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Maps, plates, charts, etc., may be filmed at different reduction ratios. Those too large to be entirely included in one exposure are filmed beginning in the upper left hand corner, left to right and top to bottom, as many frames as required. The following diagrams illustrate the method: Les cartes, planches, tableaux, etc., peuvent dtre filmds d des taux de reduction diffdrents. Lorsque le document est trop grand pour §tre reproduit en un seul clich6, il est film6 d partir de Tangle supdrieur gauche, de gauche d droite, et de haut en bss, en prenant le nombre d'images ndcessaire. Les diagrammes suivants illustrent la mdthode. 1 2 3 1 2 3 4 5 6 r f «2^ THi: SHADOW OF THE SWORD. A ROMANCE. By ROBERT BUCHANAN. AUTHORS EDITION. - MONTREAL: LOVELL, ADAM, WESSON & COMPANY, 1877. Entered according to Act of Parliament of Canada, in the year one wZZ\T' '""'"' '''^ -venty-seven. by Lovkl J AnA^ Wesson & Company, in the Office of the Minister of Agriculture and Statistics, at Ottawa. Agncuiiure CONTENTS. I. II. III. IV. V. VI. VII. VIII. IX. X. XI. XII. XIII. XIV. XV. XVI. XVII. XVIII. XIX. XX. XXI. XXII. XXIII. XXIV. XXV. XXVI. XXVII. XXVIII. XXIX. XXX. XXXI. XXXII. XXXIII. XXXIV. XXXV. XXXVI. PROEM. Full Sunshine Rohan and Marcelle . Rohans Cathedral The Menhir. Master Arfoll .... " Rachel, mourning for her children Corporal Derval defends his colors The Corporal's fireside St. Napoleon .... At the fountain .... The Red Angel .... Corporal Derval Harangues the Conscript The Drawing of Lots. <♦ One ! " A Day at Sea .... The King of the Conscripts A Good Man's Blessing . In the Stormy Night . The Prayars of Two Women . Down by the Shore . *♦ The Pool of the Blood of Christ » The Dream. .... Mikel Grallon .... Corporal Derval Gallops his Hobby A Terrible Death . . The June Festival— An Apparition Mikel Grallon makes a Discovery The Hue and Cry On the Cliffs .... The Faces in the Cave A Parley In the Cave .... A Siege in Miniature. Hunger and Cold A four-footed Christian . Vigil Victory Page. 7 II i6 25 34 42 51 58 65 73 n 89 93 loi 107 114 127 137 143 152 157 167 172 166 184 191 198 207 212 215 225 233 240 247 254 259 262 ( CONTENTS. XXXVII. The Mirage of Leipsic . . . . XXXVI 1 1. " Home they brought their Warrior dead " XXXIX. "A Chapel of Hate" XL. Introduces a Scarecrow of Glory XLI. Glimpses of a Dead World XLII. The Aqueduct .... XLIII. "The Night of the Dead" XLIV. Deluge XLV. "Mid Waters Wild". XLVI. Marcelle . . . * . XLVII. The Growing of the Cloud. XLVIII. "Vivele Roi ! » . . XLIL. The Corporal's Cup is Full L. The Hero of the Hour • LI. Breathing-Space . TIL Resurgam ! . . • . LI 1 1. " Ibi omnis effusus labor . LIV. The Last Chance LV. The Beginning of the End. LVI. Uncle Ewen gets his Furlough. LVII. Bonaparte. ... LVI 1 1. "Sic Semper Tyrannis," Epilogue Pauk. 268 274 28s 293 300 306 310 319 324 328 337 342 349 359 36s 371 375 380 385 389 395 401 406 PROEM. TW'INETEEN sad sleepless centuries ^ ^ Had shed upon the dead Christ's eyes Their blood and dew, and o'er them still The waxen lids were sealed chill. Drearily through the dreary years The world had waited on in tears, With heart clay-cold and eyelids wet, But He had not arisen yet. Nay, Christ was cold ; and, colder still. The lovely Shapes He came to kill Slept by His side. Ah sight of dread I Dead Christ, and all the sweet gods dead ! He had not risen ; tho' all the world Was waiting. Tho', with thin lips curl'd, Pale Antichrist upon his prison Gazed yet denying, He had not risen. Tho* every hope was slain save him, Tho* all the eyes of Heaven were dim. Despite the promise and the pain, He slept — and had not risen again, Meantime, from France's funeral pyre. Rose, god-like, girt around with fire, Imperial Cain ! PROEM. — On eyes and lips Burnt the red hues of Love's eclipse, Beneath his strong triumphal tread All days the human winepress bled, And in the silence of the nights Pale Prophets stood upon the heights, And gazing thro' the blood-red gloom Far eastward, to the dead Christ's tomb, Wail'd to the winds. Yet Christ still slept : — Ai:d o'er His white Tomb slowly crept The fiery Shadow of a Sword I Not Peace ; a Sword. And men adored Not Christ, nor Antichrist, but Cain ; And where the bright blood ran like rain He stood, and looking, men went wild ; — For lo ! on whomsoe'er he smiled Came an idolatry accurst. But chief, Cain's hunger and Cain's thirst For gold and blood and tears ; and when He beckon'd, countless swarms of men Flew thick as locusts to destroy Hope's happy harvests, and to die ; Yea, verily, at each finger-wave They swarm'd — and shared the grave they gave, Beneath his Throne. Then, 'neath the sun One man of France, one, only one, One man alone — and he indeed Lowest and least of all Man's seed — Shrank back, and stirred not I — heard Cain*s cry, PROEM. But flew not !— mark 'd across the sky The Shadow of the Sword, but yet Despair'd not !— Nay, with eyes tear-wet, He sought Christ's Tomb, and lying low, With cold limbs cushion'd on the snow, Still waited !— But when Cain's eye found His hiding-place on holy ground. And Cain's hand gript him by the hair, Seeking to drag him forth from there, ' He clutched the stones with all his strength, Struggled in silence— and at length; In the dire horror of his need, Shriek'd out on Christ I Did Christ rise ? Read. THE SHADOW OF THE SWORD. CHAPTER I. FULL SUNSHINE. ** p OH AN, ROHAN 1 Can you not hear me call ? It is -[>■ time to go. Come, come ! It frightens me to look down at you. Will you not come up now, Rohan ? " The voice that cries is lost in the ocean-sound that fills the blue void beneath ; it fades away far under amid a confused murmur of wings, a busy chattering of innumer- able little new-born mouths ; and while the speaker, draw- ing dizzily back, feels the ground rise up beneath her feet and the cliffs prepare to turn over like a great wheel, a human cry comes upward, clear yet faint, like a voice from the sea that washes on the weedy reefs of blood-red granite a thousand feet below. The sun is sinking afar away across the waters, sinking with a last golden gleam amid the mysterious Hesperides of the silent air, and his blinding light comes slant across the glassy calm till it strikes on the scarred and storm-rent faces of these Breton r gs, illuminating and vivifying every nook and cranny of the cliffs beneath, burning on the summits and lightening their natural red to the vivid crimson of dripping blood, changing the coarse grass and yellow starwort into threads of emerald and glimmering stars, burning in a golden mist around the yellow flowers of the over-hanging broom, and striking with fiercest ray on one naked rock of solid stone which juts out like a huge horn over the brink of the abyss, and around which a strong rope is noosed and firmly knotted. X3 THE SHADOW OF THE SWORD. Close to this horn of rock in the full glory of the sunset light, stands a young girl, calling aloud to one who swings unseen below. The sunlight flashes full into her face and blinds her, while the soft breath of the sea kisses the lids of her dazzled eyes. Judged by her sun-tanned skin, she might be the daugh- ter of some gypsy tribe, biit such dark features as hers are the Celtic women o*" the Breton coast ; common among and her large eyes are not gypsy-black, but ethereal grey — that mystic color which can be soft as heaven with joy and love, but dark as death with jealousy and wrath ; and, indeed, to one who gazes long into such eyes as these, there are revealed strange depths of passion, and self- control, and pride. The girl is tall and shapely, some- what slight of figure, small-handed, small-footed : so that, were her cheek a little less rosy, her hands a little whiter, and her step a little less elastic, she might be a lady born. It is just eighteen years to-day since that red blustering morning when her father, running into port with the biggest haul of fish on record that season in the little fishiug- village, had found that the Holy Virgin, after giving him four strong sons, had at last deposited in his marriage-bed a maid-child, long prayed for, come at last ; — and the maid's face is still beautiful with the unthinking innocence of childhood. Mark the pretty, almost petulant m.outh, with the delicious underlip — Some bee hath stung it newly I Woman she is, yet still a child ; and surely the sun, that touches this moment nearly every maiden cheek in every village for a hund'pd miles along this stormy coast, shines this moment upon no sweeter thing. Like Queen Bertha of old, she bears in her hand a distaff, from which she ever and anon twirls homely thread ; but not even a queen's dress, however fair, could suit her better than the severe yet picturesque garb of the Breton peasant girl — the modest white coif, the blue gown brightly bordered with red, the pretty apron enwrought with flowers in colored thread, the neat bodice adorned with a rosary FULL SUNSHINE. n and medal of Our Lady, and finally, the curious sabots, or wooden shoes. , . " Rohan, Rohan ! " A clear bird-like voice, but it is lost in the murmur of the blue void below. The girl puts down her distaff beside a pair of sabots and a broad felt hat which lie already on one of the blocks of stone ; then placing herself flat upon her Tace close to the very edge of the cliff, and clasping with one hand the rope which is suspended from the horn of rock close to hei\ she peers downward. H;df-way down the precipice a figure, conscious of her touch upon the rope by which he is partially suspended, turns up to her a shining face, and smiles. She sees for a minute the form that hovers beneath her in mid-air, surrounded by a flying cloud of ocean birds — she marks the white beach far away below her, and the red stains of the weedy pools above the tide, and the cream-white edge of the glassy moveless i>ea — she feels the sun shining, the rocks gleaming, for a little space ; — then her head goes round, and she closes her eyes with a little cry. A clear ringing laugh floats up to her and reassures her. She plucks up heart and gazes once again. What a depth ! She grows dizzy anew as she gazes into it, but presently the brain-wave passes away, and her head grows calm. She sees all now distinct and clear, but her eyes rest on one picture only ! — not on the crimson reefs and granite rocks, amidst which the placid ocean weeps, through fretwork of tangled dulse and huge crimson water- ferns ; not on the solitary Needle of Gurlan, an enormous monolith of chalk and stone, standing several furlongs out in the sea, with the waves washing eternally round its base and a jloud of sea-fowl hovering ever round its crest ; not on the lonely specks of rock, where the great black-backed gulls, dwarfed by distance to the size of white moths, sit gazing at the sunset, weary of a long day's fishing ; not on the long line of green cormorants that are flapping drowsily home to roost across waters tinted purple and mother-of- pearl ; not on the seals that swim in the dim green coves afar beneath ; not on the solitary red-sailed fishing boat that drifts along with the ebb a mile out to sea. All these 14 THE SHADOW OF THE SWORD. she sees for a moment as in a magician's glass ; all these vanish, and leave one vision remaining — the agile and intrepid figure just under her, treading the perpendicular crags like any goat, swinging almost out into mid-air as from time to time he bears his weight upon the rope, and moving lightly hither and thither with feet and hands alike busy, the latter hunting for sea-birds' eggs. Thick as foam-fiakes around his head float the little terns ; past him, swift and thick as cannon balls, the puf- fins whizz from their burrows (for the comic little sea- parrot bores the earth like a rabbit, before she lays her eggs in it like a bird), and sailing swiftly for a hundred yards, wheel, and come back, past the intruder's ears again, to their burrows once more \ round and round, in a slow circle above his head, a great cormorant— of the black, not the green species — sails silently and perpetually, uttering no sound ; and facing him, snowing the surface of the cliffs, sit the innumerable birds, with their millions of little eyes on his. The puffins on the green earthy spots, peering out with varicolored bills, the guillemots in earth and rock alike, wherever they can find a spot to rest an egg, the little dove-like terns, male and female, sitting like love-birds beak to beak, on the tiny little coigns of vantage on the solid rocks below the climber's feet. Of the num- berless birds which surround him on every side, few take the trouble to stir, though those few make a perfect snow around him ; but the air is full of a twittering and a trem- bling and a chattering and rustling which would drive a less experienced cragsman crazy on the spot. As he slips nimbly among them they grumble a little in their bird- fashion, that is all ; occasionally an infuriated would-be mcgher, robbed of her egg, makes belief to fly at his face, burquails at the first movement of his fowler's staff ; and now and then an angry puffin., as his hand slips into her hole, clings to his finger like a parrot, is drawn out a ruffled wrath of feathers; and is flung shrieking away into the air 1 The fowler's feet are naked — so his toes sometimes suffer from a random bite or peck, but his only answer is a merry laugh. He moves about as if completely unconscious of danger, or if conscious, as if the p iril of the sport made it exhilarating tenfold. FULL SUNSHINE. »s It is exciting to see him moving about in his joyous strength amid the dizzy void, with the sunset burning on h^s figure, the sea sparkling beneath his feet. His head is bare ; his hair, of perfect golden hue, floats to his shoulders, and is ever and anon blown into his face, but with a toss of his head he flings it behind him. The head is that of a lion ; the throat, the chin, leonine ; and the eyes, even when they sparkle^ as now, have the strange, far-away, visionary look of the king of animals. His figure, agile as it is, is herculean ; for is he not a Gwenfern, and when, since the memory of a man, did a Gwenfern ever stand less than six feet in his sabots ? Stripped of his raiment and turned to stone, he might stand for Herakles — so large of mould is he, so mighty of limb. But even in his present garb— the peasant dress of dark blue, shirt open at the throat, gaily colored sash, and trousers fastened at the knee with a knot of scarlet ribbon — he looks sufficiently herculean. He plies his trade. Secured to his waist hangs a net of dark earth-colored eggs, and it is nearly full. The sunset reddens, its flashes grow more blinding as they strike on the reddened cliff, but the fowler lifts up his face in the light, and sees the dark face of the maiden shining down upon him through the snow of birds. " Rohan, Rohan," she cries again. He waves his fowler's staff and smiles, preparing to ascend. " I am coming, Marcelle ! " he calls. And through the flying snow he slowly comes, till it is no longer snow around his head, but snow around his feet. Par^^ly aided by the rope, partly by the hook of his fowler's staff, he clings with hands and feet, creeps from ledge to ledge, crawling steadily upward. Sometimes the loose conglomerate crumbles in his hands or beneath his feet, and he swings with his whole weight upon the rope ; then for a moment his color goes, from excitement, not fear, and his breath comes quick. No dizziness with him ! his calm blue eyes look upward and downward with equal unconcern, and he knows each footstep of his way. Slowly, almost laboriously, he seems to move, yet his progress is far more rapid than it seems to the eye, and in a few i6 THE SHADOW OF THE SWORD. %\ I !■ minutes he has drawn himself up the overhanging summit of the crag, reached the top, gripped the horn of rock with hands and knees, and swung himself up on the greensward, close to the girl's side ! All the prospect above the cliffs opens suddenly on his sight. The cloudy east is stained with deep crimson lines, against which the grassy hills, and fresh-ploughed fields, and the squares of trees whose foliage hides the crowing farms, stand out vs^. distinct and beautiful lines. But all he sees for the moment is the one dark face, and the bright eyes that look lovingly into his. " Why will you be so daring, Rohan ? " she inquires in a soft Breton /. " If the rope should break, if the knot should slip, if you should grow faint 1 Alain and Jannick both say you are foolish. St. Gurlan's Craig is not fit for a man to climb! " CHAPTER II. , . -■ ^i -"■■,■. • - . ■ •. ROHAN AND MARCELLE. . : TO creep where foot of man has never crept before, to crawl on the great cliffs where even the goats and sheep are seldom seen, to know the secret places as they are known to the hawk and the raven and black buzzard of the crags, this is the joy and glory of the man's life — this is the rapture that he shares witVi the winged, the swimming, and the creeping things. He swims like a fish, he crawls like a fly, and his joy would be complete if he could soar like a bird. His animal enjoyment meantime is perfect. Not the peregrine, wheeling in still circles round the topmost crags, moves with such natural splendor on its way. All the peasants and fishers of Kromlaix are cragsmen too, but none possess his cool sublimity of daring. Rohan Gwenfern will walk erect where no other fowlc, however ROHAN AND MaRCELLE. 17 experienced, would creep on hands and knees. In the course of his lifelong perils he has had ugly falls, which have only stimulated him to fresh exploits. He began, when a mere child, by herding sheep and goats among these very crags, and making the lonely caverns ring with his little goatherd's horn. By degrees he familiarized himself with every feature of the storm-rent terrible coast ; so that even when he grew up towards manhood, and joined his fellows in fishing expeditions far out at sea, he still retained his early passion for the crags and clififs. While others were lounging on the beach or at the door of the calozes, while some were drinking in the cabaret and some were idling among their nets, Rohan was walking in some vast cathedral not made with hands, or penetrating like a spectre, torch in hand, into the pitch- black cavern where the seal was suckling her young, or swimming naked out to the cormorant's roost on the base of the Needle of Gurlan. Even in wildest winter, when for days together the cormorants sat on the ledges of the cliffs and gazed de- spairingly at the sea, starving, afraid to stir a feather lest the mighty winds should dash them to pieces against the stones, when the mountains of foam shook the rocks to their foundations, when the earthquakes of ocean were busy, and crag after crag loosened, crumbled, and swept like an avalanche down to the sea, — in the maddest storms of nature's maddest season, Rohan was abroad, — not the great herring-gull being more constant a mover along the black water-mark than he. Hence there h. J arisen in him, day by day and year by year, tliat terrible and stolid love for Water which wise critics and dwellers in towns believe to be the special and sole prerogative of the poets, particularly of Lord Byron, and which, when described as an attribute of a Breton peasant or a Connaught " boy," they refer to the abysses of sentimentality. Does a street-girl love the street, or a ploughman love the fields, or a sailor love the ship that sails him up and down the world > Even so, but with an infinitely deeper passion did Rohan love the sea. It is no exaggeration to say that even a few miles inland he would have been heartily miserable. And that he should love J I 1 ll» i8 THE SHADOW OF THE SWORD. the sea as he did, not with a sentimental emotion, not with any idea of romancing or attitudinizing, but with a vital and natural love; part of the very beatings of his heart, was only just. He was its foster child. Weird and thrilling superstitions are still afloat on this wild coast ; grotesque and awful legends, many of them full of deep faith and pathetic beauty, still float from mouth to mouth ; but among them there is one which is something more than a mere legend, something more than a fireside dream. It tells of the sore straits and perils on the lonely seas during " the great fishing," and how, one summer night, a fisher, Raoul Gwenfern, took with him to sea his little golden-haired child. That very night, blowing the trumpets of wrath and death, Euroclydon arose. Lost, shrieking, terror-stricken, the fleet of boats drifted before the wind in the terrible mountainous sea. and at last, when all hope had fled, the crew of this one lugger knelt down together in the darkness for the last time — knelt as they had often kneit side by side in the little chapel on the cliff, and invoked the succor of Our Blessed Lady of Safety; — and no less than the others prayed the little child, shivering and holding his father's hand. And at last, amid all the darkness of the tempest and the roaring of the sea, there dawned a solemn shining which for a moment stilled the palpitating waters around the vessel ; and that one innocent child on board, he and none other beside, saw with his mortal eyes, amid that miraculous light, and floating upon the waters, all spangled and silver as she stands, an image, up there in the little chapel of Notre Dame de Garde, the face and form of the Mother of God. Be that as it may, the storm presently abated, and the fleet was saved \ but when the light dawned, and the fishers on board the lugger came to their senses again, they missed one man. The child cried "father," but no father answered ; he had been washed over in the darkness, and his foot- prints in the land of men were never seen more. It was then that the child, wailing for his beloved parent, told what he had seen upon the waters in that hour of prayer. ^Whether it was a real vision, or a child's dream, or a flash ^pf memory illuminsiting the image he had often seen and thought so lovely, who can tell ? But that day he ran and ROHAN AND MARCELLE. '9 flung himself into his mother's arms, an orphan child ; and from that day forth he had nc father but t'le Sea. His motb«^r, a poor widow now, dwelt in a stone cottage just outside the village, and under the shelter of a hollow in the crag. Her son, the only child of her old age, the child of her prayers and tears, obtained by the special intercession of the Virgin and her cousin St. Elizabeth, grew fairer and fairer as he approached manhood, and ever on his face there dwelt a brightness which the mother in her sweet heart, deemed due to that celestial vision. Now tales of wonder travel, and in due course the legend travelled to the priest ; and the priest came, and saw the child, and (being a little bit of a phrenologist) examined his head and his bumps, and saw the shining of his fair face with no ordinary pleasure. It is not every day that the good God performs a miracle, and this opportunity was too good a one to be lost. So the good cup-e, a remarkable man in his way, and one of considerable learning, then and there made the widow a proposition which caused her to weep for joy, and cry that St. Elizabeth was her friend indeed. It was this — that Rohan should be trained in holy knowledge, and in due season become a priest of God. Of course the ofTer was joyfully accepted, and Rohan was taken from the solitary crags, where he was herding goats to eke out the miserable pittance that his mother earned, to live in the house of the priest. Eor a time the change was pleasing and Rohan was taught to read and write, to construe a little Latin, and to know a word or tvo of Greek ; he was, moreover, a willing child, and he would get up without a murmur on the darkest and coldest win- ter's morning to serve the dirt's mass. He evinced on the other hand an altogether stupendous capacity for idleness and play. As he grew older his ideas grew more irrepres- sible, and he wn ild slip off in the fishing boats that were going out to sea, or run away for a long day's ramble among the crags, or spend the summer afternoon on the shore, alternately bathing naked and wading for shrimps and prawns. When most wanted he was often not to be found. One day he was carried home with his collar-bone broken, after having in vain attempt^ to take the nest of an indignant raven. Twice or thrice he was nearly drowned. 20 THE SHADOW OF THE SWORD. 