THE RING.

NoÉmi could not sleep that night. She sat in her rocky prison looking out over the valley of the VÉzÈre at the distant landscape bathed in glorious moonlight. Opposite Le Peuch the rocks are not precipitous; there is a falling away of the plateau into soft undulations and stages, rounded in the wood and sombre in their mantle of trees.

The moon was full—so bright that it eclipsed every star save its attendant Venus; the whole sky was infused with light, the darkness of the deep blue turned to grey. The VÉzÈre gleamed as a plate of molten silver below.

The river passed with a sigh rather than a murmur. How white, dazzling white, those cliffs must seem facing the moon, standing up like gigantic horse-teeth! The moon smote in at the window where sat NoÉmi. It bathed her face, her arm that was raised to sustain her chin.

How glorious was the world! how peaceful! how happy! Only man, with his lust of rapine, his love of violence, transformed it into a place of torment. What if there were no parties—one English, the other French—but all this fair land reposed under a single sceptre! And what if that one sceptre controlled evildoers, put down lawlessness, and, extended over the land, bid it rest! What if all evildoers were rooted out, and first among these Le Gros Guillem!

Below in Ste. Soure was the sound of a human voice, of a woman singing to her child that wept and would not sleep. NoÉmi could not hear the words, but she knew the air, and with her lips murmured—

"Moon, moon! gloriously bright! If there were two I would give thee one! I would give thee one—thee! thee!"

To whom would she give the moon if there were two, and one were at her disposal? The mother would give it to her babe because her whole heart was for that child. And she—NoÉmi—to whom would she give the moon—to whom?

Was she not going to give something better than the moon—even her precious life?

Yes; not for a moment did she waver in her resolution. If Jean del' Peyra did not return on the morrow by first sun-peep she would cast herself down—and what matter? Would life be worth a rush to her when she knew that Jean was dead? Dead he would be, if he did not return—dead, along with his father—

"Life! life! precious life! If I had two I would give thee both!"

The night passed slowly, and still NoÉmi sat at the opening in the rock. The moon had mounted high in heaven and sailed down the western sky. It no longer peered into the rock-chamber, no longer flooded her form as she sat motionless at the opening.

Her brain had no rest. Thoughts turned and twisted in her head. Again and ever again she asked whether for her sake her father would yield up his prey—sacrifice the opportunity offered him of putting his foot down at once on and crushing the Del' Peyra family in the persons of father and son together. She knew the implacability of his temper, the ruthlessness with which when offended he pursued his revenge to the end. Dear she might be to him, but was she dearer than vengeance on such as had humiliated him as he had never been humiliated before? The air became raw and chill, with that rawness and chill which precede dawn.

NoÉmi rose and went to the door and looked across the chasm to the guard-room, which, it will be remembered, was an excavation in a rocky buttress. Holding the jambs she looked and listened. She could hear no sound. Amanieu and Roger were asleep. They had not been disturbed during the day, and in confidence that no danger menaced, they had cast themselves on the bed and slept. Still holding the jambs, she leaned forward and looked down. Below all was dark. The moon was behind the hill, and its shadow lay black along the slope. There was so much light in the sky that she was able to distinguish in the depths masses of white rock, lying about faintly discernible like high up vaporous white cloud in a summer sky—rocks there on which her head would dash and her limbs be broken within a few hours, unless Jean and his father appeared—white rocks there that would be splashed with her blood. If Le Gros Guillem would not yield up his victims this would be the end of her young life. To him she would, she could not return. Her honour—her word was engaged—here she would perish.

The night was chill, she drew a mantle about her, and resting her head against the stone jamb of the window, looked out dreamily—and slipped into unconsciousness, to start to full life and activity of thought at a sound, the whistle of Roger or Amanieu in the guard-room rock.

These men were awake. Day was broken. In the east the sky was white.

The church-bell began to toll for Mass. From her window she could see the village. The hills opposite were black, hard as cast-iron against the whitening sky. A halo already stood over the place where the sun would mount, and a cloud high up was shot with gold. NoÉmi was shivering with cold. She rose and paced the chamber, but ever and anon returned to the window to look out. The white light was changing to amber, the sun was at hand.

