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 "L I E, RAR.Y 
 
 OF THE 
 U N IVE.RSITY 
 Of ILLINOIS 
 
 F732X 
 
 fib
 
 Return this book on or before the 
 Latest Date stamped below. 
 
 University of Illinois Library
 
 A FAMILY TREE. 
 
 BY 
 
 ALBANY DE FONBLANQUE, 
 
 AUTHOE OF "THE TANGLED SKEIN," " CUT ADEIFT,' 
 ETC., ETC. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 RICHARD BENTLEY AND SON. 
 
 1876. 
 
 {All rights reserved.)
 
 o 
 
 CO 
 
 CONTENTS OF VOL. I. 
 
 CD 
 
 a> 
 
 
 
 
 BOOK I. 
 
 THE ROOTS OF IT. 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 I. HOW MARTHA DENYS WAS TRIED FOR 
 
 WITCHCRAFT 3 
 
 II. THE EFFECT OF HOLY WATER . . 31 
 
 III. THE SEARCH-WARRANT . . . .52 
 
 IV. NOBLESSE OBLIGE 74 
 
 V. AMOR VINCIT OMNIA . . . .99 
 
 VL A FRIEND IN NEED .... 121 
 VII. ''I HAVE THEE NOW, GOOD MASTER DES- 
 MOND ".•.... 143 
 VIII. ON THE ROAD 169
 
 IV 
 
 Contents. 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 IX. HOW TOM STEVENS LIED FOR HIS MASTER 190 
 
 X. "FORGIVE HIM THIS TIME!" . . . 213 
 
 XI. HOW THE SNARE WAS SET . . .239 
 
 XII. HUGH DESMOND'S SHIELD . . .259 
 
 XIII. A BLACK NIGHT 285
 
 A FAMILY TREE. 
 
 BOOK I. 
 THE ROOTS OF IT. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 HOW MARTHA DENYS WAS TEIED FOR 
 WITCHCRAFT. 
 
 I HE roots of it go down two hun- 
 dred and sixty-four years, into 
 what are sometimes called " the 
 good old times/' An old Queen, who had 
 reigned like a king — and a bold one — 
 was not long dead ; and a middle-aged 
 king, who was no better than an old 
 woman, governed merrie England in her 
 stead. But he was a learned prince, and 
 a cunning. He could talk you Latin by 
 
 1—2
 
 A Family Tree. 
 
 the hour. He would have made an ex- 
 cellent President of a School Board if there 
 had been such things in his time. About 
 the period whereof I write he gave up 
 his mind to put down the smoking of to- 
 bacco, and to eradicate the curse of witch- 
 craft from his dominions. 
 
 Alas I And were there witches in those 
 " good old times ?" The learned king said 
 so. Infallibility at Eome said so. Par- 
 liament said so. The Glorious Reforma- 
 tion had nothing to say to the contrary. 
 There were witches in good sooth — dread- 
 ful creatures, who sold themselves to the 
 devil, and worshipped him, under the form 
 of a goat, at their unholy sabbaths. They 
 flew about on broomsticks smeared with 
 the fat of unbaptised infants. They 
 afflicted man and beast with diseases, 
 blighted crops, spoiled milk in the churn, 
 and beer in the vat ; changed themselves, 
 upon occasions, into rats, and cats, and
 
 Tried for Witchcraft. 
 
 bats, and toads, and committed other 
 enormities too numerous to detail. One 
 of them, finding the orthodox conveyance 
 inconvenient, (perhaps it v^as not up to 
 her weight) used to change her daughter 
 
 into a pony, and have her shod by the ; 
 
 well, I don't like to repeat the bad word, 
 so will say by the goat, who appears to 
 have not been a skilled farrier, as the 
 poor girl's hands and feet were maimed. 
 Another old lady, and her daughter aged 
 nine, sold themselves as aforesaid, and 
 raised a fearful storm by pulling off their 
 stockings, and making a lather of soap — 
 proceedings which in these godless days 
 would suggest nothing more reprehensible 
 than a family wash ; but they knew better 
 in the "good old times," and hanged the 
 pair for witchcraft. In Germany, from 
 first to last, one hundred thousand crimi- 
 nals expiated their crimes on the scaffold ; 
 and in merrie England we disposed of
 
 A Family Tree. 
 
 about thirty thousand before we were done 
 with them. Learned judges, grave men who 
 gave body, bone, and brain to the Common 
 Law of England ; jurists, whose names are 
 household words in the Temple and Lin- 
 coln's Inn ; writers, whose text boolcs are 
 quoted now with respect in our highest 
 courts of justice — sat and judged these 
 wretches, and solemnly took note of the 
 stocking-pulling, sud making, and demonia- 
 cal shoeing evidence brought against them, 
 they pretending all the while to be only 
 poor ugly old women, and the goat having 
 the meanness never to interfere in their 
 favour. 
 
 Perhaps the strangest thing of all was, 
 that many of them confessed their crimes. 
 Writing whilst on circuit as a judge of 
 assize in the year 1682, Lord North relates, 
 " Here have been 3 old women condemned 
 for witchcraft * * * they were the 
 most old, decrepid, despicable, miserable
 
 Tried for Witchcraft, 
 
 creatures that he (the judge who tried 
 them) ever saw. A painter would have 
 chosen them out of the whole country for 
 figures of that kind to have drawn by. 
 The evidence against them was very full 
 and fancifull, but their own confessions ex- 
 ceeded it — they appeared not only weary 
 of their lives, but to have a great deal of 
 skill to convict themselves; their descrip- 
 tion of the sucking devils with sawcer eyes 
 was so naturall, that the jury could not 
 choose but beleeve them.'* ^ 
 
 The old lady who made the storm out 
 of soap-suds confessed to being a witch, 
 and so did her demoniacal sister who had 
 her daughter so badly shod. She was so 
 idiotic — says the chronicler — that she 
 clapped her withered old hands with glee at 
 the sight of the fire which was to burn her. 
 
 This befel in Scotland in the year 1722, 
 more than a century after the time 
 when my story opens. It opens soon after
 
 S A Family Tree. 
 
 the wise king aforesaid had published 
 his " Dsemonologie/' and Parliament had 
 enacted this law : " If any person shall 
 use an invocation or conjuration of any 
 evil or wicked spirit — shall entertain, em- 
 ploy, feed, or reward any evil or cursed 
 spirit — take up any dead body to employ 
 in witchcraft, sorcery, or enchantment, or 
 shall practise, or shall exercise any sort of 
 sorcery, &c., wher'sby any person shall be 
 killed, wasted, consumed, or lamed," shall 
 suffer death V The wise king caused a 
 whole assize lo be prosecuted because a 
 reputed witch was acquitted ! 
 
 So you see there must have been witches, 
 and as the race has died out, let us bless 
 the Providence which made our forefathers 
 so wisely severe, so scientific, and so acute. 
 
 But do not let us be puffed up with self- 
 conceit. There were wise men in other 
 countries. A horse was tried at Lisbon, 
 in 1601, and found guilty of being pos-
 
 Tried for Witclici^aft, 
 
 sessed by the devil. It was weakly urged 
 that his mundane master had taught him 
 many tricks ; perhaps he ran round the 
 ring as that master indicated by motion of 
 whip, picked up. pocket-handkerchiefs, fired 
 pistols, wheeled round and round with his 
 front feet on a chair, and performed other 
 accursed and demoniacal evolutions. Tricks, 
 quotha ! Was the Holy Office — was In- 
 fallibility to be taken in by tricks ? They 
 burned that horse to death. 
 
 * * ^ * 
 
 There were so many witches in the year 
 of grace 1610, and honest people were so 
 afraid of them, that clever men, upon whom 
 a portion of the king's wisdom was shed, 
 arose, and were commissioned to detect 
 them and their ways. 
 
 In the northern countries (especially in 
 Lancashire) the curse of witchcraft was felt 
 direfully, and consequently there was no 
 lack of official witch-finders. Perhaps,
 
 10 A Family Tree. 
 
 writing in a better age, I should say that 
 there were many official witch-finders, and 
 consequently no lack of witches. People 
 must live ! 
 
 Be this as it may, it is certain that the 
 good town of Manchester was grievously 
 afflicted in divers ways, and the reeve and 
 the rector agreed that witchcraft was at 
 the bottom of the troubles. In the first 
 place the Medlock and the Irwell had risen 
 higher than the oldest inhabitant had 
 known those rivers to rise, and they had 
 flooded some parts of the town. In the 
 country about, sheep and oxen died ; and 
 a fever broke out when the waters sub- 
 sided. Who could have done all this but 
 the witches ? 
 
 So said Master Willford, a noted witch- 
 finder. He came to town specially re- 
 tained, and there was no hiding the truth 
 from him. In less than a week he dis- 
 covered the culprit, and had her down to
 
 Tried for Witchcraft. 11 
 
 the river, opposite where the old church 
 stands, to '' try " her. 
 
 There were various ways of " trying " 
 witches known in these " good old times." 
 One was the trial by water. You tied the 
 thumbs of the suspected person together, 
 and flung her into the stream where it was 
 deepest. If she floated, she was a witch ; 
 if she did not, she was drowned ! There 
 was an end of her, any way. The trial by 
 water was favoured by Master Willford, as 
 being the most conclusive. The old woman 
 upon whom his suspicions fell was duly 
 tied, hoven into the water, and floated like 
 cork 1 
 
 " A witch ! a witch !" cried the mob. 
 " Death to the witch !" 
 
 And they would have stoned her to 
 death as she floated ; but the witch-finder, 
 calm and proud of his success, bade them 
 drag her to the bank, and spare her for her 
 legal doom.
 
 12 A Family Tree. 
 
 " She will not drown, my friends," he 
 said, as they hauled her in ; " but, in good 
 sooth, she wall burn !" 
 
 " To the fire v/ith her then ! to the fire !" 
 shouted the infuriated crowd. There was 
 not one there who had not suffered in some 
 way by the flood or the fever. 
 
 " Softly, softly, my masters," said Will- 
 ford. It was his first case amongst them, 
 and he wanted to show more of his wis- 
 dom. " Softly ; let us be sure. There be 
 •other tests. Ha ! what have we here ?" 
 
 The supposed witch had struggled so 
 vigorously against her trial, that it had 
 become necessary to tie her legs as well as 
 her thumbs ; and in the operation, the 
 upper part of her dress had been torn off her 
 back, and left exposed a pair of withered 
 shoulders, upon one of which the eagle eye 
 of Master Willford detected a mole — a 
 black mole, with three grey hairs in it — as 
 she lay fainting on the bank.
 
 T7ned for Witchcraft, 13 
 
 " What think you of this ^" he cried, in 
 triumph. " Let us praise the Lord, for He 
 has delivered the wicked into our hand. 
 Hark ye, my friends ! Wherever the devil 
 kisseth a witch, there springeth a mark 
 like unto this." 
 
 " It is a mole," said the nearest by- 
 stander. 
 
 " Thou art a good man, Master Symes,'^ 
 said the witch-finder, with a sigh, "and 
 knoweth not the iniquity of these crea- 
 tures. I tell thee it is the devil's mark. 
 Now, look you ; when I strike my bodkin 
 into the accursed spot '' 
 
 But before he could strike, the mob was 
 divided, and he sent rolling almost into 
 the river, by a tall man in a riding-dress, 
 who led a handsome chestnut horse (from 
 which he had just dismounted) by the 
 bridle. 
 
 *' What savagery is this ?" asked the 
 new comer, sternly.
 
 14 A Family Tree, 
 
 " A witch ! a witch, Master Hugh !" 
 cried a dozen voices. 
 
 " 'Tis she who brought the flood 1" 
 
 " She bewitched my good man !" 
 
 " She lamed my sheep, curse her !" 
 
 '* She gave my little Jack the fever !" 
 
 " Death to the witch !'' 
 
 And a storm of other accusations and 
 threats rose from the excited crowd. 
 
 " Stand back !" cried the horsemen. 
 "So, ho, Hafid!'^ (this to his horse). "Who 
 proves she is a witch V* 
 
 " I do.^" replied Willford, pale and trem- 
 bling with anger. " Have a care. I am 
 not without authority." 
 
 "Nor I either, sir. I am a justice of 
 peace, as all here know. Again I ask who 
 proves her a witch T 
 
 "She floated. Did not she float, my 
 friends ?" replied Willford, appealing to 
 the crowd. 
 
 "Aye, aye, 'tis true! She floated,
 
 Tried for Witchcraft. 15 
 
 Master Hugh/' said the man who had been 
 addressed as Symes, with a grave shake of 
 his bald head. 
 
 " And so wouldst thou have done, if thou 
 hadst worn her coats. Why, gossip," ex- 
 postulated Master Hugh, " what means all 
 this ? A reasonable man like thee talking 
 thus ! Floated, quotha ! Didst thou not 
 mark that her coats, tied at the knee, were 
 full of air, and bulged out like a piper's 
 wind-bag ? Floated I I' faith, it would 
 have been more like witchcraft if she had 
 sunk 1" 
 
 " There be other proofs," cried Willford, 
 eagerly. '' Will ye that I put her to the 
 other proofs T This to the crowd. 
 
 " Aye, aye !" they shouted, with a rush 
 and a roar, which was too much for 
 "Hafid's " equanimity. He gave a swirl to 
 the right, and then to the left, describing a 
 semicircle, of which his master was the 
 centre ; and having gotten his hoofs well
 
 16 A Family Tree. 
 
 charged with gravel and small stones, let 
 
 The horse that was burned at Lisbon for 
 witchcraft could not have done his master's 
 work more scientifically ; but " Hafid " is 
 not bewitched — only high-spirited. He 
 does not like to have strange people fuss- 
 ing round within reach of his heels ; and 
 after his first volley, they do not do so. 
 They retire out of range, and mutter — 
 
 " Let her be put to other proof" 
 
 " Thou wast about to strike thy bodkin 
 into her flesh?" said Master Hugh, ad- 
 dressing the witch-finder. 
 
 " Into Satan's mark," he cried ; '' Satan's 
 own mark, my friends ! I appeal to thee, 
 whom she has bewitched. Who is this 
 man, that he should withstand me, when 
 I have the warrant of his worship the 
 reeve r 
 
 " Were he fifty times the reeve he could 
 not warrant the torture of the humblest of
 
 Tried for Witchcraft. 17 
 
 his majesty's lieges," said Hugh Desmond, 
 lifting his hat. " Who is this stranger T 
 
 " 'Tis no stranger ; 'tis Master Willford, 
 the witch-finder/' replied Symes, in a 
 solemn whisper. " Pry 'thee, Master Hugh, 
 withstand him not. 'Tis true as he says. 
 He hath the reeve's license. Be silent, 
 lest it be taken ill of thee. The woman is 
 surely a witch." 
 
 " If she be, let her suffer ; but not with- 
 out proof," replied the rider aloud. " Ha ! 
 thy famous bodkin ! If thou dost thrust 
 it into this mark, Master Willford — if thai 
 be thy name — and she be verily a witch, 
 what will befall ?" 
 
 *' She will call on the name of her 
 master who made it," said Willford. 
 
 ** Is there aught strange in thy bodkin ? 
 Any charm ? May one see it ?" asked 
 Master Hugh. 
 
 '' Charm ! Thanks be to God, there is 
 none. The Truth — the sound Truth, my 
 
 VOL. I. 2
 
 18 A Family Tree, 
 
 friends, is tlie only charm I know. Take the 
 bodkin in thy hand, and strike thyself." 
 
 Master Hugh received the instrument — 
 a large and sharp gold pin — and knelt down 
 close to the assumed witch ; but instead 
 of thrusting it into her shoulder, he pre- 
 tended to slip, and sent it up to the head 
 in the leg of the witch-finder, who incon- 
 tinently shrieked out — 
 
 " The Devil !" 
 
 " Why, look you, now,'' said his tor- 
 mentor, " how deceitful are these so-called 
 'proofs ! Did we not know Master Will- 
 ford for an honest man, he would stand 
 confessed a wizard ! You heard what he 
 cried?" 
 
 *' Twas not struck into a devil's mark," 
 growled the witch-finder, rubbing his 
 bleeding calf 
 
 " A fico for your devil's marks ! 'Tis 
 but a mole. Thou hast one on thy cheek, 
 sweetheart," Hugh added, turning to a
 
 Tried for Witchcraft. 1 9 
 
 pretty woman who stood near. " I would 
 fain be the Prince of Darkness for awhile 
 if I might kiss so fair a piece of flesh." 
 
 At this sally the crowd laughed — a good 
 sign, for when a crowd laughs it is no 
 longer dangerous. 
 
 Master Hugh knew well how to take 
 advantage of the turn of the tide. He 
 treated the witch-finder and his expostula- 
 tions with ridicule. He rated the men, 
 and laughed at the women ; and in a few 
 minutes the latter, who had been most 
 violent against the witch, vied with each 
 other in restoring the poor wretch to con- 
 sciousness. 
 
 " 'Tis true," they said to each other. 
 " Master Hugh is right. There was air in 
 her coats. 'Twas but natural that she 
 should float. Poor old dame I Who is 
 she ? Does any one know her ?" 
 
 No one knew her. She had only lately 
 xjome to live in the town with her son, who 
 
 2—2
 
 20 A Family Tree. 
 
 was an armourer. It was rather a good 
 thing for Master Will ford that, wise under 
 defeat, he had beaten a retreat before this 
 young giant came upon the scene, with his 
 ten-pound hammer in his hand. 
 
 Besides being a most inoffensive person, 
 old Martha Denys, the reputed witch, was 
 a devout Eoman Catholic. This did not 
 change the views of Master Willford, who 
 was of the Reformed faith ; but the old 
 religion was strong just then in Man- 
 chester, and many came forward to vouch 
 for the piety of the accused now that she 
 was safe ; so Willford thought it best to 
 retire from the prosecution as gracefully as 
 he could — but he did so with a vow of 
 vengeance against the man who had so 
 misused his bodkin. 
 
 Hugh Desmond was not so far in ad- 
 vance of his age as to deny the power of 
 witches. What wrote Mr. Justice Black- 
 stone, whose ^' Commentaries " are still a
 
 Tried for Witchcraft. 21 
 
 legal text-book. " To deny," he says, "the 
 possibility, nay, actual existence of witch- 
 craft and sorcery, is at once flatly to con- 
 tradict the revealed word of God in various 
 passages, both of the Old and New Testa- 
 ment ; and the thing itself is a truth to 
 which every nation in the world has in its 
 turn borne testimony, either by examples 
 seemingly well-attested, or by prohibitory 
 laws, which at least suppose the possibility 
 of a commerce with evil spirits/' 
 
 Lord North's letter, already quoted from, 
 concludes — 
 
 " Sir, I find the country so fully pos- 
 sessed against them" (the three old women 
 left for execution as witches) "that, al- 
 though some of the virtuosi may think 
 these " (the confessions) " the effect of con- 
 federacy, melancholy, or delusion, and that 
 young folks are altogether as quick-sighted 
 as those who are old and infirm, yet we 
 cannot reprieve them without appearing to
 
 22 A Family Tree. 
 
 denye the very being of witches, which, as 
 it is contrary to law, so I think it would 
 be ill for his majesty's service, for it may 
 give the faction occasion to set afoot the 
 old trade of witch-finding, that cost many 
 innocent persons their lives, which the jus- 
 tice w411 prevent/' 
 
 Hugh Desmond was not wiser in his 
 generation than were North and Black- 
 stone in theirs. Moreover, in his time, 
 the trade of witch-finding was in full 
 swing. He had an idea that the rains 
 could have caused the flood, and the flood 
 the fever ; without the aid of witchcraft in 
 this particular case. But that was no 
 reason why witches should not have been, 
 and be thereafter, the sole cause of disaster 
 in others. 
 
 He admitted that malign influences might 
 be invoked, but objected to throwing old 
 women into the river, and pricking them 
 with bodkins as a means of discovering by 
 whom such spells were exercised. He in-
 
 Tried for Witchcraft 23 
 
 terposed between Master Willford and his 
 victim out of pure humanity and love of 
 justice, and was very glad to find after- 
 wards that old Martha was the mother of 
 the young smith whom he had just taken 
 into his service. But there were those 
 who shook their heads when this fact was 
 brought out. 
 
 In his youth Hugh Desmond had been 
 what we call ''wild." He ran away to 
 sea, fought the Turks for the Venetian 
 Republic, and did some buccaneering on 
 the Spanish main afterwards on his own 
 account. His hot blood calmed a little, he 
 returned to Europe, wandered about in 
 strange countries, and picked up strange 
 knowledge and occupations, which caused 
 some scandal to the good folks of Man- 
 chester, when at last he came back to take 
 his father's place amongst them. 
 
 He was a fourth son when he ran away, 
 and was not much missed ; but one by one
 
 24 A Faintly Tree. 
 
 his brothers died, and the old man was left 
 with no kindred hand to close his eyes, or 
 heir to inherit his well-won w^ealth. Mas- 
 ter Hugh had not been heard of for twenty 
 years, and yet he turned up at the funeral 
 of his last surviving brother, and showed 
 no surprise when told that the others w^ere 
 dead. How was that ? 
 
 As long as his father lived — it w^as only 
 for a year — the worst that could be said of 
 Hugh was that nothing would induce him 
 to become a merchant, that he was restless 
 and at times morose, that he swore Spanish 
 and Italian oaths, and rode off alone and 
 stayed away for weeks together on no ap- 
 parent errand. Still he was not unpopular. 
 He excelled in feats of strength, had a free, 
 rollicking way with women, and a rough- 
 and-ready manner of doing justice and see- 
 ing justice done to the poor, which gained 
 him many friends — and some enemies. 
 How came it that a man who had passed
 
 Tried for Witchcraft. 25 
 
 more than half his life abroad should know- 
 so much about the rights of Englishmen, 
 that he could beard the reeve himself? 
 This was another mystery. 
 
 Within a month of the death of the old 
 merchant, his father, he opened a huge 
 coffer, which had been forwarded after him 
 from Italy, took out many strange, and, to 
 his wondering domestics, unrighteous im- 
 plements, and set up a forge in an old 
 building once used as a brewhouse, where 
 he began to spend his days and nights, 
 forging iron beams, and cranks and spring's, 
 and poring over great moth-eaten books. 
 A man of his wealth, who might be reeve, 
 as his father had been, turning blacksmith ! 
 The gossips could not understand it, and 
 laid it down at first to the pernicious effects 
 of going abroad. The time came when 
 they took a graver view. This was why 
 Master Symes was anxious to prevent him 
 from helping the reputed witch.
 
 26 A Family Tree. 
 
 He was now about thirty years of age, 
 strong, but well-formed, with clear grey 
 eyes, and a touch of sadness in them. 
 Short chestnut hair curled naturally round 
 a broad and massive forehead, and a well- 
 trimmed beard of the same rich hue hid 
 the lower portion of his face. 
 
 He was a handsome man, this Hugh 
 Desmond, and you could not be half an 
 hour in his company without discovering 
 that he was one with whom it would be 
 dangerous to trifle. Many knew him as 
 kind and generous. Women and children 
 took to him at once. They saw nothing 
 stern in his eye. With the men he was not 
 so popular, as a rule. Truth to tell, he car- 
 ried too many guns (intellectually) for the 
 majority of his acquaintances. They were 
 rather afraid of him, though amongst them- 
 selves they ridiculed his various accom- 
 plishments, as jealous people will do. 
 
 There was nothing unholy in his cranks
 
 Tried for Witchcraft, '27 
 
 and bars, or in the big black booli:s he 
 studied. He had simply become bitten 
 whilst in Florence with that art which was 
 to mechanics, what astrology was to astro- 
 mony, and alchemy to chemistry. He was 
 bent upon discovering perpetual motion, 
 and pursued his experiments in the manner 
 and with the ceremonies which the enthu- 
 siasts or charlatans, under whom he had 
 studied, exacted. 
 
 According to the science of those days, 
 a wheel for the machine which was to Diove 
 of itself, and never cease moving, was not 
 only to be made of a certain size and 
 weight, but to be commenced at given 
 combinations of heavenly bodies, and many 
 ingredients utterly unknown to Messrs. 
 Whitworth, or Penn, had to be mixed 
 with the metal. 
 
 In the intervals of his great work. Master 
 Hugh employed himself upon a much more 
 profitable labour. One of his masters — a
 
 28 A Family Tree, 
 
 pupil of tlie great Cellini — had given him 
 three keys made by the very hands of 
 that famous man, and each haft vras a 
 work of art v^orthy of its designer. The 
 first was in the shape of an anchor, en- 
 twined with sea-weed ; the second, of a 
 cross, entwined with ivy ; the third, of a 
 heart, entwined with forget-me-nots. Hope, 
 Faith, and Chaeity. The first was iron, 
 the second silver, the third gold. To what 
 caskets they belonged, or if indeed they 
 bad belonged to any, was not known. 
 Hugh Desmond determined to make one 
 for them. 
 
 A strong hand, a correct eye, and a vivid 
 imagination untrammelled by rule, produced 
 what was at least a curiosity — in parts 
 really beautiful, as a whole quaint and 
 weird. A sort of Mooresque palace, or 
 temple, upon which a crowd of angels, 
 demons, sprites, dwarfs, and creatures half 
 human, half animal, swarmed as bees upon
 
 Tried for Witchcraft. 29 
 
 a hive — peering in and out of the windows, 
 chmbing over the roof, attacking and de- 
 fending the doors. There was nothing in 
 common between the casket and its keys, 
 except that its outside was made of the 
 same metals — iron, silver, and gold. 
 
 Certian inquisitive neighbours, excited 
 by the rumours that w^ere current, took 
 heart of grace (and a ladder) and watched 
 Master Hugh at his work through a win- 
 dow of the old brewhouse. They saw the 
 great machine growing, day by day, nqore 
 horribly incomprehensible. They saw it 
 move, and heard it groan. They beheld 
 lumps of clay and metal gradually taking 
 unholy forms, and you may be sure that 
 such scandals lost nothing in the telling. 
 One veracious reporter had seen the Prince 
 of Darkness himself blowing the forge 
 bellows ! 
 
 When it became known that the worker 
 had taken the son of the reputed witch
 
 so A Family Tree. 
 
 into his service to assist him in his mys- 
 terious labours, and that the reputed 
 witch herself was living in his house, there 
 was great excitement in the good city. 
 It was not reported that the reputed witch 
 passed hours on her knees praying that 
 her benefactor might be delivered from 
 evil — that she went regularly to church 
 and confession, and was religious to fanati- 
 cism. It was not considered that Desmond 
 had befriended others besides old Dame 
 Denys, simply because they were friendless 
 or oppressed. Against either — standing 
 ^lone — there was only a vague suspicion ; 
 but although zero, multiplied by zero, gives 
 no value in arithmetic ; nothing, multiplied 
 by nothing — according to Scandal's rule — 
 very often makes something ; and so it was 
 when Hugh Desmond's unproved sorcery, 
 and Martha Denys' unproved witchcraft, 
 were put together.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE EFFECT OF HOLY WATER. 
 
 AETHA DENYS did more than 
 pray for the soul of her de- 
 fender. She determined to sate 
 him in spite of herself He was such a 
 good man, such a kind master, that it was 
 impossible he could be willingly going to 
 destruction. The arch deceiver had him 
 in his toils, and mayhap would soon have 
 his assistant — her son — also. True it was 
 that the young smith's work was not of an 
 occult nature. He forged, and hammered, 
 and cast metals, as an honest man might
 
 32 A Family Tree. 
 
 do ; and laughed at the fears and prayers 
 of his pious parent. But he did not sit up 
 at night over those gruesome books, or 
 know for what awful use the instruments 
 he made were intended. No, Hugh Des- 
 mond was to have his eyes opened, and 
 the fiend exorcised by a sprinkling of the 
 old brewhouse with holy water. 
 
 Kemember this was in the '^good old 
 times." In holy water Martha Denys put 
 her trust. Had not the saints of old 
 fought and beaten the — the goat with it, 
 over and over again ? Had not even 
 sinners used it to his discomfiture ? She 
 took a flacon to her priest, and, for a con- 
 sideration, obtained a quart of liquid of 
 more than common holiness — of XXX 
 strength against the powers of darkness — 
 and brought it reverently to her room in 
 Master Hugh's house. But how was she 
 to administer the sacred disinfectant ? That 
 was the question ! For her life she dared
 
 The Effect of Holy Water. 33 
 
 not enter that infernal laboratory. She 
 had looked in once and was terrified. The 
 sight that met her view was evil enough, 
 disguised as it was by infernal artifices. 
 What would it not be when that weird 
 machine and those fearsome instruments 
 resumed their right forms as daemons of 
 the nethermost pit under the influence of 
 her holy water ? What was she to do ? 
 Take her son into the plot ? He would 
 only laugh at it. Find some other instru- 
 ment ? Easily said, but where ? — she a 
 stranofer and mistrusted ! At last she 
 found an accessory in the person of a 
 naughty little boy. 
 
 The naughty little boy, who goes where 
 he is not wanted, spies into what is not 
 intended for him to see, and does generally 
 what he is forbid (as they say in America) 
 out of sheer " cussedness," is not peculiar 
 to any country or any age. I dare say 
 there were naughty little boys in Nineveh, 
 
 VOL. I. 3
 
 34 A Family Tree. 
 
 who played tip-cat in the streets, and 
 made personal remarks upon the subjects 
 of Sardanapalus, pretty much as they vex 
 the lieges of Queen Victoria with such 
 pastimes and observations in this year of 
 grace. 
 
 There were certainly naughty little street 
 boys in Manchester when James the First 
 was king, and in one of these Dame Martha 
 put her trust. Too young to understand 
 what was whispered of Master Hugh Des- 
 mond's work, he was all agog to see what 
 was in the old brewhouse, and so steal a 
 march upon his companions. He was to 
 mount on a ladder to a window from which 
 a good sight could be had, and the only 
 service exacted as the price of this treat,, 
 was just to scatter some water out of a 
 bottle as far and as widely as he could. 
 This was fun in itself Naughty little 
 boys like throwing water — at a safe dis-- 
 tance — over people.
 
 The Effect of Holy Water. 35 
 
 Dame Martha did not tell him it was 
 holy water, and I'm afraid it would not 
 have much mattered if she had. Up he 
 went like a lamplighter, and was some- 
 what disappointed, when he reached his 
 coign of vantage, to find that there was no 
 one to sprinkle ; but when he saw that 
 grim machine moving by itself, his heart 
 (or one of his legs) failed him. He slipped, 
 and down fell the flacon, still corked, 
 plump into a crucible of molten metal, 
 which Master Hugh, by some forgetfulness, 
 had left uncovered when he went out. It 
 was well for him that he had gone out. 
 An awful explosion followed. The crucible 
 was blown to atoms, and its fiery contents 
 scattered far and wide. 
 
 Dame Martha fell on her knees, and 
 invoked the entire calendar of saints. All 
 the neighbours rushed out to see what 
 had happened, and when the cause was. 
 elicited from the trembling author of the 
 
 3—2
 
 S6 A Family Tree. 
 
 blow-up, there were found those who had 
 seen the father of mischief himself ^n 'proprid 
 persond — hoofs, horns, tail and all ! flying 
 out amidst the smoke. All this was duly 
 reported to Master Willford. 
 
 " Ho, ho," he mused ; " if Martha Denys 
 he not a witch, her master is a wizard. 
 Peradventure they were in league together, 
 and the one grew jealous of the other's 
 power. The devil can quote Scripture for 
 his purpose — why may not a witch use 
 holy water for hers ?" 
 
 Manchester was but a small town then, 
 and the news soon spread. It took this 
 form. A holy priest, scandalised by what 
 he had heard of Master Hugh's proceed- 
 ings, went in full canonicals, and preceded 
 by the holy cross, to the old brewhouse, 
 and found the doors locked. At a touch 
 of the sacred emblem they flew open, and 
 discovered the tenant working at his forge, 
 and Satan blowing the bellows ! At the
 
 The EJ-ect of Holy Water, 37 
 
 sight of the priest, the evil one made a 
 dash to escape, but was met with a douche 
 of holy water, upon which he seized his 
 disciple, rent the building in twain, and 
 carried him away, shrieking, to the nether 
 regions ! 
 
 The sight of Master Hugh walking about 
 in the flesh somewhat invalidated this nar- 
 rative in some of its details ; but the un- 
 doubted fact that Satan had been seen 
 flying away remained. Now it was easy 
 to lake a defenceless woman to the river 
 and try her for a witch ; but to deal witli 
 a man of Desmond's wealth, and a justice 
 of the peace to boot, was a ticklish busi- 
 ness. So good Master Willford told his 
 informant to wait and watch. 
 
 That night there were two more ex- 
 plosions, on a smaller scale, and caused deli- 
 berately. Master Hugh mended his broken 
 furnace, set a crucible in the blast, and 
 when the metal it contained was liquid.
 
 38 A Family Tree, 
 
 suspended over it, by means of a string and 
 pulley, a bottle of water which had not 
 been blessed. Then, having retired to a 
 safe distance, he let go the line. Down 
 fell the bottle, and blow-up number two 
 followed as a matter of course. 
 
