-illumined, set into terrible fixity, above 
 the great flame, the next instant all was blackness to 
 their dazzled eyes. The light of Scarthey was out ! 
 
 She groped for Rene; her hot fingers burnt upon his 
 cold rough hand for a second. 
 
 " I will go down to the sands," she said, whispering as 
 if she feared, even here, the keenness of Rupert's ear, 
 "and you — hurry to him, stop vi^ith him, defend him, 
 your master's friend ! " 
 
 She flitted from him like a shadow, the ladder creaked 
 faintly beneath her light footfall, and then louder beneath 
 his weighty tread. 
 
 His master's friend ! 
 
 Ay, he would stand by him, for his master's sake and 
 for his own sake too — the good gentleman ! — And they 
 M'^ould get him safe out of the way before his honour's 
 return. 
 
 Out upon the beach ran Molly, 
 
 It was a mild still night ; through veils of light mist the 
 moon shone with a tranquil bride-like grace upon the 
 heaving palpitating waters and the mystery of the silent 
 land. 
 
 A very night for lovers, it seemed ; for sweet meetings 
 and sweeter partings ; a night that mocked with its great 
 passionless calm at the wild anguish of this woman's 
 impatience. Yet a night upon which sound travelled far.
 
 372 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 She bent her ear — was there nothing to hear yet, nothing 
 but the lap of the restless waters ? Were those men false ? 
 
 She rushed to and fro, from one point to another along 
 the sands in a delirium of impotent desire. 
 
 Oh, hurry, hurry, hurry ! 
 
 And as she turned again, there, upon the waters out in 
 the offing, glimmered a light, curtseying with the swell of 
 the waves ; the sails of a ship caught the moonbeams. 
 She could see the vessel plainly and that it was bearing 
 full for the island. Alas ! This might scarcely be the 
 little Shearman boat manned by two fishermen only ; 
 even she, unversed in sea knowledge could tell that. It 
 was as large as the Peregrine itself — certainly as large as 
 the cutter. 
 
 The cutter I 
 
 She caught her breath, and clapped her hands to her 
 lips to choke down the wild scream of fear that rose to 
 them. 
 
 At the same instant, a dull thud of oars, a subdued 
 murmur of a deep voice rose from the other side of the 
 island. 
 
 They were coming, coming from the landward, these 
 rescuers of her beloved. And yonder, with swelling 
 canvas, came the hell ship from out the open sea, sent 
 by Rupert's infernal malice and cleverness, to make their 
 help of no avail ; to seize him, in the very act of flight. 
 
 She ran in the direction of the sound, and with all her 
 strength called upon the new-comers to speed. 
 
 " Here — here, for God's sake ! Hasten or it will be too 
 late ! " 
 
 Her voice seemed to her, in the midst of the endless 
 space, weak as a child's ; but it was heard. 
 
 "Coming!" answered a gruff shout from afar. And 
 the oar beat came closer, and fell with swifter rhythm. 
 Stumbling, catching in her skirts, careless of pool or stone 
 beneath her little slippered feet, Lady Landale came fly- 
 ing round the ruins : a couple of boats crashed in upon 
 the shingle, and the whole night seemed suddenly to be- 
 come alive with dark figures — men in uniform, with 
 gleams upon them of brass badges and shining belts, and 
 in their hands the gleam of arms. 
 
 For the moment she could not move. It was as if her 
 knees were giving way, and she must fall.
 
 THE LIGHT GOES OUT 373 
 
 None of them saw her in the shadow ; but as they 
 passed, she heard them talking to each other about the 
 signal, the signal which they had been told to look for, 
 which had been brought to them .... the signal she 
 had made. Then with a wave of rage, the power of life 
 returned to her. This was Rupert's work ! But all was 
 not lost yet. The other boat was coming, the other boat 
 must be the rescue after all ; the Shearman's boat, or — 
 who knows .? — if there was mercy in Heaven, the Pere- 
 grine, whose crew might have heard of their captain's risk. 
 
 Back she raced to the seaward beach, hurling — un- 
 knowing that she spoke at all — invectives upon her hus 
 band's brother. 
 
 "Serpent, blood-hound, devil, devil, you shall not 
 have him ! " 
 
 As she reached the landing-place, breathless, , a boat 
 was landing in very truth. Even as she came up a tall 
 figure jumped out upon the sand, and crunched towards 
 her with great strides. 
 
 She made a leap forward, halted, and cried out shrilly : 
 
 "Adrian!" 
 
 "Molly — wife ! Thank God ! " His arms were stretched 
 out to her, but he saw her waver and shudder from him, 
 and wring her hands. "My God, what has happened? 
 The light out. too ! What is it .? " 
 
 She fastened on him with a sudden fierceness, the 
 spring of a wild cat. 
 
 "Come," she said, drawing him towards the peel, "if 
 you would save him, lose not a second." 
 
 He hesitated a moment, still ; she tugged at him like 
 one demented, panting her abjurations at him, though 
 her voice was failing her. Then, without a word, he fell 
 to running with her towards the keep, supporting her as 
 they went. 
 
 The great door had swung back on its hinges, and the 
 men were pressing, in a dark body, into the dim-lit re- 
 cesses, when Sir Adrian and his wife reached the entrance. 
 
 The sight of the uniforms only confirmed the home- 
 comer in his own forebodings anent the first act of the 
 drama that was being enacted upon his peaceful island. 
 He needed no further pushing from the frantic woman at 
 his side. Lost in bringing her back, perhaps, his only 
 friend ! Lost by his loyalty and his true friendship !
 
 374 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 They dashed up the stone stairs just as the locked door 
 of the living-room burst with a crash, under the efforts of 
 many stalwart shoulders ; they saw the men crush for- 
 wards, and fall back, and herd on again, with a hoarse 
 murmur that leaped from mouth to mouth. 
 
 And Rene' came running out from the throng with the 
 face of one that has seen Death. And he caught his mis- 
 tress by the arm, and held her by main force against the 
 wall. He showed no surprise at the sight of his master — 
 there are moments in life that are beyond surprise — but 
 cried wildly : 
 
 "She must not see ! " 
 
 She fought like a tigress against the faithful arms, but 
 still they held her, and Sir Adrian went in alone. 
 
 A couple of men were dragging Captain Jack to his feet, 
 forcing his hands from the dead man's throat ; it seemed 
 as if they had grown as rigid and paralysed in their clasp 
 like the corpse hands that had now, likewise, to be 
 wrenched from their clutch of him. 
 
 He glanced around, as though dazed, then down at the 
 disfigured purple face of his dead enemy, smiled and held 
 out his hands stiffly for the gyves that were snapped upon 
 them. 
 
 And then one of the fellows, with some instinctive feel- 
 ing of decency, flung a coat over the slain man, and 
 Captain Jack threw up his head and met Adrian's horror- 
 stricken, sorrowful eyes. 
 
 At the unexpected sight he grew scarlet ; he waved his 
 fettered hands at him as they hustled him forth. 
 
 "I have killed your brother, Adrian," he called out in 
 a loud voice, "but I brought back your wife ! " 
 
 Some of the men were speaking to Sir Adrian, but drew 
 back respectfully before the spectacle of his wordless 
 agony. 
 
 But, as Molly, with a shriek, would have flung herself 
 after the prisoner, her husband awoke to action, and, 
 pushing Rene aside, caught her round the waist with an 
 unyielding grip : his eyes sought her face. And, as the 
 light fell on it, he understood. Aye, she had been 
 brought back to him. But how ? 
 
 And Rene, watching his master's countenance, sud- 
 denly burst out blubbering, like a child.
 
 CHAPTER XXX 
 
 HUSBAND AND WIFE 
 
 Tout comprendre — 
 
 c'est tout pardonner. 
 
 Staring straight before her with haggard, unseeing 
 eyes, her hands clasped till the delicate bones protruded, 
 her young face lined into sudden agedness, grey with un- 
 natural pallor, framed by the black masses of her dishev- 
 elled hair, it was thus Sir Adrian found his wife, when at 
 length he was free to seek her. 
 
 He and Rene had laid the dead man upon the bed that 
 had been occupied by his murderer, and composed as 
 decently as might be the hideous corpse of him who had 
 been the handsomest of his race. Rene had given his 
 master the tale of all he knew himself, and Sir Adrian had 
 ordered the boat to be prepared, determined to convey 
 Lady Landale at once from the scene of so much horror. 
 His own return to Pulwick, moreover, to break the news 
 to Sophia, to attend to the removal of the body and the 
 preparation for the funeral was of immediate necessity. 
 
 As he approached his wife she raised her eyes. 
 
 "What do you want with me?" she asked, with a 
 stony look that arrested him, as he would gently have 
 taken her hand. 
 
 "I would bring you home." 
 
 "Home ! " the pale lips writhed in withering derision. 
 
 "Yes, home, Molly," he spoke as one might to a much- 
 loved and unreasonable sick child — with infinite tender- 
 ness and compassion — "your own warm home, with 
 your sister. You would like to go to Madeleine, would 
 not you? " 
 
 She unclasped her hands and threw them out before 
 her with a savage gesture of repulsion. 
 
 "To Madeleine?" she echoed, with an angry cry ; and 
 
 375
 
 376 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 then wheeling round upon him fiercely : " Do you want 
 to kill me ? " she said, between her set teeth. 
 
 Sir Adrian's weary brow contracted. He paused and 
 looked at her with profoundest sorrow. 
 
 Then she asked, hoarsely : 
 
 " Where have they taken him to ? " 
 
 *'To Lancaster, 1 believe." 
 
 "Will they hang him.?" 
 
 "I pray God not." 
 
 "There is no use of praying to God, God is merciless. 
 What will they do to him ? " 
 
 "He will be tried, Molly, in due course, and then, ac- 
 cording to the sentence of the judges .... My poor 
 child, control yourself, he shall be defended by the best 
 lawyers that money can get. All a man can do for 
 another I shall do for him." 
 
 She shot the sombre fire of her glance at him. 
 
 "You know that I love him," she said, with a terrible 
 composure. 
 
 A sudden whiteness spread round Sir Adrian's lips, 
 
 " Poor child ! " he said again beneath his breath. 
 
 "Yes, I love him. I always wanted to see him. I 
 was sick and tired of life at Pulwick, and that was why I 
 went on board his ship. I went deliberately because I 
 could not bear the dulness of it all. He mistook me for 
 Madeleine in the dark — he kissed me. Afterwards I told 
 him that I loved him. I begged him to take me away with 
 him, for ever. I love him still, I would go with him still 
 — it is as well that you should know. Nothing can alter 
 it now. But he did not want me. He loves Madeleine." 
 
 The words fell from her lips with a steady, cruel, delib- 
 erateness. She kept her eyes upon him as she spoke, 
 unpityingly, uncaring what anguish she inflicted ; nay, it 
 seemed from some strange perversity, glad to make him 
 suffer. 
 
 But hard upon a man as it must be to hear such a con- 
 fession from his wife's lips, doubly hard to such a one as 
 Adrian, whose heart bled for her pain as well as for his 
 own, he held himself without departing for a second from 
 his wonted quiet dignity. Only in his earnest gaze upon 
 her there was perhaps, if possible, an added tenderness. 
 
 But she, to see him so unmoved, was moved herself to 
 a sudden scorn.
 
 HUSBAND AND WIFE 377 
 
 What manner of man was this, that not love, nor 
 Jealousy, nor anger had power to stir ? 
 
 "And now what will you do with me?*' she asked him 
 again, with superb contempt on eye and lip. " For a 
 guilty wife I am to you, as far as the will could make me, 
 and I have no claim upon you any more." 
 
 " No claim upon me ! " he repeated, with a wonder of 
 grief in his voice. "Ah, Molly, hush child! You are 
 my wife. The child of the woman I loved — the woman 
 I love for her own sake. You can no more put yourself 
 out of my life now than you can out of my heart ; had 
 you been as guilty in deed as you may have been in 
 purpose my words would be the same. Your husband's 
 home is your home, my only wish to cherish and shelter 
 you. You cannot escape my care, poor child, and some 
 day you may be glad of it. My protection, my counte- 
 nance you will always have. God ! who am I that I 
 should judge you ? Is there any sin of human frailty that 
 a human being dare condemn? Guilty? What is your 
 guilt compared to mine for bringing you to this, allying 
 my melancholy age with your bright youth ? " 
 
 He fell into the chair opposite to her and covered his 
 face with his hands. As, for a minute's space, his self- 
 control wavered, she watched him, wearily. Her heat of 
 temper had fallen from her very quickly ; she broke into 
 a moan. 
 
 "Oh, what does it matter ? What does anything matter 
 now ? I love him and I have ruined him — had it not 
 been for me he would be safe ! " 
 
 After a little silence Sir Adrian rose. " I must leave 
 you now, I must go to Pulwick," he said. His heart 
 was yearning to her, he would have gathered her to his 
 arms as a father his erring child, but he refrained from 
 even touching her. "And you — what would you do? 
 It shall be as you like." 
 
 "I would go to Lancaster," she said. 
 
 "The carriage shall be sent for you in the morning and 
 Renny and his wife shall go with you. I will see to it. 
 After Rupert's funeral — my God, what a night this has 
 been ! — I will join you, and together we shall work to 
 save his life. " 
 
 He paused, hesitated, and was about to turn away when 
 suddenly she caught his hand and kissed it.
 
 378 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 He knew she would as readily have kissed Rends hand 
 for a like promise ; that her gratitude was a pitiable thing 
 for him, her husband, to bear ; and yet, all the way, on 
 his sad and solitary journey to Pulwick, the touch of her 
 lips went with him, bringing a strange sweetness to his 
 heart. 
 
 There was a vast deal of wonder in the county generally, 
 and among the old friends of his father's house in 
 particular, when it became known that Sir Adrian Landale 
 had engaged a noted counsel to defend his brother's mur- 
 derer and was doing all he could to avert his probable 
 doom. In lowered tones were whispered strange tales of 
 Lady Landale's escapade. People wagged wise and 
 virtuous heads and breathed scandalous hints of her power 
 upon her infatuated husband ; and then they would tap 
 their foreheads significantly. Indeed it needed all the 
 master of Pulwicks wide-spread reputation for mental 
 unsoundness to enable him to carry through such pro- 
 ceedings without rousing more violent feelings. As it 
 was, it is to be doubted whether his interference had any 
 other effect than that of helping to inflame the public 
 mind against the prisoner. 
 
 The jury's verdict was a foregone conclusion ; and 
 though the learned lawyer duly prepared a very fine 
 speech and pocketed some monstrous fees with a great deal 
 of complaisance, he was honest enough not to hold out 
 the smallest hope of being able to save his client. 
 
 The conviction was too clear, the " crimes " the prisoner 
 had committed were of " too horrible and bloody a char- 
 acter, threatening the very foundations of society," to 
 admit of a merciful view of the case. 
 
 As the trial drew near, Sir Adrian's despondency in- 
 creased ; each day seemed to bring a heavier furrow to his 
 brow, an added weight to his lagging steps. He avoided 
 as much as possible all meetings with his wife, who, on 
 the contrary, recovered stronger courage with the flight of 
 time, but whose feverish interest in his exertions was now 
 transferred to some secret plans that she was for ever dis- 
 cussing with Rend. The prisoner himself showed great 
 calmness. 
 
 "They will sentence me of course," he said quietly to 
 Adrian, "but whether they will hang me is another ques-
 
 HUSBAND AND WIFE 379 
 
 tion. I don't think that my hour has come yet or that the 
 cord is twisted which will hang Jack Smith." 
 
 In other moods, he would ridicule Sir Adrian's labours 
 in his cause with the most gentle note of affectionate 
 mockery. But, from the desire doubtless to save one so 
 disinterested and unworldly from any accusation of com- 
 plicity, he was silent upon the schemes on which he pinned 
 his hopes of escape. 
 
 The first meeting of the friends after the scene at 
 Scarthey had been, of course, painful to both. 
 
 When he entered the cell, Adrian had stretched out his 
 hand in silence, but Captain Jack held his own pressed to 
 his side. 
 
