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Les diagrammes suivants illustrent la m^thode. 1 2 3 32X 1 2 3 4 5 6 » BEl SO, ME ^. j\L Frdnrois Hiijot, the hitvudnnt. NI ) HE SEATS OF THE MIGHTY BEING THE MEMOIRS OF CAPTAIN ROBERT MORAY, SOMET1MI-: AN OFFICER IN THE VIRGINIA REGI- MENT, AND AFTERWARDS OF AMHERST's REGIMENT BY GILBERT PARKER AUTHOR OF I'lERRE AND HIS PEOPLE WHEN VALMONDCAME TO PONTIAG THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD THE TRESPASSER ETC iL o JL o f\4 NEW YORK . . . D. APPLETON AND COMPANY.. MDCCCXCVIl '"".SKc^^uV^^r""- /^ ^ ^ V <^ /' / ^ ^/ 166933 Copyright, 1896, By d. appleton and company. Copyright, 1895, By Gilbert Parker do t\)e XHcmoru oi bee Jol in Cor ada the to I tiqu Mr. SUgc Fair tains map; sel, I torie and are i rrwEFxVTOlir NOTE. This tale would never have been written had it not been for the kindness of my distinguished friend Dr. John George Bourinot, C. M. (1., of Ottawa, wliose studies in parliamentary procedure, the English and Canadian Constitutions, and the history and development of Can- ada have been of singular benefit to the Dominion and to the Empire. Through Dr. Bourinot's good offices I came to know Mr. James Lemoine, of Quebec, the gifted an- tiquarian, and President of the Koyal Society of Canada. Mr. Lemoine placed in my hands certain historical facts suggestive of romance. Subsequently, Mr. George ^I. Fairchild, Jr., of Cap Ilouge, Quebec, whose library con- tains a valuable collection of antifjue Canadian books, maps, and prints, gave me generous assistance and coun- sel, allowing me " the run" of all his cluirts, prints, his- tories, and memoirs. Many of these jjrints, and a rare and authentic map of Wolfe's operations against Quebec are now reproduced in this novel, and may be considered vii nil THE SEATS OF THE MTCIITV. accurate illustrations of places, i)o«)|»l(', and ovonts. By the insertion of tlicso fiiitliful historical oieincnts it is hoped to give more vividness to the atmosphere of the time, and to stren^^^then the verisimilitude of a })iece of fiction which is not. 1 believe, out of harniony with fact. OiLHKUT Pai{ki;u. CONTENTS. cnXPTER I. — A.v i:s( oRT TO II. — Tin: MASTKIl OF III.— TlIK WAliKIl AN IV.— Till: RAT IS Til V. — Tin; DKVMK oi- VI. — IMoKAY Ti:i,Ls T VII. — "QroTii littm: VIII. — As VAIN- AS An IX. — A LITTLK CONCI X XI. XII. XIII. XIV. XV. XVI. XVII. XVIII. XIX XX. XXI XXII. RANTK — An offickr of — Tin: COMING oi- — "TlIF POINT FN —"A LITTLF HO A — AlKiANI) COURX —In ti IF CIlAMni — Be SAINT OR n — Through Tin: — The stffp pat A Dansfusf a — Upon the ram — La Jonoleuse — The Lord of PAnK THE CITADEL '.] THE King's magazine . 1(1 D THE SWORD . 'M E TKAP . . . . 43 Tin: DORMorsF 55 •HE STOKV OF HIS LIFE 59 , G A It A INF " . . . 77 ISALOM . . . . 85 ERNIN(! THE ClIEVALIER I E LA I)A- • • • • t 88 MARINES . 103 ' DOLTAIRE 111) .VENOM ED TOO I" i:}0 ST" .... 147 'AL .... . ir,2 :r of toktckf . . 180 HP ... . . 1!)0 BARS OF Tin: CACiE . . 202 ■H OF CONQUEST . . 212 ND THE BaSTILE . 218 PARTS. . 2:56 • • • t • . 25;] Kamaraska . . . 2G2 IZ TIIK SKATS OP THK MIGHTY. (IIAPTKn XXIII.— With Wolii; at .Montm(»ki;n(.i XXIV.— TlIK 8Ar|ti;i) ColNTKUSKiX XXV.— In Tin; ('ATiiKDUAr XXVI. — Tin; si:( hi;t ok tiii; tai-kstuy XXVI I. — A sii»i;-\viM) (»K i{i:vi:n iman must !tom- There was a deoper game playing. I give thoiu their tliie : the trap was skilful, and in IhoHe times, with great things at stake, strategy took the place of open lighting here and there. For Bigot I was to bo a weapon against another; for Doltaire, against mvself. What a gnJl they must h.ave thought nie ! I nught have known that, with my lost papers on the way to l''rance, they must hold me tight here till I had been tried, nor permit mc to escape. JUit I was sick of doing fiothing, thinking with horror on a long winter in the citadel, and I caught at the least straw of freedom. " Captain Moray will like to spend a couple of hours at his lodgings before he joins us at the palace," the In- lendant said, and with a nod to me he turned to his coachman. The horses wheeled, and in a moment the great doors opened, and he had passed inside to applause, thougli here and there among the crowd was heard a hiss, for the Scarlet Woman had made an impression. Tha Intendant's men essayed to trace these noises, but found no one. Looking again to the Heights, 1 saw that the woman had gone. Doltaire noted my glance and the inquiry in my face, and he said : " Some bad fighting hours with the Intendant at Chateau Bigot, and then a fever, l)ringing a kind of madness : so the story creeps about, as told by Jiigot's enemies." Just at this point I felt a man hustle mo as he passed. One of the soldiers made a thrust at him, aiul lie turned round. I caught his eye, aiul it Hashed some- thins: to me. It was Voban the barber, who had shaved me every day for months when I first came, while my arm was stilf from a wound got fighting the French on tlie Ohio. It was quite a year since I had met him, and I was struck by the change in his face. It had grown nnich older ; its roundness was gone. We had had many 3 22 TIIV: SEATS OF THE MKIIITY. a talk togctlicr, lie li('l[)inf,' u\v witli I'^reiicli, 1 listening to the tales of liis early life in France, and to the later tale of a liiunble love, and of the lioine whieh ho was fitting lip for his Mathilde, a peasant girl of nineh beauty I was told, but whom I had never seen. I remembered at tluit moment, as lie stood in the crowd looking at me, the piles of linen whieh he had bought at Ste. Anne do Beaupre, and the silver pitcher which his grandfather had got from tlic Due do Valois for an act of merit. Many a time we had discussed the i)itcher and the deed and fingered the linen, now talking in French, now in Englisli ; for in France, years before, he had been a valet to an Kn: I.ouis's court. But my suri)rise had been great when I learned that this Eng- lish jrentleman was no other than the best friend I over had, next to my parents and my grandfather. Voban was bound to Sir John (Jodric by as strong ties of alfection as I. What was more, by a secret letter I had sent to j\[r. George Washington, who was then as good a Briton as myself, I had been able to have my barber's young brother, a prisoner of war, set free. I felt that he had something to say to me now ; but he turned away and disappeared among the crowd. I might have had some clew if I had known that ho had been crouched behind the In^endant's carriage while I was being bidden to the supper. I did not guess then that there was anytliing between him and the Scarlet Woman who railed at liii^ot. In a little while I was at my lodgings, soldiers posted at mv door and one in my room. Doltaire had cfone to his own quarters promihing to call for me within two hours. There was little for me to do but to put in a bag the fewest necessaries, to roll up my heavy cloak, to stow safely my pipes and two goodly packets of tobacco, which were to bo my cliiefest solace for many a long TIIK MASTKU OF TIIK K IXC'S MACAZIN'K. 2n stoning ,tor tale fitting y I wjis at that no, tlio nne do (ll'atlier merit, le dood now in a valot lUit my id Kng- l I ever ban was .lYoctiou sent to Briton young iw ; but wd. I ho had rt-hile I Iss then Scarlet posted !;one to lin two it in a |oak, to )bacco, la long day, and to write som;- lotters — one to (iovornor Dinwid- dle, one to Major W asliington, one to my partner in Virginia, telling them my fresh misfortunes, aiul begging them to send mo money, which, however useless in my captivity, would be important in my fight for life and freedom. 1 did not write intimately of my state, for 1 was not sure my letters would ever pass outside Quebec. There were only two men I could trust to do the thing. One was a fellow-countryman, Clark, a ship-carpenter, and something of a rullian, who, lo save his neck and to sptire his wife and child, had turned Catholic, but who hated all Frenchmen barbarously at heart, renuMnbering two of his bairns butchered before his eyes. The other was Voban. 1 knew that though \'oban might not act he would not betray me. But how to reach either of them? It was clear that 1 must bide my chances. One other letter I wrote, brief but vital, in which I begged the sweetest girl in the world not to have un- easiness because of me ; that I trusted to my star and to my innocence to convince my judges ; and begging lier, if she could, to send me a line at the citadel. I told her I knew well how hard it all would be, for her mother and her father would not now look u})on my love with favour. But I trusted everything to time and Providence. I sealed my letters, put them iii my ])ocket, and sat down to smoke and think while T waited for Doltaire. To the soldier on duty whom I did not notice at first I now ofTered a pipe and a glass of wine, whicdi he ac- cepted rather gruffly, but enjoyed, if I might judge by his devotion to them. By-and-bye, without imy relevancy at all, he said abruptly, " If a little sooner she had come — aho ! " For a moment I could not think what he meant ; but soon I saw. " The palace would have been burned if the girl in 94 THE SEATS OF THE MKJIITV. Hcarlot Imd ('(>mv sooiior — clj ? '' I ankccl. " Slio would Imve ur<,'('(l tlio pcoplo on ? " " And Ki^n)t l)iiriit too, iiiaybi'," 1h' Jiiisworcd. " Firu and dcatli— oh ? " I olTcivd liiiM aiiotlicr pipeful of tobacco. TTo looked doul)tful, hut accc})tL'd. "Aho! And that Vo))an, he woidd ha.V(! had hi.s hand in," lie <^n'o\vdc(l. I hcf^uii to get inoro lii:;ht. " Siic was shut up jit Chateau Bigot — hand of iron and lock of steel — who knows the rest? Hut \'oban was for always," no added presently. 'J'he thing was clear. 'I'he Scarlet Woman was ^^a- thilde. So here was the end of N'ohan's little romance — of the fine linen from Ste. Anne de lieaupre aiul the silver pitcher for the wedding wine. 1 saw, or felt, that in Voban 1 might lind now a confederate, if I ]»ut my hard case on Bigot's shoulders. " I can't see why she stayed with l)igot," I said ten- tatively. " Break the dog's leg, it can't go hunting bones — inais, )io)i ! Holy, how stupid are you English ! " "Why doesn't the Intendant lock her up now? She's dangerous to him ! You remember what she said ? " " Toinierre, you shall see to-morrow," he answered ; " now all the shec}) go bleating with the bell, liigot — Bigot — Bigot — there is iiothing but Bigot ! J^ut, })isli ! Vaudreuil the (Jovernor is the great man, and .Montcalm, aho ! son oi Mahomet I You shall see. Now they dance to l^igot's whistling; he will lock her safe enough to- morrow, 'less some one steps in to help her. Before ta-night she never spoke of him before the world — but a poor daft thing, going about all sad and wild. She missed her chance to-night — aho ! " t( f( TlIK MASTEIl OF TIIK KIN'(J'S MACAZIXE. 2n hones •ercd ; igot— ' " Wliynro you not with Montculin's sol(li(>rsV" I uskcd. ♦' You liki? l»iiM Ix'ttcr." " I was with liiiii, Imt my time was out, and I left hiiu for Hiirot. Pish! I h-ft liirn for Hi^jot, for the luilitia!" lie raisi'd Ids thumb to Ins nose, and spread out his lln- ^WA. Again ligiit dawned on mo. He was slill with tht* (lovornor in all fact, though soldiering for iiigot — a soi't of watch upon the Inteiulaiit. I saw my chaiu-e. If I coidd hut induce this fellow to fetch mu Vohan I Thei-e was yet an hour Ix'fore I was to go to the intendaiu;o. « I called up what looks of candour I could and told him hluntly that I wdshed \'ohan to heai' a letter for me to the Scigiu'ur Duvarney's. At that he cocked his ear and shook his bushy heail, liercely stroking his mustaches. I kiu'w that r should stake something if I said it was a letter for Mademoiselle Duvarney, but I knew also that if he was still the (Jovernor's nuin in Higot's pay he would undoi'stand the Seigneur's relations with the (Jovernor. And a woman in the case with a soldier — that would count for sonu'thing. So I said it was for her. Besidiss, I had no other resource but to make a friend among my euenues if I could, while yet there was a (duiuce. It was like a load lifted from nu^ when I saw his mouth aii.l eyes open wide in a big soundless laugh, which cjime to an end with a voiceless (i/tn ! I gave him another tum- hU'r of wine, liefore he took it, he made a wide mouth at me again, and slai)ped his leg. After drink'ng, he said, '''Poom — what good ? They'i-e going to hang you for a spy." " That rope's not ready yet," I answered. " Til tie a l)retty knot in another string first, I trust." "Damned if you haven't spirit I " said he. "That Seigneur Duvarney, I know him; and I know his son the ensign — ^uhiing, what saltpetre is he I And the nui'm'selle 20 TIIH SKATS OK TIIK MKIIITY — cxcollcjit, excellent ; aiul ii fiice, huc'm a fju-e, aiul a seat like Iceehi'M in the saddle. And you a Hiitish ofT.eer mewed up to kick your heels till ;;all(»\VH day! So droll, inv dear » " (( (( Hut will you fetch Vohan?" I a.ske(l. To trim your hair against the 8Ui)pcr to-iiiglit— eh, like that?" As lie spoko lie pufTed out his red cheeks with wido boylike eyes, hurst his lips in another soundless laugh, and laid a tinger hesido his nose. His marvellous inno- cence of look and his ])easa!it openness hid, I siiw, gretit shrewdjiess and intelligence — an admirable man for \'au- dreuiPs ])>irp()se, as admirable for mine. I knew well that if I had tried to bribe him he would have scouted me, or if I had made ii motion for escape he would have shot me olT-hand. But a lady — that appealed to him; and that she was the Seigneur Duvarr.ev's daufore we heartl footsteps outside; then came a knoek, and X'oban was shown in. "(^uiek, m'sieu'," hi; said. '' M'sieu' is almost at our heels." "This k'tter," said [, " to :\rademoiselle Duvarney," and I handi'd four: hers, and those to (Jovernor Din- widdie, to Mr. Washington, and to my })artner. lie quiekly \n\t tliem in his coat, nodding. The soldier — I have not vet mentioned his name — (Jabord, know not that more than one passed into Voban's hands. " OtT with your coat, m'sieu\" said \'^ol)an, whipping out his shears, tossing liis cap aside, and rolling down his apron. " M'sieu' is here." I had olT my coat, was in a chair in a twinkling, and he was clipj)ing softly at me as Doltaire's h ind turned the handle of the door. " Beware — to-night ! " \'oban whispered. " Come to me in the prison," said I. " Hemend)er your brother ! " His lips twitched. " M'sieu', I will if I can." This he said in my ear as Doltaire entered and came for- ward. " Upon my life I" Doltaire broke out. " These Eng- lish gallants ! They go to prison curled and musked by SCARBOROUGH TOWNSHIP PUBLIC LIBRARY 28 THE SEATS OF THE MIGnTY. Voban. Vohan — a name from the court of tlie King, and it garnishes a barber ! Who culled yoii, Voban ? " " My mother, with the cure's help, m'sieu'." Doltaire paused, with a pinch of snutT at his nose, and replied lazily, " I did not say ' Who called you Vuban? ' Voban, but who called you here, Voban ? " I spoke up testily then of })urpose : " What would you have, monsieur ? The citadel has better butchers than barbers. I sent for him," lie shrugged his shoulders and came over to Voban. "Turn round, my Voban," he said. ^' Vuban — and such a figure ! a knee, a back like that ! " Then, while my heart stood still, he put forth a finger and touched the barber on the chest. If he should touch the letters ! I was ready to seize them — but would that save them? Twice, thrice, the finger prodded Voban's breast, as if to add an emphasis to his words. " In Quebec you are misplaced. Monsieur le Voban. Once a wasp got into a honeycomb and died." I knew he was hinting at the barber's resentment of the poor Mathilde's fate. Something strange and devilish leaped into the man's eyes, and he broke out bitterly, " A honey-bee got into a nest of wasps — and died." I thought of the Scarlet Woman on the hill. Voban looked for a moment as if he might do some wild thing, llis spirit, his devilry, pleased Doltaire, and he laughed. " Who would have thought our Voban had such wit ? Tl;o trade of barber is double-edged, liazors should be in fashion at Versailles." Then he snt down, while Vobun made a pretty show of touching oif my person. A few minutes passed so, in which the pealing of bells, the shouting of the people, the beating of drums, and the calling of bugles came lo us clearly. A half hour afterwards, on our way to the lutendant's THE MASTER OF TITE KING'S :\rAGAZIXE. 