CHAPTER I
HOPE WAKES AND DIES

On a day in late autumn, while sad winds whispered of winter and the heather blossoms perished, Harvey Woodman and Thomas Putt were setting up hurdles round about a portion of a turnip field. Hard by Uncle Smallridge sat upon a stone, chewed tobacco and watched them. This aged man had made a close study of Providence's work at Fox Tor Farm, and, finding that all the evils resulting from the demolition of Childe's Tomb had fallen upon the head of Malherb, he felt increased respect for the logic of Heaven. Now he approached the labourers fearlessly, discussed the state of affairs with relish, and threw his weight upon the side of justice. But the household of Malherb showed an inclination to think the farmer too hardly treated. According to their measure of intelligence and gratitude, they mourned the master's evil fortune.

"He's changed under our living eyes," said Woodman.

"A scantle of his old self, an' goes heavily with backward glances as though the wisht-hounds was arter him day an' night," declared Putt. "So meek as Moses now most times. I miss the thunder of him. We'm so used to it that he seems like a new man without his noise."

"Not but he flashes up, like a dying fire, now an' again, however," added Woodman.

Uncle Smallridge chewed and nodded and uttered complacent platitudes.

"What did I say? What a picture of the wrath of the loving God! You won't find in all Scripture no case where the Lord took a matter into His own hands quicker an' polished off a sinner so sharp. First his son cut down; then his darter undutiful; then that tantara to the War Prison; then Lovey Lee carried away by the Devil, as I hopes an' believes; an' then Jack Lee vanished like a cloud; an' a bad wool year; an' wages coming by fits an' starts; an' doom writ upon the man's forehead. 'Tis all the hatched-out egg of the Lord. Full of meat—full of meat are His ways."

"Hard enough to stomach all the same," said Woodman; and Putt viewed the ancient with considerable disgust.

"You'm worse than Kekewich," he declared. "You fatten on other folks' troubles, like a crow on offal. I'd blush to smack my lips over a brave man's cares. Who gave 'e that tobacco you'm chowing?"

"Mr. Malherb," confessed Uncle. "An open-handed gentleman as need be, an' a good friend to me. An' why not? 'Tis the duty of the gentlefolks to support such as me. I've growed two-double working for 'em. An' now my balance of years be their proper business. I've nought against him myself; I be only pointing out how much the Lord had against him. We'm all corn for the A'mighty's grindstones; an' a very comforting thought that is for a common man. There's justice there." He waved to the sky. "Us shan't be driven about to work for small money an' bad masters in Eternity; but sit 'pon golden thrones an' share the property with the best of 'em."

"You're a Whig," said Woodman. "They talk like that in the Parliament."

"I be what I be. I know there won't be no squires an' ban-dogs an' man-traps an' spring-guns to maim honest men up-along. If us be all equal in Heaven, that should be the rule on earth, same as the Lord prayed in His own Prayer."

"You'd better keep them ideas till you get to Heaven then," said Thomas Putt; "for they won't work on Dartymoor."

As he spoke Mr. Beer arrived, and with him he brought interesting news.

"Leave that, souls," he said; "since the weather's lifted, us have all got to go along with master to Hangman's Hollow 'bout that job there was talk of a fortnight since. He's made up his mind all on a sudden. Go back to the farm for ropes an' picks, then come along."

"What's in the wind now, neighbour?" inquired Uncle Smallridge, and Beer answered him.

"Why, 'tis the hole where Miss Grace was found. 'Tis said 'twas old Lovey Lee's den afore she bolted. Dinah heard a whisper of treasures there, too. Anyway us have got to go an' pull the place down an' let in light an' air, so as us can see if there be aught worth fetching."

Uncle Smallridge went his way speculating as to what was the next unpleasant surprise hidden for Malherb by the Lord of Hosts; while Putt, Woodman and Beer returned home. They collected their tools and set out soon afterwards with Mark Bickford for Hangman's Hollow.

The first result of his present experiences and position had been a development of astounding patience in Maurice Malherb. Patient, indeed, he was not in any real sense; but a self-control relatively wonderful marked his goings now. He waited for the inevitable. Every instinct called out to him to hasten it, yet he took no step. This personal attitude amazed him in secret. Sometimes even a gleam of hope touched his darkness, and the fact that no word had been heard of Lovey, and no report of her death had reached mankind, awoke a shadowy thought that she was not dead. But he knew right well that no human foot trod the desert south of Cater's Beam once in a year. The dead might there mingle with dust and never be discovered or recorded. He did nothing from day to day for thinking of his wife and daughter. They stood between him and open confession of the crime. Yet each week of delay galled him worse than the last. Memory kept such a vivid wakefulness as it only holds under conditions of remorse. His sin coloured his life, and the hues of it faded neither by day nor night. As the hideous incubus of a dream slowly crawls upon us, to fasten its fangs in our bosom, so this horror nightly destroyed sleep, and by day it rode abroad with him, ate with him, thought with him, thrust its shadow between him and the few things he still loved.

A thousand times his feet turned to Cater's Beam, a thousand times he chose rather to live on and cherish the pallid hope that his daughter and his wife were not for ever disgraced. For him the events of that appalling dawn were neither gyves nor ropes about his real nature. He had long since retraced all in spirit, probed his act to the core, and even taken the consequences of it. For no thought of self-destruction returned to him; but his women came between and held his hand, and, though they knew it not, played the first part in his hidden life, as they now stood openly for all that he still held dear.

Yet at last, by an indirect road, he consented to satisfy himself, and after countless petitions from Grace and from Annabel, he gave way and abandoned what, from their standpoint, was a senseless determination. His daughter finally prevailed with him.

"Lovey Lee fled to save her own life," declared Grace. "Perchance she never returned to her hiding-place at all. There, then, remain her treasures and the amphora that I saw with my own eyes. Surely it is worth the trouble of a search?"

"'Twould be fifteen thousand pounds at least to us. Your brother himself might purchase it," said Annabel.

"He at least never will," answered her husband. "Rather would I grind it under my heel. 'Brother'! 'Tis too noble a title for him. Norcot can offer to aid me in my extremity, yet he whose duty it should be, and whose privilege—does he come forward?"

"For the best of all reasons, dearest. You have not told him a word of your circumstances."

"'Told him'! Do such things want telling to a brother? He ought to feel it in his bones; he ought to dream that all is not well with me; he ought to breathe it in with the air. If he were in trouble, my blood would have beat it into my heart. Nevertheless, no farthing of his would I take to keep my wife and daughter from starving."

"Yet here's your own money as like as not hid within five miles," said Grace. "How I've longed to go! Once I rode in sight, and I never felt so tempted to break my word to you, dear father. But I was glad afterwards, for, looking back, I marked a man moving in the ruin. He saw me too and vanished."

The matter dropped then; yet, within a week Malherb resolved to permit a search. To him the enterprise must be a crucial test of matters more vital than the amphora. If it was there, then Lovey indeed had perished; if it was not there, then she lived. But the truth might still be buried in his own bosom. It was not necessary that others should know of it; and, in any case, the circumstances of his family must be ameliorated by recovery of the treasure. That fact alone he strove to keep before him; yet now, as he tramped over the Moor with his daughter, and saw wan sunlight all soaked in moisture, spread great fleeting vans along the way, he prayed very earnestly that his mission might fail.

Grace was silent and busy with her own thoughts. That Lovey Lee had long since escaped from Dartmoor and taken her treasure with her, the girl felt certain; but that John Lee might be using the cavern in Hangman's Hollow seemed likely enough. His escape was a nine days' wonder, and some persons, Sergeant Bradridge among the number, stoutly maintained that John must have been born to drown and had met his destiny. The sergeant was back at Prince Town; only Kekewich knew of Putt's successful proceedings; while, as for Peter Norcot, he took this further rebuff from fortune smiling, and absented himself from Fox Tor Farm for a considerable time. For the present he was reported to be very diligent about his own affairs.

"You dream," said Malherb. "Twice I have spoken and received no answer, Grace."

"I did dream—of the blessedness of finding this treasure; yet I am sure 'tis too late to hope."

Her father sighed.

"Who can tell?" he said.

Only the carrion crows, that croaked aloft out of the morning air and flapped their sooty wings towards Cater's Beam, knew the truth. Often with his eyes he followed them out of sight; with his mind's eye he saw what they saw; and that was never out of sight.

Presently the labourers drew up in Hangman's Hollow and stood amazed at the secret which Grace revealed to them. From the top, Beer and Woodman set to work; and Putt and Bickford attacked the place beneath. They cut away the masses of briar and undergrowth that bound the foundations of the old blowing-house, forced a hole in the wall, and made entry from that point. Malherb also toiled and wearied his body with great feats of strength to distract his mind.

"If us should catch the old cat-a-mountain now!" said Woodman. "My stars, she'd scratch our faces to the bone, I lay!"

But the treasure house was empty. They let in light from every side, and after two hours' hard work had dismantled the den. Sweet air searched its dark corners; day illuminated its secrets.

Malherb's heart fell as Grace pointed to two great boxes of plate and jewels; but it rose with a bound, for they proved to be empty. Where Lovey's money-bags had stood and leered at Grace out of the darkness, like a row of little pot-bellied fiends roosting there, they found nothing. The ledges were bare. Malherb made no attempt to conceal his exultation. Dissimulation was impossible before his growing hope. He toiled like a giant, tore his clothes and smothered himself in dust and dirt.

"Not a watch—not a coin—not a teaspoon!" he shouted. "All gone—everything. But don't give up yet; seek and seek; make very sure. Tear every stone from another; break every stone in half. Dig up the floors; sound the nooks and crannies. Let no shadow of doubt remain!"

The men spoke under their breath to one another.

"He'm going daft, or I am," said Putt. "The less we find, the better he likes it!"

"'Tis his troubles have turned his head," answered Beer. "I've knowed it happen so. Look at him—all in a muck o' sweat like a common man."

Woodman, as he ripped up the floor, discovered a hole by Lovey's stone altar.

"See here, your honour; I be much feared something's been took out of this place. 'Tis lined wi' stone an' the cover lies beside it. But 'tis empty."

Maurice Malherb smiled and approached eagerly.

"Yes, yes; even here might she have hidden her treasure—not a doubt of it—not a doubt. Say!" he continued to Bickford, who stood nearest to him, "don't stand like a clown carved in wood. Speak. Tell me—is it not clear something has been lifted up from here and carried off?"

"Clear enough," answered the man in a surly voice. "Us was only wondering, begging your honour's pardon, why for you was so mighty pleased to find your trouble wasted."

"Then take yourself and your insolent wonder from Fox Tor Farm to-morrow at daybreak!" cried Malherb. The old flash was in his eyes, the old deep thunder in his voice.

"Jimmery! he'm coming back to hisself!" murmured Putt.

Then Malherb spoke again.

"Wonder as you will. What are your thoughts to me? Work—work on—all of you, and keep your wonder to yourselves."

His daughter, like the rest, felt upon the brink of mystery, yet doubted not but that her father would presently explain. She was bitterly disappointed yet not surprised.

At last Malherb flung down a pick and mopped his forehead.

"'Tis done—to the last corner!" he cried. "And what have we found?"

"A dead dog, some old rotten boxes, some-candle-ends and some crustes, your honour," said Mr. Beer.

"So be it. I thank God—before you all I thank God! And let each man remember this day!"

He pulled off two heavy signet rings, the only adornments that he wore, gave one to Beer and the other to Harvey Woodman.

"Keep them for a sign of your fruitless labour. And you men, come to me to-morrow: I've a guinea for each of you. Remember, all, that I'm your best friend for evermore. I'll never forget one of ye! You stare, you good, worthy clods—well, stare and wonder. It is your part to do so. Know at least that my heart is light."

He turned, drew on his coat, then gave his daughter his arm. He seemed to have shaken off a weight of years with his hard work. His step was elastic, his head was thrown back.

"I cannot say that I am sorry any more when I see your joy, dear father. Yet, like the men, I wonder too. But I will not ask you why you are glad to have lost your treasure, or I may get answered as Bickford was."

"The rascal had an impudent tone in his voice, though I'll swear he meant no offence. But for you, indeed, do not ask, my little maid. 'Tis enough that what looks evil news is not so. This day, as the wrecked sailor, who, from his perilous spar floating on ocean, sees suddenly a great ship at hand, and finds salvation even in the grave of his hopes, even so am I. I—I have been through dark waters—I have suffered to the very last hiding-places of the heart. My life turned upon me and rent me. My wrath roused up such a devil as I knew not man could harbour. God hid His face and I was lost in the darkness. But now—now my cup is full. He has spared me; He has lifted my load. I must commune with Him. I cannot talk to mankind until I have praised the name of the Lord. With David I could dance before Him, because He has made my heart whole again and lifted my head in my own sight."

"Then will I bless God too, dear father. Indeed, your face says more to me than your words. You are grown young. There is even laughter in your eyes again."

He held her hand and pressed it.

"Money's not everything—how well I know that," she said. "'Tis nothing—less than nothing—glorified mould—scum—a dirty mantle on the deep water of life—the poisonous berries we children clutch at. I hate it. I scorn it. The gilded moss in that hole there—the moss that will grow black and die in the glare of day—that is money. Let in light and we see it as it is."

"You never cared for money."

"And now less than before. A man might live in that den we've just torn down, and live happy, too, if he'd escaped from such dreams as have of late tormented me. This hour, with my own hands, would I build up a hut of stone and shaggy heath and dwell therein for ever rather than go back to yesterday. But yesterday is past, and to-morrow I shall make holiday and hold a revel that all must share if they still want my friendship."

"You are your dear self again!"

"What is myself? What am I? I have been a storm-cloud drifting over men's heads to burst in unseasonable hail. Now will I be a sun to shine upon men's hearts and warm 'em. Oh, I have learnt wisdom in a dreadful book; but leave that. Talk about her—the old woman—so tough and so terrible in her ways. She's far enough off now—in France, I'll wager."

"Indeed, she may be. I hope rather that poor John Lee is safe. He haunted me to-day. It seemed so possible that he might have chosen this place. Why, father, father! what has happened? Forgive me; I should not have named him."

She stopped, for Malherb suddenly stood still and stared up into the sky. The gladness fell away from his face like sunlight suddenly shadowed. He struck one fist thrice into his open palm, then dropped his hands again.

"Forgive me—I have hurt you cruelly," cried the girl. "I had thought you quite pardoned John Lee."

"Yes," he said gently; "I had pardoned him and I had forgot him too. Poor fool of one thought that I am! He knew—he knew this secret place and the wealth stored in it! 'Tis possible—nay, certain—that he rifled all. Who would blame him? 'Twas he whom you saw from far off in the ruins."

"Never! Had he found the amphora—— Is he not a Malherb himself?"

"Hold your peace," her father answered, in a voice grown harsh again. "That man has all, and who shall blame him? He may well hold it his dead father's portion. I, that thought I had awakened, only dreamed. Things are as they were."

"Oh, if I could understand! If I could help you in this suffering that you hide from us!"

"It is impossible. A dream, I say. Things are as they were."

He turned to her and she heard his voice sink down into a dreary lifeless monotone.

"The ship has passed by; but no man has seen the struggling wretch in the water or heard him shout."

"Come home," she said. "This suffering will kill you. If you would but let those who love you—— A great grief, though nothing shared by three, may break the heart of one."

Next morning Putt and Bickford approached their master in the farmyard and ventured to remind him of his promise. He had forgotten it, and now turned upon them and cursed them for a pair of greedy fools.

"Guineas—guineas! What have you to do with them? Madmen! If you only knew. There—take them, and get out of my sight. You can grin still. Gather enough of that and you'll grin no more!"

He dashed down the money at their feet and turned his back upon them.

CHAPTER II
ON CHRISTMAS DAY

Mr. Norcot invited himself to Fox Tor Farm for Christmas, but Maurice Malherb begged him to change his mind. Peter's generous offer of a loan had not been accepted; but he knew that Fox Tor Farm was now mortgaged to meet Malherb's demands.

Within the home circle a great difference of opinion obtained, yet it was impossible to argue the matter out, because it referred to Lovey Lee. Grace felt positive that the miser had returned to her hiding-place; the master expressed an opinion equally strong that John Lee had abstracted the fortune and hastened with it for safety to the Continent. His reasons he would not give; but that made no uncommon difficulty, for he was not used to offer reasons. His daughter marvelled at his obstinacy, for her heart well knew that John was incapable of such an act. He understood the significance of the amphora, and would have gloried to restore it at any personal risk. The matter slowly ceased to be a subject of conversation, not that Malherb forbade it, for he longed to discuss the possibility, and welcomed any shadow of hope; but now rumours of peace had grown into a promise. It seemed to Grace Malherb as though her ambitions for John Lee and Cecil Stark were to be realised; because while peace with America was soon to be declared, Bonaparte had left Elba, and Europe awakened from her brief respite.

Malherb sank into a settled but a gentle melancholy. Gloom folded him like a garment; yet he was kindly and even considerate to all. He ceased to hunt, a circumstance that brought more tears to his wife's eyes than any other, for she appreciated its full force. A thousand times he had dreaded the day when his passion for sport could be gratified no more. She had heard him desire to die before infirmity should keep him from riding to hounds. Now he abandoned his delight without a murmur; at a wrench he tore twenty years out of his book of life and performed the operation with indifference. In secret he marvelled at himself and at the tremendous operations of chance that could thus alter the whole ingrained tenour and bent of his existence.

Christmas came, and Grace with her mother rode to worship at Holne. Harvey Woodman was responsible for Annabel's safety, since she sat on a pillion behind him; while Grace rode 'CÆsar.'

"Peace comes to us through every sense," said Mrs. Malherb as they returned homeward. "It is in the air to feel, on men's tongues to hear, in their eyes to see. 'Peace on earth,' too, I pray. Peace everywhere, but——"

She broke off with a sigh. To speak further was not possible before Mr. Woodman. But now Harvey made a diversion. They were at the top of Ter Hill, half a mile distant from home, when his keen eyes caught sight of a small black object afar off on the Moor. He watched a while, then spoke.

"If there ban't that baggering sow as got out a week ago an' master thought was stolen! 'Tis her for sartain."

The wandering beast was a distinguished matron, and her loss had caused annoyance.

"How glad the master will be!" cried Mrs. Malherb. "Don't lose sight of her on any account, Woodman. Indeed, you will do well to follow her at once. I can easily walk home from here."

She alighted, and Harvey galloped off to secure the pig.

"Send Bickford or one of 'em after me!" he shouted back to the ladies.

The day was fine and the Moor dry and frozen, but Bickford grumbled not a little at his duty, for the Christmas dinner only waited to be eaten when Mrs. Malherb and her daughter returned. The servants' hall was full of grateful savours; the peat blazed in a pure, still heart of red-hot fire under a purple corona of flame; the walls were decked with holly and fir; it was a scene painful to leave. But the labourer soon returned, for he had not gone far when he met Harvey riding homeward at a great pace.

"Where's the pig to?" he asked.

"'Twas no pig at all, but a message from Heaven," gasped Mr. Woodman.

"If I didn't know, I should say you was drunk," answered Bickford; "but you wouldn't have dared get in liquor, having to ride back with missis. Be you mazed or pixy-led in daylight?"

"Mazed I be—to think—but five mile from our very doors—that awful—my flesh be creaming to my bones with the sight, an' my scalp's crawling down my back."

"You've catched the small-pox, I reckon. I'd best walk to windward of 'e."

"I can say nought till I stand afore the company. Then I'll properly terrify the whole pack of 'e."

As they entered the servants' hall Maurice Malherb was already standing over a great sirloin at one end of the table, while Mr. Beer carved two turkeys at the other. Threads of holly berries glittered against the shining green. There was a smell of gravy and evergreens in the air, and bright sunshine poured through the windows. On Christmas Day the family dined with their men and women, for it was an old custom of the Malherbs to do so.

Now appeared Harvey Woodman, and conscious that perhaps the greatest moment of his life had come, he determined to make the most of it.

"For the love of charity a drop of brandy, souls!" he cried. "Oh, your honour's goodness—such a shock as I've had—such a thing! I failed away in my middle when I seed it an' nigh dropped off the hoss."

"Fegs!" said Bickford, "when I comed to un, the man looked as if he'd been drawed through a brimble hedge backwards!"

Mrs. Woodman rushed to her husband's side, and Malherb, putting down the carvers, also approached.

"Speak," he said. "What has happened? Are you ill?"

"The pig, the pig, your honour. To the Beam her went—straight as any Christian; an' me after her. Then, far beyond, in they gashly bogs where the Jacky-twoads dance on moony summer nights, I seed the horridest sight ever these eyes rested on. I knowed there was a dead thing there very soon, an' thought 'twas a pony. But when I comed nearer—there—let me have another drink—my inward organs turn to vinegar when I think upon it."