 " It is like you to come," he said gloomily, "but you 
 cannot shake the hand that stifled your brother's life out 
 of him. And I should do it again, Adrian ! Mark you, 
 I am not repentant!" 
 
 "Give me your hand, Jack," said Adrian steadfastly. 
 " I am not of those who shift responsibility from the dead 
 to the living. You were grievously treated. Oh, give 
 me your hand, friend, can I think of anything now but 
 your peril and your truth to me.'' " 
 
 For an instant still the younger man hesitated and 
 inquiringly raised his eyes laden with anxious trouble, 
 to the elder man's face. 
 
 "My wife has told me all," said Sir Adrian, turning his 
 head to hide his twitching lip. 
 
 And then Jack Smith's hand leaped out to meet his 
 friend's upon an impulse of warm sympathy, and the two 
 faced each other, looking the words they could not utter. 
 
 The year eighteen hundred and fifteen which delivered 
 England at last from the strain of outlandish conflict saw 
 a revival of official activity concerning matters of more 
 homely interest. The powers that were awoke to the 
 necessity, among other things, of putting a stop by the 
 most stringent means to the constant and extensive leak- 
 age in the national revenue proceeding from the organisa- 
 tion of free traders or smugglers. 
 
 After twenty years of almost complete supineness on 
 the part of the authorities, the first efforts made towards 
 a systematic "Preventive" coast service, composed of 
 customs, excise and naval officials in proportion varied
 
 38o THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 according to the localities, remained singularly futile. 
 And to the notorious inability of these latter to cope with 
 the experience and the devilish daring of the old estab- 
 lished free traders, was due no doubt to the ferocity of 
 the inquisitional laws presently levelled against smug- 
 gling and smugglers — laws which ruthlessly trenched 
 upon almost every elementof the British subjects' vaunted 
 personal freedom, and which added, for the time, several 
 new " hanging cases" to the sixty odd already in exist- 
 ence. 
 
 That part of the indictment against Captain Jack Smith 
 and the other criminals still at large, which dealt with their 
 offences against the smuggling act, would in later times 
 have broken down infallibly from want of proper evidence : 
 not a tittle of information was forthcoming which could 
 support examination. But a judge of assizes and a jury 
 in 1815, were not to be baulked of the necessary victim by 
 mere circumstantiality when certain offences against 
 society and against His Majesty had to be avenged ; and 
 the dispensers of justice were less concerned with strict 
 evidence than with the desirability of making examples. 
 Strong presumption was all that was required to them to 
 hang their man ; and indeed the hanging of Captain Jack 
 upon the other and more serious counts than that of un- 
 lawful occupation, was, as has been said, a foregone 
 conclusion. The triple charge of murder being but too 
 fully corroborated. 
 
 Every specious argument that could be mooted was of 
 course put forward by counsel for the defence, to show- 
 that the ^eath of the preventive men and of Mr. Landale 
 on Scarthey Island and the sinking of the revenue cut- 
 ter must be looked upon, on the one hand, as simple man- 
 slaughter in self-defence, and as the result of accidental 
 collision, on the other. But, as every one anticipated, the 
 charge of the judge and the finding of the jury de- 
 manded strenuously the extreme penalty of the law. Be- 
 sides this the judge deemed it advisable to introduce 
 into the sentence "one of those already obsolete penal- 
 ties of posthumous degradation, devised in coarser ages 
 for the purpose of making an awful impression upon the 
 living. 
 
 "Prisoner at the bar," said his lordship at the conclu- 
 sion of the last day's proceedings, "the sentence of the
 
 HUSBAND AND WIFE 381 
 
 law which I am about to pass upon you and which the 
 court awards is that you now be taken to the place whence 
 you came, and from thence, on the day appointed, to the 
 place of execution, there to be hanged by the neck until 
 you be dead, dead, dead. And may God have mercy on 
 your soul ! " 
 
 Captain Jack, standing bolt upright, with his eyes fixed 
 upon the speaker, calm as he ever had been when await- 
 ing the enemy's broadside, hearkened without stirring a 
 muscle. But when the judge, after pronouncing the last 
 words with a lingering fulness and impressiveness, con- 
 tinued through the heavy silence : " And that, at a sub- 
 sequent time, your body, bound in irons, shall be sus- 
 pended upon a gibbet erected as near as possible to the 
 scenes of your successive crimes, and shall there remain 
 as a lasting warning to wrong-doers of the inevitable ulti- 
 mate end of such an evil life as yours," a wave of crim- 
 son flew to the prisoner's forehead, upon which every 
 vein swelled ominously. 
 
 He shot a glance of fury at the large flabby counte- 
 nance of the righteous arbiter of his doom, whilst his hands 
 closed themselves with an involuntary gesture of menace. 
 Then the tide of anger ebbed ; a contemptuous smile 
 parted his lips. And, bowing with an air of light mock- 
 ery to the court, he turned, erect and easy, to follow his 
 turnkey out of the hall.
 
 CHAPTER XXXI 
 IN LANCASTER CASTLE 
 
 All that his friendship for the condemned man, all that 
 his love and pity for his almost distracted wife, could 
 suggest, Sir Adrian Landale had done in London to try 
 and avert Captain Jack's doom. But it was in vain. 
 There also old stories of his peculiar tenets and of his 
 well-known disaffection to the established order of things, 
 had been raked up against him. Unfavourable compar- 
 isons had been drawn between him and Rupert ; surprise 
 and disapproval had been expressed at the unnatural 
 brother, who was displaying such energy to obtain mercy 
 for his brother's murderer. Finally an influential person- 
 age, whom Sir Adrian had contrived to interest in the 
 case, in memory of an old friendship with his father, in- 
 formed the baronet that his persistence was viewed with 
 extreme disfavour in the most exalted quarter, and that 
 His Royal Highness himself had pronounced that Captain 
 Jack was a damned rascal and richly deserved his fate. 
 
 From the beginning, indeed, the suppliant had been 
 without hope. Though he was resolved to leave no stone 
 unturned, no possibility untried in the effort to save his 
 friend, well-nigh the saddest part of the whole business 
 to him was the realisation that the prisoner had not only 
 broken those custom laws (of which Sir Adrian himself 
 disapproved as arbitrary) but also, as he had been warned, 
 those other laws upon which depend all social order and 
 security ; broken them so grievously that, whatever 
 excuses the philosopher might find in heat of blood and 
 stress of circumstances, given laws at all, the sentence 
 could not be pronounced otherwise than just. 
 
 And so, with an aching heart and a wider horror than 
 ever of the cruel world of men, and of the injustices to 
 which legal justice leads. Sir Adrian left London to hurry 
 back to Lancaster with all the speed that post-horses 
 
 382
 
 IN LANCASTER CASTLE 383 
 
 could muster. The time was now drawing short. As 
 the traveller rattled along the stony streets of the old 
 Palatine town, and saw the dawn breaking, exquisite, 
 primrose tinted, faintly beautiful as some dream vision 
 over the distant hills, his soul M^as gripped with an iron 
 clutch. In three more days the gallant heart, breaking 
 in the confinement of the prison yonder, would have 
 throbbed its last ! And he longed, with a desire futile 
 but none the less intense, that, according to that doctrine 
 of Vicarious Atonement preached to humanity by the 
 greatest of all examples, he could lay down his own weary 
 and disappointed life for his friend. 
 
 Having breakfasted at the hotel, less for the necessity 
 of food than for the sake of passing the time till the morn- 
 ing should have worn to sufficient maturity, he sought on 
 foot the quiet lodgings where he had installed his wife 
 under Rene's guard before starting on his futile quest. 
 Early as the hour still was — seven had but just rung 
 merrily from some chiming church clock — the faithful 
 fellow was already astir and prompt to answer his master's 
 summons. 
 
 One look at the latter's countenance was sufficient to 
 confirm the servant's own worst forebodings. 
 
 "Ah, your honour, and is it indeed so. Ces gredins ! 
 and will they hang so good a gentleman.-' " 
 
 "Hush, Renny, not so loud," cried the other with an 
 anxious look at the folding-doors, that divided the little 
 sitting-room from the inner apartment. 
 
 " Oh, his honour need have no fear. My Lady is gone, 
 gone to Pulwick. His honour need not disquiet himself; 
 he can well imagine that I would not allow her to go alone 
 — when I had been given a trust so precious. No, no, the 
 old lady. Miss O'Donoghue, your honour's aunt and her 
 ladyship's, she has heard of all these terrible doings, and 
 came to Lancaster to be with My Lady. Ma/oi, I know 
 not if she be just the person one would have chosen, for 
 she has scolded a great deal, and is as agitated — as agi- 
 tated as a young rabbit. But, after all, she loves the poor 
 young lady with all her heart, and I think she has roused 
 her a little. His honour knows," said the man, flushing 
 to the roots of his hair, whilst he shifted nervously from 
 one foot to another, " that My Lady has been much up- 
 set about the poor captain. After his honour went, she
 
 384 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 would sit, staring out of the window there, just where the 
 street turns up to the castle, and neither ate nor slept, nor 
 talked to speak of. Of course, as I told the old Demoi- 
 selle, I knew it was because My Lady had taken it to 
 heart about the signal that she made — thinking to save 
 him — and which only brought the gabelous on him, that 
 his honour's infernal brother (God forgive me, and have 
 mercy on his soul) had set to watch. And My Lady 
 liked to see me coming and going, for she sent me every 
 day to the prison ; she did not once go herself." 
 
 Sir Adrian drew a long breath. With the most delicate 
 intuition of his master's thoughts, Rene avoided even a 
 glance at him while he continued in as natural a tone as 
 he could assume : 
 
 "But the day after the old miss came, she, My Lady, 
 told me to find out if he would see her. He said no ; 
 but that the only kindness any one could do him now 
 would be lo bring him Mademoiselle Madeleine, and let 
 him speak to her once more. And My Lady, when she 
 heard this, she started off that day with the old one to 
 fetch Mademoiselle herself at Pulwick. And she left me 
 behind, your honour, for I had a little plan there." 
 
 Rene faltered and a crestfallen look crept upon his 
 face. 
 
 Sir Adrian remembered how before his departure for 
 London his servant had cheerily assured him that Mr. 
 the Captain would be safe out of the country long before 
 he returned, " faith of him, Ren^, who had already been 
 in two prisons, and knew their ways, and how to con- 
 trive an escape, as his honour well knew." A sad 
 smile parted his lips. 
 
 " And so you failed, Renny," he said. 
 
 "Ah, your honour, those Satanic English turnkeys 1 
 With a Frenchman, the job had been done ; but it is a 
 bad thing to be in prison in England, His honour can 
 vouch I have some brains. I had made plans — a hun- 
 dred plans, but there was ever something that did not 
 work. The captain, he too, was eager, as your honour 
 can imagine. My faith, we thought and we thought, 
 and we schemed and contrived, and in the end, there 
 was only one thing to complete our plot — to bribe the 
 jailer. Would your honour believe — it was only that one 
 little difficulty. My Lady had given me a hundred
 
 IN LANCASTER CASTLE 385 
 
 guineas, I had enough money, your honour sees. But 
 the man — I had smoked with him, drunk with him, ay, 
 and made him drunk too, and I thought all was going 
 well, but when I hinted to him what we wanted — Ah ! he 
 was a brute — I tell you I had hard work to escape the 
 prison myself, and only for my leaving him with some of 
 the money, I should now be pinched there too. I hardly 
 dare show my face in the place any more. And my poor 
 Lady builds on the hope, and Mr. the Captain — I had to 
 tell him, he took it like an angel. Ah, the poor gentle- 
 man ! He looked at me so brave and kind ! ' I am as 
 grateful, my poor friend, as if you had done it,' said he, 
 ' and perhaps it is all for the best.' All for the best — ah, 
 your honour ! " 
 
 Rend fairly broke down here, and wept on his sleeve. 
 But Sir Adrian's eyes, circled and worn with watching 
 and thought, shone dry with a far deeper grief, as, a few 
 moments later, he passed along the street towards the 
 walls of the castle. 
 
 There was in those days little difficulty in obtaining 
 admission to a condemned prisoner ; and, in the rear of 
 the red-headed, good-tempered looking jailer — the same, 
 he surmised, whose sternness in duty had baffled the 
 Breton's simple wiles — he stepped out of the sweet morn- 
 ing sunshine into the long stone passages. The first 
 tainted breath of the prison brought a chill to his blood 
 and oppression to his lungs, and the gloom of the place 
 enveloped him like a pall. 
 
 With a rattle of keys a door dismally creaking on its 
 hinges was swung back at last, and the visitor was ushered 
 into the narrow cell, dark for all its whitewashed walls, 
 where Captain Jack was spending his last hours upon 
 earth. The hinges groaned again, the door slammed, 
 and the key once more grated in the lock. Sir Adrian 
 was alone with his friend. 
 
 For a moment there was silence ; the contraction of 
 the elder man's heart had brought a giddiness to his brain, 
 a dimness of his eyes, through which he was ill able to 
 distinguish anything. 
 
 But then there was a clank of fetters — ah, what a sound 
 to connect with lucky Jack Smith, the gayest, freest, and 
 most buoyant of men 1 And a voice cried : 
 
 25
 
 386 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 " Adrian ! " 
 
 It had a joyful ring-, well-nigh the old hearty tones. It 
 struck Adrian to the soul. 
 
 He could have borne, he thought, to find his friend a 
 broken man, changed out of all recognition, crushed by 
 his misfortunes ; but to find him the same, a little pale, 
 indeed, and thinner, with a steady earnestness in the sea- 
 blue eyes instead of the old dancing-light, but still gallant 
 and undaunted, still radiating vigorous life and breezy 
 energy by his very presence, this was a cruelty of fate 
 which seemed unendurable. 
 
 "I declare," the prisoner had continued, "I declare I 
 thought you were only the incorruptible jailer taking his 
 morning survey. They are desperately careful of me, 
 Adrian, and watch me with maternal solicitude lest I 
 should strangle myself with my chains, these pretty 
 bracelets which I have had to wear ever since poor Renny 
 was found out, or swallow my pillow — dash me ! it's 
 small enough — and spoil the pretty show for Saturday ! 
 Why, why, Adrian, old friend ? " 
 
 There was a sudden change of tone to the warmest 
 concern, for Sir Adrian had staggered and would have 
 fallen had not Jack, as nimbly as his fetters would allow 
 him, sprung to support him and conduct him to the bed. 
 
 A shaft of light struck through the tiny barred window 
 on to the elder man"s face, and showed it against the 
 surrounding darkness deathly white and wet with an- 
 guish. 
 
 " I have done all I could, Hubert," he murmured, in 
 an extinguished voice, " but to no avail." 
 
 " Ay, man, I guessed as much. But never fret for me, 
 Adrian : I have looked death too often in the face to play 
 the poltroon, now. I don't say it's the end I should have 
 chosen for myself; but it is inevitable, and there is noth- 
 ing, as you know, my friend, that a man cannot face if 
 he knows it must be faced." 
 
 The grasp of his strong warm hands, all manacled as 
 they were, upon the other's nerveless clammy fingers, 
 sent, more than the words, something of the speaker's 
 own courage to his friend's wrung heart. And yet that 
 very courage was an added torment. 
 
 That from a community, so full of evil, feeble, harmful 
 wretches, this noble soul, no matter how it had sinned.
 
 IN LANCASTER CASTLE 387 
 
 should be banished at the bidding- of justice — what mock- 
 ery of right was this ? The world was out of joint indeed. 
 He groaned aloud. 
 
 "Nay, I'll have none of it," cried Jack. "Our last 
 talk. Adrian, must not be spoiled by futile regrets. Yes, 
 our last talk it is to be, for " — the prisoner's face became 
 transfigured with a tenderness so exquisite that Adrian 
 staredat its beauty, amazed — " I have begged her, Made- 
 leine, to come and see me once more. I think she can 
 be here to-day, at latest to-morrow. And after that I 
 would not see any of those I love again, that I may fit 
 myself to meet my God." 
 
 He spoke with the utmost simplicity. Adrian bowed 
 his head silently. Then averting his eyes, he said : "My 
 wife has gone to Pulvvick to fetch her." 
 