'I : \\ !i This might have been tolerated, though not for long ; but presently it was discovered that Master Rohan had a way of asking questions which were highly puzzling to the priest. It was still Revolution time. Though the kingdom was an Empire ; and though the terrible ideas of '93 had scarcely reached Kromlaix, the atmosphere was full of strange thoughts. The little acolyte in secret began to indulge in a course of secular reading ; the little eyes opened, the little tongue prattled ; an:* the good priest discovered, to his disgust, that the child was too clever. When the time came for the boy, in the natural course of things, to be removed from the village, Rohan revolted utterly. He had made up his mind, he said, and he would never become a priest ! This was a bitter blow for the mother, and for a space her heart was hard against the boy ; but the priest, to her astonishment, sided with the revolter. " Come, mother ! " he said, nodding his big head till his great hollow cheeks trembled with his earnestness. '* After all, it is ill to force a lad's inclination. The life of a priest is a hard one, you see, at the best. The priesthood is well enough, but there are better ways of serving the good God." Rohan's heart rejoiced, and the widow cried — , ,, " Better ways ! — ah, no, m'sieu le curL^'' " But yes," persisted his reverence. " God's will is best of all ; and better even a good ropemaker than a bad priest ! " It was settled at last, and the boy returned to his home. The truth is, the priest was glad to be rid of his bargain. He saw that Rohan was not the stuff that holy men are made of, and that, sooner or later, he would be inventing a heresy or adoring a woman. He did not relinquish his charge without a sigh, for that business of the miraculous vision, if consummated by a life of exemplary piety, would have been a fine feather in the Church's cap. He soon found a more fitting attendant, however, and his former annoyances and disappointments were forgotten. Meantime, Rohan returned to his old haunts with the rapture of a i)risoned bird set free. He soon persuaded his mother that it was all arranged for the best ; for would he not, instead of being taken away as a priest must be, i. 11 Ron AX A. YD MARCRr.T.E. %^ men are remain with her forever, and supply his father's place, and be a comfort to her old age ? There were two sorts of lives that he detested from all his heart, and in either of these lives he would he lost to home and to her. Ho would never become a priest, because he liked not the life, and because (he naively thought to himself) he could never marry his little cousin Marcclle ! He could never become a soldier (God and all the saints be praised for that!) because he was a widow's only son. But it was the year 1813, the "soote spring season " of that year, and the great Emperor, after having successfully allayed the fear of invasion which had filled all France ever since b's dibastrous return from Moscow, was prepar- ing a grand coup by which all his enemies were utterly to be annihilated. There were strange murmurs afloat, but nothing definite was yet known. The air was full of that awful silence which precedes thunderstorm and earthquake. Down here at Kromlaix, however, down here in the lone- liest and saddest corner of the Breton coast, the sun shone and the sea sparkled as if Moscow had never been, as if hecatombs of French dead were not lying bleaching amid the Russian snows, as if martyred France had never in her secret heart shrieked out a curse upon the Avatar. The sounds of war had echoed far away, but Rohan had heeded them little. Happiness is uniformly selfish, and Rohan was happy. Life was sweet to him. It was a blessed thing to breathe, to be, to remain free ; to raise his face to the sun, to mark the cliffs and caves, to watch the passing sails, or the blue smoke curling from the chimneys of the little fishing village ; to listen to the plump r«;-e, " fatter than his cure ; " to hear the strange stories of bivouac and battlefield told by the old Bonapartist burnpowder, his ancle ; to hear Alain or Jannick play wild tunes on the biniou, or bagpipe ; to hunt the nests of gulls and seapies ; to ^o out on calm nights with his comrades and net the shining shoals of herring : best of all, to walk with Marcelle along sward or shore, to kneel at her side, holding her hand, before the statue of Our Lady, to look into her eyes, and, pleasanter still, to kiss her ripe young lips 1 What life could be better, what life, all in all, could be sweeter . than this ? ^ u TlfF. SI f A DOW OF THE SWOK)). And Marcelle ? His mother's sister's child, an J only niece of the quaint old corporal, with whom she lives, with her four great brothers, each strong as Anak. Since they were children together — and he 'first appalled her young heart by his reckless daring — they have been accustomed to meet to- gether in all the innocence of Nature. While her great brothers care not for her society, but haunt the cabarerox go courting when ashore, Rohan seeks the maiden, and is more gentle than any brother, though still her kin. He loves her dark eyes and her hidden black hair, and her gentle ways, and her tender admiration of himself. She has been his playmate for years — now she is, what shall we say ? his companion — soon, perhaps, to be known by a nearer name. But the marrij^e of such close kin is ques- tionable in Brittany, and a special consent from the bishop would be needed to bring it about ; and besides, after all, they have never exchanged one syllable of actual love. Doubtless they understand each other ; for youth is electrical, and passion has many tones far beyond words, and it is not in Nature for a man and a maiden, both beautiful, to look upon each other without joy. To their vague delicious feeling in each other's society, however, they have never given a name. They enjoy each other as they enjoy the fresh sweet air, and the shining sun, and the happy blue vault above, and the sparkling sea below. They drink each other's breathing, and are glad. So is the Earth glad, whenever lovers so unconscious stir and tremble happily in her arms. Mark them again, as Rohan rises from the cliff, and stands by the girl's side, and listens to her laughing re- buke. How does he answer ?„ He takes her face between his two hands and kisses her on either cheek. She laughs and blushes slightly ; the blush would be deeper if he had kissed her on the lips. Then he turns to the block of granite where he has left his hat and sabots, and slowly begins to put them on. The sunset is fading new upon the sea. ^ The vision of El Dorado, which has been burning for an hour on the far sea-line, will soon be lost forever. The ,-'*«<' 5 HOirA!^ Al^n MARCELLE. «S golflon city with its purple spires, the strange mountains of pitik-tinged snow beyond, the dark dim cloud-peak softly crowned by one bright green opening star, are dissolving slowly, atul a cold breath comeb now from those ruined sunset shores. The blood-red reefs, the wet sands, the Hashing pools of water along the shores and beneath the crags, are burning with dimmer and dimmer colors ; the crows are winging past to some dark rookery inland ; the sea-fowl are settling down with many murmurs on the nests among the cliffs ; the night-owl is fluttering forth in the dark shadow of a crag ; and the fishing lugger yonder is drifting on a dark and glassy sea. Rohan looks down. The lugger glides along on the swift ebb-tide, and he can plainly see the men upon her deck, bareheaded, with hands folded in prayer and faces upraised to the very crags on which he stands ; for not far beyond him, on the very summit of the cliff's, stands the little Chapel of Our Lady of Safety — the beloved beacon of t'e homeward bound, the last glimpse of home the fisher sees as he sails away to the west, and the beacon, night and day, of all good mariners. All this picture Rohan has taken in at a glance, and now, grasping his fowler's hook in one hand, and coiling the rope around his arm, he moves along the sur^mit of the cliff, followed by Marcelle. A well-worn path along the scanty sward leads to the door of the little chapel, and this path they follow. They have not proceeded far when a large' white goat, which has been busy somewhere among the cliffs, climbs up close by and stands looking at them curiously. The inspection is evidently satisfactory, for it approaches them slowly with some signVof recognition. " See I " cried the girl. " It is Jannedik." • Jannedik answers by coming closer and rubbing its head against her dress. Then it turns to Rohan, and pushes its chin into his outstretched hand. " What are you doing so far from home, Jannedik ? " he asks, smiling.surprised. "You are a rover, and will some day break your neck like your master. It is nearly bed- time, Jannedik ! " , 4 .il • .•'( it 24 THE SHADOW OF THE SWORD. Jannedik is a lady among goats, and she belongs to the mother of Rohan. It is her pleasure to wander far away among the cliffs like Rohan himself, and she knows the spots of most succulent herbage and the secretest corners of the caves. There is little speculation in her great brown eyes, but she comes to the whistle like a dog, and she will let the village children ride upon her back, and she is alto- gether more instructed than most of her tribe, in which the cliffs abound. As Rohan and Marcelle wander on to the little chapel, Jannedik follows, pausing now and then to browse upon the way, but when they enter — which they do with a quiet rev- erence — Jannedik hesitates for a moment, stamps her foot upon the ground, and trots off homeward by herself. She has many points of a good Christian, but the Church has no attraction for her. The little chapel stands open night and day. It was built by sailors* hands, for sailor use, and with no small labor were the materials carried up hither from the village below. It is very tiny, and it nestles in the highest cliff like a white bird, moveless in all weathers. It is quite empty, and as Rohan and Marcelle approach the altar, the last light of sunlight strikes through the painted pane, illumining tl.e altar-piece within the rails — a rudely painted picture of shipwrecked sailors on a raft, raising eyes to the good Virgin, who appears among the clouds. Close to the altar stands the plaster figure of Our Lady, dressed in satin and spangles, and strewing the pedestal and hanging round her feet are wreaths of col- ored beads, garlands of flowers cut in silk and satin, little rude pictures of the Virgin, medals in tin and brass, wooden rosaries, and strings of beads. Marcelle crosses herself and falls softly upon her ktiees. Rohan remains standing, hat in hand, gazing on tlie picture of the Virgin on the altar-piece behind the rails. The little chapel grows darker and darker, the rude timbers and storm-stained walls are very dim, and the last sunlight fades on Marcelle's bent head and on the power- ful lineaments of Rohan. Faith dwells here, and the touch of a passionate peace and love which are worth more. kOJfAN'S CA TiriiDKAL. iS Peace be will) them anil with (he world lo-?ii^ht — peace in their hearts, love in their hearts, peace and love in the hearts and breasts of all niinikind ! But ah ! bliould lo-niorrow bring the Shadow of the Sword I CHAPTER III. ROHAN'S CATMF.DRAL. NOT far away from the ("hnpel of Our Lady of Safety, but situated on the wild sea shore under the cra<^s, stands a cathedral fairer than any wrought by man, with a roof of eternal azure, walls of purple, crimson, green, jj;old, and a (loor of verilal>le " mosaic pa\en." Men name its chief entrance the (iate of St. (iildas, but the lovely cathe- dral itself has neither name nor worshippers. At low water this Oate is passable dry shod, at half- tide it may be entered by wading breast deep, at three- quarters or full flood it can (mly be entered by an intrepid swimmer and diver. Two gigantic walls of crimson granite jut out from the mighty cliff-wall and meet together far out on the edge of the sea, and where the sea touches them it has hollowed their extremity into a mighty arch, lumg with dripping moss. Entering here at low water, one sees the vast walls towering on ever)- side, carved by wind and water into fantastic niches and many-colored marble forms, with no painted windows, it is true, but with the blue cloudless heaven for a roof afar above, where the passing seagull hovers, small as a butterfly, in full sunlight. A dim relig- ious light falls downward, lighting up the solemn place, and showing shapes which superstition might fashion into statues and images of mitred abbots and cowled monks and dusky figures of the Virgin ; and here and there upon the floor of weed and shingle are strewn mighty blocks like carven tombs, and in lonely midnights the seals sit on these and look at the moon like black ghosts of the dead. %i THE SHADOir OF TITF. SWORf). ;» Superstition has seen this place, and has transformed its true history into a legend. Here indeed in immemorial time stood a great abbey reared by hands, and surrounded by a fertile plain, but the monks of this abbey were wicked, bringing their wantons into the blessed place and profaning the name of the good God. ]3ut the good (Jod, full of His mercy, sent a Saint — Gildas indeed by name — to warn these wicked ones to desist from their evil ways and think of the wrath to come. It was a cold winter night when Gildas reached the gate, and his limbs were cold and he was hungry and athirst, and he knocked faintly with his frozen hand ; and at first, being busy at revel, they did not hear ; and he knc^ked again and they heard, but when they saw his face, his poor raiment, and his bare feet, they bade him begone. Then did Gildas beseech them to receive and shelter him for our Lady's sake, warn- ing them also of their iniquities and of (Jod's judgment ; but even as he spoke, they .shut the gate in his face. Then St. Gildas raised his hands to Heaven and cursed them and that abbey, and called on the great sea to arise and de- stroy it and them. And the sea, though it was then some miles away, arose and came ; and the wicked ones were destroyed, the likv,*iess of the abbey was changed, and the great roof was washed away. And even unto this day the strange semblance remains as a token that these things were so. . . We said this cathedral had no worshippers. It had two, at least. Within it sat, not many days after they had stood together in the little chapel, Rohan and Marcelle. It was mortc mcr, and not a ripple touched the light cathedral floor ; but it was damp and gleaming with the last tide, and the weed-hung granite tombs were glittering crimson in the light. They sat far within, on a dry rock close under the main cliflf, and were looking upward. At what ? At the Altar. Far above them stretched the awful precipices of stone, but close above their heads, covering the whole side of the cliff for a hundred, square yards, was a thick curtain of moss, and over this moss, from secret place;, far above, poured little runlets of crystal water, spreading themselves kOHA\'\': CATffFDRAL. 27 on the soft moss frin;;es nnd turninfjinto innumerable drops of diamond dew : here scattering countless pearls over a bed of deepest emerald, there trickling into waterfalls of bright- est silver filagree, and again gleaming like molten gold on soft trembling folds of the yellow lichen ; and over all this dewy mass of sparkling colors there ebbed and flowed, and flitted and changed, a perpetually liquid light, flashing alternately with all the colors of the prism. A hundred yards above all was re'H again into fantastic columns and architraves. Just over the Altar, where the dews of heaven were perpetually distilling, was a dark blot like the mouth of a cave. " Is it not time to go ? " said Marcelle, presently. " Sup- pose the sea were to come and find us here, how dreadful ! Hoel Grallon died like that ! " Rohan smiled — the self-sufficient smile of superior wisdom. " Hoiil (Jrallon was a great ox, and should have stayed praying by his own door. Look you, Marcelle ! There are always two ways out of my cathedral ; when it is neap tide and not rough you can wait for the ebb up here by the Altar — it will not rise so far ; and when it is stormy and blows hard you can climb up yonder to the lYon " — and he pointed to the dark blot above his head — " or even to the very top of the clifi^." Marcelle shrugged her shoulders. " Climb the cliff ! — why, it is a wall, and every one has not the feet of a fly." " At least it is easy as far as the Trou. There are great ledges for the feet, and niches for the hands." " If one were even there, what then ? It is like the mouth of hell, and one could not enter." Marcelle crossed herself religiously. " It is rather like the little chapel above, when one carries a light to look around. It is quite dry and pleas- ant ; one might live there and be glad." " It is, then, a cave ? " " Fit tor a sea-woman to dwell in and bring up her little ones." Rohan laughed, but Marcelle crossed herself again. " Never name them, Rohan ! — ah, the terrible place ! " 28 THE SHADOW OF THE SWORD. 1 < • lit " It is not terrible, Marcelle ! — I could sleep there ill peace — it is so calm, so still. It would be like one's own bed at home but for the blue doves stirring upon the roosts, and the bats that slip in and out through the night." " The bats — horrible ! my flesh creeps ! " Marcelle, though a inaid of courage, had the feminine horror of unclean and creeping things. Charlotte Corday slew the rat Marat, but she shivered at the sight of a mouse. " And as for the crag above," said Rohan, smiling at her, " I have seen Jannedik climb it often, and I should not fear to try it myself ; it is easier than St. Gurlan's Craig. Many poor sailors, when their ship was lost, have been saved like that, when the wind is off the sea ; and they have felt God's hand grip them and hold them tight against the precipice that they might not fall ; God's hand or the wind, Marcelle, that is all one ! " After this there was silence for a time. Marcelle kept her great eyes fixed upon the glittering curtain of moss and dew, while Rohan dropped his eyes again to a book which he held upon his knee — an old, well-thumbed, coarsely printed volume, with leaves well sewn together with waxed thread. He read, or seemed to read ; yet all the time his joy was in the light presence by his side, and he was conscious of her happy breathing, of the warm touch of her dress against his knee. Presently he was disturbed in his enjoyment. Marcelle sprang to her feet. " If we linger longer," she cried, " I shall have to take off my sabots and stockings. For my part, Rohan, I shall run." And the girl passed rapidly towards the Gate and looked for Rohan to follow her. Rohan, however, did not stir. "There is time," he said, glancing through the Gate at the sea, which seemed already preparing to burst and pour, in between the granite archway. " Come back and do not be afraid. There is yet a half-hour, and as for the sabots and stockings, surely you remember how we used to wade together in the blue water of old. Come, Marcelle, and look 1 " Marcelle complied. With one doubtful side-glance at ROHAiVS CA THEDRAL. 39 the wall of water which seemed to rise up and j^'immer close to the Gate, she stole slowly back, and seated herself by her cousin's side. His strength and beauty fascinated her, as it would have fasciiiated any maiden on that coast, and while she placed her soft brown hand on his knee, uid looked up into his face, she felt within her the mys- terious stirs of a yearning she could not understand. " Look, then," he said, pointing out through the Gate " does it not look as if all the grean waters of the sea were about to rush in and cover us, as they covered the great abbey long ago ? " I Marcelle looked. To one unaccustomed to the place it seemed as if egress were already impossible ; for the great swell rose and fell close up against the archway, closing out all glimpses of blue air or sky. Out beyond the arch swam a great grey- headed seal, looking with large wistful eyes into the cathe- dral, and just then a flight of pigeons swooped through the Gate, scattering in swift flight as they passed overhead, and disappeared in the darkness of the great cave above the " Altar." " Let us go ! " said Marcelle in a low voice. She was superstitious, and the allusion to the old legend made her feel uncomfortable in that solemn phice. '' Rest yet," answered Rohan, as he rose and closed his book and touched her arm. " In half an hour, not sooner, the Gate will be like the jaws of a great monster. Do you remember the story 01 the great Sea-beast and the Maiden chained to a rock, and the brave Youth with wings who rescued her and turned the beast to stone ? " Marcelle smiled and colored slightly. " I remember," she answered. More than once had Rohan, who had a taste for mythol- ogy and fairy legend, told her the beautiful myth of Perseus and Andromeda ; and more than once had she pictured herself chained in that very place, and a fair-haired form — very like Rohan's — floating down to her on great outspread wings from the blue roof above her head ; and although in her dream she herself wore sabots and coarse stockings, and had her dark hair pinned in a coif, while Perseus wore sabots too, and the long hair and loose raiment of a Breton 30 THE SHADOW OF THE SWORD. % peasant, was it any the less delicious to think of ? As to slaying a monster, Rohan was quite equal to that, she knew, if occasion came ; and taking his Veckless daring and his wild cliff-flights into consideration, he really might have been born with wings. Just then the incoming tide began to be broken into foam below one arch of the gateway, and the rocks with jagged teeth began to tear the sfia, and the whole side of the Gate, blackly silhouetted against the green water, seemed like the head qnd jaws of some horrible monster, such as the Greek sailor saw whenever he sailed along his narrow seas ; such as the Breton fisher sees to this hour when he glides alone the edges of his craggy coast. " There is the great sea-beast," said Rohan, " crouching and waiting." " Yes ! See the great red rock — it is like a mouth." " If you could stop here and watch you would say so truly. In a little it will begin to lash and tear the water till the red mouth is white with foam and black with weeds, and the water below it is spat full of foam, and the air is filled with a roar like the bellowing of a beast. I have sat here and watched till I thought the old story was come true and the monster was there ; but that was in time of storm." ' " You watched it — up in the Z)-^// ^ " " It caught me one tide, and I had to sit shivering until sunset ; and then the storm went downjbut the tide was ^ higb. The water washed close to the fR'of of the Gate, and wiien the wave rosa there was not room for a fly to pass — it surged right up yonder against the walls. Well, I was hungry, and knev not what to do. Ifcwas^leasant to see the water turn crystal green all along the cavern floor, and to watch it washing over the rocks aiid stones where we sat to day, and to see the seals swimmmg round and round and trying in vain to find a spot to rest on. But all that would not fill one's stomach. I waited, and then it grew dark, but the tide was still high. It was terrible then, for the stars were clustered up yonder, and the shapes of the old monks seemed coming down from the walls, and I fe!t afraid to stay. So I left my hat and sabots at the mouth of the cave, and slipped down from ledge to ledge, ..^ ROHAN'S CATHEDRAL, 31 ? As to that, she s daring lly might ten into cks with ! side of \ water, monster, long his his hour ouching h." say so e water ! weeds, e air is fave sat coine time of g until de was Gate, fly to Well, easant :avern stones round p. But I then rrible lapes and It the edge, and dropped down into the water — it was dark as death ! " Marcelle uttered a little terrified " Ah ! " and clutched Rohan's arm. " At first I thought the fiends were loose, for I fell amid a flock of black cormorants, and they shrieked like mad things, and one dived and seized me by the leg, but I shook him away. Then I struck out for the Gate, and as T drew near with swift strokes I saw the great waves rising momently and shutting out the light ; but when the waves fell there was a glimmer, and I could just see the top of the arch. So I came close, treading on the sea, till 1 could almost touch the arch with my hand, and then I watched my chance, and dived ! Mon Dieu, it was a sharp minute ! Had I swum away, or not dived deep enough, I should have been lifted up and crushed against the jagged stones of the arch j but I held my breath and struck forward — eight, nine, ten strokes under water, and then, choking, I rose ! " " And then ? " " I was floating on the great wave just outside the arch, with all the sea before me and all the stars above my head. Then I thought all safe, but just then I saw a billow like a mountain coming in; but I drew in a deep breath, and just as the wave rose above me 1 dived again, and when I rose it had passed and was shrieking round the Gate, of St, Gildas. So all I had then to do was to swim on for a hundred yards, and then turn in and land upon the sands below the Ladder of St. 'J>ifiine." The girl looked for a moment admiringly on her hercu- lean companion — then she smiled. " Let us go then," she cried, '* or the sea will come again, and this time one at least would drown." "I will come." " There, that last wave ran right up into the passage. We must wade, after all." " What then ? The water is warm." So Rohan, without sitting, rapidly pulled off his sabots and stockings ; while Marcelle, sitting on a low rock, drew off hers — nervously, and with less speed. Then she rose, making a pretty grimace as her little white feet touched the cold shingle. Rohan took her hand, and they passed I i I it 32 THE SHADOW OF THE SWORD. right under the portal, close up against which the tide had by this time crept. At every step it grew deeper, and soon the maiden had to resign his hand, and gathering up her clothes above the knee moved nervously on. No blush tinged her cheek at thus revealing her pretty limbs ; she knew they were pretty, of course, and she felt no shame. True modesty does not consist in a prurient veiling of all that nature has made fair, and perhaps there is no more uncleanliness in showing a shapely leg than in baring a well-formed arm. In one point, however, Marcelle's modesty was supreme. According to the custom of the country she carefully curled up and coifed her locks, which, unlike those of most Bre- ton maidens, were long enough to reach her shoulders. Her hair was sacred from seeing. Even Rohan in all their later rambles had never beheld her without her coif. They had reached the portal and were only knee-deep, but before them stretched for several yards a solid wall connected with the Gate, and round the end of his wall they must pass to reach the safe shingle beyond. , Marcelle stood in despair. Before her stretched the great fields of the ocean, illim- itable to all seeming — still, but terrible, with here and there a red sail glimmering, and following the shining har- vest. On every side the tide had risen, and around the outlying wall it was quite deep. '* Aye me," cried the girl in a pretty despair ; " I told you so, Rohan." Rohan, standing like a solid stone in the water, merely smiled. " Have no fear," he replied, coming close to her. '* Hold your apron ! " She obeyed, holding up apron and petticoat together and then, after putting in her lap his and her own sabots and stockings, with tiie book he had been reading, he lifted her like a feather in his powerful arms. " You are heavier than you used to be," he said, laugh- ing ; while Marcelle, gathering her apron up with one hand, clung tightly round his neck with the other. Slowly and surely, step by step, he waded with her seaward along ihc kOHAl^rs CA THEDRAL. 