"Speak on," said Malherb. He stood before Mr. Woodman with his eyes fixed upon him.

"First I seed a great patch of rotted turf; for a dead body decays the grass under it, your honour; then I seed a litter of bones lying on the stones around about, where the crows an' buzzards had carried 'em for cleaner picking; an' then—lor-amercy! a human face-bone staring at me with hollow eyes an' grinning like Death! I plucked up courage, however, an' got off my hoss an' went up to the rames of the poor soul. An' next thing I knowed was that I'd found out the secret of that old mullygrubs, Lovey Lee! To hell the old vixen went; not to France as was thoughted, for there was an awful crack in her skull upon the brow. All rags an' bones she was; an' I seed her old petticoat made of stolen sacks, an' her sun-bonnet, catched in a thorn bush an' black wi' blood yet; an' the long white hair of her shed round about in locks hither an' thither, like the cotton grass that waves on the bogs. Let me drink, for the picture of that unholy masterpiece do cleave to my brain like moss to a rock."

A great hum of excitement followed upon this news. Then Malherb spoke.

"Let us eat our dinner with what appetite we may," he said, in a dull and hollow voice. "Forget what we have heard until to-morrow. Then we will go with a sledge and a pair of oxen and gather up her dust and coffin it."

"Don't let the old varmint lie beside that American gentleman, your honour's goodness," said Dinah Beer; "for 'twould be an unseemly thing that such evil earth should rise, come Judgment, so near his clay."

Malherb stared round the table and spoke again in the heavy accents of one who talks in sleep.

"She shall lie at Widecombe in holy ground; and when we bury her I will tell you something concerning her."

They supposed that he spoke of Lovey Lee's rumoured treasures. Then the meal began, but no joy accompanied it. The men whispered, and Woodman repeated his story again and again, adding some particulars with each recital.

The banquet had turned into a funeral feast, whereat nobody loved the dead. This tragedy, indeed, added a zest to their food; they could not leave the subject, but returned to it between every mouthful. Then, like thunder upon their whisperings and excited speculations, burst the master's voice.

"Have done, ghouls! Cease to speak of this matter any more. Do you not remember that the house honours your board to-day? Sweeten your speech, I pray you."

Everybody lapsed into uneasy silence and soon afterwards Malherb, his wife and daughter, rose and left the company.

Then the voices broke loose and this rare business was turned and twisted and tasted by many tongues.

That night Maurice Malherb told his wife the thing he had done; and she thrust her meek disposition behind her and derided the crime as nothing, even while her teeth chattered with terror to hear him tell it.

"We are the ministers of God," she said. "To you fell this dreadful duty. It is well, because you had to do it. Forget it—pray God to let you forget it. None else must know but your wife."

"The sin—the sin. You are blind to that, or pretend to be. Heaven forces no man into sin. To say so is to deny free will. I have ever been on the side of freedom."

"She was doomed to die."

"Her death was the hangman's work—not mine. Murder! A Malherb a common murderer."

"Sins are forgiven before they are committed. The Lord was born and died to forgive this deed."

"Vain comfort. What is forgiveness to me? 'Tis a bribe for women and children. Can it make a reasonable man easy? God may forgive me; can I forgive myself? There lies the poison of evil-doing. This awful climax to my life of wrath has brought about such a thing as—— The Everlasting cannot give me yesterday, or bridle the sun and lead it back into the East. The thing done—the thing done—what will banish that? It lies frozen in Time for all eternity. God's own voice is vain to heal; His own hand powerless to take this sword from my heart—the sword I have planted there myself. The thing done. Yesterday! yesterday! That's the prayer that such as I am pray, and know, even while we pray, that it is in vain. She was a woman with hidden good in her, because she was human and made in the image of God; and when we put those ashes under the earth—I shall tell all that stand beside the pit that 'twas I slew her."

"You never shall!" she cried, leaping from her bed and striking flint on steel. "I have not thwarted your life until this night. I have yielded to every wish, trusted your wisdom in all things, never rebelled even in unspoken thoughts—questioned nothing. But upon this I'll speak, and struggle, and weary the air, and weep till I madden you into sense. I've done your will for near five-and-twenty years; and please God will do it for five-and-twenty more; but to-night, I'm a maiden again—a maid of the Carews; and you shall obey me, as you obeyed when you came a-courting."

"Hide that light and come to bed. You will be cold. I have spoken. At least let there be peace between us."

"There shall be no peace. You forget that you have a wife and a daughter."

"'Tis the part of sin to make us egoists—as all suffering does. And 'tis the part of sin not to stop at the sinner. God grants that interest on wickedness to the devil: that the ill deed done should strike more than he who does it."

But his wife poured out a flood of alternate entreaties and commands; and he marvelled even in that hour that the helpmate of many years had hidden so much from him.

"There is a greatness of purpose in you that I had not guessed," he said. "Maybe no man knows all of his wife until he comes before her a master sinner as I do now. She smiles on his fair hour, content to see him happy; but with storm—— It is my glory in this agony to know—— And yet no woman was ever born to lead me. To bury the dead without confession would be to act a lie. She shall have her rights and her revenge."

"We are not bound to trumpet our sins. And the rights of the dead are in the hand of the Lord. If it is His will that you suffer more than you have suffered, it will happen so. By making this unhappy thing known, you throw all into disorder, and strew many paths with difficult problems."

"What then? Difficulty is the road that every man walks."

Until dawn of day they spoke together; and then Maurice Malherb fell asleep and his wife, fancying that she had conquered, crept out of bed and knelt and thanked God for victory.

Yet her husband's waking words shattered Annabel's hope.

"I'm fixed and bate no jot of my intention," he said. "All shall know the thing I have done. I clung to the shadow of doubt like a coward. Now there is not even a shadow of doubt to cling to. Come what may to me, I'll speak. And for you—you who have shown what courage lies in you at a bad cause, now let it be your part to support a good one."

CHAPTER III
BURNHAM AS LEADER

For Cecil Stark a matter greater far than his own failure and the treachery that had ruined the tunnel plot centred in thoughts of John Lee and the price that he must pay. Much the American suffered before news reached him in his solitary confinement, through a friendly turnkey who knew Tom Putt. And then the prisoner heard that Grace Malherb was safe at home, and John Lee had either escaped or been drowned in attempting to do so.

As for the prisoners, like the sea after a storm, their passions slowly stilled. Once only did they break into active rage, when, upon the release of their leaders, David Leverett did not return, and a soldier confessed that he had betrayed them for two hundred pounds. Then the plot and its failure were dismissed before rumours of peace. At first these woke and died again, yet gradually a greater degree of truth characterised them, and all men felt the music of freedom and of home playing at their hearts.

But in Prince Town was witnessed the spectacle of a worthy gentleman struggling with a task somewhat beyond his strength. As Commandant of a War Prison, wherein were nearly six thousand souls, now grown turbulent and reckless at rumours of approaching liberation, Captain Short found himself involved in countless difficulties.

After the discovery and defeat of their plot, the mass of prisoners was removed and confined in Nos. 1 and 3; while, by way of comprehensive punishment for their attempt, every man was docked of one-third of his allowance for the space of ten days. Grave friction resulted from this measure, and Short's officers went in secret fear of a rising. To check the possibility of such a disaster, he adopted stringent methods, and continual strife between the turnkeys and prisoners was the result. Both sides displayed passion, and many a sentry, for some disrespectful word concerning Congress or the President of the United States, had his head broken.

With the severe mid-winter weather, increased sickness fell upon the War Prison, and the most popular man at Prince Town in these days was Doctor Magrath, a surgeon whose humanity, energy and skill made him the personal friend of every sufferer. He struck up an acquaintance with Cecil Stark, and, at the doctor's advice, the young American henceforth eschewed prison politics and threw all his weight upon the side of law, order and patience.

A partial exchange of prisoners had wakened general hopes, but when it was found that nothing more in that sort would be done, the Americans vented their annoyance by playing a thousand pranks upon authority. On one occasion a man was seen ostentatiously escaping out of a window by moonlight. When challenged he refused to answer and continued to descend a rope. The guard at Short's own order fired, rushed in as the figure fell heavily to the earth, and found a dummy. Unfortunately, such jests bred an evil temper, and once when certain soldiers discovered a candle burning by night and ordered its extinction, they fired a volley through the windows almost before it had been possible to comply with their demand. By a miracle no harm was done, but every prisoner knew next day how the watch had fired upon sleeping men, and the soldiery justly suffered under the lash of a thousand tongues.

William Burnham it was who suspected that the outbursts of severity probably marked British reverses at sea; and the thing became a jest, so that whenever a hard word was spoken, or a harsh punishment ordered, the Americans shouted together and cheered their country's successes.

Burnham, indeed, had come into distinction of late days. Despite the advice of Stark and others, who now preached patience and obedience while all waited for peace, Burnham, ever jealous of his old messmate, and glad to find himself a leader of men, stayed not to consider the manner of men he led, but stood for a factious and unruly multitude, and promised to support their fancied rights. Ira Anson joined this party also and to him as much as Burnham belonged the discredit of various ill-timed and vicious commotions. Their conduct maddened Short, and finally they led him into tribulation and themselves paid the penalty.

With the end of the year came a persistent rumour that the crew of the Marblehead was about to be exchanged, but this hoped-for circumstance did not happen, and William Burnham, with his faction, grew more desperate and more unwise. Unfortunately, they numbered secret friends among the soldiers and non-commissioned officers at the Prison, for not a few of the baser sort were disaffected against their own superiors, and at least pretended sympathy with the Americans. On the other side laboured many more sensible men, and while each heart throbbed for the news so long withheld, law and order were re-established, and the schools, arranged for the young and ignorant, were opened again. For two years these institutions had done valuable work; it was only after the failure of the great plot to burrow out of the Prison that they became neglected.

There fell a memorable day at the year's end when news reached Prince Town that the Commissioners at Ghent had signed the Treaty of peace and that the sloop-of-war, Favourite, would sail immediately with the document to the United States. This occasion was seized for widespread rejoicings within the Prison, and Captain Short felt as thankful at heart as any of his charges. But while the day of thanksgiving drew to its close, the tumult in the prisons drew deafening; great masses of men stampeded from yard to yard; a mad spirit animated reckless thousands; the air grew heavily charged with human passion; and danger threatened in many shapes.

Burnham's party had obtained a quantity of gunpowder unknown to their guards, and with this they manufactured bombs which exploded with reports like cannon. Alarming rumours followed these discharges; some said efforts were being made to blow down the walls; many junior officers approached Commandant Short with fear upon their faces.

At midday a pennant was seen to flutter out above each division of the Prison, and on No. 3, styled "The Commodore," a huge white flag broke and revealed a legend printed upon it. "Free Trade and Sailors' Rights." A salute of seventeen bombs accompanied this display and the riot became deafening. Far distant upon the Moor many a traveller heard the sound, as of remote thunders grumbling under the horizon, and hastened upon his journey in dread of approaching tempest.

At the Prison, as the flags flew out, and the multitudes roared, Cecil Stark approached Burnham and prayed him to consider his position.

"You are doing a mad thing," he said. "You know as well as I that while a spark of reason lurked in efforts to escape authority, I was eager as any man. Ay, and beyond reason too, for, looking back, I see that the tunnel plot was folly. But now, to what purpose is this frantic nonsense? We shall be free men in three months. Then why make vexatious friction and lend the weight of your support to so much brainless folly?"

Burnham had been drinking and he answered fiercely.

"Cease your preaching! I calculate things are just about cooked now; and they'll have to be eaten. We know you, at any rate—ever ready to make trouble when you had no temptation to do otherwise. But now—you're an Englishman in disguise!"

"If you were not drunk, I'd thrash you before your bullies, for that insult."

"Threats—threats and big words. We know you, I say; we see through you. A place-seeker, who tried to lead that he might gratify his own cursed vanity. Now you are a pious prig and teach in the school and say your prayers, I dare say! Much good your leadership did—you with big patriotic words on your lips and an English girl in your mean heart!"

"Leave that, or I'll——"

"Do it—do it! D'you think I fear you? I'm leader now—leader of braver men than ever listened to you. Touch me, and a hundred men will break every bone in your body! A Yankee—you! I'll swear, if the truth was known, we should find you were leagued with Judas Leverett himself. Take that pill and swallow it, you canting humbug!"

Stark fell back and stared at his old companion.

"You!" he cried. "Bill Burnham to say that to me!"

He was silent and the other repeated his charge.

"I'll speak with you when you're sober then."

"And what will you say?" began the younger; but Stark turned from him; and at the same moment a peculiar whistle, used by his gang as a signal, told Burnham that he was wanted. Captain Short, with a bodyguard of armed troops, had appeared, and he desired to speak with a representative of the prisoners.

Burnham, with Ira Anson, stepped forward, and the rest of the mischief-makers stood in a group and watched them.

"Do you speak for these troublesome men?" asked the Commandant.

"I do," answered the young American. "I lead them all; and I'll not answer for them if any attempt is made to oppress them to-day."

"At least their spokesman should not be drunk himself, whatever his rag-tag and bob-tail are. You stand condemned, for you know that liquor is forbidden."

"The lad's not drunk," said Anson; "or, if he is, it is only at the same tap as all of us: the news from Ghent."

"I'll not argue it, sir. I'm only sorry you cannot receive the news in a spirit more worthy. At least you'll oblige me by striking that flag on Prison No. 3. It is an invitation to foolish and ignorant sailors to mutiny, and I will not permit it to float here while I'm in command."

"The word 'Rights' is a red rag to your Government," said Anson insolently.

"Your rights at least have always been respected," answered Short patiently. "I wish I could help you benighted fellows to see reason and take juster views. Your conduct proceeds from hatred of us and fear of us, instead of hatred of evil and fear of God. But 'tis your nation that must answer for you. Believe me, I shall be very well pleased to wash my hands of you."

Stark approached at this moment, and Captain Short turned to him.

"You at least are intelligent; and you fought fair," said the soldier. "Now I desire that yonder flag should be hauled down. I ask politely; I sink authority and approach these foolish fellows here as man to man. One is intoxicated; the other is, unfortunately, not a gentleman. I desire that that offensive flag shall be pulled down, and since we are in the atmosphere of peace, I will hoist an American emblem at the Prison gate and let it wave beside the Union Jack."

"You are generous," declared Cecil Stark. "Nothing could be fairer."

"I say 'no,'" interposed Burnham doggedly. "My men will have their flag; and if the motto stings—let it sting."

"In that case I order all flags down," answered Short, his neck flushing crimson. "Since you are such an intractable ass, you must be driven. Let every shred of bunting be down ere the sun sets, or it shall be brought down. If you court hard knocks, you may expect them."

He turned away in a rage, and Burnham whistled "Yankee Doodle," while a few silly sailors who had overheard the conversation cheered their representatives and hissed at Cecil Stark. But later in the day Anson prevailed with his detachments, and at sunset, rather than provoke an actual struggle, the flags came down. To the end, however, they defied their guards. Captain Short himself led three hundred men with fixed bayonets, and Sergeant Bradridge, who was of the number, expected at last to hear the sound of battle. But as the red winter sun sank behind the Moor, every flag fluttered simultaneously to earth, and for that time acute danger vanished with the daylight.

Many sailors were now arriving from the British battleships. These men, on hearing of peace, claimed the rights of American citizenship, and refused longer to fight against their fellow-countrymen. Those guilty of such tergiversation met but a frosty welcome at Prince Town, and new strifes followed upon their arrival. Among these shifty mariners were six from H.M.S. Pelican, who had fought in the action between that vessel and the United States brig Argus. The crew of the captured brig had been imprisoned at Prince Town; and after the Pelican's men arrived, such was the bitter animosity displayed against them that they found their lives in danger. To Captain Short these people appealed for protection, and another grave collision occurred between Burnham's party and the Commandant, when a detachment of soldiers entered the War Prison and rescued the six by force of arms. Then came two more defaulters from an English ship, and as both had actually volunteered for British service from Prince Town a year before, they were received back again with universal execration. A court convened by Ira Anson sat upon these poor wretches, and while some cried for their instant death, others proposed a flogging.

It was Mr. Knapps who hit upon an agreeable punishment to meet their crime.

"Take the doodles and brand 'em," he said. "They've got the name of a British ship tattooed over their dirty hearts, for I seed it there; now put U.S.T. on their faces, so as they'll be known evermore for United States Traitors."

The proposal was cheered and acted upon. To the hospital the sufferers went after their punishment, and Doctor Macgrath did what was possible to eradicate the damning letters; but they had been bitten in too well. Captain Short took this matter gravely, and the men responsible for the actual assault were thrust into the cachots to stand their trial.

Another incident to illustrate the growing rancour and bitterness may be given. A prisoner—one of four unfortunates who had suffered six months in a cachot—watched his opportunity when at exercise, and escaped from his yard to the next. He was immediately surrounded by his countrymen, and when Short demanded him back, the Americans refused to give him up. Thereupon the Commandant appeared with fixed bayonets and directed all prisoners to retire into their respective quarters, that a strict search might be made for the escaped man. Burnham, however, defied this order in the name of his comrades.

"This poor devil has suffered enough," he said. "His crime, which was an alleged attempt to blow up a British schooner, was never proved against him, and we will not restore him to renewed tortures. I am master here, and we lack not for arms or skill to use them. That you will learn to your cost, if you try force against us. You forget that the war is ended now."

Captain Short perceived that with his small company he would have little chance against the threatening hordes arrayed against him; therefore, without answering Burnham, he gave the order to retire, and left the prison amid wild and derisive shouts and cat-calls.

But albeit defeated, the Commandant took a weak man's revenge and shut up the Prison markets. Instantly Burnham and his friends issued an order that no carpenter, mason nor other mechanic should do any further work for the British Government until the markets were re-opened. This 'strike' caused such unexpected expense and inconvenience, that Captain Short was constrained to yield again. The markets were set going once more and the artificers promptly returned to their labours. Thus the prisoners achieved their ends, and Burnham, flushed with success, continued to take the side of lawlessness; while Short, much embittered by his reverse and uneasily conscious that his own officers were laughing at him, sank into a brooding ferocity that darkened his face and boded ill for the future.

An interval of calm succeeded; and then fell out those tragic events that closed the history of the Prince Town War Prison.

CHAPTER IV
OUT OF NIGHT

Mr. Peter Norcot dwelt in one of the comfortable border farmhouses that lie among the foothills of Dartmoor near Chagford. It was an old Elizabethan domicile, and with it the wool-stapler owned a hundred acres of forest and three farms. His property adjoined the estates of the Manor of Godleigh; but he was not upon genial terms with the lord of the manor, one Sir Simon Yeoland. The knight had old-fashioned ideas on the subject of trade and looked down upon Peter; while Mr. Norcot for his part, held his neighbour a mere machine for slaughter of game and oppression of the common people—a bundle of hereditary and predatory instincts handed down from the dark ages.

There came a night in early spring when Peter sat beside his parlour fire, sipped his grog and read his Shakespeare. Gertrude Norcot, a faded but still handsome woman of five-and-thirty, kept him company until the clock chimed ten; then she stopped her work, kissed her brother on the temple and retired.

Mr. Norcot sat on until midnight; after which he put up a guard before the dying fire and was just about to go to bed when the flame burst out anew and he delayed and spread his hands to warm them. His thoughts were busy of late, for he matured the next attempt to win Grace Malherb. Still there was but one woman in the world for him, and his purpose towards her remained unshaken. But the task grew difficult indeed, for now Maurice Malherb was to be counted upon the side of his daughter.

Alone, without need of any mask, Peter's countenance lacked that geniality usually associated with it. To-night, in the flickering fire-gleam, he looked as though his face was carved out of yellow ivory. It revealed stern lines such as shall be seen in the facial severity of the Red Man.

Now, upon his grim and midnight cogitations, there fell suddenly a sound. The noise of tapping reached him from the window; but supposing it to be but an ivy spray escaped from the mullion and blown against the casement by nightly winds, he paid no heed. Then the sound increased and became sharper; so Norcot knew that some wanderer stood outside and summoned him. Without hesitation he threw open the shutter, pulled up the blind and looked out, to see a man with his face close against the glass. An aged but virile countenance with brilliant eyes peered in. The man beckoned, and Peter nodded and prepared to unfasten the window. The face was not unfamiliar to him, and he puzzled to recollect the person of his visitor, but failed to do so.

"'By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes,'" said Mr. Norcot to himself as the stranger entered.

"Give 'e good even. I'll speak with you if you'm alone," he began, and immediately approached the light.

