A SINGED GLOVE.

A commotion, suppressed in outward manifestation, agitated Ste. Soure. Very little work was being done in the fields and vineyards. What work was done had little reference to agriculture.

Men hurried about, but were cautious not to allow it to be seen by anyone at a distance what their occupation was.

In a place like Ste. Soure, in a valley between precipices, nothing was easier than for a spy to observe all that was going on in a village. If on this occasion one commissioned by the Captain of the Free Company that occupied l'Eglise Guillem had stationed himself at a suitable point, he would have seen that Ste. Soure was alive, but would not have been able to distinguish what engaged the inhabitants.

He would, indeed, have noticed the peasants bringing together their faggots of vine-prunings, have heard the bleating of sheep that were being killed, and later, had the wind blown his way, have noticed that the air was impregnated with the odour of melted tallow.

That the people of Ste. Soure should be in a condition of more liveliness than usual would not have surprised him, after the event of the rush made on the place by the Free Companions, and the capture of some of the householders.

But no spy was sent to observe the doings of the villagers. The usual watch was kept from the eyrie of the Church of Guillem, but from it the village of Ste. Soure and the Castle of Le Peuch were not visible.

The sudden raid had so quelled the inhabitants that no danger was anticipated from that quarter. What was Ogier del' Peyra but a little Seigneur? So little that it was not worth while for any of the big men in the neighbourhood to sustain his cause. In those rough times the small men were pinched out. Only the great ones held their own. There was no security for any man who stood in independence, unless he were very great indeed. In an earlier age the soil had belonged to many hundreds and thousands of free landholders, who owed no man anything except a slight tax in money or kind to the Duke of Aquitaine or to the Count of PÉrigord. But that condition of affairs was past. The little freemen had been broken in pieces by the violence of the marauders, of the barons, by their own mutual quarrels, and nearly all had surrendered their independence into the hands of great Seigneurs in their neighbourhood; they had given up their freedom in return for assurance of protection.

Ogier del' Peyra, however, represented one of the few families which had not thus passed into vassalage. For that very reason he was viewed askance by the barons of the neighbourhood, to whichever faction they belonged; and as none of them were bound to sustain his cause, not one of them, as Ogier well knew, would draw sword in his behalf against so redoubtable an adversary as Le Gros Guillem, and would be still less inclined to advance him money.

Not only did Ogier know this, but the Free Captain knew it also; and, knowing it, thought it not worth the pains to observe the movements of the man he had plundered, and whom he despised.

One thing did Guillem regret—that he had not taken Le Peuch, the refuge and stronghold of the Del' Peyras; but just as Ogier knew his weakness and insulation, so had he accumulated precautions against attack. His fortress, or castle, was situated in a similar position to that of Guillem, at the head of a steep rubble slope, but it was stronger immeasurably than that of the "Church," for the cliff above it was vastly more lofty, and it was literally honeycombed with chambers. It was precisely due to the fact that the habitation of the family was in the rock, and of the rock, as already intimated, that they had received their name of Del' Peyra. Had not the villagers been completely taken by surprise when the Companions fell on Ste. Soure, they would have carried off their valuables, and taken refuge themselves in inaccessible places, and left only their empty houses to be ransacked by the freebooters.

Long exemption from molestation had made them careless.

It was customary with the robber bands not to devastate the hamlets and villages and farms in their immediate neighbourhood. They needed the daily supplies of food that the peasants could furnish, and they bought these, and maintained a good understanding with the peasantry. When they foraged it was at a distance. It was precisely because "l'Eglise" was so near to Ste. Soure that the villagers had not anticipated an onslaught.

Now, although the peasants on the opposite side of the river, who were under the shadow of the crags occupied by the routiers knew themselves to be safe, and found a market for their produce, yet they had no love for their tyrannisers. They were sufficiently shrewd to be aware that they were exposed to be plundered, their houses wasted, their wives and daughters carried off by other freebooters, or even by ordinary Companions-in-Arms, such as claimed to serve the French. The Counts of PÉrigord—who should have been their protectors—were leaders in violence, at the head of several lawless bands, and usually marched under the leopards, so that the ban of the French king had been launched against one Count after another, and he only returned to allegiance for a moment, to break faith at the first occasion. The Castle of Montignac, the headquarters of these countly scoundrels, lay high up the same valley of the VÉzÈre; and the ruffians of the Count passed up and down it, traversing the fields and villages continually. It was to them a matter of supreme indifference which crown was supposed to exercise authority and afford protection where they went, for neither possessed any real authority, neither afforded the smallest protection.

Ogier del' Peyra sat in the porch of the church issuing orders, and his son was by him.

All at once a child on the roof of the church cried out—

"I see—I see—seven men coming, and a lady riding; and I think one is our Petiton."

"What! our men!" exclaimed Ogier; and Jean ran to the roof of the church to look.

He was down directly after. "Father, there is no doubt of it. Gros Guillem's daughter is bringing them here."

"As a gift? Does he restore them free of ransom?" exclaimed Ogier. "If so we cannot proceed."

"I will run and meet them," said Jean.

The tidings spread like wildfire that the men who had been carried off were on their way home. Jean hastened to the river side and was ferried over.

"I have brought them!" said NoÉmi when she saw him. Her eye was flashing with pleasure. "See—they are all here."