 Captain Jack crimsoned. "That is kind, "he answered, 
 in a low voice ; and, after a pause, pursued : " I hope 
 you do not think it wrong of me to wish to see her. But 
 you may trust me. I shall distress her as little as is pos- 
 sible in the circumstances. It is not, as you can fancy" 
 — his face flushed again as he spoke — "to indulge in a 
 pathetic parting scene.or beg from her sweet lips one last 
 kiss — that would be too grossly selfish, and hov/ever this 
 poor body of mine, so soon to be carrion, may yearn to 
 hold her once more closely, these lips, so soon to touch 
 death, shall touch hers no more. I have risen so far 
 above this earthliness, that in so many hours I am to 
 shake off for ever, that I can trust myself to meet her 
 soul to soul. She must believe me now, and I would tell 
 her, Adrian, that my deceit was not premeditated, and 
 that the man she once honoured with her love is not the 
 base wretch she deems. I think it may comfort her. If 
 she does mourn for me at all — she has so proud a spirit, 
 my princess, as I used to call her — it may comfort her to 
 know that I was not all unworthy of the love she once 
 gave me, of the tears she may yet give to its memory 
 and mine." 
 
 Sir Adrian pressed his hand, but again could not speak, 
 and Captain Jack went on : 
 
 "You will give her a happy home, will you not, till 
 she has one of her own ? You and your old dragon of 
 an aunt, whose bark is so much worse than her bite, will 
 watch and guard her. Ah, poor old lady I she is one of
 
 388 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 those that will not weep for Jack Smith, eh, Adrian ? 
 Well, well, I have had a happy life, barring one or two 
 hard raps of fate, and when only I have seen Madeleine 
 once more, I'll feel all taut for the port, though the pas- 
 sage there be a rough one." 
 
 Sir Adrian turned his gaze with astonishment upon him. 
 The sailor read his thoughts : 
 
 " Don't think," he said, while a sudden shadow crossed 
 his face, "don't think that I don't realise my position, 
 that I have not had to fight my battle. In the beginning 
 I had hopes ; never in the success of your mission, but, 
 absurd as it was, in Renny's scheme. The good fellow's 
 own hopefulness was infectious, I believe. And when 
 that fell through — well then, man, I just had to make up 
 my mind to what was to be. It was a battle, as I told 
 you. I have been in danger of death many a time upon 
 the brave old S/. Nicholas, and my Cormorant — death from 
 the salt sea, from musket ball and cannon shot, fearful 
 deaths of mangling and hacking. But death on the gal- 
 lows, the shameful death of the criminal ; to be hung ; to 
 be executed — Pah ! Ay ! it was a battle — two nights and 
 one day I fought it. And I tell you, 'tis a hard thing to 
 bring the living flesh and the leaping blood to submit to 
 such as that. At first I thought indeed, it could not be 
 borne, and I must reckon upon your or Renny's friendship 
 for a secret speed. I should have had the pluck to starve 
 myself if need be, only I am so damned strong and 
 healthy, I feared it could not have been managed in the 
 time. At any rate, I could have dashed my brains out 
 against the wall — but I see it otherwise now. The 
 prison chaplain, a good man, Adrian, has made me real- 
 ise that it would be cowardly, that I should accept my 
 sentence as atonement, as deserved — I have deserved to 
 die." 
 
 It had been Sir Adrian's own thought ; but he broke 
 out now in inarticulate protest. It seemed too gross, too 
 monstrous. 
 
 "Yes, Adrian, I have. You warned me, good friend, 
 in your peaceful room — ah, how long ago it seems now ! 
 that night, when all that could make life beautiful lay to 
 my hand for the taking. Oh, man, why did I not heed 
 you ! You warned me : he who breaks one law will end 
 by breaking many. You were right. See the harm I
 
 IN LANCASTER CASTLE 389 
 
 wreaked — those poor fellows, who were but doing their 
 duty bravely, whose lives I sacrificed without remorse ! 
 Your brother, too, whose soul, with the most deliberate 
 vindictiveness, I sent before its Maker, without an in- 
 stant's preparation ! A guilty soul it was ; for he hounded 
 me down, one would almost think for the sport of it. . . . 
 God ! when I think that, but for him, for his wanton in- 
 terference — but there, the devils are loose again ! I must 
 not think on him. Do I not deserve my fate, if the Bible 
 law be right ? ' He who sheds blood, his blood shall be 
 shed.' Never was sentence more just. I have sinned, I 
 have repented ; I am now ready to atone. I believe the 
 sacrifice will be accepted." 
 
 He laid his hand, for a minute, upon the Bible on the 
 table, with a significant gesture. 
 
 But Sir Adrian, the philosopher, though he could find 
 no words to impeach the logic of his friend's reasoning, 
 and was all astir with admiration for a resignation as 
 perfect as either Christian or Stoic could desire, found his 
 soul rising in tumultuous rebellion against the hideous 
 decree. The longing that had beset him in the dawn, 
 now seized upon him with a new passion, and the cry 
 escaped his lips almost unwittingly : 
 
 " Oh, if I could die for you ! " 
 
 "No, no," said Jack, with his sweet smile, "your life 
 is too valuable, too precious to the world. Adrian, be- 
 lieve me, you can still do much good with it. And I 
 know you will be happy yet." 
 
 It was the only allusion he had made to his friend's 
 more personal sorrows. Before the latter had time to 
 reply, he hastened to proceed : 
 
 "And now to business. All the gold entrusted to me 
 lies at Scarthey and, faith, I believe it lies as weightily 
 on my mind as if it was all stored there instead ! Renny 
 knows the secret hiding-place. Will you engage to re- 
 store it to its owners, in all privacy ? This is a terribly 
 arduous undertaking, Adrian, and it is asking much of 
 your friendship ; but if I know you, not too much. And 
 it will enable my poor bones to lie at rest, or rather," with 
 a rueful laugh, ' ' hang at rest on their gibbet ; for you 
 know I am to be set up as a warning to other fools, like 
 a rat on a barn door. I have, by the kindness of the 
 chaplain, been able to write out a full schedule of the
 
 390 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 different sums, and to whom they are due. He has taken 
 charge of the closed packet directed to you, and will give 
 it to you intact, I feel sure. He is a man of honour, and 
 I trust him to respect the confidence I have placed in 
 
 him Egad ! the poor old boys will be right glad 
 
 to get their coin back in safety. A couple of them have 
 been up here already, to interview me, in fear and trem- 
 bling. They were hard set to credit me when I assured 
 them that they would be no losers in the end, after all 
 — barring the waiting. You see, I counted upon you." 
 
 "I shall never rest until it is done," said Sir Adrian, 
 simply. And Captain Jack-as simply answered : " Thank 
 you. Among the treasure there is also ^^10,000 of my 
 own ; the rest of my laboriously acquired fortime is for- 
 feit to the Crown, as you know — much good may it do 
 it ! But this little hoard I give to you. You do not want 
 it, of course, and therefore it is only to be yours that you 
 may administrate it in accordance to my wishes. An- 
 other charge — but I make no apology. I wish you to 
 divide it in three equal shares : two to be employed as 
 you see best, for the widows and families of those poor 
 fellows of the preventive service, victims of my venture ; 
 the third, as well as my beautiful Peregrine, I leave to 
 the mate and men who served me so faithfully. They 
 have fled with her, and must avoid England for some 
 time. But Renny will contrive to hear of them ; they 
 are bound to return in secret for tidings, and I should like 
 to feel that the misery I have left behind me may be 
 
 mitigated And now, dear Adrian, that is all. The 
 
 man outside grows impatient. I hear him shuffling his 
 keys. Hark ! there he knocks ; the fellow has a certain 
 rude feeling for me. An honest fellow. Dear Adrian, 
 good-bye." 
 
 " My God ! this is hard — is there nothing else — nothing 
 — can indeed all my friendship be of no further help ? — 
 Hubert ! " 
 
 "Hush, hush," cried Jack Smith hastily, "Adrian, you 
 alone of all living beings now know me by that name. 
 Never let it cross your lips again. I could not die in peace 
 were it not for the thought that I bring no discredit upon 
 it. My mother believes me dead — God in His mercy has 
 spared me the crowning misery of bringing shame to her 
 white hairs — shame to the old race. Hubert Cochrane
 
 IN LANCASTER CASTLE 391 
 
 died ten years ago. Jack Smith alone it is that dies by 
 the hangman's hand. One other," his voice softened and 
 the hard look of pain left his face, " one other shall hear 
 the secret besides you — but I know she will never speak of 
 it, even to you — and such is my wish." 
 
 It was the pride of race at its last and highest ex- 
 pression. 
 
 There was the sound, without, of the key in the lock. 
 
 "One last word — if you love me, nay, as you love me 
 — do not be there on Saturday ! This parting with you — 
 the good-bye to her — that is my death. Afterwards what 
 happens to this flesh," he struck at himself with his 
 chained hands, "matters no more than what will happen 
 to the soulless corpse. I know you would come to help 
 me with the feeling of your love, your presence — but do 
 not — do not — and now good-bye ! " 
 
 Adrian seized his friend by the hands with a despairing 
 grip, the door rolled back with its dismal screech. 
 
 The prisoner smiled at him with tender eyes. This 
 man whom, all unwillingly he had robbed of his wife's 
 heart, was broken with grief that he could not save the 
 life that had brought him misery. Here was a friend to 
 be proud of, even at the gate of death ! 
 
 " God be with you, dear Adrian ! God bless you and 
 your household, and your children, and your children's 
 children ! Hear my last words : From viy death will he 
 horn your happiness, and if its growth he slow, yet it will 
 wax strong and sure as the years go hy." 
 
 The words broke from him with prophetic solemnity ; 
 their hands fell apart, and Adrian, led by the jailer, 
 stumbled forth blindly. Jack Smith stood erect, still 
 smiling, watching them : were Adrian to turn he should 
 find no weakness, no faltering for the final remembrance. 
 
 But Adrian did not turn. And the door closed, closed 
 upon hope and happiness and life, shut in shame and 
 death. Out yonder, with Adrian, was the fresh bright 
 world, the sea, the sunshine, the dear ones ; here the 
 prison smells, the gloom, the constraint, the inflicted 
 dreadful death. All his hard-won calm fled from him ; 
 all his youth, his immense vitality woke lip and cried 
 out in him again. He raised his hands and pulled fiercely 
 at his collar as if already the rope were round his neck 
 strangling him. His blood hammered in his brain. God
 
 392 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 — God — it was impossible — it could not be — it was a 
 dream ! 
 
 Beyond, from far distant in the street came the cry of 
 a little child : 
 
 "Da-da— daddy." 
 
 The prisoner threw up his arms and then fell upon his 
 face upon the bed, torn by sobs. 
 
 Yes, Adrian would have children ; but Hubert Coch- 
 rane, who, from the beautiful young brood that was to 
 have sprung from his loins would have grafted on the old 
 stock a fresh and noble tree, he was to pass barren out 
 of life and leave no trace behind him.
 
 CHAPTER XXXII 
 THE ONE HE LOVED AND THE ONE WHO LOVED HIM 
 
 On the evening of the previous day Lady Landale and 
 her Aunt had arrived at Pulwick. The drive had been a 
 dismal one to poor Miss O'Donoghue. Neither her angry 
 expostulations, nor her tender remonstrances, nor her 
 attempts at consolation could succeed in drawing a con- 
 nected sentence from Molly, who, with a fever spot of 
 red upon each cheek only roused herself from the depth 
 of thought in which she seemed plunged to urge the 
 coachman to greater speed. Miss O'Donoghue tried the 
 whole gamut of her art in vain, and was obliged at last 
 to desist from sheer weariness and in much anxiety. 
 
 Madeleine and Sophia were seated by the fireside in the 
 library when the unexpected travellers came in upon 
 them. Sophia, in the blackest of black weeds, started 
 guiltily up from the volume of " The Corsair," in which 
 she had been plunged, while Madeleine, without mani- 
 festing any surprise, rose placidly, laid aside her needle- 
 work — a coarse flannel frock, evidently destined for 
 charity — and bestowed upon her sister and aunt an affec- 
 tionate though unexpansive embrace. 
 
 She had grown somewhat thinner and more thoughtful- 
 looking since Molly and she had last met, on that fatal 
 15th of March, but otherwise was unchanged in her serene 
 beauty. Molly clutched her wrist with a burning hand, 
 and, paying not the slightest attention to the other two, 
 nor condescending to any preamble, began at once, in 
 hurried words to explain her mission. 
 
 " He has asked for you, Madeleine," she cried, her eyes 
 flaming with unnatural brilliance as they sought her sis- 
 ter's mild gaze. " He has asked for you, I will take you 
 back with me, to-morrow, not later than to-morrow. 
 Don't you understand ? " shaking her impatiently as she 
 held her, "he is in prison, condemned to death, he has 
 
 393
 
 394 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 asked for you, he wants to see you. On Saturday — on 
 
 Saturday " Something clicked in her throat, and she 
 
 raised her hand to it with an uneasy gesture, one that 
 those who surrounded her had grown curiously familiar 
 with of late. 
 
 Madeleine drew away from her at this address, the 
 whole fair calm of her countenance troubled like a placid 
 pool by the casting of a stone. Clasping her hands and 
 looking down : " I saw that the unfortunate man was 
 condemned," she said. *'I have prayed for him daily, 
 I trust he repents. I am truly sorry for him. From my 
 heart I forgive him the deception he practised upon me. 
 
 But " a slight shudder shook her, '*I could not see 
 
 him again — surely you could not wish it of me. " 
 
 She spoke with such extreme gentleness that for a 
 minute the woman before her, in the seething turmoil of 
 her soul, failed to grasp the meaning of her words. 
 
 "You could not go ! " she repeated in a bewildered 
 way, " I could not wish it of you — ! " then with a sort of 
 shriek which drew Tanty and Miss Sophia hurriedly to- 
 wards her, " Don't you understand — on Saturday — if it 
 all fails, they will hang him.?" 
 
 " A-ah ! " exclaimed Madeleine with a movement as if 
 to ward off the sound — the cry, the gesture expressive, 
 not of grief, but of shrinking repugnance. But after a 
 second, controlling herself : 
 
 "And what should that be now, sister, to you or to 
 me .'' " she said haughtily. 
 
 Lady Landale clapped her hands together. 
 
 "And this is the woman he loves ! " she cried with a 
 shrill laugh. And she staggered, and sank back upon a 
 chair in an attitude of utter prostration. 
 
 "Molly, Molly," exclaimed her sister reprovingly, 
 while she glanced in much distress at Miss O'Donoghue, 
 "you are not yourself; you do not know what you are 
 saying." 
 
 " Remember," interposed Sophia in tragic tones, "that 
 you are speaking of the murderer of my beloved brother. " 
 Then she dissolved in tears, and was obliged to hide her 
 countenance in the folds of a vast pocket-handkerchief. 
 
 " Killing vermin is not murder ! " cried Molly fiercely, 
 awakening from her torpor. 
 
 Miss O'Donoghue, who in the most unwonted silence
 
 THE ONE HE LOVED 395 
 
 had been watching the scene with her shrewd eyes, here 
 seized the horrified Sophia by the elbow and trundled 
 her, with a great deal of energy and determination, to the 
 door. 
 