"I know your face; yet I know it not. Who are you?" asked Peter.

The wanderer uttered a sound that might have indicated amusement.

"I've had a long journey and feared every moment to find my feet in a man-trap."

"That you need not have done upon my land. The gorge of humanity rises at such damnable contrivances. The ruffian Yeoland, lord of the manor, has both traps and spring-guns in his coverts—he showed them to me himself, cold-blooded devil. Yes, he exhibited them with such pride as a mother might display her first-born! Engines of hell! But they answer their purpose; he does not lose a bird now."

"Since when was you so merciful? Your words is soft—your eyes give 'em the lie."

Then Norcot, recognising his visitor, leapt from his seat and stared with real amazement. For once he was startled into an oath.

"Good God, it's Lovey Lee!"

The miser grinned.

"You was a long time finding out. Ess fay—poor old Lovey, still in the land of the living."

"But your bones were found and buried! There was a most dramatic scene, I hear. Malherb—he cried out before them all in the churchyard at Widecombe that he had slain you, that your blood was upon his head. It's eating his heart out, they say."

"Let it eat with poisoned teeth. No fault of his that I didn't die. An' I've cussed heaven for two months because the law haven't taken the man an' hanged him, as I meant it to. But yet hanging's an easier death than what he's dying."

"Alive!" said Norcot. "Alive—very much alive. And turned into a man. 'Doubtless a staunch and solid piece of framework, as any January could freeze together!' And where learnt you the trick of rising from the dead? What devil taught you that, you 'ceaseless labourer in the work of shame'?"

"If you've only got hard words——"

"Nay, nay; I love you; you are the Queen of the Moor!"

"He left me for dead, and Lord knows how long I was dead. He struck me down at dawn, and when I comed to my senses, the moon was setting. I got back to my secret place somehow, and found 'twas empty. So I seed that the Devil had helped him to find his darter. Well for her he did!"

Norcot nodded.

"Not a doubt of it," he said.

"Be you still of a mind about the wench?"

He did not answer, but prepared to pour some spirits into a glass for the old woman. Lovey, however, refused them.

"Be you still of a mind? That's my question."

"Maurice Malherb has changed his views. Your death has done wonders and quite broke him. An ignoble type of man

"'We call a nettle but a nettle
And the faults of fools but folly.'

So Shakespeare dismisses Malherb. Now tell me about yourself; then I'll answer your question."

"Soon told. After I seed my den was found out, bad as I was, with my skull near split and scarce able to crawl, I dragged my goods away an' carried 'em—every stick—two mile off. For I knowed they'd come next day an' tear the place down an' pull all abroad, like a boy pulls out a bird's nest. I reckoned the bloodhounds was arter me, too, and might finish me any minute; but nought happened and I got clear off. Then 'twas that two nights after, seeking for another hiding-place where I could be safe, I comed across a corpse. Never was a stranger sight seen. A man wi' only one hand an' his throat cut from ear to ear. His eyes glared through the dim fog of death upon 'em, an' the foxes had found him. I be wearing his clothes now. They'm very comfortable, an' 'tis a wonder I never took to man's garments afore, for they'm always to be had where there's scarecrows. I needn't tell 'e the rest, for you've guessed it by your grinning. I seed how 'twould fall out, an' so it did. My white rags of hair I cut off an' left beside his bald poll, an' my clothes I put about his clay. His knife I took, an' what's more, I got two hundred and eight pound by him, for there was gold pieces covered with his blood all round him. More there might have been, but the cursed greedy bogs had swallowed 'em, though I raked elbow deep for 'em. Then I smashed in the man's head an' left winter an' the crows an' wild beasts to do the rest. My locks be growing again now."

She took off her close cap of rabbit's skin and revealed a tangle of snow-white hair with evident satisfaction.

"What next?" asked Peter.

"That be all. I'm hid very snug just now, right up where the river springs nigh the Grey Wethers on Sittaford Tor. Not a bee gathers honey there; not a beast grazes that way. An' Jack Lee be along wi' me; for us met by chance nigh Holne Wood in the night, both hunting for food. 'Twas three days after he slipped the sojers."

"A scurvy trick he served me. I'd got her promise to marry me if I saved him."

"Well, I'll sell him to 'e if you wants to pay him out."

"A grand-dam to be proud of! And now, my old treasure, what do you come to me for?"

"First I want you to change my money into paper an' buy my snuff-boxes an' watches an' bits of plate. I be going to France."

"Going to leave us! You mustn't. We couldn't get on without you. Damme, I'm in love with you myself. There's something about those clothes——"

"Be you in love with that girl still? That's the question. If so, us may do each other a service."

"Yes, she marries me sooner or later. I never change. The good wife of Bath's motto is my own:

"'I followeth aye mine inclination
By vertue of my constellation."

My star is steadfastness—the fixed pole is not more stable. I'm going to marry Grace Malherb."

"You'll ne'er get her by fair means."

"In love all is fair. 'Tis strange, but your gaunt presence actually shattered thoughts of her. Things have now come to a crisis and I must use the remarkable brains that Heaven has given me. 'Nor do men light a candle and put it under a bushel.' I've tried to marry her and failed utterly to do so upon simple and conventional lines. Now I must be serious with myself. 'The Destinies find the way,' if we only let them have their heads."

He toyed with his watch-guard. The seals were fastened to a piece of black silk.

"She wore that once about her waist," he said.

"Give me but what this ribband bound;
Take all the rest the sun goes round.'"

"I can help you."

"It's so difficult to realise that you are alive. The countryside has quite settled it. All men believe you to be in another world. Malherb's announcement was taken with wonderful self-control. I don't want to hurt your delicate feelings, Lovey, but not a soul went into mourning. In fact, only one man in all Devon felt your taking off, and that was Maurice Malherb."

"You laugh at me. Well, here's a thing to make you laugh again. I'll tell you how to get her without any more trouble."

"I had thought perhaps to approach the parent birds once more. But what's the use? Her mother counts for nought. Her father has got his head full of his own miseries. 'Doubtful ills plague us worst,' as Seneca so justly observes. While he hesitated as to whether you were really extinct, he must have gone through hot fires. Now he knows the worst and waits to suffer for it; but, what's interesting, not a soul moves against him."

"That's where my plan comes in then. You lay a charge of murder on him, an' the maid will marry you to shut your mouth."

"Worthy of you, but foreign to my genius. Besides, though I blush to say it, everybody sympathises with him. It is always very painful to hear the estimate of our fellow-creatures upon us; but people who die and come to life again must expect to learn some particularly painful facts. There's an Eastern proverb apposite to that, 'Nobody knows how good we are except ourselves'! No; for my part, since have this girl I must and will, I'm inclined now to take her by main force—to do something feudal and old-fashioned. Until she comes under my roof and finds all that she is losing, she will never get sense. And then—stolen fruit! Consider the charm of it to an epicure like myself."

"I'll do anything woman can do for money," answered Mrs. Lee. "My grandson an' me bide in a ruined shepherd's cot beyond Sittaford. Us have made it watertight; but 'tis plaguey cold, an' I'm sick of it. Change my money an' add a bit to it, an' I'll help 'e with that girl afore I go to France. I always knowed 'twould be my lot to help you."

"We ought to use your nephew. She would trust him."

"Ess, she do. If you want her here, Jack Lee's the properest tool to use. I can fox him with a word an' make him help us without knowing what he's doing."

"Of course—of course. I'll not insult you by planning details. The thing is obvious."

"Only one man knows where we be hidden, an' that's Leaman Cloberry. He'll help 'e. He hates Malherb, 'cause he dusted rat-catcher's mangy jacket for him long ago. 'Tis Cloberry keeps us in food; an' a cruel lot of money he makes us pay for it."

They conversed for the space of another hour; then Norcot directed the old woman to return to him in three weeks from that night, and let her out of the window.

"An' you'll give me a clear hundred over what you change for me, an' buy my trinkets?" she said.

"All that."

"An' help me to take ship at Dartmouth an' get out o' the country?"

"It is agreed."

Lovey vanished and Peter watched her. The Malherb amphora was for that moment uppermost in his mind, but he had not mentioned it for fear of alarming her. His plot was adumbrated and the details began to grow. He meant to marry Grace after abducting her from her home; and he designed subsequently to propitiate Malherb with the amphora.

"'Twill be a little surprise for our old lady to lose it after all," he thought.

Peter appeared at seven o'clock to take breakfast, as usual, and, as Gertrude poured out coffee, he surprised his sister with an item of intelligence.

"I go to London to-morrow," he said. "It is a bore to travel just now, but the East India Company must be obeyed."

CHAPTER V
THE LEOPARD CHANGES HER SPOTS

John Lee had reached a supreme height of indifference to fortune even before his capture, condemnation and sentence. He awaited his end without concern, and only averted it at the instance of Thomas Putt. Afterwards, for mingled reasons, he carefully abstained from any intercourse with Fox Tor Farm. And thus it happened that he knew nothing of the supposed death and burial of his grandmother. The miser herself had gloated over the success of her enterprise as related by Mr. Cloberry, but Leaman was expressly directed by Lovey Lee to keep the truth a secret; and this he did, being well paid for his pains. Meantime the old woman's indignation grew that Maurice Malherb was not arrested and hanged.

"'Tis a blackguard beast of a world," she told Leaman Cloberry. "One law for rich an' one for poor; but if there's any justice left stirring in the land, us may live to see him dancing in the air outside of Exeter Gaol yet."

Now, after a period of most miserable seclusion in a shepherd's ruined cot near the secret sources of Dart, John Lee was to find himself again thrust into the affairs of Grace Malherb, and to thank God that he had been spared to do her further service.

It was not until Peter Norcot had returned from London, after a visit of three weeks' duration, that Lovey Lee opened the new project to her grandson, and then, indeed, she approached it in a fashion so remarkable that one might have been stirred to admiration.

She returned late one night to their haunt, and plunged into a startling narrative which quickly roused John Lee from sleep.

"The wickedness of this world! Oh, Jack, if ever you go out among men again, an' get safe off to America, as you hope, try an' keep straight."

He turned over in his bed of dry heath and stared while his grandmother ate her supper. Only a streak of moonlight through the roof lighted their forlorn hiding-place.

"That's strange advice from your lips," he said.

"I know I've been a bad old devil—nobody knows it better. But whose fault? The world's, not mine. An' I'm white to black compared to some of us."

"That's very comforting for you, I'll wager. But he must be a night-black colour that makes you look fair. Yet since you can mourn, 'tis well. Give back the Malherb amphora and I'll say you're the best woman in England."

"All in good time. Have you thought what that bit of glass has cost me? I can't change my god in a minute. For my god it be. But I'm minded to alter my way of living—I swear it—after what I've heard this night."

"Have you met the Devil himself then?"

"No—his right hand, Peter Norcot. I was just sitting by the wayside, full of wonder how I could get out of this evil an' clear the country, an' turn my fag end of life to good, when past he rode 'pon his great horse. ''Tis Lovey Lee!' he cries out, for his lynx eyes remembered my face, even in moonlight. And the black spleen of him! His first thought was you! He's hopeful to see you hanged yet. 'Give him up an' I'll give 'e five hunderd pound,' he said. But I ban't sunk so low as that, though by your starting you seem to think so. I said I knowed nought about 'e. 'Leave that then,' says he. 'You can help me in another job, and richly I'll reward you.'

"Then he fell to telling 'bout Malherb an' his darter. He'm set there still—the black patience of him! An' now his plan be to kindiddle her away altogether. He's plotting to get her under his own roof; and once there—oh Lord! even I—stone-hearted as I've been till now—felt my inwards curdle to hear him an' see the moonlight in his steel eyes! But I was so cunning as a viper an' promised to help him if he'd help me."

"What do you want of him?"

"He'm going to change all my gold money into paper, an' he'm going to buy my watches an' snuff-boxes an' teaspoons, as I can't take with me. Then, that done, I've promised to help with the maiden. She'm to meet him 'pon Saturday week, an' if she do, home she'll never go no more till her name be Grace Norcot."

"And you promised to help in that?"

"I didn't dare refuse; but I'm going to play him false. I've done with wickedness. These latter days have drove the fear of God into me. I wouldn't help that tiger, not for another amphora; an' I be going to prove it by taking the side of right."

"She must be warned."

"I know it; an' that's your work. Us can't go to Fox Tor Farm; but you've got to see her by hook or by crook, else 'tis all over with her."

"I might write."

"You must write. 'Tis the only way. An' since she taught 'e to write, she'll know your penmanship an' trust it. My only fear was you'd had about enough of the girl an' wouldn't care to do no more for her. But so it lies: if she's to be saved, you must do it. I'm too old and weak to do anything. Besides, I'm feared of Norcot."

"I must see her."

"You can't—not at Fox Tor Farm. He've got his spies set as though he'd made war upon the house. His plot be deeper than the sea. Go near an' you'm a dead man, for there's money on your head. Us can only trust Leaman Cloberry to take a letter for a reward; an' since he'll be sure to read what you say, 'twill be well in the letter to do no more than ax the maid to come an' see you."

"See me!"

"Why not? She's free; you ban't. You can slip down to Cloberry's cot at Dartmeet by night, an' she can come next day an' see you there an' get her warning."

Lee nodded.

"A written word will bring her, an' Cloberry would get it to her for money. That I'll pay. He's as fond of gold as I was afore I began to get sense. I'll give Leaman ten pounds if he does what you want."

John Lee's simple heart was too concerned with Grace to reflect upon his grandmother's attitude toward this business. Full of the perils that lay in wait for her, and aware she was ignorant of them, he thanked heaven that he was still alive and possessed power to do her vital service. He did not weigh Lovey's words, but her startling news; he did not question the probable veracity of her present sentiments; but considered little more than her proposals to assist him in a righteous cause. That he must now see Grace was clear; and if, as had been declared, the plot against her only wanted a week for its fulfilment, the event cried for instant action. Since to approach Fox Tor Farm and pierce the cordon said to be set around was doubtless impossible, John determined to follow his grandmother's advice and write and bid Grace meet him at Leaman Cloberry's cottage. To walk or ride thither was easy for her and could rouse no suspicion. Then what he had to say might be quickly said, though it could not safely be written.

"I'll go after nightfall to-morrow," he declared.

"And bid her come to see you on Friday, be it wet or fine," answered Lovey; "for after that date she'll be free no more. Her father's hardened his heart like Pharaoh. He'll see that she don't trick him again."

"Her father!"

"So Norcot told me—grinning like a rain-shoot. They'm both against her. 'Tis two to one; and 'twould be three to one if I'd done what they wanted. But I couldn't. I'm weary of wickedness."

"After nightfall to-morrow, then," said the man.

Lovey spoke no more, and they retired into their respective corners of the hut; but when, two hours later, John Lee's steady breathing told his grandmother that he was unconscious, she rose, left him asleep, and crept away into the Moor. Southward she went, and then, near the tor called Hartland, heard a voice out of the night—a cracked and ancient voice, that sang of the owner's business and repeated its refrain with the monotony of a bird.

"A ha'penny for a rook;
A penny for a jay;
A noble for a fox;
An' twelvepence for a gray!"

Soon Lovey found Leaman Cloberry, where he waited by appointment in a cleft of the rocks, snugly clad as usual in the raiment of dead beasts.

"'Tis all so easy as cursing," she said. "He'll come to you to-morrow—poor sheep—an' write the letter. You'll get it to her through Tom Putt, who won't know what he's doing; an' she'll go to him Friday. Then he'll pour his nonsense into her ears; and as she passes home, along by Whispering Wood, you an' me will be waiting for her. She'll jump for joy and fear no evil when she sees me alive; for it means that her father's guiltless of blood."

"An' this here Mr. Norcot?" asked Cloberry. "A good friend to me an' very generous in the past; but the money ought to be big."

"So it will be. We take the maiden by night up to where the springs of Dart break out; an' then he comes along by chance and rescues her from us. 'Tis all planned. He'll seem in a grand rage, an' may even fetch you a blow or two; but they'm light at fifty pounds. Then off he goes with her to Chagford, and not a living soul that cares for her will know where she be hidden till it pleases him to tell."

"An' John Lee?" inquired the vermin-catcher.

"Well—what of him? Who troubles about the cheese when the mouse is catched? He'll know nought till he hears she has been caught. And she'll always think that 'twas his treachery laid the trap for her!"

CHAPTER VI
THE BURNING OF BLAZEY

On the fourteenth day of March, 1815, came peace, borne upon the white wings of the Favourite: for the President of the United States had ratified the treaty.

But, unhappily, the history of the War Prison on Dartmoor was not yet written, and the last bloody chapter still remained to tell. Ignorant of the complicated task set for authority, the bulk of the Americans instantly clamoured to be free; nor could the better instructed among them induce patience at this juncture. Letters from Mr. Blazey cooled enthusiasm; but these were written in a callous spirit, and impatience quickly rose to anger. Nothing had as yet been prepared for exodus, and the Agent not only gave no promise of immediate liberation, but explained that certain precautions, highly offensive to many of the Americans, must first be taken before a man left Dartmoor.

"I am informed," he wrote, "that great numbers of you refuse to be inoculated with the smallpox, which I hear has been very mortal among you. I therefore acquaint you that it will be impossible for me to send home any prisoners unless they have gone through the same."

Later he wrote again concerning American prisoners taken under the French flag; and then, as no further communication was received for many days, the sailors, like schoolboys on the verge of holiday, began mischievous pranks, flouted their guards and planned all the trouble that ingenuity could devise. Many escaped, for discipline was relaxed. Then Captain Short, from carelessness, proceeded to the other extreme, until even those who desired to assist him in the maintenance of order despaired. The prisoners were out of hand, and their Commandant knew it. He blamed them, not himself, for his heart would not accuse him, though a soldier's conscience sometimes whispered censure.

One night a strange glare filled the courtyard of No. 4, and lurid lights with inky shadows leapt and fell against the granite walls. In the midst a great bonfire blazed, and round about it thousands of wild figures ran, shouted and yelled. At the grilles stood the officers of the prison, some fearful, some indifferent, some enraged.

Sergeant Bradridge, off duty, was watching this scene, and beside him stood his nephew, Mr. Putt.

"There'll be trouble yet," declared the sergeant gloomily, "for they be bent on it. They're mad at the delay, and the party for sense—Mr. Cecil Stark and a grey-head or two, and most of the other gentlemen among 'em—count for nothing."

As he spoke a procession of prisoners appeared, carrying a hurdle on which was seated the semblance of a man. The figure wore a plum-coloured coat, had a scratch wig, a three-cornered hat and knee breeches. Its face was red, its nose was scarlet, its great eyes coal-black.

"'Tis meant for Agent Blazey," explained Putt's uncle. "They've been playing the fool with that great doll all day. First they tried it for bringing 'em to nakedness and starvation here; then they found it guilty; then they made it confess all its sins, which took a mighty long time; then they hanged it by the neck; and now they'm going to burn it to ashes. So they'd treat the real man if they could get at him. An' they'll break loose afore long, so sure as my name's Bradridge, for the Devil's in 'em."

With songs and a wild war dance the effigy of Reuben Blazey was flung upon the flames; then, while it burned, the prisoners roared "Yankee Doodle" together until the walls vibrated.

Apart among them stood Burnham, and with him was Cecil Stark. A sort of friendship still subsisted between them, for the younger man had apologised after their last quarrel as soon as he found himself sober again. Relations, however, were strained to breaking, and to-night they broke for ever.

Stark, indeed, had lost interest in everything but his own affairs now. He might have left the prison at any moment by the expedient of a bribe to the guard; but, as before, the interests of the great plot had kept him, so now the welfare of the mass of prisoners held him still among them. There was little he could do, for he represented patience, which was an unpopular virtue after peace had been declared; but he saw the futility of this behaviour, and tried as far as possible to make his fellows reasonable. A few begged him to remain to the end, and, knowing from letters pretty regularly received through Putt, that all was well with Grace, he waited on.

His future line of action was difficult, but he had determined upon it. Grace gave him to understand that Norcot troubled her no more, and that her father, stricken by a terrible grief, was changed and took a gentler view of life's many-sided problems. Therefore, he proposed to return to Fox Tor Farm and attempt a reconciliation between himself and the Malherbs. Great personal circumstances armed him with strong arguments from a worldly point of view, for his uncle in Vermont was dead, and he now stood heir to a notable fortune.

"I wish to God 'twas the living man that roasted there!" cried Burnham, pointing to the bonfire. "Of all devilish things in this war, our treatment after peace is declared has been the most devilish. 'Tis two weeks since we should have been set free, yet here we still are."

"But they are active. Three ships have set sail from London for Plymouth."