29 • some 5, iiml II bad tazors I show 30, in bple, le io ant's palace, we heard the Bonediotiis clianted in the Church of the Kecollets, as we passed — hundreds kneehng outsick^ and responding to tlie chant sung within : " Thai ire s/ioidd be saved from our enemies, and from the hands of all that hate us.'"' At tlie corner of a building which we passed, a little away from the crowd, I saw a solitary cloaked figure. The words of the chant, following us, I could hear dis- tinctly : " yyi((t ?ce, hein(j delivered out of the haiids of oar ene- mies, miglit serve Him without fear. ''^ And then, from the sliadowcd corner came in a high, melancholy voice the words : " To (jive light to tliem that sit in darliicss and in tlie shadow of death, and to guide our feet into the wag of peace.'''' Looking closer, I saw it was Mathilde. Doltaire smiled as I turned and begged a moment's time to speak to her. •■' To pray with the lost angel and sup with the In- tendant, all in one night — a liberal taste, monsieur; but who shall stay the good Samaritan I" They stood a little distance away, and I went over to her and said, " Mademoiselle — Mathilde, do you not know me V " Her abstracted eye fired up, as there ran to her brain some little sprite out of the House of Memory and told her who I was. " Tliere were two lovers in the world," she said ; " the ^[othor of God forgot them, and the devil came. I am the Scarlet Woman," she went on ; " I made this red robe from the curtains of Hell " Poor soul! My'own trouble seeme[aybe a merciful Spirit sees how, left alone, we should have stumbled and lost ourselves in oar own gloom, and so gives us a new temper fitted to our needs. 1 remember that at the great door I turned back and smiled upon the ruined granary, and sniffed the air laden with the scent of burnt corn — the people's bread ; that I saw old men and women who could not be moved l)v news of victorv, shaking with cold, even beside this vast furnace, and peevishly babbling of their hunger, and I did not say, "Poor souls! " that for a time the power to feel my own misfortunes seemed gone, and a hard, light indifference came on me. For it is true I came into the great dining-hall, and looked upon the long loaded table, with its hundred can- dles, its flagous and pitchers of wine, and on the faces of 32 THE SEATS OF THE MIGHTY. so many idlo, cureless gentleniou bid to a earou.so, with a iiianiKT, J hclieve, as rocklcss and jaunty as their own. And J kept it up, tliough I saw it was not what they liad looked for. I did not at onco know wlu) was there, but presently, at a dislaneo from me, I saw the faeo of Juste Duvarncv, tlie hrotlicr of niv sweet Alixe, a man of but twenty or so, wlio liad a name for wildness, for no badness tluit I ever heard of, and for a llcM-y temper. He was in tlie service of the (lovernor, an ensign. IIo had been little at home since I had come to Quebec, having beei )]( th th of th en employed u[) to tlio past year m tne service ol tlio Governor of MontreaL We bowed, but lie made no mo- tion to come to me, an'j]>irits sulTered a decline. On one side the Intendant rallied me, on the other Doltaire. 1 ate on, drank on; but while smiling bv the force of will, I irrew graver little by little. Yet it was a gravity whi(;h had no ajiparent motive, for I was not thinking of my troubles, not even of the night's stake and the jjossiblc end of it all; simply a sort of gray coloia- of the mind, a stillness in the nerves, a general seriousness of the senses. 1 dj-ank, and the wine did not affect me, while voices got loud ami louder, and glasses rang, and spurs rattled on shuffling heels, and a scabbard clanged on a chair. I seemed to feel and know it all in some far-olf way, but I was not touched by the spirit of it, was not a part of it. 1 watched the reddened cheeks and loose scorching mouths around me with a sort of distant curiosity, and the ribald jests flunsr riojht and left struck me not at all acutely. It was as if I were reading a Book of Bacchus. I draidv on even- ly, not doggedly, and ansv/ered jest for jest without a hot breath of drunkenness. I looked several times at Juste Duvarney, who sat not far away, on the other side of the table, behind a grand piece of silver filled with October roses. He was drinking hard, and Doltaire, sitting beside him, kept him at it. At last the silver piece was shifted, and he and I could see each other fairly. Xow and then Doltaire spoke across to me, but somehow no word passed between Duvarney and myself. Suddenly, as if by magic — I know it was preconcerted 34 THE SEATS OF THE Mir.IITV. — tlic talk turnctl on the events of the evening and on the defeat of the JJritish. Then, too, I began to be myself again, and a sense of my i)osition grew upon me. I had been withdrawn from all real feeling and living for hours, but 1 believe that same suspension was my salvation. For wilh every man present deeply gone in li(|U()r round me — every num save Doltaire — I was sane and steady, set- tling into a state of great alertness, determined on escape, it that could be, and bent on tiirning every chance to serve my purposes. ^I'ow and again I caught my own name mentioned with a sneer, then with remarks of surprise, then with in- solent laughter. I saw it all. Uefore dinner some of the revellers had been told of tlie new charge against me, and, by instruction, had kept it till the inllamnuible moment. Then the why and wherefore of my presence at this sup- per being in the lui/.ard, the stake, as a wicked jest of Bigot's, was mentioned. I couhi see the llame grow inch by inch, fed by the Intendant and J)oltaire, whose hateful final move I was yet to see. For one instant I had a sort of fear, for I was now sure they meant I should not leave the room alive ; but anon I felt a river of fiery anger flow through me, rousing me, making me loathe the faces of them jdl. Yet not all, for in one pale face, with dark, brilliant eyes, I saw the looks of my ilower of the world : the colour of her hair in his, the clearness of the brow, the poise of the head — how handsome he was ! — the light, springing step, like a deer on the sod of June. I call to mind when I first saw him. lie was sitting in a Avindow of the ^[anor, just after he had come from jlontreal, play- ing a violin which had once belonged to I)e Casson, the famous priest whose athletic power and sweet spirit en- deared him to New France. I lis fresh cheek was bent to the brown, delicate w^ood, and he was playing to his sister the air of the undying chanson, " Je vais mourir pour ma I THE WAOER AXD THE SWOUD. (J5 I on tlio myself I had I' hours, n. For 111(1 me (iv, set- esc{i])e, to serve iilioned vith in- I of the le, and, loment. is sup- jest of w inch hateful a sort t leave r flow ces of dark, rvorld : brow, light, all to ndow play- |i, the t en- nt to ister r ma belle reinc." I loved the look of his fare, like that of a young Apollo, oi)en, sweet, and l)old, all his body haviiig the epic strength of life. I wished that I might have him near mo as a comrade, for out of my hard experience I could teach him much, and out of his youth he could soften my blunt nature, by comradeship making llexuous the hard and ungenial. 1 went on talking to the Intendant, while some of the guests rose and scattered about the rooms, at tables, to play ])ic(piet, the jesting on our cause and the scorn of myself abating not at all. 1 would not have it thought that anything was opeidy coarse or brutal; it was all by innuendo, and brow-lifting, and maddening, allusive phrases such as it is thought tit for gentlefolk to use in- stead of open charge. There was insult in a smile, con- tempt in the turn of a shoulder, challenge in the llicking of a handkerchief. A\'ith great pleasure 1 could have wrung thoir noses one by one, and afterwards have met them, tossing sword-})oints, in the same order. I wonder now that I did not tell them so, for I was ever hasty ; but my brain was clear that night, and I held myself in due check, letting each move come from my enemies. There was no reason whv I should have been at this wild feast at all, I, a prisoner charged with being a spy, save be- cause of some plot through which fresh suffering should come to mc and some one else be benefited — though how that miglit be I could not guess at first. But soon I understood everything. Presently I heard a young gentleman say to Duvarney over my shoulder : " Eating comfits and holding yarn — that was his doing at your manor when Doltaire came hunting him." " He has dined at your table, Lancy," broke out Du- varney hotly. " But never with our ladies," was the biting answer. 30 TIIR SEATS OF TUK MIGHTY. " Should prisoners make coiulitions?" was tlie sharp, insolent retort. The insult was conspicuous, and trouble might have followed, but that Doltairo came between them, shifting the attack. " I'risoners, my dear Duvarm^v," said he, "are most delicate and exactinut I held my wits together. " Monsieur," said I, " I found tlie secret of all good life : a noble kindness to the unfortunate/' There was a general laugh, led by Doltaire, a concerted influence on the young gentleman. I cursed myself that 1 had been snared to this trap. "The insolent," responded J)uvarney, "not the unfor- tunate." " Insolence is no crime, at least," I rejoined (piietly, "else this room were a penitentiary." There was a moment's ])ause, and presently, as 1 kept my eye on him, he raised his handkerchief and llic.'ked me across the face with it, saying, "Then this will be a vir- tue, and you mav have more such virtues as often as you will." In spite of will, my blood pounded in my yeins, and a devilish anger took hold of me. To be struck across the face by a beardless Frenchman, scarce past his teens I — it 4 38 TIIK SKATS OF Till': MUillTV. sliook mo more tlum now I oare to own. I felt my clicck hum, my teeth clinduMl, and I know a kind of snarl camo from me; l)nt n,i,'ain, all in ji moment, I ean^^dit a turn of his head, a motion (d" the hand, wiiiidi hrou;^'ht hack Alixo to um. 7\n<(er died a way, and I saw oidv a voutli Hushed witii wine, stun<( hy su^'.i^'estions, with that foolish i)rid(i tiic youn^^stiT feels— and l)o was tlic youngest of them all — in hc'ingas good a man as the hest, and asdai'ing us tho worst. I felt how useless it would he to try the straight- ening of matters there, though had we two heen alone a dozen words should have heen enough, liut to try was my duty, and 1 tried with all my might ; almost, for Alixe's sake, with all rny lu'art. " Do not trouhle to illustrate your meaning," said I 2)atiently. " ^'our phrases are elear and to tho })oiut." "You holt from my words," he retorted, 'Mike a sliy mare on tlie curb; you take insult like a donkey on a well-wheel. What lly will the Knglish lish rise to? Now it no more idays to my hook than an August ehul)." I could not help hut admire his spirit and the sharp- ness of his speech, though it drew me into a deeper quan- dary. It was elear that he would not be tempted to friendliness; for, as is often so, when men have said things fiercely, their eloquence feeds their passion and convinces them of holiness in their cause. Calmly, but with a heavy heart, I answered : " I wish not to find olTence in your words, my friend, for in some good days gone you and I had good acquaint- ance, and I can not forget that the last hours of a light imprisonment before I entered oji a dark one were spent in the homo of your father — of the brave Seigneur whose life I once saved." I am sure I should not have mentioned this in any other situation — it seemed as if I were throwing myself on his mercy; but yet I felt it was the only thing to do \ TIIK WAdKH AM) TIIK SWOUD. ao \y clu'ck ;irl ciiino I turn of vk Alixo ii lliislu'd ish i)ritlo tlu'iu all iig us tlio slrjii;,'lit- i iiloiie a I try WHS ur Alixe'd :," said I )()int." ike a sliy key on a to? Now lie sharp- ie!' qiian- npted to iKive said sion and |lmly, but ly friend, icqnaint- u liglit n'G spent br whose |s 111 any myself bg to do — that I must bridj^o this afTuir, if at cost of some re]Mi- tation. It was not to bo. Doltain*, seeing that my words had ijideed alTeeletl my op[»oiU'nt, said: "A double retreat I lie swore to give a challenge to-night, and he cries otT like a shee]) from a por('U[)ine; his courage is so slack he dares not move a sti'j) to his liburty. it was a bet, a hazard. He was to drink glass for glass with any and all of us, and tight sword for sword with uny of us who gave liini cause. Having drunk his courage to death, he'd now browse at the feet of those who give him chance