Roger was carolling merrily, and smoke issued from the guard-chamber. The men were lighting a fire whereat to warm themselves, and perhaps do some cooking for their morning meal. In the cold meadow by the water-side, where lay a whiteness like a snow, a peasant was visible, turning the glebe with his plough fastened to the horns of a pair of oxen.

She paced her chamber faster. She could not overcome the shivering that pervaded her. The cold had entered the marrow of her bones, and with it her heart turned sick. Where was Jean? Was he in the oubliette? Had he been cast down on the body of his dying father?

Suddenly NoÉmi stood still. Painted on the rock opposite the window was a saffron spot of light. The sun was risen.

"It is all over!" she said, and went to the door.

There she uttered a cry—a cry of joy and release.

Along the surface of the rock ran Jean towards her. He leaped on the threshold, and she caught and drew him in with both hands.

The chill had gone from her. A rush of glowing life swept through her arteries and suffused her cheeks.

"Saved!" she gasped. "Oh, Jean, is it well?"

"I am but just in time!" he answered. "All is well. I came on—my father is behind, too tired to proceed at my pace. Oh, NoÉmi, NoÉmi——"

They held hands, they could neither speak more words. Her eyes filled with tears, and then she sobbed.

Jean was moved. "NoÉmi," he said, "I shall never, never forget what you have done for us."

The girl speedily recovered herself.

"I must back to Domme," she said. "My task is done. You did not say that I had surrendered myself?"

"No. I let Le Gros Guillem think that we had captured you. But it is with me as with you. I must be back to my father. There is a fellow come with me—called Heliot, and with my father is Peyrot le Fort."

"The worst—the most treacherous ruffians there are!"

"They can do no hurt. At all events, till you are restored."

"From that moment their hands are free."

Jean became grave for a moment. But his was an honest nature, not prone to mistrust, even in the midst of the lawlessness and falsehood of the times.

"Ah, bah!" said he. "I can defend myself!"

"Then let us start immediately," said NoÉmi. "I would that you had not to come back with me. I would your father had not been left with Peyrot le Fort."

Jean went into his father's castle. He ordered two men-at-arms to attend him. Roger and Amanieu were as well to accompany the Captain's daughter.

In less than an hour all were ready to start. A breakfast was hastily snatched, and Jean's horse, as well as that of the routier, was given water and corn.

The band of men that left Ste. Soure consisted now of Jean del' Peyra, with his two men mounted, also of NoÉmi, attended by three of her father's routiers. The men whom Jean had taken with him as attendants were not accustomed to riding; they could handle a pike, but had not been called to service on horseback, and this became speedily evident, for on descending a hill which was rough with chalk nodules and flints, one of them let his horse fall, and himself rolled some way down. The beast was injured and the man bruised. To Jean's annoyance he was not only detained, but obliged to leave the fellow behind. He was engaged for some minutes examining the horse's knees and satisfying himself that the brute was not in a condition to go further.

When he rejoined NoÉmi she said to him in a low tone—

"Let the men ride on; I have a word to say to you."

Jean slackened pace and waited till a sufficient distance separated them from their attendants. Then she said: "Treachery is intended. Heliot has been working Amanieu and Roger. Amanieu says he will do nothing; observe him now. He has thrust his hands into his belt; that means that he will neither serve Le Gros Guillem nor Del' Peyra, but let the others do as they list. As for Roger, he has pretended to agree, and he has cautioned me. He does not know particulars. Heliot would not trust him—he only sounded Roger."

"The fellow shall at once be disarmed," said Jean, and rode forward. The routier was summoned to deliver up his sword, and seeing that he could obtain no assistance from his former comrades, sullenly surrendered. He was then allowed to ride on with the rest, but with his hands bound.

In the meanwhile the other routier had been spending the remainder of the night by the charcoal-burner's pile. He found the peasant churlish and indisposed for conversation, wary, and watchful of all his movements. Now and again, when the collier was engaged on his heap, Peyrot stole into the hut to look at the sleeping Seigneur, but immediately was followed by the burner with his pronged fork.

"Why do you always run after me?" he asked churlishly.

"Because I know that such as you purpose no good."

