Although there can be few things more pleasant to many of the senses with which our dull clay is vivified than to sail over a shining sea under a moonlight sky,—although the feeling of repose which emanates from rapid easy motion is then most sweetly tasted,—yet when we are in haste we would always wish the breeze to be favorable and full. We could bear a little more rocking of our sea-cradle did we but know that our progress was all the faster. In this respect, at least, Edward Langdale was not to be gratified that night. The wind, it is true, was not exactly adverse; but it was not quite favorable, and, moreover, it was light. The boat did not make three miles an hour through the water, and was obliged to take a good stretch to the westward in order to avoid sands and shoals.

In the mean time, the party in the boat was arranged very properly: Lucette sat near the stern, and Master Ned next to her, with Pierrot on his left; while on the other side were the newly-engaged servant and two sailors. But Lucette was silent, and Edward thought it better for a time to leave her so, as tears—springing from what sources it is not worth while to inquire—were still flowing, and the youth heard every now and then a gentle sob. For his part, he talked a little to Pierrot, who told him that he had twice seen the good-man Jargeau that day, had honestly notified him of his dereliction of his service, and had returned him his two horses, as he, Pierrot, had been ordered. Jargeau, he said, had been somewhat supercilious, somewhat triumphant, had shown that he knew all about Master Ned's encounter in Rochelle, and its consequences, observed that it would have been better for the youth if he had followed good counsel, and had laughed heartily at Pierrot's own resolutions of temperance, which he tried hard to make him break on the spot.

"I saw he had a great contempt for me, Master Ned," said the man; "but I showed him I could resist."

"He will laugh at you ten times more if ever you break your resolution," answered Edward Langdale; "and then he will laugh with some reason. Of course you gave him no cause to think we were going to-night?"

The man replied in the negative, and Edward—judging not amiss of the precise moment when comfort is most available—applied himself to soothe his beautiful young companion. It is a very delicate and even dangerous task for a young man of any thing short of sixty; and it would be vain to say that Edward Langdale did not perform the office of consoler warmly. The nature of the case inspired tenderness; the gentleness and care with which she had nursed him required it; and their very youth justified it. He called her "dear Lucette" several times; and he tried hard to prompt hope of a speedy return to Rochelle and a reunion with her excellent father.

At the latter word Lucette gave a little start. "You mistake, Edward," she said: "he is not my father, though indeed he has been a father, and more than a father, to me. But you are protecting an orphan, my friend. I have neither father nor mother living."

"Then is he your grandfather, as you first called him?" asked the youth. "I thought he was very old to have a daughter of your age."

"He is no relation whatever," she answered, gravely, "but is as dear to me as any parent could have been. It is a long story, which I may some time or other have an opportunity of telling you; but enough for the present that he has had the care of my education in Rochelle for some years, and has ever shown to me the affection of a father and won from me the love and reverence of a child. I weep to part with him; but I weep from many other causes. Rochelle has been to me like the nest to a young bird; and now I am going forth into a world where I am almost a stranger, to a fate that I know not, but which can hardly be a peaceful one. Let us not talk of it; for it is better not even to think of it. What will come must come; and I must bear all with patience."

"Well, then, let us look at that beautiful sea," said Edward Langdale. "Is it not like an ocean of melted silver? Look there! Here comes a great wave curling over in the moonlight: now we rise above it, and it is past. So it is, Lucette, with the misfortunes of this world: they seem ready to overwhelm us; but with good steering and a strong mind we rise above them and leave them behind us."

"But who shall teach me to steer my boat?" asked Lucette, sadly.

Had it been a few years later in his life, Edward would probably have said, "Let me;" but he did not say it, and he was wise. He applied himself, however, with more earnestness than ever, to soothe his sweet companion and to wean her thoughts from subjects of pain or anxiety; nor did he do so without success. His mind was stored with the riches of much and very various study, and he found, too, that her young hours had not been employed in vain. She could talk with him of things which few of her age and her country could converse upon; and, to his delight, he found that she spoke English as well as he did himself, with hardly any accent, and with perfect facility. Thenceforward their conversation was carried on in his mother-tongue; and his mind easily saw the many advantages which might arise, should any impediment present itself on their journey, from their perfect acquaintance with two languages.