to win his stake." His words came slowly and bitlngly, yet with an air of damnable nonchalance. I looked round me. Every man j)rescnt was full-s[)rnng with wine, and a distaiu-e away, a gentleman on either side of him, stood the Intendant, smiling detesta))ly, a keen, houndlike look shooting out of his small round eyes. I had had enough ; I could bear no more. To bo baited like a bear l)y these Frenchmen — it was aloes in niv teeth ! I was not sorrv then that these words of .Tu?' Duvarney's gave me no chance of escape from tl'ditin":; thoufjli I wished it had been anv other man in the room than he. It was on my tongue to say that if some gentleman would take up his quarrel I should be glad to drive mine home, though for reasons I cared not myself to flight Duvarnev. lint I did not, for I knew that to carry that point farther might rouse a general thought of Alixe, aiul I had no wish to make matters hard for her. Everything in its own good time, and when I should be free! So, without more ado, I said to him : "Monsieur, the quarrel was of your choosing, not mine. There was no need for strife between us, and you have more to lose th:"i I : more friends, more years of 4:0 THE SEATS OF THE MIGHTY. life, more hopes. I have avoided your bait, as you call it, for your sake, not miiie own. ]S'()\v I take it, and you, monsieur, show us what sort of lislierman vou are." All was arranged in a moment. As we turned to pass from the room to the courtyard, I noted that Bigot was gone. When we came outside, it was just one, as I could tell by a clock striking in a chamber near. It was cold, and some of the company shivered as we stepped upon the white, frosty stones. The late October air bit the clieek, though now and then a warm, pungent current passed across the courtyard — the breath from the peo|)le's burnt corn. Even yet upon the sky was the reflection of the fire, and distant sounds of singing, shouting, and carousal came to i.s from the Lower Town. We stepped to a C( rner of the yard and took off our coats . swords were handed us — both excellent, for we had had our choice of manv. It was partial moonlight, but there were flitting clouds. That we should have light however pine torches had been brouglit, and these were stuck in the wall. ]\Iy back Wiis to the outer wall of the courtyard, and I saw the Intendant at a window of the palace looking down at us. Doltaire stood a little apart from the other gentlemen in tl e courtyard, yet where he could see Duvarney and myself at advantage. Before we engaged, I looked intently into my op- ponent's face, and measured him carefully with my eye, that I might have his height and figure explicit and ex- act ; for I know how moonlight and fire distort, how the eye may be deceived. I looked for every button ; for the spot in his lean, healthy body where I could disable him, spit him, and yet not kill him — for this was the thing fiu'thest from my wishes, (lod knows. Xow the deadly character of the event seemed to impress him, for he was pale, and the liquor he had drunk had given him dark lioUows round the eyes, and a gray shining sweat was on THE WAG Ell AND THE SWORD. 41 u call it, md you, 5) [1 to pass >iijot was s I could was cold, upon the le check, it passed e's burnt n of the carousal k off our )r we had lin-ht, but ave light Lcse were 11 of the w of the tie apart rvhere he my op- inv eve, and ex- how the I; for the |tble him, he thing le deadly ir he was 11 m dark was on his chock. But the eyes themselves were fiery and keen and there was reckless daring in every turn of his body. I was not long in finding his qiiahty, for he came at me violeully from the start, .'ind 1 had chance to know his strength and his weakness also, ills hand was quick, his siglit clear and sure, his knowledge to a certain point most definite and practical, his mastery of the sword de- liglitful; but he had Utile imagination, he was merely a brilliant performer, he did not conceive. I saw that if I put him on the defensive I should have him at advantage, for he liad not that art of the true swordsman, the pre- scient quality wliich foretells the opitonenfs action and stands prepared. Tliere I had him at fatal advantage — could, I felt, give him last reward of insult at my pleas- ure. Yet a lust of fighting got into me, and it was diffi- cult to hold myself in check at all, nor was it easy to n.oet his brcatiiless and adroit advances. Then, too, remarks from the bystanders worked me up to a deep sort of anger, and I could feel Doltaire looking at me with that still, cold face of his, an ironical smile at his lips. Xow and then, too, a ribald jest came from some youiig roisterer near, and the fact that I stood .done among sneerin^ enemies wound me up to a point where pride was more active than aught else. I began to press him a little, and I pricked him once. Then a singular feeling possessed me. I would bring this to an end when I ha(" counted ten ; I would strike home when I said " ten." So I began, and I was rot then aware that I was counting aloud. " One — two — three ! " It was weird to the onlookers, for the yard grew still, and you could hear nothing save perhaps a shifting foot or a hard breathing. " Four — five — six ! " There was a tenseness in the air, and J isle Duvarney, as if he felt a menace in the words, seemed to lose all sense of wariness, and came at me lung- 42 THE SEATS OF THE MIGHTY. ing, lunging with great swiftness and heat. I was in- censed now, and he must take wliat fortune might send ; one can not guide one's sword to do least harm fighting as did we. I had lost blood, and the game could go on no longer. " Eight ! " I pressed him sharply now. " Nine ! " I was preparing for the trick which would end the matter, when I slipped oa the frosty stones, now glazed with our tramping back and forth, and trying to recover myself left my side open to his sword. It came home, though I partly diverted it. I was forced to my knees, but there, mad, unpardonable youth, he made another furious lunge at me. I threw myself back, deftly avoided the lunge, and he came plump on my upstretched sword, gave a long gasp, and sank down. At that moment the doors of the courtyard opened, and men stepped inside, one coming quickly forward be- fore the rest. It was the Governor, the Marquis do Vau- dreuil. lie spoke, but what he said I knew not, for the stark upturned face of Juste Duvarney was there before me, there was a great buzzing in my ears, and I fell back into darkness. IV. THE RAT IX TIIH TRAP. 'W'lTEX I waked I was alone. At first nothing was clear to me ; my brain was dancing in my head, my sight was obscured, my body painful, my senses were blunted. I was in darkness, yet through an open door there showed a light, which, from the smell and flickering, I knew to be a torch. This, creeping into my senses, helped me to remember that the last thing I saw in the Intendant's courtyard was a burning torch, which suddenly multi- 11 s| si 1] t t THE RAT IN TIIR TRAP. 43 was m- "lit send ; fighting longer, le ! " I 3 matter, with our r myself hough I it there, us lunge nge, and ng gasp, opened, ard be- de Vau- for the before II back as clear ^ht was ted. I ho wed new to me to idant's multi- plied to dancing hundreds and then went out. I now stretched forth a hand, and it touched a stone wall ; I moved, and felt straw under me. Then I fixed my eyes steadily on the open door and the shaking light, and presently it all came to me : the events of the nighi, rnd that I was now in a cell of the citadel. Stirring, I founl that the wound in my body had been bound and cared for. A loosely tied scarf round my arm showed that some on<^ had lately left me, and would return to finish the band- aging. I raised myself with difficulty, and saw a basi-.i of water, a sponge, bits of cloth, and a pocket-knife. Stupid and dazed though I was, the instinct of self-preservation lived, and I picked up tlie knife and hid it in my coat. I did it, I believe, mechanically, for a hundred things were going through my mind at the time. All at once there rushed in on me the thought of Juste Duvarney as I saw him last — how long ago was it ? — his white face turned to the sky, his arms stretched out, his body dabbled in blood. I groaned aloud. Fool, fool ! to be trapped by these lying French ! To be tricked into playing their shameless games for them, to have a broken body, to have killed the brother of the mistress of my heart, and so cut myself otf from her and ruined my life for nothing— for worse than nothini; ! I had swasr- gered, boasted, had taken a challenge for a bout and a quarrel like any hanger-on of a tavern. Suddenly I heard footsteps and voices outside, then one voice, louder than the other, saying, " lie hasn't stirred a peg— lies like a log ! " It was Gabord. Doltaire's voice replied, " You will not need a surgeon — no ? " His ' ne, as it seemed to me, was less careless than usual. Gabord answered, " I know tlie trick of it all— what can a surgeon do? This brandy will fetch him to his in- tellects. And by-and-bye crack'U go his spine — alio ! " Hl'n !|f'i I J, ■ I 44 THE SEATS OF THE ^riGHTY. You have heard a lion ffrowlinff on a bone. That IS how Gabord's voice sounded to me tlien — a brutal raw- ness; but it came to my mind also that tliis was the man who iiad brou<,dit Voban to do me service ! " Come, come, Gabord, crack your jaws less, and see you fetch him on his feet again," said Doltaire. " From tlie seats of tlie mighty they have said that he must live — to die another day; and see to it, or the mighty foliv will say that you must die to live another day — in a better world, my Gabord 7 55 Thci it •Inch th( 'ly was a moment that of tearing linen, and I could see the shadows of the two upon the stone wall of the corridor wavering to the light of the torch ; then the shadows shifted entirely, and their footsteps came on towards my door. I was lying on my back as when I came to, and, therefore, probiibly as Gabord had left me, and I determined to appear still in a faint. Through nearly closed eyelids however I saw Gabord enter. Doltaire stood in the doorway watching as the soldier knelt and lifted my arm to take off the bloody scarf. His manner was imperturba- ble as ever. Even then I wondered what his thoughts were, what pungent phrase he was suiting to the time and to me. I do not know to this day which more interested him — that very pungency of phrase, or the critical events which inspired his reflections. lie had no sense of re- sponsibility ; but his mind loved talent, skill, and clever- ness, and though it was scathing of all usual ethics, for the crude, honest life of the poor it had sympathy. I remember remarks of his in the market-place a year be- fore, as he and I watched the peasant in his sabots and the good-wife in her homespun cloth. " These are they," said he, " who will save the earth one day, for they are like it, kin to it. "When they are born they lie close to it, and when they die they fall no That is itul raw- tlic man and see " From st live — [oliv will a better Lind was s of the ^ to the 311 ti rely, I was ere fore, iiied to eyelids in the nv arm rturba- s were, and to erested events of re- clever- ics, for hy. I ar be- :s and earth ^y are ill no THE RAT IX THE TRAP. 45 height to reach their graves. The rest — the world — arc like ourselves in dreams: wo do not walk ; we think we fly, over houses, over trees, over mountains; and then one blessed instant the spring breaks, or the dream gets twisted, and we go falling, falling, in a sickening fear, and, waking up, we find wo are and have been on the earth all the while, and yet can make no claim upon it, and have no kin with it, and no ri^ht to ask anvthimi: of it — quelle vie — quelle vie ! " Sick as I was, I thought of that as he stoud there, looking in at me ; and though I knew 1 ought to hate him I admired him in spite of all. Presently he said to (Jabord, " You'll come to me at noon to-morrow, and see you bi'ing good news, lie breathes ? " Gabord put a hand on my chest and at my neck, and said at once, " I^reath for balloons — alio ! " Doltaire threw a cloak over his shoulder and walked away, his footsteps sounding loud in the passages. Gabord began humming to himself as he tied the bandages, and then he reached down for the knife to cut the ilying strings. I could see this out of a little corner of my eye. When he did not find it, he settled back on his haunches arid looked at me. I could feel his lips pulling out, and I was ready for the ^'- Poom ! '" that came from him. Then I could feel him stooping over me, and his hot stroncr breath in mv face. I was so near to uncon- sciousness at that moment by a sudden anxiety that per- haps my feigning had the look of reality. \\\ any case, he thought me unconscious and fancied that he had taken the knife away with him ; for he tucked in the strings of the bandajre. Then, liftino^ mv head, he held the llask to my lips ; for which I was most grateful — I was dizzy and miserably faint. I think I came to with rather more alacrity than was 40 THE SEATS OF THE MIGHTY. •wise, l)nt lio whs deceived, and his first words wore, " IIo, lio ! the devil's kiiockino: ; who's for lionie, un'ails?" 