A NIGHT RIDE.

When Jean del' Peyra with his father and escort arrived at the point opposite the house of the ferryman on the Dordogne he shouted for the boat.

Night had set in, but the moon would rise in an hour; in the meanwhile some light lingered over the sunken sun, and the stars were shining faintly.

The river gliding on in rapid descent, but without rush and coil, reflected the light above. It was as though a heaven of sparks seen through tears lay at the feet of Jean as he stood and waited in vain for the ferry.

He was vexed at the delay. Time was speeding along. His father's condition made him uneasy. The old man was singularly reticent and stolid; he expressed no satisfaction at his release.

After waiting and renewing his shouts to no purpose, one of the men said—

"There is a wedding in this ferryman's wife's family. I have a notion that he may have gone to the merrymaking. It is not often that there are passengers at night that need his punting-pole."

"We must try the ford," said the other.

"Where is that?" asked Jean, impatiently.

"Further down."

"Then lead to it immediately. We have already squandered too much valuable time."

The party now descended the river-bank till the spot was reached where the Dordogne could be traversed without danger by the horsemen.

The beasts went in. There had not been much rain of late, consequently the ford was passable. The water, however, surged up the leg when the horses had entered to their girths.

Then, all at once, Ogier del' Peyra laughed.

"What is it, father?" asked Jean, startled.

"It is not a vision. I am not asleep!"

The old man had been oppressed with fear, lest what he went through was a phantasm of the brain, and lest he should wake to the hideous reality of a living entombment. The swash of the cold water over his foot, up his calf, above his knee, was the first thing that roused him to the certainty that he was really free.

Without difficulty and danger the little party crossed the river; they ascended the flanks of the great plateau and passed at once into oak woods. Thence, after a while, they emerged upon a bald track, where there was hardly any soil at all, and the whole region seemed to be struck with perpetual hoar-frost. The hoe, even the foot turned up chalk-flakes. Nothing could grow on so barren a surface.

The moon rose and made the waste look colder, deader than under the starlight.

Suddenly shouts were heard, and at the same moment before the little party rushed an old grey wolf. As he passed he turned to them with a snarl that showed his fangs gleaming as ivory in the moonlight. He did not stop—he fled precipitately; and next moment from out of a dell rushed a troop of men armed with pikes, pitchforks, and cudgels, attended by a legion of farm-dogs yelping vigorously.

The little party drew up. The moon gleamed on the morions and the steel plates sewn on the buff jerkins, and black to westward on the white causse [8] lay the shadows of horses and men.

A portion of those pursuing the wolf halted. "Haro! Haro!" shouted one man. "Here are human wolves, the worst of all! Let us kill them before we run the other down."

In the clear moonlight they had seen the crosses of the routiers on the arms of the two men sent from Domme. In a moment the party was surrounded, and the two freebooters to protect themselves drew their swords.

Jean pushed forward. "My friends, do you not know me? We are the Del' Peyras, and my father is but just released from bondage. I am taking him home."

"We will not hurt you, Messire Jean," said a peasant. "But these fellows with you—they are beasts of prey. They have killed our men. Stand aside, that we may knock them off their horses and then beat out their brains."

"You shall not do this."

"Why not? They are brigands, and not fit to live."

"They are under my protection."

The peasants were ill satisfied; having felt their power they had become impatient of all restraint on it.

"Look here," said Jean, "my honour and my father's are engaged for these men. Do not force us to draw our swords on their behalf."

"How do you know but that they will fall on you?"

"They dare not," answered Jean.

"I would trust a wolf rather than one of these. Come on!" The last address was to his fellows.

Then those who had halted turned and ran in the track of such as were pursuing the wolf.

What Jean del' Peyra had said was true enough. The two men attending him would not dare to commit an act of treachery on the way to Ste. Soure. He and his father were safe till NoÉmi was restored.

Jean spoke to his father. The old man was silent as he rode; now he roused himself as from a trance to answer Jean.

"What did you say, my son?"

"Father, we must push on at a quicker pace."

"I cannot push on—I want to go to sleep."

"To sleep, father?"

"I am falling from my horse with fatigue. I must get off. I must lie down. I have not had my proper rest."

Jean was dismayed; time was slipping along, the moon describing her arch in heaven; he must reach Le Peuch before daybreak, and now his father asked for a halt. It was true that he had allowed time for resting the horses on the way, but how long would the old man require for his repose? The strain on his nerves, the horror of the darkness and expectation of a lingering death in the vault, had been so great that a reaction had set in, and he was unable to keep his eyes open.