 " Get out of this, you foolish creature," she said in a 
 stern whisper, "and don't attempt to show your nose here 
 again till I give it leave to walk in ! " Then returning to 
 the sisters, and looking from Molly's haggard, distracted 
 face to Madeleine's pale one: " If you take my advice, 
 my dear," she said, a little drily, to the latter, " you will 
 not make so many bones about going to see that poor lad 
 in the prison, and you'll stop wrangling with your sister, 
 for she is just not able to bear it. We shall start to- 
 morrow, Molly," turning to Lady Landale, and speaking 
 in the tone of one addressing a sick child, "and Made- 
 leine will be quite ready as early as you wish. " 
 
 " My dear aunt," said Madeleine, growing white to the 
 lips, "I am very sorry if Molly is ill, but you are quite 
 mistaken if you think I can yield to her wishes in this 
 matter. I could not go ; I could not ; it is impossible ! " 
 
 "Hear her," cried the other, starting from her seat. 
 "Oh, what are you made of? Is it water that runs in 
 your veins ? you that he loves " — her voice broke into a 
 wail — "you who ought to be so proud to know he loves 
 you even though your heart be broken ! You refuse to 
 go to him, refuse his last request ! . . . . Come to the 
 light," she went on, seizing the girl's wrists again ; "let 
 me look at you. Bah ! you never loved him. You don't 
 even understand what it is to love .... But what could 
 one expect from you, who abandoned him in the moment 
 of danger. You are afraid ; afraid of the painful scene, 
 the discomfort, the sight of the prison, of his beautiful 
 face worn and changed — afraid of the discredit. Oh ! I 
 know you, I know you. But mind you, Madeleine de 
 Savenaye, he wishes to see you, and I swore you would 
 go to him, and you shall go, if I have to drag you with 
 these hands of mine." 
 
 Her grip was so fierce, her eyes so savage, the words 
 so strange, that Madeleine screamed faintly, "She is 
 mad ! " and was amazed that Miss O'Donoghue did not 
 rush to the rescue ! 
 
 But Miss O'Donoghue, peering at her from the depths 
 of her arm-chair, merely said snappishly: "Ah, child,
 
 396 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 can't you say you will go, and have done ! Oughtn't 
 you to be ashamed to be so hard-hearted ? " and mopped 
 her perspiring and agitated countenance with her kerchief. 
 Then upon the girl's bewildered mind dawned a glimmer 
 of the truth ; and, blushing to the roots ot her hair, she 
 looked at her sister with a growing horror. 
 
 "Oh, Molly, Molly!" she said again, with a sort of 
 groan. 
 
 "Will you go?" cried Molly from between her set 
 teeth. 
 
 Again the girl shuddered. 
 
 " Less than ever — now," she murmured. And as Molly 
 threw her from her, almost with violence, she covered 
 her face with her hands and fell, weeping bitter tears, 
 upon the couch behind her. 
 
 Lady Landale, with great steps, stormed up and down 
 the room, her eyes fixed on space, her lips moving ; now 
 and again a word escaped her then, sometimes hurled at 
 her sister, sometimes only in desperate communing with 
 herself. 
 
 " Base, cowardly, mean ! Oh, my God, cruel — cruel I 
 To go back without her." 
 
 After a little, with a sudden change of mood, she halted 
 and stood a while, as if in deep reflection, holding her 
 hand to her head, then crossing the room hurriedly, 
 she knelt down, and flung her arms round the weeping 
 figure. 
 
 "Ma petite Madeleine," she said in a voice of the most 
 piteous pleading, ' * thou and I, we were always good 
 friends ; thou canst not have the heart to be so cruel to 
 me now. See, my darling, he must die, they say — oh, 
 Madeleine, Madeleine ! And he asked for you. The 
 one thing, he told Ren^, the only thing we could do for 
 him on earth was to let him see you once more. My 
 little sister, you cannot refuse : he loves you. What has 
 he done to offend you? Your pride cannot forgive him 
 for being what he is, I suppose ; yet such as he is you 
 should be proud of him. He is too noble, too straight- 
 forward to have intentionally deceived you. If he did 
 wrong, it was for love of you. Madeleine, Madeleine ! " 
 
 Her tones trailed away into a moan. 
 
 Miss O'Donoghue sobbed loudly from her corner. 
 Madeleine, who had looked at her sister at first with
 
 THE ONE HE LOVED 397 
 
 repulsion, seemed moved ; she placed her hands upon her 
 shoulders, and gazed sadly into the flushed face. 
 
 ' ' My poor Molly, " she said hesitatingly, ' ' this is dread- 
 ful ! But I too — I too was led into deceit, into folly." 
 She blushed painfully. " I would not blame you ; it was 
 not your fault that you were carried away in his ship. 
 You went only for my sake : I cannot forget that. Yet 
 that he should have this unhappy power over you too, 
 you with your good husband, you a married woman, oh, 
 my poor sister, it is terrible ! He is a wicked man ; I 
 pray that he may yet repent." 
 
 "Heavens," interrupted Molly, her passion up in arms 
 again, loosening as she spoke her clasp upon her sister, 
 and rising to her feet to look down on her with withering 
 scorn, "have I not made myself clear? Are you deaf, 
 stupid, as well as heartless ? It is you — you— jyou he 
 loves, jyou he wants. What am / to him ? " with a curious 
 sob, half of laughter, half of anguish. "Your pious 
 fears are quite unfounded as far as he is concerned — the 
 wicked man, as you call him ! Oh, he spurns my love 
 with as much horror as even you could wish ! " 
 
 "Molly ! " 
 
 "Ay — Molly, and Molly — how shocked you are ! Yes, 
 I love him, I don't care who hears it. I love him — 
 Adrian knows — he is not as virtuous as you, evidently, 
 for Adrian pities me. He is doing all he can, though 
 they say it is in vain, to get a reprieve for him — though 
 I do love him ! While you — you are too good, too im- 
 maculate even to soil your dainty foot upon the floor of 
 his prison, that floor that I could kiss because his shoe 
 has trod it. But it is impossible ! no human being could 
 be so hard, least of all you, whom I have seen turn sick 
 at the sight of a dead worm — Madeleine ! " 
 
 Crouching down in the former imploring manner, while 
 her breast heaved with dry tearless sobs : " It cannot 
 hurt you, you who loved him." And then with the old 
 pitiful cry, "it is the only thing he wants, and he loves 
 you." 
 
 Madeleine disengaged herself from the clinging hands 
 with a gesture almost of disgust. 
 
 "Listen to me," she said, after a pause, "try and 
 compose yourself and understand. All this month I have 
 had time to think, to realise, to pray. I have seen what
 
 398 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 the world is worth, that it is full of horror, of sin, of 
 trouble, of dreadful dissensions — that its sorrow far out- 
 weighs its happiness. I have suffered," her pretty lips 
 quivered an instant, but she hardened herself and went 
 on, ' ' but it is better so — it was God's will, it was to show 
 me where to find real comfort, the true peace. I have 
 quite made up my mind. I was only waiting to see you 
 again and tell you — next week I am going back to the 
 convent for ever. Oh, why did we leave it, Molly, why 
 did we leave it ! " She broke down, and the tears gushed 
 from her eyes. 
 
 Lady Landale had listened in silence. 
 
 " Well — is that all ? " she said impatiently, when her 
 sister ceased speaking, while in the background Tanty 
 groaned out a protest, and bewailed that she was alive to 
 see the day. " What does it matter what you do after- 
 wards — you can go to the convent — go where you will 
 then ; but what has that to say to your visit to him now } " 
 
 " I have done with all human love," said Madeleine 
 solemnly, crossing her hands on her breast, and looking 
 upward with inspired eyes. " I did love this man once," 
 she answered, hardening herself to speak firmly, though 
 again her lips quivered — '' he himself killed that love by 
 his own doing. I trusted him ; he betrayed that trust ; 
 he would have betrayed me, but that I have forgiven, it 
 is past and done with. But to go and see him now, to 
 stir up in my heart, not the old love, it could not be, but 
 agitation, sorrow — to disturb this quietness of soul, this 
 calm which God has given me at last after so much 
 prayer and struggle — no, no — it would not be right, it 
 cannot be ! Moreover, if I would, I could not, indeed I 
 could not. The very thought of it all, the disgrace, that 
 place of sin and shame, of him in chains, condemned — a 
 criminal — a murderer !...." 
 
 A nervous shudder shook her from head to foot, she 
 seemed in truth to sicken and grow faint, like one forced 
 to face some hideous nauseating spectacle. " As for 
 him," she went on in low, feeble tones, " it will be the 
 best too. God knows I forgive him, that I am sorry for 
 him, that I regret his terrible fate. But I feel it would be 
 worse for him to see me — if he must die, it would be 
 wrong to distract him from his last preparations. And it 
 would only be a useless pain to him, for I could not pre-
 
 THE ONE HE LOVED 399 
 
 tend — he would see that I despise him. I thought I loved 
 a noble gentleman, not one who was even then playing 
 with crime and cheating." 
 
 The faint passionless voice had hardly ceased before, 
 with a loud cry, Molly sprang at her sister as if she would 
 have strangled her. 
 
 " Oh, unnatural wretch," she exclaimed, " you are not 
 fit to live ! " 
 
 Tanty rushed forward and dragged the infuriated woman 
 away. 
 
 Madeleine rose up stiffly — swayed a moment as she 
 stood — and then fell unconscious to the ground. 
 
 Next day in the dav/n Lady Landale came into her 
 sister's bedroom. Her circled eyes, her drawn face be- 
 speaking a sleepless night. 
 
 Madeleine was lying, beautiful and white, like a broken 
 lily, in the dim light of the lamp ; Sophia, an unlovely 
 spectacle in curl papers, wizened and red-eyed from her 
 night's watch, looked up warningly from the arm-chair 
 beside her. But Molly went unhesitatingly to the window, 
 pulled the curtains, unbarred the shutters, and then 
 walked over to the bed. 
 
 As she approached, Madeleine opened her blue eyes 
 and gazed at her beseechingly. 
 
 "There is yet time," said Molly in a hollow voice. 
 "Get up and come with me." 
 
 The wan face upon the pillow grew whiter still, 
 the old horror grew in the uplifted eyes, the wan lips mur- 
 mured, "I cannot." 
 
 There was an immense strength of resistance in the 
 girl's very feebleness. 
 
 Molly turned away abruptly, then back again once 
 more. 
 
 "At least you will send him a message.?" 
 
 Madeleine drew a deep breath, closed her eyes a mo- 
 ment and seemed to whisper a prayer ; then aloud she 
 said, while, like a shadow so faint was it, a flush rose to 
 her cheeks : 
 
 " Tell him that I forgive him, that I forgive him freely 
 — that I shall always pray for him." The flush grew 
 deeper. "Tell him too that I shall never be any man's 
 bride, now."
 
 400 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 She closed her eyes again and the colour slowly ebbed 
 away. Molly stood, her black brows drawn, gazing down 
 upon her in silence. — Did she love him after all? Who 
 can fathom the mystery of another's heart ? 
 
 "I will tell him," she answered at last. "Good-bye, 
 Madeleine — I shall never see you or speak to you again 
 as long as I live." 
 
 Slie left the room with a slow, heavy step. 
 
 Madeleine shivered, and with both hands clasped the 
 silver crucifix that hung around her neck ; two great tears 
 escaped from her black lashes and rolled down her cheeks. 
 Miss Sophia moaned. She, poor soul, had had tragedy 
 enough, at last. 
 
 When the jailer brought in the mid-day meal after 
 Adrian's departure, he found the prisoner seated very 
 quietly at his table, his open Bible before him, but his 
 eyes tixed dreamily upon the space of dim whitewashed 
 wall, and his mind evidently far away. 
 
 Upon his guardian's entrance he roused himself, how- 
 ever, and begged him, when he should return for the dish, 
 to restore neatness to the bed and to assist him in the 
 ordering of his toilet which he wished to be spick and 
 span. 
 
 "For I expect a visitor," said Captain Jack gravely. 
 
 When in due course the fellow had carried out these 
 wishes with the surly good-nature characteristic of him, 
 Jack set himself to wait. 
 
 The square of sky through his window grew from daz- 
 zling white to deepest blue, the shadows travelled along the 
 blank walls, the street noises rose and fell in capricious 
 gusts, the church bells jangled, all the myriad sounds which 
 had come to measure his solitary day struck their familiar 
 course upon his ear ; yet the expected visitor delayed. 
 But the captain, among other things, had learnt to possess 
 his soul in patience of late ; and so, as he slowly paced 
 his cell after his wont, he betrayed neither irritation nor 
 melancholy. If she did not come to-day, then it would 
 be to-morrow. He had no doubt of this. 
 
 The afternoon had waned — golden without, full of grey 
 shadows in the prison room — when light footfalls mingled 
 with the well-known heavy tread and jangle of keys, 
 along the echoing passage.
 
 THE ONE HE LOVED 401 
 
 There was the murmur of a woman's voice, a word of 
 gruff reply, and the next moment a tall form wrapped m a 
 many-folded black cloak and closely veiled, advanced 
 a few steps into the room, while, as before, the turnkey 
 retired and locked the door behind him. 
 
 His heart beating so thickly that for the moment utter- 
 ance was impossible, Captain Jack made one hurried pace 
 forward with outstretched hands, only to check himself, 
 however, and let them fall by his side. He would meet 
 her calmly, humbly, as he had resolved. 
 
 The woman threw back her veil, and it was Molly's 
 dark gaze, Molly's brown face, flushed and haggard, yet 
 always beautiful, that looked out of the black frame. 
 
 An ashen pallor spread over the prisoner's coun- 
 tenance. 
 
 " Madeleine ? " he asked in a whisper ; then, with a loud 
 ring of stern demand, " Madeleine ! " 
 
 " I went for her, I went for her myself — I did all I could 
 — she would not come." 
 
 She would not coine ! 
 
 It is a sort of unwritten law that the supremely afflicted 
 have the right, where possible, to the gratification of the 
 least of their wishes. That Madeleine could refuse to 
 come to him in his last extremity, had never once crossed 
 her lover's brain. He stood bewildered. 
 
 "She is not ill?" 
 
 " 111 ! " Lady Landale's red lips curved in scorn, " No — 
 not ill — but a coward ! " She spat the word fiercely as if 
 at the offender's face. 
 
 There fell a minute's silence, broken only by a few 
 labouring deep-drawn breaths from the prisoner's op- 
 pressed lungs. Then he stood as if turned to stone, not 
 a muscle moving, his eyes fixed, his jaw set. 
 
 Molly trembled before this composure, beneath which 
 she divined a suffering so intense that her own frail bar- 
 riers of self-restraint were well-nigh broken down by a 
 torrent of passionate pity. 
 
 But she braced herself with the feeling of the moment's 
 urgency. She had no time to lose. 
 
 " Hear me," she cried in low hurried tones, laying a 
 
 hand upon his folded arm and then drawing it away 
 
 again as if frightened by the rigid tension she felt there. 
 
 "Waste no more thought on one so unworthy — all is not 
 
 26
 
 402 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 lost — I bring you hope, life. Oh, for God's sake, wake 
 up and listen to me — I can save you still. Captain 
 Smith, Jack — Jack ! " 
 
 Her voice rose as high as she dare lift it;, but no statue 
 could be more unhearing. 
 
 The woman cast a desperate look around her ; heark- 
 ened fearfully, all was silent within the prison ; then with 
 tremulous haste she cast off her immense cloak, pulled 
 her bonnet from her head, divested herself of her long 
 full skirt and stood, a strange vision, lithe, unconscious, 
 unashamed, her slender woman's figure clad in complete 
 man's raiment, with the exception of the coat. Her dark 
 head cropped and curly, her face, with its fever-bloom, 
 rising flower-like above the folds of her white shirt. 
 
 With anxious haste she compared herself with the 
 prisoner. 
 
 "Ren^ told me well," she said ; "with your coat upon 
 me none would tell the difference in this dark room. I 
 am nearly as tall as you too. Thanks be to God that he 
 made me so. Jack," calling in his ear, " don't you see ? 
 Don't you understand ? It is all quite easy. You have 
 only to put on these clothes of mine, this cloak, the bon- 
 net comes quite over the face ; stoop a little as you go 
 out and hold this handkerchief to your face as if in tears. 
 The carriage waits outside and Rend. The rest is planned. 
 1 shall sit on the bed with your coat on. It is a chance — 
 a certainty. When I found Rene had failed, I swore that 
 I would save you yet. Ever since I came from Pulwick 
 this morning he and I have worked together upon this 
 last plan. There is not a flaw ; it must succeed. Oh, 
 God, he does not hear me ! Jack — Jack ! " 
 
 She shook him with a sort of fury, then, falling at his 
 feet, clasped his knees. 
 
 " For God's sake — for God's sake ! " 
 
 He sighed, and again came the murmur : 
 
 "She would not come " He lifted his hand to his 
 
 forehead and looked round, then down at her, as if from 
 a great height. 
 