'o » It was Ills way to put all thiii^^^s allusively, using strange figures and metaphors. Yet, when one was used to him and to them, their potency seemed greater than polislied speech and ordinary phrase. lie olTered me more brandy, and then, without preface, I asked him the one question which sank l)ack on my heart like a load of ice even as 1 sent it forth. " Is he alive ? " I inquired. " Is Monsieur Juste Duvarney alive ?" "With exasi)erating coolness he winked an eye, to con- nect the event with what he knew of the letter 1 had sent to Alixe, and, cocking his head, he blew out his lips with a soundless laugh, and said : " To whisk the brother off to heaven is to say good-bye to sister and pack yourself to Father Peter." " For (Jod's sake, tell me, is the boy dead ? " I asked, my voice cracking in my throat. " lie's not mounted for the journey yet," he answered, with a shrug, " but the Beast is at the door." I plied my man with questions, and learned that they had carried Juste into the palace for dead, but found life in him, and straightway used all means to save him. A surgeon came, his father and mother were sent for, and when Doltaire had left there was hope that he would live. I learned also that Voban had carried word to the Governor of the deed to be done that night ; had for a long time failed to get admittance to him, but was at last permitted to tell his story; and Vaudreuil had gone to Bigot's palace to have me hurried to the citadel, and had come just too late. After answering my first questions, Gabord would say nothing more, and presently he took the torch from the wall and with a gruff good-night prepared to go. When d THE RAT TX THE TRAP. 47 0, " Ho, V" • strange to him )olislied preface, on my " Is he alive?" to con- ad sent ps with 3od-bye '. asked, 5\vered, at they nd life m. A )r, and would to the for a at last )ne to id had Id say n the Wheu I asked that a light be loft he shook his head and said ho had no orders. Whereupon he left me, the heavy door clanging to, tlio bolts were shot, and I was alone in dark- ness with mv wounds and miserv. Mvclnak had been ])ut into the cell beside my couch, and this I now drew over me, and I lay and tliougiit \\\)n\\ my condition aiid my })r()s- pects, which, as nuiy be seen, were not cheei-ing. I did not suiTer great pain from my wounds — only a stilTness tiuit troubled me not Jit all if I lay still. After an hour or so had })assed — for it is hard to keep count of time when one's thoughts a.e tlie only timekeeper — I fell asleep. J know iu)t how long I slept, but I awoke refreshed. I stretched forth my uninjured arm, moving it about. In spite of will a sort of ho})elessness went through nu^ for 1 could feel long blades of corn grown up about my couch, au unnatural nu'adow, spi'ingiug from tiie earth floor of my dungeon. 1 drew the blades between my lingers, feeling towards them as if tliey were tilings of life out of i^lacc like myself. I wondered what colour they were. Surely, said I to myself, they can not be green, but rather a yellowish white, bloodless, having only fibre, the heart all i)inched to death. T^ast night I had not noted them, yet now, looking back, I saw, as in a picture, Gabord the soldier feeling among tliem for the knife that I had takcMi. So mav we see tliiuLCs, and vet not be conscious of them at the cime, waking to their knowledire afterwards. So mav we for veai's look upon a face without understanding, and then, suddenly, one day it comes Hashing out, and we read its hidden story like a ])ook. I put my hand out farther, then brought it back near to my couch, feeling towards its foot mechani(^ally, and now I touched an earthen pan. A small board lay across i^'s top, and moving my fingers along it I found a piece 48 THE SEATS OF THE MIGHTV of bread. Tlicn I felt the jar, and knew it was filled with water. Sitiiiig back I thon<,^lit hard for a moment. Of this 1 was sure : tiie pan and bread were not there when I went to sleep, for tliis was the si)()t where my eyes fell natiu.tlly wliile I lay in ])ed looking towards Dojtaire; and I should have remembered it now, even if I had not noted it then. My jailer had brought these while I slept. B;it it was still dark. I waked again jis though out of sleep, startled: I was in a dungeon that had no window ! Here I was, paeked away in the fjirthest corner of the citadel, in a decj) hole that maybe had not been used for years, to he, no doubt, denied all contact with the outer wotld — I was going to say fric /ids, Init whom could I name amoiK^ them save that dear soul who, by last night's madness, should her brother be dead, was forever made duinb and blind to me? Whom had I but her and Voban ! — and Voban was yet to be i)roved. The Seigneur Duvarney had paid all debts lie may have owed me, and he now might, because of th..- injury to his son, leave me to my fate. On Gabord the soldier I could not count at all. There I was, as Doltairc had said, like a rat in a trap. But I would not let panic seize me. So I sat and ate the stab but sweet bread, took a long drink of the good water from the earthen jar, and then, =5tretching myself out, drew my cloak up to m} ciiin, and settled myself for sleep again. And that I might keep up a kind delusion that I was not quite alone in the bowels of the earth I reached out my hand and affectionately drew the blades of corn between my fingers. Presently I drew my ciiin down to my slioulder, and let myself drift out of painful consciousness almost as easily as a sort of woman can call up tears at will. When I waked again, it was without a start or moving, without i I THE RAT IN THE TKAP. 49 trap. the water out, sleep lat I (.'bed corn (! let ■asily en I ho lit 11 confusion, and 1 wu.s bitterly buii;::ry. IJeside my coucli, with bis bauds on bis bips and bis feet thrust out, stood (labord, looking down at nu) in a r|uizzical and unsatisfied way. A torch was burning near him. " Wake, my dickey-bird," said be in Ids rough, mock- ing voice, " and we'll snuggle you into tbo pot. You've been long biding ; come out of the bujb — alio I " 1 drew myself up painfully. "• Wbat is the bour?" I askcfl, and meanwhile 1 looked for tlic earthen jar and the bi'ead. " Hour since when ? " said be. " Since it was twelve o'clock last night," I answered. " Fourteen bours since ///r;/," said be. Tbe emphasis arrested my attention. " I mean," I added, " since tbe fighting in tbe courtyard." " Thirty-six Iiours and more since then, m'sieu' tbe dormouse," was bis reply. 1 bad slept a day and a lialf since the doors of tbis cell closed on me. It was Friday then, now it was Sun- day afternoon, (labord bad come to me three times, and seeing bow sound asleep I was had not disturbed me, but bad broug'it bread and water~-my prescribed diet. [id stood there, bis feet buricfl in tbe blancbed corn — I could see tbe long yellowisb-white blades — tbe tondi throwing sbadows about him, bis back against tbe wall. I looked carefully round my dungeon. There was no sign of a window ; I was to live in darkness. Yet if I were but allowed candles, or a lantern, or a torch, some books, pa])er, pencil, and tobacco, and tbe knowledge that I liad not killed Juste Duvarney, I could abide the worst witb some sort of calmness. How nuicb might bave hap- pened, must liave bappened, in all those bours of sleep ! My letter to Alixe sbould bave been delivered long ere this; my trial, no doubt, bad been decided on. AVbat liad Voban done? Had be any word for me? Dear 50 TIIK SEATS OF TIIH MUJUTV Lord! hero was ji muss of questions tunibiing one upon the otlier in my heiu], while my heart thumped behind my waistf'ojit liivo u ruhl)er ball to a j)rize-fi^hter's fist. Misfortu'.'.cs may be so great and many that one may iind grim liumour and grotesqueness in tiu'ir impossible con- jiin('ti(^n and multiidicity. I remembered at that moment u friend of mine in N'irginia, the most unfortuiuite num I ever 1 lev Deatli, desertion, money k)sses, political de- feat, Hood, came one upon the other all in two years, and coupled with this was loss of liealth. One day he said to me : " Robert, I liavc a perforated lung, my liver is a swell- ing sponge, eating crowds my waistband like a balloon, I have a swimming in my head aiul a sinking at my heart, and I ca!i not say litany for ha})py release from these for my knees creak with rheunuitisni. 'I'he devil has done his worst, liobert, for these are his — plague and i»esti- lencc, being final, arc the will of (Jod — and, u})on my soul, it is an absurd comedy of ills !" At that he had a fit of coughing, and I gave him a glass of spirits, which eased him. " That's bettor," said I cheerily to him. " It's robbing Peter to pay Paul," he answered; "for T owed it to my head to put tlie quid rvfart there, and here it's gone to my lungs to hurry up my breathing. Did you ever think, Pobert," he added, "that this breath- ing of ours is a labour, and that we have to work every second to keep ourselves alive? We have to pump air in and out like a blacksmilli's boy." lie said it so drolly, though he was deadly ill, that I laughed for half an hour at the stretch, wiping away my tears as I did it ; for his pale gray face looked so sorry, with its quaint smile and that odd, dry voice of his. As I sat there in my dungeon, with CJabord cocking his head and his eyes rolling, that scene Hashed on me, ail oil hi H w ol ling. :ing nio, J'JIK HA'l IN TIIK TKAI». 51 aiul I 1iui;x1h'(1 freely — so niucli tluit (iiibonl sulkily pulTeil out his lips, jind iljimud like buiiliiig on a eoast-f,'uar(rs hut. 'i'lie more ho scowKmI anil spluttered, the more 1 laughed, till my wouiuled side hurt mo and my arm had twinges, lint my mood changed suddenly, and 1 politely hegged his pardon, telling him frankly then and there what had made me laugh, and how I had come to think of it. The (lame passed out of his cheeks, the revolving lire of his eyes dimnu'd, his lips broke into a souiulless laugh, and then, in his big voice, he said : " You've got your knees to pray on yet, and erac.'k my bones, hut you'll have need to con your })enitentials if tattle in the town be true." " Before you tell of that," said I, "how is young Mon- sieur Duvariu^y? Is — is he alive?" I added, as I saw his look lower. "The Ik'ast was at door again last night, wild to he off, and foot of young Seigneur was in the stirrup, when along comes sister with drug got from an Indian s/7/V." 1 ivaclk'd .(lit, for il. " I should I'l-ad it," said hv. '' 'I'hcre must be no inui'e of tliis. liut new orders eaino (tf/rr I'd got her dainty a tn\sin(\' Yes, I must read it," said he—" hut mayhe not at lirst," he athletl, '' not at lirst, if you'll give word of honour not to tear it." "On my sacred honour," said I, reaching out still. He looked it all over again provokingly, and then lifted it to his nose, foi- it had a delicate perfume. 'I'hen he gave a liule grunt of wonder and pleasure, and hatli ure St. afraid , )ked at [ntend- I fear iird is vindow ler lies out my nt two )e with till I ID is so For, knows me a feared she would, and at last she said that I miglit house her with one of our peasants. ^Meanwhile she is with me here. She is not so mad but that she has wisdom too, and she shall have my care and friendship. " I bid thee to God's care, Kobert. I need not tell thee to be not dismayed. Thou hast two jails, and one wherein 1 lock thee safe is warm and full of liglit. If the hours drag by, think of all thou wouldst do if thou wert free to go to thine own country — yet alas that thought ! — and of what thou wouldst say if thou couldst speak • to thy Alixe. ^''Postscript. — I trust that they have cared for thy wounds, and that thou hast light and food and wine. Voban hath promised to discover this for me. The soldier Oabord, at the citadel, he hatli a good heart. Thougli thou canst expect no helj) from him, yet he will not be rougher than his orders, lie did me a good service once, and he likes me, and I him. And so fare thee well, Kobert. I will not languish ; I will act, and not be weary. Dost thou really love me ? " V. THE DEVICE OF THE DORMOUSE. When I had read the letter, I handed it up to Cabord without a word. A show of trust in him was tho only tiling, for he had knowledge enough of our secret to ruin us, if he chose. He took the letter, turned it over, look- ing at it curiously, and at last, with a shrug of the shoul- ders, passed it back. " 'Tis a long tune on a dot of a fiddle," said he, for indeed the letter was but a small alTair in bulk. " I'd need two pairs of eyes and telescope ! Is it all llcart-o'- 5G TIIK SEATS OF THE MIGHTY. my-heart, n,iul Come-trip-iii-dowy-grass — alio ? Or is tliere knave at window to hear nTsieu' away V " I took the letter from him. "• I^i.sten," .said I, " to what the lady says of you." And then 1 read him that part of her postseript which had to do with himself. lie put his head on one side like a great wise mag})ie, and " li'ni — ha!" said he whimsieallv, "alio! (iabord the soldier, Gabord, tliou hast a good heart — and the birds fed the beast with })lums and froth of comfits till he died, and on his sugar tombstone they carved the words, ' Ga- 1 1) ■U bord had a good heart. " It was spoken out of a true spirit," said I petulantly, for I could not bear from a common soldier even a tone of disparagement, though I saw the exact meaning of his words. 8o I added, " You shall read llie whole letter, or I will read it to vou and vou shall iudge. On the honour of a gentlenum, I will read all of it ! " '•'' Poon} ! "" said he, "English fire-eater! corn-cracker! Show me the ' good heart ' sentence, for Fd si-e how it is written — how (uihuvd looks with a woman's whimsies round it," I traced the words with my fingers, holding the letter near the torch. " ' Yet he will not be rougher than his orders,' " said he after me, and "' lie did me a good serv- ice once.' " " Comfits," he continued ; " well, thou shalt have com- fits, too," and he fished from his pocket a 2>iii'cel. It was my tobacco and my pipe. Truly, my state might have l)een vastly worse. Little more was said between ({abord and myself, but he refused bluntly to carry message or letter to anybody, and bade me not vex him with petitions. liut he left me the torch and a flint and steel, so I had light for a space, aud I had my blessed tobacco and pipe. When the doors clanged shut and the bolts were shot I lay back oii mj couch. THE DEVICE OF THE DORMOUSE. 57 Or is I, "to 111 tliiit f. tnagi)i(\ (iabonl le birds 10 died, Is, 'Gia- Lilantly, tone of of his )ttor, or honour racdvor ! jw it is hinisics letter an liis )d serv- '0 c om- it was Li I lie 'efused I bade ) toreh I I had hinged I was not all unhappy. Thunl< (Jod, they had not put chains on nie, as (lovernor Dinwiddle had done with a French prisoner at WilHanisburg, for whom I had vainly sought to bo exchanged two years before, though he was my erpial in all ways and importance. Doltairo was tiie cause of that, as you shall know. Well, there was one more item to add to his indebtedness. Mv face Hushed and my lingers tingled at thought of him, and so I reso- lutely turned my meditations elsewhere, and again in a little while I seemed to think of nothing, but lay and bathed in the silence, aiul indulged my eyes with the good red light of the torch, inhaling its pitciiy scent. I was conscious, yet for a time I had no thought: I wjis like something half animal, half vegetable, whi(3h feeds, yet has no mouth, nor sees, nor hears, nor has sense, but only lives. I seemed hung in space, as one feels when going from sleep to waking— a long lane of half-numb life, be- fore the open road of full consciousness is reached. At last I was aroused by the sudden cracking of a knot in the torch. I saw that it would last but a few hours more. I determined to ])ut it out, for I might be allowed uo more light, and oven a few minutes of this torch every day would be a great boon. So I took it from its place, and was about to rpicnch it in the moist earth at the foot of the wall, when I remembered my tol)acco and my pipe. Can vou think how ioyfuUv I i)acked full the good brown bowl, delicately filling in every little corner, and at last held it to the flame, and saw it ligiit? 