"Father," said the young man, "you cannot tarry here on the open causse, we must get on, into the coppice, to a charcoal-burner's lodge. There is one at no great distance."

A few minutes later Jean looked at his father. The old man had let fall his bridle, his head was sunk on his breast; in another moment he would have dropped from his saddle.

The youth called to him, and Ogier started and said:

"I am coming—directly."

In another second he was again asleep.

It was needful to dismount and make Ogier walk. So alone could he be kept awake. Half a mile distant was the charcoal-burner's heap, and a rude cabin of branches beside it.

One of the routiers led Ogier's horse. The old man became angry and irritable at being forced to walk. He scolded his son, he complained that he was badly treated; in vain did Jean explain that he desired him to go on but a little way. The Seigneur stood still, and said he must sit down—he could not, he would not proceed.

Then Jean poured the rest of his flask of spirit down Ogier's throat, and said peremptorily, "You shall come on, whether you will or no."

The old Seigneur obeyed, grumbled, and in a few minutes was at the charcoal-burning station, and had flung himself on a bed of fern in the hut, and was asleep almost as soon as he had cast himself on the bracken.

The charcoal-burner recognised Jean del' Peyra and saluted him respectfully, but looked askance at the two routiers.

"Have you seen or heard anything of the hunt?" asked the collier. "My mate has gone with the rest after the wolf. You see that grey beast has already carried off three children. Yesterday it was Mascot's babe—and now all the country is up; and they are going to run the wolf down. There is a ring formed round the causse.They lured him with a dead sheep. It is to be trusted they will kill him."

Jean said a word or two in reply. He was very uneasy. The heaviness with which his father slept showed him that he was in no condition to be roused at the end of the hour and made to remount. Ogier's strength was exhausted, and this was not to be wondered at, considering what he had gone through.

Jean spoke to the collier, and explained to him that he proposed letting the old man remain where he was and sleep his full. He himself must ride on with his companions, and he would return in the morning for his father.

Meanwhile the routiers had drawn aside and were conversing in a low tone.

"What say you, Heliot? The old fellow will not ride on."

"Then one of us must stay, Peyrot," answered the other, "and the other proceed with the young one."

"Why not finish them at once?"

"You fool! We cannot—we must recover the demoiselle first."

"That is true—I will stay—you ride forward."

"It is one to me which I dispatch," said Heliot. "You can remain, Peyrot, and it is well for us that the Seigneur has broken down."

"Why so?"

"Because we should have found it difficult to lay hands on them at Ste. Soure or at Le Peuch, among their own people."

"There will be Amanieu and Roger."

"Yes—Amanieu and Roger; but all depends—if there be only women about the thing will be easy enough, but if men be there in arms, I do not see how we could do it."

"But now——"

"Exactly—now all is coming smooth to our hands," said Heliot. "For the young Seigneur must return hither to fetch his father—and on the Causse, here among the coppice, away from all habitations, we can dispatch them easily."

"I will kill the old man at once—as soon as you have ridden on," said Peyrot.

"As you like—but you cannot reckon on the collier. He is a big man. If you kill him first, well and good; but if he be on the alert, and you note how suspiciously he looks at us, then he may escape and run and give the alarm, so my sword will be prevented taking the fresher blood of the young Del' Peyra."

"Then what would you have me do?"

"Remain here. Disarm the suspicions of the charcoal-burner. Keep near the Seigneur, especially in the morning. If he be awake, be at his side; if asleep, watch by his bed. The collier must attend to his charcoal. When I draw near with the demoiselle and Amanieu and Roger, and the young man, then cut him down and take his head. I will do the same to the youth."

Presently the voice of Jean was heard summoning them to mount. His impatience would not endure a longer delay.

Peyrot le Fort came up and said: "I am not going further."

"Not coming on? You must."

"I cannot; my horse is lame."

"Lame! I did not observe that as we rode along."

"You had no eyes save for your father."

"If lame, of course you must stay. We cannot—we dare not linger here longer. Tarry with my father till we return."

Then Jean went into the booth of the charcoal-burner and looked at his sleeping father. Within was dark, and accidentally he touched the old man's foot. At once Ogier started into a sitting posture, and cried out, "Yes, yes, Guillem! The fourth time—I shall not forget!"

Then he threw himself back, and was sound asleep again.