 She saw that he was aroused at last, sprang to her feet, 
 and poured out the details of the scheme again. 
 
 " I run no risk, you see. They would not dare to 
 punish me, a woman — Lady Landale — even if they could. 
 Be quick, the precious moments are going by. I gave
 
 THE ONE HE LOVED 403 
 
 the man some gold to leave us as long as he could, but 
 any moment he may be upon us." 
 
 "Poor woman," said Jack, and his voice seemed as 
 far off as his gaze ; ' ' see these chains. " 
 
 She staggered back an instant, but the next, crying : 
 
 "The file — the file — that was why Rene gave it to me." 
 She seized the skirt as it lay at her feet, and, striving with 
 agonised endeavours to control the trembling of her 
 hands, drew forth from its pocket a file and would have 
 taken his wrist. But he held his hands above his head, 
 out of her reach, while a strange smile, almost of triumph, 
 parted his lips. 
 
 "The bitterness of death is past," he said. 
 
 She tore at him in a frenzy, but, repulsed by his immo- 
 bility, fell again broken at his feet. 
 
 In a torrent of words she besought him, for Adrian's 
 sake, for the sake of the beautiful world, of his youth, of 
 the sweetness of life — in her madness, at last, for her own 
 sake ! She had ruined him, but she would atone, she 
 would make him happy yet. If he died it was death to 
 her. .... 
 
 When at length her voice sank away from sheer ex- 
 haustion, he helped her to rise, and seated her on the 
 chair ; then told her quietly that he was quite determined. 
 
 "Go home," said he, "and leave me in peace. I 
 thank you for what you would have done, thank you for 
 trying to bring Madeleine," he paused a moment. How 
 purely he had loved her — and twice, twice she had failed 
 him. "Yet, I do not blame her," he went on as if to 
 himself; " I did not deserve to see her, and it has made 
 all the rest easy. Remember," again addressing the 
 woman whom hopelessness seemed for a moment to have 
 benumbed, "that if you would yet do me a kindness, be 
 kind to her. If you would atone — atone to Adrian." 
 
 "To Adrian? " echoed Molly, stung to the quick, with 
 a pale smile of exceeding bitterness. And with a rush of 
 pride, strength returned to her. 
 
 " I leave you resolved to die then ? " she asked him, 
 fiercely. 
 
 " You leave me glad to die," he replied, unhesitatingly. 
 
 She spoke no more, but got up to replace her garments. 
 He assisted her in silence, but as his awkward bound 
 hands touched her she shuddered away from him.
 
 404 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 As she gathered the cloak round her shoulders again, 
 there was a noise of heavy feet at the door. 
 
 The jailer thrust in his rusty head and looked furtively 
 from the prisoner to his visitor as they stood silently apart 
 from each other ; then, making a sign to some one whose 
 dark figure was shadowed behind him without, entered 
 with a hesitating sidelong step, and, drawing Captain 
 Jack on one side, whispered in his ear. 
 
 "The blacksmith's yonder. He's come to measure 
 you, captain, for them there irons you know of — best get 
 the lady quietly away, for he wunnut wait no longer." 
 
 The prisoner smiled sternly. 
 
 "I am ready," he said, aloud. 
 
 "I'll keep him outside a minute or two," added the 
 man, wiping his brow, evidently much relieved by his 
 charge's calmness. "I kep' him back as long as I 
 could — but happen it's alius best to hurry the parting 
 after all." 
 
 He moved away upon tiptoe, in instinctive tribute to 
 the lady's sorrow, and drew the door to. 
 
 Molly threw back her veil which she had lowered upon 
 his entrance, her face was livid. 
 
 "What is it?" she asked, articulating with difficulty. 
 
 "Nothing — a fellow to see to my irons." 
 
 He moved his hands as he spoke, and she understood 
 him, as he had hoped, to refer only to his manacles. 
 
 She drew a gasping breath. How they watched him ! 
 Yet all was not lost after all. 
 
 "I will leave the file," she said, in a quick whisper; 
 " you will reflect ; there is yet to-morrow," and rushed 
 to hide it in his bed. But he caught her by the arm. his 
 patience worn out at length. 
 
 "Useless," he answered, harshly. " I shall not use it. 
 Moreover, it would be found, and I am sure it is not your 
 wish to bring unnecessary hardship upon my last moments. 
 I should lose the only thing that is left to me, the comfort 
 of being alone. And to-morrow I shall see no one." 
 
 The door groaned apart : 
 
 "Very sorry, mum," came the husky voice in the 
 opening, "Time's up.'' 
 
 She turned a look of agony upon Captain Jack's deter- 
 mined figure. Was this to be the end ? Was she to leave 
 him so, without even one kind word.? "
 
 THE ONE HE LOVED 405 
 
 Alas, poor soul ! All her hopes had fallen to this — a 
 parting word. 
 
 He was unpitying ; his arms were folded ; he made no 
 sign. 
 
 She took a step away and swayed ; the turnkey came 
 forward compassionately to lead her out. But the next 
 instant she wheeled round and stood alone and erect, 
 braced up by the extremity of her anguish. 
 
 " I have a message," she cried, as if the words were 
 forced from her. "I could not make her come, but I 
 made her send you a message. She told me to say that 
 she forgave you, freely ; that she would always pray for 
 you. She bade me tell you too that she would never be 
 any man's bride now. " 
 
 It had been like the rending of body and soul to tell 
 him this. As she saw the condemned man's face quiver 
 and flush at last out of its impassiveness, she thought 
 hell itself could hold no more hideous torment. 
 
 He extended his arms : 
 
 " Now welcome death ! " he exclaimed. 
 
 And she turned and fled down the passage as though 
 driven upon this last cry. 
 
 " E-h, he be a strange one ! " said the jailer afterwards 
 to his mate. " If ye'd heard that poor lady sob as she 
 went by ! I've seen many a one in the same case, but I 
 was sore for her, I was that. And he — as cool — ^joking 
 with Robert over the hanging irons the next minute. 
 'New sort of tailor I've got,' says he. 'Make them 
 smart,' he says, 'since I'm to wear them in so exalted a 
 position.' So exalted a position, that's what he says. 
 ' And they've got to last me" some long time, you know,' 
 says he." 
 
 " He'll be something worth looking at on Saturday. I 
 could almost wish he could ha' got off, only that it's a 
 fine sight to see a real gentleman go through it. Ah, it's 
 they desperate villains has the proper pluck ! "
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII 
 LAUNCHED ON THE GREAT WAVE 
 
 Sir Adrian made, at first personally, then through Miss 
 O'Donoghue, two attempts to induce his wife to return to 
 Pulwickt or at any rate to leave Lancaster on the next 
 day. But the contempt, then the fury, which she op- 
 posed to their reasoning- rendered it worse than useless. 
 
 The very sight of her husband, indeed, seemed to 
 exasperate the unfortunate woman to such a degree that, 
 in spite of his anxiety concerning her, he resolved to 
 spare her even to the consciousness of his presence, and 
 absented himself altogether from the house. 
 
 Miss O'Donoghue, unable to cope with a state of affairs 
 at once so distressing and so unbecoming, finally retired 
 to her own apartment with a book of piety and some 
 gruel, and abandoned all further endeavour to guide her 
 unruly relations. So that Molly found herself left to her 
 own resources, in the guardianship of Ren^, the only 
 company her misery could tolerate. 
 
 Three times she went to the castle, to be met each 
 time with the announcement that, by the express wish 
 of the prisoner, no visitors were to be admitted to him 
 again. Then in restless wandering about the streets — 
 once entering the little chapel where the silent tabernacle 
 seemed, with its closed door, to offer no relenting to the 
 stormy cry of her soul, and sent lier forth uncomforted 
 in the very midst of Renes humble bead-telling, to pace 
 the flags anew — so the terrible day wore to a close for 
 her ; and so that night came, precursor of the most 
 terrible day of all. 
 
 The exhaustion of Lady Landale's body produced at 
 last a fortunate torpor of mind. Flung upon her bed she 
 fell into a heavy sleep, and Tanty who announced her 
 intention of watching her, when Rene's guardianship had 
 
 406
 
 LAUNCHED ON THE GREAT WAVE 407 
 
 of necessity to cease, had the satisfaction of informing 
 Adrian, as he crept into the house, like one who had no 
 business there, of this consoling fact before retiring her- 
 self to the capacious arm-chair in which she heroically- 
 purposed to spend the night. 
 
 The sun was bright in the heavens, there was a clatter 
 and bustle in the street, when Molly woke with a great 
 start out of this sleep of exhaustion. Her heart beating 
 with heavy strokes, she sat up in bed and gazed upon 
 her surroundings with startled eyes. What was this 
 strange feeling of oppression, of terror.-* Why was she 
 in this sordid little room.^ Why was her hair cut short.? 
 Ah, my God ! memory returned upon her all too swiftly. 
 It was for to-day — to-day ; and she was perhaps too late. 
 She might never see him again ! 
 
 The throbbing of her heart was suffocating, sickening, 
 as she slipped out of bed. For a moment she hardly 
 dared consult the little watch that lay ticking upon her 
 dressing table. It was only a few minutes past seven ; 
 there was yet time. 
 
 The energy of her desire conquered the weakness of 
 her overwrought nerves. 
 
 Noiselessly, so as to avoid awakening the slumbering 
 watcher in the arm-chair, but steadily, she clothed her- 
 self, wrapt the dark mantle round her ; and then, pausing 
 for a moment to gaze with a fierce disdain at the uncon- 
 scious face of Miss O'Donoghue, which, with snores 
 emerging energetically and regularly from the great 
 hooked nose, presented a weird and witchlike vision in 
 the frame of a night-cap, fearfully and wonderfully be- 
 frilled, crept from the room and down the stairs. 
 
 At Rent's door she paused and knocked. 
 
 He opened on the instant. From his worn face she 
 guessed that he had been up all night. He put his finger 
 to his lips as he saw her, and glanced meaningly towards 
 the bed. 
 
 The words she would have spoken expired in a quick- 
 drawn breath. Her husband, with face of deathlike 
 pallor and silvered hair abroad upon the pillow, lay upon 
 the poor couch, still in his yesterday attire, but covered 
 carefully with a cloak. His breast rose and fell peace- 
 fully with his regular breath. 
 
 The scorn with which she had looked at Miss O'Don-
 
 4o8 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 oghue now shot forth a thousand times intensified from 
 Molly's circled eyes upon the prostrate figure. 
 "Asleep !" she cried. 
 
 And then with that incongruity with which things 
 trivial and irrelevant come upon us, even in the supremest 
 moments of life, the thought struck her sharply how old 
 a man he was. Her lip curved. 
 
 "Yes, My Lady— asleep," answered Rend steadily— it 
 seemed as if the faithful peasant had read her to her 
 soul. "Thank God, asleep. It is enough to have to 
 lose one good gentleman from the world this day. If his 
 honour were not sleeping at last, I should not answer 
 for him— I who speak to you. I took upon myself to 
 put some of the medicine, that he has had to take now 
 and again, when his sorrows come upon him and he 
 cannot rest, into his soup last night. It has had a good 
 effect. His honour will sleep three or four hours still, 
 and that, My Lady, must be. His honour has suffered 
 enough these last days, God knows ! " 
 
 The wife turned away vi'ith an impatient gesture. 
 
 " Look, Madame, at his white hairs. All white now — 
 they that were of a brown so beautiful, all but a few 
 locks, only a few months past ! Well may he look old. 
 When was ever any one made to suffer as he has been, 
 in only forty years of life.? Ah, My Lady, we were at 
 least tranquil upon our island ! " 
 
 There was a volume of reproach in the quiet simplicity 
 of the words, though Lady Landale was too bent on her 
 own purpose to heed them. But she felt that they lodged 
 in her mind, that she would find them there later ; but 
 not now — not now. 
 
 " It is to be for nine o'clock, you know," she said, with 
 desperate calmness. " I must see him again. I must 
 see him well. Alone I shall not be able to get a good 
 place in the crowd. Oh, I would see all ! " she added, 
 with a terrible laugh. 
 
 Rene cast a glance at his master's placid face. 
 
 "I am ready to come with My Lady," he said then, 
 and took his hat. 
 
 A turbulent, tender April day it was. Gusts of west 
 wind, balmy and sweet with all the sweet budding life of 
 the fields beyond, came eddying up the dusty streets and 
 blowing merrily into the faces of the holiday crowd that
 
 LAUNCHED ON THE GREAT WAVE 409 
 
 already pressed in a steady stream towards the castle 
 courtyard to see the hanging-. In those days there were 
 hangings so many after assizes that an execution could 
 hardly be said to possess the interest of novelty. But 
 there were circumstances enough attending the forth- 
 coming show to give it quite a piquancy of its own in 
 the eyes of the worthy Lancastrian burghers, who hur- 
 ried with wives and children to the place of doom, 
 anxious to secure sitting or standing room with a good 
 view of the gallows-tree. 
 
 It was not every day, indeed, that a gentleman was 
 hanged. So handsome a man, too, as the rumours went, 
 and so dare-devil a fellow ; friend of the noble family of 
 Landale, and a murderer of its most respected member. 
 Could justice ever have served up a spicier dish whereon 
 to regale the multitude } 
 
 First the courtyard, then, the walls, the roofs of the 
 adjoining houses, swarmed with an eager crowd. Every 
 space of ground and slate and tile, every ledge and win- 
 dow, was occupied. As thick as bees they hung — men, 
 women, and children ; a sea of white faces pressed to- 
 gether, each still, yet all as instinct with tremulous 
 movement as a field of corn in the wind ; while the 
 hoarse, indescribable murmur that seizes one with so 
 strange and fearsome an impression, the voice of the 
 multitude, rose and fell with a mighty pulsation, broken 
 here and there by the shriller cry of a child. 
 
 Overhead the sky, a delicious spring blue sky, flecked 
 with tiny white clouds, looked down like a great smile 
 upon the crowd that laughed and joked beneath. 
 
 No pity in heaven or on earth. 
 
 But as the felon came out into the air, which, warm 
 and tickle, puffed against his cheek, he cast one steady 
 glance around upon the black human hive and then 
 looked up into the white flecked ether, without the quiver 
 of a nerve. 
 
 He drew the spring breath into his lungs with a grate- 
 ful expansion of his deep chest. How fresh it was 1 
 And the sky, how fair and blue ! 
 
 As the eagerly expected group emerged from the prison 
 door and was greeted by a roar that curdled the blood in 
 at least one woman's heart there, an old Irish hag, who 
 sat in a coign of vantage, hugging her knees and croon-
 
 4IO THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 ing, a little black pipe held in her toothless jaws, ceased 
 her dismal hum to concentrate all her attention upon the 
 condemned man. 
 
 The creature was well known for miles around as a 
 constant attendant at such spectacles, and had become in 
 the course of time a privileged spectator. No one would 
 have dreamt of disputing the first place to old Judy. 
 Since the day when, still a young woman, she had seen 
 her two sons, mere lads, hanged, the one for sheep-steal- 
 ing, the other for harbouring the booty, she had, by a 
 strange freak of nature, taken a taste for the spectacle of 
 justice at work, and what had been the cause of her 
 greatest sorrow became the only solace of her life. Judy 
 and her pipe had become as familiar a figure at the 
 periodical entertainment as the executioner himself — 
 more so, indeed, for she had seen many generations of 
 these latter, and could compare their styles with the judg- 
 ment of a connoisseur. 
 
 But as Captain Jack advanced, the pallor of his clean 
 shorn, handsome face illumined not so much by the 
 morning sun without it seemed as by the shining of the 
 bright spirit within ; as gallantly clad as he had ever 
 been, even in the old Bath days when he had been court- 
 ing fair Madeleine de Savenaye ; his head proudly up- 
 lifted, his tread firm, strong of soul, strong of body — 
 some chord was struck in the perverted old heart that had 
 so long revelled in unholy and gruesome pleasure. She 
 drew the pipe from her lips, and broke out into screech- 
 ing lamentations. 
 