'JMiat lirst long whitf was like the indrawn breath of the cold, starved hunter, when, stepping into his house, he sees food, fire, and wife on his heartlistone. I'resently I put out the torchlight, iind then went back to my couch and sat down, the bowl shining like a star Ijefore me. There and then a })urpose came to mo — something which would keep my brain from wandering, my nerves 68 THE SEATS OF THE MIGHTY. from fretting and wearing, for a time at least. I deter- mined to write to my dear Alixe the true history of my life, even to the point — and after — of this thing which was bringing me to so ill a pass. But I was in darkness, I had no paper, pens, nor ink. After a deal of thinking I came at last to the solution. I would compose the story, and learn it by heart, sentence by sentence as I so comi)osed it. So there and then I began to run back over the •years of my life, even to my first remembrances, that 1 might see it from first to last in a sort of whole and with a kind of measurement. But when I began to dwell upon my childhood, one little tiling gave birth to another swiftly, as you may see one flicker in the heaven multiply and break upon the mystery of the dark, filling the night with clusters of stars. As I thought, I kept drawing spears of the dungeon corn between my fingers softly (they had come to be like comrades to me), and presently there flashed upon me the very first memory of my life. It had never come to me before, and I knew now that it was the beginning of conscious knowledge : for we can never know till we can remember. Wlien a child remembers what it sees or feels it has beo-un life. I put that recollection into the letter which I wrote Alixe, and it shall be set down forthwith and in little space, though it took me so very many days and weeks to think it out, to give each word a fixed place, so that it should go from my mind no more. Every phrase of tliat story as I told it is as fixed as stone in my memory. Yet it must not be thought I can give all here. I shall set down only a few things, but you shall find in them the spirit of the whole. I will come at once to the body of the letter. w w y w MORAY TELLS THE STOllY OF HIS LIFE. 59 I deter- ^ of my lich was is, I had I came )ry, and losed it. i^er the , that I id with II upon mother I 111 ti ply B night rawing y (they Y there fe. It it was never 3mbers wrote little ieks to hat it if that Yet ill set Xi the )dvof VL MORAY TELLS THE STOIJV OF HIS LIFE. (( . . I WOULD have vou know of what I ain and whence I came, though I have given you glimpses in the past. That done, I will nuiko plain why 1 am charged with this that puts my life in danger, which would make you blush that you ever knew me if it were true. And I will show yo- first a picture as it runs before mo, sitting here, the corn of my dungeon garden twining in my fingers : — "A multiplying width of green grass spotted with white llowers, an upland where sheep browsed on a carpet of purple and gold and green, a tall rock on a hill where birds perched and fiuttered, a blue sky arching over all. There, sprawling in a garden, a child pulled at long blades of grass, as he watched the birds Hitting about the rocks, and heard a low voice coming down the Avind. Here in my dungeon I can hear the voice as I have not heard it since that day in the year IToO — that voice stilled so long ago. The air and the words come floating down (for the words I knew years afterwards) : 'Did yc see the while cloud in the ^^litit o' tlio sun? That's the brow and the eye o' my bairnie. Did ye ken the red bloom at the bend o' the crag ? That's the rose in the cheek o' my bainiie. Did ye hear the j;'ay lilt o' the lark by the burn ? That's the voice of my bairnie, my dearie. Did ye smell the wild scent in the u^reen o' the wood? That's the breath o' my !iin, o' my bairnie. Sae I'll gang awa' hanie, to the shine o' the fire, To the cot where I lie \vi' my bairnie.' " These words came crooning over the grass of that little garden at Balmore which was by my mother's home. 60 TnE SEATS OF THE MTGRTY. Tliore I was born one day in Juno, though I was reared in the busy streets oi (ihisgow, where my father was a prosperous merchant and famous for his parts and honesty. " I see myself, a little child of no great strength, for I was, indeed, the only one of my family who lived j)ast in- fancy, and my mother feared she should never bring me lip. She, too, is in that picture, tall, delicate, kind yet iirm of face, but with a strong brow, under which shone grave gray eyes, and a manner so distinguished thj'.c none might dispute her kinship to the renowned ]\I,jntrose, who was lifted so high in dying, though his gallows was but thirty feet, that all the world has seen hi.n there. There was one other in tliat picture, standing near my mother, and looking at me, who often used to s])eak of our great ancestor — my grandfather, John Mitohell, the Gentleman of J^almore, as he was called, out of regard for his ancestry and his rare merits. "I have him well in mind: his black silk breeclies and white stockings and gold seals, and two eyes that twinkled with great humour when, ns he stooped over me, I ran my head between his calves and held him tight. I recall how my mother stiid, ' I doubt that I shall ever bring him up,' and how he replied (the words seem to come through great distances to me), ' He'll live to be ^Montrose the second, rascal laddie ! Four sensons at the breast? Tut, tut! what o' that! 'Tis but his foolery, his scampishness ! Nae, nae ! his epitaph's no for writ- ing till yon and I are tucked i' the sod, my Jeanie. Then, like Montrose's, it will be— C( Cil tl til ' Tull Edinburrow thov led him tluiir, And on ii ij^allcnvs houg ; Thoy hong liiin liigli ubono the rest, He was so trim a boy.' I^rORAY TELLS THE STORY OF HIS LIFE. CI "I can hear his hui'. i foi mo, and now and then, in spite of mv TuotherV })rotests, 1 w,\s 1 it to hnudle it, to h'uvu its ])arts, to burnish it, and i.*-a id-bye — I couitl not have been more than six years oi.j — to rest it on a roeI<: and fire it olT. It kicked my siioi. r roughly in firing, but I know 1 did not wink as I pulled the trigger. Then I got a wild hunger to fire it at all times ; so much so, indeed, that powder and shot were locked up, and the musket was put away in my grandfather's chest. But now and again it was taken out, and I made war upon the unresisting hillside, to the dismay of our neiirhljours in Balmore. Feeding the fever i.i my veins, my grandfather taught me soldiers' exercises and the handling of arms : to my dear mother's sorrow, f> she ever fancied me as leading a merchant's quiet life like my father's, hugging the hearthstone, and finding joy in small civic duties, while she and my dear father sat peacefully watching me in their decline of years. " I have told you of that river which liowed near my father's house. At this time most of my hours were spent by it in good weather, for at last my mother came to trust me alone there, having found her alert fears of little use. But she would very often com with me and watch me as I played there. I loved to fancy myself a miller, and my little mill-wheel, made by my own hands, did duty here and there on the stream, and many drives of logs did I, in fancy, saw into piles of lumber, and loads of flour sent away to the City of Desire. Then, again, I made bridges, and drove mimic armies across them ; and if they were enemies, craftily let them partly cross, to MORAY TELLS THE STORY UF HIS LiFE. G3 xr mj were came ars of and self a ands, 1 rives loads ain, I ; and ss, to tumble tlieni in at the moment when part of th forces were on one side ol' the stream and 2)art on the <>'i: r, and at the ' iercy of my men. " Ay grandfather tauglit me how to build forts and breastworks, and I lay in ambusli fur the h^'adle, who was my good friend, for my grandfather, and f(;r half a do/eti other village folk, who took no olTenee at my sport, but made believe to be bitterly afraid when I surrounded them and drove them, shackled, to my fort by the river. Little by little the fort grew .t. 'il it was a gooilly pile ; for now and then a village yout) lelpcd me, or again an old man, whose heart, ma.b. , njc.iced to play at being child again with me. Yeuis '^.' *:er, whenever 1 went back to Balmore, there stood tl > fort, for no one ever meddled with it, or tore it down. "And I will tell you one reason why this was, and you will think it strange that it should have })layed such a part in the history of the village, as in my own life. You must know that people living in secluded i)laces are mostly superstitious. Well, when my fort was built to such proportions that a small ladder must be used to fix new mud and mortar in place upon it, something hap- pened. " Once a vear there came to Balmore — and he had done so fo. a generation — one of those beings;" called The Men, who are given to prayer, fasting, and prophesying, who preach the word of warning ever, calling even the ministers of the Lord sharply to ac^count. One day this Man came past my fort, folk with him, looking for preach- ing or prophecy from him. Suddenly turning he came inside my fort, and, standing upon the ladder against the wall, spoke to them fervently. Ills last words became a legend in Balmore, and spread even to Glasgow and be- yond. " ' Hear me 1 ' cried he. ' As I stand looking at ye G4r THE SKATS OF TIIK MKJllTV. from tliis wall, calling; on yu in your niitural bodies to takii rt'fii^^o in tin; Fort of Ciod, the An<(t'l of Dcnlii is look- ing owcr the battlements of heaven, choosing ye out, the sheep frae tlie goats; ealiing the one to burning llames, and the other into peaeeal)ie habitatious. 1 hear the voice now,' cried he, ' and sonu^ soul among us goetli forth. Flee ye to the i^'ort of Refuge!' I can see him now, his j)ale face sliining, his eyes burning, his beard blowing in the wiml, his grizzled hair shaking on his forehead. 1 had stood witiiin the fort watching him. At last he turned, and, seeing me intent, stooped, caught me by the arms, and lifted me upon the wall. 'See yoii,' said ho, 'yesterday's babe a warrior to-day. Have done, have done, ye quarrelsome hearts. Ye that build forts here shall lie in darksome prisons ; there is no fort but the Fort of (Jod. The call comes frae the white ram- parts. Hush!' he added solemidv, raisinsr a fiuirer. ' One of us goeth hence this day ; are ye ready to walk i' the fearsome valley?' " I have heard my mother speak these words over often, and they were, as I said, like an old song in Jial- moro and (rlasgow. lie set mo down, and then walked away, waving the frightened people back; and there was none of them that slept that night. " Xow comes the stranger thing. In the morning 'j'he ]\ran was found dead in my little fort, at the foot of the wall. Henceforth the si)ot was sacred, and I am sure it stands there as Avhen last I saw it twelve years ago, but worn awav bv rains and winds. Again and again my mother said over to me liis words, 'Ye that build forts here shall lie in darksome prisons'; for always she had fear of the soldier's life, and she was moved bv signs and dreams. But this is how the thing came to shape my life : " About a year after The Man died, there came to my )r(ls, lis' ; was my MORAY TELLS TIIK STOUY OF HIS LIFi:. on grand fiitlicM''s house, my motlicr and 1 bciii^jf present, h gentleman, by name Sir Jolm ({((drie, and lie would have mv mother tell the whoir -torv of 'i'he Man. That being done, ho said that 'i'he Man was his !)rothei', who had been bad and wild in youth, a s(jldier; but repenting had gone as far the other way, giving up [»laee and property, und cutting ol! IVuui all his kin. ''This irentleiuaii Look much notieo of me and said thiit he slu-uld be glad to see more of lue. Aud so he did, for in the years that folhiwed he would visit iit our home in (Ihisgow when I was at school, or at IJalmore until my grandfather died. "My father liked Sir John greatly, and ihey grew exceeding friendly, walking forth in the streets of (ilas- gow, Sir John's hand upon my father's arm. One day they came to the seho(d in High Street, where I learned Latin and othi-r accomplishments, together with fencing from an excellent master. Sergeant JJowie of the One Hundredth Foot. They found me with my regiment at drill ; for I had got full thirty of my school-fellows under arms, and spent all leisure liours in mustering, marching, and drum-beating, and practising all numner of discipline and evolution which I had been taught by my grandfather and Sergeant Dowie. " Those were the days soon after which came Dettin- gen and Fontenoy and Charles Edward the Pretender, .and the ardour of arms ran high. Sir John was a follower of the Stuarts, and this was the one point at which he and my father paused in their good friendship. When Sir John saw me with mv thirtv lads marchin2: in tine or- der, all tired with the little sport of battle — for to me it was all real, and our sham lights often saw broken heads and bruised shoulders — ho stamped his cane upon the ground, and said in a big voice, ' Well done ! well done ! For that you shall have a hundred pounds next birthday, CO THE SEATS OF THE MTCnTY. and as fino a suit of scarlet as you please, ami a sword from Loiulttu, too.' " 'I'lieu he came to me and oauf:^lit mo by both sliou!