"D'you believe that yarn? Ask the soldiers and they'll tell you the ships are held in the Downs by contrary winds; then they turn aside and wink at each other."

"You take the conduct of these hirelings too seriously. It is folly to let the vulgarity of turnkeys and guards anger you, or to answer the indifference of the authorities with this buffoonery."

He pointed to the bonfire.

"You're a prig," said the other. "You can't help it, but an infernal prig are you, Cecil Stark; and now every word you speak shows that you've changed sides and are only an American in name."

"Bad company has demoralised a good fellow," answered the other. "You want the discipline of a ship-of-war and a whiff of salt air to make you your own man again, Burnham. You pretend it is a fine thing to lead these ignorant, silly fellows; but in your heart you are ashamed, and that makes you break with an old friend. 'Tis the same with Captain Short. He's been weak in the past, and the weakest thing about him is that now he's looking for gratitude for his former good nature. Gratitude's the rare virtue of individuals—never of a mob."

"You prose and prose and blink at facts, like an owl blinks at daylight. Why don't you escape and get out of it?"

"Because I reckon I'm more use here."

"I know better; you're frightened to do it. If you had the pluck of a powder-monkey, and if your love for that girl over there was worth a damn, you'd have vanished long ago; but you know this cursed Government is letting us escape now, so that we may fall into the hands of the press-gangs that are hunting all round Dartmoor like packs of wolves—you know that, and you're frightened they'll catch you too. Nothing makes a man such a coward as coming into a fortune."

"See him—see him!" shouted Mr. Cuffee, who ran by at this moment. "See him fizzle, gemmen! Marse Blazey blaze—him blaze—him blaze like dat in hell!"

He rushed screaming past with the other black men, whose rags, gleaming teeth and ferocious faces, suggested the demon throng proper to Mr. Blazey's future environment.

"You will pick a quarrel, drunk or sober," said Stark, "though of late you've sunk to be not worth kicking. As you like—but even at the risk of more nonsense from you, I'd wish to explain that I'm no Englishman, though it happens I'm not mad. Consider how this nation stands. Hardly has it concluded peace with us than comes the news that Bonaparte has left Elba, and is now in Europe at the head of three hundred thousand men."

"Don't I know it? Doesn't every cur among them turn pale and look over his shoulder like a frightened woman when you cry 'Boney is coming'?"

"They are busy and rather preoccupied. I had speech with Short yesterday."

"What do I care with whom you had speech? I'm here for nearly six thousand free men, who are shut up and still treated as prisoners. Let them see to that. We want our liberty, and we'll take it before many days are done. What do you suppose we are made of?"

"The Lord knows," said Stark. "You are men no more, but a horde of savage and silly monkeys. How can they get ships to convey six thousand of us to America in a week? You, at least, who pretend to some knowledge of warfare and seamanship, should have patience and do your small part to help the British Government, not hinder it."

"I'm not an Englishman."

"I wish you were. Unfortunately the fact remains that you're an American; but your country's not likely to be proud of you if ever this chapter in your career is written."

At this moment, as the ashes of Blazey sank into one glowing mass, and the bonfire slowly died, the Americans burst into a mournful dirge that had been written by Ira Anson the day before, and committed to memory by a hundred men.

Stark left his old shipmate, not guessing that he would never speak to him again; but he had caught sight of Putt with some soldiers near the grille, and now he approached. They strolled on different sides of the barrier into a dark corner under shadow of a cachot wall. Then Putt spoke.

"A letter, your honour, an' I think 'tis important, for Miss sent it by one of our women with urgent orders to get it to you before to-morrow."

"Wait here," answered the other, and, taking the note, he returned within the light of the waning fire and read it.

"Dear heart," wrote Grace. "Yesterday through a villager I had a line from John Lee. He is near us, and I fear that he has heard of evil. He sends but two lines: 'Meet me after noon to-morrow at Leaman Cloberry's cot, where I shall lie hid till you come. I must see you. Danger. John Lee.' I am going. It is his writing, therefore I fear nothing. When are you coming to me? The time of waiting is endless to your Grace."

Stark reflected rapidly. That Lee should not approach him was easily understood; yet that some new danger threatened and John had wind of it, filled him with alarm. He returned to Putt, but made no mention of the letter, for Thomas was in ignorance of all matters between Grace and the prisoner. He glorified in his secret duties as messenger, and in the substantial payment they received; but of John Lee he knew nothing, and Stark, guessing at Lee's personal dangers, did not increase them by whispering of his presence, even to his most faithful friend. He wrote a few words on a leaf from his pocket-book. "My life, trust him, of course; and write to me to-morrow what he tells you. Within a week, if all be well, I may reach Fox Tor Farm; but, if necessary, I can be there to-morrow. C."

"I be going to take supper with the soldiers an' my uncle," said Mr. Putt; "but I'll see Miss Grace gets this first thing in the morning. Mrs. Beer will hand it to her at daylight."

The fire was nearly out now, and the great courts deserted. Soon lights streamed from the windows of the prison; then they too disappeared. Silence fell at last. Under night, in their long rows of hammocks, men slept, or tossed and swore; while beneath the stars, the sentries stood like ghosts upon the walls, or tramped backwards and forwards within them.

CHAPTER VII
DEATH AT THE GATE

Fate, ordering that the War Prison should be for ever remembered in the annals of Prince Town, now crowned all horrors of the past with a supreme catastrophe before those gloomy haunts of sorrow were deserted and echo reigned alone in their courts and corridors. An accident fostered the turbulent spirit that still animated these great companies, and daily infected the minds of new subjects, even as smallpox gained power over their bodies. Mr. Blazey thought it best to take no notice of the insult to which he had been subjected, and soon after the event wrote to his fellow-citizens in an amicable spirit. He explained that to grant passports must not be expected save by those who had friends and connections in England. For the rest, he assured the prisoners that all possible despatch marked the preparation of the cartel ships. "You are much wanted in the United States," he wrote, "and the encouragement for seamen there is very great."

The message soothed not a few impatient hearts, and many of the wiser sailors used it to good purpose in allaying the prevalent bitterness and disorder. But close upon it fell out an unfortunate occurrence for which the prison contractors were responsible. During a whole day the prisoners remained short of bread, and they were called upon to subsist as best they might on four and a half ounces of beef to each man. Captain Short was away at the critical moment upon business in Plymouth, and his subordinates refused to oblige the hungry hordes. A pound and a half of soft bread by right belonged to every prisoner, but the contractor's clerk lost his presence of mind and refused to serve rations of any sort until the return of the Commandant.

This accident was enough for William Burnham's hot-headed faction. A bread riot became imminent, and the prisoners threatened to force the prisons and break open the store-house. Panic and terror swept through Prince Town; chaos fell upon the gaol, and from all the surrounding neighbourhood the women and children fled into the villages, for it was reported that the prisoners were about to break loose and pour, like an angry sea, over the countryside. Many, indeed, escaped before Captain Short returned with a reinforcement of two hundred soldiers from Plymouth; but in the meanwhile fresh supplies of bread had reached the prison, and the bulk of the Americans, having no desire to brave the unknown while liberty promised to be but a thing of days, remained quiet and orderly. Their numbers acted as a weight to render the more daring inert; the disturbance passed and the Commandant expressed a frank and courteous regret for the occasion of the trouble.

Yet alarm did not subside so quickly without the prison walls. Rumours daily gained ground that the Americans contemplated a desperate deed, and Captain Short began to credit these reports. His suspicions and the folly of those in his charge precipitated a conflict, and the innocent suffered for the guilty.

Upon the 6th day of April, towards a peaceful Spring twilight, a large body of men, under Burnham's leadership, collected by twos and threes in one place. The numbers increased, and began ominously to swarm round about a great gate that led from the exercise yards to the marketplace. Ordered by the turnkeys to disperse, they refused; implored by some of their friends to avoid risk of suspicion, Burnham himself bade these peace-seekers go their way or join the party for freedom.

A subaltern, hearing the words, hastened to Captain Short.

"There's trouble brewing, sir. They're swarming like bees at No. 1 gate from the yard, and it's only secured against 'em with a chain. There's a breach, too, in the prison wall of No. 6. The guards are frightened, and the turnkeys won't face the prisoners. I fear that they only wait for darkness."

He came in an evil hour, because the Commandant had already heard warnings of like character from one or two of the Americans themselves. For their information they had received their liberty.

Short started up.

"The dogs! Will nothing satisfy 'em? Must it come to bayonets? Then, by God, it shall! I've done all living man can do to tame these chattering hyaenas. I've endured enough to make me stand self-condemned for a poltroon. More I'll not endure. They are not to be tamed by kindness. The whip, then!"

He raged and ordered that the alarm bells should be rung immediately.

A brazen clangour echoed and re-echoed through Prince Town; the walls of the prison flung it to the mountain-tops, and the great tors resounded it, until, sunk to a mellow murmur, the bells were heard afar off. Upon their clash followed the rattle and hubbub of drums, for a tattoo broke out and beat the guard to quarters. No more unfortunate act could have marked the moment. Thousands of prisoners, just then turning in to their evening meal, rushed back to the yards, and the group at the gate became a centre of theatrical attraction. Upon one side of them advanced the Commandant, his officers and the bulk of the garrison; on the other their inquisitive and excited compatriots began to crowd. The mass was augmented from the rear until it became a moving force, impelled forward and powerless to take action against itself. Thus, when bayonets were lowered, the unfortunate van of this great movement found itself pushed remorselessly upon them.

Captain Short, taking sole command at the fatal moment, when his own self-command had vanished, drew up his force in position to charge. Simultaneously a crash above the hubbub told that the great chain at the gate was broken, and a hundred voices were lifted to cheer Mr. Knapps, whose powerful arm, wielding a sledge, had done the deed. Until now it is certain that any design of escaping had but actuated a handful of the prisoners. No concerted enterprise existed among them; but as the barrier fell and the gate yawned open, others, seeing the opportunity, crowded among Burnham's faction, and prepared to break out under the eyes of their guardians. Captain Short understood nothing more than what he saw, and the immediate danger cooled his passion. But his hatred of this many-headed monster was not cooled. Cries resounded, and behind the breaking gates the civil guards were flying. Yet to the Commandant's credit it may be recorded that he addressed the prisoners and called upon them to yield and fall back. Only yells and laughter greeted him; while at the portals themselves an energetic handful were already forcing the great gates off their hinges.

Thereon the Commandant ordered fifteen file of the guard to this barrier, and with lowered bayonets the men advanced. Many fell back; many were driven on with curses and sharp wounds; but the inert mass behind yielded slowly, while the phalanx in front refused to yield. They kept their ground and held the gate. They insulted the soldiers, and even dared Short to fire upon them.

The first use of that awful word was in Burnham's mouth. "We are free men!" he shouted; "and you have no jurisdiction upon us, and no right to lift these bars between us and liberty. You might as soon dare to fire upon us as order us to bide here. This night we take our liberty, since you abuse your trust and deny it to us in a country that is at peace with ours."

The mass who heard yelled and pressed forward; those who heard not answered the yell, and guessing nothing of the bayonets in front, fought to get there.

Short answered Burnham.

"Before God, they shall fire if——"

But his troops, now maddened with anger, and sore buffeted by the foremost of the prisoners, heard the word "fire," and waited for no context.

A crash and a vibrating roar followed, and Short's sentence was never spoken. Into the waning light flashed the muskets, and with the billowy smoke there rolled aloft a shriek of fear and of agony where souls parted from life.

William Burnham fell shot through the head, and several perished with him. About fifty men were wounded, and the great yard ran blood. Many of the soldiers had fired reluctantly and discharged their weapons over the heads of the prisoners; but the cry of "Blank cartridge!" lifted in the rear had no power to stay the awful panic that followed. A bellow went up from thousands of throats, and the masses of men fell back and poured like rivers into the gaols. It was then that certain knaves among the soldiery, themselves secure on the wall of the prison, opened a cross fire and slew not a few innocent men as they fled to safety. None was brought to justice for this damnable deed, because not one criminal could be discovered when the catastrophe was investigated.

Chaos indescribable ruled that hour. Short toiled like a madman to stay the mischief. He stood before his own men and yelled himself hoarse with execration and command. But the soldiers were out of hand. They had suffered much, and in their base minds the hour of vengeance was come.

At length non-commissioned officers succeeded where their superiors had failed. Sergeant Bradridge and others drew off the garrison, and Doctor Macgrath, with his orderlies and many recruits, hastened to the dead and dying. Not a few had already perished; others were mortally wounded.

Recognising Cecil Stark, the doctor approached where he knelt beside his old messmate; but a glance sufficed.

"That man is dead," he said, and hastened on to tend the living.

Those few of this vast host with whom we have been concerned had all gathered here. Knapps was down with a ball in his leg and a bayonet wound in the arm. Mr. Cuffee, uninjured, howled with sorrow beside one Haywood, a black from Virginia, who had perished. The air stank with the smells of blood and smoke. Voices and cries rang in it; deep groans, like the bass of an organ, persisted beneath the high-pitched cries. As the doctors turned or moved a sufferer, some, restored to consciousness, shrieked till the walls rang out their exquisite grief; others sighed and died under the gentle hands now stretching out to succour them. Captain Short had withdrawn his men, and nearly all the Americans were finally driven back to their respective prisons and locked in; but the Commandant and his officers laboured among the wounded and toiled on under torchlight until the last fallen sufferer had been moved to the hospital or dead-house. Seven ultimately deceased, and of those who recovered many lost a limb. The Americans first responsible for the catastrophe nearly all suffered. They were standing beside Burnham and received a point-blank fire.

After the prisoners had been removed, Cecil Stark, who worked with the English to aid them, prepared to return to his quarters when he found himself accosted by a man with a swarthy face and a black beard. Many Hebrew merchants from the surrounding towns swarmed about the prison with garments to sell to the prisoners at this season, and Stark, supposing the man to be a Jew who had entered with hundreds of others after the catastrophe, was turning from him, when the stranger spoke.

"A moment," he said. "'Tis a terrible hour in which I'm come; but this ill wind will blow you good luck and perchance one who's more to you than yourself."

"John Lee!"

"Ay!—I've come, for there was none else that I dared to send. Evil has fallen out to Grace Malherb. This time there must be nothing to keep you from her, or else the worst will happen. Even as it is you may be too late."

"She sent your letter and I told her to fall in with any plan or warning that you might have for her."

"Take this," said Lee, producing a handful of something dark. "'Tis a beard made of sheep's wool. Wondering as I came how I should hide my face, I saw a black sheep. For once 'twas not a sign of ill-luck, but good. I cornered her, threw her, and cut from her back enough wool for the purpose. I browned my face by rubbing peat upon it. Now I am a Jew. Don this quickly and follow the crowd that is now being thrust outside the walls. The rest you shall know as we go on our way."

Stark adjusted the crisp wool about his chin, drew his hat over his eyes, fetched the cloak about him, and passed unchallenged out beside John Lee. It seemed the most natural and simple matter thus to depart. The long months of suffering, the privations, plots, excitements and disappointments did not return to his mind for many a day. Henceforth, one solitary thought informed him, and he hastened straightway forward into a trap more cunning than any made with granite.

Lee explained what had happened as far as he knew it.

"To me she came two days ago in answer to my urgent message. I had heard that Norcot meant to get her into his personal power at any cost, for he told my grandmother that he would do so. Weary of evil, or pretending so, the old woman confessed to me, and I explained to Grace Malherb the threatened danger. She promised that she would not stir abroad again, and assured me that her father knew nothing. She could hardly stop for joy when she heard that Lovey Lee was alive; for it seems that Mr. Malherb, who struck her down upon Cater's Beam, believed that he had slain her."

"But of Miss Malherb?"

"She left me and has not since been seen. This I have heard to-day, for as my grandmother did not return, I grew fearful and last night got to Fox Tor Farm. It was easy to lie in wait until I could speak with Putt, for once more the place is disturbed and they seek high and low for Miss Grace."

"You saved her from Norcot then, and some other ill has overtaken her?"

"I do not know. It may be that in ignorance I only worked for Norcot. I cannot question my grandmother, since she is still absent from our hiding-place. Therefore, there was no course but to come to you."

"Norcot may have used you after all through your grandmother?"

"I can only fear it."

"Then to him! I will not sleep until I have met that man."

"We are going there now. To-night you shall lie hid close to Chagford, and to-morrow night—not sooner—you can tackle him. I've been to Chagford, but I dared not go to him myself until I had been to you, for his answer would be to arrest me. You've got to show your quality now. If my grandmother is guilty of this, you'll find the cleverest man and the wickedest woman on Dartmoor against you."

Stark did not answer. His thoughts wandered backwards as it seemed.

"Seven there were, and now—Miller, Burnham, Carberry—all dead. And Leverett in the hand of God, if still he lives. And Jim Knapps badly wounded. That leaves but poor Cuffee and me."

"To-night you'd better lie in my den. If my grandmother has returned to it, you can tackle her; but indeed I fear you'll see her no more. Norcot was to turn her gold and trinkets into paper money. Then she meant to go to France."

"Why wait till to-morrow? Why not to-night?"

"I cannot get there, Mr. Stark. I've walked forty miles and more to-day. Five yet lie before us, and that will settle me. Food's been scarce, too, of late. I'm not in good fighting trim, I fear."

Stark seized his hand.

"By God! you've done your share! But your troubles are near over. You come with me to Vermont, or I'll not go. I've sworn to myself that you come. I don't leave this country without you."

"You are very generous and good."

They tramped over the night-hidden land in silence. Twice Lee had to stop and rest awhile. Then he walked forward. Before midnight they reached the ruined cot under Sittaford Tor. Plenty of food was hidden there, and both ate heartily, drank from a rivulet at hand, and then slept side by side.

The place was empty, for Lovey Lee had not returned to it; but before dawn the old woman, like an aged tigress, came slinking back. Upon entering the cot and striking a light, she saw not only her grandson, but the pale upturned face of Cecil Stark.

Neither moved in their profound slumber; but the woman instantly extinguished her taper, and crept out of doors again.

"It's a hell of a tramp to take twice in one night," she thought. "Yet 'tis good for another clear hundred, and Norcot shan't hear it for less."

Then she set her old bones creaking again upon the way to Chagford.

CHAPTER VIII
BEARDING THE LION

To Maurice Malherb it seemed that he was living his life over again. Upon the second disappearance of his daughter, the old turmoil recurred; but less fury marked his manners and more method. Grace had gone for a long tramp over the Moor, and had never returned home. She set out after her mid-day meal and was no more seen. Neither had any man nor woman heard of her. Tom Putt, indeed, remembered the letter that he had conveyed to her through Mr. Cloberry; but he also knew this missive came from John Lee. Therefore he felt no alarm, but doubted not that John was working with Cecil Stark, and that Grace was safe.

When the catastrophe at Prince Town became known and it transpired that not a few besides Stark were reported missing, the Americans declared their compatriots were fallen in the struggle and had been hastily buried by night, that the numbers of the slain might not challenge too much attention; but the history of the time may be relied upon in this matter, and it is safe to assume that those unaccounted for upon that unhappy night escaped in the subsequent confusion, even as Cecil Stark had done.

So, at least, concluded Maurice Malherb; and, awake to the significance of the incident in connection with his daughter's disappearance, he was first minded to yield and let her have her way; but then he came back to himself, and fury awoke him, and he sought Peter Norcot, that the wool-stapler might assist him to recover his daughter.

Malherb rode over the Moor to Chagford upon the morning after the tragedy at Prince Town; and on his way he reflected concerning his own peculiar position.

It was now generally known that in a fit of rage he had slain an ancient woman upon Cater's Beam. But since the attributes of Lovey Lee and her history came also to be apprehended; so soon as it was understood that Lovey had plotted with the American prisoners and herself was hiding from a rope when Malherb destroyed her, no further concern in the matter touched men's minds. The times were troublous; there was much to think of; none made it his business to take action, and Malherb's only punishment lay within his own heart and brain.

His personal grief did not lessen; his wife alone knew of the tortures that he still suffered. His physical health began to break under the strain, for the man's old zest in food departed; his zest in sport was dead; and his zest in life and the work of life had wholly vanished. Remorse ate him alive.

To Chagford he came, and Gertrude Norcot, who had not seen him for many days, started to find the master of Fox Tor Farm much changed. His demeanour had altered; his carriage had grown humble; his head had sunk forward under the blows of time. Native pugnacity had given place to melancholy; even the incisive and stern methods of his speech were merged into a hollow and phlegmatic indifference, as of one careless of affairs.

Yet to-day he was sufficiently himself to be eager, and even passionate, as he recounted events.