33 moss-hung wall ; he seemed in no hurry, perhaps because he had such pleasure in his burthen ; but at every step he went deeper, and when he reached the end of the wall the water reached to his hips. " If you should stumble ! " cried Marcelle. " I shall not stumble," answered Rohan, quietly. Marcelle was not so sure, and clung to him vigorously. She was not afraid, for there was no danger ; but she had the true feminine dread of a wetting. Place her in any circumstances of real peril, call up the dormant courage within her, and she would face the very sea with defiance, with pride, dying like a heroine. Meantime, she was timid, disliking even a splash. The wall was soon rounded, and Rohan was wading with his burthen to the shore, so that he was soon only knee deep again. His heart was palpitating madly, his eyes and cheeks were burning, for the thrill of his delicious load filled him with strange ecstacy, and he lingered in the water, unwilling to resign the treasure he held within his arms. " Rohan ! quick ! do not linger ! " It was then that he turned his face up to hers for the first time ; and lo ! he saw a sight which brought the bright Mood to his own cheeks and made him tremble like a tree beneath his load. Porphyro, gazing on his mistress, Half hidden like a mermaid in seaweed, and watching her naked beauty gleam like marble in the moonlight, felt no fairer revelation. Rohan, too, " felt faint." And why? It was only this — in the excitement and struggle of the passage Marcelle's white coif had fallen back, and her black hair, loosened from its fastenings, had fallen down in one dark shower, raining alike around cheeks and neck ; and cheeks and neck, when Rohan raised his eyes, were burning crimson with a delicious shame. Have we not said that the hair of a Breton maid is vir- gin, and is as hallowed as an Eastern woman's face, and is only to be seen by the eyes of him she loves 1 Rohan's head swam round. 34 THE SHADOW OF THE SlVORD. As his face turned up, burning like her own, the sacred hair fell upon his eyes, and the scent of it — who knows not the divine perfume even scentless things give out when touched by Love ? — the scent of it was sweet in his nos- trils, while the thrill of its touch passed into his very blood. And under his hands the live form trembled while his eyes fed on the blushing face. ' " Rohan ! quick ! set me down I " He stood now on dry land, but he still held her in his arms. The sweet hair floated to his lips, and he kissed it madly, while the fire grew brighter on her face. " I love you, Marcelle ! " :> CHAPTER IV. THE MENHIP. THERE is one supreme minute in the life of Love which is never to be known again when once its holy flush has passed ; there is one divine sensation when the wave of life leaps its highest and breaks softly, never to rise quite so high again in sunlight or starlight ; there is one first touch of souls meeting, and that first touch is divinest, whatever else may follow. The minute, the sensation, the touch, had come to Rohan and Marcelle. Passion sudden- ly arose full-orbed and absolute. The veil was drawn be- tween soul and soul, and they knew each other's tremor and desire. Many a day had the cousins wandered alone together for hours and hours. From childhood upwards they had been companions, and their kinship was so close that few coupled their names together as lovers, even in jest. Now when Rohan was three or four and twenty and Marcelle was eighteen, they were attached friends as ever, and no surveil- lance was set upon their meetings. Walking about with Rohan had been only walking with Hoel, or Jannik, or Alain, her tall brothers. Not that either was quite unconscious of the sweet sym- own, the sacred -who knows not give out when weet in his nos- • his very blood, d while his eyes held her in his ind he kissed it ace. e of Love which e its holy flush when the wave , never to rise It ; there is one uch is divinest, sensation, the assion sudden- was drawn be- other's tremor alone together 5 they had been at few coupled t. Now when Marcelle was find no surveil- ig about with or Jannik, or he sweet synn- TffE AfKA'H/R. jj pathv which bound them together. Love feels before it speaks, thrills before it sees, wonders before it knows. They had been beautiful in each other's eyes for long, but neither knew why. So their secret had been kept, almost from themselves. But that disarrangement of the coif, that loosening of the virgin hair, divulged all. It broke the barrier between them, it bared each to each in all the nudity of passion. They had passed in an instant from the cold clear air to the very heart of Love's fire, and there they moved, and turned to golden shapes, and lived. Then, they passed out again, and through the flame, into the common day. All this time he held her in his arms, and would not let her go. Her hair trembled down upon his face in delicious rain. She could not speak now, nor struggle. At last he spoke again. " I love you, Marcelle ! — and you V There was only a moment's pause, during which her eyes trembled on his with an excess of passionate light ; then, stirring not in his arms, she closed her eyes, and in answer to him, then and forever, let her lips drop softly down on his! It was better than all words, sweeter than all looks ; it was the very divinest of divine replies, in that language of Love which is the same all over the wide earth. Their lips trembled together iu one long kiss, and all the life-blood of each heart flowed through that warm channel into the other. Then Rohan set her down, and she stood upon her feet, dazzled and trembling; andlo, as if that supreme kiss was not enough, he kissed her hands over and over, and caught her in his arms, and kissed her lips and cheeks again. By this time, however, she had recovered herself ; so she gently released herself from his embrace. "Cease Rohan!" said she softly. "They will see us from the cliff^s." Released by Rohan, she picked up her stockings and sabots, which had fallen on the dry sand, together with those of Rohan and the book ; — and all the contents of her lap. Then she sat down with her back to Rohan, and drew ^n her stockings, and could he have marked her face just 36 THE SHADOW OF THE SWORD, '\ then, he would have seen it illumined with strange compla* cent joy. Then she softly up-bound her hair within its coif. When she rose and turned to him she was quite pale and cool, — and the sweet hair was hid. In these consummate episodes a woman subdues herself to joy sooner than a man. Rohan had put on his stockings and sabots^ but he was still trembling from head to foot. " MarccUe ! ma mie ! you love me? ah, but you give me good news — it is almost too good to bear ! " He took both her hands in his, and drew her forward to him, but this time he kissed her brow. " Did you not know t " she said softly. " I cannot tell ; yes I think so ; but now it seems so new. I was afraid, because I was your cousin, you might not love me, like that. I have known you all these years, and yet it now seems most strange." " It is strange also to me." As she spoke, she had drawn one hand away, and was walking on up the beach. " But you love me M?,rcelle ?" he cried again. " I have loved you always." '• But not as to-day ? " " No, not as to day ; " and she blushed again. " And you will never change ? " " It is the men that change, not we others." " But you will not ? " " I will not." " And you will marry me, Marcelle .? ' " That is as the good God wills." * " So ! " " And the good God's bishop." " We shall have his blessing too." " And my brothers also, and my uncle the corporal." "Theirs also." After that there was a brief silence. To be candid, Ro- han was not quite sure of his uncle, who was a man of strange ideas, differing greatly from his own. The cor- poral might see objections, and if he saw them he would try, being a man of strong measures, to enforce them. Still, the thought of him was only a passing cloud, and Rohan's face soon brightened. It was a clear beautiful day, and every nook and cranny THE MENHIR, VI of the great cliffs was distinct in the sunlight. The sea was like glass, and covered as far as the eye could see with a dim heat, like breath on a mirror. Far up above their heads two ravens were soaring in beautiful circles, and beyond these dark specks the skies were all harebell-blue and white feathery clouds. They soon sought and found a giddy staircase which, en- tering the very heart of the cliff, wound and wound until it reached the summit ; it was partly natural, partly hewn by human hands : here and there it was dangerous, for the loose stone steps had fallen away and left only a slippery slide. This was the Ladder of St. Triffine. It was a hard pull to the summit, and for a great part of the way Rohan's arm was round Marcelle's waist. Again and again they stopped for breath, and saw through airy loop-holes in the rock, the sea breaking far below them with a cream-white edge on the ribbed sands, and the great boul- ders glistening in the sun, and the white gulls hovering on the water's brim. At last they reached the grassy plateau above the cliffs, and there they sat and rested, for Marcelle was very tired. They could have lingered so for ever, since they were so happy. It was enough to breathe, to be near each other, to hold each other's hand. The veriest commonplace became di- vine on their lips just as the scenes around, common to them, became divine in their eyes. Love is easily satisfied. A look, a tone, a perfume will content it for hours. As for speech, it needs none, since it knows the language of all the flowers and stars, and the secret tones of all the birds. When the lovers did talk, walking homeward along the greensward, their talk was practical enough. " I shall not tell my uncle yet," said Marcelle, " nor any of my brothers, not even Alain. It wants thinking over, and then I will tell them all. But there is no hurry." " None," said Rohan. " Perhaps they may guess.?" " How should they if we are wise ? We are cousins, and we shall meet no oftener than before." " That is true." " And when one meets, one need not show one's heart to 411 the world." i 3» rf/£ S//AD01V OF THE HWOKD. ** That is true also. And mother shall not know." " Why should she ? She will know all in good time. We are doing no wrong, and a secret may be kept from one's people without sin." " Surely ! " " All the village would talk if they knew, and your mother perhaps most of all. A girl doe. not like her name carried about like that, unless it is a certain thing." " Marcelle ! is it not certain ? " " Perhaps — yes, I think so — but nevertheless, who can tell?" " But you love me, Marcelle ! " " Ah yes, I love you, Rohan ! " " Then nothing but the good God can keep us asunder, and he is just ! " So speaking they had wandered along the green plateau until they came in sight of a Shape of stone, which like some gigantic huge living form dominated the surrounding prospect for many miles. It was a Menhir, so colossal that one speculated in vain over the means that had been adopt- ed to raise it on its jagged end. It surveyed the sea coast like some dark lighthouse, but no ray ever issued from its awful heart. On its summit was an iron cross, rendered white as snow by the sea birds ; and down its sides also the same white snow dripped and hard- ened, making it hoary and awful as some bearded Druidic god of the priniieval forest. The cross was modern — a sign of capture set there by the new faith. But the Menhir remained unchanged, and gazed at the sea like some calm eternal thing. It had stood there for ages — how many, no man might count ; but few doubted that it was first erected in the dim legendary times when dark forests of oak and pine covered this treeless upland ; when the sea, if indeed there were any sea, and not in its stead a rocky arm reaching far away into the kindred woods of Cornwall — when the sea was so remote that no sound of its breathing shuddered through the brazen forest-gloom ; and when the dark forms of the Druidic procession flitted in its shadow and consecrated its stone, with human blood. All had changed on sea and land ; countless races of nien had winged past like crows L THE MENHIR. 39 into the red sunsets of dead Time, and had returned no more ; mountains of sand had crumi^ied, whirlwinds of leaves had scattered, mighty forests had fallen and had rot- ted root and branch ; and the sea, inexorable and untiring, had crawled and crawled over and under, changing, de- facing, destroying, — washing away the monuments of ages as easily as it obliterates a child's footprints in Ihe s;ind. But the Menhir remained, waiting for that far-aw.iy hour when the sea would creep still closer, and drink it up, as Eternity drinks a drop of dew. Against all the elements, against wind, rain, snow, yea even earthquake, it had stood firm. Only the sea might master it — it, and the cross or» its brow. As the lovers approached, a black hawk, which was seated on the iron cross, flapped its wings and swooped away down over the crags into the abyss beneath. ** I have heard Master Arfoll say," observed Rohan as they approached the Menhir, " that the great stone here looks like some giant of old turned into stone jor shedding human blood. For my part, it reminds me of the wife of Lot." " Who was she ? " asked Marcelle. " The name is not of our parish." It must be confessed that Marcelle was utterly ignorant even of the literature of her own religion. Like most peasants of her own class, she took her knowledge from the lips of the priest, and from the pictures of the Holy Virgin, the child Jesus, and the saints. In many Catholic dis- tricts the least known of all books is the Bible. Rohan did not smile ; his own knowledge of the Book was quite desultory. " She was flying away from a city of wicked people, and God told her not to look back, but women are curious above all, and she broke God's bidding, and for that he turned her into a stone like this, only it was made of salt. That is the story Marcelle ! " " She was a wicked woman, but the punishment was hard." " I think sometimes myself this must once have been alive. Look Marcelle ! Is it not like a monster with a white beard ,>" *» THE SHADOW OF THE SWORD. \\ Ma.celle crossed herself rapidly. *' The good God forbid,*' she said. " Have you not heard luy mother tell of the great stones on the plain, and how they are pc^ritied ghosts of men, and how on the night of Noel they turn into life again and bathe in the river and quench their thirst ? " '• Ah, but that is foolish 1 " Kohan smiled. '' Is it foolish, too, that the stone faces on the church walls are the devils that tried to burst in when the place was built and the first mass was said, but that the saints of God stopped them and turned them into the faces you see ? 1 have heard tnsim U cure says as n\uch." " It may be true," observed Marcelle simply, " but these are things we cannot understand." " You believe ? Master ArfoU says that is foolish also." Marcelle was silent for a minute, then she said quietly — ** Master Arfoll is a strange man. Some say he does not believe in God." " Do not listen to them. He is good." *'l niyself have heard him say wicked things — uncle said they were blasphemous. It was shameful ! He wished the Emperor might lose, that he might be killed ! " The girl's faced Hashed with keen anger, her voice trembled with its indignation. ** Did he say that "i * said Rohan in a low voice. '* He did — I heard him — ah God, the great good Em- peror, that any one alive should speak of him like that ! If my uncle had heard him there would have been blood. It was dreadful. It made my heart go cold." Kohan did not answer directly. He knew that he was on delicate ground. When he did speak, he kept his eyes fixed nervously upon the grass. " Marcelle, there are many others that think like Master Arfoll." Marcelle looked round quickly into the spe^iker's face. It was quite pale now. '' Think what, Rohan ? " " That the Emperor has gone too far, that it would bc better for France if he were dead." "Ab!" jk 77//; M£\\7//A\ ^ "More than that, hotter that he had never been born." The girl's t'aee >;rew tuU of iniiij;kHl anj;er and ani;uish. It is terrible to hear bhisphetny aj^ainst the creed we believe in with all our heart and soul ; most terrible, when that ereeil has all the nuidness of idohirry. She trembled, and her luuuls were clenched convulsively. "And \vu too believe this ? " she cried, in a low sluuUler- iiis; whisper, almost shrinkinj; away friMn his side. Kt>han saw his danj:,.^, antl prevaricated. •' Vou are too quick, Marcellc — 1 did not say that Master Artoll was rijjjht." '• lie is a tlevil ! " cried the ^irl, with a tierceness which showed the soKlier-stock of which she came. ** It is cow- arils and devils like him that havesonaiimes nearly broken the s;ood Kmperor's heart. They love neither France nor the Kmperor. They are hateful, (lod will punish them in the ne.xi world for their unbelief." " Perhaps they are punished already in this," returnet! l\t)han, with a touch of sarcasm which passed quite un- IkciKhI by the indignant ^irl. " ['he great gooil Kmperor," she contii\ued, unconscious of his interruption, "who loves all his people like his chil- ren, who is not proud, who has shaken mv uncle by the hand and called him 'comraile,' who would die for France, who has maile om name glorious over all the world, who is adored by all save his wickeii enemies — God punish them soon! lie is next to (lod and the Virgin and CJoil's son ; he is a saitit ; he is sublime. I pray for him tirst every night before 1 sleep — for hin\ first, and then for my uncle afterwards. If I were a n»an, 1 would tight for him. My mule ga\e him his poor leg — 1 would give him my heart, Hjy soul ! " It came from her in a torrent, in a /^le ; he was the friend of many a cure and many a soldier, but cere- monies and battles were alike his abomination. In brief, he was an outcast : his bed was the earth, his roof heaven \ but the holiness of Nature was upon him, and he crept from place to place like a spirit, sanctifying and sanctified. It was some months since he had been in that neighbor- hood, and his appearance there at that moment was a sur- prise. " Vou are a great stranger, Master Arfoll," said Rohan, after they had taken each other by the hand. " 1 have been far away this time, as far as Brest," was the reply. "Ah, but my journey has been desolate \ I have seen in every village Rachel weeping for her children. There have been great changes, my child. There are more changes coming. Yet I return as you see, and find the great Stone unchanged. Nothing abides but death : that only is eternal." As he spoke, he pointed to the Menhir. " Is there bad news, then, Master Arfoll t " inquired Rohan eagerly. " How should there be good ? Ah, but you are children, and do not understand. Tell me, why should this cold, loveless thing abide " — again he pointed to the Menhir— " when men and cities, and woods and hills and rivers, and the very gods on their thrones, and the great kings on theirs, perish away and leave no sign that they have been } Thou- sands and thousands of years ago there was blood on that stone ; men were sacrificed there, Rohan ; it is the same tale to-day — men are martyred still." He spoke in low sad tones, as if communing with him- self. They perceived now that he held in his hand a book — the old Bible in the Breton tongue, from which he was wont to teach — and that his finger was inserted between the leaves, as if he had just been reading. He now walked slowly on, with Rohan and Marcelle close to his side, until he reached the edge of the glassy plateau ; and lo ! lying just under, on the very edge of the sea, was Kromlaix, with every house and boat mapped out clearly in the shining sun. A MASTER ARFOLL. 45 The light fell on glistening gables, on walls washed blue and white, on roofs of wreck timber or stone tiles, or with thatch weighted with lumps of granite to resist the violence of the wind. The houses crouched on the very edge of the sea. Scattered among them were wild huts made of old fishing boats, upturned and roofed with straw ; and though some of these were used for storing nets, sails, oars And other boating implements and tackle, some served for byres, and many, occupied by the poorer families, sent up their curls of blue smoke through an iron funnel. Below the houses and huts, floating on the edge of the water — — for it was high tide now — was the fishing fleet — a long black line of boats, crouching like cormorants, with their black necks pointed seaward. A village crouching on the very fringe of the wild sea. The sea was around and beneath as well as before it ; for it oozed below it into unseen shingly caves, and crawling inland underground for miles, finally bubbled into the green brackish pools that form the dreary tarns of Ker Ldon. A lonely village, many miles from any other ; a village cradled in tempest, daily rocked by death, and ever gazing with sad eyes seaward, hungry for the passing sail. For miles and miles on either side stretches the great ocean wall, washed and worn into grandest forms of arch- way, dome, and spire, beaten against, storm shaken, under- mined; gnawed, torn, rent, stricken by whirlwind and earthquake, yet still standing, with its menhirs and dol- mens, firm and strong; a mighty line of weed-hung scaurs, precipices, and crags, of monoliths and dark aerial caves, towering above the ever-restless sea : — so high, that to him who walks above on the grassy edges of the crags the sea- gull hovering midway is a speck, and dark seaweed- gatherers on the sands beneath are dwarfed by distance small as crawling mice. For many a league stretches the great wall, and the wayfarer threading its dizzy paths hears underneath his feet the rush and roar of water, and the flapping wings of winds, and the screams of birds from foam splashed gulls. But here, suddenly, the wall, rent apart as if by earthquake, leaves one mighty gap ; and in live gap (which widening inward turns into a grassy vale fed by a dark river) the village crouches, winter and sum- ■\ I 46 THE SHADOW OF THE SWOkD. mer, changeless through the generations, with its eye evet fixed on the changeless sea. " A perilous village, ever doomed and ever saved. For the river, when it reaches the tarns of Ker Ldon, p'unges into the earth, and mingles with the increeping ocean, and so crawls onward unseen ; and the houses are verily rocked upon the waves which moan sullenly beneath them, and the fountains are brackish wherever they burst, and the village trembles and cries like a living thin j; when the vials of heaven are opened and the great sea threatens with some mighty tide. That day, however, while Master Arfoll gazed dowm, all was lightness and peace. In and about the boats children played, while the men lounged in twos and threes, or lay smoking on the sands, or lazily sat in the sunlight mend- ing their nets. The smoke went up straight to heaven, and heaven was calm. All was quite still, but you could hear the village just breathing like a creature at rest. Higher up the valley and partly on a rising slope stood, surrounded with its graveyard, the little red granite church, with its stone-tiled roof and ruddy tower crusted with dark green mosses and a hoary rime of salt blown from the sea. The sunlight struck along the gorge, so that even from the height they could see the rude group of the Calvary close by, the stone head of the Christ drooping m death, the little wells of holy water sparkling on the tombstones, and along the walls of the charnel-house the dark dots where the skulls of the dead, each in its little pigeon-box, were nailed up as a ghastly memento mori. " Could the Stone yonder speak," said Master Arfoll, looking dov/n, "what a tale it could tell ! I will tell you something it could remember. The time when all around us stretched mighty forests, and when a deep river ran down yonder gorge, and when a great City stood on the river's banks full of people who worshipped strange gods." *' I have heard m'sieu le cure, speak of that," said Rohan. " It is very strange ; and they say that if you listen on the eve of Noel you can hear the bells ringing, and the dead people flocking in the streets, far under the ground. Old Mother Ivoiz, who died last Noel, heard it all, she said| before she died." MASTER ARFOLL. 47 » its eye ever saved. For ^on, p'unges J ocean, and eerily rocked ' them, and 'St, and the len the vials eatens with :d doA\Ti, all ats children rees, or lay ight mend- to heaven, you could : rest. lope stood, lite church, Listed with n from the that even up of the drooping ig on the house the its little mori. er Arfoll, I tell you II around liver ran d on the ?e gods." I Rohan. II on the the dead »d. Old he saic^ Master Arfoll smiled sadly. " That is an old wife's tale a superstition — the dead eep.' Marcelle felt herself bound to fut in a word for her raditions. "You do not believe," she said. "Ah, Master Aifoll, ou believe little. Mother Loiz was a good woman, and she would not lie." 