- deiN. ' Hut alack, alack I then; needs some blood and llesii here, liolicrt Moray,' .said he. ' Vou have more heart than muscle.' U'his was true. T had over been more ea,i,'er than my strength — thank (lod, lliat day is <(onu I — and sometimos, after Jiatin and tlu; diill of my Iii;,'htfoots, as 1 called them, I could have erieil for weakness ami weariness liad J been a <{ii'l and not a {)roud lad. And Sir John kept his word, likiii",' me better fi'om that day forth, ajid coming now and a^Min to see nie at the school, — thouji^h he was much abroad in l^'rance — givin<:f nuiiiy a jxumd to my Jjghtfoots, who were no worse scddiers for that. His eye ran us over shar]»ly, and his head nodded, as we nuirehed l)ast him; and once I heard him say, 'If they had had but ten years eacli on their heads, my I'rince ! ' " About this time my father died — tluit is, when I wan fourteen years old. Sir .John became one of tlie execu- tors with my mother, and at my wish, a year jifterwards, I was sent to the university, where at least fifteen of my Lightfoots went also; and tliere 1 formed a new battalion of them, thouns(;i(.'no(^ for it, K't it 1k' witli II Stuart. I tlKMi^'lit to k'lvvo tliec ii j^ood moit'ty of my fortiini', UolxTt, Init little tluit's fret! is K-ft for ^Mviu;^'. Vut thou hast something' from thy fatiicr, and down in Vir^nrua, where my friend Dinwiddie is (lovernor, there's a plantation for tiiee, and a })urse of ^'old, which was for me in case I sh(>uld have cause to llee this troul)lc(l realm. Hut I need it not ; I ;;o for refu<^e to my Father's house.. Tlie lilth; viiu'varil and the purse of ^^)ld are for thee, Uohert. If thou thinkest well of it, leave this sick land for that new one. Uuild thyself a nanu! in that grea't young country, wear thy sword honourahly and bravely, use thy gifts in council and dchate — for DiFi- widdie will be thy fi'iend — and think of me as one who would have been a father to thee if he could. Ciivo'thy good mother my loving farewells. . . . Forget not to wear my sword — it has come from the first King Cli.irles liimsclf, IJobert.' After which he raised himself upon his elbow and said, 'Life — life, is it so luird to untie the knot?* Then a twinge of agony crossed over his face, and afterwards came a great clearing and pea(;e, and he was gone. " King CJeorgc's soldiers entered with a warrant for him even as he died and the same moment dropped their hands upon my sliouhler. I was kef^t in durance for many days, and was not even at the funeral of my bene- factor ; but through the elTorts of the provost of the uni- versity and some good friends wlio could vouch for my loyid principles I was released. Vn\t my pride had got a setback, and I listened with ])atier.((^ lo my mother's prayers that I would not join th/' King's nu-n. With the anger of a youth, I now blame' his ^lajest v /or the acts of Sir John Godric's enemies. And though [ was a good soldier of the King at heart, I w ould lujt serve him hence- forth. AVe threshed matters back and fortji, and pres- 68 THE SEATS OF THE MIGHTY. ently it was tlionf^lit I sliould sail to A'irginia to take over my estate. My mother urged it, too, for she be- lieved if I were weaned from my old comrades, military fame would no longer charm. So she urged me, and go 1 did, with a commission from some merchants of Glasgow, to give my visit to the colony more weight. " It was great pain to leave my mother, but she bore the parting bravely, and away I set in a good ship. Ar- rived in \'irginia, I was treated with great courtesy in Williamsburg, and the (iovernor gave me welcome to his home for the sake of his old friend ; aiul yet a little for my o\v ■',, 1 think, for we weio of one temper, though he was old and I young. We were both full of impulse and proud and given to daring hard things, and my mili- tary spirit suited him. " In Virginia I spent a gay and busy year, and came oil very well with the rough but gentlemanly cavaliers, who rode through the wide, sandy streets of the capital on ex- cellent horses, or in Eng''.sli coaches, with a rusty sort of show and splendour, but always with great gallantry. The freedom of the life charmed nu', and with rumours of war with the French there seemed enough to do, whether with the sword or in the House of Burgesses, wliere Governor Dinwiddle said his sav with more force than com})lai.sance. So taken was I witli the life — my first excursion into tlie wide workinij: world — that I delaved my going back to (Jlasgow, tiie more so that some matters touching my property called for action by the House of Burgesses, ami I had to drive the alfair to the end. Sir John had done better bv me than he thoujrht, and I thanked him over and over again for his good gifts. *' Presently I got a letter from my father's old partner to say that my dear mother was ill. I got back to Glas- gow only in time — but how^ glad I was of that ! — to hear her last words. When my mother was gone I turned agi pai P.u MORAY TELLS THE STORY OF IlIS LIFE. 09 towards Virginia witli longing, for I could not so soon go afjainst lior wishes and join the King's arniv on tiio Conti- neiit, and less desire had 1 to be a (ilasgow merchant. (Jentlenien merchants had bettor times in X'irginia. So there was a winding-up of the estate, not greatly to my pleas- ure; for it was found that by unwise ventures my father's ])artner had perilled the whole and lost part of the property. P)Ut as it was, 1 hail a competence and several houses in (ilasgow, and 1 set forth to V'ii'giui.i witli a goodly sum of money and a shipload of merchandise, which 1 should sell to merchants, if it chanced 1 should become a planter oidv. 1 was warndv welcomed bv old friends and bv the (lovernor and his family, and I soon set up an establish- ment of n^y own in Williamsburg, joining with a merchant; tliere in business, while my land was worked by a neigh- bouring planter, " Those were hearty days, wherein I made little money, but had much pleasure in the giving and taking of civili- ties, iu throwing my doors open to acrpuiintances, and with mv vounir friend, Mr. ^\'a.-hini:ton, lavins: the foun- dation for a Virginian arniv, ])v drill and vearlv duty in camp, with occasional excursions against the Indians. I saw very well what the end f>f our troubles with the French would be, and I waited for the time when I should put to keen use the sword Sir John Oodric had given me. Life beat high then, for I was iu the first flush of manhood, and the spii'it of a rich new land was waking iri us all, while in our vanity we held to and cherished forms and customs that one would have thought to see left be- hind in London streets and drawing-rooms. These tilings, these functions in a small ]>lace, kept us a little vain and proud, but, I also hope, it gave us some sense of civic duty. " And now I conu' to that w hich will, comrade of my heart, bri?ig home to your uutlcrstanding what lies behind the charges against nie : 70 THE SEATS OF THE MIGHTY. 71 " Trouble came between Cuiiiulu aiul \'irginia. Major Washington, one Captain Mackaye, and myself marched out to the Great Meadows, where at Fort ^'ecessity we surrendered, after hard figlitinp^, to a force three times our number. J, with one Captain \'au Braam, became a host- age. Monsieur Coulon \'illiers, tlie French conmiander, gave his bond that we should be delivered uj) when an otlicer and two cadets, who were prisoners with us, should be sent on. It was a choice between ^Ir. ^Nfackaye of the Kegulars and ]\[r. Washington, or ]\Ir. \'an Braam and myself. I thought of what would be best for the country ; and besides. Monsieur Coulon Villiers pitched upon my name at once, and held to it. So I gave up my sword to Charles Bedford, my lieutenant, with more regret than I can tell, for it was sheathed in memories, charging him to keep it safe — that he would use it worthily 1 knew. And so, sorrowfully bidding my friends good-by, away we went upon the sorry trail of captivity, arriving in due time at Fort Du Quesne, at the junction of the Ohio and the ]\Ionongahela, where I was courteously treated. There I bettered my French and made the acquaintance of some ladies from Quebec city, avIio took pains to help me with their language. " Now, there was one lady to whom I talked with some freedom of my early life and of Sir John Godric. She was interested in all, but when I named Sir John she be- came at once impressed, and I told her of his great attach- ment to Prince Charles, ^lore than once she returned to the subject, begging me to tell her more; and so I did, still, however, saying lu^thing of certain papevs Sir John had placed in my care. A few weeks after the first occa- sion of my speaking, there was a new arrival at the fort. It was — can you guess? — Monsieur Doltaire. The night after his coming lie visited me in my cpuirters, and after courteous passages, of which I need not sjieak, he sud- di th MORAY TELLS THE STORY OF HIS LIFE. 71 t denly said, ' You liiivo the papers of Sir Jolin CJodric — those bearing on Prince Charles's invasion of Enghuid ? ' " I was stunned by the question, for I could not guess his drift or purpose, though presently it dawned upon me. — Among the papers were many letters from a great lady in France, a growing rival with La I'ompadour in the counsels and favour of the King. She it was who had a secret passion for Prince Charles, and these letters to Sir John, who had been with the Pretender at \'er- sailles, must prove her ruin if produced. 1 had promised Sir John most solemnly that no one should ever have them while I lived, except the great lady herself, that I would give them to iier some time, or destroy them. It was Doltaire's mission to get these letters, and he had projected a visit to AVilliainsburg to see me, having just arrived in Canada, after a search for me in Scotland, when word came from the lady gossip at Fort Du Quesnc (with whom he had been on most familiar terms in Quebec) that I was there. " When I said I had the papers, he asked me lightly for ' those compromising letters,' remarking that a good price would be paid, and adding my liberty as a pleasant gift. I ".nstantly refused, and told him I would not be the weapon of La Pompadour against her rival. With cool persistence he begged me to think again, for much depended on my answer. '"See, monsieur le cat)itaine,' said he, 'this little affair at Fort Xecessity, at which you became a hostnge, shall or shall not be a war between Fjigland and France as you shall dispose.' When I asked him how that was, he said, ' First, will you swear tliat y<»u will not, to .aid yourself, disclose what I tell you ? You can see that matters will be where they were an hour ;igo in any case.' "I agreed, for I could act even if I might not spcik. So I gave my word. Then he told me that if those letters 72 THE SEATS OF THE MIGHTY wore not put into liis liaiids, La Ponip.'idonr would be enraged, and fretrul and hesitating; now would join Aus- tria against England, since in this pi'ovincial war was convenient cue for batlle. If I gave up the; letters, she would not stir, and the disputed territory between us should be by articles seded by the French. " 1 thought much and long, during which he sat smok- ing and humming, and seeming to care little how my answer went. At last 1 turned on him, and told him 1 would not give up the letters, and if a war must hang on a whim of malice, tiien, by (Jod's help, the right ness of our cause would be (nir strong weapon to bring France to her knees. "'That is vour final answer?' asked lie, risinir, fin- gering his lace, ind viewing himself in a looking-glass upon the wall. " ' I will not change it now or ever,' answered I. " ' Ever is a long time,' retorted he, as one might speak to a wilful child. ' Von shall have time to thiik and space for reverie. For if you do not grant this trifle vou shall no more see vour dear \'irginia ; and when the time is ripe you shall go forth to a better land as the Grande ^farcpiise shall give you carriage.' " ' The Articles of Caj)itulation I ' I broke out pro- test! ngly. " lie waved his fingers at me. * Ah, that,' he rejoined — ' tliat is a matter for conning. You are a hostnge. Well, we need not take any wastrel or nobody the English offer in exchange for you. Inde mI, why should we be content with less than a royal duke? F\>r you are worth more to us just now than any prince we have ; at least so says the CJrande ^Marquise. Is your mind quite firm to refuse?' he added, nodding his head in a bored sort of way. " ' Entirely,' said I. ' I will not part with those letters.' MORAY THLLS THE STORY OF HIS \AVE pr ()- " ' liiit tliiiik oiino again,' lie urged ; the gain of terri- tory to Virginia, tlie jieace between our countries ! ' " ' Folly ! ' returned I. ' I know well you overstate the case. You turn a small intrigue into a game of na- tions. Yours is a schoolboy's tale. Monsieur Doltaire.' " ' You are something of an ass,' he mused, and took a pinch of siiulT. "' And you — you have no name,' retorted I. " I did not know, when I spoke, how this might strike home in two ways or I should not have said it. I had not meant, of course, that he was King Louis's illegiti- mate son. " ' TIkm'c is some truth in that,' he replied patiently, though a red siiot tlamcd hiirh on his cheeks. ' Jiut some men need no chiistening for their distinction, and others win their iiam(\s with proper we;i])ons. I am not here to quarrel with you. 1 am acting in a large atTair not in a small intriened. 1 met your honoured father, whose life I had saved on the Ohio some years befo-re, and he worked for my comfort in my bond;ii;v. You know how exchange after exehaugo was refused, and that for near three years 1 have been here, fretting my soul out, eager to be fight- ing in our cause, yet tied hand and foot, wasting time and losing heart, idli' in an enemv's eountrv. As Doltaire said, war was declareiL '"it not till he had maih^ here in Quebec last elforts to _^' those letters. I do not complain so bitterlv of these lost vears, since they have brought me the best gift of my life, your love and friendship; but my enemies here, commanded from France, have bided their time, till an accident has given them a cue to dis- pose of me without openly breaking the accepted law of nations. Thev could not decent Iv hang a lujstage, for wdiom they had signed iirticles; but they have got their chance, as they think, to try me for a spy. "Here is the case. When I found that they were de- termined and liad ever di'termined to violate their articles, that thev never intended to set me free, I felt absolved from my duty as an ofTicer on ])Mroh\ and I therefore se- cretly sent to Mr. Washington in A'irginia a plan of Fort ]>uQuesne and one of (Quebec. I knew that I ^vis risking my life by so doing, but that did not deWr hm-. ]?y my promise to Doltaire, I could not Tell of tJue mat r Iwtween ns, and whatever he has done in other ways, he has p^e- served my life; for it would have Ikh'U easy to havi' me dropped off by a stray bullet, or to have accidentally 76 THE SEATS OF THE MIGHTY. (Irowiiod mo in tlio St. Luwrciico. I Ijclicve tliis matter of the letters to be between myself and him and P)i<'ot and periiaps not oven I>igot, thongli surely ho must know that La J'ompadour has some peenlijir roasoji for interest- ing herself in a poor captain of jjrovincials. Wm uow ean sec another motive for the duel which was brou'dit about between your brother and myself. ^[y plans aiul letters were given by Mr. Washington to General liraddock, «3B!.i:c ("rrv, /lie Inth An idea came to me. " I must be fine to-morrow," said I. " I must not shame my jailer." I rubbed my beard — I had none when I came into this dungeon first. " Alio ! " said he, his eves wheeling. I knew he understood mc. I did not speak, but kept on running my fingers through my beard. " As vain as Absalom," he added. " Do you think they'll hang you by the hair ? " " I'd have it off," said I, " to be clean for the sacrifice." / 'the In- Ml." liy y. villi di'fi- ist ji'^iiiu e till' stir roicu but my palo IK) liL;lit without [ stiirvi-'d. was dear (1, nor of 1 had at lie i\ fcel- th(j jar of vith a lit- I llicked a luy head )e of my thrust a leod to do luld have ak had I ?j iiorrow, )bed my In first. )ut kept [u think icrifice." AS VAIX AS AIISALUM. 