 Then he sent for several of his late 
 father s friends, to explain the phenomenon 
 of the morning ; but only one, Master 
 Symes, accepted the invitation. 
 
 " Well, old Symes is a staid and re- 
 spected citizen," thought Desmond; "his 
 word will be taken, and these ridiculous 
 rumours silenced." 
 
 So, in the presence of that worthy, of 
 the young smith, and of his mother — who 
 with the greatest difficulty was persuaded 
 to come as far as the door, where she stood 
 repeating paters and aves as fast as her 
 tongue could move, and clasping the 
 largest crucifix she could find — the sup- 
 posed wizard prepared for explosion num-
 
 The Effect of Holy Water, 39 
 
 ber three, which went off to his entire 
 satisfaction. 
 
 *' Strange !" he mused, as he sat alone 
 afterwards. " Passing strange ! Fire and 
 water, both servants of man, each the 
 enemy of the other ! Can it be that out 
 of their strife for mastery may come that 
 FORCE I seek ? — that power which man is 
 destined to subdue to his will ?" 
 
 Daybreak found him pursuing the train 
 of thought thus opened ; and then he 
 mounted his horse, and rode away on one 
 of his mysterious journeys, still thinking, 
 planning, wondering, groping blindly on 
 the verge of the great discovery which had 
 yet to be made. 
 
 Southward he rode, through a country 
 where now the streams run like ink ; where 
 earth, and air, and sky are soaked in black- 
 ness, and no green thing can thrive; where 
 at night you can no more count the fur- 
 naces that blaze than you can count the
 
 40 A Family Tree. 
 
 stars when under the Southern Cross. He 
 rode over breezy heaths, where only the 
 call of the partridge or the cry of the bit- 
 tern was heard ; through shady lanes of 
 the young May blossom ; and in the waters 
 that he forded, white lilies flowered, and 
 trout, scared by the plash of his horse's 
 hoofs, darted like silver arrows from the 
 shallows. 
 
 All night he rode, and there were no 
 lights to guide him but those in the clear 
 heaven. In the early morning, he drew 
 rein in front of a grange, such as v/e may 
 find even now in the midlands — a long, 
 low building, half wood, half stone, whose 
 massive oaken beams and rafters would 
 suffice, split up, to build a modern terrace. 
 Thatched was the roof, and the windows un- 
 glazed (only grand houses had glazed win- 
 dows in those days), all but one, and in that 
 four globes of glass served for what we 
 should call " panes." This mode of letting
 
 The Effect of Holy Water. 41 
 
 in light and keeping out the weather was 
 common enough in Italy at the time ; but 
 the few travellers who passed wondered at 
 it, as, indeed, they did at much about those 
 who adopted it. 
 
 Hugh Desmond rode up to the porch, 
 and *' Carissima " rose to his lips, as he 
 dismounted, He had not time to say the 
 word — he was locked in a woman's arms. 
 
 " Ah, Hugo, mio ! I knew it was you ! 
 I felt you were coming. I have watched 
 for you all night. The saints be praised, 
 you are come at last !" she murmured, in a 
 slight foreign accent, with her arms about 
 his neck and her soft young cheek nestling 
 on his shoulder. " You are come," she re- 
 peated, over and over again, as though in 
 those three words were the greatest hap- 
 piness that heaven could grant her. 
 
 " And the little ones ?" he asked, raising 
 her face to kiss it again. 
 
 "Well— both well. You shall go to
 
 42 A Family Tree. 
 
 them directly, only let me hold you thus a 
 little longer, to be sure — quite sure/' 
 
 And she tightened the fold of her loving 
 arms, and bent upon him the gaze of 
 lustrous, dreamy, dark blue eyes, swim- 
 ming in soft delight. 
 
 " You have me, sure enough !" he 
 laughed. 
 
 " For a long time ? Say for a long 
 time." 
 
 She held him off a little as she spoke, 
 and a tinge of sadness or anxiety darkened 
 her face. 
 
 '' For longer than before. Sweetheart." 
 
 " Is that an English word^Sweetheart?'* 
 she asked, again nestling on his bosom. 
 
 " A good English word. Why .not ?" 
 
 " It sounds not so ; it is so gentle." 
 
 *' You love not our tongue !" 
 
 " Oh, yes ! for it is yours ; but it is 
 rough — all but that word. Call me 'Sweet- 
 heart ' again ?"
 
 The Effect of Holy Water. 43 
 
 " Sweetheart — wife ! That to my ears 
 has the better sound. It holds all the 
 other, and more," said Desmond. 
 
 " More — for every one ?" she asked. 
 
 " For me." 
 
 " It likes me not as well," she said, 
 shaking her head. " Let me be ' Sweet- 
 heart' always." 
 
 He kissed her again, and they passed in. 
 
 Why did he hide in the lonely Grange 
 that fair woman who loved him so ? Why 
 visit her so seldom that she had to strain 
 him closely to her heart to be sure that 
 his coming was not a dream? Why did 
 he not take her to his home, and call her 
 before all the world by that name — wife — 
 he held so dear ? Was he ashamed of her 
 for her birth ? She was of a noble — an all 
 but princely race; Othello like, he had 
 won her — soldier of fortune, buccaneer as 
 he was — and like the Moor, had married
 
 44 A Family Tree. 
 
 for beauty and a tender heart. That was 
 the head and front of his offending. A 
 dire, unpardonable offence in the Italy of 
 that time. 
 
 There was no regularly organized society 
 — as some have pretended — in existence to 
 watch over the daughters of great houses 
 and save them from Desdemona's fate, or 
 dissolve unequal alliances with three 
 inches of steel. But there was what came 
 to much the same thing — an understand- 
 ing between fathers and brothers that a 
 plebeian who ventured to mix his blood 
 with theirs should not be permitted to 
 live. It was a point of honour that he 
 should be made away with. Popes, kings, 
 and cardinals, might take the flowers of 
 their flock as mistresses, and the family 
 was flattered rather than otherwise bv 
 such favours, and not too proud to profit 
 by such shame ; but an unennobled lover 
 pronounced his own death sentence when
 
 The Effect of Holy Water. 45 
 
 he swore before God to love and cherish 
 one of these as his wife. Go where he 
 would, they found him sooner or later. 
 Do what he might, they struck him dowai 
 — not sword in hand like men, but with 
 the poignard of the hired bravo, or the 
 drugs of the secret poisoner. No lapse of 
 time condoned the crime, no distance 
 placed between him and its scene, pro- 
 tected the criminal. Vengeance was some- 
 times slow, but always sure, inexorable as 
 the grave. A Scottish gentleman, who 
 stole a daughter of the Visconti, was assassi- 
 nated fifteen years afterwards. Nor was 
 the death of the principal offender the end 
 of such vendettas. Sometimes the wife, 
 and even the children were sacrificed. 
 
 Again I say these were your "good old 
 times !" Hugh Desmond had secretly 
 wooed and won a lady in vrhose veins ran 
 such noble blood, and he learned too late 
 what his love had brought upon her.
 
 46 A Family Tree. 
 
 One thing was in his favour. He was 
 not known in Mantua. He had arrived 
 in that city but a day when the soft blue 
 eyes took him captive, and the week was 
 not over before he had his bride safe on 
 the sea. Love burns up quickly in Italy, 
 and the whilom buccaneer was a lusty 
 wooer. 
 
 No one knew with whom the lady Maria 
 had eloped save her old nurse, who was 
 the contriver and partner of her flight. It 
 was from this worthy that Master Hugh 
 learned his danger, and it was on her ad- 
 vice that he hid his darling in that lonely 
 Grange, where their faithful attendant 
 died soon after the birth of his first child. 
 
 He could be identified only through his 
 wife, and his plan was to keep her in secret 
 till she had mastered the English language^ 
 and lost, as far as possible, all traces of her 
 foreign birth. To take her to his home, 
 and present her to his father and] his
 
 The Ej^ect of Holy Water. 47 
 
 friends, would have been to provoke all 
 manner of questioning and speculation. 
 Besides, in those "good old times" folks 
 looked askance at foreigners, particularly 
 on foreign women. 
 
 Old John Desmond often perplexed his 
 son by urging him to marry, and let him 
 (the father) hold a grandchild on his knee 
 before he died. Many and many a time 
 did Master Hugh think of the bright-eyed 
 boy in his Staffordshire Grange, a,nd long 
 to cheer the old man's heart with a sight of 
 his sunny face ; but he dared not. 
 
 His fears were not for himself He and 
 death had met so often, that steel and shot 
 had no terrors for him. He was also some- 
 what of a fatalist, and believed in astrology, 
 as was proper at the time. His horoscope 
 had been cast, and a long life predicted for 
 him. 
 
 Maria never knew the reason why she 
 was to forget the soft language of her girl-
 
 48 A Family Tree. 
 
 hood, and not to teach it to her children. 
 It was her husband's will — that was enough 
 for her. Her life in the lonely Grange was 
 woefully dull after gay Mantua, but it was 
 the home her husband had provided, and 
 that was enough for her. The only thing 
 against which her gentle heart rebelled, was 
 his long absences, and even these became 
 more bearable as the children grew up, and 
 could talk with her of him. 
 
 So six years passed, and the plan worked 
 ^ell. 
 
 " Tell me now. Sweetheart," said Hugh, 
 when he had kissed the little ones (a boy 
 and a girl) and appeased their clamorous 
 delight; "tell me what has passed since 
 last I saw thee." 
 
 " Oh, nothing — nothing of import." 
 
 " Tell me all, and leave me to judge if 
 it be of import or no." 
 
 "Well, the great beech tree was blown 
 down by a storm. The Holy Virgin be
 
 The Effect of Holy Water, 49 
 
 praised ! it fell at night, else had our little 
 ones been hurt, for oft they play beneath 
 its shade." 
 
 " They would not have been out in the 
 storm, thou fond one; but on with thy 
 tale." 
 
 '' There is nothing — stay ! Oh, the pea- 
 cock is dead." 
 
 " Peace to his ashes," said Desmond. 
 
 "And I have sixteen little chickens." 
 
 " A notable housewife, truly ! But tell 
 me what has passed outside the house. 
 Hast thou been abroad ? Hast thou seen 
 any?" 
 
 " Didst thou not say that I was not to 
 go abroad ?" she asked, as an answer to his 
 first question. " I have seen none — ex- 
 cept ^" 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " A poor wandering beggar, dear ; so 
 faint and lame ! A stranger, too ; I could 
 but take pity on him." 
 
 VOL. I. 4
 
 50 A Family Tree. 
 
 "A stranger! Do you mean a foreigner?'* 
 " He was of Italy — a countryman, Hugo. 
 Why do you start and look so pale ? 
 Surely it were inhuman to let any poor 
 soul pass in such a plight — but a country- 
 man ! I gave him food and wine, and he 
 went his way blessing me." 
 
 '' You spoke Italian with him V 
 " A word or two — only a word or two — 
 which flew out unconsidered when he ad- 
 dressed me in my native tongue. Then I 
 remembered your wish, Ah, Hugo ! 'twas 
 but a few words, and only to a poor beggar/' 
 " Describe to me this beggar." 
 " He was fainting with hunger, and his 
 
 feet " 
 
 "Tell me of his face, his form." 
 " Tall and dark, and thin-vlsaged." 
 " With a scar on his right cheek ?" 
 "In sooth he had! Have you seen him? 
 Did he speak of me ?" she asked, with in- 
 terest.
 
 The Effect of Holy Water, 51 
 
 '' I have seen him," Hugh rephed, 
 moodily. 
 
 "And you are angry," she said, in a 
 reproachful tone; "angry with poor Sweet- 
 heart because, when one of her own people 
 cried to her for charity in the name of God, 
 she for a moment forgot your desires, and 
 spoke three little words of her own dear 
 tongue !" 
 
 " Not angry," he answered ; " only fear- 
 some of a danger you wot not of In all I 
 do, I but seek thy safety, th}^ happiness," 
 he continued, drawing her head upon his 
 shoulder, and caressing her soft cheek. 
 " Only fearsome, wife mine, not angry." 
 
 " Then call me Sweetheart ?" 
 
 " Sweetheart !" 
 
 4—2 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS
 
 ^il^^^_ 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE SEARCH-WARRANT. 
 
 N Master Willford's lodgings, near 
 Deansgate, sat the witch-finder, 
 in earnest conversation with a 
 foreigner — some had it — whose acquaint- 
 ance he had lately made, and who might have 
 passed as a master mariner. And, indeed, 
 it was m that capacity that he was known 
 to Willford ; but a careful observer might 
 have remarked that seafarers did not usually 
 wear such fine linen, or have such delicate, 
 soft hands. 
 
 They spoke in English, which the mariner,
 
 The Search- Warrant. 53 
 
 who was addressed as Vincenti Porras, 
 spoke pretty fluently, and tlieir talk was of 
 the events which were exciting the good 
 town — the awful events which had passed 
 in the workshop of Hugh Desmond, and 
 his sudden disappearance. 
 
 " I knew not," said Porras, " that such 
 lore was practised in your country. We 
 deem the English — pardon me — as too dull 
 and fond of trade to meddle with the occult 
 
 sciences." 
 
 "Alas! my friend," replied Willford, 
 " the devil works aUke with all nations ; 
 but thou art partly in the right. Such 
 dealings as this man hath with the powers 
 of darkness are not common (thanks be to 
 the Lord !) amongst us. He learned them 
 in foreign parts." 
 
 " Ha ! He has been abroad ! Where ?" 
 
 ''I cannot tell thee with exactitude. He 
 
 hath sojourned in the Americas, and on the 
 
 Spanish main ; he hath been in the East
 
 54 A Family Tree. 
 
 among the Moslems, who are skilled, I 
 hear, in unholy knowledge. For twenty 
 years he has been a wanderer on the face 
 of the earth, and lastly he came from 
 Italy." 
 
 " How know you that, Master Will- 
 ford r 
 
 " Because a huge coffer, full (as it now 
 appears) of unholy utensils and wicked 
 books, was thence despatched after him." 
 
 " From what port ?" 
 
 " From Venice." 
 
 " Art sure T 
 
 " The merchant who received it for him 
 from the ship is here now. He will tell 
 thee it is so." 
 
 " Nay, I doubt thee not. Master Will- 
 ford — thou who art so exact ! I warrant 
 me there is little in this man's history that 
 thy skill will not unravel." 
 
 " 'Tis my duty, good senor; 'tis the duty 
 of every God-fearing man to denounce such
 
 The Search- Warrant. 55 
 
 as he ; and this stiff-necked generation 
 will not hearken unto me if I give not 
 proofs.'* 
 
 " Has he a wife T asked Porras, after a 
 pause. 
 
 *' Nay, nay ; wizards marry not, or are 
 given in marriage," said the witch-finder, 
 with a grave shake of his head. 
 
 " Pardon me if again I say — art sure ?' 
 
 " He has a light way with women who 
 favour him, but he seeks neither wife nor 
 paramour. They never do." 
 
 " Knowest thou whither he has gone ?" 
 
 '' Not as yet. I shall know. I have 
 those upon his tracks whom he will hardly 
 baffle." 
 
 " Mayhap he will return when he deems 
 this storm has somewhat blown over." 
 
 " It will not blow over." 
 
 "It should not. Master Willford." 
 
 " It shall not." 
 
 " Has it not seemed to thee," said the
 
 56 A Family Tree. 
 
 mariner, drawing his chair closer, and 
 leaning over the table, " that now he is 
 away would be a good time for making 
 perquisition in his house ?" 
 
 " I have thought of that," Willford re- 
 plied ; " but the justices will not grant 
 a warrant. He is one of themselves, 
 and for very shame they will not do 
 right." 
 
 " But, Master Willford, there be other 
 folk living in that house. There is the 
 woman who was tried as a witch." 
 
 " The people deem her innocent ; they 
 ]ay all the blame upon her master now," 
 said Willford, with a gleam of triumph in 
 his eye. 
 
 **If the law deny them justice, the people 
 should take it for themselves," said the 
 Spaniard. 
 
 '* This is England, seiior ; the law is re- 
 spected." 
 
 " Even when corrupt ?"
 
 The Search-Warrant. 57 
 
 " Aye, even when corrupt in one limb ; 
 the body of it is pure." 
 
 '* Listen, my friend. For a great good, 
 one may do a little evil." 
 
 " The doctrine of the Society of Jesus ! 
 — a detestable, damnable heresy!" cried 
 Willford. 
 
 " Patience, patience ! The evil whereof 
 I speak is not one which affects the soul. 
 'Tis naught but what, at its w^orst, w^ould 
 be a slight, momentary injustice to one — 
 easily repaired — which would do a great 
 justice to all." 
 
 " Speak what is in thy mind." 
 
 *' What if this woman's son were accused 
 of a theft ? He is but a smith. He has 
 no friends in power. A warrant might be 
 got to search his lodgings, and the search 
 be easily followed to where he works. 
 Give him a rose-noble and declare that he 
 has been wrongfully accused, and what 
 harm comes to him ? But in the while
 
 58 A Family Tree. 
 
 this Hugh Desmond's books and papers 
 may pass into your hands; and who knows 
 what else to criminate him might be found? 
 Think it over, Master Willford, think it 
 over. The law, or those who administer 
 it, stands between thee and justice — be- 
 tween thee and thy Christian duty, my 
 friend. Did not Joseph accuse his best- 
 loved brother of theft, the better to work 
 
 out God's will r 
 
 " It were difficult,'' murmured "Willford, 
 " and if it should fail " 
 
 *' Leave it to me, and it will not fail," 
 said the other, quickly. 
 
 '' Thou takest a strange interest in the 
 matter, senor." 
 
 " I take a deep interest in thee. Master 
 Willford. Thou art a good man, and it 
 urks me to see thee baffled in thy good 
 work." 
 
 It is unnecessary to record what more 
 passed between these worthies. That night
 
 The Search' War ran t. 59 
 
 there was an outcry in an ale-house much 
 frequented by smiths. A tall, gaunt man, 
 with a scar on his face — a foreigner — had 
 been robbed. He had got very drunk on the 
 unaccustomed liquor. A young smith had 
 made great fun with him ; rolled him on 
 the floor, blackened his face, and performed 
 upon him other horse play ; but when he 
 came to his senses in the morning, his 
 purse was gone, and he loudly accused that 
 young smith of having stolen it. The 
 foreigner's master (also a foreigner) took 
 the case up warmly. His servant was an 
 honest man, though he did take too much 
 ale ; he was incapable of making a false 
 accusation. As the young smith had left 
 the drinking shop before the man reco- 
 vered, he had an opportunity of hiding 
 that purse. Let it be searched for. Nay, 
 the smith's own character demanded such 
 an inquest, for if the purse were not found 
 he would be cleared. So the justices
 
 6u A Family Tree, 
 
 granted their search-warrant, little think- 
 ing to what extended use it would be pub. 
 
 The constable to whom this warrant was 
 entrusted for execution was an official of 
 the Dogberry type — a big, fat man, with a 
 high opinion of his own importance and 
 power, and a grudge against Master Hugh, 
 who had snubbed him from the bench more 
 than once for the manner in which that 
 power had been exercised. He did not 
 love Master Hugh, and readily fell in with 
 the views of Senor Porras as to how the 
 search-warrant should be used. He thought 
 that Senor Porras (though a foreigner) was 
 a very superior man, and the Senor de- 
 clared loudly that he would to Heaven 
 they had in his country such zealous and 
 intelligent officers as the constable. 
 
 " There is small need," said the wily one, 
 *' to point out to one of thy experience that 
 if this young man be a thief he will not 
 hide his spoil in his own chamber. No,
 
 The Search- Warrant. 61 
 
 no ; the more so, when there is that labo- 
 ratory of his master which none may enter 
 for (as he may think) a safe place of de- 
 posit. It is there, as you so justly said 
 just now, that our search should be made, 
 Master Constable." 
 
 Master Constable had not said one word 
 about searching the laboratory, but he 
 pursed up his lips and nodded his head 
 with Burleighian wisdom all the same. 
 
 The chamber of the accused Gregory 
 Denys was searched as a matter of form, 
 as also w^as that of his mother, and nothing 
 was found. The searchers then proceeded 
 to the old brew-house, accompanied by the 
 young smith — as usual, hammer in hand. 
 He had treated the accusation as an honest 
 man should, with a mixture of indignation 
 and ridicule. They might turn his quar- 
 ters topsy-turvy, if they pleased, all the 
 better for him, but when they began to 
 meddle with his master's belongings, he
 
 62 A Family Tree. 
 
 growled and followed them here and there 
 like a faithful watch-dog, gripping his ham- 
 mer now and again, pretty much as his 
 canine type might show his teeth. 
 
 " "What is this ?" said Senor Porras, halt- 
 ing in front of the casket of the three keys, 
 already described ; "a strange piece of 
 handicraft, truly." 
 
 " But not for thee to tamper with,'* said 
 Gregory, bringing down his hammer with 
 a thud on the block on which it stood. 
 *' That is my master's. He alone has the 
 keys, and he left the town before yon 
 rascal accused me." 
 
 "Well, well, let it rest, Master Con- 
 stable," Porras replied. " It is not in such 
 things, as w^ell thou knowest, that stolen 
 goods are bestowed. Hast searched, as 
 Master Constable bade thee, in the ashes 
 .of the forge and the lumber on yon 
 shelves ?" he continued, to the lesser 
 powers of the law.
 
 The Search-Warrant. 63 
 
 Now Master Constable, though a big 
 man, had a small supply of valour, and the 
 weird contents of the laboratory, especially 
 the great machine, scared him not a little. 
 He kept close to the Seiior, and echoed his 
 words in a feeble voice. " Aye, aye, search 
 as I bade thee, my masters ; search well as 
 as I bade thee, in the ashes and amongst 
 the lumber," he repeated. So they raked 
 about the furnace, and turned out crucibles, 
 and caused consternation to rats and mice 
 and beetles, and raised a great dust, but 
 found not what they sought. As they 
 searched and no harm came, Master Con- 
 stable took heart, and assisted them with 
 an '^ Ah ! this is a likely spot," or an " It 
 misgave me that we should not find it 
 here," according to circumstances. 
 
 They did not notice what Seiior Porras 
 was about the while ; but he was busy — 
 very busy. A cry of horror from the 
 valiant constable disturbed him.
 
 f)4 A Family Tree. 
 
 Tn a far corner, where alembics, retorts, 
 and other instruments of alchemy were 
 stored, they had come upon a pile of 
 bones ! 
 
 " The Lord preserve us ! There has 
 been murder done !" cried the constable. 
 " See, good Master Porras, these be dead 
 men's bones ! Oh ! alack, alack !" 
 
 Porras took up one of the bones, and a 
 smile glimmered for an instant on his 
 gaunt visage as he examined it. He threw 
 it down again, and drew the constable 
 aside. 
 
 ''Thou hast indeed made a fearful dis- 
 covery," said the former ; " one that might 
 well affright a man of lesser parts. But 
 thou knowest thy duty ; thou knowest the 
 law. Thou art here for one purpose; stick 
 to that, Master Constable, and meddle not 
 with what might cause thee trouble. Lay 
 it upon thy knaves that they say nothing 
 touching those relics, and do thou keep
 
 The Search- Warrant, 65 
 
 thy own counsel till thou canst act safely ; 
 mark me — safely." 
 
 " 'Tis just what I was about to say to 
 thyself, good sen or," said the constable. 
 " Not a word, I pray thee, about the 
 bones. Good Lord ! What a coil ! what 
 a coil !" 
 
 After this, the search went on with re- 
 laxed vigour. Master Constable was no 
 longer the foremost, poking and prying 
 here and there. His men were ready 
 enough to tell each other to move this, or 
 shake out that, but hung back from touch- 
 ing anything themselves. None could tell 
 what further horror might be disclosed, and 
 all were relieved when Senor Porras, who had 
 again been at work in his own way, came 
 forward and said, "Good Master Constable, 
 if thou hast not found the purse in this 
 space, be sure it is not here." 
 
 "I did so conclude a while ago," said 
 the constable, "but for thy sake, to con- 
 
 VOL. 1. 5
 
 ^6 A Family Tree. 
 
 tent thee the more, I did continue. Art 
 satisfied ?" 
 
 "Aye, fully." There was an evil gleam 
 in his eyes as he spoke. 
 
 " Thou hearest," said the constable to his 
 men. '^ He is fully satisfied. Thou wilt 
 tell the justices, Seiior Porras, that I have 
 made full perquisition ; and that thou art 
 satisfied." 
 
 " Aye, that I will." 
 
 Then did the law's executive impress 
 upon his followers the necessity of keeping 
 the discovery of those bones a dead secret, 
 as they valued his favour. 
 
 " For," said he, " peradventure there 
 may come somewhat out of this, and per- 
 adventure there may not. If haply there 
 hath been a crime committed, it is not like 
 grave and valiant officers to talk of it like 
 idle gossips; and if not, then mayhap 
 thine ears may smart if thy tongue wags 
 loosely."
 
 The Search- Warrant. 67 
 
 As they left the house, they found a 
 large crowd assembled in. the street. The 
 news that the premises of Hugh Desmond 
 were being searched, had leaked out and 
 spread. Long before the searchers ap- 
 peared the result of ' their search was 
 known. They had found the dead body of 
 the wizard (for it was Satan himself who 
 had appeared in his likeness the next day 
 in the streets) on the roof where the evil 
 one had dropped him. When they touched 
 his magic books they had burst into flames 
 in their hands, and so on. The real cause, 
 or excuse for the search, was unknown, or 
 forgotten, amidst these exciting reports. 
 
 Foremost in the press stood the man 
 who had lost his purse, and upon him 
 Seiior Porras turned in anger. 
 
 " Why, thou drunken loon I" he shouted, 
 "thou hast wronged an innocent man ! Stand 
 back, good people, press not so upon us, I 
 pray you. There is nothing to tell — nothing," 
 
 5—2
 
 68 A Family Tree. 
 
 he said, as the crowd began to clamour for 
 news. "We have searched the chamber 
 of this good smith, and found nothing that 
 an honest man may not have. We have 
 searched diligently the place where he 
 works, and Master Constable here will tell 
 you that we have not found anything that 
 an hon — ^beshrew me ! I am going too far. 
 I was about to say as before — nothing that 
 an honest man may not have, but that 
 would not be truth. Let me say instead, 
 nothing of his — of Gregory Denys', mark 
 you — that was not lawful. We did truly 
 find — but that is naught at present. Oh, 
 my masters, you are well served. Nothing 
 escapes Master Constable. He is a man 
 who knows his duty, and does it without 
 regard of persons. But thou" — turning 
 again upon his retainer — '' thou soft- 
 brained guzzler ! Thou hast brought thy- 
 self into a pretty coil. Accuse this honest 
 smith of robbing thee ! Does he look like
 
 The Search- Wan -ant, 69 
 
 a cut-purse ? — thou fool ! Robbed thee of 
 thy money, and thou drunk ! How knowest 
 thee that thou hadst any money upon thee ? 
 Come, come ! fair is fair. We have searched 
 the lodgings of the accused ; let us now see 
 what may be found in the chamber of the 
 accuser ; and I tell thee plainly, Marco, 
 before these good men, that if thy purse — 
 a plague on't ! — be there, thou shalt forfeit 
 it to the man thou hast wrongfully charged 
 with its loss. Is that fair T 
 
 " Tis just ! — 'Tis right ! — A worthy gen- 
 tleman, and a well spoken !" broke from 
 the crowd, and away they scampered to 
 Dean's-gate to see the fun, and they were 
 rewarded. 
 
 In less than ten minutes the crestfallen 
 Marco was shown his purse, taken from the 
 pocket of one of his own doublets, which he 
 had put off the very day he had taken too 
 much of that strong ale ! Seiior Porras was 
 furious. " Thou rt forsworn ! Thou art
 
 70 A Family Tree. 
 
 disgraced ! And thou has disgraced me — 
 thy master. Wretch ! On thy knees and 
 crave this good man's pardon. I prythee 
 be not hard with him/' he said aside in an 
 under tone to Gregory ; " he is but a foolish 
 lad, and honest in the main. Twas the 
 liquor that betrayed him. Take his money 
 — justly thine — as compensation, and par- 
 don him. Thou wast innocent. Had I 
 seen thy face before this matter went so 
 far, I would not have believed a word 
 against thee — no one would." 
 
 But Gregory was made of too stern stuff 
 for such soft-solder to penetrate. 
 
 " To the devil with thy purse and thee !" 
 he growled, as he flung the one out of the 
 window, and turned on his heel from the 
 other. The purse fell upon the stones 
 below and burst. The crowd scrambled 
 for the scattered coins, and there was an 
 end of events for that day, so far as this 
 history is concerned.
 
 The Search- Warrant. 71 
 
 But not an end to talk over what had 
 happened, of questions, and surmises, and 
 scandal. What was it that Master Con- 
 stable had found in the old brew-house? 
 Nothing unlawful belonging to Gregory 
 Denys, for the senor (who had become very 
 popular by grace of that scramble) had said 
 so ; but there was something unlawful 
 there. Some mystery. Was it true about 
 the dead body and the blazing books? 
 No one had denied it. 
 
 Cross-examined by his wife — who was a 
 lady of a curious mind, and not to te 
 denied information — Master Constable con- 
 fessed — under a solemn pledge of secrecy — 
 about those bones. The awful secret burned 
 in the breast of Mistress Constable as a 
 half-crown burns in the pocket of a school- 
 boy, and she yearned to spend it. What 
 is the use of knowing more than your 
 neighbours if you may not tell it ? Under 
 a pledge of solemn secrecy, she told her
 
 72 A Family Tree. 
 
 particular friend, who passed it on under 
 similar conditions, until all Manchester 
 was raving about the bones. They were 
 bones of infants, which the wizard had 
 boiled down to get their fat. They were 
 the bones of old John Maitland, who had 
 disappeared ! They were the wizard's own 
 bones ! They were the bones of his father, 
 which he had sacrilegiously rifled from the 
 grave to aid in his unholy rites ! Alas for 
 popularity ! All the good deeds that Hugh 
 Desmond had done, all his kind words, all 
 his gallant defending of the poor, were for- 
 gotten. To the winds went good Master 
 Sy mes' explanation of the holy water affair ! 
 He had been deceived. The old version was 
 revived, and this followed so quickly by 
 that gruesome discovery, suggesting worse 
 than murders — damned Hugh Desmond. 
 Living or dead he was a wizard. Dead he 
 was to be held accursed — living he was to 
 be cursed, and die.
 
 The Search- Wai-rant. 73 
 
 Master Willford had taken no part in 
 tlie search, but its result — so far as it has 
 been recorded here — was duly reported to 
 him by Senor Porras. 
 
 *'Let it work, my friend," said the latter, 
 when he had told his tale. " It will all 
 come out — the more so I advised them to 
 keep it secret." 
 
 That same night Senor Porras and his 
 man Marco rode out of Manchester. Rode, 
 when they cleared the town, not as master 
 and man. They travelled as equals and 
 companions side by side, and their talk 
 was not in Spanish, but Italian. They 
 rode on the very tracks which Hugh Des- 
 mond had left on moor and fell, five days 
 before — Marco leading, for he had been 
 that way already.
 
 CHAPTER lY. 
 
 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. 
 
 HE noble house of Ribolini was 
 not fortunate with its rising 
 generation when the seventeenth 
 century was in its first decade. The only 
 daughter had died, in the prime of her 
 youth and beauty, of a malady so sudden 
 and virulent, that her friends were shocked 
 by the appearance of her funeral cortege 
 before they knew of her illness. 
 
 She was lost almost on the eve of her 
 marriage, and there were some who shook 
 their heads and said that perhaps she was
 
 Noblesse Oblige. 75 
 
 happier as it was ; for the union, arranged 
 by her family, did not promise well for her. 
 The bridegroom elect — a distant cousin — 
 was old enough to be her father ; a stern, 
 cold man, with a face cut, as it seemed, 
 out of grey stone, and a heart to match ; 
 but rich, and a near relative of the Gon- 
 zagas, who ruled Mantua in that day. But 
 young ladies had to do what they were 
 told in those good old times. 
 
 The only son was what we should call 
 " fast." I do not know what name they 
 had then for young nobles w^ho found their 
 pleasures outside of the parental palace^ 
 and sowed wild oats in the St. John's 
 Woods (be sure there were such glades) of 
 the Italian cities. He had a roving, wild, 
 unsatisfactory disposition, this Cosmo de 
 Kibolini, and, as a matter of course, waB 
 his mother s darling. 
 
 It had pleased him to spend much of his 
 time away from paternal control in Venice,
 
 76 A Family Tree. 
 
 and formed ideas in that freer atmosphere 
 ■which were shocking to the head of his 
 house. He had, moreover, evinced in- 
 difference about the traditions of his family, 
 and could not be got to study the duties to 
 be expected of him when he should become 
 its chief The fact was, that these tradi- 
 tions and duties had been sprung upon 
 him at an age when he could not under- 
 stand what was meant ; and when his 
 mind was matured sufficiently to compre- 
 hend them, it sickened against the so oft- 
 repeated dose. 
 