In the morning the old Seigneur awoke, and came forth. He said nothing, but as he looked at the collier, who was eating brown bread, the man concluded he was hungry, and readily shared his breakfast with him, but absolutely refused to break bread with the rover. Peyrot was hungry, and irritated because he was not given the opportunity of executing his intention. He would have attacked the collier but that he feared him; the man was tall, muscular, and on the alert. His black face disguised his feelings, but his eyes flashed with a saturnine light at every suspicious movement of the man-at-arms.

"They come! they come!" shouted the charcoal-burner, starting forward.

"They come!" echoed Peyrot, and at once he had his sword out, and had struck at Ogier from behind. The blow would have been fatal had not the old man worn Le Gros Guillem's jerkin lined with ring mail. In a moment Peyrot was caught by the fork of the collier, round the throat, under chin and ears, was flung backwards and pinned to the ground.

"Haro! help all! I have the wolf!" yelled the man, and from out of the scrub poured the peasants returning from the chase.

They had been so far successful that they had killed the male wolf and the cubs, but the dam had escaped them. They were exultant, excited by the hunt; they carried the beasts they had killed slung across poles.

"See here!" cried the collier. "Here is the worst wolf of all—he tried to murder the Sieur del' Peyra!"

"We will drive him into your charcoal and burn him!" cried a peasant.

"That will spoil my charcoal. He is not worth it," answered the collier.

"We will hack him to pieces!" "We will cudgel out his brains!" "We will flay him alive!" As many voices, so many opinions.

At the same time arrived the party from Le Peuch.

"Here are others! See! Another red cross! Burn—hang—brain them both! Here are other two! Kill them all—all!"

The peasants seethed and swirled round Heliot, whose hands were bound, and about Amanieu and Roger.

"My friends," said Jean del' Peyra, "you are mistaken. This is my prisoner. The others are my very good friends."

"You would not let us kill them before, and now this fellow tried to murder your father. He struck at him from behind like a coward."

"If he has done that," said Jean, "his life is forfeit. Who says he did that?"

"I do," answered the collier. "I saw him. He has been looking out for an opportunity all morning. I saved the Seigneur."

"Very well," said Jean. "Then I speak no word in his behalf. Let him be taken to the next tree and hanged."

"Hang him! hang him! who has a rope? That which fastens the old wolf will do! No—it is too short, make a band of hazel."

Then a voice shouted: "There is before you Le Gros Guillem's daughter. Why should we kill the wolf's cubs and let run Guillem's whelps?"

"Kill her! kill the whelp!" yelled the men, and crowded round NoÉmi.

"She is a Tarde! Hands off!" called another. "Take the men, do not touch a woman!"

Then the crowd precipitated itself on the bound routier; Amanieu and Roger drew their swords and kept the peasants at bay.

"She is a cub of Gros Guillem, I swear it!" called a man. "Kill the whole breed, or she will mother loups-garoug!" (Were-wolves.)

"Messire Jean! we have no cause against you," said an immense man, a farmer, coming up and laying hold of Jean's horse's bridle. "But we will not spare any of that Domme race. They are accursed—have they not been excommunicated by the Pope—by the Bishop? We do not spare a wolf-cub however piteously it whine, however young it be, to whatever sex it may belong; and if this be a cub of the were-wolf Guillem, shall we be squeamish? Swear to us she is not of the race, and she shall pass untouched. If not, we will kill her."

Densely packed round him, brandishing forks and clubs and axes were the men, rendered savage by oppression, and now reckless by success. None were the retainers of the Del' Peyras. Jean knew not to what master they belonged. The men roared—

"Swear she is not Guillem's daughter, or we will kill her!"

The moment was one of supreme danger.

"NoÉmi!" said he hastily. "Hold out thy hand!"

She obeyed, extending her fingers straight before her.

"Swear! swear!" yelled the men.

Then Jean plucked open his purse, drew out the ring she had sent by him to her father, and said, as he held it aloft—

"See all; I put it on her finger. Do you want to know who she is? Know all that she is the betrothed of Jean del' Peyra, son of the Sieur del Peuch de Ste. Soure."

A shriek—a shriek of horror and agony.

The attention of those crowding in on NoÉmi and Jean was diverted.

Some men had taken up Peyrot le Fort, and had rammed him with their pitchforks into the fuming pyre of the charcoal-burner, then had massed on sods and clay, and had beat it down over him with their spades.

"Ride! away! ride!" shouted Jean.