87 " You had Vohan before," lie rejoiiu'd ; " we know what happened — a dainty bit of a lelttr all rose-lily scented, and eonilits for the soldier. 'I'he pretty wren perches now in the (iovernor's house — a-cousiniu^, a-cousinin<;. 'I'hink you it is that she may ke(l a'^ain. "At davbreak Voban — aho ! " he continued. " There's milk and honey to-morrow," lie added, and then, without a word, he drew forth from liis coat, and hurriedly thrust into my hands, a piece of meat and a small 'Ihisk of wine, und, swinging round like a schoolboy afraid of being cauglit in a misdemeanor, he passed through the door and the bolts clanged after liim. lie left the torch behind him, stuck in the cleft of the wall. I sat down on my couch, and for a moment gazed almost vacantly at the meat and wine in my hands. I had not touched either for a year, and now I could see that mv fingers, as thev closed on the food nervouslv, were thin and bloodless, and I realized that mv clothes hung loose upon my i)erson. Here were light, meat, and wine, and there was a pie(;e of bread on the board cover- ing my water-jar. Luxury was spread before me, but although I had eaten little all dav I was not hungrv. Presently, however, I took the knife which I had hidden a year before, and cut pieces of the meat and laid them by the bread. Then I drew the cork from the bottle of 88 THE SKATS OF THE MIGHTY wine, jiiid, liftin;:^ it towards that facn which was always visible! to my 8011I I dratik — drank— drank ! Tile ri(!li li(|iior swam tlir»)iii,di my vrins like glorious fire. It wakened mv l)rain and ncrvetl mv l)odv. 'i'lie old sprin;; of life came back. This wine iiad come from tlio hands of Alixe — from the (lovernor's store, mayl)e ; for never could (lal)ord iiave f^'(»t such stull. 1 ate jjcartily of the ricli bei'f and bread witii a new-made a|)[)etite, and drank the rest of the wine. Wiieii I liad eaten and drunk tlie last I sat and looked at the glowin<; torch, and felt a sort of comfort eree]) tlirouirli me. 'I'iien tlicre camo a deli;^^iitful thou^dit. Months a;j:o I liad put away one last i)ipefid of tobacco, to save it till some day when 1 should need it most. I got it now, anil no man can guess how lovingly I held it to a Hying llame of the torch, saw it light, and blew out the lirst whill' of smoke into the sombre air; for November was [igain piercing this under- grouiul house of mine, another winter was at hand ! I sat and smoked, and — can you not guess my thoughts? For have you all not the same hearts, Ixjing British born and bred? When I had taken the last whilf, I wrapi)ed my- self in my cloak and went to sleep. lUit twice or thrico during the night I waked to see the torch still shining, and caught the fragrance of consuming pine, and minded not at all the smoke the burning made. IX. A LITTLE COXCERXTXG THE rilEVALIER DE LA DARANTE I WAS wakened comjjletely at last by the shooting ol bolts. With the opening of the door I saw the figures of Gabord and Voban. My little friend the mouse saw them also, and scampered from the bread it had been eating. CONC'KUNIXG TllH CHEVALIER DE LA DARAXTE. 89 3 alwayfl glorious ly. Tho UK! from niavlK' ; ' lu'urtily iipiK'tito, itcii and )n'l», ami en tluTO put away y wIr'U I 3an ^uoss orc'li, saw into the lis uiulcr- (1 ! I sat tsV For born and )ped my- or thrico shinino^, minded IVRANTR Noting ol igures of liw them eating. iiwav amonc: tlio Porn, througli whicli mv footsteps liad now made two rectangular paths, not disregarded by (Jaliord, who solicitously pulled \'ol»an into tho narrow track that lie should not trespass o!i my harvest. 1 rose, showc(l wo piirticular delight at seeing Voban, but greeted him easily — though !iiy heart was bursting to f Ali.xe— and arraJi^etl mv (dothes. Presently a ik 1 um o (iabord said, ''Stools for barber," and, wdu'cling, ho left the (hmireon. lie was jrono onlv an instant, but long enou'di for Voban to thrust a letter into my hand, wd»i(di 1 ran into the lining of my waistcoat as 1 whispered, *' Her brother — he is well?" " Well, and he have go to France," he answered. " She make me say, look to the round window in the (.'hateau I'ront ?> We spoke in English— which, as I have said, Voban understood imperfectly. There was nothing more said, and if (Jabord, when he returned, suspected, he showed no siffn, but i)ut down two stools, seating himself on one. as I seated mvself on the other for Voban 's handiwor IV. Presently a soldier api)earcd with a bowl of coiree. (Jabord rose, took it from him, waved him away, and handed it to mo. Never did cofTee taste so sweet, atid I sip})ed and sipped till Voban had ended his work with me. Then I drained the last drop and stood up. He handed mo a mirror, and fJabord, fetching a fine white handkerchief from his po(;ket, said, "Here's for your tears, when they drum vou to heaven, dickey-bird." But when I saw mv face in the mirror T confess \ was startled. My hair, whi(di had been black, was })lentifully sprinkled with white, my face was intensely })ale and thin, and the eyes were sunk in dark hollows. I should not have recognised mvself. Uut I laui::hed as I handed back the glass, and said, "All ilesh is grass, but a dungeon's uo good meadow." 90 THE SKATS OF THE MIGHTY. ""Pis for the dry (-'liiilT," (liiboril uiiswerod, "not for yoiii\!jf '^viiss — ;iho ! " llo rose anil nmdo ready to loiive, Vohun with biin. '-'■ Tlio coiiiinissiiriat cjunprf Irtu in an hour or so," he said, with a ri[)e chiickU'. It was (dear the lunv state of alTairs was more to his mind than the long year's rigour and silence. During ail that tiuu! 1 never was visited by Dcjhaire but once, and of that event 1 am about to write briellv liere. It was about two months before this i)articidar morn- ing that he came, greeting mo courteously enough. "Close quarters here," said he, looking round as if the place wer ■ new to liini and smiling to himself. " Not so close as .wo all come to one dav ," said I. " Dismal comparison ! " lie rejoined ; " yoirve h)st your spirits." " Xot so," I retorted ; " nothing but my liberty." "You know the way to find it quickly," he suggested. " The letters for La Pompadour? " I asked. " A dead man's waste ])apcrs," responded he ; " of no nse to him or vou, or to anv one save the Grande Mar- quise." "Valuable to me," said I. " Xone but the Crande ^farquise and the writer would give you a penny for them ! " " Why should I not be my own merchant?" " You can — to me. If not to me to no one. You had your chance long ago, and you refused it. You must admit I dealt fairly with you. I did not move till you had set your own trap and fallen into it. Xow, if you do not give me the letters — well, you will give them to none else in this world. It has been a fair game, and I am winning now. I've oidy used means which one gentle- man might use with another. Had you been a lesser CONCERNING THE CIIEVAUER DE LA DARANTE. Ql ' not for th hi in. he said, e to his During nee, and ir niorn- 1, id us if I. lost your Qfirested. " of no Mar- r would You )u must till you you do po none I am [gentle- lesser man I should have had you spitted long ago. You un- derstand ? " "IVrfectlv. But sinoo we have idaved so lonjr, do yon think Fll give; you the stakes now — hefore tlie end?" " Ft would be wiser," he answered thoughtfully. "I have a nation behind me," urged 1. " It has left you in a hole here to rot." " It will take over vour citadel and din: me out some day," I retorted hotly. "•What good that? Your life is more to you than Quebec to England." " Xo, no," said I quickly ; " I would give my life a hundred times to see your Hag hauled down ! " '• A freakish ambition," he replied ; " mere infatua- tion ! " " You do not nnderstand it, Monsieur Doltaire," I re- marked ironically. " I love not endless puzzles. There is no sport in following a maze that leads to nowhere save the grave." lie yawned. " This air is heavy," he added ; "you must find it trving." " Xever so trying as at this moment," I retorted. "Come, am I so malarious?" " You are a trickster," I answered coldly. " Ah, vou mean that niirht at Biirot's?" He smiled. " Xo, no, you were to blame — so green. You might have known we were for having you bctweeii the stones." " But it did not come out as you wished?" hinted I. " It served my turn," he responded ; and he gave me such a S!niling, malicious look that I knew he sought to convev he had his wav with Alixc; and thouirh I felt that she was true to me bis cool presumption so stirred me 1 could have struck him in the face. I irot angrilv to mv feet, but as I did so I shrank a little, for at times the wound in my side, not yet entirely healed, hurt me. 92 THE SEATS OF THE MIGHTY. " You are not well," he Siiid, with instant show of curiosity ; "your wounds still trouble you? They should be healed. (Jabord was ordered to see you cared for." " Gabord has done well enough," answered I. " 1 have had wouiuls before, monsieur." lie leaned agaiust tlie wall ,nd lauglied. " "What braggarts you Euglish are ! " he said. " A race of swash- bucklers — even on bread and water I " lie had mo at advantage, and I knew it, for he had kept liis temper. 1 made an ellort. " Both excellent," rejoined I, "and English, too." lie lauglied again. " Come, that is better. That's in your old vein. 1 love to see you so. But how knew you our baker was English? — which he is, a prisoner like yourself." " As easily as I could tell the water was not made by Fronclnnen." "Xow I have hope of you," he broke out gaily; "you will yet redeem your nation." At that moment Gabord came with a messaire from the Governor to Doltairo, and he prepared to go. "You arc set on sacrifice?" he asked. "Think— dangling from Cape Diamond ! " " 1 will meditate on your fate instead," I replied. "Think!" he said again, weaving off my answer with Ills haiui. " The letters 1 shall no more ask for; and you will not escape death ? " " N"ever by that way," rejoined I. "So. Very good. An phtisir, my cuiiUiin. I go to dine at the Seigneur Duvarney's." AVith that last thrust he was gone, and left me won- dering if the Seigneur had ever made an effort to see me, if he had forgiven the duel with his son. That was the incident. sliow of y should for." " 1 luive " What if SWilsll- r ho luid cc'Uent," Huit's in new yon ner like made by ^; "yon (TO from 1iink— kl. ^er with md yon |I go to le won- Isee me, CONCERNING THE CHEVALIER DE LA DARANTE. 93 When Clubord and V^oban were gone, leaving the light behind, I went over to the torch in the wall, and drew Alixe's letter from my pocket with eager lingers. It told the whole story of her heart. CiiATKAi' St. Loris, .?7fk Xovemhcr, 17'>7. Though I write you these few words, dear Robert, I do not know that they will reach you, for as yet it is not certain they will let \'oban visit you. A year, dear friend, and not a word from you, and not a word to yon ! I should have broken my heart if I had not heard of you one wav and another. They sav you are much worn in body, though you have always a cheerful air. There are stories of a visit Monsieur Doltaire paid you, and how yon jested. lie hates you, and yet he admires you too. And now listen, Robert, and 1 beg yon not to be angry — oh, do not be angry, for 1 am all yours ; but I want to tell yon that I have not repulsed ^lonsieur Dol- taire when he has spoken flatteries to me. I have not believed them, and I have kept my spirit strong against tlie evil in him. I want to get yon free of prison and to that end 1 have to work through him with the Intendant, that he will not set the CJovernor more against you. With tlie Intendant himself I will not deal at all. So I use the lesser villain, and in trutli the more powei'ful, for he stands higher at Versailles tlian any here. Witli tlie Governor I have influence, for he is, as you know, a kins- man of my mother's, and of late ho has sliown Ji fondness for me. Yet you can see that I mnst act most warily, that I must not seem to care for you, for that would be your complete undo" ng. 1 rather seem to scofl'. (Oh, how it hurts me! how my cheeks tingle when I think of it alone ! and how I clench my hands, hating them all for oppressing you !) 94: THE SEATS OP THE MIGHTY. I do not believe tlieir sliuiders — tlnit you are a spy. It is I, Robert, who liave at last iiidiu^ed the (Governor to brin^^ you to trial. They would have i)ut it o(T till next year, but 1 feared you would die in that awful dun^'oon, and I was sure that if your trial cauie on there would be a chan nvdwh a well- ind the towards ■ people mcr of nivself, ;ro not •t came face ; xed me worse. y who atched f casn- xVlixe's vs, was od on. ilding, )ldiers, Law- 's CONCERNINU TIIK CIIHVALIKR I)K LA DAKANTK. 09 rcnce swelling on its course, hundreds of fei't benealh, little boats passing hitlier and thither on its Hood. We were wailing for ahout hall' an hour, the noises of the clamouring crowd coming to us, as they carried me aloft in elllgy, and, l)urning me at the el ill" edge, lired guns and threw stones at me, till, rags, ashes, and llame, I was tumbled into the river far below. At last from the Chateau came the Mar^piis de ♦'audreuil, IJigot, and a number of olhcers. 