"Peter has heard all," said Miss Norcot. "He has not been idle. Indeed, for three days he has lived in the saddle. Certainly we have seen very little indeed of him here."

"Your daughter must have a strange disposition," said a weak voice; and, turning round, Malherb saw a little clergyman, who held out his hand. He was flat-faced, meek and humble.

"Our kinsman, Mr. Relton Norcot," said the lady. "Peter had occasion to go to London recently, and on his way back through Exeter he picked up Relton. My cousin stands in need of rest, for he works too hard."

"It is the duty of man to toil," said the minister. "What is life without work? A formless void."

"And where is Peter now?" inquired Malherb.

"Heaven knows," answered Gertrude. "He may return to dinner, or he may not do so. Will you stay with us for the night?"

"No, no; I must home to my wife. I am sorry to miss him. Let him know that Cecil Stark has escaped from the War Prison. This will quicken his wits as it has quickened mine. I have watchers set round about Holne. And also at Dartmouth. And yet there is that in me which begets a great indifference now. It is vain to fight the young, for Time is on their side."

"You must be brave, dear Mr. Malherb."

Miss Norcot put a light hand upon his arm.

"You can touch me," he said, "knowing what you know?"

"Indeed, yes. You have atoned."

He shook his head, and the clergyman spoke.

"Who shall fling the first stone, my dear sir? Who shall hale you before your outraged country?"

Malherb stared at him, as a man who sees an unpleasant insect suddenly where before there was none. Then his expression changed.

"You say well. Who shall? There is but one man. His duty it is, and he hangs back."

Miss Norcot was much interested.

"You mean her grandson? But he cannot, dear Mr. Malherb, for he, too, stands in danger of the law. He ought to have been hung long ago."

"I mean Maurice Malherb," he said, speaking to himself rather than to her. "Farewell. Tell Peter that I have been here. If he learns anything of comfort, let him hasten to us at Fox Tor Farm."

"Be of good cheer," said the clergyman; but Malherb did not answer. He departed and left them whispering together.

Hardly had his horse gone out of the courtyard when Peter appeared. He had been above, in his bedchamber.

"You have made your sister say the thing which was not, my dear Peter," said the clergyman mournfully.

"Pardon me," she answered. "I did nothing of the sort. He asked where my brother was, and I said that Heaven knew. That was not to say I did not know."

They fell to talking, and Maurice Malherb went slowly towards Chagford. For a moment he stopped at Norcot's place of business beside Teign river, and asked if Peter was there; but a doorkeeper shook his head, and the master went on his way to the "Three Crowns," that he might bait his horse before returning home.

And as he passed the great manufactory, Maurice Malherb had been within twenty yards of his daughter; for there she was hidden; there, where hundreds of busy men and women circled round about her and the roar of water-wheels and the hum of looms made grand music of industry from dawn till eve, Grace Malherb was securely shut up in Norcot's private rooms. Two apartments had been prepared for her, and Peter's sister visited the girl every night after dark. The full extent of her brother's purpose Gertrude only suspected when he returned from London and brought the Rev. Relton Norcot along with him; but how Peter proposed to compass the marriage his sister had not yet comprehended. Her sympathies were with him, however, and she was true and trustworthy. She guessed which way things were tending. She understood now that Peter's sole reason for going to London was that he might procure a Special License of marriage; and she knew that he had got it. Gertrude doubted not that days—perhaps hours—would bring the sequel; and nightly she exhausted her powers of persuasion upon Grace from eleven o'clock until one, in the silent factory; but as yet the captive showed no signs of being tamed. Norcot had also striven with her, and now she was a chained fury, so that Peter told his sister frankly that he went in fear of his eyes. Even his equanimity had given out, and he was casting round to know by what channel the ceremony might be celebrated as quickly as possible. But no course of action appeared until the night before Malherb's visit. Then Lovey Lee had brought her news out of the cottage on Sittaford's side, and, from that moment, Peter began to see light. Long ago he had asked himself whether Cecil Stark could be made of any service in the great matter of Grace; and now, when he learned that the American was almost at his door, Peter's spidery instincts served him well. While yet he waited, confident of the speedy advent of Stark, the future began to unfold, and a project as extraordinary as it was difficult matured in the merchant's brains.

"An enterprise involving violent melodrama, no doubt," he told himself, "but then these are melodramatic times, and in the rush and hurry of wars, and rumours of wars—in the scare of Bonaparte and the tragedy over the hills at Prince Town, a little lawlessness must pass unnoticed. Tut, tut! Does not the world still think that fool at Fox Tor Farm a murderer? Yet no hand is lifted against him. And there is a source of strength there; for when we tell him that he is innocent of blood, he'll be so overjoyed that he'll forgive anything and anybody. And she—once married all must right itself. Let it work then. Come, Mr. Cecil Stark of Vermont! I'm nearly ready for you; indeed, 'tis perfectly plain that I can't get on much further without you. But pray God Malherb don't run upon him riding home! Yet 'tis improbable, for he'll hardly stir till nightfall. Then the man Lee will bring him hither. And now to see my lady. Here's news indeed for her."

All that afternoon Norcot was closeted with Grace, and when he left her, she let him kiss her!

"May the night bring him," she said, "for each moment is a century when I think of my dear ones at home and all their sufferings now."

And that night Cecil Stark arrived. As a fugitive himself, liable to be recaptured and returned to Prince Town by any man eager to earn three pounds, the young sailor exercised caution; and for the sake of his guide it was also necessary that he should incur no risk; but ere midnight he came, and Norcot himself ushered him into the house.

"A hearty welcome!" he said, with the most genial handgrip. "I expected you. Had you not escaped yesterday, I was coming to Prince Town to see Short and go bail for you; but love has a thousand wings and a thousand voices. Come in, Mr. Stark. Henceforth you are my guest."

He offered his hand, but the other did not take it.

"One word, sir. Is Miss Malherb here?"

"Come in, come in. You gladden my heart; for Heaven can bear witness that I took to you from the first moment ever I saw you—when you came so near to braining that beautiful lady. I'm 'a beast of company but not of the herd,' as Plutarch says. Give me a friend or two, not a regiment of 'em. There was that in your face—

Born to command, to conquer and to spare;
As mercy mild, yet terrible as war.'

Come in."

"'Wolves do change their hair, but not their hearts'!

There's a quotation for yours," said Stark suddenly and bluntly.

Mr. Norcot started.

"Tut, tut! I thought we were old friends."

"Answer me. Is Miss Malherb here?"

"Here, yet not here," replied Peter, pressing his breast.

"'Smiling then Love took his dart
And drew her picture on my heart.'

But I can relieve your mind. The maiden is well and exceedingly happy."

"Then was John Lee right; you abducted her."

"Ah! that agile lad! Mercury's a fool to him."

Stark took off his hat and entered the house.

"I am here to escort Miss Malherb to her parents, Mr. Norcot."

"And a pleasant enough task too—for both of you. Now enter and rest your weary limbs—nay; don't look suspicious. There's no mystery here—merely the library of a very busy man."

Stark sat down and rubbed a wounded foot, while Mr. Norcot regarded him with a very whimsical expression.

"So you are a new Quixote, come to rescue distressed maidens? Yet, if you could see the joy on Grace Malherb's countenance at this moment, you might suspect that your disinterested labour was in vain, Mr. Stark."

"Only her own assurances will satisfy me. As for you, in the past I owe you much, Mr. Norcot. With a single-hearted generosity that I cannot sufficiently admire and I cannot quite understand, you exerted yourself on behalf of strangers and captives. But now——'

"Now, perhaps, I am doing the same thing again, Mr. Stark. Would it surprise you to hear that within this month I have been to London on your behalf?"

"Why should you do so?"

"Ah!—my modesty refuses to reply. But believe the fact: for you and Grace Malherb I have been as industrious as a man can be. She knows and blesses me. You have yet to know."

"Is this true, sir?"

"Why not? And yet against one of your credulous character a lie would be a good weapon."

"Yes, for a slave to use," said Stark.

"It's a nice point. I'm a casuist, you know. I could mention a few classical lies that have helped to make the world what it is to-day—

"'Why should not conscience have vacation
As well as other courts o' the nation?'"

"You jest to ask such a question, or you mistake me, Mr. Norcot."

"'Tis easy to understand how willingly men would give their monitor a life-long holiday if they could. Yet, 'He that sins against his conscience sins with a witness.' Fuller. That inimitable man! I wish my young clerical cousin had something of his sublime sense and understanding. But Relton's a good lad, and no bishop can marry you tighter."

"Be frank, Mr. Norcot," said Stark. "Here am I, and I trust you. I accept your word that Miss Malherb is also here, and that she is well. But I am determined to take her back to her father and mother, because I learn that they are ignorant of her safety, and are suffering much, as it is natural they should suffer."

Peter beamed upon his visitor.

"'How fresh and green you are in this old world!' Now I understand why your plots miscarried and you failed of your heroic enterprises, Cecil Stark. Think you that if I'd been rogue enough to bear off this maid for selfish ends, I should welcome you so warmly and prepare so frankly to tell you the truth? Suppose—as doubtless you do suppose—that I had Miss Grace here, and my parson cousin here, and my Special License to marry her here, should I make you a welcome and honoured guest? What was your plan of action then? Do reveal it. As a student of character I should like to know."

"I trusted to right and honour, and still do so."

"Yet you'd have cut but a poor figure if I had proved that wolf-hearted wool-dealer you so rudely described."

"I judged from what John Lee told me. Your passion for Grace Malherb and your determination to marry her are widely known."

"Well, granted; but first John Lee. Have a care there. He's malignant and dangerous. Powerless himself, he would leave no stone unturned to do me a hurt—or you a hurt. Yet all that ever I did was to try and save his neck. Remember his granddam."

"I believe him to be honest."

"I know him to be a very silly rascal. He has much endangered Miss Malherb's happiness. 'A whip for the horse, a bridle for the ass, and a rod for the fool's back'; but better still, a bullet for the fool's head. The fools—the fools—they make nearly all the trouble in the world."

"Lee is a good man and no fool, if I am any judge. At least, he seems shrewd enough to me. He has served both his mistress and me nobly before to-day. He correctly guessed all along where Miss Malherb was now, and he brought me to you."

"Because 'twas his own folly helped to bring her here. We may use a fool in the affairs of life; and often there's no better tool. But be careful that no inkling of your ends is trusted to the fool."

Cecil Stark seemed to see a sinister personal significance in this speech. He regarded Norcot's smiling countenance with the closest attention.

"I might take that hint to myself," he said.

"You might; but you would be wrong and ungenerous if you did," answered the other. "I'm your friend, and I'm going to prove it under the hand and seal of a greater than either of us."

"Her own?"

"Alas! no. I'm coming to that. If she could have written, she would have done so. But for the moment it is unhappily impossible. She desired a thousand messages, but these I would not bring, because I could only give my word that they were true. But the written word is none the less convincing."

"Begin at the beginning if you are being honest with me," said Stark.

"I would say with the man in the play—

"'A sudden thought strikes me,
Let us swear an eternal friendship';

but, under the circumstances, I'll leave that quotation for you. When you hear what I've got to say, you'll make it, if you're as just and honourable as I believe."

"Speak then."

Peter looked at the clock over the mantelpiece.

"Like a sermon, what I have to say must be set forth under three heads. The application I shall leave with you," he answered. "First, however, here's a glass of wine. Allow me to drink before you do so. You would not be justified in trusting me until you have heard more."

Mr. Norcot poured out two glasses of port, sipped his own and began his explanations.

CHAPTER IX
A SPECIAL LICENSE

"We must deal," said Norcot, "with the relations of four people each to the others. And first let us examine my relations with Grace Malherb. I loved her; I loved her with a whole-hearted, true and deep love that can only find the faintest echo in poetry. Herrick's 'To Anthea, who may command him anything,' comes closest to the real sentiment. But love grows sick like an ill-grown tree, if it grows one-sided. A dark hour struck when with acute sorrow and grief I discovered that I could never win Grace's heart. The bitter truth was stamped into my soul. She would never love me; she risked her life to escape from me; frankly, I was odious to her. Yet I had observed that this emotion of loathing was not always excited in the female heart by my presence. I was blessed, even in the moment of desolation, by discovering that I was loved by another woman.

"'Who'er she be,
That not impossible She
That shall command my heart and me'

does not matter. Suffice it that she exists; and she is beautiful and virtuous.

"As a matter of fact, I had given up all thought of marrying when once I discovered that Grace Malherb could never love me. I had faced the existence of a bachelor with an indifference bred from disappointment. I had said with Shakespeare—

"'The sweet embraces of a loving wife
Loaden with kisses, arm'd with thousand Cupids,
Shall never clasp our necks.'

But now I think otherwise. To put it conventionally, I am consoled. You will, I know, express your gratification at this, even as Grace did. She kissed me and enjoyed doing it! Think of that! What a piece of work is the feminine throne of the emotions!—eh? She kissed me and wished me abundant blessings—only yesterday.

"''Tis done; I yield; adieu, thou cruel fair!
Adieu, th' averted face, th' ungracious cheek!
From thee I fly to end my grief and care,
To hang—To hang?—yes, round another's neck!'

So I made light of the matter, and now leave it for ever.

"You ask what next? Next comes Grace's relation to you. I knew that she loved you with all her heart and soul. For you she suffered the cruel indignities of the past; for you she starved; for you she fled and risked her life rather than marry me. Her father was the sole obstacle between you when I dropped out and came over to your side. He is both hard and senseless—a difficult type of man. One must not say 'by your leave' to such as he, because to ask is to be refused. So I propose to take without asking, and allow him to digest facts only after the occurrence. He is dangerous now, and those who fear all strike at all. Yet we've more than one surprise in store for Malherb. Is it nothing to think yourself a murderer and find yourself innocent? That's the trump card! There'll be little room for anger in his bosom on the day when he learns that.

"Well, I'm working without him—for love of his daughter. 'Tis settled betwixt you that you must marry though the heavens fall. You shall. I'm as set on it as either of you. The day after to-morrow you are man and wife. So much good news will bewilder you; but there's bad to go as a tonic with it. You naturally ask why these great matters do not come to you under Grace's own hand and seal. Alas! she is blind!"

"Good God! My Grace!"

"Be patient. The fault was entirely mine. Those appointed to bring her hither at any cost, discovered that she was young and strong and valiant. An old man and an old woman, albeit tough enough, found it as much as they could do, and before they had prevailed and hidden her in the depths of an ancient wood, all three were scratched and wounded with the briars and brambles, in which they had struggled. She fought with true Malherb spirit, but the conquerors came best off; Miss Malherb was torn, and badly torn, across the face. I have had the first advice both from Plymouth and from Exeter. For the present she lives in a dead darkness, and must continue so to do for a week or more."

"But she will recover her sight? Oh, do not tell me that those wonderful eyes will see no more."

"I could hardly have borne to jest over the past, my dear Stark, had the future held anything so terrible. Your lady's lovely eyes are but dimmed for a time. I spoke with Sir George Jenning only yesterday. He has little fear of the ultimate result; but blackest possible night must hem her in for the present. A gleam might work terrible havoc; the optic nerve is affected, and such sympathy prevails between the eyes that injury to one may quickly involve both."

"I hope you look to this yourself. 'Tis hard to avoid daylight in April."

"My sister Gertrude is nurse."

"If I could but see Grace!"

"See her you certainly cannot. Nobody can. Never sibyl was wrapped in gleam more Cimmerian; but marry her you may and shall, if that will suffice you."

The rapidity of these revelations; the intense seriousness and most kindly expression upon Norcot's face; the bewildering rush and hurry of his own life during the past few days, all combined to move Cecil Stark. His wits swooned; his emotions yearned to believe this marvellous story. He pressed his hand to his forehead, then noticed the wine at his elbow, picked up the glass and drained it.

"Man," he said solemnly, "surely it is not in humanity to juggle upon such a theme? You cannot be deceiving me?"

"Emphatically no," answered Norcot. "I am no juggler, but a simple wool-merchant of some character and renown in these parts. In fact, a big toad in a small puddle, as the saying is. My heart went out to you when first we met, and I resolved, if opportunity offered, to do you a service. I failed; but it was your own action that defeated my good offices. This time I shall succeed, because nobody on this earth can break a marriage contract if the conditions are within the law of the land."

"She is willing?"

"For a thousand reasons; and, first, before any thought of you, that her parents may suffer no more. They have undoubtedly endured a good deal."

"'Tis an insult to the family to wed so."

"She is not of that opinion. The ceremony once complete, you can go back to prison with a cheerful heart; or, better still, obtain a passport. I shall ride off instantly to Grace's parents and explain all. Upon her recovery, and before you depart to your own land the richer by this lovely rose, a marriage ceremony as splendid as Malherb's purse can bear may take place. Would that he would forget to play Lucifer for once and let me bear the cost."

"Such things as this don't happen," said Stark slowly.

"They don't," answered the other. "Such things can only be found within the pages of poetry. And yet you see how one romantic ass, out of the dead love of his past, has planned this little fairy tale. I am that ass, Mr. Stark. Such things don't happen; yet this thing is going to happen if you are of the same mind as Grace Malherb. She has forgiven me everything—even robbing her of daylight. 'What is the sun compared with him?' cried she. My God, how she loves you!"

Yet something in Cecil Stark's heart still doubted and cried for proof positive. Norcot's perfect voice, flowing on like an oily river, hurt his nerves. He felt that he was being muffled up and choked in honey. He dashed his hand on the table.

"Proofs—facts—realities—give me these!" he cried. "Show me how this can be, and I will bless your name for ever."

"I was waiting for you to come to your senses. This astounding news has acted like strong drink on a hungry man. Proofs are here—facts—realities too. Read this. You never heard of Charles Manners Sutton? Yet, 'tis a very well-known name among respectable people. This word he wrote. 'Tis the sign-manual of His Grace the Archbishop of Canterbury, Mr. Stark."

"Go on—explain."

"There's your worthy name also, and that of Grace Sibella Malherb. You knew not that she was called Sibella too? An old family name on the mother's side. She was a Carew and my mother was also a Carew. But this family history won't interest you?"

"Not now."

"Well, having determined to see you married to my Grace, I sought the means. There are but three ways in this kingdom to be married, and all demand the co-operation of the Church. We lack a purely civil rite, but there is a talk of establishing such. First comes marriage by Banns, which necessitates three weeks' notice in a place of worship. This I tried myself, with results not unfamiliar to you. 'Twas for the best. Marriage by ordinary license requires but a fifteen days' residence in the parish where the ceremony is to take place. Doctors' Commons can supply this document at a moment's notice, or the Bishop of the Diocese will do so through his Chancellor and Surrogates. Another glass of wine? You look as if you wanted it. Now this method is equally out of place, because we cannot entertain you here for the next fifteen days, much as we should like to do so. The secret of Grace's whereabouts must be hidden no more. There remains marriage by Special License—a ceremony permission to perform which can only be given by the Archbishop of Canterbury himself. It allows the contracting parties to be married anywhere they please: in a church, or on a high road, or within a private dwelling, or at the top of Dartmoor. A priest of the Church of England and two witnesses complete the entire necessary conditions. How witnesses can witness a wedding in the dark is doubtful; but they must do their best, and trust to their ears if not their eyes.

"That document, beaming upon you there, is the Special License which will permit you to marry Miss Malherb. I have friends at Court. His Grace was easily convinced of the propriety of my application. And fate favoured me, for he loves your country with a Christian charity very proper in a primate. It was enough for him that you desired instantly to return home after your long incarceration, and that your future wife was both eager and willing to accompany you. Feel it, read it, touch it! Has it not the very odour of sanctity? All this have I done for you and for her. You see, I'm not quite the rascal you thought me.

"'I never bark when out of season,
I never bite without a reason.'

Indeed, barking and biting are quite foreign to my nature."

Stark stared at the Special License without speaking.

"Still you find it difficult to believe in such a torrent of hard facts. There remains to point out the necessity for a speedy marriage. I supposed that you would be free a fortnight ago at latest. Consequently I named a date which will expire in two days. You must marry the day after to-morrow, if you can bring yourself to the ordeal so soon. You will stop here, I trust, or if not here, then at my lodge, which will be safer. As a leading man among the Americans, they'll seek you sharply. They might find you in my house; but in my lodge you will be safe. Now what say you? You must believe or not—all or none. Accept my simple good faith or reject it."

"Your honour upon it?"

"May I perish miserably, and vanish from among men, and from the Book of Life, if I am lying to you."

"It is enough! No false man would take such an oath as that."

Stark leapt to his feet, pressed the other's hand and shook it warmly.

"God reward you for your deed, Peter Norcot. Generations to come shall bless you as I do. I believe you with all my heart. I trust you with all that makes life best living to me."