'All that is superstition, and superstition is an evil thing," returned Master Arfoll quietly. *' In religion, in politics, in all the affairs of life, my child, superstition is a curse. It makes men fear the gentle dead, and phantoms, and darkness, and it makes them bear wicked rulers and cruel deeds because they see in them an evil fate. It is superstition which holds bad kings on their thrones, and covers the earth with blood, and breaks the heart of all who love their kind. Superstition, look you, may turn an evil man into a god, and make all men worship him and die for him as if he were divine." " That is true," said Rohan, with a rather anxious glance at Marcelle. Then, as if wishing to change the subject, " It is certain, is it not, that the great City once stood there ? " "We know that by many signs," answered the school- master ; " one need not dig very deep to come upon its traces. Oh yes, the City was there, with its houses of marble and temples of gold, and its great baths and theatres, and its statues of the gods ; and a fair sight it must have been, glittering in the sunlight as Kromlaix glitters now. Then the river was a river indeed, and white villas stood upon its banks, and there were flowers on every path r.nd fruit on every tree. Well, even then our Stone stood here, and saw it all. For the City was built like many other of our own with human blood, and its citizens were part of the butchers of the earth, and a sword was at each man's side, and blood was on each man's hand. God was against them, and their stone gods could not save them. They were a race of wolves, these old Romans ! they were the children of Cain I So what did God do at last? — He wiped them away like weeds from the face of the earth ! " 48 THE SHADOW OP TtfE SWORD. The speaker's face was terrible : he seemed delivering a prophecy, not describing an event. " He lifted his finger, and the sea came up and devoured that City, and covered it over with rock and sand. Every man, woman, and child were buried in one g^rave, and there they sleep." " Till the last judgment !" said Marcelle solemnly. "They are judged already," answered Master Arfoll. " Their doom was spoken, and they sleep ; it is only •superstition ' that would wake them in their graves." Marcelle seemed about to speak, but the large word " supersitition " overpowered her. She had only a dim notion of its meaning, but it sounded conclusive. It was Master Arfoll's pet word, and it must be confessed that he used it in a confusing way to express all sorts of ideas and conditions. Rohan said little or nothi"g. In truth, he was slightly astonished at the exceedingly solemn tone of Master Arfoll's discourse , for he knew well the wanderer's gentler and merrier side, and he had seldom seen him look so sad and talk so cheerlessly as to-day. It was clear to his mind that something unusual had happened ; it was clear also, from certain significant looks, that Master Arfoll did not care to express himself fully in the presence of Marcelle. Meantime they had begun descending the slope that led to the village. Marcelle fell a few steps behind, but Rohan kept by the itinerant's side, quietly solicitous to discover the cause of his unusual melancholy. As they went Master Arfoll's eye fell upon Rohan's book, which was still carried in the hand. " What is that you read ? " he asked, reaching out his hand. Rohan delivered up the book. It was a rudely printed translation of Tacitus into French, with the original Latin on the opposite page. It bore a date of the Revolution, and had been printed in some dark den when Paris was trembling with the storm. Master Arfoll looked at the volume, then returned it to its owner. He himself had taught Rohan to see, however dimly, the spirit of such books as that ; but to-day he was bitter. MASTER ARFOLL. 49 "Of what do you read there?" he exclaimed. "Of irhat but blood, and battles, and the groans of people inder the weight of thrones ? Ah, God, it is too terrible ! Lven here, in what men call God's own book " — and he leld up the old Uible — '* it is .the same red story, the same lad cry of martyred men. Yes, (iod's book is bloody, like God's earth." Marcelle shuddered. Such language was veriest blas- )hemy. " Master Arfoll " — she began. His large wild eyes seemed fixed as in a trance ; he did not heed her. " For ever and ever, now as it was in the beginning, this wild beast's hunger to kill and kill, this madman's thirst for war and glory. Who knows but the great Stone yonder holds the spirit of some mighty murderer of old times, some Cain the Emperor, turned to rock, but with consciousness still left to see what glory is, to watch while kingdoms wither and kings waste and dead people are shed down like leaves .'' Well, that is superstition ; but had I my will, I woukl serve each tyrant like that. J would petrify him — I would set him as a sign ! He should see, he should see ! And then there wouUl be no more war, for there would be no more Cains to make it and to drive the people mad!" IVIan.clie only half understood him, but some of his words jarred upon her heart. She did not address Master Arfoll, but with angry Hashing eyes she turned lo Rohan. " It is only cowards that are afraid to tight. Uncle Kwen was a brave soldier and shed his blood for France : witness the beautiful medal of the great Emperor ! The couniiy is a great country, and it is the wars against the wi( keJ that have made it great. It is the bad people that rise against the Eniperor because he is good and so grand; thai inakco whi, and the Emperor is not to blame. " Master Arfoll heard every word, and smiled sadly to himself. He knew the maiden's worship for the F^mperor ; how she had been brought up to think of him next to God : so without attacking her Idol, he said softly, with that benign smile which owed its chief charm to an inexpressi- ble sadness — '* That is what Uncle Ewen says ? Well, Uncle Ewen is a \ so T//E SHADOW OF THE SWORD. brave man. But do you, my liule Marcelle, want to know what war is ? Look, then ! " He pointed inland, and the girl followed the direction of his hand. Far away, towering solitary- among the winding hedgerows of the vale, was another deserted Calvary, — so broken and so mutilated that only an eye familiar with it could have told what it was. One arm and a portion of the body still remained, but the head and the other limbs had disap- peared, and what remained was stained almost to blackness by rain and foul verdure. Beneath, wild underwood and great weeds climbed, — darnel and nettle made their home there, and there in its season the foxglove flowered. Yet broken and ruined as the figure was, it dominated the inland prospect and lent to the wild landscape around il a wilder desolation. " That is war ! " said Master Arfoll solemnly. " Our roads are strewn with the stone heads of angels and the marble limbs of shapes like that. The gospel of love is lost ; the figure of love is effaced. The world is a battle- field, France is a charnel-house, and — well, you were right, my child ! — the Emperor is a god ! " Marcelle made no reply j her heart was full of indig- nation, but she felt herself no match for her opponent. "That is treason," she thought to herself ; " if the Emperor heard him talk like that he would be killed." Then she looked again sidelong into the worn wild face and the great sorrowful eyes, and her anger passed away in pity. " What they say is right," she thought, " it is not his fault — he has grown foolish with much sorrow ; his lonely life has made him almost mad. Poor Master Arfoll ! " By this time they had reached the outskirts of the village. Their way was a footpath winding hither and thither until it passed close under the walls of the old church. Here Marcelle, with a quiet squeeze of Rohan's hand and a quick glance at Master Arfoll, slipped away and disap- peared. The itinerant walked on without noticing her absence ; his heart was too full, his brain too busy, and he held his eyes fixed upon the ground. Rohan disturbed him abruptly from his reverie. *' RACHEL, MOURNhVG FOR HER CHILDRENr 51 " Master Arfoll — tell ine — speak — Marcelle is no longer htjre — what has happened ? Something dreadful, I fear ! " Master Arfoll looked up wearily. " Be not impatient to hear bad news — it will come soon enough, my son. There is a thunderstorm brewing, that is all." " A thunderstorm "i " " That : and earthquake, and desolation. The snows of Russia are not tomb enough ; we shall have the waters of the Rhine as well,'* he added, solemnly. " We are on the eve of a new conscription." Rohan trembled, for he knew what that meant. "And this time there are to be no exemptions except p^res defamille ! Prepare yourself, Rohan ! This time even only sons will take their chance ! " Rohan's heart sank within him, his blood ran cold. A new and nameless horror took possession of him. Looking up, he saw in the distance the broken Calvary, like a sign of misery and desolation. He was about to speak, when the church-gate swung open, and forth from the churchyard stepped monsieur le cure, with his breviary tucked under his arm, and a short pipe, black as ebony with tobacco stains, held between his lips. CHAPTER VI. " RACHEL, MOURNING FOR HER CHILDREN." HE walked with a waddle, his shoulders thrown back, his chest thrust forward, and his portly stomach shaking at every step. His legs were short and bandy, his arms long and powerful, his body long and loose and well covered with fat. There was nothing of the soft sybarite, however, about Father Rolland. He could run, leap, and wrestle with any man in Kromlaix. His face was colored almost to a mahogany hue by con- stant exposure to sun and wind, and above his dark brown I i 52 THE SHADOW OF THE SWORD. cheeks glittered two eyes as black as coals, as comic as the eyes of any ij^nis fat mis. His mouth, from which he ever and anon drew his pipe to emit a cloud of smoke, was firm yet merry. As he came out of the churchyard, he mi«;hl have been taken for some comical bird unused to walking : for he waddled like any crow, and the skirts of his threadbare black cassock were drawn up clumsily, and his little legs in their worn black stockings appeared peeping out behind. Marcel le's uncle the Corporal, who exercised the old soldier's prerogative of inventing nicknames, and who had a keen eye for detecting odd resemblances, was in the habit of calling the birds who flocked to his window in winter time "the little cures of God," and the robins in particular " the little cures aux rabat roitgc.'^ And truth to say, Father Holland possessed in a large degree two strong characteristics of the robin redbreast — extreme patience and contentedness under difficulties, and an innnense amount of good-natured pugnacity. His life was a hard one, and had been a perilous one. He rose with the lark, although (to be quite honest) he not unfrequently went to bed 'vith it ! He lived in a dismal hut, where an Knglishm vould scarcely keep his cow ; he was liable to be cai out at any hour and in any weather to exercise his holy vocation ; his food was miser- able ; and to crown all his miseries, the " drink " of the county was vile ! Now Father Holland was a convivial man, a gourmet in good liquors, a man. indeed, who needed good liquor to loosen his tongue and complete his good humor. He was by nature and instinct and habit i\goss//>. If the earth had been deserted, and himself left all alone with the enemy of mankind, he would have gossiped and drunk with " Master Robert " for company. And in good sooth, he bore no malice in his heart to any creature — not even " Master Robert," or Bonaparte. He had not been long c//re in Kromlaix ; his predeces- sor, whom Rohan (iwenfern had worried so tremendously, having only been removed some few years. But he was a native of the district, and knew every menhir, every village root, and every fireside for miles along the coast. He still ;is comic as the which he ever of smoke, was iihl have been ilixinj; : for he lis threadbare his little legs iig out behind. :ised the old , and who had s, was in the lis window in the robins in >ed in a large n redbreast — irticulties, and ty. perilous one. lonest) he not 1 in a dismal eep his cow ; ' and in any ikI was miser- rink " of the a gourmet in od liquor to or. He was he earth had h the enemy drunk with od sooth, he e — not even "AV/rV/A/., .l/('rA'.\7.\(/ I-OR HEK Clll LDKEXr 53 spoke his nalivf Hii'/onec l(» perfection, and in using the politer l-'rem h lie w;is guilty, especinlly when excited, of a strong f^ntois — pronouncing (for ».'\;inipli') f^ocm- as if it meant an apple {pomnw), coiitoiu, hta\\ and c/icvaux, jvak. In recording his conversation in an Knglish translation it would 1)0 (juite impossible to follow this peculiarity, but the reader must imagine a thick shower of gulterals, very pecu- liar and very dilHcult for any but Hrelons to comprehend. Father Kolland had passed with a sound skin through all the storms of the revt 'ution and the civil war. He was a man of no "ideas," atid he performed his priestly func- tions — such as marrying and giving in m;irriage, shriving the sick and dying — automatically enough, with a certain eye to his monetary dues. The great figures of contem- porary history passed like contending Titans above his head ; he saw them from afar, and discussed them with unconcern. He was not the stuff of which martyrs are made. His sole business was with his Hock, to whom he ever commended patience, good gossip, and contented drinking. IV) sum up, his intellectual grasp was small, but his scholastic attainments weri- fair. He was a good Latinist, an excellent grammarian, ind he counted among his stock of quotations some half-dozen lines of Homer, among others the famous Af/iv/ (5t' K}.nYyii yf:i>ET' apyvpknio fiiolo, and the still more famous and commonplace Bf/ (VaKtuv Tvapa diva no^v(j>?.oifTj3o/o daAnaatjq^ both of which he hurled at the heads of new acquaintances in a thick patois with all the charm of novelty. Conceive, then, a jovial peasant taken from the soil and supplied with a little learning, and you have Father Rolland. As he sallied from the church gate he held out both his brown hands to Master Arfoll, and nodded kindly to Rohan. He had a greeting for everybody, had Father Rolland— Legitimist, Bonapartist or Republican ; and Master Ar- foll's love of the " rights of man " did not daunt him. The only recusant and hopeless offender was the parishioner who had not paid his dues, or who attempted in any way to diminish the priest's perquisites I Yet Father Rolland li«F I: > 54 T//E SHADOIV OF THE SWORD. was not mean. He demanclod his rights on princi|3le, and then when they were paid, whether in the shajie of money or grain, he rattled them in his pocket or stored them in his yard, and incontinently chuckled over them. And then, perhaps the very next day, he turned them into bread or wine or brandy, and shared them among the sick and hungry at his door. " Welcome, Master Arfoll ! " cried the cure. " Vou are a stranger to Krcmlaix ; 'tis months since we had a glass or a pipe together. Where have you been ? What have you been doing ? Welcome again ! " As he spoke his brown face beamed with pleasu'o. Master Arfoll returned the greeting gently. 'I'hcy walked on a few paces side by side. Presently the priest, linking his arm familiarly through that of Master Arfoll, while Rohan strode beside ihem like the giant that he was. began to ilem md his news. The itinerant shook his head samv. " News, father," he exclaimed. " Ah, there is none — only, of course, the old bad news. Red blood on the bat- tlelield, and black crape in all the lands arouml. I do not think that it can last long — the patience of the world is exhausted." " Humph ! " muttered the cure, with his fat little linger in the bowl of his pipe. "The world seems topsyturvy, honest brother — it is standing on its heail — it is mad." It seemed odd to the little cure, more odd than terrible. He had seen so much of terror and death that he had uo particular horror for them, or for war. In his heart he loved, as in duty bound, the White better than the Blue, but lie would never have instigated any man to die f(>r the White. The respectable sort of thing, he believed, was to die, after "anointing," in one's bed at home. He never- theless believed battles, large and small, to be the expres- sion of an irrepressible element in human nature, and he was not politician enough to blame any one in particular for encouraging bloodshed. Master Arfoll continued, in a low voice — " I will tell you something, a small thing, but a sign of the end. I was stopping in a village far away east, and I entered the house of a woman who had lost both her sons '^H AC HE I., MOlfHNlNG FOR HER <:HILDRENr 55 in the last campaign, and but a week before buried her husband — " "God rest his soul!" interrupted the <7//r, making the rij^n ot the cross. " She was r.itting on a form, staring into the fire, and her eyes seemed fixed and mad. \ touched her on the shoulder, and she did not stir ; I spoke, and she did not hear. By slow dejjrees [ roused her from her trance. She rose mechanically, my father, and opened her press and set before me food and drink. Then she sat down again be- fore the fire, and I saw that her hair was white, though she was not old. When I had eaten and drunken — for I was very hungry — I spoke to her again, and this time she lis- tened, and I told her I was a schoolmaster and was seeking for pupils. 'What can you teach, master?' she asked .sudilenly. turning her eyes on mine. I answered softly, telling her I could teach her children to write and read. She laughed, father — ah, it was a terrible laugh. 'Go, then and seek them,' she cried, pointing to the door, 'and when you have found them in their graves among the snow, come back and teach w^'to curse the hand that killed them and buried them there ! Teach mc to curse the Em- peror, teach me a curse that will drag him down ! Teach me how to kill him, and curse him down into hell-fire ! O my poor boys, my poor boys ! — Andr^ ! Jacques I ' She shrieked, and cast herself down on her knees, and bit her hair between her teeth and spat it out. My heart was sick. 1 could not help her, and 1 crept away." The atfi' nodded his head thrice musingly. He was well used to such grief, and it moved him little. Nevertheless, in the true spirit of a good gossip, he condoled. "It is terrible — it is terrible, indeed. Master Arfoll ! " "That is but one house out of thousands upon thousands. The curses go up to God. Shall they not be heard t " " Softly, Master Arfoll," murmured the cure, with an anxious glance around, "some one may hear you." " 1 care not," cried the schoolmaster. " The Emperor may be a great tactician, a great engineer, a great soldier, but he is not a great man, for he has no heart. Mark me, my father, this is the beginning of the end. It is your Christ against the Emperor, and Christ will win." s^> rirr. s/mpou- oi- rrn-: sworh. The little cure made no reiilv ; such l.!ii2[ii:ioe war) terribly serious, and the times were dangerous. He com- promised, " After all, if the Emperor could but give us peace ! " " Could ? And could he not ^ " asked the itinerant sud- denly. "All the world is against our France," answered the curk. " All humanity is against our Emperor," retorted Master ArfoU. " But the Emperor fights for I'rance, Master Arfoil. Without him, the English, and the Russians, and the GtMinans would eat us up alive." He added, seeing Master Arfoll's half amazed, half indignant look, " Well, I am no politician ! " " You have eyes and you can see, my father. It is well to stay at Kromlaix by the sea, far r.v.'ay from the march of men, but were you to wander out on the broad highway, you would know. It is all a living sacrifice to feed the horrible vanity of one Man. How should//^ give us peace .^ His trade is war. He declares now that it is England that will not allow him to make peace ; he declares that it is for peace he fights. He lies, he lies !"' " Strong language. Master Arfoil ! " " When last he rode through the streets of Paris the common people clamored to him for peace, peace at any cost. They might as well have prayed to the great Stone up yonder ; he passed on silent like a marble man, and did not hear them. Ah, God ! the ])eople are weary, father ! they would rest ! " " That is true," exclaimed Rohan in a decided tone. The cur^ glanced round at Rohan. " Master Arfoil has taught you to think with him in many things, and Master Arfoil is a good man whether he is right or wrong. But beware, my son, of hot speeches here in Kromlaix. What Master Arfoil might say boldly, might cost you your liberty, and perhaps your life." He did not explain, what was a fact, that Master Arfoil was by a large majority of people considered simply insane, and in no way responsible for the strange things he said and did. Even Bonapartist ofiicials heard his diatribes 17). I.!ti,;vii;ioo xv.-i;; ous. He com- ; us peace ! " e itinenint sud- answered the •etorted Master Master Arfoll. ians, and the , seeing Master Well, r am no ler. It is well 1 the march of oad hicrhwav, J to feed the ?ive us peace ? 1 England that Js that it is for of Paris the peace at any le great Stone ble man, and e are weary, ided tone. with him in n whether he hot speeches t say boldly, life." faster Arfoll mply insane, ings he said lis diatribes »RACHr.L, MOUMNING FOR HER CIffLnKH.\:' 57 with a smile, and touched their foreheads significantly when lie had imished. This is not the only instance on record of the one sane man in a district being mistaken for a Fool. " I will remember," answered Rohan, half shrugging his great shoulders. " The people are right, Father Rolland ! " resumed the school-master. " The wealth and pride of France is being blown away in cannon smoke. The loss of mere money would be little, had we only strong hands to work for more. But where are those same strong hands .'' The conscription has lopped them ofif with its bloody knife, and left us only the useless stumps." " Not quite all," answered the priest, smiling ; ** for ex- ample, Rohan here has a pair of strong fists left, and there are many bold lads left beside." Master Arfoll glanced strangely at Rohan, and then said in a voice more tremulous than before — " The conscription is famished still — the monster cries for more human flesh. Out there " — and he pointed with his lean hand inland, as at some scene afar off — *' out there the land is a desert, ay, darker than the desert of La Bruyere, — for the men who should till it are lying under the growing grain of strange countries, or in the deep sea, or under the snow. I tell you, father, France is desolate ; she has nursed a serpent in her bosom : it has stung her children one by one, and it is now stinging her. O how deaf yon must be out here at Kromlaix Ijy the sea, not to hear her crying — not to hear the new Rachel, wailing and weeping for her children ! " Master Arfoll had mounted his hobby, and there is no saying how far he would have ridden in his denunciation of Avatarism ; but suddenly monsieur Ic cure put his plump hand on his arm and whispered — " Hush ! " Master Arfoll paused suddenly, not too soon, for as he ceased a clear sharp voice suddenly demanded — " Who is this new Rachel, Master Arfoll ? " t^ I [ 58 THE SHADOW OF THE SWORD. T CHAPTER VII. CORPORAL DERVAL DEFENDS HIS COLORS. HF. speaker sat on a form in the open sunshine, at his own door, in the main street of the village. He wore horn spectacles, tied to his ears by pieces of string, and he held in his hand a paper which he had just been reading. His face was red as a berry, his hair, which was cropped close, reminded one of a stubble white with hoar-frost. His dress, half rustic half military, consisted of a loose open corporal's jacket from which the epaulets and adorn- ments had long been worn away, loose trousers reaching to the knee, and beneath the knee, one light red stocking and an old slipper, for he had only one natural leg, the place of the other being supplied by a sturdy implement of wood. " Good morning, Uncle Ewen ! " said the cure, anxious to divert attention from Master Arfoll's last remarks, while Rohan gave good-morrow too, and shook his uncle's hand. For it was none other than Corporal Derval who sat there, the hero of many battles, the liege worshipper of Bonaparte, and uncle to both Rohan and Marcelle. The Corporal, who well knew and detested Master Arfoll's sentiments, was not to be baffled ; so after greet- ing the school-master and shaking his hand, he repeated his question — " But what about this new Rachel, Master Arfoll ?" he said, taking off his spectacles. The wondering scholar thus challenged point blank, showed the courage of his opinions, and replied — " I spoke of these latter days of France, Corporal Derval ; another conscription, it appears, is talked of, and it seems to me the best blood of the country is drained away already. I compared our poor country to Rachel, who grieved for the children who had gone from her, and would not be comforted. That was all." w. ;OLORS. unshlne, at his ige. He wore strino^, and lie been readin/>'A t'>e air of battle lie plan of some ' I ;?lories like his ;<'ouIcl not hasten r>\y far off he was ice was that of a vvas a rehgioiis 'ism had spared f' if not in the le saint in the was rather an ?e la\' far away t had ever, h"ke the Legitimist '>iit the chief !«n rtght it out, ►»ld not be ; so n their hearts, tist enthusiasts the inhabitants ays of the f)Id sage of words second time. fhatr' 5 of his nose, •ed his snuff- "m it a huge s with a snort first rush c^ igh his voice ir reasons I " ly Corporal," -women and gathered up CORPORAL DERVAL DEFENDS HIS COLORS. 