 " Oh, me boy, me boy, me beautiful boy ! Is it hang 
 him they will, and he so beautiful and brave ? The mur- 
 thering villains, my curse on them — a mother's curse — 
 God's curse on them — the black murtherers ! " 
 
 She scrambled to her feet, and shook her fist wildly in 
 the face of one of the sheriff's men. 
 
 A woman in the crowd, standing rigid and motionless, 
 enveloped in mourning robes, here suddenly caught up 
 the words with a muttering lip. 
 
 "Murderers, who said murderers.-* Don't they know 
 who murdered him ? Murdering Moll, Murdering Moll ! " 
 
 "For heaven's love, Madam," cried a man beside 
 her, who seemed in such anxiety concerning her as to 
 pay little heed to the solemn procession which was 
 
 i
 
 LAUNCHED ON THE GREAT WAVE 411 
 
 now attracting universal attention, "let me take you 
 away ! " 
 
 But she looked at him with a distraught, unseeing eye, 
 and pulled at the collar of her dress as if she were chok- 
 ing. 
 
 Old Judy's sudden expression of opinion created a small 
 disturbance. The procession had to halt ; a couple of 
 officials good-naturedly elbowed her on one side. 
 
 But she thrust a withered hand expanded in protest over 
 their shoulders, as the prisoner came forward again. 
 
 "God bless ye, honey, God bless ye: it's a wicked 
 world.'' 
 
 He turned towards her ; for the last time the old sweet 
 smile sprang to lip and eye. 
 
 "Thank you, mother," he said, and raised his hand to 
 his bare head with courteous gesture. 
 
 The crowd howled and swayed. He passed on. 
 
 And now the end ! There is the cart ; the officers draw 
 back to make way for the man who is to help him with 
 his final toilet. The chaplain, too, falls away after wring- 
 ing his hand again and again. Good man, he weeps and 
 cannot speak the sacred words he would. Why weep ? 
 We must all die ! How blue the sky is : he will look 
 once more before drawing down the cap upon his eyes. 
 His hands are free, for he is to die as like a gentleman as 
 may be. Just the old blue that used to smile down at 
 him upon his merry Peregrine, and up at him from the 
 dancing waves. He had always thought he would have 
 liked to die upon the sea, in the cool fresh water .... 
 a clean, brave death. 
 
 It is hard to die in a crowd. Even the very beasts 
 would creep into cave or bush to die decently — un watched. 
 
 A last puff of sweeping wind in his face ; then darkness, 
 blind, suffocating 
 
 Ah, God is good ! Here is the old ship giving and rising 
 under his feet like the living creature he always thought 
 her, and here is dazzling brilliant sunshine all around, so 
 bright he scarce can see the free white-crested waves that 
 are dashing down upon him ; but he is upon the sea in- 
 deed, upon the sea alone, and the waves are coming. 
 Hark how they roar, see how they gather ! The brave 
 Peregrine she dips and springs, she will weather the 
 breakers with him at the helm no matter how they rear.
 
 412 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 On, on they come, mountain high, overwhelming, bitter 
 drenching. 
 
 A great wave in very truth, it gathers and breaks and 
 onward rolls, and carries the soul of Hubert Cochrane 
 with it. 
 
 The woman in the black cloak falls as if she had been 
 struck, and as those around her draw apart to let her com- 
 panion and another man lift her and carry her away, they 
 note with horror that her face is dark and swollen, as if the 
 cord that had just done its evil work yonder had been 
 tightened also round her slender throat.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV 
 
 THE GIBBET ON THE SANDS 
 
 Woman ! take up thy life once more 
 
 Where thou hast left it ; 
 
 Nothing is changed for thee, thou art the same, 
 
 Thou who didst think that all things 
 
 Would be wholly changed for thee. 
 
 Litteplayer's Song. 
 
 PuLwicK ag-ain. The whirlwind of disaster that upon 
 that fatal fifteenth of March had burst upon the house of 
 Landale has passed and swept away. But it has left deep 
 trace of its passage. 
 
 The restless head, the busy hand, the scheming brain 
 of Rupert Landale lie now mouldering under the sod of 
 the little churchyard where first they started the mischief 
 that was to have such far reaching- effects. Low, too, lies 
 the proud head of the mistress of Pulwick, so stricken, 
 indeed, so fever-tortured, that those who love her best 
 scarce dare hope more for her than rest at last under the 
 same earth that presses thus lightly above her enemy's 
 eternal sleep. 
 
 There is a great stillness in the house. People go to 
 and fro with muffled steps, the master with bent white 
 head; Bliss O'Donoghue, indefatigable sick nurse ; Made- 
 leine, who may not venture as far as the threshold of her 
 sister's room, and awaits in prayer and tears the hour of 
 that final bereavement which will free her to take wing- 
 towards the cloister for which her soul longs ; Sophia, 
 crushed finally by the sorrows she has played at all her 
 days. Seemingly there is peace once more upon them 
 all, but it IS the peace of exhaustion rather than that of 
 repose. And yet — could they but know it, as the sands 
 run down ni the hour-glass of time there are golden grains 
 gathering still to drop into the lives of each. 
 
 But meanwhile none may read the future, and Molly 
 
 413
 
 414 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 fights for her life in the darkened room, the gloom of 
 which, to the souls of the dwellers at Pulwick, seems to 
 spread even to the sunny skies without. 
 
 When Lady Landale was brought back to her home 
 from Lancaster, it was held by every one who saw her that 
 Death had laid his cold finger on her forehead, and that 
 her surrender to his call could only be a matter of hours. 
 
 The physician in attendance could point out no reason- 
 able ground for hope. Such a case had never come within 
 his experience or knowledge, and he was with difficulty 
 induced to believe that it was not the result of actual 
 violence. 
 
 ' ' In every particular, " said he, " the patient's symptoms 
 are those of coma resulting from prolonged strangulation 
 or asphyxia. These spectacles are very dangerous to 
 highly sensitive organisations. Lady Landale no doubt 
 felt for the miserable wretch in the benevolence of her 
 heart. Imagination aiding her, she realised suddenly the 
 horror of his death throes, and this vivid realisation was 
 followed by the actual simulacrum of the torture. We 
 have seen hysterical subjects simulate in the same manner 
 diverse diseases of which they themselves are organically 
 free, such as epilepsy, or the like. But Lady Landale's 
 condition is otherwise serious. She is alive ; more I can- 
 not say." 
 
 According to his lights, he had bled the patient, as he 
 would have bled, by rote, to recall to life one actually cut 
 down from the beam. But, although the young blood 
 did flow, bearing testimony to the fact that the heart still 
 beat in that deathlike frame, the vitality left seemed so 
 faint as to defy the power of human ministration. 
 
 The flame of life barely flickered ; but the powers of 
 youth were of greater strength in the unconscious body 
 than could have been suspected, and gradually, almost 
 imperceptibly, they asserted themselves. 
 
 With the return of animation, however, came a new 
 danger : fever, burning, devastating, more terrible even 
 than the almost mortal syncope ; that fever of the brain 
 which wastes like the rack, before which science stands 
 helpless, and the watcher sinks into despair at his im- 
 potence to screen a beloved sufferer from the horrible, 
 ever-recurring phantoms of delirium.
 
 THE GIBBET ON THE SANDS 415 
 
 Had not Sir Adrian intuitively known well-nigh every 
 act of the drama which had already been so fatal to his 
 house, Mollys frenzied utterances would have told him 
 all. Every secret incident of that storm of passion which 
 had desolated her life was laid bare to his sorrowing 
 heart : — her aspirations for an ideal, centred suddenly 
 upon one man ; her love rapture cruelly baulked at every 
 step ; the consuming of that love fire, resisting all frustra- 
 tion of hope, all efforts of conscience, of honour ; how 
 her whole being became merged into that of the man she 
 loved and whom she had ruined, her life in his life, her 
 very breath in his breath. And then the lamentable, in- 
 evitable end : the fearful confrontation with his death. 
 Again and again, in never ceasing repetition, was that 
 fair, most dear body, that harrowed soul, dragged step by 
 step through every iota of the past torture, always to fall 
 at last into the same stillness of exhaustion — appalling 
 image of final death that wrung Adrian with untold 
 agonies of despair. 
 
 For many days this condition of things lasted unaltered. 
 In the physician's own words it was impossible that life 
 could much longer resist such fierce onslaughts. But one 
 evening a change came over the spirit of the sufferer's 
 vision. 
 
 There had been a somewhat longer interval between 
 the paroxysms ; Sir Adrian seated as usual by the bed, 
 waiting now with a sinking heart for the wonted return 
 of the frenzy, clamouring in his soul to heaven for pity 
 on one whom seemingly no human aid could succour, 
 dared yet draw no shadow of hope from the more pro- 
 longed stillness of the patient. Presently indeed, she 
 grew restless, tossed her arms, muttered with parched 
 lips. Then she suddenly sat up and listened as if to some 
 deeply annoying and disquieting sound, fell back again 
 under his gentle hands, rolling her little black head wearily 
 from side to side, only however to start again, and again 
 listen. Thus it went on for a while until the haunted, 
 weary eyes grew suddenly distraught with terror and 
 loathing. Straining them into space as if seeking some- 
 thing she ought to see but could not, she began to speak 
 in a quick yet distinct whisper : 
 
 "How it creaks, creaks — creaks! Will no one stop 
 that creaking ! What is it that creaks so ? Will no one
 
 4i6 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 stop that creaking ! " And again she placed her cheek on 
 the pillow, covering her ear with her little, wasted hand, 
 and for a while remained motionless, moaning like a 
 child. But it was only to spring up again, this time with 
 a cry which brought the physician from the adjacent 
 sleeping room in alarm to her bedside. 
 
 "Ah, God," she shrieked, her eyes distended and star- 
 ing as if into the far distance through walls and outlying 
 darkness. "I see it! They have done it, they have 
 done it ! It is hanging on the sands — how it creaks and 
 
 sways in the wind ! It will creak for ever, for ever 
 
 Now it spins round, it looks this way — the black face ! 
 It looks at me ! " She gave another piercing cry, then her 
 frame grew rigid. With mouth open and fixed eyeballs 
 she seemed lost in the frightful fascination of the image 
 before her brain. 
 
 As, distracted by the sight of her torments, Adrian hung 
 over her, racking his mind in the endeavour to soothe her, 
 her words struck a chill into his very soul. He cast a 
 terrified glance at the doctor who was ominously feeling 
 her pulse. 
 
 "There is a change," he faltered. 
 
 The doctor shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 "I have told you before," he retorted irritably, "that 
 you should attach no more importance to the substance 
 of these delirious wanderings than you w-ould to the rav- 
 ings of madness. It is the fact of the delirium itself which 
 must alarm us. She is less and less able to bear it." 
 
 The patient moaned and shuddered, resisting the gentle 
 force that would have pressed her down on her pillow. 
 
 "Oh the creaking, the creaking! Will no one stop 
 that creaking ! Must I hear it go on creak, creak, creak 
 
 for ever, and see it sway and sway Will no one 
 
 ever stop it ! " 
 
 Sir Adrian took a sudden resolution. " I will, "he said, 
 low and clear into her ear. She sank down on the 
 instant and looked at him, back from her far distance, 
 almost as if she understood him and the pitiful cry for the 
 help he would have given his heart's blood to procure 
 for her, was silent for the moment upon her lips. 
 
 "I will prepare an opiate," said the physician in a 
 whisper. 
 
 "And I," said Sir Adrian to him, with a strange expres-
 
 THE GIBBET ON THE SANDS 417 
 
 sion upon his pale face, "am going to stop that creak- 
 ing." 
 
 The man of medicine gazed after him with a look of 
 intense astonishment which rapidly changed to one of 
 professional interest. 
 
 "It is evident that I shall soon have another mentally- 
 deranged patient to see to," he remarked to himself as he 
 rose to seek the drugs he meant to administer. 
 
 Downstairs, Sir Adrian immediately called for Rene, and 
 being informed that he had left for the island early in the 
 afternoon and had announced his return before night, 
 cast a cloak over his shoulders and hurried forth in the 
 hope of meeting him upon his homeward way. His 
 pulses were beating well-nigh as wildly as those of the 
 fever stricken woman upstairs in the house. He dared 
 not pause to reflect on his purpose, or seek to disentangle 
 the confusion of his thoughts, for fear of being confronted 
 with the hopelessness of their folly. But the exquisite 
 serenity of the night sky, where swam the moon, " a silver 
 splendour;" the freshness of the sweeping breeze that 
 dashed, keen from the east, over the sea against his face ; 
 all the glorious distance, the unconsciousness and detach- 
 ment of nature from the fume and misery of life, brought 
 him unwittingly to a calmer mood. 
 
 He had reached the extreme confine of the pine wood, 
 when, across the sands that stretched unbroken to the 
 lips of the sea, a figure advanced towards him. 
 
 "Renny ! " called Sir Adrian. 
 
 "Your honour ! " cried the man, breaking into a run to 
 meet him. O God ! how ghostly white looked the 
 master's face in the moon-flood ! 
 
 "My Lady ?" 
 
 "Not worse; yet not better — and that means worse 
 now. But there is a change. Renny, " sinking his voice 
 and clasping the man's sturdy arm with clammy hand, 
 "is it true they have placed him on the sands to-day ? " 
 
 The man stared. 
 
 " How did your honour know .-* Yes — they have done 
 so. It is true : the swine ! not more than an hour, in 
 verity. How could it have come so soon to your honour's 
 ears .'' This morning, indeed, they came from the town 
 in a cart, and planted the great gibbet on Scarthey Point, 
 at low water. And to-night they brought the body, all 
 27
 
 4i8 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 bound in irons, and from a boat, for it was high tide, 
 they riveted it on the chain. And it is to remain forever, 
 your honour — so they say." 
 
 "Strange," murmured Sir Adrian to himself, gazing 
 seaward with awestruck eyes. " And did you," he asked, 
 "hear its creaking, Renny, as it swayed in the wind.^*" 
 
 Again Rend cast a quick glance ot alarm at his master. 
 The master had a singular manner with him to-night ! 
 Then edging closer to him he whispered in his ear : 
 
 " They say it is to hang for ever. There is a warning 
 to those who would interfere with this justice of theirs. 
 But, your honour, there came one to the island to-day, I 
 do not know if your honour knows him, the captain's 
 second on that vessel of misfortune. And I believe, your 
 honour, the dawn will never see that poor, black body 
 hanging over yonder like a scarecrow, to spoil our view. 
 This man, this brave mariner, Curwen is his name, he is 
 mad furious with us all ! He has just but come from 
 hearing of his captain's fate, and he is ready to kill us, 
 that we let him be murdered without breaking some heads 
 for him. Faith, if it could have done any good, it is not 
 I that would have balanced about it ! But, as I told him, 
 there was no use running one's own head into a loop of 
 rope when that would please nobody but Mr. the Judge. 
 But he is not to be reasoned with. He is like a wild an- 
 imal. When I left him," said Rend, dropping his voice 
 still lower, "he was knocking a coffin together out of 
 the old sea wood on Scarthey. He said his captain 
 would rest better in those boards that were seasoned with 
 salt water. And when I went away, your honour, and 
 left him hammering there — faith, I thought that the coffin 
 was like to be seasoned by another kind of salt water too. " 
 
 His face twitched and the ready tears sprang to his own 
 eyes which, unashamed, he now wiped with his sleeve 
 after his custom. But Sir Adrian's mind was still drifting 
 in distant ghastly companionship. 
 
 " How the wind blows ! " he said, and shuddered a 
 little. " How the poor body must sway in the wind, and 
 the chains creak." 
 
 " If it can make any difference to the poor captain he 
 will lie in peace to-night, please God," said Rend. 
 
 " Ay," said Sir Adrian, "and you and I, friend, will go 
 too, and help this good fellow in his task. I hope, I be-
 
 THE GIBBET ON THE SANDS 419 
 
 lieve, that I should have done this thing of my own 
 
 thought, had I had time to think at all. But now, more 
 
 hangs upon those creaking chains than you can dream of. 
 
 This is a strange world — and it is full of ghosts to-night. 
 
 But we must hurry, Renny." 
 