 His father had married late in life, and 
 his mother died shortly after the loss of 
 her daughter. He had no companion but 
 his sister ; and when she was taken away, 
 the last tie which bound him to the dull 
 old Mantua palace was severed. He 
 visited the principal seats of learning in 
 Italy, sojourned in Eome and Venice, and 
 learned a great many things of which his
 
 Noblesse Oblige. 77 
 
 grim old father, who had never travelled a 
 hundred miles in his life, knew nothing, 
 and disliked by intuition. It was well, 
 for some reasons, that this pair were kept 
 a good deal apart. The son was in ad- 
 vance of his time, the father behind it. 
 He considered " the house " as a kingdom, 
 and its head as a king with absolute power, 
 even of life and death, over its members. 
 
 It was out of this idea that the social 
 law, mentioned in a former chapter, arose, 
 and was justified. The great houses con- 
 sidered themselves above the law. They 
 resented interference from without ; but 
 were by no means slow to stretch their 
 own authority when an opportunity pre- 
 sented. Half the feuds and vendettas of 
 the day arose out of some one having 
 punished some one else's servant, or taken 
 the part of some one else's client. It was 
 only when the class or its privileges were 
 attacked that they stood together, and
 
 78 A Family Tree. 
 
 bearded pope, emperor, or king in defence 
 of their dierished feudal rights. 
 
 One of these was to regulate their own 
 households. An unauthorized suitor came 
 a-wooing with his life in his hand. His 
 own kin would fight for him as long as he 
 lived ; but when he took the inevitable 
 consequences of his rashness, his fall was, 
 as a rule, unresented. If the Count 
 Paris had caught Romeo in Juliet's bal- 
 cony, and had disposed of him, I do not 
 think there would ha.ve been any further 
 slaughter of Capulets on Montagus on that 
 score. Something like a verdict of " serve 
 him right" would probably have been re- 
 corded. Those old enemies would have 
 hated each other a little more, and have 
 become somewhat quicker (if possible) to 
 pick a quarrel ; but it would not have 
 suited either of them to deny the abstract 
 right of any gentleman to slay, at sight, 
 the gallant who might rob him of his pro-
 
 Noblesse Oblige. 79 
 
 mised bride. Nor would justice have in- 
 terfered. Do you suppose that Romeo was 
 banished because he killed Tybalt? The 
 duke was bothered by these constant 
 street brawls, and wanted peace ; that was 
 all. 
 
 No noble in all Italy was more fully con- 
 vinced of the wisdom and the justice of 
 this principle than the old Count de Eibo- 
 lini. Several times had he broached the 
 subject to his son, as an abstract proposi- 
 tion, but without producing any interest in 
 his hearer. The time came when he hjifd 
 to put it in a more practical form. 
 
 ''Your conduct, my son," he said one 
 day, soon after Cosmo's return from a long 
 sojourn in the queen city of the Adriatic, 
 "angers and grieves me. If heaven had 
 so willed it, I should have depended upon 
 another to uphold the honours and dignity 
 of our house, and have allowed thee to sink 
 into the companion of traders, and the friend
 
 80 A Family Tree. 
 
 of the foes to law and order, that it seems 
 thy will to be. But my hopes have been 
 disappointed. I have only thee; and there 
 is a matter of grave import, the further 
 concealment of which would be a sin 
 against my order. Thou must know it, 
 and act as becomes a Ribolini. Cosmo, 
 my son, prepare thyself for a startling 
 revelation. In the tomb of our race, under 
 the inscription to the memory of thy sister 
 Maria, there was no body laid !" 
 
 ''Maria not dead!" gasped the young 
 man. 
 
 " Dead to thee, dead to me — a thousand 
 times dead to our house," replied his father, 
 sternly. " Were she burned with fire, and 
 her ashes scattered to the four winds of 
 heaven, she would be less dead to us than 
 she is. But yet she lives — disgraced V 
 
 " Oh, my sister !" 
 
 '' Thou hast no sister. She who was 
 once my daughter was affianced, as thou
 
 Noblesse Oblige, 61 
 
 knowest, to Vincenti Delia Torre ; but two 
 days before the time fixed for her mar- 
 riage, she fled, accompanied by her nurse 
 — and another." 
 
 " His name, father ?" 
 
 '' Patience. To hide our disgrace, we 
 gave out that she had died suddenly, and 
 a coffin, supposed to contain her remains, 
 was carried in pomp to the grave. Ah, 
 me ! It was said that grief had burned 
 -up my tears. I was crushed to the earth 
 — but by humiliation, Cosmo, not by sor- 
 row.'' 
 
 " Art sure — art certain there is cause ? 
 Oh, father ! she may not be dishonoured. 
 Bethink thee. Maidens have been carried 
 off against their will ; have been murdered, 
 when they strayed abroad, for their jewels; 
 have been drowned by accident, and never 
 heard of again." 
 
 " Have I not told thee she lives ? She 
 fled of her own free will, as part of a letter 
 
 VOL. I. 6
 
 82 A Family Tree. 
 
 found in her chamber proves. She fled 
 with her lover." 
 
 " I was a man, and you told me not !'* 
 said Cosmo, through his clenched teeth. 
 
 " Thou wert a rash, hot-headed boy. I 
 will not so far wrong thee as to suppose 
 thou wouldst have intentionally betrayed 
 our secret, but thine acts would have given 
 it to all Mantua before a week had passed. 
 The greatest caution was required — first, 
 to cover our disgrace, and next to find the 
 path for our revenge." 
 
 " Who knew of this V 
 
 '^ Thy mother and Delia Torre — none 
 other." 
 
 " And none suspect that false burial ?" 
 
 " None." 
 
 '* 'Tis well. Now tell me how we have- 
 been avenged ?" 
 
 "We are not yet avenged." 
 
 " What ! After six years ?" 
 
 " There was no clue to the man. One
 
 Noblesse Oblige, 83 
 
 after another, the suspicions we formed 
 proved groundless ; but our efforts have 
 not ceased —no, not for a day ! — and now," 
 said the old man, more sternly than ever, 
 laying his hand upon a folded paper, " they 
 are rewarded." 
 
 ''Without my aid!" muttered his son, 
 with bitter reproach. 
 
 "The quarry is marked only — not struck 
 yet. Read." 
 
 And he read as follows : — 
 
 " Most illusteious Sir and de\r 
 Cousin — 
 
 " This leaves me suffering much in 
 body from privation and sickness on the 
 seas, but hopeful in mind. In my letter 
 from Venice, which I hope was duly placed 
 in thy honourable hands, which I kiss, I 
 informed thee of the reasons which led me 
 to seek in England the sequel of the dis- 
 covery I had made in Florence. Thou 
 
 6—2
 
 84 A Family Tree. 
 
 didst think, I fear me, that the clue was 
 too faint to warrant so long and dangerous 
 a journey ; and, in good sooth, it so ap- 
 peared. But what wouldst thou? For six 
 years we have been labouring in vain, and 
 what seemed, from time to time, strong 
 confirmation of our suspicions, has melted 
 away as we approached it. Might not (for 
 so I reasoned) what is but a little fact lead 
 up to mighty things? And, thanks to 
 holy St. Joseph, to whom I have never 
 ceased to pray, so it hath come to pass. 
 
 " Most illustrious, our good kinsman 
 Marco, who, for the purposes of our plan, 
 deigns to pass in public as my servant, has 
 seen her, has spoken with her, and was not 
 recognized ; for, as thou knowest, they 
 have not met since she was a child. He 
 was disguised as a beggar, and addressed 
 her in her native tongue. At first she 
 answered him in Italian, but took fright 
 for some unknown cause, and pretended
 
 Noblesse Oblige. 85 
 
 not to comprehend his words. She is 
 living in a lonely farmhouse in the pro- 
 vince they call Staffordshire, where he — 
 the man we seek — visits her from time to 
 time. Having thus found the hen bird in 
 her nest, it is easy to track her mate. By 
 the time that this shall reach thee, I shall 
 know him. 
 
 " Let me now, if it please thee, return to 
 what passed at Venice. An Englishman, 
 whose name I could not ascertain, set sail 
 from that city, soon after the accursed day; 
 with one who passed as his wife, and an 
 old woman whose description proves her 
 to be the traitress Bertha. The ship was 
 bound for Chester, in England ; but she 
 was lost on her next voyage, her patron is 
 dead, and there is no one living in the 
 aforesaid city who can, or will, help me 
 to trace the man. I am searching in 
 neighbouring towns, and this is wrote in 
 Manchester* Thou wilt ask, why not wait
 
 86 A Family Tree. 
 
 for him where she is ? I will answer thee. 
 There is no town within a league ; and for 
 us, foreigners as we are, to lurk about the 
 spot would surely arouse suspicion, and 
 mayhap afright our quarry ; whereas, by 
 hunting in a circle, we shall surely come 
 •upon his traces, and at last discover him 
 in the place he cometh from. They are 
 undoubtedly married, and have two chil- 
 dren — a boy and a girl. 
 
 '^ In my love and respect for thee. Most 
 Illustrious, I am as much thy son, as though 
 the honour thou destined for me were truly 
 mine ; but our kinship is remote, and this 
 matter is too grave for me to act therein 
 at my own will. Touching the man my 
 course is plain. He dies, but for the rest 
 I wait thy orders. It is time that thy son 
 should act in this. Send him to me with 
 speed, I beseech thee, or write, and address 
 thy missive to me, as Senor Porras of the 
 Netherlands, at the * Golden Boar,' in
 
 Noblesse Oblige. 87 
 
 Deansgate, of the town of Manchester 
 England, by a trusty messenger, as be- 
 seems the importance thereof. 
 
 *' Thy loving kinsman, and faithful 
 .^servant, 
 
 " Vtncenti." 
 
 In these bad young times, a brother 
 -whose sister had eloped would read with 
 a deep sigh of relief such words as " they 
 are undoubtedly married," but the brows 
 of Cosmo E-ibolini darkened more over that 
 passage than any other. Was it because a 
 nameless adventurer had stolen a daughter 
 of his house, and dared to wed her ? His 
 father, who was watching him intently as 
 he read, thought so. He finished the 
 letter to its signature, and re-perused it, 
 before he laid it down. Both father and 
 son remained silent for a while — each ap- 
 parently loth to be the first to speak. At 
 last the younger blood gave way.
 
 88 A Family Tree. 
 
 " When came this to hand ?" asked 
 Cosmo. 
 
 *' Tester morn, and it behoves me to act 
 upon it without tarrying. Canst not thou 
 divine what I would do V 
 
 " I am bewildered, surprised. I " 
 
 " 'Tis just that thou shouldst be so," 
 interposed his father. '* I blame thee not 
 for thy inability to answer me. All this 
 Cometh on thee of a sudden, and thou hast 
 not had time to weigh well its portent — ^^I 
 would give thee till to-morrow to think it 
 over; but time presses. I must reply to 
 the Count Vincenti this night, and thou 
 must be the bearer of my letter." 
 
 " None other. It is the duty of our 
 order, my son, to act as its judges in such 
 matters as this, and to be the executioners 
 of its decrees. What did the De Este 
 when the Visconti Spanello wooed their 
 daughter against their will ?"
 
 Noblesse Oblige. 89> 
 
 *'He was stabbed in her balcony, and 
 she compelled to wash up his blood, like a 
 menial." 
 
 "True. And when the young Bene- 
 detti — half-witted as he was — pretended 
 to have married a minnie-singer, hast 
 heard what was done upon them, and 
 their scum ?" 
 
 Cosmo turned pale, and trembled. His 
 father, taking his silence as a negative, pro- 
 ceeded. 
 
 " They were strangled in their bed, and 
 the child in its cradle.'' 
 
 '' The child too r 
 
 " Was a base jonglour's brat to live and 
 sit with usf cried the old man fiercely. 
 " And the Visconti — what did they ? 
 They were foiled as we have been for 
 years, but their righteous vengeance — 
 nay, 'tis justice, my son — their justice 
 was executed at last, as ours must 
 be; but not by the Count Vincenti," he
 
 90 A Family Tree. 
 
 added, with marked emphasis on that 
 name. 
 
 " Oh Father ! do you mean that I " 
 
 " Patience. Vincenti is a good man ; a 
 loyal, an honourable, and a true, else had 
 I not chosen him as a son. He says justly 
 here (touching the letter) that the matter 
 is too grave for him to manage at his will. 
 But he is wrong in supposing that it is for 
 him to deal with that villain who stole my 
 
 who stole her who was once my child. 
 
 That is my right and my duty ; and as my 
 age and advancing infirmity forbid me to 
 cross the seas to execute them myself, I 
 make thee — my heir, the future head of 
 my house — my delegate. Slain by the 
 hand of Vincenti, this wretch would die 
 murdered. There are those who have 
 hired daggers for their work, but I will 
 not. I depend on thee, my son, for justice." 
 '' You must grant me time — time to 
 think, to realise this horror," said Cosmo
 
 Noblesse Oblige, 91 
 
 starting from his seat, and pacing the room, 
 ^'my brain is in a whirl. It is like a night- 
 mare ; I cannot realise it. My sister that 
 was dead — my loved sister for whom I 
 mourned so ! And she is alive, married 
 in a strange land ; has little children, and 
 perchance is happy ! Oh, my father, are 
 iihose little children doomed V' 
 
 ** The boy is doomed," replied Ribolini 
 severely. " Couldst thou be guilty of 
 such weakness to-morrow, I would disown 
 thee, but I can allow somewhat for thy 
 surprise and confusion to-day. Thou shalt 
 have time to clear thy brain, and chase 
 these unworthy repinings. Happy, sayeth 
 thou ? For shame, for shame ! What if 
 she be happy in her degradation ? The 
 ^orse for her to be so. It will occupy me 
 full two hours to answer my fair cousin. 
 That will be time enough for thee. Thou 
 canst leave me now, and prepare to start 
 at sunrise."
 
 92 A Family Tree. 
 
 He left his father's presence with those 
 last words ringing in his ears and deaden- 
 ing his mind. To start at sunrise ! and it 
 was long past mid-day already. Short 
 space for a man to prepare himself to be- 
 come the executioner of his sister's husband 
 and child. He had not replied to his 
 parent's aspersions upon his conduct and 
 his associates. Sons did not reply in those 
 days ; but as the words came back to his 
 memory he felt that they were unjust. 
 He the companion of traders, and friend 
 of the foes to law and order ! Why, theie 
 was not in all the world a prouder aris- 
 tocracy than that inscribed in the " Golden 
 Book" of Venice. 
 
 Strange it is, but true, that in great 
 bodily perils, or in great mental conflicts, 
 some small matter will creep in and occupy 
 the thoughts. A drowning man will sud- 
 denly remember a trifle of his boyhood, 
 and dwell upon it. We have now befoio
 
 Nohlesse Oblige. 93 
 
 us one who, amidst the astonishing revela- 
 lations just made to him, could do little 
 but fret over the implied assertion that he 
 was unworthy of his order ; and it was this 
 grievance, founded on truth, which (though 
 he did not trace its workings) hardened his 
 heart later on to the duty he was com- 
 manded to perform. Let the function be 
 as hard or as disagreeable as you will, once 
 dignify it as one's right, and no man cares 
 to see it usurped, or to be superseded in its 
 exercise. 
 
 Cosmo Eibohni began to hate the Count 
 Vincenti for what he might have been, and 
 for what he had done. Had not his father 
 told him in almost as many words, that if 
 the count had married his sister he would 
 have become the head of the house ? And 
 this because he (Cosmo) preferred gay, 
 bright, beautiful Venice, the home of art 
 and science, to dull old Mantua. He — the 
 only son, the heir — grown man as he was,
 
 94 A Family Tree. 
 
 had been treated like a child ; family secrets 
 kept back from him, and another, all but 
 a stranger, set to vindicate the family 
 honour in his place. He was bitterly jea- 
 lous of the Count Vincenti, and he found 
 a grim satisfaction in the thought that 
 he was going to baulk him of the vengeance- 
 of which he wrote so confidently. 
 
 By the time he reached Venice he had 
 ceased to grieve about his sister. " The 
 man'' was to die, and her sorrow would be 
 the same, no matter by whose hand he 
 fell. She need not know who killed him. 
 About the child, he had formed a plan in 
 accordance with the letter of his father's 
 orders. The child had done no harm, and 
 might live, but not as a Eibolini. In this 
 also he would thwart the hated Vincenti. 
 
 When Ribolini told his son what had 
 befallen the plebeian wife and child of the 
 heir of the Benedetti, by way of prepara- 
 tion for the duty he had to perform towards
 
 Noblesse Oblige. 95^ 
 
 the adventurer who had stolen his sister, 
 and their male offspring, I have said that 
 he grew pale, and trembled. He had re- 
 peated unmoved the fate of that unwelcome 
 lover. He knew well enough that a man 
 who went a-wooing amongst his superiors, 
 carried his life in his hand ; but this was 
 the first time he had heard of the patricians' 
 "justice" overtaking a woman who had 
 married above her sphere. Such instances 
 were so rare as to be almost unknown. If 
 a peasant maiden found favour in the eyes 
 of a noble, he adopted the simple Sabine 
 plan. There was no talk of priest or 
 ring. 
 
 The young Benedetti was an imbecile, 
 and the woman who entrapped him a 
 pariah ; what could it matter to Cosmo 
 that her neck was wrung ? Well, it caused 
 him a rude awakening from an idea as old 
 as "society" itself, that things which dis- 
 graced a woman are permissible to a man..
 
 96 A Family Tree. 
 
 He considered that his sister had disgraced 
 herself and her race by wedding one that 
 did not belong to her world. Had he been 
 a Bayard, or a Crichton, and not noble, it 
 would have been the same ; but he remem- 
 bered certain vows he had breathed in the 
 ear of one not of his world — no minnie- 
 singer girl was she — and a cold tremor ran 
 through him to the very marrow of his bones. 
 Oft had he reasoned with himself, '* She 
 has beauty and wit enough to grace a 
 throne. She is good and pure as the angels 
 in heaven. What if her lineage be not 
 noble — I do not sink to her level — I raise 
 her to mine.'' 
 
 As his father spoke, he asked himself 
 would her beauty and goodness weigh in 
 the balance against her ignoble blood. The 
 -minnie-singer was strangled, not for being 
 a wanton, but because she was a wife. The 
 marriage was the crime. This made him 
 tremble.
 
 Noblesse Oblige. 
 
 It was but a passing qualm. His case 
 was so different (our own cases always 
 are). He was noble, and could do as he 
 pleased. In a few years, perhaps months, 
 he would be master of his own destiny, 
 ^nd who would judge him then ? Before 
 he set sail from Venice he renewed his 
 love-pledge to the daughter of a merchant, 
 and departed to kill a merchant's son for 
 having espoused his sister. 
 
 In the days of my youth, when I read 
 novels sub rosd — or, to speak more accu- 
 rately, under a certain umbrageous yew 
 tree — readers were fond of making mar- 
 ginal notes of admiration and otherwise. 
 The volumes I get from my circulating 
 library now bear few of such criticisms. 
 We read faster, I suppose, and care less for 
 what we read. Nevertheless, I fancy I 
 hear exclamations of " ridiculous," " impos- 
 sible, '' in connection with the last para- 
 graph. What ! take a human creature's 
 
 VOL. I. 7
 
 98 A Family Tree. 
 
 life for doing what you deliberately propose 
 to do yourself? Absurd! Unjust, if you 
 please, but not unnatural. You think it 
 awfully good fun, my dear young friend, 
 to dance with the lady's-maid at the ser- 
 vants' ball ; but you don't like to see your 
 cousin Mary waltzing with the footman. 
 Analyze the reason, and you will under- 
 stand Cosmo Eibolini.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 AMOR VINCIT OMNIA. 
 
 REIVED in Venice, Cosmo Ribo- 
 lini went straight to the house 
 — I might say palace — of one 
 of its merchant princes, Bartolomeo Bosco, 
 by whom he was heartily received. 
 
 " The saints be praised !" he cried, as he 
 ran down the steps leading to the canal. 
 " It is indeed thy honourable self! I could 
 scarce believe it. Give me thy hand, most 
 illustrious. Thou art come to us again — 
 so soon.'* 
 
 *' So soon !" laughed the young noble, 
 
 7—2
 
 100 A Family Tree, 
 
 stepping from his gondola ; " have I worn 
 •out my welcome ?" 
 
 " Nay, it is as good as new ; but didst 
 thou not say when we parted last that my 
 lord, thy father, opposed thy sojourn 
 here?" 
 
 " In sooth he did, but it is at his bid- 
 ding that I am come." 
 
 '' Blessed be the reason, whatsoe'er it be. 
 •Get thee in, get thee in, and leave me to 
 deal with thy baggage. Ho la ! Pietro, 
 •Carlo ! Lazy rascals ! dost thou not hear 
 me call ?" 
 
 Nothing loth, Cosmo entered the house, 
 and made for a certain balcony where a 
 white robe fluttered. 
 
 The wearer had seen the arrival of a 
 gondola, but was too deeply plunged in 
 thought to heed it. They were not happy 
 thoughts, if we might judge by the sad 
 expression which filled her large black 
 eyes. An open book lay unnoticed in her
 
 Amor Vincit Omnia. 101 
 
 lap, and one soft little hand was pressed 
 upon the bosom of her dress, pressing a 
 golden locket to her heart. Like " a 
 daughter of the gods, divinely tall and 
 most divinely fair," was she. Of a stately^ 
 almost regal beauty, which in repose seemed 
 cold and passionless, and required a touch 
 of sadness, or of another emotion soon to 
 flash upon her, to make it lovable. 
 
 A light step in the corridor behind her, 
 two hands on her eyes, a cry, two names,. 
 
 and dear ladies ; as it is in the days of 
 
 Queen "Victoria, so it was in the reign &f 
 James I., when true lovers met. 
 
 The beautiful face was not sad now. 
 
 " Ah, Cosmo ! no more." 
 
 "One." 
 
 As he drew her towards him, she started 
 and. turned pale. 
 
 "Thy father?" 
 
 " Lives, carissima ! and is well — for him. 
 Didst fancy I had come to claim thee?
 
 102 A Family Tree. 
 
 Ah, no, not yet. Patience, my soul. God 
 forbid that I should wish the old man ill, 
 though he loves me not. Patience for a 
 little longer." 
 
 " For a lifetime if needs be, caro mio," 
 she replied. " It was but a thought which 
 flashed across my mind. I had not hoped 
 to see thee again till — till then. Thou 
 hast not angered, hast not disobeyed him T 
 she asked quickly. 
 
 ** Nay. On the contrary, he is better 
 pleased with me now than he has been for 
 many years." 
 
 " He knows that thou art here ?" 
 
 " He knows that I shall pass here on 
 my travels." 
 
 " Thy travels ?" 
 
 " Yes, beloved ; I am but a bird of pas- 
 sage. I take the first ship for England." 
 
 She crept closer to him, and he felt her 
 shudder in his arms. 
 
 " Why, thou faint heart !" he said cheer-
 
 Amor Vincit Omnia, 103 
 
 fully. " Thou a merchant's daughter, and 
 dost fear the sea ?" 
 
 " I know its perils," she replied. " Oh, 
 Cosmo, must thou go ?" 
 
 ''Indeed, indeed, I must; but have no 
 fear, sweet ; at this season there are no 
 storms." 
 
 " Storms are not the only perils of the 
 cruel sea." 
 
 *' But they are the gravest." 
 
 " Not so. The fury of the tempest is 
 nothing in comparison to the cruelty of 
 man. Hast never heard," she added,- in 
 low, frightened tones, " how my dear father 
 was captured by pirates, and chained like 
 a, slave to the oar in their galley ?" 
 
 " No," he replied, with interest ; '' tell 
 me the tale. It ended happily, I know." 
 
 '* It happened when I was five years old, 
 and my sainted mother was yet alive. We 
 were not then as rich as we are now, but 
 prosperous. My father had a great ven-
 
 104 A Family Tree. 
 
 ture, in which he had sunk not only all hia 
 substance, but borrowed money ; coming 
 from the Indies. It was to be shipped at 
 Alexandria, and thither he went himself to 
 act as supercargo. All went well. The 
 caravan arrived safe, the goods were laden 
 on board his vessel, and he set sail for 
 home. After a few days he encountered 
 contrary winds, and was at last becalmed 
 off the coast of Tripoli, where the ship was 
 attacked by Moorish pirates. Three galleys 
 full of armed men grappled her. Her 
 crew — outnumbered twenty to one — made 
 a gallant resistance, but were soon over- 
 powered. She was captured, taken pos- 
 session of by the pirates, and my dear 
 father, wounded as he was, removed to 
 one of their galleys, and chained to the 
 oar. At first they wished to kill him, for 
 he had struck down one of their leaders, 
 but this was the more cruel fate reserved 
 for him."
 
 Amor Vincit Omnia. 105 
 
 " Horrible !" said Cosmo, with a shudder. 
 "And for how long did he endure such 
 torture ?" 
 
 " For five days only, thanks be to God 1 
 A storm separated the galleys from the 
 ship, and drove that in which he was, out 
 to sea. They were all but wrecked, with 
 broken oars and split sails they lay at the 
 mercy of the waves, which my poor father 
 prayed might overwhelm and free him from 
 his misery. Well, at dawn of the fifth day 
 a ship passed close by — an English ship. 
 The Moors made signs that they were in 
 want of provisions, and the galley was 
 taken alongside. ^Is there any one on 
 board,' said the captain, ' who can un- 
 derstand their tongue V There was none. 
 * Can any of you speak a language that a 
 Christian can comprehend V asked the cap- 
 tain again, after having consulted a tall, 
 handsome man — apparently a passenger — ■ 
 who stood by his side. No answer. Then
 
 106 A Family Tree. 
 
 the passenger made a like demand, first in 
 French, and then, to my poor father's de- 
 light, in Italian. * I can,' he cried. * Oh, sig- 
 ner, these are pirates ; they have taken my 
 ship and chained me here. Help, help, for 
 the love of God !' Although the Moors did 
 not understand his words they saw their 
 effect, and hastened to cast off the ropes 
 which bound the galley to the ship, but in 
 a,n instant that passenger was at my father's 
 side, sword in hand, and at his call the 
 English sailors came swarming down, and 
 soon the tables were turned. The pirates 
 were bound, and my father free. He had 
 barely time to tell all that had happened, 
 when he fainted from exhaustion and pain. 
 His wound, his exposure to the cruel 
 weather, and his agony of mind brought 
 on a fever, through which his deliverer 
 nursed him like a brother; and the first 
 thing he heard when he regained conscious- 
 ness was, that the gallant English, insti-
 
 Amor Vincit Omnia. 107 
 
 gated by that good man, had put back, inter- 
 cepted his own vessel, and recaptured her." 
 
 " But he was no gainer by that," Cosmo 
 observed. 
 
 " Our law gave him back one-third, and 
 the English were quite contented with 
 their share." 
 
 *' I hope the passenger was richly re- 
 warded r 
 
 "He would not accept anything but 
 some curiously carved iron-work — of no 
 real value — there was on board ; but he 
 has his reward — the good God will bfess 
 him. His name is in my prayers morn and 
 night." 
 
 " Tell me that name, carissima, that I, 
 too, may honour it." 
 
 " Hugo Desmond." 
 
 " Hast seen him, thou ?" 
 
 " Once only, when — " she checked her- 
 self, and flushed crimson, "but that is a 
 secret to be kept even from thee !"
 
 108 A Family Tree. 
 
 " Have a care," said her lover. *' I may 
 be jealous of this tall, handsome cavalier." 
 
 " Foolish one ! it was six years ago, 
 when I was yet a child, and — well, I may 
 tell thee this much — he has a wife whom 
 he loves dearly." 
 
 '' Shall I see— shall I know him V 
 
 " I think not : he lives a roving life* 
 Join your prayers with mine, if you love 
 me, Cosmo, that the blessed saints may 
 have him in their care — ^him, and all dear 
 to him. Thou dost pray, my Cosmo ?" 
 
 "Sometimes," replied the young noble,, 
 dryly. 
 
 " Ah, Cosmo ! promise me thou wilt da 
 so always." 
 
 *' Always !" 
 
 " Nay, thou knowest what I would. Pro- 
 mise that morn and eve, when I am kneel- 
 ing to Heaven, I may know that thou also 
 art seeking pardon and mercy amidst thy 
 perils."
 
 Amor Vincit Omnia, 109 
 
 "And a blessing for Hugo Desmond?'* 
 Tie asked, with a loving smile. 
 
 '^ Aye, dearest, and a blessing for Hugo 
 Desmond." 
 
 The merchant came bustling in as they 
 were speaking, his jolly face one smile, but 
 when he heard that name it suddenly be- 
 came serious. 
 
 *' What of Hugo Desmond T he asked, 
 almost severely. 
 
 " Marcellina was telling of thy escape 
 from captivity, my good host, as a warning 
 to me of the perils of the sea, and she bade 
 me pray for thy brave deliverer." 
 
 " Was that all T said Bosco, turning to 
 his daughter. 
 
 *' My father, can you doubt " she 
 
 began. 
 
 " Enough," he interrupted, in a low 
 voice. " I know I can trust thee. My 
 lord," he said aloud, " there is not a man 
 in all this world whom I revere— nay, love
 
 110 A Family Tree. 
 
 — as I love Hugo Desmond. But for him 
 this dear child would have been fatherless. 
 I owe my life, my fortune, to him. I love 
 all Englishmen for his sake. He is a man 
 of men ; earnest, generous, brave. 'T would 
 do thee no harm to pray for such an one, or 
 to find such an one at thy side in the hour 
 of need. But what hast thou to do with 
 the perils of the sea ?" 
 
 *' I am bound for England, good Bosco. 
 Thou must aid me, my friend, to find a ship." 
 
 "That can I do right easily," said the 
 merchant. " One of mine own will sail in 
 a few days, and, if it please thee, thou shalt 
 have passage in her. But must thou leave 
 us so soon ?" 
 
 *^ In good sooth I am pressed for time, 
 but on my return -" 
 
 " 'Tis well, thou knowest best thine own 
 affairs, and 'tis a fair season for the voyage." 
 
 " Say, my father," asked Marcellina, " be 
 there pirates now ?"
 
 Amor Vincit Omnia. Ill 
 
 " A fig for pirates !" cried Bosco ; "I am 
 wiser than I was. The good ship Venus 
 has teeth, my child ; four goodly culverins 
 that would sink them and their cursed gal- 
 leys ere they could say Marsh^llah ! Our 
 fair guest shall sail in her, and — if his 
 business detain him not too long — she shall 
 await his return." 
 
 " Thou art not a prince of merchants, as 
 they call thee, but a king/' said Cosmo,press- 
 ing his hand. "A thousand thanks. I take 
 thee at thy word. The time will come when 
 it will be my joy to try and act as nobly 
 by thee as thou dost to me this day." 
 
 *' My Lord Cosmo Ribolini," said the mer- 
 chant with dignity, ^'the service I offer you is 
 but a small one; it is done in the due course 
 of my business, and costs me nothing ; but 
 were it ten times greater it would not war- 
 rant what thou hast said. Thou hast 
 deigned to speak as though we were equals;; 
 we are not, and can never be. Thou art a
 
 112 A Family Tree. 
 
 noble — I, a trader. No service of mine 
 can bridge over tlie gulf between us. 
 The noblest conduct thou canst follow is to 
 bear the existence of that gulf ever in 
 thy mind." ^ 
 
 A rapid glance passed between the lovers, 
 and each heart beat, " Can he suspect ?" 
 
 He did not suspect, but he feared. He 
 knew his daughter's character too well to 
 entertain the common dread his order had 
 •of gay young nobles ; and wild as Cosmo 
 Eibolini was represented to be, there was 
 that about him which satisfied his host that 
 he would not abuse his hospitality, or he 
 w^ould not have welcomed him as he did. 
 It is not your wild, harum-scarum rakes 
 who are the most dangerous. These know 
 the horrid depths to which a woman can 
 be degraded, and shrink from leading her 
 the first downward step. But there was 
 un happiness, long short of degradation, 
 which might fall upon his only child. This
 
 Amor Vmcit Omnia, 113 
 
 handsome Cosmo mio^hfc win her heart in 
 spite of herself, and, as he could not give 
 her his hand, the careful parent was glad of 
 the opportunity made by his too fervid ex- 
 pression of thanks, to warn them both as 
 he did. His words, " the noblest conduct 
 thou canst follow is to bear the existence of 
 that gulf ever in thy mind/' sank deep 
 into both their hearts. 
 
 Later on, when alone with Marcellina, he 
 returned to the subject. 
 
 " The Count Ribolini is old, and, I hear, 
 afflicted with an incurable malady, which 
 may end his days at any moment. I marvel 
 much that he should send his only son on 
 so long a voyage. Did he tell thee what 
 the business was ?" 
 
 " No, nor did I ask him.'' 
 
 '* Thou didst right. The affairs of these 
 nobles are nought to us, my daughter. 
 Mayhap it is some scheme of mar- 
 riage." 
 