6i fith the bloody sheaves of war, and in a little time France ill fall, for there will scarce be left one hand to lift a iword." Master Arfoll spoke of course hyperbolically ; but as if directly to falsify his assertion, there suddenly came forth, from the Corporal's own door, four gigantic youths, in all the bloom of health and strength, whom Rolian greeted with a smile and nod. These were the Corporal's 4)ur nephews — Hoel, Gildas, Jannick, and Alain. The Corporal stood aghast, like one who hears blasphemy tjainst his God; an oath unmentionable to ears polite as hissing between his teeth, half heard, but incompre- ible. It was time for the little cure to interfere. He plucked the old soldier by the sleeve, and whis- ered — '* Cahn yourself, Corporal ! Remember it is only Master rfoll ! " The words were as oil on water, and the Corporal's atures relaxed somewhat. Slowly his stern frown grew to a grim contemptuous smile as he surveyed his an- gonist. His look was supreme, Napoleonic. He sur- eyed the itinerant as lionapirle would have surveyed one f those lillipulians of the period — a king. Nevertheless heresy had been uttered, and for the benefit if iJiose who had overheard the abomination, it must be on filled. i'he Corporal assumed a military attitude. " Attention ! " he cried ; as if addressing a file of raw ecruits. All stai ted. The youths, who had been leaning sheep- shly in various attitudes against the wall, stood up erect. "'Attention ! — Hoel! " " Here," answered the youth of that name. "Gildas!" " Here ! " "Alain!" " Here-! " " lannick ! " '• Here ! " All stood in a row, like soldiers listening to their superior. THE SHADOW OF THE SWORD. " Listen, all of you, for it concerns you all. Attention, while I answer Master Arfoll." He turned to the schoolmaster. All his wrath had de- parted, and his voice was quite clear and calm. " Master Arfoll, I will not say you blaspheme, for you have had sorrows enough to turn any man's brain, how- ever wise ; and you are a scholar and you travel from vi'lage to village,and from farm to farm, all over the country. Like that a man learns much, but you have something yet to learn, /have read my history as well as you. PVance is not fallen, she is not like that Rachel of whom you speak ! She is great ! — she is sublime ! like the mother of the Maccabees! " The comparison was a happy one. It was at once patriotic and religious. The little curk kindled, and looked at Master Arfoll as if to say, " There ! answer that if you can, good friend ! " The youths smiled at each other. They did not understand the allusion, but it was delivered like a musket-ball, and seemed decisive. Rohan smiled too, but shrugged his shoulders with secret contempt. The Corporal looked for a rejoinder, but none came. Master Arfoll stood silent, a little pale, but with a pitying light on his sad and beautiful face that spoke far more than words ; and his eyes rested on the Corporal with that sad affection good men feel for antagonists hopelessly deluded. The veteran threw out his chest still more, displaying more prominently the medal of the Legion of Honor : and again, this time with a proud victorious smile, gave the word of command : " Attention ! Hoel, Gildas, Alain, and Jannick ! " The youths became rigid ; but Jannick, who was the youthful humorist of the family, winked at Rohan, as much as to say " Uncle is going ahead ! " " These are my boys ; they were my poor brother's and they are mine ; you see them ; they are mine, for my brother gave them into my keeping, and I have been a father to them, and to their sister Marcelle, and to the mother who sits in yonder by my fire. I call them my sons, they are all I have in the world ; I love them, L They were little children when I took them, and who has all. Attention, is wrath had de- alin. spheme, for you n's brain, how- ^ou travel from )ver the country. e something yet IS you. France horn you speak ! mother of the [t was at once lied, and looked >wer that if you ach other. They delivered like a m smiled too, empt. ut none came. t with a pitying )oke far more poral with that sts hopelessly )re, displaying ' Honor : and nile, gave the inick ! " who was the ohan, as much brother's and nine, for my have been a ;, and to the all them my ove them, I. and who has CORPORAL DERVAL DEFENDS HTS COLORS. dj^ d them since that hour ? I ! Yes, but whose hand has ven me the bread I gave to them ? The Emperor, the eat Emperor! God guard him, and give him victory ver his enemies ! " As he spoke, his voice now trembling with emotion, he aised his hat reverently and stood bareheaded, the bright ight burning on his bronzed face and snow-white hair, "uch faith was as touching as it was contagious. Even a hoiian might have been tempted to cry like these four /ouths with their voices of iliunder : " Vive rEmperctir !'' I'he veteran replaced his hat upon his head, and held up iJiis hand for silence. I " The ' little Corporal ' forgets none of his children — no, ot one! He has remembered these fatherless ones, he as fed them, and he has enabled them to become what ou see ! They have been taught to pray for him nightly, nd their prayers have mingled with the prayers of millions, nd these pravers have brought victory to him over the wide arth." Master Arfoll, though gentle as a lamb, was human. n opportunity occurred of answering the Corporal's fcr- er furious fire, and he found it irresistible. While the eteran paused for breath, the schoolmaster said, in a low oice, not raising his eyes from the ground — "And what of their three brothers. Corporal Derval ? " The blow struck home, and for a moment the blood was riven from the soldier's ch^iek. For far away in foreign limes, slept, with no stone to mark their graves, three ther brothers of the same house, who had fallen at differ- nt times — two among the awful snows of Moscow. The veteran trer^bled, and his eye glanced for a moment neasily into the house, where he knew sat his brother's idow, the mother of those dead and these living. Then e answered sternlv — ' Their souls are with God, and their bodies are at rest, nd they dieo gloriously as brave men should die. Is it etter to fall like that, or to breathe the last breath in a ward's bed.? to die like a soldier, or to pass away like n old woman or a child ? They did their duty, Master rfoU — may we all do ours as well I '* " Amen ! " said the little curk. , ■ •■ j : ill i 1 64 THE SHADOW OF THE SWORD. " And now," continued the Bonapartist, " if the little Corporal away yonder should hold up his snuff-box " — he suited the action to the wora — " and cry ' Corporal Ewen Derval, I have need of more of your boys,' they would smile — Hoel, Gildas, Alain, and Jannick — they would smile all four! — and I, the old grenadier of Cismone, Areola, and Austerlitz, I, do you see, with my rheumatism and my wooden leg, would march to join him — rat-a-tat, rat a-tat — (|uick march ! — at the head of my Maccabees ! " Strictly speaking, the enthusiasm of the Maccabees seemed greatly reduced by the sepulchral turn the conver sation had taken. Hoel, Gildas, and Alain did not this time cry " Vive rEmpereur," and the irreverent Jannick put his tongue in his cheek. Another voice, however, this time chimed in enthusi- astically — " And /would march with you, Uncle Ewen! " It was Marcelle. Standing on the threshold of the cottage, with her eye flashing and her cheek burning, she looked a Maccabee indeed. Uncle Ewen turned quickly, and survexed her with pride. ''Thou shouldst have been a man-child too?" he ex- claimed, snuffing vigorously to conceal the emo.on that filled his throat and dimmed his eyes ; " but there, go to ? " he added, with a grim laugh, " thou shalt be the vivaiuiihy of the Maccabees and watch the bivouac fire. But, man Dit'u, 1 forget, chonan that 1 am. 1 am keeping \our reverence at the door — will you not walk in. Father K.0I- land?" So saying, he stalked, clip-clop, to the door, and stood there bowing with a politeness uncommon anion"; his class, but ( haracteristic of the Breton peasant. The little ciirv followed, with a friendly nod to Master Arfoll, and the two disappeared into the cottage. Master Arfoll stood with Rohan in the middle of the road ; then, after hesitating a moment, he said hurriedly, holding out his hand — *' Meet me to-night at thy mother's — I nmst go now! " I'Z). THE CORPORALS FIRESIDE. 6s , "if the little snuflf-box " — he Corporal Ewen ^'s,' Ihey would hey would smile smone, Areola, matism and my t-a-tat, rat a-tal bees ! " :he Maccabees urn the conver- in did not this verent Jannick led in enthusi- ven!" e, with her eye id a Maccabee e\ed her with too ? " he ex- ; emo.on thai there, go to ? " the vivaniiihi tire. But, mon kec'jjijig' your n. Father Rol- ooi, and stood ioiil; his class, 'he little ciirv 1, and the two middle of the >aid hurrifdlv, .si go now ! " Without awaiting any reply, Master Arfoll retieated ipidly down the narrow street leading to the sea, leaviri|; Lohati to the society of his cousii s — the gigantic " '^~'-- ibees." Mac- CHAPTER Vlir. THE corporal's FIRESIDE. LL that day Marcelle was troubled with the stirring of ;i new sweet trouble ; she moved to and fro like one w (h tani. to a music unheard by any ears save hers ; her plor went and came, her hand trembled as she cut the lac k bie.ul and made the ^a/etk's : she was low-spoken and )\ ii)<,f with her brothers, and she had strange impulses to lur inollier and the Corporal. Her mother looked at her yci \ cuiiously, for she had loved herself, and she suspected Hiat it all meant. Silent l(t\e is sweet, but love first spoken is sweeter, for blinds with it calm romance and love's first kiss. Up to lai fl IV Rohan had never spoken what was moving in the arts ot both ; up to that hour he had never done more laii LIn her on both cheeks, in the ordinary Breton islii tn. Now, their lips had met, their silent plight was iale-l. Tin meeting with Master Arfoll had somewhat depressed ;r. bill the cloud soon passed away. She did not in her Mil loubt for a moment that Rohan was a good Christian both senses, believing first in God and secondly in the rt II Kniperor. Maicelles religious education had been twofold. lb I mother, a simple peasant woman, still retained in M n. ail all that passion for Church formulas, old super- |nions, and sacerdotal legends, which the Revolution had Kleavored, most unsuccessfully, to root out of France toicc. She was a faithful attendant at every ceremony the little chapel, she fell on her knees and prayed when- f^er she passed a Calvary, and she believed simply in all 5 il THE SHADOW OF THE SWORD. the miracles of all the Saints. She had escaped the worship ot uer class for Kings, for the cures and vicaires of Kroin- laiK had never been enthusiastic Legitimists ; but she detested the Revolution. She had been a fruitful woman. Her husband, the Corporal's elder brother, was a fisherman, who had per- ished in the great gale of 1796, and the Corporal, then a private soldier coming home on leave from Italy, had found her a widow with a large circle of helpless children — from the eldest, Andrd, now fast asleep in Russian snow, down to the youngest born Marcelle ; not to speak of Jannick. who was then stirring unborn beneath her widowed heart. Then and there, with his brother's children cliniiin^ round neck and knees, and his brother's widow weepinj,' on his shoulder, Ewen Derval had sworn a great oath that that he would never marry, but be a father to the father less, a brother to the brother's wife. And he had kept his word. Fighting through many a long campaign, serving his Master with the strength of idolatry, he had carefully avoided all temptation to waste his hard-earned rewards ; he had sometimes, indeed, been deemed a mean and a hard man in consequence ; but the little family had never wanted, and the brave man nourished them, as it were, with his very blood. At last, at Austerlitz, he fell and lost a leg ; his service was ended, and from that hour forth he was no use to his Master. His discharge pay was not illiberal, and he could still do his duty to his "children," as he ever calleJ them, though he could no longer follow the great Shadow that was sweeping across the world. Worn, weather-beaten, wooden-legged, covered with med als, his heart full of gratitude and his pocket full of presents for the children, he returned to Krc nlaix by the sea, and there, a hero, an oracle, and quite a family man despite h's bachelorhood, he had resided peacefully ever after. Good Corporal Ewen had preserved, throughout all the dissipations and disbeliefs of a military life, a purity of character and a simple piety of soul which were not ordinary characteristics of Napoleon's veterans. He had a respect for women quite removed from the rude freedoms KD. ped the worship caires of Krom- iiiists ; but she r husband, the 1, who had per- Zlorporal, then a Italy, had found chihlren — from iian snow, down eak of J an nick, widowed heart, lildren cliniiin^ widow weeping' , great oath that ;r to the father he had kept his ign, serving his le had carefully earned rewards; a mean and r nigh lifty years, and I have never seen the Gate yet save oncc from thy father's boat, when he took me out with him iti the wicked days to hear the blessed mass at sea. By this time the housewife had risen and settled down again by her wheel, where she began to spin busily. She was one of those thrifty energetic women to whom idleness is death, and who fill the houses they inhabit with a busy hum of work, sometimes quite beelike in its misdirected waste of energy. " I will tell you," said Jannick, rising and stretching his limbs, " of something we saw this day when coming home from the fishing. We were drifting with the flood close by the great Gate, as near as a boat may sail, when Hoel Grallon, who has eyes like a hawk, cried out ' Look,' and we looked, all, in at the Gate. We were too far to make out faces, but what we saw was this : a man like a fishi r- man wading up to his waist, and carrying a maiden in his long arms. The tide was high, and he carried her round from the Gate, and sat her down upon the shore. Turn thy face this way, Marcelle ! Then the man kissed the maid, and the maid the man, and after that we slipped round the point and saw no more." The twins laughed, and all looked at Marcelle. She was quite calm now, and shrugged her pretty shoulders with a charming air of indifference. Jannick, irritated by her compe silent, but she could not bear the loving questioning ^es that followed her, with fond maternal solicitude and ixietv. all about the house. ^ i 72 THE SliADOW Oh' THE SWORD. The mother was not altof^^ether unpreiKirecl for the re- ception of the truth. It certainly ^ave her little pleasure ; for Rohan Gwenfern was not the husband she woulrl have chosen for her only daughter. He was too eccentric and too reckless, too careless an attendant at mass and too diligent a pupil of that terrible Master Arfoll, to suit her old-fashioned taste ; and often indeed, in her secret heart, she pitied her half-sister for having such a son. His phys- ical beauty and his affectionate disposition were both well known to her, and she loved him well ; but she viewed his vagaries with alarm, and feared that they might lead him to no good. It Would be absurd to affirm that Marcelle's confession took h-^r altogether by surprise. She had for some time feared and suspected that Rohan, on his part, regarded her daughter with more than cousinly affection, and num- berless secret presents from his hands — such as brooches, embroidered belts, silk neckerchiefs, and other simple fineries purchased at X\\q pardons — had only confirmed her suspicions. As happens in most such cases, she had temporized, never quite believing that there was any danger of a love affair \ and lo ! here lay Cupid full-grown before her eyes, sleeping under the snowy kerchief that covered her daughter's brea^t. A mother and daughter on truly affectionate terms soo. understand each other, and these two at once came to a» arrangement. It was promised, on the mother's side, tha no notice should be taken at present of what had occurred that all the family, and the Corporal in particular, should remain in complete ignorance of Rohan's sentimen-ts, that Rohan should be received in the house on the old footing, as in a measure one of the family, and finally, that not one word should be breathed as yet to Rohan's mother. It was conceded, on Marcelle's side, that no final answer amounting to secret betrothal was to be given to Rohan, that Marcelle should not again wander in his company so far from home, or in any way do more to awaken suspicion or cause scandal, that she should lead Rohan to understand that the confession made in a moment of passion was in no way binding, and that all would depend on the good or bad opinion of the widow and the Corporal. ST. UAPOLEON. n ises, she had that covered Naturally enough the widow was a little shocked. Con- ventional propriety had been so far violated that two young [people had taken the initiative, instead of leaving them- fselves to be disposed ot by their elders in the usual fashion, iProperly speaking, and according to strict etiquette, Rohan ishould have sent a deputy to the Corporal, explaining his fwishes formally and stating his prospects > it would then Ihave been the Corpoial's task to consult the widow, and if [the widow was willing, simply to explain, with no particular lattention to the girl's wishes in the matter, that Rohan fGwenfern was to be her future husband. To have refused an excellent match, arranged for her her superiors, even if the match was with one whose face she had never seen, would have darkly tarnished the fame of any Kromlaix maiden, and her prospects of mar- |r) ing would thencefordi have been almost as uncertain as [those of a girl who had actually committed a breach of :h:istity. The lovers in the present instance being cousins, who ^haci from childhood upward been accustomed to each other's society, there was little or no fear of scandal or misunder- taiuliiig. Marcelle had only to be careful, and Rohan iiscicet ! At the same time the widow prayed in her secret heart that Marcelle might in time be cured of her fancy for Rohan 'iwenfern. CHAPTER IX. ST. NAPOLEON. HAD the Widow Derval beheld her daughter's face as , she stood undressing in the upper chamber that night, [she would have felt that her prayers were almost useless 1 [ The little chamber contained two small beds in the wall, leach white as snow, as is the linen of the poorest Breton cottage. In one of these the widow, fatigued with a long [day's work, slept soundly and peacefully, while Marcelle, H 'J HE SHADOW Ot THE SWORD. ». n 1 . ! : i I, j)reparin£j for rest, lingered over her toilette with a rapture which she had never known before. The floor Mas black and bare, the walls were black too, and round the beds themselves were hooks, whereon huii;' iTiany articles of female attire. The chief furniture in thi; room was a table and a form ; on the table stood, burniiij; low, an old fashioned oil lamp. In a press in the corner stood a great oaken chest, whence came the smell of clenn linen perfumed with little bags of dried rose leaves ; and not far from the chest, tixed in a frame against the wall, was a rude mirror of common glass. Marcelle had divested herself of her outer skirt, \\tx sabot i and stockings, her bodice, and her white coif ; and now, in deshabille as pure as samite, she stood loosening her beau tiful long hair, and caressing it with her two pretty hands. As the dark tresses rained over her shoulders, she looked at her image in the glass, and blushed to see it lookin;^ back at her with eyes so sparkling and cheeks so bright. 'Then winding one long tress around her forefinger, and con- templating herself serenely, she went over again in her mind the scene of the morning. She felt the strong em- bracing arms, she heard the softly murmuring sea, sht; was conscious again of loving kisses on the lips. Then, thoroughly pleased with herself, she smiled ; and the image answered her from the darkness of the wall. She bent closer, as if to view herself the better. The image stooped and brightened. Then, carried away by an impulse she could not resist, she put her red lips against the glass, close against the lips of the image, in one long, soft, caressing, loving kiss. .A kiss for herself, with whom she was thoroughly well pleased ! She unloosened her hair, and touched it lovingly. It was such a treasure as few Breton maids possessed ; not a lock of it had ever been sold to the travelling barber, and she preserved it in her coif as a precious though secret possession. Not " Gold-hair," whom our great poet of passion has so sweetly sung, loved her bright growth better. Marcelle, too, would have prayed to have it with her in her grave. What is more divine on this low earth than Beauty lingering over herself, not in vanity, not in folly or pride, sr. A'APOLKO.y. n tf with a rapture sessecl ; not a Ibiit with that still joy in its own cleliciousness which a sweet [flower feels, with that calm rapture of its own light which 'lives in the being of a star ? From the soft caressing fingers [to the pink and prettily formed feet, Marcelle was fair, a softly rounded form of perfect womanhood — perfection, frouj the dark arched neck to the white and dimpled knee. 'And she knew it, this Breton peasant girl, as Helena and 'Aphrodite knew it ; not, as it were, with her mind, not, as {it were, quite consciously, but as simply felt in her breath- ing, stirring in her heart, whispering in her ear ; just as though a flower might enjoy its own perfume, while softly [shedding it on the summer air. At last she up-braided her hair, and stood hesitating for [a moment ; then, softly as a fountain falls, she sank on her knee before the chair, and bowing her face between her [h.inds, began to pray. Kight over her head, painted on cardboard, and hung [against the wall, was a figure of Our Lady, with the Infant in her lap holding a lily and brightly smiling. Though the figures were covered with gold and silver tinsel, and the very stalk of the lily was stuck on in gold leaf, the faces [were comely enough, and the whole suggestion atoned for [the vulgar execution. And Marcelle prayed. " In the name of the Father, and |of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen." She thanked the Lord for His favors, she begged Him [to make her sins known unto her, whether against God, [or against her neighbor, or against herself. Then she [repeated the general Confession. Then, uplifting her eyes to the picture, the Litany o£ the 1 Blessed Virgin. Presently, in a low clear voice, she prayed for those who i loved her and whom she loved. For the soul of her dead father, for the old Corporal and her beloved mother, for her brothers Hoel, Gildas, Alain, and Jannick. Lastly, in a lower voice still, she breathed the name of Rohan Gwen- fern, and trembled as she prayed. " Bless my love for Kohan, O blessed Lady, and grant me now thy grace, that I may never offend against thee more." There was a pause. Her prayer seemed finished ; she was silent for a moment. Then uncovering her eyes, she 'I I \ 1^ r//£ sj/ADoiP" or 77/£ s wo fit). looked up, not at the picture of Our Lady and her Son, but at another picture, less large and highly colored, which hung on the same wall. It was that of a Man in soldier's costume standing on an eminence and pointing down with still forefinger at a red light below him, which seemed to come from some burning town ; his face was white as marble ; and at his feet crouched, like dogs waiting to be unleashed, their heads close against the ground, several grizzly grenadiers, mous- tached and bearded, with bloodshot eyes, — each with his bayonet set. The picture was rude but terrible, vulgar but sublime. It was the lurid representation of a fact which a more artis- tic treatment would have ruined. Not with a less gentle love, not with a less deep rever- ence, did Marcelle regard this picture than the other. Her eyes lingered over it tenderly, her lips moved as if they would have kissed it ; then her face softly fell into her hands, as before some higher presence. She prays again ; and as she prays, mark how a^ove the the bed wherein she is to lie are hung suspended a gun and bayonet, and above these, on a high shelf, lie, clean and carefully brushed and folded, an old knapsack, haversack, cartouche-box, shako, and great coat. These too are sacred ; for the old Corporal has worn and borne them in many a war. He does not, like many veterans, parade them ostentatiously over his fireplace ; he keeps them here apart, in the sanctity of this virgin bed. "And lastly, O merciful God, for the sake of Jesus thy Son and Our Holy Mother and all the Saints, preserve the good Emperor, and give him victory over his enemies, and cast down the wicked who seek to destroy him and his people, and fill his lap with blessings, for the sake of the blessings he has given us. Amen, Amen ! " And so the last and perchance not the worst of the Saints, St. Napoleon, stands impassive, pointing downward, while the maiden rises from her knees, her eyes dim with the intensity and earnestness of her prayer. Soon she has unclothed her limbs and blown out the lamp and crept into bed ; and very soon after she is sound asleep, while the old bayonet, which has drunk many a and her Son, but colored, which Tie standing on forefinger ;it a :)nie from some le ; and at his ihed, their heads enadiers, mous- -each with his ir but subhnie. ich a more artis- ;ss deep rever- :he other. Her ved as if they y fell into her how aHove the nded a gun and lie, clean and ink, haversack, rhese too are 5orne them in terans, parade ?eps them here ; of Jesus thy s, preserve the his enemies, troy him and r the sake of i!" worst of the ing downward, lyes dim with ilown out the r she is sound runic many a AT THE FOUNTAIN- 71 luman creature's blood, keeps its place above her head, Ind the figures of the Virgin and of St. Napoleon, side by tide, remain near her through the watches of the night. CHAPTER X. AT THE FOUNTAIN. SPP',AK low, for it is the Kannerez-noz who sing ; stoop, hide, lest the Kannerez-noz may see ; for they fash their bloody linen white as snow, and their eyes look Ither, and they sing together no earthly song. Holy Vir- [n, keep us ! Son of God, protect us ! Amen ! Amen ! " Thus in the wild words of an old Celtic sdne murmurs He wayfarer as he moves by night along the silent ways, and peers this way and that way with timid eyes, and sees ' ectral shadows assail his path, till his heart leaps at the jht of the light in his cottage window afar. Well may fe.ir the dreadful Washerwomen of the Night, for these [e no f.iiry fancies bred in the bright imaginations of a |niiy place, but spectres, lonely and horrible, of darkness id death. Doomed is he who thus beholds them in the |neliness of the night, for it is his shroud they are wash- with skeleton fingers cold as frost, and it is his face- )th they stretch to dry on the starlit sward beside the ream, and it is his dirge they are singing as they stoop )ve the glimmering stream in the shadowy wood, or by Je lonely shore. I Night after iiight the Kannerez-noz are busy ; their work never done, for the long line of the Dead ceases tver. Sometimes in tne haunted forest, oftener under shadowy crags, they wash and wring. And the fisher- in from his craft by night sees them as often as does the joner crossing the great moors with his loads of salt. )wn here at Kromlaix — even here, where most men )uld die of old age were it not for the accursed conscrip- ►n — they ply their trade. Drifting along under the shad- of the Menhir, floating close to the Gate of St. Gildas, II I! I f% THE SHADOW OF THE SWORD. and dozing at the helm, many a Kromlaix man has seen the crags part open, revealing a spectral village, with a sil* ver kirk in the midst from whence the angelus rings, a graveyard bright with silver tombs, a Calvary where the fingers were not stone but white skeletons, and far away houses thatched with silver, with crimson window panes and shadows moving within ; and then, half wakening and shivering, he has seen the strand below, the spectral vil- lage all bestrewn with linen white as snow, and has seen — ah, God, with his living eyes has seen ! — the Kannerez crouching close beside the sea, and has heard their terri- ble voices singing the dirge of dread ! What avail to cross himself now, and to call on Jesu and the Blessed Lady and all the Saints ? for sure it is that that man's shroud is woven, and all that remains uncertain is whether he will die on firm land or out thore in the great sea. At the front of Mother Gwenfern's cottage door, situ ated apart in the shadow of the crag, stood Rohan and Master Arfoll looking downward towards the strand and calm contemplating the very scene on which superstition has based its horrible dream of the Washerwomen of the Night. For it was a calm night, of little wind ; the moon every minute was darkened by slowly drifting cloud, and few stars were visible ; and down on the sand, murmuring and sometimes singing, were shadowy figures stooping over hidden pools, and all around them were gleams of white- ness, as of linen spread upon the shingle. Here and there a lantern glimmered from the ground, or moved hither and thither in unseen hands. Behind these murmuring groups with flitting lights gleamed Kromlaix, with the moonlight shimmering on its roofs, the red lights gleaming in its win- dows, as strange as any spectral village seen in a half- dream. It was dead low water, the fountains were upbursting from the hidden river far below, and the women and maid- ens of Kromlaix were gathered there, washing their linen or dipping their pitchers for water, while they gossiped over the news. Here, night or day, whenever it was low water, they gathered, old and young ; and naturally enough the Fountain was the leading center of all the scandal and gossip of the place. V AT THE FOUNTAJN. 