It was all very perilous for the two young people; and really, could it have been avoided, they should not have been placed in such a situation; but there are times and circumstances when proprieties must be forgotten and folks must take their chance or die. Now, the period was rapidly approaching when not a mouse could get out of Rochelle; and old Clement Tournon foresaw its coming. To take advantage of Edward's journey was all that was left for him; and that was almost too late. Besides, decorum came in with George the First, and little of it was known in the world at large before the time of William the Taciturn. Nevertheless, was it not dangerous to set two young souls, full of early life, and with all its passions and imaginations just budding, to sail over "the moonlight sea" together, talking a language unknown to their companions, with mystery and misfortune and interest on one side, and gratitude, compassion, and curiosity on the other? They did not, it is true, get out of that boat with the same feelings they carried into it; but then all these matters are progressive, except in Italy, and some parts of Spain, and two or three other countries I could name,—countries where people jump into love with their eyes open, or fall into it with their eyes shut. In England we slide into it. But, as I was remarking, all such things—with the exceptions already specified—are progressive; and there were several little accidents which helped the matter on. Lucette was cold, and Edward fastened the agrafes of the loose coat over her fair bosom; and then he wrapped a cloak round her; and then the wind shifted and the sea began to run very high, and he had to put his arm about her to keep her steady on the seat. Then, what between fear and headache, she leaned her brow upon his shoulder; and he had to comfort and reassure her the best way he could. There is something in animal magnetism, dear reader, depend upon it,—although I think it acts in a different way from that generally attributed to it.

But, to pause no more upon such discussions,—which are always very fruitless,—I must say their situation soon became very unpleasant, and even critical. The wind and the currents carried the little craft far to the westward of Marans, and the boat shipped many a heavy sea. She was good and stanch, however, and the sailors were fearless, hardy, and experienced; but that comforted poor Lucette very little, so that all her consolation was to cling through long hours to Edward Langdale and to ask him from time to time if there was any danger. At length, however,—just when, having run a good way to the northwest, they had contrived to tack and lay their course with a better wind toward Marans,—the sun began to rise, and Edward whispered, "Now we shall soon be there, dear Lucette."

But he was mistaken. Expectation is always mistaken. There really seems a perversity about those ladies with the distaff and scizzors which leads them to spin the thread of our life with knots and tangles, to cut it short at the very moment of fruition, and—especially when they see any one foolish enough to calculate upon success—to ravel the whole skein into inextricable confusion. The boat could only approach the shore by continual tacking; and I would tell all the tacks she made, and how long each took,—but, unhappily, I know nothing of nautical matters, except that a ship has a head and a stern, as most other things have; that a fair wind carries people rapidly to port, and a foul wind delays them often a long time. The sun had passed the meridian at least three hours when the boat at last reached the mouth of the Sevre Niortaise, which would at that time float small vessels very comfortably. I know not what it will do now; for the sands upon the west coast of France have so encroached upon the domains of old Ocean that Hennebon was once within a short distance of the sea and is now actually an inland town, only to be reached by a post-road or a good long sail up the river Blavet. As good fortune would have it, however, and thanks to the paternal care of good Clement Tournon, there were plenty of provisions on board the boat; and the Sevre Niortaise received them less hungry than might otherwise have been the case. The ascent of the river as far as the spot where it was proposed to stop occupied two hours more; but all was calm now, and the change from danger to security is a great promoter of rash hope. The color came back into Lucette's face, and she and Edward Langdale talked gayly of the coming hours. At length they ran up to a little landing where a few houses, all occupied by Protestants, lined the shore, headed by a good-looking cabaret with white walls and a brush upon the top of a pole. The Rochellois boatmen were well known to the host, and his welcome was joyful; but when, after seeing Lucette comfortably lodged in a room by herself,—although the landlord seemed to think that too much care was taken of a boy who ought to take care of himself,—Master Ned proceeded to inquire into the facilities for reaching MauzÉ, he found more serious impediments than he had expected. No horses were to be bought nearer than Marans, some three miles distant; and between the river and the chateau of MauzÉ the host reported several large bodies of Catholic soldiers and workmen, whose conduct, according to his account, was not over-scrupulous. Horses, however, had to be procured at all events; for to reach the chateau if possible Edward Langdale was bound; and accordingly, with some hesitation, he despatched Pierrot la Grange to Marans, with a strong injunction to temperance. Pierrot's virtue was probably not very severely tried; for the wine—the only wine to be procured in that part of the country—was execrable; and brandy at that time, notwithstanding the proximity of Rochelle, found its way to Marans in very small quantities. At all events, toward ten o'clock at night he reappeared at the cabaret with the four horses and their equipments, as his young master had required, and a boy leading the two last-bought, while he himself, mounted on one, led another by the bridle.

The landlord was conversing with the boatmen at the door, while Edward was calmly sleeping on a bench in the kitchen; but the former seemed to have received some intimation that the page was not exactly what he appeared, for he requested Pierrot in a whisper to tell his young lord that there was a minister in the hamlet, and that young people could be married there just as well as at MauzÉ.