 VOL. I. 8
 
 114 A Family Tree, 
 
 A cold shudder passed through her, but 
 she forced a smile and suid — 
 
 " Are the ladies of Italy so ill-favoured 
 that he need seek a bride in that cold 
 island r 
 
 " Such as the Ribolini do not seeh their 
 brides, my child ; they are found for them. 
 They marry to uphold and increase the 
 family power. Beauty, or even love, has 
 little part in their unions. We are more 
 happy. Thou canst give thy heart with 
 thy hand, my Marcellina ; and thy old 
 father is rich enough to let thee have thy 
 choice — be he an honest man, and thy 
 equal.** 
 
 She did not answer him, although there 
 was a tone of interrogation in his last words; 
 but changed the subject. 
 
 "Wilt thou not send some greeting to 
 our benefactor T 
 
 -'No." 
 
 *' Father mine, should he by any means
 
 Amor Vincit Omnia. 115 
 
 learn that the Count Cosmo was our friend, 
 and had left us empty-handed, he would 
 deem it unkind, ungrateful." 
 
 *' Not so." 
 
 " And his dear wife — that beautiful lady 
 I saw but for a few moments, but shall 
 always remember " — Marcellina persisted ; 
 *^ she would delight to hear from her coun- 
 try. I know I should if I lived in a foreign 
 land." 
 
 " Marcellina, I conjure thee to say no 
 more. Dearly as I love Hugo Desmond, I 
 forbid thee to mention his name to any one, 
 •or to speak again of that — of that lady." 
 
 ** Oh, father ! is she not a good woman?" 
 
 "As good as the angels in heaven, but 
 she is the cause of his being in deadly 
 peril. Thou art of an age to understand 
 
 such matters, and well, it is good that 
 
 thou shouldst know. That lady is of noble 
 birth ; I know not her name or her lineage. 
 I did not ask, and I will not. Hugo would 
 
 8—2
 
 116 A Family Tree. 
 
 have trusted me with the secret, but I bade 
 hiai not. I might unwittingly have be- 
 trayed it and him. It rested with the 
 priest who married them in this very house 
 six years ago, and he is dead. Desmond, a 
 man of the people, the son of a merchant 
 like myself, mark you, my child — stole a 
 noble maiden, and if her kin can ever find 
 him they will slay him." 
 
 " Oh, horrible !" 
 
 " 'Tis their law. They brook no unequal 
 marriages with man or woman. I tell you 
 again, if the father or the brothers of that 
 lady can ever trace Hugo Desmond — God 
 grant they never may ! — he is a doomed 
 man. No power can save him, no sanctu- 
 ary protect him. Wherefore, my child, be 
 prudent ; the very walls have ears. I love 
 thee that thou bearest the name of this 
 good man in reverence. Let it be between 
 thee and thy God ; and, above all, not a 
 word of the lady — not a word of the secret
 
 Amor Vincit Omnia. 117 
 
 marriage — only remember what I have said. 
 Nobles who mate below them bring death 
 as a marriage-portion/' 
 
 He left her stunned with this awful 
 warning. 
 
 For the next three days she avoided 
 meeting Cosmo, save in the presence of 
 her father ; and her lover — lover-like —set 
 down her sad silence to sorrow at their 
 approaching separation, and her affection- 
 ate fears for his safety. To distract her 
 thoughts, he assumed a gayness he y/as 
 far from feeling, and this cut her to the 
 heart. 
 
 "JjTe must know," she mused, "the fate 
 his love has brought upon me. If I marry 
 him, I die ; if I marry him not, I die. Oh, 
 woe is me !'' 
 
 Then she thought: "When his father 
 is dead and he claims me, as he has pro- 
 mised, for his wife — who shall say him 
 nay? We might leave this land where
 
 118 A Family Tree, 
 
 such cruel social laws prevail, and be 
 happy elsewhere, as Hugo Desmond and 
 his high-born bride doubtless are. He^ 
 must have thought of this. But what 
 afterwards ? An exile, severed from 
 country, home, friends ; his rank and 
 splendour lost, would not his heart some- 
 times grow cold to me as the cause?' 
 Better death than that. Should she give 
 him back his troth V Ardently as she 
 loved him, she had not been lightly won. 
 She had fought hard against her passion, 
 but it had conquered her, become part 
 of her, ivas her. Give him up ? Better 
 death than that. And so all her 
 thoughts, her hopes, her fears, moved 
 round in a circle, whose centre seemed 
 to be a grave. 
 
 The sails of the good ship Venvs had 
 hardly paled away in the blue horizon, 
 when a messenger arrived from Man- 
 tua, with a packet marked " haste ;
 
 Amor Yincit Omnia, 119 
 
 post haste '' for the Viscount Cosma 
 Ribolini. 
 
 What was the purport of that packet ? 
 Was it to recall the Count ? Had the bearer 
 no verbal message Bosco asked. The 
 courier had no such message, only the 
 packet. He knew nothing about it, only 
 this — that the old lord had been found 
 dead in his bed two days after his son had 
 left him ! 
 
 What was to be done? The Venus 
 was one of the fastest ships of her day. 
 There was no chance of overtaking her, 
 and Cosmo had left no address where he 
 might be found in England ! There was 
 no necessity, he said — he w^ould return so 
 soon — but the merchant had pressed upon 
 him a letter of recommendation, and credit 
 to his (Bosco's) correspondent, Martin Earle, 
 the goldsmith of London. He would per 
 haps know how to communicate the news. 
 Bosco went to the port and found that
 
 120 A Family Tree. 
 
 another ship was loading, but would not 
 sail for at least a month. Like a prince 
 as he was, he took up the charter, and 
 despatched her at once, half laden.
 
 CHAPTER 71. 
 
 A FRIEND IN NEED. 
 
 ARTIN EARLE the goldsmith, 
 lived at the sign of the "Crown" 
 in Lombard Street — lived and 
 carried on his business, as his father and 
 his grandfather had done before him, in 
 that same house. There also lived his 
 "prentices," until such time as they should 
 set up in business for themselves, or join 
 him in partnership, as industrious *' 'pren- 
 tices " sometimes did. A sound, v^ealthy 
 hard-headed man was Martin Earle, and 
 a kind-hearted to boot. He had no care.
 
 122 A Family Tree. 
 
 What banking business was done in those 
 days belonged to the goldsmiths. They 
 lent money, sold letters of credit and so 
 on, in a safe old-fashioned way. There 
 w^as no speculation, in our sense of the 
 term, and little rivalry amongst them ; 
 for they had each his own customers at 
 home and abroad, and in many cases his 
 special connection with foreign parts in 
 the enjoyment of which he w^as left undis- 
 turbed. 
 
 Thus, did your business call you to Paris 
 or to the Indies, or had you a debt to re- 
 cover at Smyrna or Madrid, you could 
 find out without much trouble to whom 
 you should apply for funds, information, or 
 assistance. Martin Earle was a member of 
 the company of merchants trading to the 
 Levant, then not long incorporated, and 
 had business of weight with Mediterranean 
 ports. 
 
 He had two ** prentices," but unfortu-
 
 A Friend in Need, 123- 
 
 nately for them, no daughters for marriage. 
 He was childless, but one of those " pren- 
 tices" — his nephew — stood to him as a son, 
 and was destined some day to inherit his 
 wealth. Young Richard Earle was a cut 
 above the ordinary " 'prentice " lad of the 
 period. He had been given more schoolings 
 than ordinarily came to their lot, and being 
 spared much of the common drudgery of 
 his class, had time to digest and add to 
 what he had learned. Nevertheless, when 
 " 'prentices ! clubs !" was the cry in 'Cheap, 
 this gallant was always forem.ost in the 
 fray, and although the indulgence shown 
 to him threw some extra work upon his 
 fellow, John Eastman, they were the best 
 of friends. 
 
 Dick Earle was a bit of a dandy, and 
 lazy with hands and heels when there was 
 no fighting going on. He had a fine capa- 
 city for looking on when hard work was to 
 the fore, or ordinary customers to be served.
 
 124 A Family Tree. 
 
 but let a lady come into the shop, there 
 was no one like Dick to persuade her that 
 she must have this buckle or chain, and 
 beguile her of her broad pieces. It was 
 customary with goldsmiths to send new 
 or curious wares round to their patrons for 
 inspection, and many a noble mansion had 
 handsome Dick entered, not unsuccessfully, 
 on such missions. Moreover, he was a 
 scholar. Not only could he read and 
 write English, but he had set himself to 
 learn Italian — then, as now, the language 
 of Levantine commerce — ^and by the time 
 we make his acquaintance, was able to 
 translate and answer the letters which his 
 uncle and master received from abroad. 
 
 One fine July afternoon, there strolled 
 into Lombard Street a young gentleman 
 clad in raiment of a foreign cut, with that 
 half-nervous, half-puzzled expression upon 
 his face which the Briton who finds him- 
 self for the first time in a strange city may
 
 A Friend in Need. 125 
 
 see reflected in the plate glass windows. 
 He Lad the idea that every one was watch- 
 ing him, and asking themselves what he 
 wanted ; whereas, no one troubled himself 
 about him. He went into Sv'^veral houses 
 and quickly came out ; the puzzled and 
 nervous look changing into one of vexa- 
 tion. He gave a fierce twist to his mous- 
 tache, and then he laughed. What was 
 the use of getting angry because people 
 did not understand him. He crossed the 
 road to where Martin Earle sat in the sun- 
 shine before his shop, and made as though 
 he would speak to him, but the jolly John 
 Bull face of the goldsmith did not seem 
 to promise well, and he was in the act of 
 passing on, when he pricked up his ears 
 and stopped. What had he heard ? The 
 refrain of an Italian boat song, rolled out 
 in a pleasant tenor. 
 
 " Pardon me, sir," he said in the same 
 tongue, " but there is one "
 
 12G A Family Tree. 
 
 A roar of "• Ho, Dick !" interrupted him, 
 and out came the warbler. 
 
 '* An Italian gentleman, Dick. Speak 
 to him ; speak him fairly, boy," said Martin 
 Earle. 
 
 The stranger's face brightened at the 
 sound of his own language, as that of a 
 starving man who is welcomed to food. 
 
 " What could be done for His Excel- 
 lency ?" 
 
 His Excellency desired to find one Mar- 
 tin Earle. 
 
 *' Why, that's me, me, me," and the 
 goldsmith giving to his own broad chest 
 three digs, each one harder than the other, 
 just as he emphasised the pronoun. Worthy 
 man ! He thought, as do many of his 
 descendants, that if you speak bad gram- 
 mar loudlj^ and gesticulate a little, foreign- 
 ers are sure to understand you. And this 
 foreigner did understand, and understand- 
 ing him, addressed him, whereupon the
 
 A Friend in Need. 127 
 
 goldsmith scratched his head, and looked 
 imploringly at Dick. More conversation 
 in Italian ensued between the two who 
 could speak it, in the course of which the 
 one who could not, caught the name of 
 Bosco. 
 
 " Not old Bartolomeo ?" cried the latter. 
 " Does he speak of my friend ? Has he 
 come from Bosco of Venice ? Has he aught 
 for me from Bosco ? Quit thy grimacing, 
 thou jackanapes !" (this to Dick), " and 
 answer me." 
 
 " Pry thee, good uncle, interrupt us act. 
 How can I tell thee till I hear myself T* 
 
 " Thou wilt learn nothing by bowing 
 and scraping and waving thy cap, mala- 
 pert ! Ask him roundly cometli he from 
 Bosco I" 
 
 Again the stranger appeared to under- 
 stand. It is not the fashion to come straight 
 to your point amongst his countrymen. 
 Southern politeness requires a good deal
 
 128 A Family Tree. 
 
 of beating about the bush, but the anxiety 
 evinced by Martin Earle had its reward, 
 and in a few minutes Master Dick was able 
 to translate their visitor's business. 
 
 He had, indeed, come from Barlomeo 
 Bosco, of Venice, and had a letter from 
 that worthy to his friend, but unfortunately 
 it was in his baggage, which was following 
 him. He had landed about a week ago at 
 Southampton, and was bound for Manches- 
 ter, but had undergone so much trouble 
 and delay on his journey through ignorance 
 of English, that he had resolved not to go 
 on alone. His object was to find this Mar- 
 tin Earle, to whom he had been recom- 
 mended to apply in case of need, and ask 
 him to provide a guide and interpreter. 
 He had waited for his luggage to arrive 
 until he was out of patience ; indeed, he 
 almost feared it was lost on the way, so 
 he sallied out in quest of the man he relied 
 upon, and lo 1 he had stumbled upon him
 
 A Friend in Need. 12^ 
 
 when about to give up the search in despair. 
 Now if he had gone into any shop within 
 half a mile, and simply said, "Martin 
 Earle," he would have got the required in- 
 formation, but he doffed his plumed hat, and 
 begged to be excused, and gave the " time 
 of day," and compliments, all in an unknown 
 tongue to those he addressed, by way of 
 polite preliminary, and only got stared at 
 for his pains. His dress, though of costly 
 material, was travel-stained, and perhaps 
 those good people thought he wanted some- 
 thing beyond information, and gave him 
 the brusque " No, no, no ; don t under- 
 stand,'' which Britons, even in these en- 
 lightened times, will rap out when ad- 
 dressed, hat in hand, by foreigners of seedy 
 appearance. 
 
 But his troubles were over now. Mar- 
 tin Earle would not even hear all that Dick 
 had to translate. It was enough for him 
 to know that his visitor came from Bosco. 
 
 VOL. I. 9
 
 130 A Family Tree. 
 
 He hustled him into the house, and roared 
 out to have the great chamber prepared, 
 and a meal spread instantly. It was part 
 of his creed — and a good creed, too — that 
 a traveller must be hungry — or thirsty, 
 anyhow. In this case he was right. The 
 money Cosmo Eibolini put in his purse 
 when he left Southampton had been ex- 
 hausted some days, and already the Drawers 
 at his hostel in the Barbican had begun to 
 mistrust a guest without a change of rai- 
 ment, who ate and drank of the best. The 
 goldsmith was delighted to see him do such 
 justice to the viands set before him, and 
 hear the contented *' ha-a" with which he 
 put down his first goblet of Lacrimse Christi. 
 To taste your own drink in a strange land 
 is almost as good as hearing your own 
 tongue. I, who write, am old enough to 
 remember the days when the wandering 
 Briton was not sure of his bitter beer 
 abroad, and I have emitted just such an-
 
 A Friend in Need. 131 
 
 other "ha-a" as did the noble Cosmo — over 
 the humble pewter as soon as possible 
 ^fter landing at St. Katharine's Wharf. 
 It would have been all the more refreshing 
 if it had been found under other skies, as 
 was the bright liquor which went straight 
 to the cockles of the young Mantuan's 
 heart. He ate and drank his fill, Dick 
 waiting upon him, and his host buzzing 
 about like a great hospitable bumble-bee, 
 and asking every moment "What sayeth 
 he ? what doth he need ?" as though every 
 sentence were a request. Then came fur- 
 ther explanations. 
 
 Taking his cue from his worthy kins- 
 man. Count Yincenti Delia Torre, the elder 
 Eibolini had ordered his son to take an 
 assumed name on his travels, and this he 
 had already done. Mine host of the '' Gold 
 Boar" knew him as Master Pietri, and 
 Master Pietri he would have remained, but 
 for this accident to his baggage. 
 
 9—2
 
 132 A Family Tree. 
 
 Politeness required him to accept the 
 letter of recommendation to Martin Earle 
 which Bosco had offered, but he had no 
 intention of using it. He did not want 
 them to know in Venice that his mission 
 was of such a character as to require a 
 falsehood. Stern necessity obliged him to 
 appear in his true colours, and the good 
 goldsmith, who had taken him for a clerk, 
 or a travelling agent at the best, was awe- 
 struck when he found that he had enter- 
 tained a viscount unawares. 
 
 " Gramercy !" he cried, " IVe slapped 
 him on the back, and he is a lord !" 
 
 The Italian's mother wit turned this to 
 good account. 
 
 " See now," he said to Dick, " what a 
 change has come over you all now you 
 know my rank! It was much better at 
 first, only I could not deceive you. Let it 
 be as it was. I want to see your country 
 in a familiar manner. I can do so much
 
 A Friend in Need. 133 
 
 iDetter as a simple gentleman, than as a 
 noble of Italy. I pray thee beg thy good 
 uncle to forget what in honour I have 
 told him, and let me be always Signer 
 Pietri. My title as the friend of Bosco 
 of Venice has served me so well, that I 
 need no other." 
 
 There was nothing strange in men of 
 rank travelling incognito, and so he was 
 allowed to have his way. None but Dick, 
 the interpreter, and his uncle, knew the 
 secret. A change of linen was looked out 
 for him, and Dick lent him a bran new 
 suit, just out of the tailor's hands, and de- 
 signed, no doubt, to destroy the peace of 
 mind of Fleet Street belles. 
 
 Old Martin played his part pretty well 
 except once, when — nothing having been 
 heard for some days of the visitor's baggage 
 — his housekeeper, careful woman ! breathed 
 fears that he might be an impostor. Then 
 the cat was very nearly let out of the bag.
 
 134 A Family Tree. 
 
 At last the errant valises turned up, whereat 
 the goldsmith was delighted, but did not 
 slap his guest on the back again. 
 
 In the meantime Dick — who did not 
 stand much in awe of lords — took Cosmo 
 (or Signer Pietri) about, and showed him 
 the London of that day in style, with the 
 assistance of the goldsmith's broad pieces. 
 It was a rare time for Dick, and he made 
 the most of it, you may be sure. The two 
 became fast friends, and Master 'Prentice 
 jumped at the idea of prolonging the enjoy- 
 ment by becoming himself the guide and 
 companion which the Italian sought. 
 
 " We will take our time," said the latter, 
 " and have a pleasant journey. There are 
 places of interest between this and Man- 
 chester T 
 
 "Of a surety," Dick replied. "Why 
 there's Oxford." 
 
 " I would fain visit that seat of learning." 
 
 " 'Tis not on the direct road."
 
 A Friend in Need. 135 
 
 "No matter/' 
 
 "Then on the way back " began Dick. 
 
 " I shall trouble thee no further than 
 to Manchester," the other interrupted. " I 
 hope to find a countryman there who speaks 
 English, and will relieve thee of thy 
 burden." 
 
 " It is no ' burden/ " replied the 'prentice ; 
 "but of course Your Excellency" (Dick 
 liked to " excellency " him when they were 
 alone) "will be glad to be once more 
 with your own people and with your own 
 class." 
 
 " I am not so sure of that/' Cosmo said 
 half to himself ; " my own people and my 
 own class impose things upon me which I 
 would gladly escape. They impose things 
 upon me in which thou, Ricardo mio, must 
 not be mixed up." 
 
 " I should not presume " Dick began^ 
 
 apologetically. 
 
 " No, no, it is not that. I see what is
 
 136 A Family Tree. 
 
 passing in thy mind. It is not what you 
 think. I am not ashamed of thee, altro ! 
 I would call thee my friend before them 
 all. Would to God they were half as 
 honest and true as thou art ; but — I cannot 
 tell thee why thou must leave me in Man- 
 chester. Trust me that it is for thy good. 
 Mayhap thou wilt hear something, and 
 
 then . Thou canst not understand my 
 
 conduct, but promise that thou wilt not 
 condemn it." 
 
 " You speak as though you condemned 
 it yourself," replied honest Dick. 
 
 There was a tone of indecision and sor- 
 row in his companion s last address quite 
 unnatural to him, and which Dick did not 
 like. 
 
 *' The Holy Virgin help me !" Cosmo 
 moaned ; " sometimes I do. Thou hast no 
 father V 
 
 " He died when I was a child, but my 
 uncle "
 
 A Friend in Need, 137 
 
 " Yes, yes, I know. Thou lovest him 
 well. Uncles are not fathers though. If 
 thy father lived, and he laid it upon thee 
 to do a certain thing, thou wouldst obey, 
 and do it r 
 
 " If it were right." 
 
 " He would be the judge of that." 
 
 " Not so," persisted sturdy Dick. 
 
 " How 1 Thou wouldst not venerate a 
 father's command ?" 
 
 " Not if it were to do an ill deed." 
 
 "If his blessing depended upon thy 
 obedience ?" 
 
 " The blessing of one who would so order 
 is nothing worth." 
 
 '' Is this thy English faith ?" 
 
 " Of a verity it is. Of what avail is a 
 father's blessing if it bring down the curse 
 of God and the contempt of honest 
 men ?" 
 
 '' Thou speakest safely, as thou hast no 
 father."
 
 138 A Family Tree. 
 
 "My father was an honest man, and 
 would not have laid upon me aught that 
 was wrong, as — as " 
 
 " Proceed. As mine has done, thou 
 wouldst say. Tush ! Thou art an honest 
 lad ; but meddle not with what thou canst 
 not comprehend." 
 
 It was the haughty Mantuan noble who 
 spoke now, not Signer Pietri. 
 
 Dick flushed up too. 
 
 " Nay, I meddle not. Go thine own 
 way. But," he added, quickly, " if there 
 be plotting against the king " 
 
 "There is] not, on my soul — on my 
 word there is not !" interrupted the other,, 
 warmly. " Have no fear ; there is nought 
 that can implicate thee. Why, man ! I 
 was but drawing thee out. Dost think 
 that a Kibolini would lead any man, much 
 less his son, from the path of honour ?" 
 
 Dick had not read of Machiavel's famous 
 inquiry as to the origin of evil, but he said
 
 A Friend in Need. 139' 
 
 to himself, "There's a woman in this." 
 And, indeed, there was that in Signer 
 Pietri's manner — his absent thoughts, his 
 forced gaiety at times, and his occasional 
 fits of moody silence — which bore out the 
 idea that he was a victim to the son of 
 Venus. So the discussion above recorded 
 did not remain long upon Dick's mind 
 (nothing did), and they were as good 
 friends afterwards as before. 
 
 The goldsmith was curious to know what 
 was the purport of Cosmo's business [in 
 Lancashire, and asked Dick privately if he 
 had any knowledge of it. 
 
 Dick had none, and told his master 
 what their visitor had said about parting 
 there. 
 
 " It is my belief," he concluded, " that 
 the less we ask him about it the better he 
 will be pleased." 
 
 " Oh, 1 seek not to meddle," said Martin 
 Earle ; " only, for Bosco's sake, I would do
 
 140 A Family Tree. 
 
 all in my power for the gentleman. I was 
 thinking that I might offer him a recom- 
 mendation to my good friend Hugh Des- 
 mond, who lives there." 
 
 "Leave him to his own people, uncle 
 mine," said Dick. 
 
 " Thou knowest Master Desmond T 
 
 "Surely." 
 
 ** Well, thou canst see him when thou 
 hast discharged thy mission, and greet him 
 for me." 
 
 There was only one person whom these 
 arrangements did not suit, and that was 
 John Eastman. 
 
 Dick had broken several people's heads 
 for calling his fellow-'pr entice "his dog." 
 There was an implied sneer at John in 
 this, which was lost upon its object, who 
 was quite content to be his idol's "dog," 
 in the sense of a creature who loved him 
 and was faithful, and would fly at the 
 throat of any one who attacked him.
 
 A Friend in Need. 141 
 
 " I'd sooner be Dick Earle's dog than 
 your master," he would growl, in answer 
 to the charge. 
 
 To find himself dethroned from his high 
 estate, and, worse still, to see Dick become 
 the " dog " of a foreign stranger, was gall 
 and wormwood to John. He had the 
 true 'prentice distrust and contempt for 
 foreigners in general ; and this one in par- 
 ticular filled him with suspicion. 
 
 John Eastman was no fool. He noticed 
 that both Dick and his uncle treated the 
 stranger, when they thought they were 
 alone with him, with marked deference. 
 They sought to " hedge," so to speak, in 
 this way for familiarities which they were 
 obliged to use in public. There was that 
 letter, too, from Bosco of Venice. Why 
 had the goldsmith locked it up in his 
 private drawer, instead of placing it with 
 the rest of the correspondence ? 
 
 *' If I could only get that for an hour or
 
 142 A Family Tree. 
 
 two, I should know something, though it 
 is written in Italian." 
 
 What a power is jealousy? Nothing 
 short of it could have made bluff John 
 Eastman an eavesdropper, and a would-be 
 jpurloiner of his master's keys.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 I HAVE THEE NOW, GOOD MASTER 
 DESMOND." 
 
 HAVE left Master Hugh Des- 
 mond too long under an accu- 
 sation of having committed 
 murder and buried his victim in the old 
 brewhouse. His innocence is best proved 
 by my stating at once, that the bones found 
 by the constable and his men are not 
 human relics at all. The one examined 
 by Senor Porras showed (literally) the 
 cloven hoof; but he smiled, and kept his 
 own counsel.
 
 144 A' Family Tree. 
 
 Anything that would excite the people 
 against Desmond was in his programme, 
 and fearfully excited they were. Short 
 shrift would he have had if they could 
 have captured ^him there. But what did 
 he want with a pile of ox bones ? Simply 
 this. — He was no mean chemist, and had 
 found out for himself that the mode then 
 in vogue for making phosphorus was com- 
 plicated, slow, and nasty ; and that nearly 
 all afforded by materials (which shall be 
 nameless) then in use, was to be gotten out 
 of bones — but he did not succeed. The 
 secret lay hid for a hundred and fifty years, 
 and he was only blindly groping upon its 
 track, as on that of the other great dis- 
 covery which glimmered upon him in the 
 explosion of that unholy flacon. 
 
 The black looks and murmurs which fol- 
 lowed his unexpected appearance in the 
 street, after the application of Dame Mar- 
 tha's Holy Water test, half amused, half
 
 "7 have thee now, Master Desmond'^ 145 
 
 vexed him. How could they be so foolish! 
 His experiment in presence of Master 
 Symes showing how the explosion had 
 been caused, though successful in one re- 
 spect, failed in another. Symes shook his 
 head, told him that no demonstration of 
 the kind would remove the popular belief 
 that he dealt with unholy arts, and prayed 
 him, for the Lord's sake, to get him out of 
 the town, and let the excitement blow 
 over. 
 
 " Thou hast made an enemy of Master 
 Willford," he added, *' and he will leave no 
 stone unturned to work thy ruin." 
 
 Now, Hugh Desmond had already de- 
 termined to depart the next morning, so 
 he was able to follow this good advice 
 without any derangement of his plans. 
 He left, with the consequences already de- 
 scribed, and soon what he supposed to be 
 a more pressing danger banished all 
 thoughts of his Manchester persecutors 
 
 VOL. I. 10
 
 146 A Family Tree. 
 
 from his mind. That pretended beggar^ 
 with a scar on his face, whom " Sweet- 
 heart " had fed at his gate, and uncon- 
 sciously answered in her native tongue — 
 troubled him. 
 
 As he was riding back from his last 
 visit to his wife he had met that very- 
 man, well-dressed and well-mounted, and 
 he had asked his way to Stafford. There 
 might be several Italians tall and gaunt, 
 and with scars on their faces, going about 
 on business in no way connected with him; 
 but a presentiment of evil which he could 
 not throw off attached itself to this 
 man. 
 
 Again and again he questioned his wife^ 
 and begged her to recall every detail re- 
 specting the object of her charity. Which 
 way had he come — which way did he go ? 
 Had he seen the children ? Had he spoken 
 to anyone but herself? Had he asked her 
 any questions ?
 
 '' Ihave thee now, Master Desmond.'^ 147 
 
 She could not say which way he came. 
 When first she saw him he was laying on 
 the ground outside the gate. He had 
 craved leave to stay there after his meal — 
 he was so tired ! She thought he did not 
 leave till nightfall. Yes, he had asked her 
 for her husband. How could he know she 
 was married ? How could she tell 1 
 
 " Am I not old enough and pretty enough 
 to be wedded ?" she said ; '' and hast thou 
 come back after so long to talk of nothing 
 but a wretched mendicant ? Talk to me of 
 thy dear self. What hast been doing? 
 Where hast thou been !" 
 
 He returned her caresses, but answered 
 not. The dread that had vaguely haunted 
 him since their flight took a fixed form and 
 made him shudder in her arms. Suddenly 
 he said — 
 
 '' We must leave this place, Maria.'* 
 
 " We ! Ah, that is good," she cried, look- 
 ing up from his breast into his troubled face, 
 
 10—2
 
 148 A Family Tree. 
 
 undisturbed by its gloon. " We — then we 
 shall go together ?" 
 
 "Yes, dear one, together." 
 
 The sweet face was nestled again on his 
 breast, quite contented. 
 
 " Thou dost not ask whither ?" he said. 
 
 " What matters whither, so thou be 
 there T 
 
 " We will go to London. There is safety 
 in a crowd. In that busy city none will 
 notice us.'* This musing to himself. 
 "When could'st be ready for the jour- 
 ney r 
 
 "To-morrow, nay, in two hours if it 
 please thee, but " 
 
 "Welir 
 
 " Hast noted that little Hugo is looking 
 pale ? Is't a long journey to London V* 
 
 " For thee, and the little ones — yes." 
 
 " 'Tis nothing. The child has been 
 pining for thee. 'Twill pass now thou art 
 here."
 
 ^^ I have thee now, Master Desmond.^' 149 
 
 But the father's kiss was not so potent a 
 remedy as Sweetheart hoped. Little Hugh 
 was really ill, became worse, and for a time 
 his life hung upon a thread. There was no 
 going to London for a long time yet. 
 
 One day, when the father had ridden 
 in to Stafford for some medicines for his 
 child, he was surprised to hear his name 
 called after him in the street. He turned, 
 and a smart young fellow in riding-dress 
 came up much out of breath. 
 
 " Gramercy, how you walk. Master 
 Desmond !" he panted. " Dost thou not 
 remember me ? I am Dick Earle, nephew 
 of Martin Earle, the goldsmith, at whose 
 house thou lodged last year, in Lon- 
 don." 
 
 " Remember thee ! That do I well. 
 How is it with thy worthy uncle ? And 
 what doeth thou here V 
 
 " Oh, uncle is hearty, as usual. He often 
 speaks of thee, Master Desmond. By the
 
 150 A Family Tree. 
 
 way, that reminds me, he heard lately from 
 thy friend Signer Bosco, of Venice." 
 
 " Ha," said Hugh, a cloud passing over 
 his brow ; *' what of Bosco ?" 
 
 " He, too, is well and prosperous. His 
 ship, the Veiius, has arrived at South- 
 ampton, with a rich cargo of silks, and 
 
 Here Dick checked himself; his tongue 
 loosened, as young tongues will be, by the 
 unexpected sight of a pleasant acquaint- 
 ance, was running away with him. 
 
 " And thou art travelling on his business, 
 I warrant me," said Desmond. 
 
 " Not exactly," Dick replied somewhat 
 drily. 
 
 They sauntered on towards the hostel 
 where Desmond had left his horse, and 
 at the door thereof found two steeds 
 saddled as for a journey, and a third 
 bearing baggage, in charge of a groom. 
 Beside one of the former, booted and
 
 " / have thee now, Master Desmond^ 151 
 
 spurred, and looking impatient, stood Sig- 
 ner Pietri. 
 
 " Well, keep tliine own counsel," Des- 
 mond replied. " 'Twas but an idle ques- 
 tion." 
 
 " Nay, nay, Master Desmond, there is no 
 secret," said Dick. " I am but acting as 
 guide to this gentleman who speaks not 
 English, and has business in the North." 
 
 He indicated Signer Pietri with a wave 
 of the hand, and instinctively the two 
 raised their hats. They had been both 
 abroad, you know, and did not glare at each 
 other in proper British form. 
 
 " God speed thee, my boy ; a happy 
 journey and a safe return," said Desmond. 
 " And when thou seest thy good uncle, fail 
 not to tell him thou didst meet with Hugh 
 Desmond, and give him warm greeting 
 from me." 
 
 Signer Pietri's foot was in the stirrup, 
 but at the sound of that name he withdrew
 
 152 A Family Tree. 
 
 it, and with a flush of pleasure and sur^ 
 prise whispered a question in Dick's ear. 
 
 '* The same/* replied the 'prentice ; " but 
 caution — caution !" 
 
 " Fear not," said the Italian in an under 
 tone. Then, turning to Hugh, he bowed 
 till the plume of his hat swept the ground, 
 and thus greeted him in his own language. 
 
 " Signer Desmond, this is an honour 
 which I had hoped for, but little expected. 
 I have heard of thee in my own country. 
 Bosco of Venice is my friend, and the 
 
 Signorina Oh, sir ! after the holy saints^ 
 
 your name is held most sacred by her. It 
 was she who told me of your noble rescue of 
 her father, with smiles and tears of grati- 
 tude. Nay, I must speak. I know you 
 English are unemotional — that you love 
 not open praise. Then I will say no more 
 of your noble acts. I plead for myself. 
 Give me the happiness, the honour of kissing 
 that good, that valiant hand, as thy friend. "^
 
 ** / have thee now, Master Desmond^ 153 
 
 He would have knelt to kiss tkat hard, 
 brown hand, if Hugh had not prevented 
 him. With the sound of the name he had 
 heard pronounced with so much love, in the 
 soft Venetian twilight, by the lips that were 
 the sweetest in the world to him, came a 
 vision — momentary, but soul-inspiring — of 
 the beautiful grave face of his darling. 
 Thus inspired, his warm southern nature 
 burst out, and swept away all thought of 
 caution. 
 