79 That fancy of the Kannerez had occurred to Master Ar- foll, as he quietly contemplated the far-off busy scene. "It is so, mark you, that 'superstition' constructs its tales," he said. " Could you not fancy now that the Kan- nerez-noz were before you, washii\g their white shrouds in the pure pools ? 'I'he Kannerez ! not pretty maids like your cousin Marcellc, with their white feet stealing on the warm sand ! " "Nevertheless, Masler Arfoll," returned Rohan, laugh- ing, "there are many there who would pass for the Kan- nerez even by broad day. Old mother Barbaik, for ex- ample ! " Master Arfoll did not laugh, but kept his ^ad eyes fixed, as he said — " Poor women ! poor old mothers, with their weary limbs and broken hearts, and hearts that will soon be broken jniore ! Ah, Rohan, it is a pleasant thing to be young and 'strong and pretty like Marcelle, but it is a sore thing to [grow old and despised like Mother Barbaik of whom you |speak. Hath she not a son ? " " Yes." " An only son ? " " Yes ; Jannick — you will know him. Master Arfoll, by Bight — he walks lame, and hath a great hunch on one shoul- ler, and two of his right hand fingers have never grown ! " " God has been very good to him ! " said Master Arfoll, luietlv. "Good, Masler Arfoll!" " To him— and to his poor old mother. Better, Rohan, in icse days to be born halt and lame, or deaf and blind, than ^o grow up into man's strength. Happy Jannick ! He nil never go to war ! Mother Barbaik can keep her child." There was a long pause. Both men watched the Fouu- lin and the sea, but with different emotions. The itiner- inl's heart was full of the terrible calm ot the sublimest )ity and unselfishness ; Rohan's was stirred by a stormy "ission. At last Rohan spoke. He seemed like one concluding long train of reflection, rather than opening a subject. I' *' After all, my name will be on the list ! " ^ "No doubt." I i I i ! I I |i t So THE SHADOW OF TlfE SWORD. i* " And my number may be drawn ? " « Perhaps ;— but God forbid ! " Rohan turned his face full on his companion's, and laughed — fiercely, quickly ; a laugh with no joy in it, only desperation. " God forbid ? — I am sick of hearing God's name men- tioned so ! " " Never be sick of hearing God's name," said Master Arfoll, gently. " God forbid } What does God forbid ? Cruelty, butch- ery, battle, hunger, disease ! N(jne of these ! He sits calm, if He isatall, giving his world over to devils. Ah, Master Arfoll, you know, you know ! You have seen, you have seen I And yet — you have faith ! " Rohan laughed again almost contemptuously. As he stood thus, towering by the frail figure of Master Arfoll, he seemed (with his fair hair and leonine locks) like some mighty giant of the north. " I have faith," answered Master Arfoll, and his face shone beautiful in the moonlight ; " I have faith, and I think I shall have it till I die. You have seen little of the world ; I have seen much. You have suffered nothing ; I have lost all ; and yet I say to you now, my son, as I would sav to you in your despair : God forbid — that I should doubt my God ! " " And yet, mark you. He suffers these things." " It is so," answered Master Arfoll simply. " While men remain ignorant, these things will be; when men grow wise these things will cease. Man, not God, is the scourge of man. God made the world beautiful, and God is jo} ; the wicked are unhappy, see you, and they do not know God." " Who knows him then } — Those only who weep t " " Those who help Him, Rohan." "How?" " By fulfilling His law of love ; by loving all things, hop- ing all things, enduring all things. But stay, my Rohan; perhaps my god is not yours. Mine is not the god of monsieuf le cure^ nor the God of Uncle Ewen, neither the god of priests nor the lord god of battles. He is the voice within my own heart, answering all the voices that cry around me, ' There is no hope ! despair, despair ! ' " AT THE FOUh'TAIN. Si Rohan inclined his head, not irreverently, for he had been an apt pupil and he adored his master ; but the spirit of wrath was still strong within him, and his eyes still burnt terribly. The blood of the Gwenferns was fire. In this man native passion and pride had been subdued by acci- dental culture into something eminently noble ; but the elements were there, and it only needed some insufferable outrage or indignity to turn him again into the original savage Adam. " Let me speak again of the conscription, Master Arfoll," he said in a voice tremblijig with agitation. " It is coming again, and the Emperor may say to any man • Follow me ! ' Tell me then— is this the will of God ? " '• It is not ! " " And a man would be justified in answering the Empe- ror ' No, I will not follow, for thy leadership is accurst .> ' " "There is no escape — he who is called must go." *' But first answer — would that man be justified ? " " Before God he would." Rohan Gwenfern threw his hands up into the air. " Then, remember, if ever that call should come to me, if ever the bloody hand should be laid upon my shoulder and the bloody finger point me forward — remember, then^ what I swear now — I will resist, to the last drop of my blood, to the last fiber of my flesh ; though all the world should be against me, even what I love best, I will be firm ; though the Emperor himself should summon me, I will defy him and spit upon him — I, Rohan Gwenfern, will spit upon him. Napoleon, and defy him. They may kill me, but they cannot make me kill. Master Arfoll, if the time comes, remember Mdt//" The words poured forth in a torrent. Could the speak- er's face have been seen it would have appeared quite bloodless — the lips compressed, the eyes set, the whole countenance in one white heat of passionate resolve. Al- most involuntarily, as he concluded, Gwenfern crossed him- self — a custom which he seldom followed, but which he now adopted in the vehemence of his feeling, as if calling God to witness his oath. Master Arfoll sighed. The words seemed wild and raving, and he had heard such frantic protestations made before, but the end had ever been the same — despairing submission to inevitable destiny. 1 i ' ■#!'' r/f/i S/MDOIV OF THE SWORD. A few moments afterwards the men shook hands, and Master Arfoll made his way up the cliff side. "God forbid, indeed," he thought, " that the lot should ever fall on him ! He is a lamb now, for he has known only green fields and the breath of peace ; but I see the wild spirit within him — the first blood of battle would change him into a wild beast ! " While this dialogue was proceeding, the scene at the Fountain was growing brisker. Seen closer, it lost much of its weird mystery, and became a lively human picture. About midway between high and low water marks glim- mered numerous pools, fresh dug by the hands of the women ; for wherever holes were scooped the fresh water bubbled up ; and around the pools, kneeling on boards and old thwarts of boats, and sometimes even on the shingle with their bare unprotected knees, were busy groups of white-capped women and girls, washing, beating their linen with their wooden bats, laughing and chattering as merrily as a sisterhood of rooks which the moon keeps awake in the tree-tops. The sands were still luminous with the ebbed tide, and strewn with tangled weeds and gleaming jelly-fish. 'I'he air was warm, but piquant with the odors of ocean, and every breath of it wafted inland the night-moths and large gnats that people sandy places. At intervals there came from the dim sea the cry of some belated and solitary gull ; and once a great white owl, while prowling purblind among the clefts of moonlit crags, blun- dered across the open space of the Fountain, and uttering a startled scream, buried itself in the gloom of the cliffs beyond. Among the pools were some preserved for domestic pur- poses, and at these were young girls and children with earthern pitchers and wooden pails, some standing, others coming and going. Among those lingering stood Marcelle, her pitcher bal- anced on her head, her eyes turned to the groups of women who chattered near her in the moonlight. She was not a popular member of that asr.embly, for she had two great drawbacks in the eyes of the women — her beauty, and hei connection with the old Corporal. ids, and it should )wn only the wild I change le at the )st much picture, rks glim- s of the ;sh water ards and ■t shingle ;roups of leir linen s merrily awake in tide, and sh. The :ean, and nd large yf of some )wl, while igs, blun- \ uttering the cliffs estic pur- ren with ig, others rher bal- of women y, for she men — her AT T/rF FOrrxTALV. ^ As a rule, the Fountain (the place of many pools was always spoken ot thus, in thesuiguhir number) was a scene of extraordinary animation and merrimtMit. Kvery matter of public or private interest was discussed and analyzed there ; bad characters were beaten to shreds by tongues as h'^ri as the wooden bats of their owners; the foibles of friends and neighbors were turned inside out and well scrubbed, amid a blinding spray of prattle. Not the con gress of women, in the great play of Aristophanes, kept up a more incessant chatter. It must be admitted, moreover, that much of the humor ventilated at the Fountain had an Aristophanic broadnes.s, — reminding one terribly of the " Lysiitrata." The gam/riolt' had its place vindicated here, as much as in the page of B^ranger. Yet these were mod- est matrons, meek as mice before their husbands, (lod- fearing, loving, and gentle. They merely prattle together over the secrets of their matronhood, and though they some- times laughed coarsely, meant no harm. As for the younger females, they clustered together and discussed their love affairs, with much tittering and whis- pering, and no naughtiness whatever. There were lovely maids among them, but none quite so lovely as Marcelle. Marcelle was stately as a grandc Jame, and never con- descended to foolishness ; for which characteristic >fi '* Have no fear, Mother Loiz ! " she said. " The ser- geant knows all that — and that you have no one but Jin. He will not let him be put down in the lists, and even if his name was di awn, he would not sulfer him to go." " My curse upon them all ! " cried the old crone madly. " My Jkn is tal and strong, and they always draw the strong and the tall. Ah, they are cunning ; they cheat in the drawing, and take the best. And the Emperor is mak- ing ready once more ! But he shall not have my Jin : as God is in Heaven he shall not have my Jin ! " With a look of pity, Marcelle depaited, walking slowly up the beach in the light of the moon, which had now grown brighter, and was lying like silver on the sands and on the sea. As she reached the shadow of the village, a dark figure joined her, and a low voice murmured her name. " Marcelle ! " "Rohan!" There was a silent kiss in the moonlight, and then Rohan lifted up his hands to take the pitcher of water. " Let me carry it for you — it is heavy ! " " No, it is quite light ! " He persisted, but she would not suffer him to release her of her burthen ; so he followed quietly at her side. " You are late at the Fountain, Marcelle. The tide has turned." _ " Yes." That was all they said till they were near the Corporal's door. Rohan was unusually gloomy and taciturn, but to Marcelle there was a delicious pleasure in this silent com- panionship. " Will you not come in ? " she said, setting down her pitcher. The street was empty, and they were quite alone. *' Not to-night ! '' answered Rohan. He had both her hands now, and was drawing her face quietly to his. All at once, she drew back, laughing, and said — " After all, then, the news is true ! " - ** What news ? " he asked, kissing her. " There will be more war. The Emperor is mad against the Germans," 88 THE SHADO'V OF THE SWORD. It was as if the lips of .. skeleton had been put to his , he drew back shivering. " What is the matter ? " she asked softly. *' It is nothing ; only the night is cold. And so there will be more war 1 Well, that is old news at the best." He was trying hard to conquer the emotion that was fast mastering him ; and his voice did not tremble. All at once, and absolutely for the first time, it flashed upon the girl, looking in his face, that this man, her lover, might be called among the rest. A sharp pain ran through her heart. " Ah, Rohan," she said, self- reproachfully, *' I had for- gotten — I did not think — the only sons will be drawn too ! " Rohan laughed. The laugh had fierceness in it, which Marcelle, in her own emotion, scarcely noticed. "What then?" he asked. The maid hung her head, stil! with both her hands clasped in his, answered, using for the first time that night the en- dearing second personal pronoun. " And thou ! " There was a pause. Rohan shivered and did not reply. Presently the girl, coming close to him and putting both her arms around his neck, so that he could feel her heart beating against his own, kissed him passionately on the lips of her own accord. " My Rohan ! my brave Rohan ! It is true ; thy name is down, and may be drawn, and if so, thou wilt leave me — thou wilt go away to serve the great Emperor, and to fight for France. I will not speak falsely — I am praying that thou mayst not go ; but if thou goest, I will not cry — I will be brave. It is hard to part with one's best beloved — ah, God, it is hard ; but for the Emperor's sake — ah, yes, for the ^y ")d Emperor's sake, what would we not do ! If it is his will and God's, I will not be sorry. Nay, then, I will be proud ! " She passed her hands across her eyes, which were moist with tears. Just then a voice from the Corporal's threshold cried loudly — " Marcelle ! " Kissing her lover quickly once again, Marcelle caught up her pitcher and hurried rapidly away, leaving Rohan i!l THE RED ANGEL. 89 standing silent in the shadow of the street. He had not answered her, nor interrupted her ; he was too ania/ed, too sick of heart. Her very kiss had seemed terrible to him. He felt now, for the first time, how lar their feelings ran apart ; how their souls prayed asunder, like worship- pers who adore different gods. And with all this the love within him rose wave by wave, ever stronger and stronger, till, between its rapturous e.K- cess and the new terror that was pursuing him, he seemed as a man gone mad. Nevertheless as he walked in the moonlight hour after hour that night, sometimes conjuring up the beloved face again and feeling the passionate embrace, sometimes shud- dering as he remembered all the fierce bigotry and adora- tion of the heart he had pressed against his own, he more than once raised his hands to heaven and cried silently — " I have sworn it, O my God ! Never., never /'^ CHAPTER XI. THE RED ANGEL. (( FOR I will pass through the land of Egypt this night, and I will smite all the first born in the land of Egypt, both man and beast ; and against all the gods of Egypt will I execute judgment : I am the Lord ! And the blood shall be as a token upon the houses where my peo- ple are ! " So whispered Jehovah in the ears of Moses and Aaron, in Egypt long ago, and the passover lambs were slain, and the Angel of the Lord passed over the houses where the blood was set as a token, and the Lord's chosen were saved, and all the hosts of the Lord went out from the land of Egypt. So was it in Egypt long ago, and there was safety at least for those the Lord loved. So was it not in France at the opening of this century, for the Lord was silent afar, au4 90 THE SHADOW OF THE SWORD. I there were no Moses and Aaron to lead His beloved out of the wicked land. And instead of God's passover and the blood of the Lamb upon the dwellings of the people, there was a great darkness, and blood indeed upon the houses, but not of lambs ; for on almost every threshold there gleamed a crimson token, not God's token, but Cain's ; — a token, not of deliverance, but of doom. As a spent storm flies across the earth, Napoleon had hastened from Moscow to Paris, little daunted by the loss of 500,000 men, little heedful of the cries and tears of innu- merable widows and orphan children. How had he been greeted by the people of his Empire ? With curses and groans, with passionate prayers and appeals ? On the coi\ trary, with blessings and loud acclamatioi^s. The ( ities of the Empire — Rome, Florence, Milan, H.iinluirg, Maycncc, Amsterdam — put their smartest raiment on, and wore lilies in their hair. The public officials flocked \\\ to otfer their felicitations. " What is life," crietl the Prefect of Paris, "in comparison with the immense interests which rest on the sacred head of the heir to tht> Kmpiio } " " Reason," cried M. de Fontagnes, grand master r.f the Imperial University, " Reason pauses before the mystery of power and obedience, and abandons all inquiry to that religion which made the persons of Kings sacred, after the image of God himself ! " To this tune, and with even more hideous flourishes, danced, raved and blasphemed, the scented arch-priests of the imperial Baal. And meantime the heavens opened and buried the Grand Army deeper and deeper under the silent snows ; and in every home there was an empty place, in every house an aching heart ; and from every ruined home there went up a bitter cry — " We beseech thee to hear us, O Lord ! " But the Lord, meant by those who cried, was not Jehovah, nor the All-unseuii iiikI All Uleiiilul, nor any God of the told heavens whence llicse snows came covering those dend. The Lord of the broken heart was Napoleon, who llRUiped the Divine seat, and whispered his awful flat across a desolated world. *' We beseech lliee to hear us, O Lord ! " THE RED ANGEL- He brooded in the midst of his city and his eyes sur- veyed the silent earth. As a spider in the heart of its web, he lay and waited in the heart of his city. The creature whom Paris had borne in those travails which shook the world, the child of the Revolution which began with the cry of liberated souls and ended with the clang of souls in chains, the soldier fashioned out of fire, the King-destroy- er and King-liberator, was now known veritably for what he was — Avatar, and lord of Europe, master and dictator of the earth. What wonder if madmen in their frenzy fell praying in his presence, as to very God ! " We besctjch lb»ie to hear us, O Lord ! " If he hi!.ud, ht •imiled. If he understood, he smiled also. Uul we \\\x^ beliiwe, i\»deed, that Us* neither under- stood nor heard. An Avatar cannot understand, for he ha* no wwlom ; he cannot hoar, for fie has no ears. He has uiMlher eyes nor understanding, heart nor ears. He Iwviks not upward, for he cannot conceive of God ; he gazes not downward, tor he cannot perceive humanity. lUind, deaf, irrational, pitiless, terrible, he sits as God — an earth-god, deadly, and born to die. We shall be answered here that Napoleon was what strange speakers and writers of ali times have called a Great Man ; that, being such, he must have been supreme- ly human, as indeed many of his utterances and doings seem to show. The explanation is simple. Great men "^f a certain sort are great through their very negation of ordinary human qualities, Voltaire was great because he could not revere. Rousseau was great because he was incapable of shame.* Napoleon was great because, as a sovereign, he was perfectly incapable of realizing the con- sequence of his own deeds — because, in fact he did not possess even an ordinary share of that faculty of verifier • tion which is allotted to common men, to men who are in no respect great. It is curious, as illustrating this truth, that Napoleon, when he saw suffering, pitied it. He could not bear to, * Let not these sentences be misread. Voltaire, despite his incapac- ity for any kind of reverence, was the one good Samaritan in an age ot cruelty and superstition. Rousseau, despite the effrontery of Im» mor4 bearing, was a messenger of Divine truths. 92 THE SHADOW OF THE SWORD. contemplate physical pain in any shape, and like Goethe, he carefully avoided it. As a human bein^ he had his humanities. As a grea*^ man, as the conqueror of Europe, he was simply an ignorant and irresponsible Force, without eyes or ears, or heart or understanding, an automaton moved by a blind and a pitiless will to dark designs and ever fatal ends. They were not far wrong, therefore, though they ex- pressed the truth in an image, who pictured him as ever attended in secret by a certain Man in Red, his familiar, or xaxo'c (iaiitutv. This secret familiar, however, was his own miraculous invention. Napoleon, indeed, was the Frankenstein of the War-monster which he had himself crf»ated, and which, from the hour of his creation, never suh'ered him to sleep in peace. He might be as God tc the people ; to this Monster he was a slave. " Thou hast created me out of chaos — feed me : my food is human life. Thou has» conjured me out of the mighty democratic elements— clc the me: my raiment shall be woven by fatherless children. Thou hast fashioned me and fed me, and clothed mt in God's name — find me a Bride, that my race may increar>e and inhnbit the earth." And the name of the Bride was Death. " We beseech thee to hear us, C) Lord ! " Perchance, indeed, he might have heard, perchance he did hear, and hesitated. But the Monster contiTived, "Quick ! more food, for I am hungry ; more raiment, ii.v I walk naked in rags ; another Bride, for she you gave me is too cold. Deny me, and I will devour thee : thee and thy seed, and thine Empire, and thy hopes forevermore." So the Emperor cried, in his dark year of 1813, " Peace, Monster ! and I will do thy behest ; " and leaving the Hai'/xuiv in the darkness of his secret chamber, he passed smiling forth, amid the worship of his creatures, and flowers were strewn beneath his feet, while music filled his ears. More food was ready — more raiment was being woven. Another ghastly Bride was soon prepared ; and the name of this Bride was Slaughter, youngest born of three sisters, whose other names were Famine and Fire. So Napoleon returned to the Monster and cried unto CORPORAr. nFRVAT.. ^ him, "Be thnn my Red Angel, speeding across the land in the darkness of the night ; and as thou goest set on each door a crimson mark ; and whatsoever house thou murkest shall yield up its best beloved to thcv^ and thy Hride ! For I am Napoleon ! And the blood shall be as a token upon the houses where our victims are I " " We beseech thee to hear us, () Lord ! " The cry went up, but to what avail ? The Flvil Angel had flown across the earth, and at dawn the critnson signs were on the doors. And the number r)*" the newly chosen children of France was two hundred thousand and ten thousand, and at his call they answered, each in hi> dwelling ; and no passover lambs were slain, but each one of the two hundred thou- sand and ten thousand presented himself as a lamb for the sacrifice, ere the hosts of Napoleon went out anew from the land of France. CHAPTKR XIT. CORPORAL I.KIIVAL HARANOUKS THE CONSCRIPTS. THOSE spring days were bright at Kromlaix ; fish were plentiful, and the people had never known a more promising time. The air was full of sweetness and prom- ise, the heavens were blue and peaceful, the sea like a mirror. Yet the Shadow was creeping nearer, and the dreaded hour of the Drawing of Lots was close at hand. It was now known for certain that Napoleon had raised up his fatal hand, making the signal of the Conscription. Previous to this, the hundred cohorts of the National (iuards — a sort of militia, enrolled under the declaration that they were never, on any pretence, to cross the fron- tier — had been turned into regular troops of the line ; while the sailors and marines of the French fleet had been gathered in from the sea, and from the sea-ports and villages which they occupied, and turned into corps of artillery. Then to crown all came the decree of the wm •iu ^. ^ ^ IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) t 1.0 I.I 1.25 u itt £ U° |2.0 1:1 1.4 1.6 p ^><^^ "> > />y r .