 ***** 
 
 Bound even to the tips of her burning little fingers by 
 the spell of the opiate. Lady Landale lay in the shadowed 
 room as one dead, yet in her sick brain fearfully awake, 
 keenly alive. 
 
 At first it was as if she too was manacled in chains till 
 she could not move a muscle, could not breathe or cry 
 because of the ring round her breast ; and she was hang- 
 ing with the black figure, swaying, while the rusty iron 
 links went creak, creak, creak, with every swing to and 
 fro. Then suddenly she seemed to stand, as it were, out 
 of herself and to be seeing with the naked soul alone. 
 And what she saw was the great stretch of beach and 
 sea, white, white, white, in the moonlight and spreading, 
 it seemed, for leagues and leagues, spreading till all the 
 world was only beach and sea. 
 
 But close to her in the whitest moonlight rose the great 
 gibbet, gaunt and black, cutting the pale sky in two and 
 athwart ; and hanging from it was the black figure that 
 swayed and swung. And though the winds muttered and 
 the waves growled, she could not hear them with the ears 
 of the soul, for that the whole of this great world of sea 
 and sand was filled with the creaking of the chains. 
 
 But now, across the bleak and pallid spaces came three 
 black figures. And, as she looked and watched and they 
 drew nearer, the dreadful burthen of the gibbet swung 
 round as if to greet them, and she too, felt in her soul 
 that she knew them all three, though not by names, as 
 creatures of earth know each other, but by the kinship of 
 the soul. This man with hair as white as the white beach, 
 hair that seemed to shine silver as he came ; and him 
 yonder who followed him as a dog his master ; and yon- 
 der again the third, in the seaman's dress, with hard face 
 hewn into such rugged lines of grief and fury — she knew 
 them all. And next they reached the gibbet : and one 
 swarmed up the black post, and hammered and filed and 
 prised, and then, oh merciful God ! the creaking stopped 
 at last !
 
 420 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 Now she could hear the wash of the waves, the rush of 
 the wholesome wind ! 
 
 A mist came across her vision ; faintly she saw the 
 stiffened disfigured corpse which yet she felt had once 
 been something she had loved with passion, laid rev- 
 erently upon a stretcher, its irons loosened and cast 
 away, and then covered with a great cloak. Then the 
 sea, the beach, the white moon faded and waved and 
 receded. Molly's soul went back to her body again, 
 while blessed tears fell one by one from her hot eyes. 
 She breathed ; her limbs relaxed ; round the tired brain 
 came, with a soft hush like that of gentle wings, dark 
 oblivion. 
 
 Bending over her, for he was aware that for good or 
 evil the crisis was at hand, the physician saw moisture 
 bead upon the suddenly smoothed brow, heard a deep 
 sigh escape the parted lips. And then with a movement 
 like a weary child's she drew her arms close and fell 
 asleep. 
 
 Having laid his friend to his secret rest, deep in the 
 rock of Scarthey, where the free waves that his soul 
 had revelled in would beat till the world's end, Sir 
 Adrian returned to Pulwick in the early morning, spent 
 with the long and heavy night's toil — for it had taxed 
 the strength of even three men to hollow out a grave 
 in such a soil. On the threshold he was greeted by the 
 physician. 
 
 "How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of 
 the messengers of glad tidings ! " From afar, by the 
 man's demeanour, he knew that the tidings were glad. 
 And most blessed they were indeed to his ears, but to 
 them alone not strange. Throughout every detail of his 
 errand his mind had dwelt rather with the living than 
 the dead. What he had done, he had done for her; and 
 now, the task achieved, it seemed but natural that the 
 object for which it had been undertaken should have been 
 achieved likewise. 
 
 But, left once more with her, seeing her once more 
 wrapt in placid sleep, whom he had thought he would 
 never behold at rest again save in the last sleep of all, the 
 revulsion was overpowering. He sat down by her side, 
 and through his tears gazed long at the lovely head, now
 
 THE GIBBET ON THE SANDS 421 
 
 in its pallor and emaciation so sadly like that of his dead 
 love in the sorrowful days of youth ; and he thanked 
 heaven that he was still of the earth to shield her with 
 his devotion, to cherish her who was now so helpless and 
 bereft. 
 
 And with such tears and such thoughts came a forget- 
 fulness of that anguish which in him, as well as in her, 
 had for so long been part of actual existence. 
 
 When Tanty entered on tiptoe some hours later, she 
 saw her niece motionless upon her pillow, sleeping as 
 easily and reposefuUy as a child. And close to her head, 
 Sir Adrian, reclining in the arm-chair, asleep likewise. 
 His arm was stretched limply over the bed and, on its 
 sleeve still stained with the red mud of the grave in Scar- 
 they, rested Lady Landale's little, thin, ivory-white fingers. 
 
 Thus ended Molly's brief but terrible madness. 
 
 "Then you have hope, real hope .'' " asked Sir Adrian, 
 of the physician as they met again that day in the 
 gallery. 
 
 "Every hope," replied the man of science with the 
 proud consciousness of having, by his wisdom, pulled his 
 patient out of the very jaws of death. "Recovery is 
 now but a question of a time ; of a long time, of course, 
 for this crisis has left her weaker than the new-born babe. 
 Repose, complete repose, sleep : that is almost every- 
 thing. And she will sleep. Happily, as usual in such 
 cases, Lady Landale seems to have lost all memory. But 
 I must impress upon you. Sir Adrian, that the longer we 
 can keep her in this state, the better. If you have rea- 
 son to believe that even the sight of j^om might recall dis- 
 tressing impressions, you must let me request of you to 
 keep away from the sick room till your wife's strength be 
 sufficiently restored to be able to face emotions." 
 
 This was said with a certain significance which called 
 the colour to Sir Adrian's cheek. He acquiesced, how- 
 ever, without hesitation ; and, banished from the place 
 where his treasure lay, fell to haunting the passages for 
 the rest of the day and to waylaying the privileged at- 
 tendants with a humble resignation which would have 
 been sorrowful but for the savour of his recent relief from 
 anguish. 
 
 But the next morning, Lady Landale, though too weak
 
 422 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 of body to lift a finger, too weak of mind to connect a 
 single coherent phrase, nevertheless took the matter into 
 her own hands, and proved that it is as easy to err upon 
 the side of prudence as upon its reverse. 
 
 Miss O'Donoghue, emerging silently from the room 
 after her night's vigil, came upon her nephew at his post, 
 and, struck to her kind heart by his wistful countenance, 
 bade him with many winks and nods enter and have a 
 look at his wife. 
 
 "Don't make a sound," she whispered to him, "and 
 then she won't hear you. But, faith she's sleeping so 
 well, it's my belief if you danced a jig she would not stii 
 a limb. Go in, child, go in. It's beautiful to see her ! " 
 
 And Adrian, pressed by his own longing, was unable 
 to resist the offer. Noiselessly he stepped across the for- 
 bidden threshold and stood for a long time contemplating 
 the sleeper in the dim light. As he was about to creep 
 out at length, she suddenly opened her eyes and fixed 
 them wonderingly upon him. Fearful of having done the 
 cruel deed against which he had been warned, he felt 
 his heart contract and would have rushed away, in an 
 agony of self-accusation, when there occurred what 
 seemed to him a miracle. 
 
 A faint smile came upon the pale lips, and narrowed 
 ever so little the large sunken eyes. Yes ; by all that 
 was beautiful, it was a smile — transient and piteous, but 
 a smile. And for him ! 
 
 As he bent forward, almost incapable of believing, the 
 lips relaxed again and the lids drooped, but she shifted 
 her hands upon the bed, imeasily, as if seeking some- 
 thing. He knelt, trembling, by her side, and as with 
 diffident fingers he clasped the wandering hands he felt 
 them faintly cling to his. And his heart melted all in joy. 
 The man of science had reasoned astray ; there need be 
 no separation between the husband who would so dearly 
 console, and the wife who needed help so sorely. 
 
 For a long while he remained thus kneeling and hold- 
 ing her hands. It seemed as though some of the life 
 strength he longed to be able to pour from himself to her, 
 actually passed into her frame : as though there were in- 
 deed a healing virtue in his all encompassing tenderness ; 
 for, after a while, a faint colour came to the sunken 
 cheeks. And presently, still holding his hand, she fell
 
 THE GIBBET ON THE SANDS 423 
 
 once more into that slumber which was now her 
 healing. 
 
 After this it was found that the patient actually became 
 fretful and fevered again when her husband was too long 
 absent from her side ; and thus it came to pass that he 
 began to supersede all other watchers in her room. Tanty 
 in highest good humour, declared that her services were 
 no longer necessary, and volunteered to conduct Made- 
 leine to the Jersey convent, whither (her decision being 
 irrevocable) it was generally felt that it would be well for 
 the latter to proceed before her sister's memory with 
 returning strength should have returned likewise. 
 
 This memory, M'ithout which the being he loved would 
 remain afflicted and incomplete, yet upon the working of 
 which so much that was still uncertain must hinge — Sir 
 Adrian at once yearned for, and dreaded it. 
 
 Many a time as he met the sweet and joyful greeting 
 in those eyes v^'here he had grown accustomed to find 
 nought but either mockery or disdain, did he recall his 
 friend's prophetic words : "Out of my death will grow 
 your happiness." Was there happiness indeed yet in 
 store in the future ? Alas, happiness for them dwelt in 
 oblivion; and, some day, "remembrance would wake 
 with all her busy train, and swell at her breast," and 
 then 
 
 Meanwhile, however, the present had a sweetness of 
 its own. There was now free scope for the passion of 
 devotedness which almost made up the sum of this man's 
 character — a character which, to the Molly of wayward 
 days, to the hot-pulsed, eager, impatient "Murthering 
 Moll," had been utterly incomprehensible and unconge- 
 nial. And to the Molly crushed in the direst battle of life, 
 whom one more harshness of fate, even the slightest, 
 would have straightway hurled back into the grave that 
 had barely been baulked of its prey, it gave the very food 
 and breath of her new existence. 
 
 Week after week passed in this guise, during which her 
 natural healthiness slowly but surely re-established itself; 
 weeks that were happy to him, in later life, to look back 
 upon, though now full of an anxiousness which waxed 
 stronger as recovery drew nearer. 
 
 There was little talking between them, and that kept 
 by him studiously'on subjects of purely ephemeral, child-
 
 424 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 ish interest. Her mind, by the happy dispensation of 
 nature which facilitates healing by all means when once 
 healing' has begun, was blank to any impressions save the 
 luxury of rest, of passive enjoyment, indifferent to ought 
 but the passing present. She took pleasure in flowers, 
 in the gambols of pet animals, in long listless spells of 
 cloud-gazing when the heavens were bright, in the pres- 
 ence of her husband in whom she only saw a being 
 whose eyes were always beautiful with the light of kind- 
 ness, whose touch invariably soothed her when fatigue 
 or irritation marred the even course of her feelings. 
 
 She had ever a smile for him, •which entered his soul 
 like the radiance of sunshine through a stormy sky. 
 
 Thus the days went by. Like a child she ate and 
 slept and chattered — irresponsible chatter that was music 
 to his ear. She laughed and teased him too, as a child 
 would ; till sad, as it was, he hugged the incomplete hap- 
 piness to his heart with a dire foreboding that it might 
 be all he was to know in life. 
 
 But one evening, in sudden freak, she bade him open 
 the shutters, pull the curtains, and raise the window that 
 she might, from her pillow, look forth upon the night, 
 and smell the sweet night air. 
 
 She had been unusually well that day, and on her face 
 now filling out once more into its old soft oval, bloomed 
 again a look of warm life and youth. Unsuspecting, un- 
 thinking Sir Adrian obeyed. It was a dim, close night, 
 and the blush-roses nodded palely into the room from the 
 outer darkness as he raised the sash. There was no 
 moon, no stars shone in the mist hung sky ; there was 
 no light to be seen anywhere except one faint glimmer 
 in the distance — the light upon Scarthey Island. 
 
 "Is that a star ? " said Molly, after a moment's dreamy 
 silence. 
 
 Sir Adrian started. A vision of all that might hang 
 upon his answer flashed through his brain. With a trem- 
 bling hand he pulled the curtain. It was too late. 
 
 Molly sat up in bed, with a contracted brow and hands 
 outstretched as one who would seize a tantalising escap- 
 ing memory. 
 
 "I used to watch it then, at night, from this window," 
 she whispered. "What was it.? The light of Scarthey? " 
 Then suddenly, with a scream ; "The light of Scarthey ! "
 
 THE GIBBET ON THE SANDS 425 
 
 Adrian sprang to her side but she turned from him, 
 shrank from him, with a look of dread which seared him 
 to the soul. 
 
 " Do not come near me, do not touch me," she cried. 
 
 And then he left her. 
 
 Miss O'Donoghue was gone upon her journey with 
 Madeleine. There was none in whom he might confide, 
 with whom seek counsel. But presently, listening out- 
 side the door in an agony of suspense, he heard a storm 
 of sobs. In time these gradually subsided ; and later he 
 learnt from Moggie, whom he had hurriedly ordered to 
 her mistress's side, that his wife was quiet and seemed 
 inclined to rest. 
 
 On the next day, she expressed no desire to see him 
 and he dared not go to her unsought. He gathered a 
 great dewy bunch of roses and had them brought to her 
 upon her breakfast tray instead of bringing them himself 
 as had been his wont. 
 
 She had taken the roses, Moggie told him, and laid 
 them to her cheek. "The master sent them, said I," 
 continued the sturdy little matron, who was far from pos- 
 sessing the instinctive tact of her spouse ; " an' she get 
 agate o'crying quiet like and let the flowers fall out of her 
 hands on the bed — Eh, what ever's coom to her, sin yes- 
 terday .'' Wannut you go in, sir .'' " 
 
 " Not unless she sends for me," said Sir Adrian hastily. 
 " And remember. Moggie, do not speak my name to her. 
 She must not be worried or distressed. But if she sends 
 for me, come at once. You will find me in the library." 
 
 And in the library he sat the long, long day, waiting 
 for the summons that did not come. She never sent for 
 him. 
 
 She had wept a good deal during the day, the faithful 
 reporter told him in the evening, but always " quiet 
 like ; " had spoken little, and though of unwonted gentle- 
 ness of manner had persistently declined to be carried to 
 the garden as usual, or even to leave her room. Now 
 she had gone back to bed, and was sleeping peacefully. 
 
 An hour later Sir Adrian left his home for Scarthey 
 once again. It is to be doubted whether, through all the 
 vicissitudes of his existence he ever carried into the shel- 
 tering ruins a heart more full of cruel pain.
 
 426 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 When Tanty returned to Pulwick from her travels 
 again, it was to find in Miss Landale the only member of 
 the family waiting to greet her. The old lady's displeasure 
 on learning the reason of this defection, was at first too 
 intense to find relief in words. But presently the strings of 
 her tongue were loosened under the influence of the usual 
 feminine restorative ; and, failing a better listener, she be- 
 gan to dilate upon the situation with her wonted garrulity. 
 
 "Yes, my good Sophia, I will thank you for another 
 cup of tea. What should we do without tea in this weary 
 world ? I declare it's the only pleasure left to me now — 
 for, of all the ungrateful things in life, working for your 
 posterity is the most ungrateful. Posterity is born to 
 trample on one .... And now, sit down and tell me 
 exactly how matters stand. My niece is greatly better, 
 I hear. The doctor considers her quite convalescent ? 
 At least this is very satisfactory. Very satisfactory 
 indeed ! Just now she is resting. Quite so. I should 
 not dream of disturbing her ; more especially as the 
 sight of me would probably revive painful memories, 
 and we must not risk her having a bad night — of 
 course not. Ah, my dear, memory, like one's teeth, 
 is a very doubtful blessing. Far more trouble than 
 pleasure when you have it, and yet a dreadful nuisance 
 when you have not — But what's this I hear about Adrian .'' 
 Gone back to that detestable island of his again ! I left 
 him and Molly smiling into each other's eyes, clasping 
 each other's hands like two turtle-doves. Why, she could 
 not as much as swallow a mouthful of soup, unless he 
 was beside her to feed her — And now I am told he has 
 not been near her for four days. What is the meaning of 
 this ? Oh, don't talk to me, Sophia ! It's more than flesh 
 and blood can bear. Here am I, having been backward 
 and forward over nine hundred miles, looking after you 
 all, at my age, till I don't know which it is, Lancashire 
 or Somerset I'm in, or whether I'm on my head or my 
 heels, though I'm sure I can count every bone of my 
 body by the aching of them ; — and I did think I was 
 coming back to a little peace and comfort at length. 
 That island of his, Sophia, will be the death of me ! I 
 wish it was at the bottom of the sea : that is the only 
 thing that will bring your brother to his senses, I be- 
 lieve. Now he might as well be in his grave at once,
 
 THE GIBBET ON THE SANDS 427 
 
 like Rupert, for all the good he is ; though, for that 
 matter it's more harm than good poor Rupert ever did 
 while he was alive " 
 
 " Excuse me, Aunt Rose," here exclaimed Sophia, 
 heroically, her corkscrew ringlets trembling with agitation, 
 *' but I must beg you to refrain from such remarks — I 
 cannot hear my dear brother " 
 
 But Miss O'Donoghue waved the interruption peremp- 
 torily away. 
 