 No suchinspirationhelpedHugh Desmond 
 to receive this ovation. For him, Marcelliha 
 Bosco was a shy little girl, standing between 
 her father's knees, and fidgetting with the 
 packet of confiti he had given her. That 
 little affair with the pirates was a drop in 
 the ocean of his experiences. He had 
 almost forgotten all about it. 
 
 "Was that wisely done, most illustrious?" 
 expostulated Dick as they rode away. 
 
 " Perhaps not," Signor Pietri replied
 
 154 A Family Tree. 
 
 " 'twas an impulse. I could not help my- 
 self. If thou hadst heard. bah ! you 
 
 cold-blooded islanders cannot understand. 
 Yet I did in no wise commit myself, most 
 prudent sir. I am a friend of his friend, 
 that is all." 
 
 *' He lives in Manchester, and may en- 
 <30unter thee there." 
 
 " No matter," said Cosmo. 
 
 Then Dick was told the story of Bosco's 
 capture by pirates, and his rescue by Hugh 
 Desmond, of which the 'prentice had not 
 heard. He only knew that Desmond had 
 led a wandering, eventful life, and had 
 rendered some valuable service to the mer- 
 chant, by whom he had been introduced 
 (much as Cosmo had been) to Martin 
 Earle. The narrator was still under the 
 spell, and did full justice to his hero. In 
 conclusion he said, " It is an honour to 
 know such a man. That ! for his birth, or 
 what he may have done before that noble
 
 *' Ihave thee now, Master Desmond^ 155 
 
 action or since, one who could act as he did 
 must be a gentleman." 
 
 " And capable of understanding generous 
 emotions," Dick observed dryly, " though he 
 is a cold-blooded islander." 
 
 "A fair hit," laughed Signer Pietri ; 
 *' thou hast me there.'' 
 
 Things having gone so far, Dick nar- 
 rated what had passed between him and his 
 uncle, the goldsmith, respecting an intro- 
 duction to this same Master Desmond. 
 
 '' And why didst stay him ?" asked the 
 Italian half angrily. 
 
 " Shall I tell thee the plain truth V 
 
 " Speak candidly." 
 
 ** Because thou hast been silent — moodily 
 silent — on all that pertains to thy object in 
 visiting Manchester. Because if it pleased 
 thee to know any there, thou couldst have 
 asked my uncle for such an imtroduction, 
 and because I would not have him offer 
 what might displease thee — that is the 
 plain truth."
 
 156 A Family Tree. 
 
 " All of it r 
 
 " "Well, tliou toldest me thou hadst 
 friends there, and I said, ^ Leave him to his 
 own people.' '* 
 
 Cosmo ground his teeth, and made no 
 answer for sometime. ** Thou wast right," 
 he said at last ; " leave me to mine own 
 
 people when I find them, but till then^ 
 
 good Dick, let us enjoy ourselves." And 
 on they rode merrily. 
 
 " We shall be in Manchester to-morrow, 
 at this rate," said Dick ; but they were not 
 destined to see that town. They were 
 crossing a piece of heath as he spoke, 
 around which the road curved. A fine 
 piece of galloping ground to all appear- 
 ance, but as the words passed his lips, 
 Cosmo's horse put his foot into a rabbit 
 hole, stumbled and fell upon its rider, 
 crushing him woefully.
 
 '^ I have thee now, Master Desmond," 157 
 
 As Desmond passed through the avenue 
 of limes which led to his house, night had 
 set in, but Maria ran out to meet him with 
 that upon her face which made his heart 
 give a great leap, and brought the cry, 
 '^My God ! the child ?" to his lips. 
 
 '* Is well — is better, I think," she said ; 
 " but oh, Hugo ! that beggar man ! He 
 has been here again." 
 
 " And spoke to thee ?" he asked, dis' 
 mounting, and throwing his arms around her. 
 
 " No, not to me — to another — thanks be 
 to heaven thou hast come ! My head 
 ached with watching, I suppose, and little 
 Hugo slept, so I came out for the fresh air, 
 and sat down yonder by those shrubs which 
 hide the garden from the road. T was 
 tired and slept — not for long. The sound 
 of horses hoofs awoke me. At first I 
 thought it was thee, and hid to surprise 
 thee as thou passed ; but it v/as the beggar 
 man, Hugo, and another, whose face I could
 
 158 A Family Tree. 
 
 not see, and tliej halted within a few yards 
 of where I crouched, and spoke of thee, my 
 darling. My darling, they seek to do thee 
 evil/' 
 
 " Be composed, sweetheart, be brave ; 
 tell me all they said." 
 
 " I will try," she said, dashing away her 
 tears. " He — the beggar — was dressed like 
 a serving man ; but the other called him 
 cousin." 
 
 "They spoke Italian T 
 
 *' Of course. I did not catch the first 
 words of the one with the scar, but his 
 companion replied, 'Certes, it is he! Once 
 thou hadst found the nest, 'twas but a 
 matter of time to catch the male bird in 
 it. The discoveries I made in his labora- 
 tory at Manchester were all but conclusive^ 
 and now that we have tracked him here, 
 there is no room for doubt. I have thee 
 now, good Master Desmond.' Oh, my 
 Hugo 1 there was murder in his tone."
 
 **I have thee now, Master Desmond.'^ 159 
 
 " Go on, go on — the rest ?" 
 
 " Then the beggar, or he that " 
 
 " I understand ; go on." 
 
 " Said, ' What is to be done ? Will yon 
 act now V And the other replied, ' I can- 
 not till I have received an answer from 
 Mantua/ Do you mark me, Hugo ? — from 
 Mantua !" 
 
 Desmond groaned, and held her tighter 
 in his arms. 
 
 '* * In the meantime, the bird may fly,' 
 said the beggar. ' Not so,' replied the 
 other ; *he dare not go back to Manchester, 
 and has no suspicion that v^e have dis- 
 covered him. No, no ; he will stay here, 
 and is as much in my power as though I 
 had my heel on his throat and my dag- 
 ger at his heart* Those were his very 
 words." 
 
 " Did aught else pass between them ?" 
 
 ** The beggar said, ' Well, it is thy busi- 
 ness, not mine ; if it were, I should make
 
 160 A Family Tree. 
 
 sure at once/ Then the other fell to 
 musing, and said, after a pause, ' I am half 
 sorry that I wrote as I did, though it 
 seemed for the best at the time ; but, 
 having done so, I must needs bide the 
 issue. How long is't since thou wert here 
 the first time V ' Nearly four months,' 
 was the reply. ' Let us hasten back now 
 thou art convinced ; for the answer from 
 Mantua may come any day now,' said his 
 companion ; and with that they turned 
 their horses' heads and rode away. Oh, 
 Hugo, Hugo ! What does it mean ?" 
 
 He told her — there w^as no help for it 
 now — he told her all he had dreaded, and 
 showed how well- founded were his fears. 
 
 " I have brought a curse upon him/' she 
 moaned. " Woe is me ! I have brought 
 a curse upon my love !" 
 
 She besought him to fly, and leave her 
 and the children. 
 
 " They will not hurt us," she said.
 
 ''I have thee now, Master Desmond.'' 161 
 
 But he knew better. 
 
 " We will all away together, Sweetheart," 
 he replied, in as gay a voice as he could 
 assume. '* Grant that the answer they 
 expect has already arrived, they cannot be 
 back here in less than three days ; and to- 
 morrow, please God, little Hugh will be 
 well enough to travel on my knee." 
 
 " They will hunt us wherever we go," 
 sobbed his wife. 
 
 "Hunted creatures will turn at bay," 
 said the old Buccaneer, with a flash in his 
 eyes w^hich boded no good to the hun- 
 ters. 
 
 He had already formed his plan. He 
 would remove his dear ones from imme- 
 diate danger, and then carry the war into 
 the enemies' country. He would face that 
 bloodthirsty pair on their return, and 
 quench the last spark of danger in their 
 blood. A narrow road, a dark night, a. 
 sudden shot for the one and equal steel 
 
 VOL. I. 11
 
 162 A Family Tree, 
 
 with his chief, and Sweetheart might sleep 
 in peace. 
 
 In peace, and he away, with no one to 
 protect her ! More careful consideration 
 conjured up a score of possible perils. He 
 might miss his foes ; they might pass him, 
 ^nd track him whilst he was seeking them. 
 Was there no one he could rely upon to 
 stand by her and help him ? Yes, there 
 was. Stout Gregory Denys — the very 
 man ! But how reach Gregory ? 
 
 " Well, there is a way for that," mused 
 Hugh Desmond, " if gratitude lives deeper 
 than in words.*' 
 
 He had just then but one servant. The 
 old woman who had taken the place of the 
 defunct Bertha had left a day or two ago, 
 and, for the moment, could not be replaced. 
 A youth whom he had picked up, friend- 
 less and starving, some years ago, in the 
 streets of Smyrna, sufficed. This unfor- 
 tunate had run away to sea when almo.st a
 
 *'I have thee noio, Master Desmond!' 163 
 
 child ; had joined in a sailor's frolic in that 
 distant port, got lost, missed his ship, and 
 was left to the tender mercies of the Turks. 
 Small store of education had he, but a 
 power of mother wit. He had a vague 
 idea that there was some sort of a God in 
 heaven, though he put his trust chiefly in 
 one he had made for himself on earth — 
 Hucrh Desmond. He was now about sixteen 
 years of age, a slip of a boy, but hardy 
 as a young oak-tree, and faithful as a dog. 
 
 When Sweetheart had retired to rest, 
 her lord descended to the outer regions, 
 and woke this boy. 
 
 " Art awake, Tom V 
 
 *'Aye, master." 
 
 ** Canst ride to Manchester, my lad ?" 
 
 *' Aye, master." 
 
 ** Canst be discreet ; do what thou'rt 
 told, and hold thy tongue V 
 
 *' 111 do thy will, and say naught," Tom 
 replied. 
 
 11—2
 
 164 A Family Tree. 
 
 The word ^'discreet" bothered him. He 
 was not sure if he could do that. 
 
 " Dost know the road ?" 
 
 " ril find it somehow.'' 
 
 " Ask thy way as little as thou canst 
 help, and ride as fast as my horse will 
 carry thee. Start at daybreak ; seek out 
 Gregory Denys at my house (thou knowest 
 where), give him this ring for a token, and 
 bid him take horse and follow thee." 
 
 " Back here, master ?" 
 
 " No. To the old mill at Morton-of-the 
 King, where we stayed awhile on our way 
 here." 
 
 "Where you shot the mallards, master?" 
 
 " Eight. But pass not this way. Go 
 by the ford at the Hallowfield. The 
 money thou wilt want is in this belt ; strap 
 it round thee, and put my smaller pistols 
 in thy holsters — they are loaded. And, 
 mark me, Tom, if thou shouldst see two 
 foreigners on the road — one a tall, dark
 
 ''I have thee now, Master Desmond'^ 165 
 
 man, with a scar on his cheek — keep out 
 of their view, and pass them, if possible ; 
 but if thou shouldst meet them at a halt- 
 ing-place, and their horses should go lame, 
 or get loose, or anything else happen by 
 accident — dost mark me, Tom, by acci- 
 dent ? — to hinder them on their journey 
 without delaying thee — why, I do not 
 think that any honest man would be 
 sorry." 
 
 No magpie gloating over a stolen sixpence 
 could look more cunning than did Tom ; 
 but he only answered, " Aye, master,"'as 
 usual. 
 
 The first faint streaks of dawn had 
 hardly appeared, when the clatter of hoofs 
 told Desmond that his messenger was on 
 his way. He had not closed his eyes that 
 night, and still laid awake to think. 
 Those unwelcome visitors had left about 
 four o'clock on the previous day, and their 
 horses— so Sweetheart told him, in reply
 
 166 A Family Tree. 
 
 to further questions — appeared tired. Their 
 halting-place would probably be a small 
 village about ten miles on ; but rather out 
 of their way. Even if they started again 
 the same time with Tom, the fine horse he 
 rode, lightly weighted, would pick up their 
 jaded steeds. Tom would beat them full 
 six hours into Manchester, though no " ac- 
 cident " happened, and would be back with 
 the stout young smith in time. 
 
 A movement of the sick child disturbed 
 his reverie. 
 
 " Art in pain, my boy 1" 
 
 "No, papa ; only thirsty." 
 
 He took his little hand ; it was cool and 
 moist. 
 
 "Thank God!" he said fervently, as, 
 having sipped the drink prepared for him, 
 little Hugh turned upon his pillow, and 
 lapsed again into a healthy sleep. 
 
 Then the whilom Buccaneer, who oft had 
 scoffed at priests and churches, fell on his
 
 "I have thee now, Master Desmond" 167 
 
 knees and prayed. No well-worn formula 
 of supplication — nothing but the cry of his 
 heart for help and strength to protect these 
 helpless dear ones. 
 
 Away sped Tom Stevens, pleased with 
 himself, and proud of his mission, till he 
 came to a heath, round which the road 
 wound. There was a track across it, by 
 following which he could save half a mile, 
 so he took it. 
 
 " Holloa !" he said to himself as he was 
 about half over, "there's been a scuffle 
 here.'* And indeed the ground cut up by 
 marks of horses' hoofs and riders' boots 
 bore out his idea. 
 
 He passed on, and regained the road, 
 but it forked into three, and he did not 
 know which to take. Well, there was a 
 hovel hard by where some one lived, and 
 was getting his breakfast, to judge by the 
 smoke which curled out of the half-opened
 
 168 A Family Tree. 
 
 door. He would ask. He rode up, knocked 
 loudly with his whip, and shouted with the 
 air born of his good mount, the gold in his 
 belt, and pistols in his holsters — 
 
 " Ho ! within there ; which of these roads 
 is right for Manchester V 
 
 " Manchester !" repeated a voice. " Who 
 rides to Manchester ?" and a young man 
 clad in a smart dress came quickly out of 
 that wretched-looking abode, and laid his 
 hand on Tom's bridle.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 ON THE ROAD. 
 
 ITARTLED by so unexpected an 
 apparition, Tom reined back his 
 horse, and drew a pistol. 
 "Put up thy weapon, thou popinjay! 
 I mean thee no harm. Dost take me for 
 a Gut-purse ? There. A noble beast, by 
 my life ! Put up thy weapon. See, I 
 bear no arms. I am a peaceful traveller 
 like thyself, and will direct thee on thy 
 way with truth and courtesy an thou wilt 
 let me. Thou art for Manchester V 
 " What is that to theeT
 
 170 A Family Tree. 
 
 " Fair words, good youth. Having asked 
 the way, 'tis useless to deny that that is 
 thy destination." 
 
 "And what if it be?" 
 
 " Much. There has been a sad mishap 
 near this. My companion's horse fell, and 
 rolled upon him. He is hurt grievously. 
 If thou doubtest me, come in and see for 
 for thyself He, too, is bound for Man- 
 chester, where he has friends, and would 
 fain communicate to them his state, and 
 have some leech sent to tend his hurts* 
 "Wait but ten minutes whilst I write a 
 letter, take it for me, and thou wilt not 
 only do a good deed, but shall be rewarded 
 liberally." 
 
 Tom wavered. Ten minutes was not much 
 to wait, and he was a kind-hearted lad. 
 
 " Who art thou ?" he asked. 
 
 " My name is E-ichard Earle, of London ; 
 my friend is a foreign gentleman, Signer 
 Pietri."
 
 On the Road. I7l 
 
 Tom pricked up his ears. A foreigner ! 
 His master had spoken of two journeying 
 together, but this might be one of them. 
 It would be worth his while to see if the 
 disabled man had a scar on his face, and if 
 so, to be able to report that the wished -for 
 accident had happened. More. If it were 
 truly he, that letter for his friends in Man- 
 chester might be consigned to the nearest 
 pond, or, better still, carried to Hugh 
 Desmond, and so a further delay ensured. 
 Tom had his wits about him you see. 
 
 So he went in, and whilst our friend 
 Dick was writing under difficulties which 
 somewhat marred the effect of his pen- 
 manship, took careful stock of his com- 
 panion, who lay groaning on a heap of 
 straw. No. He was not particularly tall, 
 his complexion was fair, and his cheek un- 
 scarred. 
 
 Honest Tom felt quite sorry for him, 
 and the thought of directing them to his
 
 172 A Family Tree. 
 
 masters house for help came more than 
 once into his mind. He looked around for 
 the owner of the hovel, and there he was 
 in the corner munching a crust of rye 
 bread, and stirring a pot, whose steam 
 suggested the presence of rabbits (not un- 
 connected with onions) in a satisfactory 
 manner to any one who — like Tom — had 
 had more riding than breakfast that morn- 
 ing. He thought he had seen that man 
 before, when and where he could not 
 remember. He spoke to him, but was no 
 way the wiser for his questions. The 
 fellow w^as either sulky or stupid. Tom 
 could make nothing out of him — except a 
 breakfast. He had to breakfast some- 
 where. 
 
 Nor had 'prentice Dick — sharp as he 
 was — been more successful with his host, 
 who was really not sulky, but densely, im- 
 pregnably stupid. Was there any town 
 nearer than Stafford ? He did not know.
 
 On the Road, 173 
 
 Any country houses about? He did not 
 know. Did he know of any leech? The 
 faintest gleam of intelligence flicked for a 
 moment on his usually vacant foce, and 
 disappeared as he shook his head. How 
 long had he lived there? He could not 
 say — since he v^as a boy. And never went 
 abroad ! Never. 
 
 " What a life !" thought Dick. " Enough 
 to make an idiot of any one.'' 
 
 It was the life led by many in those 
 "good old days." The father of this 
 hoveller had " squatted" on the heath and 
 lived (or starved) by selling turf, and osiers 
 for basket- making in Stafford. Sometimes 
 there was a rabbit or two hid away in 
 these consignments, unknown to the lord 
 of the manor. The son was content to 
 follow in his sire's steps. He could not 
 have told for his life what king reigned in 
 England, or what day of the week it was. 
 Would he go into Stafford and fetch a
 
 174 A Family Tree. 
 
 doctor? No. He could not walk so far. 
 He was all to pieces with the " shakes." 
 How then did he send his goods to market? 
 On the donkey. Where was the donkey ? 
 Gone there. Where was " there ?" Why 
 to Stafford, to be sure. What, alone 1 No, 
 the wife was with him. 
 
 This was the first mention of his help- 
 mate, and Dick took heart. Much was 
 not to be expected of a woman who could 
 link herself to such a life, but there was 
 comfort in the reflection that she could not 
 possibly be more dense than her lord. 
 
 Sharp as he was, Dick's mind could not 
 apply itself to two things at a time. So 
 intent was he upon writing that letter for 
 Signer Pietri, and getting Tom Stevens to 
 take it, that he forgot to ask the latter 
 any of the questions he had put in vain to 
 the hoveller, and thought he had done 
 very well when he saw Tom ride away 
 with the missive in his belt. He was
 
 On the Road. 175 
 
 barely out of sight when the donkey — 
 bestridden male fashion by a pleasant- 
 looking woman — trotted np to the 
 
 door. 
 
 * * * * 
 
 The road w^as good, and the weather 
 cloudy, so Tom galloped along and nothing 
 happened worthy of particular mention (as 
 run the Marine protests) until evening, 
 when the rain which had been threatening 
 all day, came down as though it too had 
 to make up for lost time, and he rode his 
 last eight miles through a first class 
 thunder-storm. He had followed his 
 orders, and his good chestnut was not sorry 
 to see houses and lights, and to hear 
 sounds suggestive of corn and a stable. 
 He gave a little satisfied winney, as horses 
 will do under the circumstances, and 
 pricked up his ears. 
 
 "Dost think thou'rt going to see thy 
 master, old fellow ?" said Tom, who was in
 
 176 A Family Tree. 
 
 the habit of conversing with his charge, 
 "never fear." 
 
 This was intended as an assurance that 
 one of his master's sayings, " the first duty 
 of a good traveller is to his beast," was not 
 forgotten. As soon as Hugh Desmond had 
 kissed wife and children, on his return to 
 home, he would follow Hafid to his stall, 
 see him rubbed down, and feed him with 
 his own hand. Tom had no sweetheart 
 to kiss, so he led his tired steed straight 
 through the hostel yard to where the in- 
 stinct of his class judged the stable would 
 be. There he saw two horses wet, muddy, 
 jaded and supperless — who turned their 
 heads and watched him with wistful eyes, 
 poor beasts ! as he passed. 
 
 " If my master was thine, I wouldn't be 
 the varlet who leaves thee thus," thought 
 Tom. 
 
 Then he unsaddled Hafid, washed his 
 legs and mouth, rubbed him dry, fastened
 
 On the Road. 177 
 
 him up by the side of his less fortunate 
 brethren, and went off in search of Will 
 Ostler and corn. 
 
 " Art not ashamed to treat good dumb 
 cattle thus V expostulated Desmond's dis- 
 ciple, when he had found that functionary, 
 and returned with him to the stable. 
 
 " I had no orders,'' replied the ostler 
 gruffly. 
 
 *' To the devil with ' orders !' Hast no 
 sense ? I warrant me thou waitest for no 
 orders to get thine own supper." ^ 
 
 " What is't to thee ! Art their ser- 
 vant ?" 
 
 '' Whose r 
 
 " Why the two foreigners who came in 
 lately." 
 
 " Ho, ho, so two foreigners came in lately, 
 did they r 
 
 The ostler nodded. 
 
 " And these are their horses, eh ?" 
 
 He nodded again. 
 
 VOL. I. 12
 
 178 A Family Tree. 
 
 "Well, it's no affair of mine ; I'm not their 
 man. Where is the corn V 
 
 " Hie thee, and dry thy clothes, I'll feed 
 the horse/* said the man. 
 
 '*Not so. Give me the corn, if thou 
 wouldst not be worried like a rat by a 
 dog.'' 
 
 " Oh ! he bites, does he T 
 
 " Awful !" replied the un veracious Tom. 
 '^ There's a poor young man down in Staf- 
 fordshire — but he was too venturesome, 
 and no one was near to warn him." 
 
 " Take thy corn," said the ostler quickly, 
 *' and tend thy wild beast thyself I mis- 
 trusted his eye from the first." 
 
 Now Hafid, like all of his blood, had a 
 remarkably kind and soft eye. Having 
 settled him for the night, Tom returned 
 to the hostel, ordered supper, and pro- 
 ceeded to dry himself (for he had no 
 change) before a huge log fire, which was 
 blazing in the guests' room. He was not
 
 On the Road. 179 
 
 the only one so engaged. The masters of 
 those two horses stood there steaming 
 away, and occasionally cursing somebody 
 or something in a tongue unknown to Tom. 
 There was no mistake now. They were 
 undoubtedly the pair to whom an accident 
 might happen without causing sorrow to 
 any honest man. Tom thought of the 
 neglected steeds, and wished he had not 
 befriended them. 
 
 " A foul night !" said the elder of the 
 two (not he with the scarred face) as he 
 made way for Tom at the fire. " Thou also 
 wert caught in the storm it would seem. 
 Hast ridden far ?" 
 
 " No, not very," Tom replied carelessly^ 
 tugging the while at a boot which stuck 
 like a sucker, and in fact was one, till he 
 had stamped the water out of it. 
 
 •' Art journeying north or south T 
 
 " Neither," said Tom. 
 
 '' Pardon my questions. The varlet 
 
 12—2
 
 180 A Family Tree. 
 
 with our sumpter horse has missed us, 
 and we are sorely put to it for a change of 
 raiment. I thought that perchance thou 
 mightest have seen him on thy road." 
 
 '* I passed him not/' Tom rephed, after a 
 moment's consideration as to whether it 
 would not be well to send them out on 
 some wild goose chase after the missing 
 domestic ; " but the night is black as a 
 wolf's mouth," he added, ''and the rain 
 blinding. Peradventure, he has lost his 
 way." 
 
 " Very like. 'Tis an addle-pated knave." 
 
 By this time Tom had got his boots off, 
 and his doublet, and was engaged drying 
 the former by pouring hot ashes into them, 
 and shaking them about. 
 
 The foreigners made a remark, in which 
 Tom caught something like the word "•* in- 
 genious." 
 
 " Call it what you please," he said, " but 
 do you think to put on yours again, you
 
 On the Road. 181 
 
 will do the like. Oh Lord, the letter!" 
 with which exclamation he sprung at his 
 doublet, which lay on the floor, exuding 
 several small rills, and drew forth that 
 missive in a decidedly pulpy condition. 
 
 Dick Earle had been short of paper. It 
 was only half a sheet folded, and it opened 
 of itself as Tom placed it — address upper- 
 most as luck would have it — to dry on the 
 hearth. This was an operation which re- 
 quired some care and time ; and he did not 
 perceive that the tall man with the scar on 
 his cheek was stooping over him the while. 
 When the paper was dry, and he had re- 
 folded it, he saw that his fellow guests had 
 retired to the other end of the room, and 
 were deep in conversation. Well, they 
 were dry by this time, and the fire was 
 perhaps oppressively hot. Tom himself 
 was glad to move away when the welcome 
 word Slipper was pronounced. Alas ! it 
 was not his supper, he was told. First
 
 182 A Family Tree, 
 
 come, first serve — was the rule of that 
 house. The drawer was not sure that 
 they could get two suppers ; whereupon 
 the elder of the travellers laughed at Tom's 
 look of dismay, and courteously invited 
 him to join them at their repast. 
 
 They were very hospitable — particularly 
 with the wine, which the tall man pressed 
 on Tom with many words and gestures of 
 good- will ; but Tom would none of it. 
 
 *' Draw me a stoup of ale/' he said, and 
 threw down his broad piece like a prince. 
 
 " Thou hast a loDg ride yet before thee 
 to Manchester/' observed the spokesman. 
 
 '' Anon !" said Tom. 
 
 " And it is ill-weather for thy journey ?" 
 
 " The rain is all but over now." 
 
 " Frankly ; thou bearest a letter for 
 Senor Porras ?" 
 
 ** Frankly; thou art a knave to know it," 
 cried Tom, starting up. 
 
 " Tut, tut ! I saw but the superscrip-
 
 On the Road. 183 
 
 tion, and no one had a better right to read 
 it, for I am the person to whom it is ad- 
 dressed." 
 
 '^Thou art, of a truth, Senor Vincenti 
 Porras ?" 
 
 ** In good sooth I am. This gentleman 
 will tell thee so." 
 
 The other nodded, and said, '' Yaes, 
 yaes." 
 
 " Hum ! And thy name is T 
 
 " Marco." 
 
 " There ! Thou seest thou canst finish 
 thy errand here." 
 
 " By delivering thee this letter V 
 
 " Precisely." 
 
 "Vastly good!" said Tom, reseating him- 
 self, and making a second onslaught upon 
 the pastry. "Vastly good! Now listen, 
 worthy Senor Vincenti Porras, and thou, 
 worshipful Master Marco Something — quit 
 thy scowling, for 'twill naught avail. When 
 the gentleman who wrote this letter gave
 
 184 A Family Tree. 
 
 it into my hands, he read to me the super- 
 scription — as thou callest it — and if I recol- 
 lect aright, it is for Seiior Yincenti Porras, 
 at the Golden Boar, in Deansgate." 
 
 '' That is precisely where I lodge." 
 
 "Then when I see thee at the Goldea 
 Boar in Deansgate, thou shalt have thy 
 letter, but not an hour before," and he 
 raised his stoup of ale to his lips, and saw 
 the bottom of it before he put it down. 
 
 The tall man muttered something which,, 
 to judge by the expression of his eyes, was 
 not favourable to Tom ; but the other laid 
 his hand upon his sleeve and checked him. 
 
 "Thou art a trusty youth," he said, 
 warmly. " I like thee the better for thy 
 refusal. We will ride on together in the 
 morning, and thou shalt not relinquish thy 
 charge till thou art certain that it falls into 
 the right hands. Mayhap it doth not press." 
 
 ** Don't it !'* thought Tom ; and then an. 
 idea flashed into his head.
 
 On the Road. 185 
 
 " But thou majest at least tell me who 
 sent thee ?" insinuated Seilor Porras. 
 
 " Eichard Earle, of London." 
 
 *' I know him not." 
 
 "Mayhap. He wrote not for himself, 
 but his companion, a young gentleman of 
 Italy, who had met with a sore mischance." 
 
 '' Ha ! How so ?" 
 
 "His horse fell, and rolled over him. 
 They were on their way to Manchester, 
 and sent me on to thee— if, indeed, thou 
 art this Senor Porras — for help." 
 
 The two foreigners exchanged rapid 
 glances. Marco, who did not understand 
 a word of what was passing, seemed im- 
 patient. 
 
 "I will tell thee all presently," the 
 other whispered in Italian. "Leave him 
 to me." 
 
 "Poor gentleman! A countryman, I 
 dare say, who had heard of me. Canst 
 describe him V
 
 186 A Family Tree. 
 
 "A fair man, with large grey eyes; well- 
 favoured, too, when well, I'll be sworn, but 
 fearsomely pale when I saw him/' 
 
 " Did this — I forget me his name — he 
 who wrote, call him by his name ?" 
 
 " Well, yes, he did." 
 
 " What was it V 
 
 "I cannot rightly say; they spoke Italian, 
 I suppose. Something like lUust — Illus- 
 triss. I know not." 
 
 " Illustrissimo ?" 
 
 " That was it — Illustrissimo." 
 
 " Now, bethink thee, good youth, were it 
 not a charity to give me that letter, so that 
 I may go at once to the aid of the poor 
 gentleman ?" 
 
 " No," said Tom, stoutly, '' I have told 
 thee enough, an thou art really the man he 
 seeks, to send thee to his side. If after 
 this thou goest not, 'tis proof thou art not 
 Senor Vincenti Porras, and that I must 
 seek him in Manchester. If I give him
 
 On the Road. 187 
 
 the letter/' mused cunning Tom, "he might 
 mistrust it and me." 
 
 " Wilt guide us back to where he is ?" 
 Porras asked, after a pause. 
 
 "An you will." 
 
 "Good ; we will start at daybreak." 
 
 " Softly, softly, good senor. I did not 
 tell thee that my only business was to 
 deliver that letter ; but if thou wilt wait 
 here till my return " 
 
 Porras interrupted him with a gesture 
 of impatience. 
 
 " Where did you leave these travellers?" 
 he asked. 
 
 Tom told him, and was very particular 
 in indicating the road. Then he went out 
 again to the stable, to see if Hafid were 
 all right, and to get his holsters. 
 
 " I tell thee, cousin," said Marco, when 
 they were alone, and Tom's story had been 
 translated, " I would have had that letter,
 
 188 A Family Tree, 
 
 though it cost him a stab. Leave him to 
 
 me." 
 
 " Of what avail is the paper when we 
 know its contents V 
 
 "There maybe more than he says; there 
 may be some trick." 
 
 *'No," said the other, after a pause; "the 
 boy is honest. There is no trick. If there 
 were, he would have given me the letter." 
 
 "It may not be our kinsman who is hurt, 
 after all." 
 
 " Bah ! Who else can it be ? Who else 
 comina: from abroad knows me as Vincenti 
 Porras ? The guide, or whatever the man 
 who writes may be, called him 'Illus- 
 trissimo," which yon simpleton took to be 
 his name. 'Tis Cosmo de Ribolini — none 
 other." 
 
 *'Then the end is nearer than we 
 thought." 
 
 " Much nearer." 
 
 He of the addle pate arrived with the
 
 On the Road. 189 
 
 baggage soon after midniglit, and Tom, 
 who was sleeping with one eye open, heard 
 the orders he received. He was to hire 
 fresh horses to go hack in the morning, and 
 find a doctor to bear his masters company. 
 
 " That settles it," Tom said to himself ; 
 and taking a long nail, which he had 
 sharpened, from his pocket, he threw it out 
 of window. ** A good twelve hours lost, 
 and no harm done to any dumb beast.'* 
 
 Poor, faithful Tom ! He little thought 
 that what he had done might gain them 
 two days.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 HOW TOM STEVENS LIED FOR HIS MASTER. 
 
 OM STEVENS had only once ac- 
 companied his master to Man- 
 chester, and consequently knew 
 not exactly the way to his house. Hafid 
 was wiser, and took him thither straight. 
 
 '^Mother of mercies!" cried Dame Martha, 
 as she saw them enter the yard. ''Another I 
 a^d on his own horse too !" 
 
 Then she volunteered the information 
 that Master Desmond was not in town. 
 She could not say where he had gone, or
 
 Tom Stevens Lies for his Master. 191 
 
 when he would return. It was no use ask- 
 ing any questions ; she knew nothing. 
 
 All this very volubly, in a half-frightened, 
 half-defiant tone, and without the least pro- 
 vocation from Tom. 
 
 '* Who asked for Master Desmond ?" he 
 said, as he dismounted. ''An he hath 
 gone to the devil, and means to stay, it 
 is no business of mine, I seek one Gregory 
 Denys." 
 