<^ Photographic Sciences Corporation !>i^ m \ :\ iV \ ^9) V 33 WtST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. M580 (716) 872-4503 '4 <^ ?rv > t4 Tfm STTADOtV OP rtTE swopd. Seriate, granting to the Emperor the anticipation of the Conscription of 1814 — a force of some two hundred thou- sand raw recruits, which, united to the marines and to the youths of the National Guard, would comprise a new army of at Iteast 340,000 men. There was much public noise and jubilation, much bustling of functionaries and rejoicing of corporations, but by the fireside there was silence and a great dread. It was soon made known far and near that, owing to the great national losses and the immense drain on the lives of the population during the last campaigns, the old pleas of exemption from service were to be disallowed. Only sons were to take their chance with the rest. A rigorous inspectioh would follow the ballot, and few indeed would escape on the score of deformity or bodily infirmity. Every conscript who drew a fatal number would have to go. As to purchasing a substitute, that would be out of the question. One mercy was afforded to the people, that of immediate relief from the agony of suspensei The ballot was to take place at once, in the little neighboring town ot St. Gur- lott. The morning of the fatal day came soon, and came with blue skies, white clouds, and the softest of winds upon the sea. As the sun slowly rose, coloring all the ocean to deli- cate rose and burning brightly on the little village, a head in a led nightcap was thrust out of the street door of Cor- poral Ewetj's house, and the eyes of the Corporal himself looked with an approving twinkle at the weather. " Soul of St. Gildas ! " hfe muttered to himself ; " it is a good oinen. The morning of Austerlitz was not more sunny." ^ere, however, he heaved a sigh, and looked down con- temptuously at his wooden leg, of which Austerlitz was the cause. Then, hobbling into the house, he proceeded 'vith his toilette, shaving carefully, brushing up his best stmi-mili- tary clothes, polishing his red cheeks till they shone again, and chattering to himself like some invalid daw in the pri- vacy of his cage. Corporal derval. %i of When all his preparations were finished, he sat down, in his shirt sleeves, before the fire — which he had already lit with his own hands — and began to smoke his usUal " pipe before breakfast." He was an early riser, and invariably the first to move about the house and light the fire. He would cook his own breakfast, too, upon occasion, with the skill of an old cam- paigner. Hoel and Gildas — the twins — were still snoring in one of the Uts clos in the kitchen ; the other, just vacated by the Corporal, was lying open. The first to descend the black wooden stairs was Mar- celle. She wore her coif, and her face was very pale. I'he Corporal turned ac her step, drew the pipe from his mouth, and as she came up and kissed him on the weather- beaten cheek, exclaimed quickly. " Thou, little one ! But where is thy mother ? " " She sleeps still, and I did not waken her ; it is still early." Uncle Ewen puffed rapidly, and looked at the fire. It was a fact almost unprecedented to find the busy widow lying in bed after her daughter had risen ; but the Corporal almost guessed the truth, or some of it. Bright as the day might seem to him, to her it was a day of trouble ; and all night long she had been weeping and thinking of her three dead sons, and praying that the good God might spare her those who remained. " Humph ! " grunted the old soldier, glancing at the sleeping twins. " They, too, are sound. Hoel ! Gildas ! It is time to rise." VVhile Marcelle walked to the door, leaning against the doorpost and looking out into the street, the young giants rose and were soon sitting with their uncle by the fire. Presently down came Alain and Jannick, looking very cross and sleepy ; and last of all. Mother Derval herself, white as a ghost, and very silent. Meantime Marcelle stood in the street, v/atching the little village wake. Brighter and brighter grew the fight ; windows and doors were thrown open, heads were thrust out, voices were heard ; and presently a little girl passed, going to the Fountain, for it was low water. The liule ?\ 'r iv.v ..f '. 96 THE SHADOW OF THE SWORD. / girl wore a tight white cap, wooden shoes, and a stiflf bright-colored holiday petticoat. " How, Marrianic," cried Marcelle, ** art, thou, too, going to St. Gurlott ? " " Yes," answered Marrianic, eagerly. " I am going with mother and Uncle Maturin and my brothers. There will be great fun — as good as at the Pardons. I must run now, for mother is waiting for water." And she ran on down the street, smiling gaily and sing ing to herself an old Celtic song. The Conscription to her meant a holiday, and she was too young to comprehend sorrow in any shape. Marcelle sighed. Her enthusiasm for the great cause remained, but somehow her mother's tears had troubled her, and she was thinking very sadly of her three dead brothers — and yes ! of Rohan. She was selfish enough, despite her principles, to pray that Rohan might not be taken. Her first sip of Love had been so delicious, and her nature was composed of such passionate elements, that she could not bear to lose her lover so soon. • : ^ The sun was fully up, and Kromlaix, like a great bee- hive, stood in the sunshine, with its inhabitants moving in and out. Nearly all wor and perhaps none of thine. If the worst comes to the worst, little w^man, thou wilt be proud to serve the Emperor in his trouble, and he may send thee back what thou lovest, safe and sound." The widow's answer was a deep sigh. As for the young men, they looked cheerful enough. They were not suffi- ciently old to grieve over danger before it came ; and besides they all possessed a certain pugnacity and raw courage which the enthusiasm of Uncle Ewen had almost developed into a sentiment. " For my part," cried Hoel, " I shall take my chance. If I go, I go. It is in God's hands." " If the drawing is fair ! " cried Gildas suddenly, scowl- ing. The old Corporal struck his fist on the table. " Soul of a crow ! does not the Emperor see to that ? And who doubts the Emperor ? What Hoel said was right — it is God that shuffles the numbers, and we that draw. He that God picks out should be proud. Look at thy sister Marcelle ! Were she a man she would break her heart if she did not go." *' it is all very well to talk," said Hoel, " when one is a woman." " Bah ! then hear me, I who am a man ! " said the cor- poral, oblivious of the fact that his nephews had heard him almost too often. " This is the way to look at it, mother ! When a man's time comes, when the Angel with the white face arrives and knocks, we must get up and let him in. It is no matter where he hides — on land or sea, here or there — he will be found ; it may be to-morrow, see you, it may be twenty years after ; it may be when he is a babe at breast, it may be wh«=' i he is an old stump like me. Well, that is God's way ! You cannot live longer by staying at home if it is God's will that you should die." " That is quite true, Uncle Ewen," said the widow, " but '^— The Corporal waved his hand with a grim smile. 7 9d THE SHADOW OF THE SWORD. i i " Look at me^ mother ! Look at thy good man's brother little woman ! I have been a soldier — I have seen it all — I have dined on thunder and gunpowder, I — and yet I live. Corhleu ! I live, and but for this accursed leg of a tree, as sound as any man. Have I not followed the Little Cor- poral to Egypt, to Italy, and across the Alps ? Was not that red work, little mother? I knew him General at Cis- nione, boys, and I lived to see him crowned Emperor of France ! — and a year after that I lost my leg ! A leg — bah ! If it had been the two legs I should have laughed, since it was for the F.mperor ! But, see you, I did not die — I live to tell you all this. I have had bullets round me like rain, but I was never struck. Why, little mother.? Because every bullet is marked by the Hand you know, and not a man falls but it is God's will." In this strain, talking volubly, sometimes addressing his nephews, sometimes turning to his sister-in-law and Mar- celle, the veteran endeavored to inspire the household with confidence and courage. He was to a certain extent successful, and even the mother assumed a certain sort of cheer. Previous to that day Uncle Ewen had not been idle. Stalking from door to door, wherever he was on friendly terms, stumping along in his old uniform with the cross of the Legion of Honor upon his breast, his nose in the air as if he smelt the battle afar off, his face crimson with en- thusiasm, he had canvassed all Kromlaix on behalf of the Emperor. Such enthusiasm is contagious, and the youag fishermen began to laugh and swagger as if the Conscrip- tion were a good joke — at all events, they determined not to show the white feather. So on this bright morning of the drawing of lots, all seemed quite festal. If a quivering lip or a wet cheek was visible here and there, it was soon forgotten in the general display of rus- tic splendor— embroidered waistcoats, silk-sewn bodices, bright petticoats, snowy caps, ornaments of coarse silver and gold. True, many a poor mother had quietly stolen out in the early grey of dawn to kneel under the Calvary and say a prayer of entreaty to the Blessed One carved in stone in its centre. But now grief seemed all forgotten. J, all CORPORAL DERVAL. ^ There was laughing and shouting as the groups gathered, and more than one man had already been drinking deep. Fresh and glorious shone the sea — happy and glad seemed the village, with its black boats crowding, like a flock of cormorants, on the water's edge. But over all, dominating the scene, stood the Menhir — black, forbidding, like the imperial Idol looking down upon his creatures. Out sallied the Corporal at the head of his four nephews. By his side walked Marcelle, very pale, but dressed in colors bright as May, with a coif like snow, its lappets reaching to her waist, and her feet clad in pretty shoes with buckles. Then came a strain of wild music ; for Jannick carried his biniou — or bagpipe — tricked out with long streamers of a dozen colors, and Alain was blowing into his tin whistle. '' Forward ! " cried Uncle Ewen. There was a cheer in the street, and the party was soon joined by many young men, friends of the " Maccabees." Among them came a thin, sinister-looking young fisher- man, whom the Corporal greeted by name. " Good morrow, Mikel Grallon ! " Mikel answered quietly, and joined the party, thrusting himself as close as possible to Marcelle, who noticed his approach with courteous indifference. Her thoughts were elsewhere. She was looking up and down the street for one tall figure, but it was not there. The Corporal, too, was on the qui vive. *' He is late," he muttered. '* Pest on him, to lie a-bed on such a day as this ! " " For whom are you looking ?" asked Mikel Grallon, as they all paused close to the old cabaret, which was distin- guished by the bunch of withered mistletoe hung over the door. " For another sheep of my flock." returned Lfncle Ewea " His name is down in the list, yet he delays." Grallon smiled significantly. "If you mean Rohan Gwenfern I fear he will not come. I met him yesternight, and he told me he should be too busy to go — that thou or another might draw in his name." The Corporal stood aghast. The very announcement seemed blasphemous. "Too busy" to obey the sum- zoo THE SHADOW OF THE SWORD. to perform his duty Soul of a crow ! it It mons of the Emperor ! '* Too busy " like a man on that day of all days ! was stupefying. But the Corporal shook his head, and would not be- lieve it. " By the bones of the blessed St. Gildas ! " he cried, naming again the patron saint often invoked by his brother's wife, "it is unheard of — it is not true, Mikel Grallon. If Rohan said that, he was mocking at thee. I see it plain, boys ! The rascal has stolen a march upon us and hurried on to the town to be first among the fun. Forward! we shall find him there." Alain and Jannick played loudly, and the whole party turned again up the street. Marcelle said nothing then, but she remembered that, some few nights before, Rohan had hinted that he might be absent. " But if I am," he added, " let thou or our uncle draw for me in my name ; it matters little, for the luck will be the same ; and if the lot is against me, I shall be as content as if I had drawn myself." He had said this in the twilight, and his voice was firm ; and fortunately or unfortunately, she had not seen the terrible expression on his face. As they left the village and hastened along the road they found themselves with many other groups going the same way — women young and old, aged men, young fisher- men, and even little boys and girls. As they passed the church and Calvary, Alain and Jannick ceased to play, the Corporal took off his hat, and Marcelle and her brothers knelt down for a moment. The little curk was standing at the church door, with his vicaire (or curate), a spectral young man fresh from col- lege. Father RoUand stretched out his plump hands in blessing, and they hurried on. The town of St. Gurlott lay a good twelve English miles away, in the midst of a fertile valley, but the road to it was through a waste country of heather and enormous granite rocks, most dreary to the eye. It was an old cart-road well worn in between banks of heather and thyme, amid which glimmered the little yellow stars of tormentil. If one lark sang in ihc hot blue air all around them, there sang a thousand! THE OKA tVlNG OF LO TS. " OATE I tot fxi ur ■;..,!■ CHAPTER XIII. THE DRAWING OF LOTS. " ONE ! " *r^ESPITE his wooden leg, Uncle Ewen pegged forward •^-^ gallantly, but after a few miles he was glad enough to take a seat in a rude cart that was jogging along full of brightly dressed girls, and drawn by two little fat oxen. Marcelle, too, found a seat, while the musicians Alain and Jannick, with Hoel, Gildas, and the rest, followed behind. It was very merry indeed ! Everywhere along the road Marcelle looked for her lover — but he was nowhere to be seen — nor indeed, the maiden thought to herself, any man fit to be his peer. They had travelled along drowsily for some miles more, and were not far from the town — which was now visible in the sunlight before them — when Marcelle beheld old Mother Goron clinging to the arm of her son — a powerful looking youth very plainly attired. As they came up, he begged a seat in the cart for his mother, who seemed spent with fatigue ; but as they lifted her up, not ungently, she fainted away. When she recovered she did not speak a word but sat staring like one in a dream. She was very weak and feeble, and the mental anxiety and bodily fatigue had been too much for her. Her son walked close by the cart's side, for she still held his hand firmly, and would not let it go. At last they crossed a rude bridge of wood and entered the district town. It was the quaintest of little old towns, with odd little houses of granite opening on the narrow streets, and old- fashioned churches everywhere. Every street was crowded, and every church was full. In the market-place, which they soon reached, carts stood full of fresh arrivals, wooden stalls were erected for the sale of refreshments, crowds of men and women were jostling together, and all sorts of 102 rnh. SHADOW or the swokb. i scenes were being enacted — from the wailing group suf- rounding some poor woman whose son had drawn a fatal number, down to the laughing skirmish of boisterous farm girls with their rude admirers. In the corner of the square stood a miserable stone building, in front of which strutted the military officials in their ridiculous tine plumage. This was the Town Hall, within which the drawing had already commenced. It must be admitted that few signs of discontentment or grief appeared on the surface. Everything had been done to impart to the affair the appearance of a gala. Flags were hung out from many of the house-roofs, music was heard on all sides, and everywhere old soldiers and agents of the Government were circulating among the peasantry, treating, chatting, telling stories of the glory of the Empire. Many of the young men who were to take their chance that day were hopelessly intoxicated ; a wrestling match had begun here and there, and blows were given and taken. Of all the faces gathered there, only those of the elder women seemed utterly despairing. Alighting from his cart and heading his little procession, Uncle Ewen soon made his way to the Town Hall. Mar- celle clung to his arm nervously, and still looked on every side for Rohan. Corporal Derval was well known, and way was soon made for him. The officials, always instructed to treat disabled veterans of the Empire with respect, greeted him familiarly, and smiled at his attendant band. If his influence had failed, Marcelle's pretty face would have conquered — for a pretty maid is always a power, and most of all to the heart of a military Jean Crapaud. "Uncle," she whispered, as she crossed the threshold under the admiring gaze of the " cocked hats ; " " Uncle, Rohan is not here." " Malediction ! " cried the old Corporal. " But perhaps he is within I " As he entered the sacred precincts he took off his hat. Squeezing his way, and d'-awing Marcelle behind him, he was soon in the body of the hall. It looked very grand and imposing. ., At the upper end of the hall, before a large table on f THE DR^l IVLYG OF LOTS. " O.XE ! " 103 -4' which stood the fatal ballot box,* sat the mayor — a grim, consequential little man — with the other magnates of the town, and an officer of the line. The mayor had a military look, and wore a blue scarf decorated with several orders. Behind him stood a file of gmdiiniics^ all attention. At one end of the table sat a clerk with a large open book, ready to register against each name as it occurred the numbers as they were drawn ; and at the other end stood bareheaded a grizzly sergeant of the (Jrand Army, ready to read the number aloud for the edification of the public. Each village or hamlet came separately in alphabetical order. As the name of each was proclaimed aloud, those men of the village whose names were on the list came for- ward personally or by deputy and drew. After this drawing there was still one solitary chance of escape. A week or so later would come the medical examination, when those conscripts who were disqualified would be exchanged for those whose names came next by number. When the total number from each district had been selected, the conscription would be over, and the con- scripts would march. Now, the number of men demanded from each hamlet was fixed ; so each that came to draw Ijnew the odds against him. From Kromlaix the Emperor demanded five-and-twenty conscripts, and therefore he who drew any number up to five-and-twenty was chosen, while those who drew above that number were free, always providing the whole five-and-twenty were pronounced " fit for service." The men of Kromlaix had not long to wait before their turn came. The neighboring. hamlet of Godhloan was being disposed of, and as each name was read, sad or glad comments came from the audience. Uncle Ewen survey- ed the men critically as they cam up one by one, while Marcelle still looked everywhere for Rohan Gwenfern. At last the officer at the table called out — '" " Kromlaix." The men of Kromlaix crowded up towards the table, while the sergeant rapidly read over the names, including * In many parts of Brittany the ballot was more primitive, and the tickets were enclosed in a simple haU I ' li I li 104 THE SHADOW OF THE SWORb. those of Marcelle's brothers, Mikel Grallon, J.\n Goron, and Rohan Gwenfern, among a long list of others. The crowd near the Corporal trembled, and those whose names took alphabetical precedence were shufHed to the front. But the old Corporal kept his ground, and stood, wilh Marcelle beside him and his nephews close behind him, in the very front row. Now, as we have said. Uncle Ewen was a well known character, and so the sergeant whispered to the officer, and the officer to the mairCy and then all three smiled, j- " Good day. Corporal ! " said the maire, nodding. He knew his cue well, and he was not the man to over- look or snub one of Napoleon's veterans. The Corporal saluted, and reddened with pride as he looked round on his party. " You are welcome," s:..id the maire again, " and I see you bring us an old soldier's best gift — a nosegay of brave lads for the Emperor. But who is that pretty girl at your side } Surely she is not upon the lists ? " At this all laughed, and Marcelle blushed, while the Corporal explained — " She is my niece, tn'sieu; and these are her brothers, whose names are down." The magnate nodded, and the business proceeded. Name after name was called out, and number after number read aloud, while each man came back from the table and rejoined his friends. Many came back quite merry, and, strange to say, many of those who had drawn fatal num- bers — those under twenty -five — laughed loudest, from sheer indifference or simple despair. *' Alain Derval ! " Forward stepped Alain, having handed over his whistle to Jannick. He saluted the authorities, and thrust his hand rapidly into the ballot-box, while Uncle Ewen, watch- ing intently, drew himself up to his full height, and set himself still firmer upon his legs. Alain drew out his paper, read it rapidly, and without moving a muscle, handed it to the Sergeant. " Alain Derval — one hundred and seventy-three I " Alain came back with real or assumed disappointment on his face. I TtfE DRA IVfNG OF LOTS. " ONE ! '» 105 "Just my luck," he whispered to Mnrcolle ; "I would rather have been drawn ! " "Gildas Derval !" The gigantic twin of that name stepped forward, while those at the table surveyed his proportions with admira- tion. " What a man ! " whispered the mat're to his neighbor. The veteran watched with a grim smile, while Gildas phlegmatically drew his number, and read it quietly. Having read It, he scowled, and did not seem well pleased ; but he shrugged his shoulders as he handed it to the Sergeant. "Gildas Derval — sixteen!'^ " Vive rEmperent .'" said the ('orporal, while Marcelle uttered a little cry. Gildas came slouching back, and when the Corporal shook him i)y the hand evinced little enthusiasm. "But 1 don't care," he said, "if they draw Hoel also ! " * " Hoel Derval!" The second twin strode out, and, as if eager to know his fate, dipped quickly into the box. A moment afterwards the Sergeant cried — " Hoel Derval, twenty-seven ! " The Corporal started, Marcelle drew a deep breath. Hoel himself looked dumbounded. Twenty-seven was all very well if the whole previous twenty-five passed the med- ical inspection ; but that was scarcely possible. So Hoel came back and joined Gildas, with a nervous grin. There was a slight pause here, the clerks writing busily in their books ; and Marcelle whispered eagerly to her uncle — " Uncle Ewen ! — it is very stru.ige, but Rohan is not here. What is to be done } He will be blamed, and per- haps punished." The Corporal paused. " There is but one way ! — I will draw for him ! " Marcelle looked down for a moment, then said quickly — " No let me ! — He made me promise to do so if he did not come." ''Corbleur said the Corporal. "But they will laugh — " II 166 THE SlfADOW OF TlfE SWORD. " Hush ! " said Marrclle. Business was brisk again, and the SiMgeant read out loudly — ** Jannick Goron ! " Goron stojiped forward from the crowd, while his infirm mother, white as death, was held forcibly but gently back. He was very pale, and his hand trembled ever so slightly. He drew forth his paper, and without opening it, was about, in his nervousness, to hand it to the vSergeant. " Read it first ! " the Sergeant said. The man, with one pathetic glance at his mother, open- ed, and read in a low voire : " Two hundred ! " "Jannick Goron — tivo huiKhrd !