 " Now it's no use your going on, Sophia. We don't 
 think a man flies straight to heaven just because he's 
 dead. And nothing will ever make me approve of Rupert's 
 conduct in all this dreadful business. Of course one must 
 not speak evil of those who can't defend themselves, but 
 for all that he is dead and buried, Rupert might argue 
 with me from now till doomsday, and he never would 
 convince me that it is the part of a gentleman to act like 
 a Bow Street runner. I hope, my dear, he has found 
 more mercy than he gave. I hope so. But only for him 
 my poor dear grand-niece Molly would never have gone 
 off on that mad journey, and my poor grand-niece 
 Madeleine would not be buried alive on that other island 
 at the back of God's speed. Ah, yes, my dear, it has 
 been a very sad time ! I declare I felt all the while as if 
 I were conducting a corpse to be buried ; and now I feel 
 as if I had come back from the dear girl's funeral. We 
 had a dreadful passage, and she was so sick that I'm 
 afraid even if she wanted to come out of that place again 
 she'd never have the courage to face the crossing. She 
 was a wreck — a perfect wreck, when she reached the 
 convent. Many a time I thought she would only land to 
 find herself dead. / wanted her to come to the hotel with 
 me, where I should have popped her into bed with a hot 
 bottle ; but nothing would serve her but that she must go 
 to the convent at once. * I shall not be able to rest till I 
 am there,' she said. ' And it's precious little rest you will 
 get there,' said I, ' if it's rest you want .'' — What with the 
 hard beds, and all the prayers you have to say, and the 
 popping out of bed, as soon as you are asleep, to sing in 
 the middle of the night, and those blessed little bells 
 going every three minutes and a half. There is no rest 
 in a convent, my dear.' But I might as well have talked 
 to the wall.
 
 428 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 " When I went to see her the next day, true enough, 
 she declared that she was more content already, and that 
 her soul had found what it yearned for — peace. She was 
 quite calm, and sent you all messages to say how she 
 would pray for you and for the repose of the souls of those 
 you loved — Rupert, your rector and all — that they may 
 reach eternal bliss." 
 
 " God forbid ! " exclaimed the pious Protestant, in hor- 
 rified tones. 
 
 " God forbid .-• — You're a regular heathen, Sophia. Oh, 
 I know what you mean quite well. But would it not have 
 been better for you to have been praying for that poor 
 fellow who never lived to marry you, all these years, 
 than to have been wasting your time weeping over spilt 
 milk ? Tell me /ha/, miss. Please to remember, too, 
 that you could not have come to be the heretic you are, 
 if your great grandfather had not been the time-server he 
 was. Any how, you need not distress yourself. I don't 
 think Madeleine's prayers will do any one any harm, 
 even Rupert ; though, honestly, I don't think they are 
 likely to be of much good in /ha/ quarter. However, 
 there, there, we won't discuss the subject any more. Poor 
 darling ; so I left her. I declare I never liked her so 
 much as when I said good-bye, for I felt I'd never see her 
 again. And the Reverend Mother — oh ! she is a very 
 good, holy woman — a Jerningham, and thus, you know, 
 a connection of mine. She was an heiress but chose the 
 cloister. And I saw the buckles sable on a memorial 
 window in the chapel erected to another sister — also a nun 
 — they are a terribly pious family. I knew them at once, 
 for they are charges I also am entitled to bear, as you 
 know, or, rather, don't know, I presume ; for you have 
 all the haziest notion of what sort of blood it is that runs 
 in your veins. Well, as I said, she is a holy woman 1 
 She tried to console me in her pious way. Oh, it was 
 very beautiful, of course : — bride of heaven and the rest 
 of it. But I had rather seen her the bride of a nice young 
 man. Many is the time I have wished I had not been 
 so hasty about that poor young Smith. I don't believe 
 he was purely Smith after all. He must have had some 
 good blood in his veins ! Oh, of course, of course, he 
 was dreadfully wicked, I know ; but he was a fine fellow, 
 and all these complications would have been avoided.
 
 THE GIBBET ON THE SANDS 429 
 
 But, after all, it was Rupert's fault if everything ended in 
 
 tragedy there, there, we won't speak another 
 
 word about your brother ; we must leave him to the Lord 
 — and," added MissO'Donoghue, piously under her breath, 
 " if it's not the devil, He is playing with him, it's a poor 
 kind of justice up there ! — Alas, my poor Sophia, such is 
 life. One only sees things in their true light when they're 
 gone into the darkness of the past. And now we must 
 make the best of the present, which, I regret to find, 
 seems disposed to be peculiarly uncomfortable. But I 
 have done what I could, and now I owe it myself to wash 
 my hands of you and look after my own soul. — I'll take 
 no more journeys, at any rate, except to lay my bones at 
 Bunratty ; if I live to reach it alive."
 
 CHAPTER XXXV 
 
 THE LIGHT REKINDLED 
 
 Look not upon the sky at eventide, 
 
 For that makes sorrowful the heart of man ; 
 
 Look rather here into my heart, 
 
 And joyful shalt thou always be. 
 
 Luteplayer's Song. 
 
 It was on the fifth day after Sir Adrian's return to his 
 island home. Outwardly the place was the same. A 
 man had been engaged to attend to the lighthouse duties, 
 but he and his wife lived apart in their own corner of the 
 building and never intruded into the master's apartments 
 or into the turret-room which had been Captain Jack's. 
 
 From the moment that Sir Adrian, attended by Rene, 
 had re-entered the old rooms, the peel had resumed its 
 wonted aspect. But the peace, the serenity which be- 
 longed to it for so many years, had fled — fled, it seemed 
 to Sir Adrian, for ever. Still there was solitude and, in so 
 far, repose. It was something to have such a haven of 
 refuge for his bruised spirit. 
 
 The whole morning of this day had been spent in 
 counting out and securing, in separate lots, duly docketted 
 and distinguished, a portion of that unwieldy accumula- 
 tion of wealth, the charge of which he had accepted, 
 against the time when it should be called for and claimed 
 by its depositors. 
 
 The task was by no means simple, and required all his 
 attention ; but there is a blessing even in mere mechani- 
 cal labour, that soothes the torment of the mind. In the 
 particular occupation upon which he had been engaged 
 there was, moreover, a hidden touching element. It was 
 work for the helpless dead, work for that erring man but 
 noble soul who had been his loyal friend. As Sir Adrian 
 tied up each bag of gold and labelled it with the name of 
 some unknown creditor who had trusted Jack, dimly the 
 
 430
 
 THE LIGHT REKINDLED 431 
 
 thought occurred that it would stand material proof, call 
 for recognition that this Captain Smith, who had died the 
 death of a felon, had been a true man even in his own 
 chosen lawless path. 
 
 On the table, amid the papers and books, a heap of 
 gold pieces yet untold, remainder of his allotted day's 
 task, awaited still his ministering hand. But he was 
 tired. It was the dreamy hour of the day when the 
 shadows grow long, the shafts of light level ; and Sir 
 Adrian sat at his open window, gazing at the distant view 
 of Pulwick, while his thoughts wandered into the future, 
 immediate and distant. With the self-detachment of his 
 nature these thoughts all bore upon the future of the 
 woman whom he pictured to himself lying behind those 
 sunlit windows yonder, framed by the verdure of leafy 
 June, gathering slowly back her broken strength for the 
 long life stretching before her. 
 
 Unlike the musings which in the lonely days of old had 
 ever drifted irresistibly towards the past and gathered 
 round the image of the dead, all the power of his mind 
 was now fixed upon what was to come, upon the child, 
 still dearer than th^ mother, who had all her life to live. 
 What would she do .-' What could he do for her, now that 
 she required his helping hand no more ? Life was full of 
 sorrow past and present ; and in the future there lurked 
 no promise of better things. The mind of man is always 
 fain, even in its darkest hour, to take flight into some 
 distant realm of hope. To those whom life has utterly 
 betrayed there is always the hope of approaching death — 
 but this, even, reason denied to him. He was so strong; 
 illness had never taken hold of him ; he came from such 
 long-lived stock ! He might almost outlive her, might 
 for ever stand as the one ineluctable check upon her 
 peace of mind. And his melancholy reflections came 
 circling back to their first starting-point — that barren rock 
 of misery in a vast sea of despondency — there was noth- 
 ing to be done. 
 
 The barriers raised between them, on his side partly by 
 the poisonous words of his brother, partly by the phan- 
 tom of that old love of which the new had at first been 
 but an eluding reflex, and on hers, by the chilly disillu- 
 sion which had fallen so soon upon her ardent nature ; 
 these sank into insignificance, contrasted to the whirl of
 
 432 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 baulked passion which had passed over her life, to leave 
 it utterly blasted, to turn her indifference to hate. 
 
 Yes, that was the burden of his thoughts : she hated and 
 dreaded him. His love, his forbearance, his chivalrous- 
 ness had been in vain. All he had now to live upon was 
 the memory of those few days when, under the spell of 
 oblivion the beloved child had smiled on him in the 
 unconscious love born of her helplessness and his care. 
 But even this most precious remembrance of the present 
 was now, like that of the past, to be obscured by its 
 abrupt and terrible end. 
 
 Death had given birth to the first and last avowal of 
 love in her who had perished between his arms under 
 the swirling waters of the Vilaine — but it was Life itself, 
 returning life and health of mind, which had changed 
 looks of trust and affection into the chilly stare of dread m 
 the eyes of her whom with all the strength of his hoarded 
 manhood he now loved alone. The past for all its sor- 
 rows had held sweetness : the present, the future, noth- 
 ing but torment. And now, even the past, with its love 
 and its sorrow was gone from him, merged in the greater 
 love and sorrow of the present. How long could he 
 bear it ? — Useless clamour of the soul ! He must bear 
 it. Life must be accepted. 
 
 Sir Adrian rose and, standing, paused a moment to 
 let his sight, wandering beyond the immense sands, seek 
 repose for a moment in the blue haze marking the horizon 
 of the hills. The day was pure, exquisite in its waning 
 beauty ; the breeze as light and soft as a caress. In the 
 great stillness of the bay the sisters sea and land talked 
 in gentle intermittent murmurs. Now and then the cries 
 of circling sea-fowl brought a note of uncanny joy into the 
 harmony that seemed like silence in its unity. 
 
 A beautiful harmonious world ! But to him the very 
 sense of ihe outer peace gave a fresh emphasis to the 
 discordance of his own life. He brought his gaze from 
 afar and slowly turned to resume his work. But even 
 as he turned a black speck upon the nearer arm of sea 
 challenged his fleeting attention. He stood and watched 
 — and, as he watched, a sensation, the most poignant 
 and yet eerie he had ever known clutched him by the 
 heart. 
 
 A boat was approaching : a small row-boat in which
 
 THE LIGHT REKINDLED 433 
 
 the oars were plyed by a woman. By the multi-coloured, 
 glaring shawl (poor Jack's appreciated gift) he knew her, 
 but without attaching name or personality to his recog- 
 nition ; for all his being was drawn to the something that 
 lay huddled, black and motionless, in the stern. He felt 
 to the innermost fibre of him that this something was 
 a woman too — this woman Molly. But the conviction 
 seized him with a force that was beyond surprise. And 
 all the vital heat in him fled to his heart, leaving him 
 deadly cold. 
 
 As her face grew out of the distance towards him, a 
 minute white patch amid the dark cloud of silk and lace 
 that enwrapt it, it seemed as though he had known for 
 centuries that she was thus to come to him. And the 
 glow of his heart spread to his brain. 
 
 When the boat was about to land, he began, like one 
 walking in his sleep, to move away ; and, slowly de- 
 scending the stairs of the keep, he advanced towards the 
 margin of the sea. He walked slowly, for the body was 
 heavy whilst the soul trembled within its earthly bounds. 
 
 Molly had alighted and was toiling, with her new born 
 and yet but feeble strength upon the yielding sand, sup- 
 ported between Rene and Moggie. She halted as she 
 saw him approach, and, when he came close, looked up 
 into his face. Her frail figure wavered and bent, and she 
 would have fallen on her knees before him, but that he 
 opened his arms wide and caught her to him. 
 
 An exclamation rose to Moggie's lips, to die unformed 
 under an imperious glance from Rene who, with shining 
 eyes and set mouth, had stood apart to watch the mo- 
 mentous issue. 
 
 Adrian felt his wife nestle to him as he held her. And 
 then the tide of his long-bound love overflowed. And 
 gathering her up in his arms as if she were a child, he 
 turned to carry the broken woman with him into the 
 shelter, the silence of the ruins. 
 
 At the foot of the outer wall, just out of reach of high 
 water, yet within reach of its salt spray, a little mound 
 of red stony soil rose very slightly above the green turf ; 
 at its head, a small stone cross, roughly hewn, was let 
 into the masonry itself. The grave of Hubert Cochrane 
 was not obtrusive : in a few months it would have merged 
 again into the greensward, and its humble memorial 
 28
 
 434 THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY 
 
 symbol would be covered with moss and lichen like the 
 matrix of stone which encompassed it. 
 
 Involuntarily as he passed it, the man, with his all too 
 light burden, halted. A flame shot through him as Molly 
 turned her head to gaze too : he shook with a brief agony 
 of jealousy — jealousy of the dead! The next instant he 
 felt her recoil, look up pleadingly and cling to him again, 
 and he knew into the soul of his soul that the words 
 spoken by those loyal lips — now clay beneath that clay 
 — were coming true, that, out of his house laid desolate 
 to him was to rise a new and stately mansion. 
 
 Grasping her closer he hurried into the sanctuary of 
 the old room, where he had first seen her bright young 
 beauty. 
 
 At the door he gently suffered her to stand, still sup- 
 porting her with one arm about her waist. As they en- 
 tered, she cast a rapid glance around : her eyes, bedewed 
 with rising tears, fell upon the heap of gold glinting under 
 the rays of the sinking sun, and she understood the na- 
 ture of the task her coming had interrupted. Her tears 
 gushed forth ; catching his hand between hers, and look- 
 ing up at him with a strange, wonderful humility, she 
 pressed it to her lips. 
 
 What need for words between them, then ? 
 
 He stood a little while motionless in front of her, en- 
 tranced yet still almost incredulous, as one suddenly 
 freed from long intolerable pain, when there rose once 
 more, for the last time, before his mind's eye the ideal 
 image that had been the companion of twenty years of 
 his existence. It was vivid almost as life. He saw 
 C^cile de Savenaye bend over her child with grave and 
 tender look, then turn and smile upon him with the old 
 exquisite sweetness that he had adored so madly in that 
 far off past. And then, it was as if she had merged into 
 Molly. Behold, she was gone ! there was no C^cile, only 
 Molly the woman he loved. Molly, whom now he 
 seized to his heart, who smiled at him through her tears 
 as he bent to kiss her lips. 
 
 Twilight was waning and the light of Scarthey beamed 
 peacefully over the yellow sands ; and the waves receded, 
 dragging away sand and shingle from the foot of the 
 hidden grave. 
 
 THE END
 
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