 " My son !" moaned the good dame, 
 crossing herself " Oh, what hath he 
 done ?" 
 
 " Nay, I am not his godfather," replied 
 pert Tom, loosing Hafid's girths. " I pray 
 thee send him hither, if he be in the 
 house." 
 
 The doors of the old brewhouse opened 
 as he spoke, and Gregory himself appeared, 
 hammer in hand as usual. His employer 
 had left him some heavy work to finish, and 
 he was busy.
 
 192 A Family Tree. 
 
 " Who asks for me ?" 
 
 " I do — if thou art Gregory Denys." 
 
 ** I know thee not," said the smith. Since 
 that affair of the purse he had grown sus- 
 picious of strangers. 
 
 " Hist !" Tom whispered, lowering his 
 head and putting Hafid between them 
 and Dame Martha, who stood on the steps 
 leading into the house in an agony of sus- 
 pense. " Hist ! come nearer. Dost know 
 this horse V 
 
 " Tis my master's/' 
 
 " And this ring ?" 
 
 " His also." 
 
 " Come with me to the stable, and I will 
 show thee more. Why, man," he cried aloud, 
 ''must this good nag have no corn after 
 his journey, or shall I take him to an 
 innr 
 
 "Follow me," said the smith, "Get 
 thee in, mother ; I will join thee anon, 
 ^ow," turning upon Tom, as soon as the
 
 Tom Stevens Lies for his Master, 193 
 
 stable-door had closed behind them, "thy 
 will with me ?" 
 
 But Tom, true to his teaching, rubbed 
 down Hafid and fed him before he would 
 say a word. This done — he sat him down 
 upon the corn bin, and began. 
 
 " Thou hast recognised thy master's ring. 
 Good ! It was his token for thee to obey 
 his orders by my mouth." 
 
 "And they are?" 
 
 " To take horse and follow me." 
 
 "But " 
 
 " But me no buts. Master Desmond is 
 in some straight. Nay, I know not what ; 
 I did but guess by his face that there is 
 something amiss. Mayhap I am wrong to 
 say as much, but he is my master as well 
 as thine, and I love him." 
 
 "I would lay down my life to serve 
 him." 
 
 " Good again. Then get thee a horse, 
 
 VOL. I. 13
 
 194 A Family Tree. 
 
 and prepare to follow me, as soon as 
 Hafid has rested." 
 
 " Whither, boy, whither ? I must " 
 
 "Hadst thou as much trust in him an 
 he has in thee, thou wouldst not ask 
 ' whither.' ' Get thee to Manchester, see 
 Gregory Denys, give him this ring, and hid 
 him take horse and follow thee' Those were 
 his words. An thou hadst come with such 
 to me, I would have asked no whither.'^ 
 
 '' Master Desmond has enemies," mused 
 the half-convinced smith. 
 
 "The more reason that his friends 
 should be true." 
 
 " I know my duty, and will not be taught 
 by thee, thou jackanapes !" 
 
 " Then do it," said Tom, " and no more 
 words about it." 
 
 ''Let me see that ring again." 
 
 " Take it and the money, too. Thou art 
 the elder, and 'tis meet thou shouldst bear 
 the purse. Good Master Gregory, forgive
 
 Tom Stevens Lies for his Master. 195 
 
 me if I have said aught to offend thee, but 
 do thy duty, and," he added more seriously, 
 '* hold thy tongue, as he bade me do/' 
 
 " What can I say, except that I am going 
 to my master ?" 
 
 " Thou must not say even so much." 
 
 *' If I follow thee, who comest from him, 
 the folk will know." 
 
 "Leave that to me. Knowest thou the 
 Golden Boar, in Deansgate ?" 
 
 '' Aye." 
 
 " Then lead me there." 
 
 " What is thy name T 
 
 '' Tom Stevens." 
 
 " How long hast served my master ?" 
 
 " Nine years.'' 
 
 " Then give me thy hand, Tom Stevens, 
 Thou art a smart youth, and must be loyal." 
 
 They went together to the Golden Boar, 
 and mine host's first words as Tom asked for 
 Senor Porras, were almost an echo of Dame 
 Martha's greetings — 
 
 13—2
 
 196 A Family Tree, 
 
 " What ! Another. Gramercy ! this Senor 
 must be a great man to have two mes- 
 sengers after him in one day. Art also 
 from London ?" 
 
 " Anon !" said Tom, looking as stupid as 
 he could. 
 
 ** He was at our house an hour ago, with 
 a letter for Master Desmond," Gregory 
 whispered. 
 
 " In God's name, who ?" 
 
 "Why, the other messenger to be 
 sure." 
 
 " Oh, there is another messenger ! Came 
 he through Macclesfield V asked Tom. 
 
 " Here he is, to answer for himself," said 
 Gregory ; " dost know him ?" 
 
 " No. Give you good day, fair gentle- 
 man,*' said Tom, bowing politely to the 
 person indicated. '* Thou also, it would 
 seem, hast business with Senor Porras ?" 
 
 We have met that other messenger be- 
 fore. It was no other than John Eastman
 
 Tom Stevens Lies for his Master. 197 
 
 who joined them in the porch, sent by mine 
 host to see his fellow courier. 
 
 The despatch which missed Cosmo de 
 Eibolini by a few hours at Naples, missed 
 Signer Pietri by four days in London. It 
 was sent under cover to Martin Earle, with 
 the request that he would deliver or for- 
 ward it at once, as it was of the last im- 
 portance. Cosmo had been markedly reti- 
 cent about his business in Manchester, and 
 so the goldsmith did not know where to 
 send the packet : "But," reasoned he, " John 
 €an find Dick — I warrant me ruffling Dick 
 will make himself known — and, he found, 
 the rest is easy." 
 
 So the epistle — sealed with the Eibolini 
 seal, and directed to the new head of the 
 family with all his titles — was again put 
 imder cover, addressed to plain Signer 
 Pietri, and, accompanied with a note to 
 Hugh Desmond, begging him to aid in the 
 search, was given to John Eastman with
 
 198 A Family Tree. 
 
 orders to ride haste, post haste, to Lanca- 
 shire. And so he did. 
 
 Now, Signer Pietri had been as good as 
 his word, v/hen he told Dick that he would 
 not hurrj, and that they would have a 
 pleasant journey. The more the young 
 noble thought about his mission the less 
 he liked it. He was fain to put off the 
 meeting with his grim kinsman as long a& 
 possible. He had a sort of vague hope 
 something might occur to render his inter- 
 position unnecessary. De la Torre might 
 become impatient, and act alone. He 
 would give him every chance. So he we nt 
 out of his way to see Oxford, and wasted 
 two days at Warwick. Dick was delighted 
 with such rambling, and you may be sure 
 no remonstrance at the delay came from 
 him. So John Eastman, riding straight i 
 
 and fast, would have all but overtaken 
 them, even if that accident had not hap- 
 pened.
 
 Tom Stevens Lies for his Master. 199 
 
 He went ^first to Desmond's house, as 
 instructed, for the expected assistance. 
 Hence Dame Martha's exclamation. Then 
 he rode hither and thither, asking for 
 Dick, who was not known, and next for 
 Signer Pietri, and was told at last that 
 there were two foreigners staying at the 
 Golden Boar, one of whom was called 
 Porras, not Pietri ; but itmight be the same 
 — these folk had so many names. If it were 
 not, still he would surely know where the 
 other could be found. Then, as now, it 
 was a maxim with the British mind, that 
 all foreigners must be acquainted with each 
 other. Away went John to the Golden 
 Boar, and asked for Senor Porras. Hence 
 the comment of mine host upon the import- 
 ance of that visitor, when Tom Stevens 
 made the same demand an hour later. 
 
 Very little passed in the town of any im- 
 port which did not reach the ear of Master 
 Willford, the witch-finder, and so long
 
 200 A Family Tree. 
 
 before sundown he learned that two horse- 
 men had arrived, each with messages for 
 Hugh Desmond and Senor Porras — at 
 least, both of them had called at Des- 
 mond's house. 
 
 We left Tom Stevens politely applying 
 the pump to the first arrived courier, with 
 his '^Thou, also, it seems, hast business 
 with Senor Porras V 
 
 " Simply to find another person," John 
 replied. 
 
 " His companion ?" suggested Tom. 
 
 " I know not if he be his companion or 
 no. He I seek is named Pietri, an Italian, 
 fair and haughty in his way, whose guide 
 is my fellow-'prentice.'' 
 
 " From London ?" Tom asked, quickly. 
 
 " Aye, from London." 
 
 " Why, of course," said Tom, after a little 
 consideration. 
 
 '^EichardEarleT 
 
 "Thou hast seen him. He is here,''
 
 Tom Stevens Lies for his Master, 201 
 
 cried John, flushing with pleasure. " Lead 
 me to him." 
 
 " That were not easy," Tom laughed. 
 '* Pie is many a good league away." 
 
 " But on his road hither ?" 
 
 " Oh, dear, no," said unblushing Tom. 
 '^ Let me get my dinner, and I will tell 
 thee all about him, and thy Senor Porras 
 too." 
 
 Gregory plucked his sleeve. " Anon, 
 anon," he said, impatiently shaking himself 
 free. " If thou canst talk on an empty 
 stomach, that cannot I. The gentlemaji 
 will wait till I have refreshed myself; wilt 
 not, fair sir ?" 
 
 But John Eastman had turned aside 
 cursing his ill luck. Many a good league 
 away, and not coming to Manchester ! John 
 had had quite enough of the saddle already. 
 
 " Take me to some place where we can 
 talk apart," Tom whispered Denys as they 
 passed into the street again, having ascer-
 
 202 A Family Tree. 
 
 tained that dinner would be served in half 
 an hour. '' I would keep out of yon fel- 
 low's way until I have made up my plans 
 about him." 
 
 " Leave him alone — what is he to thee T 
 was the smith's gruff reply. " Is this hold- 
 ing thy tongue as our master bade thee ?" 
 
 " Thou shalt judge anon," said Tom. 
 
 They walked down to the river — it was 
 a bright stream then, with banks lined 
 with rushes, and spangled with the blue 
 forget-me-not. Passing the Castle Field, 
 where the Medlock and Tweed join their 
 waters, they were soon out of the reach of 
 interruption, and Tom narrated how Hugh 
 Desmond had spoken of those foreigners, 
 one of whom had turned out to be Senor 
 Porras, and what had passed to detain 
 them. 
 
 " And now," quoth Tom, "we must get 
 that packet for Signer Pietri, who is mixed 
 up with them for a surety in some way.
 
 Tom Stevens Lies for his Master, 203 
 
 else they had not gone back to assist 
 him." 
 
 " If they be our master's foes, how comes 
 it that their messenger came to him for 
 
 help r 
 
 "That is what disturbs me. That is 
 why I say I must get that packet. If it 
 bode our master good, 'tis well he should 
 have it quickly, and I may not say where 
 he has gone. If it bode him ill, 'tis well all 
 the same that its purport should be known 
 to him. Canst read T 
 
 " Not I." 
 
 " Nor I," and the pair laughed. 
 
 '' Thou hast a head. Master Tom," said 
 the smith, gazing with admiration into the 
 stripling's excited face. 
 
 " And thou a mighty arm, Master Denys. 
 But I would that one of us could read. 
 Dost think he can ?" 
 
 " The fellow yonder ?" jerking his thumb 
 over his shoulder.
 
 204 A Family Tree. 
 
 Tom nodded an affirmative. 
 
 " God knows. He is from London," said 
 the smith. 
 
 " Can all Londoners read ?" 
 
 '' Mayhap." 
 
 " I'll try him, anyway," mused Tom. 
 
 "But the packet is sealed — I saw it. 
 He would not dare open it, unless " 
 
 " I am not thinking of the packet," said 
 Tom. " Methinks I see a way. Hark ye, 
 Gregory : get thee a horse, and join me 
 in two hours at the hotel with Hafid. 
 Stand to whatever I say. I'll have that 
 packet." 
 
 Tom dined, and did full justice to the 
 cheer set before him. John Eastman had 
 become anxious to learn more about Dick, 
 and when they were alone came back to 
 the subject. 
 
 " Well," said Tom, crossing his legs and 
 looking mighty wise, " there is a good deal 
 of mystery about this Signer Pietri into
 
 Tom Stevens Lies for his Master, 205 
 
 which it were not good for us to pry too 
 closely, Master — Master " 
 
 " Eastman is my name." 
 
 ** I had forgotten for the moment. We 
 riders, good Master Eastman, have to 
 do what we are bid, and ask no ques- 
 tions." 
 
 John did not quite like being taken for 
 a rider, but he let it pass. 
 
 " I have a letter for thee." 
 
 " Ha ! give it, then." 
 
 " Canst read ?" 
 
 " Aye ; where is the letter ?" 
 
 Tom, expecting a contrary answer, had 
 already put his hand in his poclcet and half 
 drawn forth that damaged epistle which 
 was to be delivered to Sefior Porras at the 
 Golden Boar. It was too late to retract 
 now, so he handed it. 
 
 *' 'Tis Dick's own writing !" exclaimed 
 the ' 'prentice,' '^ but in Italian. How 
 comes that ?"
 
 206 A Family Tree. 
 
 Tom was relieved. " How should I 
 know?" he said. 
 
 " Master rider," rejoined the other, 
 severely. " I know not what is said herein, 
 but the character is in English, and it is 
 addressed to Senor Porras. Thou didst 
 say just now that it was for me." 
 
 *' Tut ! it is for thee, though it bear not 
 thy name. Listen. It is writ, as thou 
 knowest, by thy friend, Richard Earle, who 
 is travelling with this Signor Pietri. Dost 
 admit that ?" 
 
 " I do." 
 
 *' Well, so far. This Signor Pietri has 
 business with Senor Porras, and was 
 journeying hither to join him." 
 
 '' That may be so." 
 
 "It is so. Signor Pietri hurt his hand 
 at — at — on the way, and I was sent on to 
 call his friends to him where he was. I 
 overtook him, and discharged my mission." 
 
 " How then hast the letter ?"
 
 Tom Stevens Lies for his Master, 207 
 
 "Patience," said Tom, with a deprecating 
 smile. "Thou shalt be satisfied. What 
 didst learn here respecting Senor Porras ?" 
 
 " That he had ridden south, and would 
 return in a week, or less." 
 
 " To wait for Signor Pietri V 
 
 *' I suppose so." 
 
 " Then having already met him, he will 
 not return." 
 
 " How know you that V 
 
 " Because he told me," replied Tom, with 
 well-feigned impatience. '' I left him go- 
 ing where his friend was, and he said, *Hie 
 thee on to Manchester all the same, and if 
 there be any packet at my lodgings for me 
 or Signor Pietri, bring it back.' Said I, 
 ' Give me some warrant, for they will not 
 credit a simple lad such as I am.' ' There 
 is no time to write,' said he, ' but take this 
 ring — stay, better still, take this letter thou 
 hast brought me ; it will explain why I 
 turn back, and be thv warrant. But be
 
 208 A Family Tree. 
 
 careful. Bring on the packet thyself, for ' 
 — well, I may not tell thee what else he 
 said. I told you just now there are mys- 
 teries about this Signor," said the accom- 
 plished young liar, lowering his voice into 
 a whisper. 
 
 " It might be another Popish plot,'' 
 mused the other. 
 
 " It might, indeed ; in good sooth, it 
 might f 
 
 " In which an honest man would risk his 
 head before he knew where he was." 
 
 "That's the danger," Tom rejoined, 
 decisively. 
 
 "And Dick is with them. Poor, dear, 
 trusting Dick ! By heaven !" cried John 
 Eastman, bringing his fist down upon the 
 table with a crash, '* I ivill go and warn 
 Dick !" 
 
 Now this was by no means what Tom 
 was leading up to. He wanted to frighten 
 Dick's friend out of the packet, and was
 
 Tom Stevens Lies for his Master. 209 
 
 considerably taken aback by this outburst 
 of affection ; but as his auditor got up and 
 began to pace the room in his excitement, 
 he had time to think. He thrust his hands 
 into his pockets, stretched out his legs, and 
 observed, in a careless tone — 
 
 ''Oh, he is safe." 
 
 " Safe! How can he be safe in the com- 
 pany of those whom thou hast admitted 
 may be traitors ?" 
 
 " Who said he was in their company ?" 
 
 ''Why, thou thyself' 
 
 " Pshaw ! Is this Dick of thine a fool ?'* 
 
 "I will break the pate of any that say 
 so," cried John, striding up to him. 
 
 " Then break not mine," laughed Tom. 
 " I hold him to be a wise man for quitting 
 them as he did." 
 
 " He has quitted them?" cried the other, 
 cighast. 
 
 " Good Master Eastman," said our 
 romancer, " did I not tell thee that Signer 
 
 VOL. I. 14
 
 210 A Family Tree. 
 
 Pietri had sent me for his friends, and that 
 those friends had gone to him V 
 
 " Thou didst, but " 
 
 " Well, they had then no need of thy 
 Dick, or he of them. Ah! it is a fine thing 
 to be independent," Tom sighed. " I mar- 
 vel that so spirited a blade put up with 
 such service as long as he did." 
 
 " Gone back to London T mused John 
 Eastman. 
 
 "Not to play the kcquey again, I'll war- 
 rant," said Tom. 
 
 "He never played the lacquey," cried 
 the other, indignantly. 
 
 *'As you will. All I can say is, that 
 when I saw them together, this fine signer 
 did not do a thing for himself; it was, 
 ' bring me this,' and ' do that.' " 
 
 All of which was, for once, the truth. 
 The poor gentleman could not move hand 
 or foot ; but it gave honest John the 
 idea that his friend was being put upon.
 
 Tom Stevens Lies for his Master. 211 
 
 and removed the last scruple from his 
 mind. 
 
 " To the devil with him and his packet!" 
 he shouted, flinging it on the table. " Til 
 be no lacquey !'* 
 
 Toms eyes devoured the letter now 
 within reach of his hand, but he dared not 
 show his eagerness. 
 
 " A poor lad like me has no choice," he 
 said, sadly. *'I must fetch and carry like 
 a dog, and for less than a dog's fee. Dogs 
 get a kind word and a pat of the hand 
 sometimes. I don't. Well, 111 carrj it. 
 Get thee back to thy home, good Master 
 Eastman, and let this be a warning to thee; 
 carry no more letters for foreigners who 
 wander about the country and may not tell 
 their business, an you value your neck." 
 
 With which sage advice, Tom pocketed 
 the letter, and strolled out into the street. 
 In due time Gregory Denys appeared, 
 mounted, and leading Hafid. 
 
 14—2
 
 212 A Family Tree. 
 
 " Well," whispered the smith, as Tom 
 sprang into his saddle, '*' what of the 
 letter ?" 
 
 " I've got it." 
 
 *' By fair means V 
 
 " I lied for it. The Lord help me ! If 
 I am to be damned for lying for my master, 
 I am a lost soul this day! Bitt Fve got the 
 jpacket r
 
 CHAPTEPv X. 
 
 FORGIVE HIM THIS TIME 
 
 UGH DESMOND rose soon after 
 Tom Stevens' departure, and 
 walked into Stafford to tuy 
 horses (hired beasts might be traced) for 
 the flitting. As he rode back on one of 
 his purchases, leading the other, he wag 
 surprised to see several persons collected 
 round his door. There was a woman on a 
 donkey, and four men standing by a sort 
 of litter made of a gate and green boughs. 
 His heart, full of anxiety and suspicion, 
 gave a bound as he dashed forward into
 
 214 A Family Tree. 
 
 their midst, and it was some time before he 
 could listen patiently to Dick Earle's ex- 
 planation. 
 
 We know all that had happened up to 
 the arrival of the woman at the road-side 
 hovel, so there is no need to repeat it. 
 In ^ve minutes Dick had got more out of 
 the hoveller s wife than he would have ob- 
 tained in a life-time from that hermit. 
 
 Why, of course there was a house near ! 
 — the house of Master Desmond, a good 
 gentleman and a kind ; an excellent leech 
 to boot. Had he not given her some bitter 
 stuff which had taken the " shakes " out of 
 her last Martinmas ? Why did not her 
 good man send them to Master Des- 
 mond ? 
 
 Her good man admitted that he had 
 thought of Master Desmond. This was 
 when that stray spark of intelligence 
 flickered, as already narrated ; but with 
 this thought came the idea that perchance
 
 ''Forgive Him this Time /" 215 
 
 the gentleman might die, and so save 
 trouble. He did not say "and so save 
 trouble," but that was what he meant. 
 
 So they got help, made a litter, and here 
 they were. 
 
 " Thou wilt surely not deny help and 
 hospitality to one who spoke thee so fairly," 
 said Dick when, his story ended, Hugh 
 Desmond made no reply, but stood gazing 
 moodily upon the ground. 
 
 Common humanity bade him receive the 
 sufferer, and, on the other hand, the charity 
 which begins at home ui'ged that nothing 
 should be allowed to derange his plans for 
 flight. He thought only of his flight just 
 then. No suspicion that the man in the 
 litter could be in any way connected with 
 his enemies occurred to him. When they 
 had met at Stafibrd he was presented as a 
 gentleman going on business to the North, 
 and Dick said nothing now about that mes- 
 sage to Manchester; not because he had
 
 216 A Family Tree, 
 
 anything to conceal, but simply for the 
 reason that he saw no necessity to mention 
 it. 
 
 Undei' any other circumstances, Hugh 
 Desmond's house, and all the healing skill 
 he possessed, would have been cordially at 
 the sufferer s service. He was a friend of 
 Bosco, and of Martin Earle. He had, 
 as Dick pleaded, spoken him (Desmond) 
 '* fairly.'^ Above all, his anxious, pain- 
 wrung face pleaded for him. 
 
 "There is time yet," mused Hugh, *'to 
 see to his hurts and bestow him comfort- 
 ably. Better here than in yon hovel. Yes, 
 he would take him in." 
 
 He strode up to the door and knocked. 
 
 " 'Tis no use," said Dick ; " we have 
 been knocking for half-an-hour in vain. 
 Art alone here, Master Desmond ?" 
 
 In a moment he had his answer. There 
 is knocking and knocking. At the master's 
 first tap the bolts were drawn and the pas-
 
 ''Forgive Ilim this Time /" 217 
 
 sage free. He laid his finger on his lip, 
 and made a sign to Sweetheart, who in- 
 stantly retired. 
 
 Then Cosmo de Ribolini — known to all 
 present, but one, as 'plain Signer Pietri, 
 and unknown by that one to have any con- 
 nection with his hostess — was carried care- 
 fully to the room of the sister who had 
 " disgraced " her family, was placed upon 
 her own bed, and the man whom he had 
 crossed the seas to kill without pity or 
 defence tended his hurts with a gentle 
 hand. 
 
 A collar-bone and three ribs were broken, 
 and there was what an engraver might call 
 *'a beautifully sharp impression" of a demi- 
 pique saddle on his left side. What inter- 
 nal injury there might be Hugh Desmond 
 could not tell. He hoped for the best as 
 the patient breathed freely, and there was 
 no spitting of blood ; but he was badly 
 bruised and shaken in that mauvais cinq
 
 218 A Family Tree. 
 
 minutes lie had passed between the hard 
 ground and a struggling horse, as may well 
 be imaofined. It was like heaven to the 
 poor fellow to have his clothes cut off, and 
 to be stretched on that cool, soft couch. 
 Some unguent which Desmond applied to 
 his side soon took the sting out. Hitherto 
 he had shrank from the lightest touch — 
 now he submitted himself like a weary- 
 child to those strong but gentle hands. 
 
 Sweetheart remained in the adjoining- 
 apartment, full of wonder. It was part of 
 her love-creed that Hugh Desmond could 
 do no wrong ; but women are quick to detect 
 inconsistencies, and could not help contrast- 
 ing his teaching with his practice. Why, 
 after that episode of the beggar, should he let 
 his sympathy get the better of his prudence, 
 and admit a stranger who spoke Italian 
 into their very house ? How did she know 
 he spoke ItaHan ? Well, the wainscoting 
 which divided the two rooius had a crack
 
 '* Forgive Him this Timer 219 
 
 in it, and she was a daughter of Eve. She 
 peeped, and was rewarded by a full view of 
 her husband, and of part of a shoulder and 
 some hair belonging to the man on the bed. 
 Then she tried a different sense, and clapped 
 one of her pretty ears to the fissure. 
 
 " I have seen our hostess," Dick observed 
 as he resumed his seat by Signer Pietri's 
 side, after the mid- day meal. 
 
 '* He is married, then ? Aye, I remem- 
 ber now." 
 
 " And has two sweet children, a boy who 
 has just recovered from the fever, and a 
 ;girl the very image of her m.other. Most 
 Illustrious, I would thou couldst see the 
 lady.'' 
 
 ''Ehellar 
 
 "If thou wert to ask me that in English 
 — saying ' is she beautiful V I would say 
 aye. Our w^ord ' beautiful ' fits her. Her 
 face, her form, her voice, her smile, her 
 movements, are full of beauty ; and there
 
 220 A Family Tree. 
 
 is a world of it in her love for Desmond. 
 She eyes him like a dog." 
 
 "Fie! Oh, for shame! to liken such a 
 lady to a dog," said the gallant, indig- 
 nantly. 
 
 " I said she eyed him like a dog, and if 
 thou canst find me aught more full of ten- 
 derness and trust than the gaze of a faith- 
 ful hound, I will take thy simile." 
 
 " Say, then, like a loving woman." 
 
 ** She is a loving woman. That were no 
 simile." 
 
 " Have thy way," laughed the other (he 
 could laugh now). " And the child is like 
 her?" 
 
 " As bud and flower." 
 
 " Poetical ! Must I warn our good host 
 to guard well his flower, master poet ?" 
 
 " An thou wouldst insult him — and me 
 — thou canst," said Dick. 
 
 "Nay, I did but jest. Eight glad am I 
 that he is so happy. He deserves to be so,
 
 ^^ Forgive Him this TimeT 221 
 
 Dick ; 'tis a noble soul. Tell me more of 
 the lady. Is she dark or fair V 
 " Dark, with lustrous violet eyes." 
 " That is not an English type." 
 " It is somewhat rare here, but in Ireland, 
 they say, it is common." 
 
 '' She is Irish, then ?" Cosmo asked this 
 with surprise. 
 
 Irish and Savage were synonymous terms 
 in those good old days, and so continued to 
 be in times setting up to be wiser, with re- 
 sults which are not yet removed. 
 
 " No," Dick replied, " she is a foreigner." 
 " Indeed ! Of what country ?" 
 " I know not. She speaks our tongue 
 fluently, but with just a little accent." 
 
 " Think you that my being here discom- 
 modes her ?" 
 
 Dick looked round the room, which 
 afforded several distinct proofs of female 
 occupancy. His meaning was quickly 
 caught.
 
 222 A Family Tree. 
 
 "I pray thee hie to Master Desmond., 
 and beg him to have me moved. Any 
 chamber will do for me. I am much 
 better now. I think I could w^alk," said 
 Cosmo. But his first effort to show 
 his strength was a dismal failure, and 
 he sank back exhausted with the effort. 
 Dick, frightened at the pallor which came 
 over his face, did hie to Master Desmond, 
 who promptly appeared, and having chided 
 his patient for disobeying orders to remain 
 perfectly still, was pressed by him to in- 
 fringe them himself by acceding to his 
 request for removal. 
 
 " It must not be," he replied decisively. 
 *^ Thou art not intruding; thou must not 
 stir ; but T will be frank with thee. Hadst 
 thou not been brought here, I and mine 
 would have left this house to-day. We 
 must leave at the latest to-morrow\ This 
 is why (to Dick) I hesitated, and doubtless 
 thou didst think me churlish, at the gate.
 
 " Forgive Him this Time /" 223 
 
 We must leave thee. Signer. Trust me, 
 'tis a matter of life and death ; but my 
 house, and all it contains are at thy service, 
 and I will send a good and trusty leech to 
 tend thee. Rest, methinks is the only 
 medicine thou needest. Tell me thou dost 
 not hold me wanting in hospitality. In- 
 deed, indeed, I must go." 
 
 He was so earnest, that he heard not 
 the patter of little feet upon the floor, or 
 felt that a little warm hand was slipped in 
 his. Children are curious animals ; and 
 Miss Mary had been burning for hours for 
 a peep at the *' poor gentleman.'' She tad 
 it now. She stood, jfinger on lip, by the 
 bedside, with that expression half of fear, 
 half of pity, which the presence of suffering 
 will bring into the face of a child. She 
 saw the " poor gentleman" now, and he 
 saw her before her father had well ended 
 his appeal. 
 
 " Thy child ?" cried Cosmo, with a start ;
 
 224: A Family Tree. 
 
 and the words on his tongue for reply to 
 that appeal clean left him. 
 
 '' Mary, dear, how earnest thou here ? 
 Go to thy — go — " Desmond began. 
 
 "Oh, I pray thee, let her stay," inter- 
 rupted Cosmo, eagerly, and trying to 
 stretch a hand towards her. " Thy 
 child ! How strange. Wilt kiss me, 
 little one ?" 
 
 She looked up into her father's face, saw 
 no refusal there, and kissed the flushed 
 •cheeks on the pillow. 
 
 "Don't cry," she said, "you will be 
 better soon ; papa said so." 
 
 Ah, the sweet faith of childhood ! Papa 
 :said so, and therefore it must be true. By 
 this time Dick had retired to let them have 
 their talk out alone. 
 
 " Has she hurt thee ?" said Desmond, 
 noticing that the eyes, still fixed upon his 
 child, were full of tears. 
 
 "Hurt me! oh, no! These" (brushing
 
 " Forgive Him this Time!' 225 
 
 away the drops upon his cheek) — " are not 
 for pain — not for the pain that thou canst 
 cure. No, little one, you hurt me not. 
 Tell her, I pray thee, that she hurt me not, 
 but the touch of her innocent lips went 
 to my heart. Years ago there was one 
 so like her, that — that I loved dearly, 
 Master Desmond, and she is lost to me." 
 He had got out a hand now, and placed it 
 lovingly on little Mary's head. 
 
 " Thy sister ?" Desmond asked, with an 
 interest which he could not account for or 
 restrain. 
 
 "My only sister; the only one of my 
 kin, except my poor mother, who under- 
 stood and loved me. I was a wayward 
 youth, rash and thoughtless ; and my 
 father — a stern man — went not the right 
 way with me. She, my little sister, was 
 the angel in the house, the peace-maker, 
 the soother of my rebellious thoughts, my 
 counsellor, m:y friend.'' 
 
 VOL. I. 15
 
 226 A Family Tree, 
 
 " And she is dead ?" 
 
 " Worse than dead," Cosmo reph'ed, bit- 
 terly, " disgraced.'^ 
 
 '' Not so," said a cahn voice ; " not dis- 
 graced, Cosmo de Ribolini, for this is my 
 
 HUSBAND." 
 
 If you have not forgotten the crack in 
 the wainscot, you know who was the 
 speaker. She had missed little Mary, and 
 to her dismay found that the child had 
 followed her to the sick-room, but why did 
 he keep her there ? She looked, and saw. 
 She saw the soi disant Signor Pietri raise 
 his face to be kissed, and knew him for 
 her brother. Oh, how her heart yearned 
 to him as he spoke of her so lovingly! 
 What a struggle she had to refrain from 
 rushing into the room and flinging her- 
 self on her knees by his side. Her own 
 brother ! her darling, handsome Cosmo ! 
 crushed, perhaps maimed for life ! perhaps 
 dying ! Her brother kissing her child for
 
 *' Forgive Him this Time'' 227 
 
 love of her J and recalling so tenderly those 
 old days when she had stood between him 
 and their grim father's wrath. But that 
 one word, '^ disgraced/^ dried up her tears 
 and stopped the passionate beating of her 
 heart. Disgraced! should any lips speak 
 that word of her in the presence of the 
 husband she idolized ? Her southern blood 
 rebelled against the insult — to him. Pride 
 banished fear. As an empress advancing 
 to claim her crown on the day of corona- 
 tion, she came before them. She wound a 
 white arm around Hugh Desmond's neck, 
 and calmly uttered these memorable words : 
 " Not disgraced, Cosmo de Ribolini, for 
 
 THIS IS MY HUSBAND 1" 
 
 " Cosmo de E-ibolini !" cried Desmond, in 
 a voice of anguish ; " then we are lost !" 
 
 " I see," said his wife, calmly as ever. 
 " Thou bearest the message those men ex- 
 pected. Our death-warrant, Cosmo." 
 
 He had fallen back upon his pillows pale 
 
 15—2
 
 228 A Family Tree. 
 
 as ashes. He moved his lips, but no sound 
 came. 
 
 " And thou art come here like a spy^ 
 under the pretence " 
 
 " Hush !" whispered Hugh. " Be just ; 
 'tis no pretence." 
 
 Cosmo gave him a look of gratitude. 
 Could this woman, stern as a Pythoness, 
 under whose piercing gaze he quailed, be 
 his gentle sister, or the timid, lovable crea- 
 ture described by Eichard Earle ? 
 