"So be it. Now get you gone. For safety I'll hold this document until after your marriage. I have planned the ceremony for the morning of the day after to-morrow. If possible you shall speak to Grace to-morrow, but Malherb has his spies here, and you'll be followed too. Therefore we must run no risk. See John Lee and send him about his business once and for all; next repair to my lodge, where you are expected. There a meal awaits you. Keep close within doors meantime, and I shall come again to you after dark."

A few moments later Norcot himself took the American to his door, showed him the lodge at his avenue gates not a quarter of a mile distant and left him there.

Then he returned to his study, lighted a taper and carefully destroyed the Special License by fire.

"A neat enough copy," he said, as it curled and flamed and vanished; "so like the real thing that a man may be forgiven for calming his mind through the perception of his senses."

Next Norcot went to his desk and drew therefrom another document in most respects resembling the first. But it was set out upon thicker paper and the seal was of black wax, not red, as in the case of the destroyed forgery.

Meanwhile Stark met Lee, and the hollow unreality of his story fell sinister and threatening upon John's ear.

"You don't believe this nonsense," he asked simply when the tale was told.

"Every word of it! He has taken a solemn—a terrific oath. He is a man of the highest honour, or I never yet met with one!"

"You can credit these unheard-of deeds and believe that he performed them simply that you may get what you wanted?"

"Not so. 'Tis all done for her sake. He loved her. Even in losing her, he shows the noble character of his love for ever. His one thought is her happiness."

"I will never believe it. This is a gigantic lie. There's some foul deed hiding behind it, and you will live to see that I'm right."

"We shall not agree there, John. Don't think that I undervalue your great services to me. Don't think that I can ever forget your grand loyalty to your mistress. But in this matter, as a man of the world not lacking for sense and experience, I know that I am right. I am not clever, yet I feel that I can trust him. Norcot is a rare figure; but it heartens one, it enlarges one's ideas to know that such men exist. He himself is loved elsewhere; and now he desires to make us happy. I have told you all; I need only add that I believe him as I believe in Heaven, and I trust him absolutely. He has always been a true friend to me. For the present I remain here at this lodge, and on the night after our marriage, if the doctor allows it, I convey my wife back to her home. Now what shall I do for you, John Lee? The best can only be a shadow of what you have done for me."

"You're wrong; you're madly wrong! Where is Miss Grace herself? Did he tell you that?"

"No; but I gathered that she is in his house."

"Go your way then, and ask me no questions, for I shall go mine. You are mad in this and will live to repent such trust bitterly. His life—his whole life and behaviour towards her cry on my side."

"You forget his past behaviour to me. Is that to count for nothing? He has always wished me well. For you, John, I have to thank you for much," he said; "for much, much more than I can ever pay you back; yet now I ask for another favour. I am older than you, and perhaps more experienced in the ways of men. I am not deceived in Peter Norcot. At any rate, the future now lies with me. Let me ask you to renounce the affair entirely from this moment, and leave the rest to me. If I am content, you should be also."

"Never! What do I care for you, or Norcot either? 'Tis only her that I care for; only her I'm here for. Go your way, but don't dictate to me. I'll do what I can for her against you both; and though fifty thousand Norcots took their oath that they meant you fair, I'd not believe one of 'em. There's no truth in that man. He's trapped her for himself—not for you. Oh, how clear it is to me! I was the bait to bring her here; now Providence has made me bring you; and in some dark, magic way this devil will make you serve his turn too."

"Go!" said Stark, solemnly and sternly. "I mourn that you can so misread an honourable man. I am not concerned with his methods now, but his motives. He planned to lead my love into happiness by a rough road. I came in the nick of time. He has expected me. Do you understand? He expected me! He has foreseen every step in these events. I bid you leave my affairs in my own hands henceforth, John Lee; and I say here from my heart that, do what you will, you are my friend for ever."

"So be it then. Follow your own fool's way and see whether it will lead you back to the War Prison, or into the arms of Grace Malherb, or into your grave. And I, too, will go my way. Her happiness is my life; not you, or any man living, shall deny me to strive and fight for her to the end. I marvel and mourn for you. Your wits are dulled by the cruel prison yonder. Your senses are held captive by this man."

He spoke sorrowfully, then turned away, and before Stark had time to beg for patience and consideration, John Lee hastened into the woods and disappeared.

CHAPTER X
EYES IN THE DARK

Mr. Norcot and his kinsman, the clergyman, were walking together upon a broad terrace before the wool-stapler's dwelling-house. They had dined, and now they smoked their pipes out of doors, for the spring night was mild and clear.

Not twenty yards distant, behind the lattice of a little summer-house, a man lay concealed; and it chanced that both speakers came within earshot of him, for the minister, feeling his dinner, proposed to enter the summer-house and sit down there awhile.

"'Tis your port wine," he said. "What has a poor priest to do with such liquor?"

"He shall have much to do with it, and be a poor priest no more after to-morrow."

They sat down within two yards of John Lee. Convinced that Grace must be hidden here in Norcot's house, John was endeavouring to learn her apartment, that when nightfall came he might communicate with her. Through four-and-twenty hours, since his last interview with Cecil Stark, he had toiled without success to find her; to-night he was determined to succeed, for early on the morrow the wedding would take place, if Stark spoke the truth.

And now kindly chance threw to him information more valuable than the hiding-place of Grace Malherb. A wedding, indeed, was to be celebrated; but Peter Norcot, not the American, would be bridegroom.

The first words that fell upon Lee's ear were spoken by the clergyman.

"'Tis a very subtle piece of work; a wonderful stroke; yet I wish you had broke it to any man but me, Peter."

"My dear Relton, you're not in an after-dinner humour. 'Twas not that you drank too much port, but too little. I've a hundred dozen of that vintage—put down by a loving father thirty years ago. Well, how like you the thought of five-and-twenty dozen? 'Tis emphatically a clergyman's wine. What potential tone—what tolerance—what breadth of view—what a fine literary flavour to your discourses all lie there!"

"To do evil that good may come—a parlous doctrine."

"Most true. I'll go further and say a damnable doctrine. I'm asking you to attempt no such thing. You are invited to marry me to a woman in the dark—a literal, not a spiritual darkness. She refuses to marry me in the daylight; therefore it is proposed to put this trick upon her for her own welfare. The young fellow from Prince Town comes to help us with his presence. He is sent, as the ram was sent to save Isaac's life. But I do not sacrifice him: I merely send him back whence he came. This girl of ours thinks that she loves him; and she believes that she will marry him to-morrow. Well, you know better."

"My part is a dastard's part."

"What? To say 'Cecil Stark' in the marriage service when you mean 'Peter Norcot'! What nonsense! As soon as the daylight bursts in upon our little ceremony, you have only to forget your error."

"I fear the issue."

"Then you fear a handsome income—a sum which to a man of your abilities and ambitions should mean power. By assisting at this pious fraud, you assure the welfare of a good but headstrong girl, and you oblige me. From being a penniless parson you rise to wealth and dignity. You——"

"What of Cecil Stark?"

"Mr. Stark broke prison very improperly, and to-morrow morning, as he quits the matrimonial chamber, a file of soldiers will be waiting to take him back again. His subsequent story of a cock and bull no one will heed. Leave that. Have you the service by heart? 'Tis a great feat."

"I know it well enough."

"There can be no prompting, recollect. The darkness of Egypt was light compared to the darkness in my study to-morrow. The grave is not darker. Both he and she are prepared for that. She thinks that his eyes suffered in an explosion of gunpowder at Prince Town; he believes that she was seriously injured while coming here. By a closely shrouded way they enter the room. Gertrude will bring Grace; I follow with Stark. You are already there to meet us. In the pitchy dark I hold Grace's hand and stand beside her; Stark holds Gertrude's hand and thinks that she is Grace. You'll do your part as fast as may be. Then Stark, believing himself married, comes out into the daylight with me, and is packed off to Prince Town in a jiffy, while, soon afterwards, Grace and I bowl off to Exeter in a barouche and four. She will think I am taking her home; and then for the first time she will learn that she is my wife."

"May it so fall out!"

"It cannot fail. I've forgot nothing. There are, of course, a thousand minor problems and subordinate possibilities; but all have been provided for."

"You and your wife vanish; Stark returns to prison; and I am left. How if an infuriated father comes to challenge me?"

"Tut, tut! You are too poor a thing for this business. Well, what then? You have but to say that at my desire you conducted a legal and proper service; you have but to show the marriage license that I leave behind me. You speak of a straight-forward wedding in honest daylight, and the bride willing. Concerning Cecil Stark you know nothing. Gertrude and my man, Mason, the other witness, substantiate you; and soon there will come a dutiful letter from Grace——"

"You believe that?"

"Once married all is well. The honeymoon will throw a genial light upon duty. She forgives me in a week and even begins to understand me. There's only one cloud: I couldn't get what I wanted out of old Lovey—a certain amphora. She's much too clever for me. Your pipe is out."

John Lee had heard every syllable of this conversation; and he had forgotten himself so completely that now, dead to danger, he was as close to the speakers as he could get, with his face pressed to the lattice of the summer-house. Suddenly Relton Norcot struck a light, and before Lee could duck his head the flame had touched his eyes and revealed him. Peter was quick, but the other man had the advantage. There was a crash in the shrubbery, then a figure broke cover, sped into the grass-lands below, and vanished.

"We are undone!" cried the clergyman. "I knew this could not come to good. Oh, Peter, my reputation!"

"Peace, you silly sheep, this is no time for babble! All's yet well. I marked the man and know him. 'Tis the gipsy, John Lee, and I can deal with him. The problem's simple. He runs to get at Stark; but that can be prevented."

"For God's sake, let us go in. I'm struck with an ague."

"That such a worm should have power to wield the sacraments of God! Come you in, and hasten to my sister. Bid Gertrude summon Mason and go down to the factory at once. Grace Malherb must be under this roof as quickly as possible. Let them fetch her now. I cannot trust her there longer, with that rogue on the prowl. I'll deal with Lee once for all. Hasten, hasten, my bold jellyfish; your fortune depends on't!"

Relton Norcot, trembling in every limb, entered the house, while Peter, familiar with the land, and well knowing that he could reach the lodge where Cecil Stark lay, much more quickly and directly than was possible for John Lee, now proceeded thither, knocked at the window of the little room in which the American resided, mounted the sill and soon stood beside his guest. Stark was already impatient.

"But eight hours, friend. Then your pearl is yours—the wealth of Ind! And you'll lunch at Fox Tor Farm with your stepfather! I wonder a little what wine Malherb will bring out of his cellar!"

"Eight hours—eight hours."

"When the stable clock beats six and the pheasants call in the pine-woods yonder, we shall expect you at the house. Farewell until morning. And one word of caution. Lie very low to-night. They're hunting for you. They have set a price upon you. A file of soldiers is in Chagford. It seems that they much resent your departure at the Prison, for many of the Americans cry that you were slain when the soldiers fired, and the authorities cannot easily disprove it since your disappearance."

"I'll disprove it instantly after that I am married."

"Until then bury yourself. John Lee's responsible for this, I fear. He means us both mischief now. Poor devil—he dared to love her too."

Norcot departed, whistled for a woodman, and was presently placing his servants all round his lodge, with injunctions to prevent any meeting between Cecil Stark and a stranger. He had offered a handsome reward for the capture of Lee, and was about to return to his house, when from the stables came unexpected news.

A groom with a broken head appeared roaring for his master; and, confronted with Peter, he explained that sudden noises had brought him into the stable-yard, to find a strange man hastening out of it on Norcot's own black horse, 'Victor.'

"I knowed un in the dark by his white stocking, an' I said, 'Be that you, maister?' But the man made no answer, so I got in the way an' axed him who the dowl he was, an' wheer he might be off to. With that he fetched me such a whisterpoop 'pon the side of the head that I went down like a man shot, an' afore I could get up again he was off."

"So much the better," said Mr. Norcot. "Keep quiet about it for the present. I know the rascal, and I know where he has gone. He'll come back in the morning."

Then, confident that Lee was safe for the present, Peter hastened off to the wool factory, that he might assist to bring Grace to his house.

Lee, indeed, was far away. He had guessed that Norcot would forestall his approach to Stark, and though John tried hard to get to the lodge, he knew nothing of the nearest way, and after running a roundabout course of a mile, finally found himself in the stable-yard. This accident inspired him to another action, and he determined to take a horse and ride over to Fox Tor Farm for Maurice Malherb. It yet wanted two hours of midnight, and it might be possible to get Malherb to Chagford by dawn. Lee himself hoped to perform his journey and be back again while it was yet dark. He carried his plan out instantly, to the detriment of the stableman who attempted to stop him, and soon, with a bridle, but bare-backed, he sped over the nightly Moor, while a glory of rapid motion brought joy to his heart under the darkness. It was long since he had felt a good horse between his legs.

Grace Malherb meantime, suspecting nothing, entered the web of the spider and longed for her marriage hour to come. She beamed upon the house party assembled, was the soul of graciousness to Peter Norcot, counted the hours that still kept her from her father and mother, and mourned only one circumstance; that her sweetheart's wounded eyes would never see the sun shine upon his wedding day. It was understood by poor Grace that Cecil Stark must remain at Chagford until well again; while as soon as the marriage ceremony was ended, Peter had promised to escort her home. She was marvellously reconciled to the wool-stapler. From her first indignation and passion he had weaned her day by day, and as with the subtlest ingenuity he had developed his fairy story and lent to it the colours of reality, Grace at last believed and blessed his name. The natural desire of the lovers that they should meet, Norcot overruled by many pleas. Each continued to believe the other blind; each had seen the forgery; for the rest, oral messages passed between them and were carefully garbled to fit the pretended circumstances. With hyperbolical gleam and glitter did Peter do his work, and throw an enchanted mantle of verity over his enterprise. Actual genius marked his operations; he made the fantastic solid, the imaginary real. His masterpiece rang true; it was enduring and full of vitality. He had, of course, to do with a man and a woman plunged deep in love; and his deception was absolute.

Now there remained to settle with John Lee, and Norcot prepared to undertake that task himself. Very accurately he gauged John's intentions, guessed his destination, and calculated the hour of his return. Once back again, he would risk all things to communicate with Stark; but he might be met upon the way, and stopped once for ever before he did further mischief. Peter planned his operations to an hour; saw Grace settled with his sister; prepared his study so that no ray of light could penetrate it; directed Relton Norcot exactly where to take his place; said a final word to his man, Mason; and then returned into the darkness.

"He will come much faster than Malherb," reflected the wool-stapler, "and, yes—it may be necessary."

He went back into the house, visited his dressing-room, and brought from it a double-barrelled pistol.

There was but one way by which John Lee would return: down a narrow lane which separated Norcot's estate from the domains of the Manor; and here the wool-stapler stationed himself. It was still dark, and after a patient hour, the night wind quickened Peter's wits. Upon the first glimmer of dawn, he asked himself a question.

Why wait a moment longer? Why not escape this simple difficulty by a little haste?

In an instant he determined to call up Cecil Stark and precipitate the marriage. But his intention came too late. A horse's hoofs already clattered down the lane, and the shadowy figure of a mounted man approached. Whereupon Peter Norcot leapt into the path from a high hedge, where he had taken his position. He lifted up his voice and called to the horse; and 'Victor,' knowing his master's tones, stood still.

John Lee had fulfilled his task, and was now returning from Fox Tor Farm; while, many miles behind him, followed Maurice Malherb with Thomas Putt and Mark Bickford, at the best pace they could command. All three were mounted, and all three were well armed.

CHAPTER XI
FAREWELL, LOVEY LEE

Dawn, like a red slant gash on a dead man's throat, surprised Putt and Bickford where they waited for their master on the way. They had started before him, for Malherb's saddle-horse was at grass and had to be captured after Lee brought his news.

"I shall, however, quickly overtake you," Mr. Malherb said to his men. "Travel by Sherberton; hold over Believer Tor; then pass under Dagger Farm and cross East Dart at the pack-horse bridge."

These things the labourers had done and now hesitated to proceed to Chagford without Maurice Malherb. They dismounted, therefore, by the old 'cyclopean' span that still crosses Dart at Postbridge, sheltered themselves and their steeds against the sting of the air and listened where Dart sang to the savage dawn. Young green things of the year shivered in the morning chill; nature still slept; the men got under a flaming brake of spring furze that made light in the grey; then, waiting there, they heard the clink of iron-shod feet on granite and knew that somebody was crossing the bridge. A heron floated upon broad wings down stream; and in the marshes at hand a cock curlew woke and uttered strange, bubbling cries of warning to his mate.

One tall, thin figure appeared upon the bridge, and Putt observed it.

"What a maypole!" he cried, "yet how a minces in his going for such a long-legged un!"

"I'll wager the man's up to no good at this hour. Us have both got hoss pistols: let's stop him! 'Twill warm us," exclaimed Bickford.

Thomas agreed, and together they leapt from their hiding-place and blocked the passage of the bridge. Then Putt, at close quarters, stared into the great white face frowning down upon him and nearly fell into the water.

"God's Word! 'Tis a ghost from the grave," he shouted. "'Tis the old varmint us buried after Christmas, come to life an' got into breeches!"

But Mark Bickford had no imagination.

"If she'm alive, us never buried her," he declared. "Cock your pistol an' hold it to her head."

"You stand still, Lovey Lee, an' give an account of yourself," commanded Putt. "Since you'm alive, I don't care a farden for you."

"That ban't my name," answered the ancient woman gruffly. "Stand by an' let me pass, or I'll knock 'e in the river, the pair of 'e!"

"Her can talk an' tell lies, so her's no more a ghost than us," said Bickford. "Now what be you doing here, an' where be you going, you bad old devil?"

Lovey drew herself up and regarded the two clowns with indignation. She felt it hard that at this critical moment of her life such rubbish should beard her thus. All had fallen out as she desired. Her wealth was secure. In her flat bosom she carried two thousand pounds of paper money provided by Peter Norcot; upon her back was a little box strapped tightly there. For the rest she bore a heavy stick and was now upon her way to Ashburton. Plans were completed for her escape. She would proceed to Dartmouth and thence to France.

Perceiving that she had been recognised, the miser attempted no further evasion. These peasants must be bought and that instantly. Putt was angry with Lovey for the tricks that she had played on honest men; but Bickford appeared merely curious to learn her recent history.

"They wanted to hang you, and still want to," declared Tom. "But now the world thinks as master killed you."

"Let it go on thinking so," said Lovey. "What matter what the world thinks, my bold heroes, so long as you've got money in your purses? I be busy just now, so let me go my way, please, without more speech."

"A man's purse be his stronghold as you say," answered Bickford; "an' mine's nought better'n a shelled peascod this many days; but since there's twenty pound on your head, me an' Putt here will make ten apiece by you."

"Ten pound was offered, not twenty," answered Lovey.

"I say 'twas twenty."

"You'm a cruel devil to rob an old woman."

"'Tis the State will pay, not you," answered Bickford.

"An' you'm the cruel devil," retorted Putt—"you as have brought Malherb's head so low—to the grave a'most."

"Money's money," repeated Bickford, "an' if you've got any, Mother Lee, now be the time to spend some. Us know you'm made of it, for all your rags. What'll you pay us not to take you along to Prince Town?"

Lovey wrung her hands.

"You silly zanies—me—look at me—clad in a dead man's clothes! Money—a few poor pounds scraped together—God He knows how few. An' a long life of starvation to come by 'em."

"What's in thicky box?" asked Bickford abruptly.

"Nought—a mere glass toy kept for old sake's sake. A thing not worth a rush but for memory. An' since you ax for money, I'll give 'e half I've got, though 'tis like giving 'e my life's blood—a five-pound note to share."

Her greed, even in this tremendous crisis, overreached her wit. A round sum had dazzled the labourers, and they had doubtless accepted it and let her depart, only to regret their conduct too late. But this miserly offer ruined Lovey Lee. Bickford was of a grasping nature also. Now greed met greed, and both man and woman were presently punished.

"'Tis much too little. Us want to see what be in that box slung so snug on your shoulder."

"An' see I will," added Tom Putt.

"My solemn word of honour, 'tis no more than a little trashy joney of glass—a keepsake of one long dead. Not worth a shilling to anybody but me. Leave that. Since five won't satisfy you I'll make it ten. Then I'm a ruined woman."

"Give me that box—else I'll take it," said Putt firmly.

"Not that, not that; if you'm a man, don't touch it. 'Tis everything to me, nought to nobody else. I was lying—I was lying to 'e. I be in such a hurry. I've got more than I said—just a few pounds. Fifty-fifty sovereigns in paper—twenty-five apiece to let me go my way."