"Did your father surrender them?"

She laughed. "I bought them. I paid the ransom."

"You! Where did you get the money?"

"See." She exposed her arm with the red cross. "I won my spurs. I robbed the Jew. Now you do not think so ill of me, say that." She leaned from her horse to look into his eyes.

He averted his face.

"I thank you for the men. I hate the deed."

"The man was but a Jew!" pleaded NoÉmi.

"And a robbery is but a robbery," answered Jean.

The girl bit her lips and frowned.

"This is what I get by that I have done, and I have ridden all night to gratify you. I asked my father. I entreated that the men might be let go free. He would not hearken. Then I did this. I could not get the men discharged in any other way. Let them go back," said the girl sullenly; "back into bonds and be served as was threatened. You are content so long as the Jew has his moneys."

"Not so. The men are free—they cannot go back. I had rather they had been freed by any other means."

"And by any other person—say it all!"

"I will not say that. There, NoÉmi," said the young man, laying his hand on the horse's neck, "I know you meant kindly and right by us. It is not your fault; it is the fault of your blood; it is the fault of the times that you have gone about it in a wrong way."

"There was no other way."

"I do not say that. I was going to Bergerac to raise the money there."

"And pawn your inheritance to a Christian usurer who is worse than a Jew. You have your men, you have your land—be content. If wrong is done, I did it." NoÉmi abandoned her horse and entered the ferry-boat with the men and Jean.

The joy, the tears, the passionate affection with which the recovered men were welcomed, clung to by their wives and children and friends, moved the girl, and her cheek grew pale and her eyes filled. Jean observed the emotion and said nothing to her, but to himself he breathed: "She is not heartless! The good is not all dead in her."

Some of the women, supposing rightly that the men owed their release to NoÉmi, but not knowing who she was, came to her, took her hand, kissed it, knelt and put to their lips the hem of her skirt. She was abashed, and shrank back.

"You shall see," said Jean. "I will show you from what you have saved these poor fellows!"

He led her into the cottage of the Rossignols, and she remained silent, apparently cold, looking at the crippled man.

"Can you sit up?" she asked, after a long pause.

"Sit up—yes," he said, and moved his elbow and heaved himself up; "but it opens the wounds again."

"And—can you put your feet down?"

"Feet; I'll never do that more."

"Nor stand?"

"God help me! Never stand before man, never kneel before God. I'm a young man; I'm five-and-twenty, and have got three children. I'll never do aught but lie as a log all the years I have to live!"

"There is a trifle for you," said NoÉmi, putting money into his hand. "I would I had more. Hush! I cannot bear that!"

The poor woman, still half distraught, now worked to further excitement by the return of the seven men safe and sound, while her own husband lay in irrecoverable wretchedness, broke into a storm of curses against Le Gros Guillem, and of blasphemy against God. It was more horrible to hear her than to see the man, who bore his lot not so much with patience as with stolidity.

Then in came Ogier del' Peyra.

"So," said he, "you have released my men! Did Le Gros Guillem let them pass out of his hands for nothing?"

"I paid him the hundred livres," said NoÉmi, speaking with difficulty. Something was in her throat choking her.

"Then," said Ogier, "we owe him no debt?"

"None at all."

"And you are returning there—I mean to him—to the Church?"

"I go to see him again."

"What debt of gratitude we owe is to you—not to him?"

NoÉmi nodded.

"Then, let me say this: Do not stay at the Church."

"I am not going to stay there. I shall but say farewell to——" the girl hesitated, looked at the crippled Rossignol, at his crazy wife, and concluded her sentence in an undertone—"to him, and then away to Domme."

"It is well. Mark my words. Do not stay there—not a night—not a night."

"Why so?"

"Why so? Do you ask that? Is not the wrath of God hanging as a thundercloud over that rock? Is it not full charged with lightnings? When it bursts will it spare the innocent? Will it not involve all in one sudden destruction? Mark my words: do not tarry there—no, not an hour. Your men who came with you are here. They are at Le Peuch, and ready to attend you on your return. Do not tarry. Take counsel. L'Eglise de Guillem is no place for innocent maidens. It is no church where are holy thoughts and devout prayers—it is the Church of the Foul Fiend, and the mouth of the bottomless pit yawns there."

"I thank you," said NoÉmi. "I know what it is. I am not going to tarry there."

"There is one favour I ask of you," said the old man. "It is to take a message from me to—to the Big Guillem."

"I will take it."

"Tell him that when one gentleman is about to do the other the favour of a visit he sends a notice that he is coming. That is true courtesy. He forgot to do that to me. I was not ready to receive him with hospitality. Now, render me the grace to hand him this."

Ogier extended to the girl a leather glove singed by fire and the ends of the fingers burnt off.

NoÉmi hesitated to take it.

"Do not fear," said the old man; "it will not hurt you. It is but a token. Your fa—I mean Le Gros Guillem, will accept the courtesy. Take it, and go."

An hour later NoÉmi was in the Church of Guillem and before her father.

Somewhat hesitatingly she held out to him the singed glove.

"The Sieur del' Peyra sends you this," she said.

Le Gros Guillem took the glove, threw it on the table, and burst out laughing.

"The mouse defies the lion! Good! This is good! I thank you, NoÉmi, for bringing me this; it is a right merry jest. I drink to his visit! May he come speedily."