 " I am glad of that," she said, " I know 
 our race is cruel; I am glad we have 
 escaped that meaner vileness. Well, you 
 have found us. Is the man below thy 
 comrade ? Is he thy hired bravo ? our exe- 
 cutioner ? Speak, why do you not reply V* 
 
 The child, who understood not one word 
 that was said, and, child-like, thought 
 that she must have done something wrong, 
 clung to her mother, and hid her little face 
 in her robe. Then it began to dawn upon
 
 *' Forgive Him this Time:' 229 
 
 her that the sick gentleman must have 
 been naughty. She edged her way shyly 
 to the bed, and taking the hand which lay 
 spent and trembling on the coverlet, look- 
 ing up into her mother's face, said plead- 
 ingly— 
 
 *' Forgive him this time ! Oh, do !" 
 
 He caught her to his bosom with a low, 
 passionate sob, and murmured — 
 
 "Little Maria ! little Maria !" 
 
 In an instant his sister was on her knees 
 by his side, the now frightened child be- 
 tween them. 
 
 ■ " Oh, forgive me !" she cried. " It can- 
 not, cannot be 1 Oh, my brother ! tell me 
 there is no bond between you and those 
 murderers ? Tell me you will protect my 
 husband T 
 
 *'As God is my Judge, Maria," he 
 replied, " I did not know that Master Des- 
 mond was thy husband ; I did know that 
 ye lived here. But I am awaited in Man-
 
 230 A Family Tree. 
 
 Chester, and I am the bearer of what was 
 intended to be the death-warrant of the 
 man with whom thou didst fly from thy 
 home, and of thy boy !" 
 
 She gave a piercing cry, and started 
 up. 
 
 You who are mothers and read this, 
 know whither her heart flew — whither her 
 faltering steps were about to take her. 
 Her impulse was to rush to the cot where 
 she had left little Hugh, to clasp him in 
 her arms, to make her bosom his shields 
 to die for him or with him. Why, even 
 now, the " man below,'' about whom 
 Cosmo had not replied, might have done 
 his deadly errand ! But as she rose 
 her brother caught her robe, and whis- 
 pered — 
 
 " I said ' intended.' " 
 
 '^ Not by thee?" 
 
 " God help me ! I cannot do it." 
 
 The beautiful, terror-stricken face sank
 
 ''Forgive Him this TimeT 231 
 
 on his hand, which she covered with kisses 
 and tears. 
 
 Little Mary, who had been clinging to 
 her mother, now turned again towards the 
 "poor gentleman," put aside the dank locks 
 which had fallen over his forehead with her 
 chubby fingers, and nodding wisely at her 
 father, said — 
 
 " He's good now/' 
 
 All this time Hugh Desmond had stood 
 by with folded arms, and a tempest in his 
 mind which crushed or scattered thought. 
 With amazement he saw the change that 
 came over his gentle, timid Maria. With 
 horror he listened to Cosmo's avowal of his 
 mission, and caught no more than his wife 
 had done the peculiar intonation which 
 marked the word " intended." 
 
 Had the young Italian come there and 
 said, " Master Desmond, my father has sent 
 me to kill thee, but I will not do his cruel 
 will ; nay, more, I will protect you and
 
 232 A Family Tree, 
 
 yours against all who may seek to carry it 
 out " — he would have heard him with the 
 calm dignity born of honest pride and 
 conscious innocence. 
 
 What had he done to be forgiven? 
 Stolen a noble maiden— but from what ? 
 From the arms of a cold, worn-out volup- 
 tuary ; from a life without a ray of love in 
 it ; from a compact whose main object was 
 to join some patches of insensate earth 
 together, though a tender heart were 
 broken in the act ! And for this he was 
 doomed to death! He, a free-born English- 
 man, was to be assassinated upon his own 
 native soil, because he had displeased the 
 Ribolini ! Small cause was there — view- 
 ing the position coolly, as we do now — for 
 gratitude to the chief assassin because he 
 was graciously pleased to sheathe his 
 dagger. 
 
 But the end did not come in this wise ; 
 nor was it the result of any prayer for
 
 ''Forgive Him this TimeT 233 
 
 mercy, or appeal to brotherly affection. 
 No ; Desmond had not stooped an inch, 
 until four baby words had laid the whole 
 fabric of hatred and revenge in ruins. 
 Four baby words — of which the object did 
 not know the meaning, but accompanied 
 by a mute appeal, of which the purport 
 could not be mistaken — turned the scale. 
 " Forgive him this time r 
 
 With other ways, but the same sweet, 
 sad, pleading look, she whom he had called 
 the angel of the house had stood between 
 him and his angry parent in the days of 
 his unloved youth. And this was h^r 
 child, pleading for him — to her ! This was 
 the new peace-maker ; and when her 
 solemn decision, "He's good now," was 
 lisped, there was no resisting. Pride, dig- 
 nity, hard thoughts, fierce resolves, went 
 by the board. Hugh Desmond broke down 
 utterly, fell upon Sweetheart's neck, and 
 sobbed like a child.
 
 234 A Family Tree, 
 
 " Master Desmond," said Cosmo, "before 
 I ask you to take my hand, and with it 
 the pledge that no harm shall befall thee 
 or thine through me, let me bare my hearty 
 and show thee that I am sincere. Per- 
 chance thou knowest the traditions of our 
 great houses ?" 
 
 Hugh assented. 
 
 " Good 1 Brought up as we are, it is a 
 hard thing to resist obedience to them; but 
 I did resist. I fought against my father's 
 command ; I fought against my own re- 
 vengeful feelings, which prompted me to 
 obey it. I knew not that my sister had 
 mated with a good man ; I knew not that 
 she was happy. Sometimes I thought that 
 any fate was better for her than that we 
 had prepared ; and again family pride — 
 aye, and love for her — embittered my soul 
 against the man who had saved her from 
 it. He had robbed me of her sweet com- 
 pany, as I thought, for ever. Will you
 
 ''Forgive Him this Time/" 235 
 
 believe me, good Master Desmond, when I 
 tell thee that all this time I, too, had re- 
 solved to do as this dear one did, and 
 marry out of the narrow circle within 
 which the laws of my race would confine 
 my choice ? 
 
 " Can I explain such inconsistency ? Not 
 I. But it will show how the first glimpse 
 of thy happiness destroyed the last drop of 
 poison in my mind. Had I but known 
 thee as my sister's husband, it would have 
 passed away long ago. Will you take my 
 hand now, Hugh Desmond ?" 
 
 Need I tell what followed ? 
 
 When Dick Earle returned, the spectacle 
 presented fairly took his breath away. 
 Cosmo had asked to see little Hugh, and 
 the two children were there, one on each 
 side, with his two arms round them ; 
 Sweetheart, on a low stool at his side, had 
 her face on the pillow touching his ; and 
 Hugh Desmond, with all the gloom out of
 
 236 A Family Tree. 
 
 him, sat looking on as though it were all 
 right. What could this mean ? Well, 
 there was no need to tell him all it meant. 
 The Viscount Cosmo de Ribolini was 
 Sweetheart's brother. 
 
 '' Oh, indeed !" was all Dick could say ; 
 and having said it, the honest fellow made 
 himself as scarce as the situation de- 
 manded. 
 
 So passed the happiest hours that three 
 
 out of that five had spent for many a year. 
 Night came on, and the children dropped 
 off to sleep where they lay; but no one 
 thought of moving. Sweetheart was the 
 first to break the spell. 
 
 What were they to do ? Should they 
 all fly together ? she whispered to her hus- 
 band. 
 
 Hugh looked at Cosmo, and shook his 
 head. There was cause for no hurry now, 
 he thought. Vincenti Delia Torre would 
 keep to his plan, and wait. As soon as
 
 y Forgive Him this TimeT 237 
 
 Cosmo was sufficiently recovered, he could 
 join his vengeful kinsman, and detain 
 him, on one pretext and another, until 
 they (the Desmonds) were well out of 
 danger. 
 
 " He " (meaning Vincenti) '^ cannot act 
 alone,'' he told her. " When he starts for 
 Manchester, it will be quite time enough 
 for us to leave this place." 
 
 This was arranged just about the same 
 time of night that Tom Stevens assured 
 himself, with a chuckle of satisfaction, he 
 had done his master good service by send- 
 ing those two travellers back upon their 
 road. 
 
 It was arranged to the satisfaction of all 
 concerned. It was only when he awoke 
 the next morning, with a clearer head, that 
 Cosmo remembered what Dick Earle had 
 done ; and even then he did not know 
 exactly what message had been sent. 
 He only remembered that, whilst half
 
 238 A Family Tree. 
 
 stunned and wholly dazed by his crush- 
 ing, Dick had asked where his friend 
 lived in Manchester, and what was his 
 name.
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 HOW THE SNARE WAS SET. 
 
 OOLED ! I told thee it would 
 be so/' sneered tlie man 
 called Marco, as his companion 
 knocked in vain at the door of the hovel^ 
 which, thanks to Master Tom's precise in- 
 structions, they had found without diffi- 
 oulty. '^ Fooled ! Did I not warn thee ? 
 By the Holy Virgin and all the saints, I 
 will be even yet with that young villain ! 
 Oh, thou mayest knock till night. Who 
 could live in such a place ? We have had 
 our ride for nought. A whole day lost !
 
 240 A Family Tree. 
 
 Body of Bacchus 1 If I only had him here I 
 A knave, a lying knave !" And so da 
 capo. 
 
 Marco was angry. He was angry to 
 begin with, and he got more so as he went 
 on. This was a mistake. The well-worn 
 formula of mingled triumph and reproach^ 
 *' I told you so" is effective in proportion 
 to the calmness of its application. Storm 
 it out with an angry stamp, and it isn't 
 of much use. Go on nagging with it as 
 Marco did, and its sting soon wears away. 
 But if you desire to render an ordinary 
 lord of the creation, who finds that you 
 were right after all, frantic, or to send 
 the average lady thereof, who finds that she 
 was wrong, into s. first-class rampage — 
 be moderate. No loudness, no repetition. 
 Assume a pensive expression of counten- 
 ance, slightly raise your eyebrows, and 
 with a slight wave of the hand, thumb 
 outwards, turn from the fatal spot.
 
 How the Snare ivas Set. 241 
 
 Vincenti Delia Torre never got angry — 
 or, at any rate, never showed anger. He 
 gave Marco a look from under his evil 
 brows, and half muttered, " Animal !" but 
 he left off knocking, and looked around 
 him. 
 
 The hovel did not stand on the road. 
 The patch of turf in front of it was cut up 
 by horse's hoofs, and there were chips of 
 wood and green twigs freshly cut, and 
 straw strewn about around the door. As 
 this was only fastened by a rude bolt, he 
 pushed it open, and found that the embers 
 of the fire were cold; but as he looked 
 more closely, something caught his eye 
 amongst the straw in a corner — a horse- 
 man's glove, and of Italian make ! He 
 came out quite satisfied. He had not been 
 fooled. 
 
 " Well, let us ride back," said Marco. 
 " Why waste more time ?" 
 
 "We have wasted none," replied his 
 
 VOL. I. 16
 
 242 A Family Tree. 
 
 kinsman. " They have been here. See !" 
 and he held up the glove. 
 
 " But have left, so what does it matter ?" 
 the other grumbled. 
 
 He did not like to be robbed of his " I 
 told you so." 
 
 '^ They have not gone far. Dismount, 
 good cousin, and be patient. I know what 
 has passed, as though I had seen it with 
 mine eyes." 
 
 " Indeed !" scoffed Marco. '' Hast se- 
 cond sight ?" 
 
 " It needs not that/' replied Vincenti, 
 quietly, '' to read marks so plain. These 
 footprints show that they have come here ; 
 this glove that they stayed here ; yon 
 twigs were cut when a litter was made to 
 carry our wounded kinsman to a neigh- 
 bouring house. In a short time some 
 one will return to tell us the rest. Be 
 patient !" 
 
 '^ A litter ! How canst guess they made
 
 Holo the Snare was Set. 243 
 
 a litter ? They might have been chopping 
 firewood." 
 
 " One does not chop firewood from green 
 boughs, to begin with. They made the 
 litter yonder, and then dragged it to the 
 door. Here are the marks ! The straw 
 was brought out to make a bed upon it. 
 Look down towards the road, and you will 
 see the tracks of the four persons who car- 
 ried it,'' 
 
 " Thou art a wonderful man !" sighed 
 Marco, now thoroughly subdued. 
 
 " Not so. Only a patient one. All 
 comes with patience." 
 
 "As the tracks are so clear, why not 
 follow them ?" 
 
 " I thought of that," mused Vincenti ; 
 "but — as thou art mounted, ride on a little, 
 and see how far they are clear, before we 
 decide." 
 
 They were plain enough on the turf, 
 which had soaked the rain of the previous 
 
 16—2
 
 244 A Family Tree. 
 
 night ; but this had quite washed them 
 out of the road. And so Marco reported 
 upon his return. There was nothing to 
 show which way the litter had gone — up 
 or down. 
 
 " Better wait," said Delia Torre. 
 
 And so they waited. 
 
 The hoveller, his wife, and the passer-by 
 whom Dick Earle had pressed into the ser- 
 vice, left Desmond's house with such a 
 meal under their belts as had not warmed 
 them for many a long day, and more broad 
 pieces than they had earned in any year of 
 their hard lives. The temptation to spend 
 part of their wealth was strong, and so was 
 the ale they had drunk. The men — as is 
 not unusual under such circumstances — be- 
 came sworn friends ; and as the stranger 
 was bound for SfcafPord, the hoveller, who 
 had forgotten all about his "shakes," would 
 not hear of his going alone ; and the
 
 How the Snare was Set. 245 
 
 woman — partly with, an eye to business 
 connected with a certain pair of shoes and 
 a kerchief for which her soul lusted, and 
 partly to see that her lord did not spend 
 too much upon himself — insisted upon join- 
 ing the party. 
 
 .They spent the night in town, and I 
 regret to say that the same influence which 
 had brought about that sudden friendship 
 dissolved it. 
 
 The men got very drunk, and parted 
 with mutual vows of vengeance. It was 
 nigh noon on the following day before the 
 hoveller had slept off the worst effects of 
 his unwonted potations ; and then they 
 jogged back, to the great delight of the 
 donkey, who had somehow been neglected 
 during these festivities. 
 
 '' More on 'em !" cried the hoveller, as 
 they came in sight of their dwelling. 
 *' Lord, if there's another accident, we're 
 made for life !"
 
 246 A Family Tree. 
 
 But his amiable hopes were doomed to 
 be disappointed. There was not another 
 accident — only two gentlemen who wanted 
 to know what had become of the victim to 
 the original one. Two gentlemen, sent 
 by the messenger who had passed, bound 
 for Manchester, one of whom was struck 
 dumb with surprise when told whither 
 the object of his search had been carried. 
 For once in his life Yincenti Delia Torre 
 was taken aback, and showed it. 
 
 " Is he dead ?" cried Marco, in Italian. 
 
 " No/' whispered the other in the same 
 language, " and I shrewdly suspect not 
 even hurt." 
 
 The speaker's thoughts ran with wile 
 and treachery, just as naturally as his 
 veins ran with blood. His creed was to 
 disbelieve everything that appeared to be 
 straightforward, and to seek hidden motives 
 for the simplest act. In a moment it flashed 
 upon him that he was being tricked. He
 
 How the Snare was Set. 247 
 
 asked if the foreign gentleman was aware 
 to whose house he was being conveyed, 
 and was told he did. More, that the 
 guide knew Master Desmond well, and 
 that they had all three met at StaflPord, 
 " The dotard has relented," muttered Vin- 
 centi, with a bitter curse. *' Fool that I 
 was to tell him so much ! But how has he 
 discovered the man of whom I wrote to 
 be Desmond ? Patience, patience ! let me 
 think." His thoughts ran thus : If the 
 foreigner who had been taken to Des- 
 mond's house were Cosmo de Ribolini (and 
 there could be little doubt of that), and he 
 were really disabled, he would never have 
 placed himself in the power of a man who 
 had such reason to fear him, if he had been 
 sent to execute the vengeance of his house. 
 Was, then, the accident a myth, and his 
 pretended hurt a pretext for obtaining an 
 opportunity to carry out that vengeance 
 single-handed? This might be. The cousin
 
 248 A Family Tree, 
 
 knew that his kinsman loved him not, 
 and might be glad to rob him of his share 
 in the long-cherished scheme of revenge. 
 And yet how could he count against non- 
 recognition by his sister before he could 
 act ? No ; this would indicate a reckless- 
 ness out of character with, the other details 
 of his plot. Was it possible that he did 
 not know Desmond as his enemy, and was 
 really hurt ? Marco was right, after all, 
 about the letter carried by Tom Stevens. 
 They should have obtained that at all 
 hazards. Well, Cosmo had sent for him, 
 at any rate, which proved he had no inten- 
 tion of acting alone. It also seemed to 
 disprove the idea that the veudetta had 
 been abandoned. 
 
 Repugnant as it was to the thinker's 
 nature to believe the facts presented to be 
 true and straightforward, his reflections 
 dislodged him from the false position his 
 own cunning had imagined. There was
 
 Holo the Snare was Set, 249 
 
 one thing, however, for which he could not 
 account — that meeting at Stafford. He 
 had carefully cross-examined the hoveller's 
 wife on this point. She, surprised at 
 Master Desmond's apparent unwillingness 
 to receive the sufferer, had noted well Dick 
 Earle's half-reproachful appeal, and re- 
 peated it verbatim, "Thotj wilt surely 
 
 NOT DENY HELP AND HOSPITALITY TO ONE 
 WHO SPOKE THEE SO FAIRLY." Not a WOrd 
 
 had passed between them on that occasion. 
 The guide must have referred to something 
 which had been said at Stafford, and if 
 there were any plot the guide was in it. 
 Musing upon this, the thinker was carried 
 back over the old ground, to shift as before, 
 and come round again to what he felt was 
 the key of the situation^the fair words 
 spoken at Stafford. Had they met there 
 by design ? Had they made friends ? If so, 
 why was Desmond unwilling to grant help 
 and hospitality to the brother of his wife ?
 
 250 A Family Tree. 
 
 If not, what could have been the cause of 
 that fair speaking ? 
 
 So pondered Yincenti Delia Torre, puz- 
 zling his brains with their own craft. It 
 may be good policy to set a thief to catch 
 a thief, but put a trickster to unravel some- 
 thing that has not got a trick in it, and he 
 makes a woful tangle. 
 
 Our trickster came to only one fixed con- 
 clusion, and that was, to communicate with 
 Cosmo, and find in the answer a solution of 
 the doubts which perplexed nim. He did 
 not tell Marco of those doubts, but only 
 consulted with him as to how they were to 
 get at their kinsman. 
 
 '* If I only had my beggar's dress here !" 
 sighed that worthy, 
 
 "'Twould not avail us. It never did 
 beyond the outer gate. We must reach 
 his chamber," said Vincenti. 
 
 " Or wait till he is well, and departs." 
 
 "Thou art improving, cousin mine. I
 
 How the Snare was Set. 251 
 
 have not preached patience to thee in vain. 
 That we can do if all other plans fail ; but 
 methinks I see a speedier way." Then he 
 turned back to the hovel, and called out 
 the woman. 
 
 " It would seem that our friend is in 
 good hands/' he said, " and that we can do 
 nothing for him, but would fain let him 
 know we came to his assistance, as he asked 
 us, and this without troubling good Master 
 Desmond, who has been disturbed enough. 
 Thou hast been rewarded for thy pains V 
 
 " Aye, and richly too," she replied, grate- 
 fully. " 'Tis a kind gentleman, and a 
 liberal." 
 
 ''And thou wouldst gladly know if he 
 be recovering from his hurts V 
 
 She assented. 
 
 *' What more natural that thou shouldst 
 show thy gratitude by going again to ask 
 how he fares T 
 
 " To bear thy message T
 
 252 A Family Tree. 
 
 '^ Well, not precisely," he said, opening 
 his purse and producing a gold piece. 
 *' Interested as thou art in his welfare, 
 thou mightest beg to see him. He could 
 scarce refuse so small a favour ? One does 
 not thank with money alone. But verily, 
 thou couldst bear my message at the same 
 time, though it be not the cause of thine 
 errand." 
 
 " Tut ! tut !" she exclaimed ; " speak 
 out, good sir. I am to deliver thy mes- 
 sage in secret — is that so ?" 
 
 He looked her straight in the face for a 
 moment, and then did as she bade him. 
 
 " Slip a paper I will give thee into his 
 hand, and this" (giving her the gold) — " is 
 thy fee. Bring back his reply, and it shall 
 be doubled." 
 
 "But I speak not his tongue, or he 
 mine/' said the woman. 
 
 "No matter; the reply will be 'yes* 
 or 'no.'"
 
 How the Syiare was Set. 253 
 
 Then on a leaf from his tablet he wrote 
 as follows : — 
 
 "Art thou my kinsman? Art really 
 hurt? Hast thou orders from Mantua? I 
 am near thee with Marco, and will he in the 
 wood behind the hovel thou hast left, every 
 day at dusk till I see thee. Wilt meet me 
 there as soon as thou art well enough ? Is 
 thy guide to be trusted ? Answer hy the one 
 word 'yes' or ' no' in English. 
 
 " ViNCENTI." 
 
 He rolled the paper into a ball, and re- 
 hearsed the business of giving it with his 
 messenger. She was an apt pupil. Then 
 he, too, fell to wondering how so quick a 
 woman could endure the life she led with 
 that sodden, sulky brute of a husband. 
 Let him wonder. Perhaps it suited her ; 
 perhaps she had no choice ; perhaps, with 
 three gold pieces of her own, she may 
 better herself. Who cares ?
 
 254 A Family Tree, 
 
 We know that in all classes, except, may- 
 be, the very highest, the women are more 
 intelligent as a rule than the men. It may 
 have been so, also, in the good old days. 
 
 By this time Cosmo de Ribolini had 
 learned from Dick all about the message 
 sent to Manchester; but as neither of them 
 knew that Desmond's servant was its 
 bearer, that Vincenti Porras and his com- 
 panion were on the road, or that Tom 
 Stevens had orders to provide an accident 
 for delaying them, the information did not 
 much derange the plan of the person most 
 interested. True, as matters stood, his 
 kinsman would not await him in Man- 
 chester. He would probably seek him at 
 the hovel, and he was devising some 
 scheme for detaining him there without 
 needlessly alarming his hosts, when the 
 arrival of the woman put quite a different 
 complexion on the affair.
 
 Holo the Snare was Set. 255 
 
 Poor loving Sweetheart, overflowing with 
 gratitude to those who had been of service 
 to her brother, at once acceded to her re- 
 quest to see and, as she said, thank him 
 for his bounty — the good, grateful crea- 
 ture ! 
 
 So the little ball of paper was slipped 
 into Cosmo's hand, and he read the first 
 words and the signature. His impulse was 
 to send for Desmond, and have the mes- 
 senger detained ; but luckily (as it turned 
 out) he checked himself He made some 
 excuse for getting Dick, who had come as 
 interpreter, out of the room for a few 
 minutes, and then he carefully perused 
 the missive, and gave the woman his 
 reply. 
 
 Half-way on her return, she met her 
 employer. 
 
 "Well," he asked, somewhat more eagerly 
 than was his wont, *' hast seen him ?"
 
 256 A Family Tree. 
 
 '' Aye, master." 
 
 "Alone?'' 
 
 " The guide was with him when I went 
 up ; but he sent him away." 
 
 " And then you gave him the paper ?" 
 
 "No, I had already done so." 
 
 " What said he ? His reply, quick ?" 
 
 " It was one word — * YesJ " 
 
 " Art sure — quite sure ?" 
 
 "Certain. He spoke quite plainly — 
 *yes.' I asked, to make certain, ^Yes?^ 
 and he said it again." 
 
 "Good! Thou hast done well. Here are 
 thy two gold pieces. Be silent, and they 
 will not be the last thou may est earn." 
 
 Good ! The news was excellent — much 
 better than he had hoped for. The man at 
 Desmond's was truly Cosmo de Eibolini ; 
 he was hurt, he had news from Mantua, 
 and would meet him (Vincenti) as he had 
 arranged. All was well, or the guide 
 would not have been sent away as he had
 
 Hoio the Snare was Set. 257 
 
 been. That little detail was all-convincing. 
 It showed that Cosmo did not trust those 
 around him ! All was well. 
 
 Having thought it out in this wise, Yin- 
 centi sought further information from his 
 messenger, and ascertained that, to the 
 best of her belief, the guide had not seen 
 Cosmo read the paper. After the first 
 glance at it he (Cosmo) had crumpled it up 
 again in his hand. Then he turned his 
 back, and — as she supposed — read it. Yes, 
 he was up, sitting in a chair. The lady- 
 had told her he was much better, and 
 would be out in a day or two. Did they 
 receive her kindly ? Oh, yes, particularly 
 the lady. And when she left, were they 
 equally kind ? 
 
 " Why not?" she asked, by way of reply. 
 " I had done them no harm, had I ?" 
 
 Signor Yincenti did not feel bound to 
 answer this question. He had heard 
 enough. 
 
 VOL. 1. 17
 
 258 A Family Tree. 
 
 He explained the position — according to- 
 his view of it — to Marco. 
 
 " We will go back/^ he said, " to the 
 place where we rested two nights ago. 
 We shall be quieter and less observed 
 there than at Stafford. Let me see. Thi& 
 is Friday. On Sunday, perchance, he will 
 be able to sit his horse. On Sunday, then, 
 I will return. What did I say to thee 
 about patience \ We have been anything 
 but ' fooled,' my good Marco !"
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 HUGH Desmond's shield. 
 
 OSMO DE EIBOLINI was, ot 
 course, unaware of the effect 
 which his sending Dick out of 
 the room had produced ; nor did it occur 
 to him that his kinsman, Vincenti Delia 
 Torre, could even suspect the possibility of 
 a reconciliation between himself and Des- 
 mond. 
 
 You must remember that Desmond's 
 name was not mentioned in that letter 
 which his father had shown him in Mantua. 
 The writer had only stated that he was on 
 
 17—2
 
 260 A Family Tree. 
 
 the tracks of '' the man." So far as Cosmo 
 knew, the clue had not yet been obtained. 
 He had been told nothing about the beggar 
 and the conversation overheard by Sweet- 
 heart. 
 
 Partly because Desmond did not wish to 
 further excite his patient, already deeply 
 moved ; partly because he saw no imme- 
 diate necessity to tell him all the truth ; 
 and a good deal because they had been so 
 happy together that night, that he had not 
 the heart to tell it — he kept silence. He 
 also was himself only half informed. Years 
 of miserable anxiety and suspicion had 
 made him taciturn, had shut him up in his 
 own thoughts and his own plans. He 
 .asked no questions. 
 
 As for Sweetheart, she was so confident 
 in her brother's ability to protect her and 
 hers, that if there had been a score of 
 Vincentis in the field, she would not have 
 feared them.
 
 Hugh Desmond's Shield. 261 
 
 The key to this unfortunate imbroglio 
 was the message sent by Tom Stevens. If 
 Cosmo had only mentioned that, all would 
 have come out ; but Cosmo kept hif^ own 
 counsel. Not for an instant did he repent 
 what he had done. He felt that he had 
 done right, and was quiet, happy, and con- 
 fident. 
 
 He respected, almost loved his sister's 
 husband. Not a hair of his, or his child's 
 head should be hurt ; but — here the 
 E/ibolini pride came in — they should be 
 protected by him, Cosmo. That was his 
 duty, his privilege — his alone, not to be 
 shared by any one. Desmond was a tender 
 spouse, a loving father, a brave and good 
 man. His reward was that he might wed 
 with a Ribolini and live ; but meddle in 
 the Eibolinrs affairs ? — never ! The stake 
 to be played for was his life and that of his 
 little son ; but he could not be permitted 
 to take any part in the game. This was
 
 262 A Family Tree. 
 
 to be played out in the family and by the 
 family. 
 
 So Cosmo kept silent about the message 
 to Manchester ; kept silent about the re- 
 turn of Vincenti and Marco ; kept silent 
 about his appointment to meet them in 
 the wood ; kept silent about every topic 
 connected with the past ; and, to make up 
 for such reticence, spoke so gaily of the 
 future, that his hearers began to treat their 
 danger as though it had existed only in 
 some nightmare, from which they had 
 happily awakened. 
 
 "When, thinkest thou, that I shall be 
 able to resume my journey?" he asked 
 Hugh Desmond, the morning after the deli- 
 very of Vincenti's message. 
 
 " In about a week." 
 
 " Oh ! less than that. See, how well I 
 can walk now." 
 
 " Thou hast no internal hurt, as I at first
 
 Hugh Desmond's Shield. 263 
 
 feared. 'Tis a simple case of bruising, 
 which at thy age passes off quickly. Thou 
 wilt know thyself when thy bones are fit for 
 the saddle." 
 
 " Would it not be well for me to essay 
 for a short distance a day or two before I 
 make my final start, and so get some of 
 the stiffness out of my limbs, and test my 
 strength ?" 
 
 "It would, indeed." 
 
 " Then I will try to-morrow/' said 
 Cosmo. 
 
 " I have need myself to ride abroad to- 
 morrow," Desmond replied. " Thou canst 
 bear me company part of the way." 
 
 " Nay, nay, brother mine," laughed the 
 other, " not so. I am just a little proud 
 of my horsemanship, and, with thy good 
 leave, will be the sole witness of mine own 
 awkwardness. I shall but take a short 
 turn in the pleasant English lanes around 
 thy dwelling. I shall go alone."
 
 264 A Family Tree. 
 
 Thus did he provide for keeping his 
 appointment with Delia Torre. 
 
 Now Tom Stevens had left at daybreak 
 on the previous Thursday, and would be at 
 the old mill with Gregory by some time on 
 Sunday. Desmond's original plan was to 
 meet them there with Sweetheart and the 
 children, to send Tom on in charge of the 
 latter towards London, and double back 
 with the young smith to meet, and, if pos- 
 sible, dispose of the enemy. The enemy, 
 thanks to Cosmo, had been already dis- 
 posed of Cosmo had confirmed what he 
 had whispered to Sweetheart on the even- 
 ing of their reconciliation. Yincenti and 
 Marco were at his orders. They could not 
 act without him. " Thou art quite safe,'*^ 
 he said ; " leave all to me." This was not 
 as satisfactory as it might be, but Desmond 
 was proud too, and did not press the sub- 
 ject. Nevertheless, he determined not to 
 leave it all to Cosmo. His kinsman might
 
 Hugh Desmond's Shield. 265 
 
 not obey him. The old scheme might have 
 to be followed, after all. 
 
 So early on the Sunday morning he 
 started on his mission, and towards the 
 cool of the evening Cosmo de Ribolini 
 went on his, making the same excuse to 
 Dick, who had volunteered his company, 
 that he had already given to Desmond. 
 Sweetheart accompanied him to the gate. 
 He stooped and kissed her ; and although 
 she was only his sister, the laws of the 
 haute ecole had to be observed. He 
 bared his head, spurred his steed, and 
 departed with a caracole, which looked 
 mighty pretty, but made his sore bones 
 ache again. Accustomed to the shorter 
 twilight of the south, he had miscalculated 
 his time. The sun was still high when he 
 reached the wood in rear of the hovel. He 
 dismounted, tied up his horse to a tree, 
 and was by no means sorry to stretch him- 
 self upon the soft turf near its shade. He-
 
 266 A Family Tree. 
 
 had not waited long before the sound of 
 jingling bits and the crushing of brambles 
 announced the approach of horsemen, but 
 not by the road he had come. " Here they 
 are/' he said, half aloud, and mounted on a 
 neighbouring bank to get a better view of 
 their approach. The foliage was so thick 
 that he could not see them till they were 
 close upon him, and then he knew that 
 they were not those he expected. There 
 were three riders instead of two, and the 
 foremost was Hugh Desmond. 
 
 His first thought was that he had been 
 •dogged, that his host mistrusted him, and 
 was acting the spy, but the genuine start 
 of astonishment with which the latter 
 reined up, checked the indignant remon- 
 strance which was rising to his lips. 
 
 Desmond, who was some twenty yards 
 in advance of his followers, waved them 
 back, and said in a low voice that trem- 
 bled with emotion —
 
 Hugh Desmonds Shield, 267 
 
 " Was it well, Signor de E-ibolini, to con- 
 •ceal from me that thou hadst sent for those 
 who compass my life ?" 
 
 " Hast met them V cried Cosmo, thrown 
 off his guard. 
 
 " No ; it is good for them that I have 
 not. 'Twas mine own servant who deli- 
 vered thy letter, and turned them back 
 on the road. And thou art here to meet 
 them r 
 
 "lam." 
 
 " It was for this, then, that thou didst 
 refuse my company. For this, the pretence 
 of testing thy strength ! Are all thy pro- 
 testations of this order ?" 
 
 " Good Master Desmond, bear with me," 
 said Cosmo. '' Trust me, I pray thee ; I 
 am acting for the best. This is my affair, 
 not thine." 
 