'I'lie (iuvernor looked gravely at mo, but did not bow; Jiigot gave me a sneering smile, eying me curiously the while, ami (I could feel), remarking on my poor api)earance to Cournal beside him — Cournal, who winked at his wife's dishonour for the favour of her lover, who gave him means for public robbery. Tresently the (fOveriu>r was seated, and he said, look- ing round, " ^lonsieur Doltaire — he is not here?" Jiigot shook his head, and answered, ">io doubt he is detiuned at the citadel." "And the Seigneur Duvarney?" the Governor added. At that nionuMit the Governor's secretary handed him a letter. The Governor opened it. "Listen," said he. lie read to the effect that the Seigneur Duvarney felt that he was ill fitted to be a judge in this case, remem- bering the conflict between Ins son and the notorious Captain ]\Ioray. And from another standpoint, though the prisoner merited any fate reserved for him, if guilty of spying, he could not foi'get that his life had been saved by this British captain — an obligation which, unfortuiuite- ly, he could neither repay nor wipe out. After much thought, he must disobey the Governor's summons, and he prayed that his Excellency would grant his coiisidcra- tion thereupon. I saw the (Jovernor frown, but he made no remark, while JMgot said something in his ear which did not im- prove his humour, for he replied curtly, and turned to his 100 TIIK SEATS OF TIIK Mir.IITY. secretary. "Wc imist luive two geiitleiiien more," he Buid. At tluit monu'iit Doltaire entered with the old iiohle- niaii of whom 1 liave written. The (iovernor instantly brightened, and gave the stranger a warm greeting, call- ing him his " dear Chevalier " ; and, after a deal of nrg- ing, the Chevalier de la Darante was seated as one of my judges: whi(di did not Jit all displease me, for I liked his face. I do not need to dwell upon the trial here. 1 have set down the facts of the case before. I had no counsel and no witnessiis. There seemed no reason why the triid should have dragged on all day, for I soon saw it was intended to find me guilty. Yet J was surprised to see how Doltaire brought u}) a point here and a (piestion there in my favour, which served to lengthen out the trial ; and all the time he sat near the Clievalier de la Darante, now and again talking with hitn. It was late evening before the trial came to a close. The one point to be established was that the letters taken from (Jeneral Braddock were mine, and that I had made the })lans while a hostage. I acknowledged nothing, and would not do so unless allowed to speak freely. This was not permitted until just before I was sentenced. Then Doltaire's look was fixed on me, and 1 knew he waited to see if I would divulge the nuitter priviite be- tween us. However, I stood by my compact with him. Besides, it could not serve me to s])eak of it here, or use it as an argument, and it would only hasten an end which I felt he could prevent if he chose. So when I was asked if I had aught to say I pleaded only tliat they had not kc i)t our Articles of War signed at Fort Necessity, which provided that I slioidd be free with- in two months and a iuUf — that is, when prisoners in our hands should be delivered up to them, as they were. They "n ho 11 rg- \v lie to ])C- liim. r use vvliicli cadcd led at with- n our They C'0N('I-:KNIN(J TIIH ClIKVALIKn DK LA DAUAN'li:. [[)[ liiiil broken tlieir bond, tlioii;^di we had fuHiUed ours, and I lield myself justilied in doing wliat 1 had (h»'ovem- ber sbadow, and 1 balf paused as 1 entered tbe gates. "Forward I" said (Jabord nu'cdianieallv, and I moved on into tbe yard, into tbo prison, tbrougb tbe dull corridors, tbe soldiers' beels clanking and resounding bebind, down into tbe bowels of tbe eartb, wbere tbe air was moist and warm, and tbon into my dungeon bome ! I stepped inside, and (iabord ordered tbe ropes olV my })erson somewbat rougbly, watclu'd tlie soldiers till tbey were well away, ami tbeii leaned against tbe wall, waiting for mo to speak. I bad no impulse to smile, but I knew bow I could most toucb bim, and so 1 said ligbtly, " You\e diekey-bird bome again." He answered notbing and turned towards tbe door, leaving tbe torcb stuck in tbo wall. ]iut be suddeidy sto])ped sbort, and tbrust out to me a tiny piece of j)aper. " A band toucbed mine as I went tbrougb tbe C'bateau," said be, "and wben out I came, look you, tbis bere ! I can't see to road. AVbat does it say?" be added, witb a sbrewd attempt at innocence. I opened tbe little paper, bold it toward tbe torcb, and road : ^'Jiccaufic of the sform there is no sleepififf. Is there not the watcher aJoft? Shall the sparrow fall unheeded? The ivicl'ed shall he confounded.^'' taken onniioii 11 1 saw n^% Mor '()u;,'h a 11 at my Novt'iii- gates, ovi'd on )iTi(l(»rs, (I, ilown loist and (1 inside, )nie\vliat way, and x'lik. I 1(1 most key-bird le door, suddenly f ])aper. hatean," I lere : I, with a torch, Is III ere ih ceded? AN OKFK Mil OF MA KINKS. lOM It wjw Alixe'M writing. She had ha/ardcd tlii,^ in tlio lia:id.s of my jailer as Iut only liopo, and, knowini; tliat ho nii;,dit not serve her, iiad put her nu'SsaLTc in vaijue sen- tciu'es whi<'li I readily interpreted. I read the words aloud to Inni, and lie lau;;lied, jind remai'ke(l, " "I'is a foolish thin;,' that — the Scarlet Wonum, most like," ''Most like," I atiswered «piietly; "yet wiiat should she he doin;j; there at tiu' Chateau?'' "Tho nuid ^o everywhere," ho answered, "even to the Intendanee !" With that lie left me, ;roin?, jis ho said, " to fetch ernnd)s and wine." Ivxhanstetl with tlie (hiy's business, I threw myself upon my couch, drew my cloak over nu', composed myself, aiul in a few minutes was sound asleep. I waked to lind (ial)ord in the dunufoon, settini,' out food u})on a board supported by two stools. " 'Tis custom to feed vour dickev-binl ei-e von fetch him to the pot," ho said, and drew the c(.trk from a bottle of wine. lie watched mo as I ate t:nd talked, but he spoke little. When 1 had finished, he fetched a packet of tobacco from his })()cket. I olTered him money, l)ut he refused it, and 1 did not press him, for lie said the food and wine were not of his buvin^r. Presently he left, and came back with pens, ink, paper, and candles, which he hiid out on my couch without a word. After a little he came again, and i)laced a book on the improvised table before me. It was an English Bible. Oj)ening it, I found inscribed on the fly-leaf, (liarJes Waiujlect^ Chaplain to the Jh'itish Aniuj. (Jabord ex- plained that this chaplain liad been in the citadel for some weeks; had often inquired about me; had been brought from the Ohio, and had known of me, liaving tended the lieutenant of my Virginian infantry in his last hours. Gabord thought I should now begin to make my jjcace u 104 THE SEATS OF THE MIOnTY. witli Heaven, and so had asked for tlie cluiplain's Bible, wliieii was freely given. I bade him thank the eliai)lain for me, and opening the book, I found a leaf turned down at the words, " In llip sludlow of Tliij irii}(j.'< will I DiaJtc mij refuge^ iintil these calamities be orerjxisty When 1 was left alone, I sat down to write diligently that history of myself which I had composed and lixed in my memory during the year of my housing in this dun- geon. Tiie words came from my pen freely, Jind hour after hour through nuiny days, while no single word reached me from the outside world, I wrote on ; carefully revising, but changing little from that which I had taken so long to record in mv mind. 1 would not even yet think that they would hang me ; and if they did, what good could brooding do ? When the last word of the memoirs (I may call them so), addressed to Alixe, had been written, I turned my thoughts to other friends. The day preceding that lixed for my execution came, yet there was no sign from friend or enemy without. At ten o'clock of that day Chaplain Wainfleet was admitted to me in the presence of Gabord and a soldier. I found great pleasure in his company, brief as his visit was ; and after I had given him messages to bear for me to old friends, if w^e never met again and he were set free, he left me, be- nignly commending me to Heaven. There was the question of ni}/ other letters. I had but one desire — Voban again, unless at my request the Seigneur Duvarney would come, and they would let him come. If it were certain that I was to go to the scaffold, then I should not hesitate to tell him my relations with his daughter, that he might com- fort her when, being gone from the world myself, my love could do her no harm. 1 could not think that he would hold against me the duel with his son, and I felt sure he would come to me if he could. 's Bible, "haphiin id down / refuge, iliijcntly lixed in lis dun- id hour 1(3 word 3arefully id taken ;ven yet id, what [ of the ixe, had ds. n came, )ut. At dniitted I found as ; and friends, me, be- question 1 airain, d come, 1 that I e to tell it com- self, my that he Id I felt AN OFFICEIl OF MARINES. 105 '\ I But why should I not try for both Voban and the Seigneur? So I spoke to Gabord. "Voban! Voban I "said he. "Does dickey-bird play at peacock still ? Well, thou shalt see Voban. Thou shalt go trimmed to heaven — alio ! " Presently I asked him if he would bear ;i message to the Governor, asking })ermission for the Seigneur Duvar- ney to visit me, if he were so inclined. At his request I wrote my petition out, and he carried it away with him, saying that I should have Voban that evening. I waited hour after hour, but no one came. As near as 1 could judge it was now evening. It seemed strange to think that, twenty feet above me, the world was all white with snow ; the sound of sleigh-bells and church- bells, and the cries of snowshoers ringing on the clear, sharp air. I pictured the streets of Quebec alive willi people : the young Seigneur set off with furs and silken sash and sword or pistols ; the long-haired, black-eyed woodsman in his embroitlered moccasins and leggings with flying thrums ; the peasant farmer slapping his hands cheerfully in the lighted market-place ; the petty noble, with his demoiselle, hovering in the precincts of the Chateau St. Louis and the intendance. Up there were light, freedom, and the ins|)iriting frost ; down here in my dungeon, the blades of corn, which, dying, yet never died, told the story of a choking air, wherein the body and soul of a man droop and take long to die. This wjis the night before Christmas Eve, when in England and V^irginia they would be preparing for feasting and thanks- giving. The memories of ]iast years crowded on me. I thought of feastings and s])endthrift rejoicings in (Jlas- gow and Virginia. All at once the carnal man in mo rose up and damned these lying foes of mine. liesigna- tion went whistling down the wind, llaug me ! Hang ll lOG THE SEATS OF THE MIGHTY. mo ! Xo, by the God tliat gave mo breath ! I sat back and lau.iirt smote me tluit I h:id made lu'r sulTt-r, bad brougbt care to her young Hi'e. 1 could see that in the year she had grown older, yet her beauty seemed eidianced by that and by the trouble she had endured. I shall let her tell her story here unbroken by my questions and those interruptions which (iabord made, bidding ber to make haste. She spoke without faltering, save here and there ; but even then I could see her brave spirit quelling the riot of her emotions, shutting down the sluice-gate of her tears. " I knew," she said, her hand clasped in mine, "that Gabord was the only person likely to be admitted to you, and so for days, living in fear lest the worst should hap- j)en, I have prepared for this chance. I have grown so in height that an old uniform of mv brother's would fit me, and 1 had it ready — small sword and all," she added, with a sad sort of humour, touching the weapon at her side. " You must know that we have for the winter a house here upon the ramparts near the Chateau. It was my mother's doings, that my sister (Jeorgette and I might have no great journeyings in the cold to the festivities liereabouts. 8o I, being a favourite with the Governor, ran in ami out of the Chateau at my will ; of which my mother was proud, and she allow^ed me much liberty, for to be a favourite of the Governor is an hom)ur. I knew liow things were going, and what the chances wore of the sentence being carried out 0!i you. Sometimes 1 thought my heart would burst with the anxiety of it all, but I would show that to the world. If you could but have seen me smile at the Governor and Monsieur Doltaire — nay, do not press my hand so, Robert ; you know well you have no need to fear monsieur — while I learned se- crets of state, among them news of you. Three nights ago ^lonsiuur Doltuire was talking with me at a ball — ah, Si il AN OFFICER OF MAUINKS. lOi) those feastiiigs wliilc you wore lying in n dunijoon, and I sliiUtinsf up mv love and Vf>ur danircr close in niv heart, even from those who loved me bcvst ! Well, suddenly he said, ' I think I M'ill not have our English eaptaiu shii'led to a better world.' " My heart stood still; I felt an ache across my hreast so that I could hardlv breathe. ' Whv will you not?' said I; 'was not the sentence just?' llv paused a minute, and then re2)lied, 'AH sentences are just when an enemy is dangerous.' Then said I as in suri)rise, ' Why, was he no spy, after all?' He sat back, and laughed a little. 'A spy according to the letter of the law, but you have heard of secret history — eh ? ' I tried to seem puzzled, for I had a thought there was something private between you and him which has to do with your fate. So I said, as if bewildered, ' You mean there is evidence whicli was not shown at the trial ? ' lie answered slowly, ' Evidence that would bear upon the morals, not the law, of the case.' Then said I, ' lias it to do with yon, monsieur?' ' It has to do with France,' he replied. ' And so you will not have his death?'! asked. 'Bigot wishes it,' he replied, 'for no other reason than that Madame Cournal has s])oken nice words for the good-looking captain, and because that nnsuccessful duel gave Vaudreuil an advantage over him- self. Vaudreuil wishes it because he thinks it will sound well in France, and also because he really believes the man a spy. The Council do not care much ; they follow the Governor and Bigot, and both ix-ing agreed, their verdict is unanimous.' lie ])aused, then addcul, 'And the Seigneur Duvarney — and his daughter — wish it because of a notable injury to one of their luime.' At that I cau- tiously replied, ' Xo, my father does not wish it, for my brother gave the offence, and Captain Moray saved his life, as you know. I do not wish it, Monsieur Doltnins because hanging is a shameful death, and he is a gentle- 110 THE SKATS OP THE MIGIITV man, not .1 rufTuin. Let liim bo shot like ji ^outloman. How will it sound at the Court of France that, on insutti- cient evidence, as you Jidniit, an En^^iish