"That's better," said Putt. "I'll close at that if you will, Mark."

"Not me—not now. Her's lying still. Us have got her, now us'll squeeze her. Us must see what's in that box—money or no money. I lay 'tis stuffed with diamonds."

"Oh, Christ!" cried the woman. "What 'tis to deal with two pig-headed fools! Here—here be a hundred pounds—take it and let me pass."

She turned from them, dived in her breast and flourished the notes before their faces.

"Pretty money seemingly, but not enough," said Bickford. "I lay there's thousands hid where your damned old heart beats. An' not a penny of it but what was stolen."

"An' I be more set than ever on seeing the inside of that there li'l box," added Putt stolidly. "An' I be going to, or God's my judge, I'll take you to Prince Town, Lovey Lee."

The woman stared helplessly upon them.

"There ban't no law on your side," continued Putt calmly; "for you'm dead an' buried in Widecombe churchyard; and a human, once dead an' buried, have no more rights than a bird in a tree. So you'd best to open that box afore I take it away from 'e for good an' all."

Fire flashed in Lovey's eyes and her teeth closed like a trap. More than her life was now at stake; yet she stood powerless before this determined man.

"Will you swear to give it back to me, afore the God of Doom?" she asked, drawing the box round from her shoulder.

"I'll swear to nought. If 'tis only a glass image, it be useless to any sensible chap, an' you can keep it. But if 'tis watches or gold trinkrums, then you've stole 'em, an' we'll take 'em for ourselves," declared Bickford.

"See for yourself, then, you cursed clods! An' come off this bridge. If it fell!"

The woman's anger died as she opened her box; her hands trembled; her man's hat had fallen off, and tattered wisps of white hair hung round her head. She sat down, cowered over the treasure, and revealed her sex in this attitude.

Lovey opened her box with utmost care, and from a close packing of sphagnum moss, brought forth the Malherb amphora. Putt took it clumsily, and she screamed to him to be cautious. Bickford then examined the box, and reported that nothing more remained in it.

"Then give my poor vase back for the love of your mothers," she cried. "You see 'twas solemn truth I spoke to 'e."

"First, there's the matter of money," answered Bickford. "What money be you going to part with? You'm made of banknotes by the look of it. Maybe you'll never get the chance of setting up two young men in life again."

"If I could get my hands on your dog's throat!"

"You can't; an' best be civil, or you'll repent it," answered Bickford.

Then he took the amphora from Putt's hand, walked twenty yards away, and set it up carefully on a rock.

"You said fifty each," said Mark as he returned. "I lay you meant more." Then the labourer broke off and addressed his companion. "Ban't no sin to drag money out of this old mully-grubs; for you know so well as me that she never come by an honest penny in her life. Now I've slicked up her trash 'pon yonder rock, an' I be going to chuck stones at it till she comes to my figure; and sarve her damn well right, for she's bad to the bone—as all Dartymoor knows."

Lovey shrieked and Thomas Putt answered judicially—

"To terrify some money out of her be a fair thing. 'Tis payment for what master suffered."

The woman screamed and groaned. She fell at their feet, clasped their knees, grovelled, uttered blessings and cursings, raved until a steam hung over her lips in the chill air, called upon God and the devil to help her.

"What's the figure then?" asked Putt.

"Five hunderd—five hunderd pound this instant between you. For your sweethearts for——"

In answer, and before Putt, who was well satisfied, could stop him, Mark Bickford had flung a stone at the amphora. The pebble started to the right, came round true with the throw, and missed the precious vessel by inches. The woman followed the flight, and a lifetime of agony passed over her in the space of seconds. Then she turned upon Mark and poured forth a flood of appalling curses.

"Ban't five hunderd enough?" asked Thomas calmly.

"No, Tom, it ban't," answered the avaricious Bickford. "This here's the chance of a lifetime. Us'll be made men or mice, for evermore."

Putt picked up a stone.

"I do think she'm rich enough to part with a bit more," he said. "Now I be going to have a chuck, an' I'm a better shot than him, ban't I, Mark?"

"Yes, you be."

"Three hunderd—three hunderd—four hunderd—four hunderd for each of 'e. I'd tear my heart out for 'e if I could, you greedy, cruel dogs. Spare it, spare all that an old woman have got in the wide world. If you knew—if——"

Putt flung a stone and took care to do no harm. His missile fell into the river a yard wide. Then Bickford prepared to fling again.

"Third time be lucky," he said. "I'll bet you all the old bitch's money as I scat un to shivers now."

"Four fifty for each of 'e—four hunderd an' fifty each; an' it do leave me picked clean to the bone."

She plunged her hand into her breast and dragged out a pile of notes.

"Take it an' leave me to starve, you sarpints; you as rob widows' houses. Take it; an' may it turn to hell fire an' burn your entrails for everlasting!"

"Four fifty's good enough for me," said Putt.

"Bah! you'm a fool," answered Bickford. "You don't know how to pick a nut when you've got one. Leave her to me. I say five hunderd apiece—that, or this stone goes."

"Before the eyes of Heaven, I haven't got it! Strip these dead man's rags off me; you'll find no more. 'Tis every farthing I have in the world—a long life's bitter earnings!"

The labourer, with an eye upon her, drew his hand slowly back to throw again. For a second Lovey's fingers fluttered involuntarily towards her breast; and Mark Bickford saw and laughed in triumph.

"Ha, ha, ha! I knowed I was right. Yet I'll send it along; just to bring the old hell-cat to reason."

He flung again, without meaning to injure the amphora, but hit the rock on which it stood and missed the treasure by a hair's breadth. At the same moment Maurice Malherb's horse appeared round the rock, and the glancing stone very nearly struck Mr. Bickford's master.

"You vagabonds! What means——?" cried out Malherb.

Then he broke off and stared at an object near his elbow. There, under red dawnlight, glittered the Malherb amphora, and the frank yet lurid illumination awoke new beauties in that dazzling gem. Each Cupid blushed with life as he peeped from the acanthus leaves. For a moment the master glared at his treasure while Bickford and Putt shivered. Then Lovey Lee, perceiving, indeed, that hope was dead, uttered a mournful howl. The sound wakened Malherb from his trance. He dismounted, picked up the amphora, and came forward.

"What man is that?" he asked; "and what are you knaves doing, loitering here?"

Then he approached Lovey, and knew her, and his servants saw him turn pale. He dropped back a pace and the amphora fell out of his hand—into soft heather where it took no hurt. A moment later his face turned cherry-red and his eyes rolled up. Putt rushed forward, but the danger passed and Malherb's brain resisted the shock.

"I must not rejoice too soon, or I may perish. And yet—speak. This is a woman—the woman of all women!"

"'Tis true, your honour's goodness. Lovey Lee, begging your pardon; her as you thought you'd properly knocked 'pon the head."

"An' she'm wrapped up in fifty-pound notes, your honour," said Bickford, "an' I hope your honour won't let her keep 'em from two honest men, for 'tis stolen money, an' her was going to——"

"Peace!" thundered Malherb. "Take yourselves and your buzzing behind me."

He had not removed his eyes from Lovey Lee's face. His mind and soul were there.

Now he approached her and spoke gently.

"Tell me," he said. "Let me hear your voice. Do not fear. Are you Lovey Lee—she whom I struck down and left for dead a thousand years ago on Cater's Beam?"

Lovey calculated the chances. She was broken now, for at last the Malherb amphora lay in the power of its rightful owner. Unconquerable hate gleamed in her eyes, but her voice sounded meek and mild.

"A cruel blow, Malherb, an' me so old. Yet I agged 'e to it. Forgive my evil tongue. I'm a woman still, for all my wickedness. I'll kneel to 'e; I'll pray to 'e; I'll lick thy boots. I've paid for my sins, God knows that; don't send me to the gallows, after all these days."

"You are Lovey Lee?"

"Ess—that forlorn wretch. Look!"

She pulled back her hair and he saw his handiwork.

"Forgive a coward's blow, woman."

"'Twas the hand of God, not yours," she answered. "When you cracked my head, you let a thousand devils out. I bless your name—even I——"

"This day is sacred for evermore," he said very slowly. "To many you have brought darkness and sorrow; to me you stand here now a messenger of light from Heaven—an angel of good tidings. Henceforth may your name be blessed. Alive and not dead!"

The labourers stared, and Lovey cast them a bitter glance that penetrated to their rude consciousness. Their hopes, at least, were shattered.

She pointed to the amphora, where it lay at Malherb's feet.

"They've stabbed me to the soul and taken half my remaining years from me. A moment more and it would have been splinters in the river—my life and my heart's blood."

Maurice Malherb stared at the glass bubble. To him it was an atom of inconceivable insignificance in the face of this stupendous discovery that Lovey lived.

"Her snake's life be wrapped up in that toy, your honour," said Bickford, "an' I'll swear to God she said it weren't of no account to anybody but her."

"'Twas true. If you'd cracked it, my life would have cracked with it. But now—'tis mine no more. My light's out; my thread's spun. I only ax that I may hold it in this old hand once again; then I'll give it to 'e, an' vanish out of man's sight for ever."

This she said meaning to destroy the vase, to dash it into a thousand fragments at Malherb's feet and take the consequences. He did not guess at her malignant purpose. Her harsh, high voice was now the music of Heaven to his ear; the lizard life in her wrinkled carcase oozed like balm upon his sight and made him young. He feasted his senses upon her, even while he doubted his senses; and in spirit uttered a petition to his Maker that this might be no dream.

"Touch me, Lovey Lee," he commanded. "Hold my hand in yours, press upon it. I must feel your flesh warm; I must put my finger upon your pulse that I may know your heart is beating. You have risen from the dead and lifted me from worse than death. Give me your hand."

She held out to him her gnarled, huge paw. It was wrinkled and bony; each great artery ran like a blue cord under the brown skin; each black nail was sharp as an eagle's claw.

"Heed your going," she said, "else that treasure there will fall under your heel—the amphora."

He saw her eyes burning upon it, and a sudden, mad, Malherb impulse took him.

"You have given me my life once more, shall I rob you of yours again? No! Take up that trash and begone. Bear witness she lives, you men. Now depart, and let that glass—priceless as the world goes—be my payment to you. 'Tis little enough for what I gain this day—light, air, life, Heaven, the right to walk the earth and to look the world in the face. An innocent man! Oh, God of Mercy, I thank Thee!"

With a strange cry, as of some mother-beast that recovers her lost young, the ancient creature fell upon her treasure, hid it away quickly and disappeared, like a shadow, behind the mist. Not a word she spoke of thanks nor of blessing; but she gathered up the amphora and melted away into the morning air, like some fantastic exhalation of dawn that vanishes at sunrise.

Neither did Malherb speak again. He mounted his horse, watched Lovey depart, and then, forgetting, as it seemed, the men behind him, galloped fast upon his way. Exultation marked his movements. His attitude was of a boy that rode to hounds, liven the gravity of the present enterprise was for a time powerless to make him grave.

The men behind him felt that their master was struggling with a full heart. They knew that had he been alone, Malherb had shouted to the sun and wakened the echoes of the ancient hills with thanksgivings. The nature of his joy they failed signally to apprehend. As for Bickford and Putt, their own state was the reverse of gracious.

"I can't go so fast," said Mark to Tom. "Us have made damned fools of ourselves to-day—got within reach of hundreds and missed 'em. I could tear my hair off. Blast the old witch!"

"'Tis fair payment for being so beastly greedy," answered Putt. "All your fault. If you'd took what she offered last, you'd have had it in your pocket now, instead of nought. Sarve you right."

"I ban't much in a mind to sit down under it, however," growled Bickford.

"No more be I, for that matter—only just let me think a minute."

After riding forward another hundred yards Mr. Putt stopped suddenly.

"My hoss have fallen lame," he said.

"Not she," answered Bickford. "Her goeth well as ever."

"I say she's lame," retorted the other. "Get you after master, best pace you can. I'll come presently. There's a stone in the mare's hoof."

Bickford's slow brains now perceived his friend's drift.

"You'll get the sack for it," he said, looking back into the valley where Lovey Lee had disappeared.

"No great matter if I did; but I shan't. When the man comes to his senses—why, that's the blessed jug all the fuss was about! 'Tis worth thousands of pounds."

"Halves wi' me," said Bickford.

"Shares, perhaps," answered Putt. "I ban't going to say 'halves'; I've growed rather sick of you since the morning."

In a moment Thomas turned on his tracks and Mark Bickford hastened after his master. Malherb never looked back, and the riders were already upon the high ground above Chagford and just about to enter that lane, where, two hours earlier, John Lee had met with Peter Norcot, when Bickford heard a galloping horse and saw that Putt was returning. At sight of Tom's countenance even his phlegmatic companion was staggered, for Putt presented a dismal and hideous spectacle. His breast was soaked with blood and four deep parallel gashes between white weals scored his face from brow to chin. His pink-rimmed eyes were bulging and one of his ears had swollen to ridiculous dimensions. But upon his back was a box that contained the Malherb amphora.

"Aw jimmery! you've got it!" cried Mark. "But, 'slife! she've torn your eyes out of your head!"

"Her tried to. I've fought a cargo of mountain cats. God knows how I've come out alive. But I didn't fire—not a shot; though sore tempted. I didn't kill her; she've done for herself. I catched her down nigh Drury Farm, and went for her without words. She seed my meaning in a flash. Curse! Never I heard such a hail of gashly curses; an' she come at me all ends up like a bulldog. Her nails was in my eyes afore I could draw breath; but I kept my seat while she tore an' scratched, an' grabbed the box; an' by good chance the strap gived way. Then she ran fifty yards after my hoss; an' then she knowed 'twas all up wi' her, an' stopped. 'Twas awful what comed after. Her heart cracked. I heard a sound like a woodpecker tapping, an' looked, an' seed her beating her head in with a gert stone. But she couldn't die that way, so she went to a rock an' flinged herself against it skull first, like a ram butting. An' then she rolled over, over an' over into the river. God's my judge I'd have saved her if it had been any other mortal she!"

"All that pile of paper money?"

"'Twas nought to her, after the vase was gone."

"All that good money!"

"Pulp by now. She'm dead this time, anyway, if she'm flesh and blood."

"I wish you'd took the money, all the same."

"You can go to hell an' ax her for the money," said Putt indignantly. "I've got this here thing for master—not you. You'm a miserly hunks, an' I hope you won't be a penny the better by this job, for you don't desarve to be."

As he spoke the men drew up to their leader, and all three riders trotted slowly down the steep lane which led into Chagford.

CHAPTER XII
MANOR WOODS

When John Lee saw Peter Norcot at his horse's head, he was well satisfied. That Norcot was determined he should not have any communication with Cecil Stark, John perceived, but he also knew that while Peter stood beside him here, no harm could befall Grace. To keep the man from returning to his house and his enterprise would answer Lee's purpose quite as well as speech with Stark.

"Excellently met," said Norcot. "I've waited long for you. I need not ask if 'Victor' carried you well. But you're growing too busy, John Lee. Now come aside and explain why you are so active in this business. Have a care, young man! You run into considerable danger."

"I don't fear you. And you know well enough the reasons that I am busy. You've hatched a piece of damnable knavery, and by God's goodness I overheard it. Stark trusts you; you've deceived his honest heart. But I never trusted you. Not one word of your wickedness surprised me."

"Well, plain speaking is good for the soul, my poor John. And any soul-prescription may be worth your attention just now, for, unless you mend your manners, I shall have to be short and sharp with you.

"'The dreadful reckoning; and men smile no more.'

You overheard me and my cousin. Was it all clear to you? Were there any gaps? You may as well know exactly what is going to happen since the affair interests you so deeply. Ask what questions you please, but be brief. Poor 'Victor'! You've made him gallop to-night."

Norcot tethered his horse at a gate; then he entered it and Lee followed him.

"Come into the Manor Woods. I can give you half an hour, no more. After that time our little play begins, and I am to be wedded to Grace Malherb, for better, for worse. You know all that."

"And Cecil Stark?"

"Stark, good soul, will play his part and press a wedding-ring upon my sister's finger. Then the light of day serves to show him Sergeant Bradridge and a file of soldiers patiently waiting for his sapient person to convey him back to Prince Town."

"Think better of it. Don't blast your own life and that of this man and woman. She will always hate you, as she always has."

"Advice! Well, take some from me. I cannot stop long, but——"

"Stop you shall, Peter Norcot! Not until you've killed me do you return to this knavery."

"I was afraid you'd take that view. I don't want blood on my hands to-day. Even I have my superstitions and sentiments. Consider; if you detain me how things must fall awry. It would be the play of Hamlet without the Dane. Why, my fool cousin might even lose his head and marry 'em, if that was possible! A pretty conceit. She'll feel my hand in the dead darkness and think 'tis his. I am dumb and he speaks the answers. He'll feel my sister's hand and think 'tis hers. Gertrude is dumb, and Grace speaks the answers. But these things cannot be managed without me. I must get back at any cost. My wedding tour is planned. Better live to think of me and my happy bride upon the Continent than perish in this cold dawn. Death is so final."

"'Tis you shall die, for I will kill you rather than let you return now."

"The possibility of this attitude on your part had occurred to me, John Lee. Unfortunately for yourself, you have never understood me. I am no enemy to any living man. I wish the world well. But I, too, have my life to live, and those who intervene between me and my plans and purposes pay for their blunder. I will tell you something, since we have no witness. It may help you to comprehend me and draw you out of the jaws of death, wherein frankly you stand at this moment. I killed my late uncle, Norman Norcot. I took his gun while he sat in thought, and thrust it under his chin and shot him like a rabbit. Do you wish to follow him?"

Without answering, John Lee dashed forward at Norcot's throat; but Peter's hand, though in his pocket, was on a pistol trigger. He leapt swiftly aside, and before Lee could turn, the wool-stapler had fired into his body. For a second John stood shaking; then he sank forward and fell on his face. Frightened blackbirds fled shrieking, with shrill chink-chink-chink-chinketty-chink; the smoke arose and hung in a thin flat layer under the boughs of the trees.

"Lucky wretch!" said the murderer, looking down. "'Death is a morsel best bolted whole,' as divine Montaigne remarks. Naught is nastier to chew upon. May I go as easy when my turn comes!

"'Light lay the earth, John Lee, upon thy clay—
That so the dogs may easier find their prey.'

Yes—Squire Yeoland's dogs, and his gamekeepers. It remains to plan your next appearance before I hasten on to my own."

He stood and reflected, then nodded his head quickly.

"They stand along the covert side at regular intervals, and happily I know how to find 'em. Rest there, 'thou wretched, rash, intruding fool,' until I've found what I seek."

He put up his pistol, then looked at his watch.

"How time flies!"

Turning round, Peter now plunged into the forest, and at a covert side, where a drive was cut through dense larch woods with undergrowth of furze and briar, he began to make search, and advanced, foot by foot, with the utmost caution. Each yard of the ground he scrutinised as though his own life depended upon it; and, indeed, the man's present quest did not lack for personal danger. Here, a yard within the pheasant coverts, were set spring-guns two feet above the ground. The countryside raged against these infernal engines, but at that date they were legal, and a man might place them in his own preserves if it pleased him to do so.

Norcot's purpose was now to discover one of these weapons and to drag John Lee before it. He then designed to discharge the gun into his victim's wounded side, and so leave the corpse for others to find. With utmost care he pursued his search; and presently he started back with an oath, for his foot actually scraped a wire, and, looking up, he saw the short, squat muzzle of a gun fastened to a young larch and pointing straight at his belly. Peter sweated at this escape. For a moment it unsteadied him. Then tearing down an ash sapling, peeling it, and sticking it beside the wire, he returned hastily where the dead man lay—thirty yards distant.

Now Norcot deliberately took off his coat and waistcoat, that they might escape all mark of this deed. Next, he bent down, grasped Lee under the armpits, gripped his own hands round the other's back, and began steadily to drag him where stood the peeled ash wand at the edge of the copse.

He had approached to within ten yards of the wire, and was turning his head to see his exact position, when a startling quiver ran through the inert mass he dragged along. Lee, though wounded to death, was not yet dead. His feet stuck to the ground, and Peter felt a pair of arms, limp until now, suddenly lifted and tightening round his waist. This unexpected spark of life galvanising a corpse shook him. His own breast was wet with the other's blood, for John bled from the lung; but he was still alive, and Norcot guessed at his vitality by the sudden tightening of the wounded man's arms round his neck. For answer he squeezed his wretched burden with a hug like a bear, whereon poor Lee relaxed his hold and his head fell forward again. But just as Peter had reached the wire and was about to drop the dying man in a line with the muzzle of the spring-gun, John's consciousness returned. He appeared to divine the enemy's intent, and for a moment his strength waxed and he struggled desperately. Drenched with blood and blinded by Lee's arm over his face, Peter started back, to be free of his foe, took him by the throat and hurled him to the ground with all his strength.