 " Not mine !" cried Desmond, pale with 
 suppressed anger. " Not mine, when it 
 touches my life, the life of my son, and the
 
 268 A Family Tree. 
 
 happiness of my beloved wife ! God's 
 truth ! not my affair I and the assassins 
 around my dwelling, and in league with 
 one who has passed in it as my friend t 
 We are three to one, Cosmo de Ribolini, 
 now, but stood I here alone, this should 
 show thee" (striking his sword hilt) 
 '• whose affair it is." 
 
 The rattle of steel brought the blood 
 into the young Italian's face, but there was 
 no time to quarrel. The others might ap- 
 pear at any moment. 
 
 " I swear to thee," he said, '' by all that 
 is most sacred, that I am thy true and 
 loyal friend. If I have deceived thee in 
 aught — have kept aught from thee, it was 
 for thy good. I say again, this is my affair. 
 For thy wife and children's sake leave it 
 to me." Then he told him hurriedly why 
 he had taken it upon himself, and what he 
 proposed to do, concluding thus : " We 
 have a wily adversary, good brother. He
 
 Hugh Desmond's Shield. 269 
 
 will not risk a personal encounter. If he 
 did, and was slain, what then ? Thy 
 danger is but postponed, not removed, so 
 long as my father is of the same mind. 
 Yincenti s death at thy hand would only 
 add intensity to the vendetta. Thou 
 wouldst not be safe, and I less able to help 
 thee. Leave it to me to meet guile with 
 guile, and if the time should come when 
 the knot must be cut with steel, my sword 
 shall be out with thine. As a noble, as 
 a knight, as a man, Hugh Desmond, I 
 pledge thee my faith that I am true to 
 thee." 
 
 "If thou art false there is no truth — 
 none. God help me !" said Desmond, 
 pressing his outstretched hand. "I have a 
 packet for thee." 
 
 " For me T 
 
 *' 'Tis addressed to Signor Pietri — the 
 name thou didst assume. There was a 
 messenger for thee at Manchester."
 
 270 A Family Tree. 
 
 " Is he with thee here V 
 
 " No. Tis too long a tale to tell thee 
 now. Suffice it for the present that the 
 packet has fallen into my hands. You see 
 the seals are intact. The bearer was from 
 Martin Earle, of London." 
 
 " Something for his nephew, doubtless," 
 replied Cosmo, carelessly, as he thrust the 
 letter in his belt. " I pray thee leave me 
 now, and in an hour I will tell thee all. 
 From this hour there shall be no secrets 
 between us." 
 
 Another reassuring clasp of hands, and 
 Hugh Desmond rode quietly away with his 
 companions. 
 
 Twilight had now fairly set in, and yet 
 no Vincenti at the rendezvous ! He had 
 named no particular spot in the wood. 
 " Behind the hovel " were his words. Well, 
 the wood was deeper than broad ; he might 
 be waiting farther on. Cosmo was in the 
 act of mounting to make a reconnaissance.
 
 Hugh Desmond's Shield. 271 
 
 when lie thought of the letter, and half 
 drew it from his belt. The outside cover 
 was loose and a little torn. He could feel 
 that there was a sealed enclosure. This 
 satisfied him that Dick Earle must be the 
 person most interested, or why had the 
 goldsmith put on that outer sheet ? He 
 thrust it back again — he had something 
 else to think of now — rode right through 
 the wood, and had a good look around him 
 in the open. He saw no one. 
 But some one saw him. 
 
 Vincenti Delia Torre and his faithftil 
 henchman had also started early; and when 
 they came to an eminence known as Three 
 Tree Hill, from which a clear view of the 
 wood and the road which led to it from 
 Desmond's house could be obtained, he 
 halted, saying — 
 
 " Rest awhile ; we are before our time. 
 When he comes in sight — if he comes at all 
 to day — we can proceed."
 
 272 A Family Tree. 
 
 But Cosmo was already at the place of 
 meeting when he spoke. So they waited, 
 and saw an arrival, for which they were 
 unprepared, from an opposite direction. 
 Three horsemen passed them in the valley 
 below, and they recognized them all — the 
 smith who had been accused of stealing 
 Marco's purse at Manchester ; the mes- 
 senger who had overtaken them with Dick 
 Earle's letter ; and Hugh Desmond himself, 
 mounted on the very horse that messenger 
 had ridden from the hovel ! And they all 
 three went into the wood and stayed there. 
 
 Presently Cosmo rode out into the open, 
 looked about him, and returned. 
 
 *' The wood is full of them," whispered 
 Marco. 
 
 *''Tis an ambuscade !" muttered Vincenti, 
 between his teeth. 
 
 His favourite word, '' fooled," rose again 
 to Marco's lips, but his companion looked 
 so dangerous that he swallowed it. That
 
 Hugh Desmond's Shield, 273 
 
 person was, in good sooth, livid with rage. 
 All his former fears came back upon him 
 in a rush, intensified and cleared of doubt. 
 Cosmo was in league with the enemy. The 
 messenger he, Vincenti, had trusted, the 
 woman he had employed, were in the plot ! 
 The reflection that pig-headed Marco was 
 right, after all, and they had been fooled, 
 almost maddened him. They were fooled 
 — all but trapped. How many more men 
 might there not be in ambush ? It was a 
 trap — a palpable trap ! — but the snare was 
 set in sight of the bird, and the bird was 
 cunning I 
 
 Four to two were odds which it did not 
 suit Signer Vincenti Delia Torre to face. 
 They might be ten — twenty — to two for 
 aught he could tell ; for others might have 
 entered the wood from the hovel side, 
 where the road was low, and hidden by 
 the trees. 
 
 It was some consolation, though a poor 
 VOL. I. 18
 
 274 A Family Tree. 
 
 one, to think that he had not fallen into 
 the trap, and with this he rode back the 
 way he had come. If he had only waited 
 ten minutes more, he would have seen 
 three of the supposed ambush wending 
 their way quietly along the higher part 
 of the road towards Desmond's dwell- 
 ing. 
 
 " What now, kinsman mine ?" asked 
 Marco, with just a tinge of triumph in his 
 tone. 
 
 He got no answer; Vincenti was plunged 
 in thought. 
 
 " How was the moon last night T he 
 asked suddenly, after they had ridden 
 about a mile. 
 
 " There was hardly any. I was awake 
 with a raging tooth, and noted how dark it 
 was." 
 
 *' The darker the better,'' muttered the 
 other. 
 
 Cosmo de Eibolini rode back into the
 
 Hugh Desmond's Shield, 275 
 
 wood, wondering what had detained Vin- 
 centi. 
 
 " Perhaps he does not deem that I could 
 go forth so soon/' he mused, ''and will come 
 to-morrow. Well, there is no need for 
 further concealment with Desmond ; I will 
 come to-morrow. And yet, the twilight is 
 long. He may be here to-day. I will wait 
 yet a little longer." 
 
 For the third time his mind went back 
 to the packet. He would while away the 
 time by seeing what it contained ; there 
 was light enough for that. He tore off 
 the outer cover addressed to Signer Pietri, 
 and found within a letter sealed with the 
 family seal on black wax, and directed in 
 the grandiloquent style of the period : — 
 
 "To THE MOST Noble, the most II- 
 
 LUSTKIOUS AND MOST PuiSSANT SiGNOR, 
 
 The Comte de Eibolini. 
 '' With great haste," 
 
 18—2
 
 27Q A Family Tree. 
 
 " For my father !" he exclaimed aloud, 
 so great was his astonishment. 
 
 Then that strange instinct, presentiment 
 — second sight — whatever it may be, which 
 sometimes tells us the contents of a letter 
 (be they good news or bad), though it come 
 in a strange hand, or at a time when we 
 expect nothing — came upon him, and he 
 knew that his father was dead before he 
 broke the seals. 
 
 His father was dead — had died before 
 he had left Italy. The news had followed 
 tim from place to place, and he had always 
 missed it. If he had but waited two 
 short hours at Venice, what comfort could 
 he have breathed in Marcellina's ear ! 
 what hours of painful doubt, of mental 
 struggle, of self-reproach he might have 
 been spared ! His father was dead, and 
 his last articulate words were — " Stay my 
 son — tell Mm — I forgive — mercy f* In the 
 valley of the shadow of Death the proud old
 
 Hugh Desmond's Shield. Ill 
 
 man had relented. Some gleam from the 
 glorious face of Him who had said, " Ven- 
 geance IS MINE, I WILL KEPAY," had 
 struck his life's burden of hatred and 
 revenge, and melted it into pity. He had 
 passed away to seek for mercy, with mercy 
 in his heart and forgiveness on his lips. 
 There was a time when his son almost 
 prayed for his death, when he thought he 
 could receive the news without a tear. 
 He wept, now, bitterly. 
 
 You who have watched, half stunned, in 
 the silent house where the dear voica will 
 be heard no more, or have lingered beside 
 the fresh made grave, loth to go forth into 
 the world — alone ! strong man though you 
 be, you know some of the pangs he felt. 
 But a few days ago you could charge your- 
 self with no want of love, of duty ; but now 
 a flood of remembrances bursts upon you 
 amidst your tears. You recall many and 
 many an act done which might have given
 
 278 A Family Tree. 
 
 pain ; many and many an act omitted 
 which might have given pleasure : many 
 and many a kindness not half requited ; 
 many and many an opportunity lost of 
 paying a life-long debt of love. The best 
 of sons cannot escape such self-accusation, 
 and Cosmo de E-ibolini was not to be 
 counted as such. The dead Count had 
 never loved him, or, at least, had never 
 shown him his love. He had been harsh 
 and cold always. Yesterday Cosmo would 
 have told any one — more, he would have 
 convinced himself — that their estrangement 
 was his father's fault. Now he asked his own 
 conscience if he might not have anticipated 
 death in touching the soft spot in the old 
 man's heart, if he by his own conduct had 
 not contributed to make that heart so 
 stern ? 
 
 It was night before he roused himself 
 from these bitter reflections. There was 
 no remedy. The past was in his father's
 
 Hugh Desmonds Shield, 279 
 
 grave, but the future was his own. He 
 was the head of the house. The vendetta 
 was doubly dead. Desmond might pro- 
 claim his wife's lineage from the house- 
 tops, if he pleased, and Marcellina — sweet, 
 patient Marcellina — would be a Countess ! 
 He would bring her to England, until the 
 gossips were done with what would be 
 called his mesalliance, and how happy they 
 would be all together ! 
 
 Cosmo gave the letter from Mantua to 
 Desmond to read, and he broke the news to 
 Sweetheart, who was not unprepared for 
 it. Her brother had told her that their 
 father s life hung on a thread, and she had 
 had many a cry about him with the chil- 
 dren. With the children ! Ah me ! Here 
 again the whirligig of Time brings round 
 our punishment. In our young days we 
 hold parents to be a respectable sort of 
 people, useful and lovable in many ways, 
 but, as a rule, kill-joys, wet blankets, old-
 
 280 A Family Tree. 
 
 time folks, by no means up to the period 
 which we illuminate. But when we have 
 children of our own, we understand what 
 it may be to thwart and disobey. Sweet- 
 heart hugged little Mary to her bosom, and 
 prayed that she might never earn a parent's 
 curse. She cried with the children asrain 
 over the news of poor grandpapa's death. 
 They had never heard of grandpapa, and 
 wondered when she sobbed, " He forgave 
 me ! he forgave me at last, my darlings ! 
 but, oh, if he had only lived to tell me 
 so!" 
 
 That night the inevitable explanation 
 with Dick Earle was made. Poor Dick 
 had been in a maze for the last three days, 
 and when Tom Stevens came back he spoke 
 his mind roundly. He was no longer of 
 any use ; he saw that he was in the way. 
 Master Desmond had a servant who could 
 guide the Signer to Manchester. The 
 sooner he (Dick) went back to his busi-
 
 Hugh Desmond's Shield. 281 
 
 ness the better. But he was too good a 
 fellow to be treated thus, so Cosmo told 
 him all, in the presence of Desmond and 
 his wife. In a few days they would all go 
 to London together. 
 
 They were seated in a room at the side 
 of the house. The night was oppressively 
 hot, so all the windows (or rather the 
 shutters) were open, and they were grouped 
 near them to get the cool. 
 
 Now Cosmo's story — as matters stood — 
 could be told in a few words ; but to 
 make his conduct clear to Dick, the now 
 straight skein had to be tangled and dis- 
 entangled again. This took some time, 
 especially as the narrator desired, in self- 
 defence, to show that he detested the 
 mission on which he had started, and 
 thought that he should never have the 
 heart to carry it out even before he knew 
 that Desmond was its proposed victim. 
 He was very emphatic in impressing this
 
 282 A Family Tree. 
 
 upon Dick, and, just as he had concluded 
 this topic, he was interrupted by a cry from 
 Sweetheart. 
 
 "Listen!" she cried. "What was that 
 moving amongst the shrubs ?" 
 
 "A rabbit," Desmond replied. "The 
 place is overrun by them." 
 
 " They do come out on moonlight nights," 
 she said ; " but I never have seen them 
 when it is quite dark." 
 
 There was a general laugh at the " bull," 
 but Sweetheart persisted it was not a 
 rabbit. 
 
 " To satisfy thee, I will go and see if 
 any one be about, although I heard naught," 
 said her husband, rising. 
 
 " No, no, no !" she exclaimed, catching 
 his arm, " you shall not go." 
 
 " Why, Sweetheart, what ails thee ?" 
 
 " I know not — I — perchance it was fancy. 
 Oh, do not leave me." 
 
 " I will tell thee what ails thee. Thou
 
 Hugh Desmond's Shield, 283 
 
 art overwrought, mine own. The excite- 
 ment of the past days has made thee 
 nervous. But go to thy bed." 
 
 " Not till you come. Let me stay with 
 thee V she pleaded, drawing closer to his 
 side, and clasping his hand. 
 
 " Thou art cold — trembling," he said, 
 tenderly. 
 
 *' Tis nothing ! 'twill pass. Dear Cosmo, 
 forgive me ; I am nervous, and I know not 
 why. Do not notice me." 
 
 Desmond threw his arm around her, and 
 signed to Cosmo to proceed. 
 
 He took up the thread at the point 
 where he received Vincenti's message ; told 
 how he intended to hood- wink that worthy, 
 if he had met him at their rendezvous, and 
 read the letter reporting his father's death, 
 and the last words he had spoken. " So 
 now," he said, refolding it, " the vendetta 
 is doubly at an end, first, because, as head 
 of the house, I would not pursue it, and
 
 284 A Family Tree. 
 
 next, because it is plain, from my father's 
 last words, that " 
 
 " There again !" shrieked Sweetheart, 
 starting up. Desmond rose, too, and 
 folded her quivering form to his breast. 
 He stood with his back to the open case- 
 ment, she fronting it, with her face hidden 
 on his shoulder. His soothing words and 
 tender caresses made her lift her eyes to 
 his — her eloquent, loving eyes ! But as 
 they rose, horror filled them ! She dashed 
 him aside, and sprang between where he 
 had stood and the window, just as the 
 black night was scored with a flash of flame. 
 A loud report followed, and the Sweetheart 
 beat its last. 
 
 Hugh Desmond's shield was the tender 
 bosom of his wife 1
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 A BLACK NIGHT. 
 
 OR the better elucidation of what 
 had passed at Hugh Desmond's 
 Staffordshire house, and of that 
 which has yet to happen there, some de- 
 scription of it and its surroundings is neces- 
 sary. 
 
 The house was a long, low structure, 
 with a wing at each extremity, forming 
 almost three sides of a square. It was in 
 a room of one of these wings where Cosmo 
 told his story, and Sweetheart fell, pierced 
 by the charge intended for her husband.
 
 286 A Family Tree. 
 
 On this same side was a wood of some four 
 or five acres, and which had once extended 
 up to the walls ; but Desmond had about 
 two hundred yards of it cut down, so as to 
 give more light and air and less damp to 
 his dwelling, and made a path, which he 
 bordered with evergreens, to flank each 
 wing. A low stone wall separated the 
 " home close " from the road in front and 
 from the open country at the right side ; 
 the wood bounded it on the left. At the 
 back were the stables and some unused 
 farm buildings, which had fallen into 
 decay. 
 
 Although Marco, in his beggarman's dis-^ 
 guise, did not get beyond the outer gate, 
 he made a map in his mind of the premises. 
 He was sent to reconnoitre, and soon saw 
 his way. He would go down the wood, 
 creep across the cut margin where it was 
 narrowest, gain the laurel hedge, and there 
 watch. The chance which brought Sweet-
 
 A Black Night. 287 
 
 heart out, and led her to take pity on his 
 well-feigned distress, rendered these man- 
 oeuvres unnecessary, for that day at least. 
 They came in afterwards. 
 
 As the spy and his chief returned from 
 that other wood, where the appearance of 
 Desmond and Cosmo de E/ibolini together 
 revived Yincentrs suspicions, you may re- 
 member that he asked how the moon was ; 
 and being told that there was hardly any 
 on the previous night, replied, ''The darker 
 the better." He had made up his mind to 
 go to the house, see upon what terms Cosmo 
 was there, and act accordingly. He im- 
 parted this resolve to Marco, and was told 
 how it could be carried out. 
 
 They entered the wood from the far side, 
 fastened their horses to trees out of hear- 
 ing, crept across the cut margin where it 
 was narrowest, gained the laurel hedge, 
 and watched. Hearing voices, they crept 
 on to within four yards of the open case-
 
 288 A Family Tree. 
 
 ments of the room where Cosmo told his 
 story, and they listened. 
 
 Carefully as they moved, they made 
 some slight stir amongst the branches, and 
 this was what had startled Sweetheart. 
 The night was still, and every word that 
 the young Italian uttered reached them. 
 When, in reply to his wife's cry that there 
 was something moving amongst the shrubs, 
 Desmond proposed to go out and see if any 
 one was about, Vincenti set his teeth and 
 loosened his dagger in its sheath. He 
 dared not light the match of his pistol 
 then. 
 
 It was no part of his plan to execute his 
 hate and vengeance then and there. He 
 came to satisfy himself respecting Cosmo, 
 and he was satisfied. He had delayed the 
 death of Desmond in order that a nearer 
 representative of the house he had out- 
 raged should be present to confirm its sen- 
 tence — and he heard that A^ery one reprieve
 
 A Black Night 28f> 
 
 it ! He heard him tell how he had hood- 
 winked and outwitted him ! He heard 
 him read the letter which showed that he 
 was now the head of the family, and his 
 will its law. He learned what that will 
 would be — Desmond would be protected 1 
 Desmond was loved by the woman he had 
 stolen from him ! Desmond would be 
 happy ! 
 
 Rage filled his heart, and banished all 
 thought of prudence. Desmond should 
 die ! He stole back into the wood, struck 
 a light with flint and steel carried for the 
 purpose, lit the match of his pistol, and, 
 maddened at the sight of the caresses with 
 which his enemy sought to calm Sweet- 
 heart's fears, re-aroused by his leturning 
 steps, he levelled the weapon at his breast. 
 
 Poor Sweetheart saw the glowing match, 
 and the evil face which it disclosed. In an 
 instant, before he could recall the motion 
 of finger upon trigger, she threw her hus- 
 
 VOL. I. 19
 
 290 A Family Tree. 
 
 band aside, took his place, and died for 
 him ! 
 
 When she fell, her brother and Dick 
 Earle thought that she had only fainted, 
 frightened by the shot fired in the garden. 
 Their ears had not been accustomed to the 
 horrid hiss and thud of lead as Desmond's 
 were. He knew that she was struck when 
 she sank in his arms. 
 
 There was a cruel red tear on one dear 
 soft cheek that rested on his breast, a 
 purple spot on her delicate throat ; and 
 when he laid his hand upon her heart, and 
 found that it beat not, there came away a 
 crimson stain upon his palm. The wall 
 behind was scored with slugs which had 
 missed their mark ; but — ah, me ! — enough 
 had gone true ! 
 
 He knew that she was dead — shot 
 through the heart ! That no human skill 
 could save her ; that she was lost to him, in 
 the flower of her gentle life, for ever. And
 
 A Black Night. 291 
 
 yet he could do nothing — say nothing, but 
 try to staunch the blood which flowed from 
 her most trivial wound, with a pitiful, 
 *'0h, look! her pretty face! her pretty 
 face r 
 
 " God of mercies ! Is she struck ?" cried 
 Cosmo. 
 
 He lifted his hand, and showed the cruel 
 red spot upon it. 
 
 " But not to death ? Oh, say she may 
 recover !" 
 
 Desmond laid her face upon his bosom 
 and kissed it. 
 
 " She is dead," he said, looking up with 
 tearless eyes, and a calmness which terrified 
 his hearer. " Quite dead !" 
 
 The words were scarcely uttered, when 
 there arose from the garden a cry of '* Mur- 
 der I help 1" This aroused all but Des- 
 mond from the stupor which had held them. 
 Snatching up the nearest weapons, Cosmo 
 and Dick Earle sprang from the window, 
 
 19—2
 
 292 A Family Tree. 
 
 and ran in the direction whence the sound 
 proceeded. 
 
 Tom Stevens and Gregory, the smith, 
 had struck up a warm friendship, and the 
 former was doing the honours of the kitchen 
 when the shot was fired. On their ride 
 back from the old mill Desmond had told 
 them that his life was threatened, that his 
 wife and children were in danger, and so 
 accounted, without entering into details, 
 for having sent for Gregory. The two were 
 discussing this over their ale, and wonder- 
 ing who could have a grudge against so 
 good a man, when they heard the report of 
 fire-arms. In an instant they were on 
 their way to the house to see what had 
 happened, but as they crossed the yard 
 they perceived two dark forms gliding along 
 under cover of the evergreens., and making 
 for the road. They gave chase, and the 
 moment they were noticed, the fugitives 
 separated, the one turning back into the
 
 A Black Night 293 
 
 wood, the other taking to the open meadow. 
 This was a tall active man, and Tom (whom 
 chance had selected as his pursuer) would 
 have been easily outrun if accident had not 
 helped him. The tall man slipped over a 
 stump, fell, and before he could rise again, 
 Tom seized him by the throat, shouting, 
 '^Murder! help!" 
 
 He had no immediate reason to use the 
 first word ; he did not know that murder 
 had been done, but there quickly came good 
 cause to repeat his cry, for as they rolled, 
 struggling on the ground, Marco drew his 
 knife, and stabbed him twice in the lack. 
 At each blow he cried anew, "Murder! 
 helpl" and tightened his grasp upon the 
 assassin's throat, holding on with the tena- 
 city of a bull-dog, and the courage of a 
 hero. Cosmo and Dick Earle came up 
 only just in time. The knife was raised 
 for the third time, and now might and 
 strength had prevailed. The man was
 
 294 A Family Tree. 
 
 uppermost, and the brave boy's side unpro- 
 tected against the stroke. Cosmo seized 
 his wrist, wrenched the dagger from him, 
 and with its pomel dealt him such a buffet 
 on the head as laid him senseless for the 
 next twenty minutes. 
 
 ''Good lad! brave lad!" said Cosmo. 
 '' We have one of them safe ; now bind 
 him, in case he should recover, whilst we 
 follow the other." 
 
 But poor, faithful Tom, had done all he 
 could that day. He tried hard to rise, but 
 fainted with pain and loss of blood. At 
 the same moment they were joined by Gre- 
 gory, who reported that he had lost all 
 trace of the other man in the wood, where, 
 however, he had found two horses saddled 
 and bridled (evidently those upon which 
 the murderers had come), tethered there 
 whilst they were at their deadly work. 
 
 *' Secure the horses at once," said ready 
 Dick, " and so cut off his chance of flight.
 
 A Black Night. 295 
 
 On foot, as he is, we shall have him. yet. 
 Let us carry this poor boy to the house, 
 and then scour the country on his own 
 steeds. He cannot be far off." 
 
 "Quick, then," Cosmo replied. ''And 
 as for thee" (turning towards where Marco 
 
 lay) " as there is no time to bind thee, I 
 
 will make sure another way." But Dick 
 interposed. 
 
 "No, no! Would you slay a stunned 
 man? No, villain as he is, that were a 
 crime. Leave him to me. As soon as we 
 have carried in the boy, I will return ^ith 
 cords and secure him." 
 
 They found Hugh Desmond as they had 
 left him, on the floor of his now desolate 
 home, with Sweetheart's head upon his 
 breast. The same fixed look was on his 
 face, the same dull light in his tearless 
 eyes. Grief had frozen up even its own 
 expression. When they told him that he 
 must go and dress Tom Stevens' wounds,
 
 296 A Family Tree, 
 
 he said, '' Yes, yes, presently ; but do not 
 disturb her. Bring me a pillow/' 
 
 ** May we not carry her to her bed V* 
 whispered Cosmo. 
 
 '' As you will." 
 
 They led him away like a man in a 
 trance, but the sight of his servant's 
 wounds stung his stunned senses into life. 
 
 " Who did this V he cried, fiercely. 
 " Who has stabbed my servant V* 
 
 " I pray thee ask no questions now," 
 Cosmo pleaded, '' but bind up his hurts. 
 See how they bleed." 
 
 He obeyed mechanically, but his skilful 
 hands could not forget their oflfice. The 
 bleeding was staunched, and Tom re- 
 vived. His first words were, " Have you 
 got him r 
 
 ''Safe," replied Cosmo, "Even now 
 Master Earle is binding him." 
 
 '' And the other V 
 
 " Escaped for the present ; but we have 
 his horses, and — — "
 
 A Black Night. 297 
 
 At the word " escaped," Hugh Desmond 
 uttered a cry fearful to hear. Until now 
 the agony caused by Sweetheart's death 
 had crushed down all thought about her 
 destroyers. It came upon him with a 
 crash. 
 
 ''Who has escaped?" he cried. "Not 
 Vincenti ! Tell me it is not Yincenti if 
 ye would not drive me mad ! Which man 
 is bound ?" 
 
 *' The tall one ; but it might have been 
 he who fired." 
 
 " The instrument — the base, cruel in- 
 strument, if it were ; but not the insti- 
 gator," Desmond moaned. "Why stand 
 ye here when he is gone ? To horse ! to 
 horse ! and chase. But," he added in a 
 calmer tone, " let no one harm him ; leave 
 him to me. Stay him, hold him, if fate 
 wills that any of ye encounter him ; but, 
 an' ye love me, take not his life I Leave 
 him to me."
 
 298 A Family Tree. 
 
 Cosmo and Desmond each saddled his 
 own horse. Earle and Gregory, to save 
 time, mounted those which the latter had 
 found in the wood. There were thus two 
 steeds left behind in the stable. No one 
 thought of locking the door ; no one re- 
 membered that the children were left alone 
 and unprotected. 
 
 The report of the shot which made them 
 m-otherless awoke the poor little things. 
 They heard the shouts in the wood, the 
 trampling of horses in the yard, heavy 
 footsteps in the adjoining room, and won- 
 dered what it all could mean. They won- 
 dered more than all why mamma did not 
 come to quiet their fears. If a storm arose 
 at night, if a door slammed, if they awoke 
 frightened by a dream — the next thing 
 they knew was that her loving arms were 
 round them, and that her soft voice was 
 whispering between her kisses — " It is 
 nothing ; be not afraid, my darlings l"^
 
 A Black Night. 299 
 
 Why did she not come and kiss and com- 
 fort them now ? They dare not rise in the 
 dark, but sat up in their little bed, clutch- 
 ing each other, crying silently, too fright- 
 ened to call out, and asking in forlorn whis- 
 pers — " Oh ! will dear mamma never come ?" 
 Never, poor little hearts ! never again ! 
 The loving arms are cold — the soft voice 
 hushed for ever ! 
 
 Then the house became silent again, and 
 their fears subsided. The very fact that dear 
 mamma did not come consoled them after 
 a while ; " For,'' reasoned little Maria, "she 
 would be sure to come if she thought we 
 were frightened." 
 
 "Besides," said her brother, ''papa's 
 here now ; so there's nothing to be fright- 
 ened at." 
 
 He was not there. Besides themselves 
 there was no living creature in the house 
 save Tom Stevens, and he could not move 
 hand or foot to help them. The doors
 
 500 A Family Tree. 
 
 stood open — left so in their Lurry and ex- 
 citement when Desmond and his com- 
 panions rode away after the fugitive as- 
 sassin. All was dark and silent. 
 
 Placing Cosmo de Eibolini, Dick Earle, 
 ^nd Gregory on the outskirts of the wood, 
 Desmond entered it on foot, and searched 
 as thoroughly as the darkness allowed. 
 There was no one to be found, and, except 
 for a very short distance, no traces of the 
 man they sought. 
 
 *' He doubled, and made for the road," 
 said Desmond. " When Gregory cut him 
 off from the horses we will all gallop three 
 miles in different directions, and then re- 
 turn slowly in circles towards the house. 
 Earle, will you ride towards Stafford ? 
 Gregory, hie thee along the road to the 
 right ; I will take the open country this 
 way ; and you, Signer Cosmo, the opposite 
 direction. Oh, God ! for half an hour of
 
 A Black Night. 301 
 
 daylight ! Spare not your horses ! Gal- 
 lop oat so as to head him ! and then search 
 every gully and break on either hand ! 
 Away my friends — away ! An' ye see him, 
 shout — shout, and fire your pistols ! Take 
 him alive ! — kill him only in the last ex- 
 tremity ! He must not escape. Away \" 
 
 They understood, and obeyed him as one 
 man. East, west, north, and south they 
 sped. So well was the plan executed, that 
 before the lapse of one hour, three out of 
 the four had met and parted again, nar- 
 rowing the circle. All went well at first. 
 Just as day had begun to break, Earle and 
 Desmond heard the report of firearms, fol- 
 lowed by a shout from Gregory. They 
 made a dash for the spot (the heath where 
 Cosmo had fallen), and found, after a lono* 
 chase in the adjoining wood, that it was 
 only the hoveller, whom the smith had 
 sighted in the half light and mistaken for 
 their quarry. The poor wretch was snaring
 
 302 A Famihj Tree. 
 
 rabbits ; and finding himself ridden after 
 and (as lie supposed) shot at, took to his 
 heels, dived into the thickest part of the 
 copse, and gave his pursuers a good hour's 
 work before they found out their mistake. 
 It was a bitter disappointment. Not only 
 had it delayed their search at a most in- 
 opportune time, but it had left two sides of 
 the ground open for the escape of the real 
 fugitive. 
 
 Having thus diverted their quest, it was 
 only fair that the hoveller should be pressed 
 into its service. He was stationed on the 
 hill from which Vincenti de la Torre had 
 obtained such a good view of the surround- 
 ing country, with orders to keep a strict 
 watch, and shout as loud as his lungs would 
 let him if he saw any one but the hunters 
 moving. 
 
 It was now broad daylight, and they had 
 been six hours on horseback. They started 
 convinced that the assassin of Sweetheart
 
 A Black Night. 303 
 
 could not possibly escape them. They now, 
 one and all, began to wonder how they had 
 ever expected to catch him. 
 
 How often this will happen ! We start 
 with a sense of the hopelessness of our task, 
 and obstacle after obstacle melts away as 
 as we approach it. We begin full of confi- 
 dence, and difficulty after difficulty rises to 
 baulk us 1 
 
 So it was with Desmond and his friends. 
 The farther they rode, the closer they 
 searched, the more hopeless did their 
 effi)rts appear. What could four men do 
 in such a country as that, all hill and 
 valley on three sides, and a wide, rolling 
 heath on the other, full of holes and fern- 
 brakes, in which a dozen men could hide 
 even in daylight ? And this night was 
 black as Erebus. Only one of them knew 
 the lay of the land, and he made a great 
 mistake when he chose the open country. 
 He did so because on his good ^' Hafid" he
 
 304 A Family Tree. 
 
 was the best mounted. He did not con- 
 sider that the others might lose themselves 
 in wood and thicket, and pass over the 
 same ground without knowing it. All 
 went right at first, but in a short time the 
 well-laid plan became deranged. Cosmo 
 mistook his direction, and rode away from 
 the house ; Gregory got lost in a wood ; 
 Earle followed the same line which Des- 
 mond had taken ; and, as we have already 
 seen, the last three all packed together at 
 daylight. They had been six hours in the 
 saddle, and had not spared their horses. 
 Wearied men and jaded steeds turned back 
 to the Grange, where they found that a 
 further crime had been committed. 
 
 Dick Earle was the first to enter its 
 gates, and remembering the position in 
 which he had left the man Marco, went 
 straight to the spot. "If that blow on 
 the head has not settled him for good and 
 all," he mused, "i^^]iI].'^'be^^^scious by
 
 A Black Night. 305 
 
 this time." To his amazement neither man 
 nor body was there ! Had he slipped the 
 ropes ? No, but some one had cut them. 
 There they lay in a dozen fragments — clean 
 slashed through all their folds. He had 
 scarcely realized all this, when there arose 
 a piercing cry from the house. 
 
 Desmond had returned. Asleep beside 
 her mother's corpse he found his girl — the 
 boy was gone ! 
 
 So also were the two fresh horses. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 BILLING AND SONS, PRINTERS, GUILDFORD, SURREY.