In about an hour the whole party were mounted and on their road, Pierrot having assured his master that he could guide him to MauzÉ as well as any man born on the spot. Nor did he exaggerate his knowledge, but proceeded perfectly steadily and carefully, till at length the little bridle-path they followed lost itself in the moors which cover that part of the country.

The moon, however, was shining as brightly as it had done the night before, and there seemed no difficulty in finding the way; but the wide expanse before them looked solitary and cheerless with its gray shadows and stunted bushes and pieces of fenny swamp, while here and there rose a small clump of low rugged pines, or a deep pit obstructed the advance of the travellers. At the end of about two hours, Pierrot remarked, "We are not three miles from MauzÉ now, sir, and we had better be a little careful; for, if there be any folks we have to fear, they must be about here." Hardly had he spoken when a line of lights came in sight, which Master Ned instantly understood to proceed from scattered watchfires; and, halting for a few minutes, he held a short council with his followers, in which their future proceedings were determined. The lights extended some way to the right and left; and it was conjectured that the lines which it was known the king's army were employed in constructing stopped at a certain point on one side or the other, leaving a passage round the extremity, by which the little village and its castle could be reached. The question only was which side was free, and Edward resolved to ride on in advance with one of the men and reconnoitre, leaving Lucette and the other man at the first sheltered spot they could find. One of the deep pits which I have mentioned was soon met with, and its edge, on the opposite side from that which the little party approached, was edged with a fringe of low wood, which concealed it well. A road which had been cut for the purpose of digging gravel—Heaven knows for what purpose the gravel itself was wanted, as gravel walks were few in that part of the country—led right into the pit; and along it Edward and his party found their way in. He lifted Lucette from her horse, and, being more considerate than most lads of his age, he paused to think which of the men he should leave with her. That was soon settled. The man he had hired in Rochelle was well known to Clement Tournon. His name was Jacques BeauprÉ, by-the-way; and the good syndic had guaranteed his honesty, adding, that he was a courageous man and witty. Now, Jacques had not uttered three words since he had been in Edward's service, and therefore of his wit the young gentleman knew nothing; but his honesty and his courage were much more important on the present occasion. Pierrot, Master Ned knew, could be trusted in all things but one; but there was much to be remembered. He himself might be taken; and, once delivered from the restraint of his presence, Edward naturally concluded that the bottle might have too great temptations for his worthy follower, and Lucette be left to the perilous guardianship of a drunken man. Jacques BeauprÉ was therefore left with Lucette. The bags were taken off the horses and deposited in his care, with orders to make his way to MauzÉ, should any misadventure occur to Edward, and to place them and Lucette under the care of the Prince de Soubise. A warning was also given him to destroy, if possible, the bag which had a red cross marked upon it, in case he saw that he could not escape the Catholic army. It may be supposed that all these directions alarmed poor Lucette a good deal; but she did not give way to her fears, although she fully forgave Edward for making his parting embrace a little warmer than even the customs of that day justified.

We are too apt in this world to make no allowance for the customs of different times and phases of society. Some fall into this fault from ignorance of any state of society but their own, with a vague idea of something having been strange in the customs of the Greeks and Romans and the people whom Mr. Hallam wrote about. Some who have read the chronicles of other times forget the minute particulars in their attention to more important facts. But believe me, dear reader, the times and the country, the climate and the water, do make very great difference in the notions which obtain regarding customs, and even morals,—ay, morals. Half the morals in the world are made by society,—and all the customs. I remember a Turkish ambassador, being present at a dance, and asking, gravely, "What does all that palming come to?" Since then the Turks have very generally left off their petticoats, and have acquired a good many new notions; but they still object to the "palming," and think its tendencies not desirable,—the Koran notwithstanding. However, the age of which I am now writing was a kissing age,—an age of embrassades. Everybody kissed everybody—on certain occasions; but it was specified that, in public and before witnesses, the kisses were to be bestowed on the right and left cheek, and not upon the mouth,—especially in the case of young gentlemen and ladies. Now, the dereliction of poor Edward Langdale was that his lips did not altogether confine themselves to the cheek of Lucette. Where they went, Heaven knows; but I do not. However, she forgave him; and I do not see why we should not do so too. I am sure I should have kissed her lips if I had had the opportunity; for they were rich, and soft, and full, and her breath was as fragrant as new-mown hay.

After that kiss, he jumped upon his horse again and rode away, leaving all his precious things behind him,—both those he had brought from England and those he had found in Rochelle.

The title I have affixed to this book compels me to adhere to the adventures of Master Ned; but, as that night was one of critical influence upon his fate, I cannot finish its events at the fag-end of a chapter which is already somewhat too long for the reader's patience, and for the writer's too.