"Die!" cried the murderer. "Cease this struggling like a stuck pig and die decently. I——"

John had hold of the other's leg, but Norcot kicked him and tore himself free as he spoke. The force of this action, however, made Peter lose equilibrium. He stepped backwards, hit a hidden root, slipped his foot and fell heavily upon the wire of the spring-gun.

Lee, kicked in the face, had fainted; but he was out of the line of fire; and now he recovered consciousness in time to gaze about him and witness the end of Peter Norcot.

The unlucky wool-stapler, falling as he struck the wire, had received the charge, at close quarters, in his back. The shot, though intended to maim or wound, but not to kill, was, under these circumstances, and at this range, fatal. Moments separated Norcot from death. The stinging, red-hot agony of the blow did not deprive him of consciousness. Then, using his last breath, he cried aloud—

"Death and hell—done for! To leave life now! No luck! Tut—urg—gurg——"

And Lee, with fading eyes, saw Peter Norcot's life-blood choke him.

Thrice he writhed; thrice he beat the earth with his hands and fought for air; then he perished.

Cock pheasants began to crow in the coverts; and far away, a keeper, hearing gun-fire, put a whistle to his mouth and blew it.

CHAPTER XIII
THE PASSING OF JOHN

Gertrude Norcot stood under the morning light, in misery and suspense, for the appointed time had passed; all was in readiness; only her brother tarried. Cecil Stark had been closeted in the darkened library with Relton Norcot for half an hour; the man Mason waited at the door; Grace Malherb, wild with impatience, and already frightened at the delay, asked a thousand questions, and was with difficulty prevented from leaving the drawing-room, where she waited with Gertrude.

Peter Norcot's sister stood irresolute and fearful. That Peter should be late on such a critical occasion was only to be explained by unlooked-for ill fortune. What to do she could not guess; possibility of action there was none; nor dared she speak to Relton, for he had his hands full with the American. Then, as she stood in the first clear sunshine of that day, came the sound of a galloping horse. It approached swiftly, and, not even waiting until the rider appeared, Miss Norcot, positive that her brother was close at hand, hastened into the house and bade Grace Malherb follow her as quickly as possible.

"At last Peter has returned," she said. "He will come after us in a moment. Without him we could not begin, for he is one of the witnesses of the marriage; but we may precede him now. Already I hear him in the hall. Hasten! And do not fear the dead darkness. It is vital to Mr. Cecil that no ray of light shall yet touch his eyes."

"Thank God that Peter is here, dear Gertrude. I began to fear a thousand things. Go in front and I will follow you close."

Gertrude hastened behind the heavy curtains that led to the study. Through successive folds of increasing gloom they appeared to penetrate; and then a door stayed their progress.

"Hold my hand now," said Miss Norcot. "Enter with me and let me shut the door quickly behind us. Do not speak yet, or let him know that you are here."

"Hark!" cried Grace. "Voices behind us—but not Peter's voice! Gertrude, it is father! No other man speaks so deep or roars so loud."

A great volume of sound echoed in the rear, and for a moment Gertrude Norcot lost her presence of mind.

"Something has happened to my brother," she said. "I feel it—I know it. He would be here if he had power to be here. Come quickly!"

She pushed Grace into the darkened room, followed her and locked the door.

"Peace," she said; "let no voice be lifted. We are in danger!"

Meanwhile Maurice Malherb, followed by Thomas Putt and Mark Bickford, had appeared before the dwelling of Peter Norcot, and become witnesses to strange sights. Upon one side of the building, standing at ease and evidently waiting for information from within, were Sergeant Bradridge and a dozen soldiers; while close at hand a barouche, with four horses and a postilion, drove slowly up and down.

Sergeant Bradridge saluted Malherb, but received no answering compliment.

"There's devilry afoot here!" cried the master. "We'll not wait to ring bells, I only pray we're in time. 'Twould match my usual fortune if the blessing that Heaven sent at dawn was to be followed by a crushing catastrophe in this affair. Follow close, my men, and use your weapons if occasion demands it."

He dismounted, while his blown horse, with outstretched legs, bent its head and panted hard. Then, banishing ceremony, Malherb entered the house, and his followers came close at his heels. Gertrude Norcot heard him bawl for Peter as she locked the door of the study. But none answered, and for a moment Norcot's sister regretted her action. She should have faced the furious father and, with an excuse, have led him from the house. She lacked her brother's intelligence and ready wit, however, and now the four waited in silence, while noises without approached and grew louder.

Malherb was raving aloud and tramping through the silent house.

"I'll leave no room unsearched! The scoundrel lied to me when last I came here—or his sister and that white-faced worm her cousin, did so. Come; be rough and ready. Fiends and furies! What trap of curtain on curtain is this? The house is a spider's web! Prime your pistols and fire 'em if any man stops you."

Malherb began tearing down the black hangings that separated him from the study; Bickford lent a hand. Behind them came Putt and his uncle, in hasty converse.

Sergeant Bradridge explained that he was here to capture Cecil Stark and take him back to the War Prison; while Thomas in few words told the news, and related how that Peter Norcot had stolen Grace Malherb from her home and was even now supposed to be wedding her against her will by special license.

"'Tis him an' the Lord Archbishop against Mr. Malherb an' me an' Bickford here; an' I'll back us," said Putt; "an' if you want to make him a friend for evermore, you'd better lend a hand to catch this here Peter Norcot; for if I know him, the man will take a darned lot of catching. He may have scented John Lee's work and be off a'ready."

"Close up!" ordered Malherb. "Here's a locked door; but I heard voices behind it. Stand by while I break it down, and help me to take him if he shows fight."

He fired his pistol into the lock of the door, blew it out, and then dashed into the pitchy darkness beyond.

He felt a woman against him, and Gertrude Norcot's voice was lifted.

"Stand back, Maurice Malherb; you are doing a wicked and a dangerous thing. My brother——"

"Where is he?—let him answer for himself. Who are here in this Egyptian darkness? Grace—Grace—speak! It is your father."

"Dear father—oh, listen, I pray you, and try to understand. All is well—all will be well. Peter has been most good and generous. He——"

"Light!" shouted Malherb. "Who can breathe in this inky air? Hold the door, Putt. Let no man escape while I make for the window and let in day."

"Her eyes, sir!" cried Cecil Stark. "For Heaven's sake have caution! It may mean eternal blindness for her!"

"Not my eyes, dear Cecil—yours, yours! Oh, father, his eyes!"

"Damn everybody's eyes!" roared the master. "There are foul things wriggling here—as we find under the upturned stone. But see 'em we must, to crush 'em!"

Stark interposed fiercely, and the men closed in the dark.

"You shall not, sir; you know not that Grace's eyes depend upon it for their recovery."

"Who the deuce are you? Not Peter——?"

"Cecil Stark. I am here to marry your daughter at Norcot's wish and hope."

"That Yankee again! Light, I say, or I shall go mad!"

The men reeled and crashed against the window.

Stark lost his adversary for a moment, and Malherb, feeling the curtains, tore them down, got to the shutter behind them, and by main force dragged it off its hinges and broke the bolt.

A great flood of light burst upon the room, and every eye was dazzled by the morning sunshine. Cowering in one corner, clad in his black robe and bands, sat Relton Norcot; Stark stood against Malherb and turned with a cry of horror to Grace as the daylight streamed upon her; while she in her turn hastened to him. The brown eyes fell upon the grey, and each saw that the other's were unharmed.

Gertrude Norcot spoke to Malherb.

"My brother alone can solve this apparent mystery," she said. "I pray you to withhold your judgment and your passion, Maurice Malherb, until Peter is here to speak and explain all for himself."

"I'm waiting for him. I've nothing to do with anybody else. Where is he? How comes it that he is not here to marry my daughter as he intended, the knave?"

"'Twas for me that he had plotted this romance," said Stark. "I cannot hear his name abused. The fault is all mine. I——"

"I'll hark to you later. For the present your business is with Bradridge here. This was what your admirable friend, Peter Norcot, had planned for you: a quick return to Prince Town. Nothing could be better, I trow. And now, my clerk——"

He turned to where Relton Norcot had been sitting, but the clergyman was gone. Unobserved he had slipped behind the curtains, got out of a window and disappeared.

"He's wise," said Malherb. "He feels that fresh air and daylight will best serve his purpose now. We shall find him anon."

Then he approached Grace and took her into his arms.

"Come what may, I'm in time. This is the greatest day of all my life. You shall hear about that. I could forgive the world—I could pardon all my enemies! But let those who know where Norcot bides hasten to him and bring him hither. He must answer for much. And answer to me he shall before I break bread. That he should prove a knave!"

"If evil has been done," said Gertrude Norcot, "remember that my brother is still absent. Do not wrong the absent, Maurice Malherb. Wait until he can speak for himself. Yet ill has without doubt overtaken him. Nothing but sudden tribulation can have kept him from us."

Her prophecy was scarcely uttered when the man Mason ran past Putt and entered the room without ceremony.

"Come," he said; "'tis all over with 'em—both. One be dead an' t'other dying. They'm bringing 'em 'pon hurdles. Keeper Rowe heard gun-fire, and at last, after searching in the spinneys above an hour, he found what had failed out there. Oh, my God!—all up with poor master! Dead as a nail, an' drowned in his own blood by the looks of it."

They hastened out upon the terrace, there to find the soldiers and a dozen working-men crowding round two hurdles. With a bitter cry Gertrude flung herself upon one, and pressed her arms about her brother. In the bosom of death he reposed; his features were ash-coloured; peace marked his countenance. Upon each of his eyes the labouring men had set a penny to hide them, but the coins fell off as his sister flung herself upon Norcot's corpse, and underneath, filmed with death, yet reflecting something of the vanished man himself, his blue eyeballs stared upwards through a glaze. They altered his expression and brought back to it a shadow of Norcot's eternal smile.

"Shot, your honour," said the keeper to Mr. Malherb. "The rights of it be hid, unless yonder man have got enough wind in him to tell it. Us found Mr. Norcot wi' a hole blowed through his poor back by one of them damned spring-guns; an' t'other be shot too—through the side. Doctor's coming, for I sent a lad after un; but how it all fell out us'll never know, onless this poor blid can say."

While he spoke, Grace knelt by John Lee, and he saw her and smiled. Her arms enfolded him. He had lived to rest his head upon her breast and feel her tears flow.

"John, John—dear John; you must not die! All is well—you must live. There was something hidden. We shall never know. He said that I was blind, and he told me that my love was blind. And you knew what the mystery was. Oh, if you could speak! But you mustn't try till you are strong again. Rest—shut your eyes—God will never let you die, dear John."

The man spoke faintly.

"Is Mr. Stark there?"

"Here; here's my hand holding yours, Lee. I know now that you were right. He is dead—but you were in the right. Forgive me for doubting. Your love guided you, mine only blinded me."

"I didn't kill him," whispered John. "I meant to do it; but he killed me. He was dragging me away because he thought me dead. But I had strength left—and he fell back. Then a gun fired and he died. I can't tell who shot him. Be you there, Miss Grace?"

"My arms are round you, dear John."

"He meant to wed you in the darkness. He told me so after I'd fetched the master. He told me all. Now Norcot's dead, for I saw him die. You're safe—quite safe."

Malherb and a physician were hanging over Lee, but his eyes had already grown dim and he did not perceive them. The medical man shook his head.

"Only a matter of minutes," he said. "'Tis wonderful that he's lived so long."

"John Lee," said Malherb. "You're dying, lad; you're going the road we all must go. But know that you were in time. My daughter is safe, as you say. All's out. You've done your duty, and, though the hand of God killed this man, 'twas you who were the instrument."

"You've died for us, John!" sobbed Grace. Her cheek sank down to his and she kissed him.

"A good way to die—some use—some use. 'Tis better'n I deserve—above my highest hopes. Yet often I dreamed I'd die for 'e. Mr. Stark?"

"I'm holding your hand, John."

"Love her—love her while your heart beats."

"God knows that I will."

There was a silence, then a sigh; then Malherb lowered John Lee's head.

"He's gone—a truer Malherb than many who bear the name. Let every honest man mourn him, for his life was a pure life and his end noble. He has saved our honour; he——"

The speaker broke off and stared where Grace was weeping in Cecil Stark's arms.

"What right have you——?" he asked.

"The right that man died for, sir. His love makes mine but pale, yet, for Grace's sake and for mine, he laid down his life. I would perish for him if I could bring him back to the living; but that cannot be. Therefore I will live to bless his name. I will strive to be worthy of his sacrifice."

"And you, daughter Grace?"

"I was stolen from you, my darling father; and I should have been stolen for evermore but for what has happened. I love Cecil and have loved him since I first saw him, so pale and weary from his struggle with the storm. You saved his life for me, father. And dear John died for us; his last gentle words——"

"I heard them as well as you," said Maurice Malherb slowly. "I understood them. Who could not understand them? There is a solemn obligation that attaches to the last wish of any good man. I am in his debt for ever. God forgive me, for I used him ill. Come hither, Stark. To-day the lightning of heaven would strike me if I spoke one harsh word, or brought one pang to any human spirit. The Almighty has blessed me; yet his ways are past our understanding. That you who are an American—yet—yet of English blood. And there are closer bonds even than those of country. How simple were the last words he spoke! Here you stand—you two. So be it. Take my girl's hand, Cecil Stark. And before Heaven, remember what that dead man, with his last breath, said to you—'Love her—love her while your heart beats.'"

CHAPTER XIV
NEWS FROM VERMONT

Eighteen months after Peter Norcot and John Lee were laid to their rest in the dewy and tree-shadowed churchyard of Chagford, there arrived a post at Fox Tor Farm with two packets from a far country. For Annabel Malherb from her son-in-law, Cecil Stark, of Vermont, came one communication; and the second reached Mr. Richard Beer. His old companion and fellow-worker, Putt, had sent it.

After the catastrophe that terminated Peter Norcot's life, it is to be noted that Thomas Putt assumed a position of some prominence. Despite his family and his own straitened affairs, Malherb regretted the ancient Lovey's tragic end; but since she was now without further question dead and buried: at a cross road in a suicide's grave, the amphora returned to its owner; and Tom Putt, as the man responsible for this notable circumstance, received a very generous reward. With comparative wealth and the possibilities of a new country before him, Thomas accepted service under Cecil Stark, and when the young sailor returned to his own country, he took with him not only his bride, but also a white and a black attendant. Before the lover sailed for home, James Knapps had already returned in a cartel ship to his native land; but Sam Cuffee rejoined Stark as soon as the American procured his liberation; and Sam never lost sight of his master again.

At last the mournful mansions of Prince Town were empty and deserted; grasses and weeds blossomed where sorrowful feet had pressed their courts; the bats squeaked and clustered in their mighty corridors; decay and desolation claimed them all. Moor folk told how no sweet water would cleanse those floors of blood, how pestilence still lurked in the vaults and foul recesses, how shadows of mournful spirits here stalked together through the livelong night, wailed to the moon and only vanished when grey dawn disturbed them. Dark stories gathered above the empty War Prison, like crows around a corpse. Rumour hinted of secret graves and murders unrecorded and unguessed; the crypts gave up human bones to the searchers; unholy inscriptions and curses against a forgetful God stared out upon dark walls at the light of torches; signs of infamy, of evil, and of all the passion, agony and heartbreak of vanished thousands appeared; hoarded horrors came to light; a spirit of misery untold still haunted the mouldering limbo. Yet as time passed, the forces of Nature worked within these barred gates and toiled by day and night to sweeten and purify, to obliterate and cleanse. The west wind and the rain, the frost and the mist, the sunlight and the storm all laboured here. Torrents washed and hurricanes howled into every hole and alley; up-springing seeds and swelling mosses softened the old sentry-ways upon the ramparts; green things broke the cruel contours of the walls; rusting and shattered iron at a thousand windows grew red and dripped streaks of warm colour upon the weathered granite.

Now the War Prison has vanished, and its story is told. In the vast archives of human torment the narrative fills but a brief paragraph; and therein all that pitiful history, to the last secret tear and the last act of malice, to the last noble self-denial and unanswered prayer, is recorded, to endure for time.

Mr. Beer read his letter aloud after supper in the servants' hall.

"A very understanding man was Thomas Putt, though cunning an' tricky as a fox, as I always told him," declared Kekewich, from his seat beside the fire.

"An' larned to write since he went to America, seemingly," said Dinah Beer. "There was nought that chap couldn't reach when he gave his intellects to it."

"He starts off with some general good wishes for all the company at Fox Tor Farm an' his Uncle Bradridge, if we should chance to meet with him," began Beer. "Then he goes on upon affairs in general in these words."

Richard read from Putt's letter:—

"An' I be glad I didn't marry Mason's sister to Chaggyford, for to be plain, there's better here, an' a man of sense can have his pick of very fine maidens. But I ban't going to rush at 'em. I've got my own bit of ground rented from Mr. Stark, an' pretty soil it is too. The first crop of wheat I takes off it will more than pay the expenses of clearing! That'll make your mouths to water, I reckon. Such crops as come up I never did see or hear tell about, an' if anybody had told me there was such fat virgin land in the world, just natural with never a load of muck on it since the Flood, I should have said the man was a liar. An' there ban't no Duchy in Vermont! An' never a bigger-minded, more generous gentleman living than Mr. Stark. Thousands upon thousands of acres he've got. Blamed if I don't believe as you could put Dartymoor down in the middle an' lose it! He'm a great farmer; an' I've heard un say 'tis the best of the human crafts after sailoring. T'other sorts of business teach a man to be rich, an' powerful like, an' witty; but the land—where should us be without that? It keeps the world alive an' finds food an' clothes for all the humans on the earth."

"'Tis true," said Woodman. "An', what's more, I hold as the land be next to the Bible for keeping a man out of mischief—so long as he sticks to it. 'Tis the sticking does it. If Adam's self had but kept to his job——"

"Putt says a bit more; us can have a tell after," interrupted Beer. Then, amid real and lively interest, he narrated a matter with which, elsewhere, the master and his wife were also most deeply concerned.

Maurice Malherb sat and calculated the value of his next year's crop of wool. As usual, he set it as high as his hopes. He had sold the Malherb amphora for eighteen thousand pounds, and henceforth found himself and his farm in prosperous circumstances.

Now Annabel read slowly the budget from Cecil Stark. It was in the nature of a diary, and anon Malherb, pushing his papers and figures violently from him, spoke.

"For love of Heaven, leave that solid prosing, and look forward to the end. Grace—how is it with her? There should be great news. But he's so balanced, so self-contained, so methodical. He'll set things in their proper order though the heavens fall. Look on—look on to the end!"

"He writes from day to day, dear Maurice."

"Let him. We need not read so. Turn the pages quickly."

Mrs. Malherb obeyed, glanced forward, then uttered a joyful cry and dropped the budget.

"A boy—a precious little boy; and our sweet one well—quite well—before the letter sailed. 'Gloriously happy,' he says."

"I knew it! Pick up the letter. A boy! They have called him Maurice Malherb? That is certain."

She read again; then shook her head.

"Not so?" he asked with a heightened voice. "Then 'tis 'Malherb'—just the name. Yet I could have wished——"

"No, dear heart. They have not called him Malherb."

He started and flushed.

"Stark's name alone, I suppose? That is not well. I marvel they could do so improper a thing! Is it not enough that she has broken our hearthstone? Will she also forget us?

"The little one is called John, dear Maurice—only that."

He was quite silent for a moment, staring before him. His warmth died away and then he spoke.

"Good—very good! Well thought on! I'm glad they've done that. And the dead would be glad. Perchance he is so. All is right with our girl, you say—you hide nothing?"

"All is as right as our love could wish."

"God be praised for His manifold mercies then."

She rose and came to his side.

"Do you remember, Maurice, how once you wished for Grace's firstborn, and planned and hoped that he should be a Malherb?"

"Forget it," he said. "'Tis but a fool's part to remember dreams."

He bent his head and his great square jaw hardened.

"No, no. This place follows me to the dust, and with me vanishes from man's memory for ever. None shall remember me after I have passed by, and none bear my name any more. Let it depart, like the mist 'of the morning, and be forgotten."

"May our grandchild be even such as you, brave heart! A man among men—generous, honest, just."

Malherb shook his head.

"Never—never. Rather pray that he follow his father. But not like me—not like me."

She put her arms round his neck and kissed him.

THE END

PLYMOUTH
WILLIAM BRENDON AND SON
PRINTERS