^' said the stentorian tones. Through a blinding mist of joyful tears Goron strode back to his mother, who* had fainted away at the good news. Not a soul there begrudged the loving and dutiful son his good luck. "Mikel Grallon!" The fisherman came forward nervously, cap in hand. He was very white, and his little fox's eyes twinkled with dread. He bowed somewhat servilely to the authorities, and stood hesitating. , "Draw, my man ! " ' " ' ' Grallon had drawn before, and had always been lucky ; this did not lessen his present alarm. " Mikel Grallon — ninety-nine ! Grallon slipped back to the crowd, and looked delight- edly at Marcelle, as if seeking her sympathy in his good fortune. But Marcelle was deathly pale, and with her eyes fixed intently on the box, was praying to herself. There was another pause ; then, loud and distinct, the name — "Rohan Gwenfern I " . \ No one stirred. The Corporal looked at his niece, she at him. *' Rohan Gwenfern I " repeated the voice. " Where is the man ? " asked the maire^ pausing and frowning. The Corporal stepped forward with Marcelle. A DAY AT SEA. 107 " My nephew is not here, m'sieii ; he is indisposed ; but either I or my niece will draw in his name." " What sayest thou, little one ? " said the maire. " His sweetheart, perhaps ? " " I am his cousin," said Marcelle, simply. *' And cousin in good French, little one, means often sweetheart too ! Well, thou shalt draw for him, and b'-ing him luck ! " All the grim officials looked on graciously as Marcelle put her pretty hand into the box. She let it stay there so long that the officers smiled. She was still praying. " Come ! " said the officer, stroking his moustache and nodding encouragingly. She drew forrh a paper and handed it to the Corporal, who opened it, read it with a stare, and uttered his usual oath. " Read, Corporal ! " said tlie officer, while Marcelle looked wildly at her uncle. " It is incredible ! " cried Uncle Ewen, with another astonished stare. '' One/" He handed the paper over, " Rohan Gwenfern — one ! " shouted the Sergeant, while Marcelle clung to her uncle and hid her face upon his arm. CHAPTER XIV. A DAY AT SEA. HAD the Corporal and his party, as they paused in the centre of Kromlaix on their way to St. Gurlott, turned their eyes oceanward and carefully searched the water, they might have perceived far out at sea a black speck, now visible, now hidden in the deep trough of the waves. This black ?peck was a boat — a small fishing boat with a red lugsail, w!>ich, with the peak set and the rudder to8 THE SHADOW OF fflE SWORD. fastened to leeward, rocked to and fro softly, now " lying to" admirably, again falling off and running along with the cahn breath of the morning breeze. In the stern sat a man, restless-eyed, yet plunged in thought ; sometimes looking eagerly towards the shore, where the cold morning light glimmered along the crags and on the sparkling roofs of the village; at others turning his gaze wistfully seaward, where far away on the dim horizon line some white-sailed argosy of England might be dimly seen creeping along to the west. Rohan Gwenfern had risen before light, and launch- ing the little craft, had urged it with sail and oar out to sea, until, at a distance of several miles from the land, with the sea surrounding him on every side, he could breathe freely and feel comparatively secure. Rocking thus, he saw the village awaken — marked the grey smoke gradually arise to heaven — saw bright movements here and there as of folk astir — and caught faintly the sound of music, mingled with far-off inland cries. He had seen such a picture often, but never with such emotions as this day ; he had seen it before with a sweet indifference, but now he saw it with a sickening fascination. His hair was wild around a face pale with many sleep- less nights ; his eyes bloodshot, his brows contracted ; but nothing could destroy or even mar the superb beauty of the man. The broad dreamy brow, the brooding eyes, the firm yet mobile smile, were all there, preserving the leonine likeness. There was no ferocity in his look, but some- thing even more dangerous — the strength of an uncon- querable will. Yet the man shivered as if with fear • and looked all around him as if expecting to see some unearthly pursuer upspring from the waves ; and laughed to himself, some- times almost hysterically ; and wore such a weary, waiting, listening, expectant look as poor, hunted beasts wear when they catch from far away the murmur of voices and the sound of coming feet. Well, he had thought it all over, agaii. and yet again, and the more he had thought the more his soul had arisen in determination and in dread. He knew his name was at last on the lists of the Conscription ; he knew that the A DAY AT SEA. 109 fatal day had broken, and that before night he would hear his doom ; and he knew also that his part was chosen — if the worst happened, as he feared, resistance to the death. He knew with what a power he would be contending. He knew that his country, his fellow-villagers, his own relations, even, perhaps, Marcelle, would be against him ; but this did not shake his resolve in the least. He would not serve the Monster of his abhorrence : he would rather die. It would be most tedious and difficult to describe the long series of thoughts and emotions which had awakened in Rohan Gwenfern's heart his horror and dread of public War ; we can do no more than glance again rapidly at the history of his mind. To begin with, he was a man whose life had been very solitary, and in whom solitude, instead of developing morbid introspections, had strengthened the natural instincts of pity and affection. Combined with his extraordinary enjoyment of physical freedom, he possessed a unique sympathy with an attraction for things which were free like himself. He hated bloodshed in any form, and his daily creed was peace — peace to the good God overhead, to man and woman, to the gentle birds that built their nests in the crags, to the black seals that came near to him in the caves and looked at him with human eyes. His immense physical strength had never been 'exerted for any evil, and even at the inland wrestling matches — whither he had sometimes gone with his gigantic cousins — he had never fought brutally or cruelly. That he rejoiced in his strength is unquestionable ; but he had the affections of a man, as well as the magnanimity of power ful animals. Courage of a certain sort he did not lack ; that we have shown already. He had no equal in daring among the cliffs or upon the sea ; and his constant explorations, which made him familiar with every secret of the craggy coast, showed even a more adventurous spirit. Yet, the fact is not to be denied, the mere dread of being drawn for the Conscription paralysed him with fear — filled his heart with the sick horror cowards feel — seemed to touch the inmost springs of his enormous strength, and make him tremble to the very soul. no THE SHADOW OF THE SWORD. Prejudices, passions, and affections such as Rohan Gwenfern felt do not grow naturally in a peasant's breast. Fine as the man was by nature, he would never have felt the subtleties of either love or terror, the ecstasies of either freedom or fear, if he had never known Master Arfoll. Fresh from the teachings of the poor distracted curk^ Father Rolland's predecessor, Rohan had encountered this other instructor, this peripatetic of the fields and crags. Many a strange lesson he had received secretly while sitting under some lonely dolmen, or in some bright nook on the shore. He had heard the low cadences of the Psalms mingled with strange tales of the Time of Terror, and had followed in his mind, perhaps during the same hour, the mystery of the birth of Jesus and the horror of the death of Marat. It was thus that Master Arfoll sowed his seeds. For the most part they fell on barren soil— on soulless natures that could not comprehend. Sometimes, and notably in this instance, they bore fruit that astonished the sower ; for soon Rohan's abomination of tyranny and bloodshed equalled that of Arfoll himself, and in the end his horror of the Napoleonic Phantom became as deep as that of any living man. And the more that Rohan's thoughts grew, the more food they r^eived. As in a glass darkly, he got bloody glimpses of the history of society : — he saw the white, luminous feet of a Redeemer passing over the waters of a world yet unredeemed ; he heard the terrible persiflage of Voltaire and the emotional Deism of P.ousseau, translated for him by his teacher into pleasant Brezonec ; he was taught to comprehend the sins of Kings and the righteous- ness of Revolutions ; he learned to loathe Robespierre and to love Lafayette. This influence from the world without deepened instead of lessening his enthusiasm of physical freedom. Suspended from the highest Kromlaix crag, swimming in the darkest under-cavern where the seals breed, rocking on the waters, he enjoyed his liberty the more because he learned that it was unique. He pictured himself vistas of enslaved generations led by mad and cruel leaders to misery and death, and he thanked :he good God who made him a widow's only son. A DAY AT SEA. Ill Slowly, year by year, under Master Arfoll's occasional instructions, he became conscious that Humanity, in the failure of the French revolution, had lost the mightiest of its chances ; that instead of the Holy Goddess of Freedom, a mighty force was dominating France and all the world. With his own eyes, year by year, he had seen the Angel of the Conscription passing over Kromlaix and marking tlie doors with blood for a sign ; with his own ears, year after year, he had heard the widows wail and the children weep ; with his own soul and his own reason, still more strongly as every year advanced, he had appraised the ruling Force as the Abominable, and had prayed, while yet rejoicing in his strength and freedom, for the martyrs of the Consulate and Empire. And now perhaps his turn had come ! What mighty, what loving arms are those of the great calm sea ! What a soft beating is this of its solemn heart, as it lifts us in its arms and rocks us on its breast ! The stormy spirit of Rohan grew hushed, as he rose and fell in the stillness of the morning light. The freedom of the waters was with him, and he breathed now securely. As a floating sea-gull, now hidden, now visible, the boat rose and fell on the great smooth waves. He heard the tinkling of the chapel bell, he saw the village astir, he caught the hum of music ; then all was still. As the hours rolled on, the sea-breeze rose a little, and he let the boat run close to the wind. His eye sparkled and his sense of freedom increased. He almost forgot his fear in the delight of tl.e rapid motion. Midday came, and still he was upon the water. By this time he had reached a great patch of giossy calm, covered with black masses of guillemots and shearwaters, over which the great gulls sailed and the small terns hovered and screamed. As the boat crept in among them no bird was disturbed ; he might almost have reached them with his hand. He leant over the boat's side, and sud- denly, like a lightning flash, he saw the innumerable legions of the herring pass, followed closely by the dark shadows of the predatory fishes, from the lesser dogfish to the non-tropical shark. There was a tremor and a i! h I i 112 THE SHADOW OF THE SWORD. trouble of life all below him ; above him and around him, the tremor and trouble too. As he hung over and gazed, sick fancies possessed him. In the numberless creatures of the ocean he seemed to see the passing of great armies, pursued by mighty legions mad with blood. The mystery and the horror of the Deep troubled him, and he threw up his face to the sunlight. And the predatory birds were killing and feeding, the por- poises were rolling over and over in slow pursuit of food, and half a mile off a bottle-nosed whale rose, spouted, and sunk. Before now, it had all seemea most beautiful and plea- sant ; now it seemed very cruel and dreadful. He was face to face with the law of life, that one thing should prey upon another ; and here, in the deepness of his own per- sonal dread, he realized almost for the first time the quiet cruelty of Nature. Calmer thoughts ensued. After all, he might not be drawn, though the chances were against him, and the Con- scription, he knew, had a mysterious knack of picking out the strongest men. God might be good, and spare him yet. Then he went over in his mind the names of fellow- villagers, who, like Mikel Oral Ion, had escaped again and again, though their names had been repeatedly upon the lists. He was yet perhaps too free, and had been so recently too happy, to feel as acuteh^ as Master Arfoll the pangs of others. His emotion wa^ just now that of a strong animal surrounded, rather than that of a beneficent man feeli'ig for his fellows. 4t did not even occur to him that his escape would be another man's doom ; these were subtleties of sympathy he had yet to learn in sorrow. It was a day of anguish and horrible uncertainty. If he knew his fate he would be prepared, but he could not know it yet. He must wait and wait. He had been accustomed to go for long days without food, and this day he neither ate nor drank. All his hunger and thirst were in his eyes, watching the land. And lo ! as chief cynosure in the prospect, he saw the black Menhir, like some fatal and imperial form, towering over Kromlaix, ^nd V arning him away from home. Tht; day declined. A land breeze rose again, and he A DAY AT SEA. I»3 him, ^■^ '4\ Jt 1 h6 beat for a mile against it, towards the land ; and now the sun had declined so far that the purple shadov. of the boat ran beside '«ui on the sea, and Kromlaix was glisten- ing in the rays of the afternoon sun, and he could see the stone Christ standing piteous, high up on the hill. Suddenly he started and listened, like a wild beast afraid. Then he stood up in the beat and gazed eagerly up the hill, where the sunlight illumined the old church and the white road at its gate. He was alone ; not another boat was upon the water but his own ; the whole village seemed deserted and still. From inland, however, he had caught the sound of music and of human voices. Yes, they were now quite audible : they were coming ; his fate was known. He shuddered and shivered. The sounds came nearer and nearer ; he recognized the sound of the biniou and the voices of men singing the national song. He waited and waited, listening and watching, until he saw the crowd coming over the hill : Conscripts marching about, half-mad with wine ; fishermen and villagers shout- ing; girls in bright-colored raiment, running and laugh- ing ; the biniou playing, many singing. Over the hill they came, and up to the church gate, and the little cure came out and blessed them, asking the news meanwhile. Rohan could see it all. He could recognize the cure's black figure among the crowd. Then they came flying downhill. His first impulse had been to land and meet them. Strange to say, eager as he had been all day to know the day's proceedings — whether his name had been drawn at all in his absence ; if so, who had drawn in his name, and whether his number was lucky or fatal — eager as he had been to know all this, he now shuddered to hear it. The closer the crowd came, . le louder the noise grew, the more his heart sickened within him. He saw the children and old women coming out to the house doors ; he heard the little village gradually growing busy; he watched the crowd from the town as they marched down nearer and nearer ; he heard the murmur of many voices. Then, instead of hastening to land, he turned his boat's head round, and ran, with a free sheet, out again to sea, 8 It : 114 TtrE SHADOW OF TH& SWOHD. Night had quite fallen, and the' lights of Kromlaix were twinkling like stars on the water's edge, when Rohan Gwenfern ran his boat into the little creek below his mother's house. All was still here, though a confused murmur came from the village. He drew the boat up the shingle by means of a wooden windlass and a rope, placed there for the purpose, an'^ put it safely above high-water mark. Then, still keeping in the shadow of the crags, he approached the door of his home. As he came nearer, a sound of voices fell upon his ears. He stopped, listening, and while doing so, he became conscious of dark figures congregated round the door. He hesitated for a moment ; then summoning up all his resolution, strode on. In another minute he found himself surrounded by an eager crowd, and as the light from the door fell upon his face, all uttered a shout. " Here he is at last ! " cried a voice, which he recognized as that of Mikel Grallon. Then another, that of Gildas Derval, cried in stentorian tones : " Vive VEmpereur f — and three cheers for number one 1 " ■ J ^ CHAPTER XV. . "the king of the conscripts." : :U - -t WHILE the shouts still rang in his ears and the biniou began to play up outside, Rohan pushed his way into the cottage. The moment he crossed the threshold he saw the kitchen was full of men and women, in the midst of whom, with his back to the fire, stood Corporal Derval, declaiming. On a form close to the fire, with her face covered with jier apron and her body rocking to and fro in agony, sat " THE A'/XG OE ntK COS^SCRTPTS.'* <»5 ux were 1 Rohan !low his me from wooden an'^ put *ping in >r of his ipon his so, he )und the ning up id by an ipon his :ognized entorian i ONE I " r- -J e biniou lis way lold he midst Derval, d with >ny, sat the mother, weeping silently ; and round her gatiiered, some crouching at her feet, others bending over her and talking volubly, several sympathizing women. The scene explained itself in one flash, and Rohan Gwenfern knew his fate j but pale as death, he strode across the floor to his mother's side. As he went he was greeted with cries, articulate and inarticulate. The Corporal ceased declaiming ; the mother threw the apron off her face and reached out quivering hands to her son. "Rohan! Rohan!" Scarcely looking at hi?, mother, Rohan sternly addressed the others. " What is the matter ? What brings you all here ? " Many tongues answered him, but in the confusion few were intelligible. " Silence ! " cried the Corporal, frowning fiercely. " Si- lence all ! Listen, Rohan ! I will tell thee all that has taken place. Malediction ! these women — they make one deaf ! They say I bring thee bad news, but that is false, as I tell them. Thy name has been drawn, and thou art to serve the Emperor — that is all ! " " No, no ! " cried Mother Gwenfern — " he cannot go 1 If he goes I shall die ! " " Nonsense, mother ! " said the Corporal. " Thou wilt live to see him come back covered with glory. Ha, ha, boy, thou wilt make a grenadier ; the Emperor loves the tall fellows, and thou wilt soon be a corporal. Shake hands with thy cousin Gildas. He is drawn too." Gildas, who had entered by this time, approached, holding out his hand with a feeble hiccup. It was clear that he had been drinking deep, for his eyes were glazed and his legs most unsteady. Without noticing the outstretched hand, Rohan glared all round. "Is this true ? " he panted. " Tell me — some one who is soherr The corporal scowled. Jkn Goron came forward quietly and put his hand on Rohan's shoulder. They were old friends and companions. ** It is all over as they say. God has beeii good to me and my mother, but thou art drawn." ii6 TlfE SHADOW OF TI/F SirOh'D. There was a general murmur of condolence from the old women, and a wail from Mother Gwenfern, Like one dazed, stupefied, now his fate had come, Rohan stood silent. Several men Hocked around him, some sympathet- ically, others with jests and laughter. Just then Jannick Derval gave a comic scream with his bagpipes, and there was a loud roar of merriment, in which even the conscripts joined. " Hands away ! " cried Rohan fiercely, thrusting out his arms, and adding, while the men shrank back before him, " It is false ! you are doing this to make a jest of me ! How can I be drawn } I was not there ! " The Corporal, who, like the rest, had imbibed a little, replied, with a wink at the conscripts : — *' Oh yes, that is all very well, but the Emperor is not to be done in that way, mon garz. More shame for one to be skulking in a corner when he should be standing forth like a man ! Thank thy good fortune that thou hadst a brave uncle there to represent thee and explain thy absence. It is all right ! Vive VEmpcretir ! " Rohan quivered all through his powerful frame, and glared at his uncle. " It is the will of God," said an old woman, aside. > p ** Thou hast drawn in my name ! " cried Rohan. n Uncle Ewen nodded, but proceeded to explain. " Thou wast not there, mon garz. Thy duty called thee, but thou wast elsewhere. Well, I would have drawn for thee, but my pretty Marcelle was there, and she craved so to draw, saying thou hadst bidden her do so if thou wast away. Corbleu ! how they smiled when the little one came forward and put her hand into the great box. She groped about for a long time — like this ! — and I thought to myself ^Parbleu! she is feeling about for the lucky number.' * Courage !^ cried m'sieu le maire, and she drew it out X*-.^'-,*^ "Marcelle.?" ' " Have I not said so, mon garz ! Ah, she is a brave little one, and brings luck both to thee and to the Emper- or. Thou shouldst be proud ! Thou art at the head of all in Kromlaix ! Thou art King of the Conscripts !— and all through the little hand that drew for thee and pulled out * number one ! ' " *' THE KING OF THE CONSCRIPTS: 117 little, -•.6 t "Rohan Gwenfern — number one f' roared Gildas, mim- icking the tones of the Sergeant of the lists. There was a laugh, and Jannick again performed his ridiculous squeak on the hinioti. The drink had circulated freely, and the conscripts, whatever their secret feelings might be, were publicly up- roarious. Gathering round the door, and flocking into the room, they loudly called on Rohan to join them, Gildas most vehemently of all. But there was no real joy or enthusiasm there. No woman smiled, and many wept bitterly. Suddenly the cries without increased, and into the house Hocked a troop of young girls singing the national hymn. At their head Marcelle. Pale with excitement, with one hectic spot burning on either cheek, she entered the chamber ; then, seeing Ro- han, she paused suddenly, and looked at him with ques- tioning eyes. He had not stirred or apoken from that moment when he had uttered Marcelle's name ; he had heard the Cor- poral declaim, and the conscripts cry, in a horrid stupefac- tion. Now, when Marcelle entered, he only turned his eyes rapidly towards her, then averted them, and grev^ more deadly pale. A hard struggle had gone on in the heart of the girl. When first she had drawn the fatal number she had been horrified and stupefied. Then she had reasoned with herself, and her adoration for the Emperor had risen up in her heart, until, carried away by her uncle's enthusiasm, she forgot her self-reproach, and determined to act an heroic part in all the scenes which were to follow. Few of the conscripts had taken their ill-luck personally to heart, and she did not calculate for any extraordinary resistance on the part of Rohan. True, she had often heard him express his loathing of warfare and of the Con- scription ; but then, so had the other men of Kromlaix ; and yet, when the hour came and they were called, they made merry and went. " Look, Rohan ! " she cried, holding up in her hand a rosette with a long colored streamer, "Look! I have brought it for thee / ' ii8 TtlE SHADOW OF THE SWORD. Every one of the conscripts wore a similar badge, and the old Corporal, to complete the picture, had stuck one upon his own breast. All cheered as Marcelle advanced. Rohan looked up wildly. '* Keep back ! Do not touch me ! " he cried, with out- stretched arm. " Hear him 1 " derisively called Mikel Grallon. • ■' "The boy is mad ! " cried the ('orporal. " Rohan, do you not understand ? " cried Marcelle, terrified by her lover's look. " I drew for thee as I was bidden, and though I did not wish thee to go, God has arranged it all, and thou wilt serve the good Emperor with Gildas and the rest. Thou art not angry, my cousin, that it is so.^ I had it from thine own lips, and I drew in thy name, and thou art King of the Conscripts, and this is thy badge. Let me fasten it now upon thy breast ! " t From the pocket of her embroidered apron she drew a needle and thread and came nearer. He did not stir, but his features worked convulsively ; his eyes were still fixed upon the ground. In a moment her soft fingers had at- tached the rosette to his jacket. Another cheer rose, and the Corporal nodded, as much as to say, " That is good ! " " And now — forward ! " cried the Corporal. " We will drink his health." There was a movement towards the door, but suddenly Rohan started as if from a trance, and cried in a voice of thunder — "Stay!" -, - .. ■ . , .- All stood listening. Mother Gwenfern crept close and gripped his hand. " You are all mad, I think, and I seem going mad too. What is this you tell me about a Conscription and an Emperor ? I do not understand. I only know you are mad, and that my uncle there is maddest of all. You say that my name is drawn, and that I must go to be killed or to kill "i I tell you only God can draw my name, and I will not stir one foot, I — never, never. Hell seize your Emperor ! Hell swallow up him and his Conscription 1 I commit him as I commit this badge you have given n^c —to the fiame, to the flame ! " idge, and :uck one vanced. vith out- i *' THE KING Of THE CONSCRIPTS:' 119 ■; . •> 1- 1 ilarcelle, 1 IS I was God has ;ror with sin, that w in thy lis is thy 5 drew a stir, but till fixed had at- as much r We will uddenly voice of ose and lad too. and an 'ou are low say illed or and I e your iption I ven iflc Furious to frenzy, he tore the rosette from his breast, and cast it into the fire. There was a loud murmur, and Mother Gwenfern wailed aloud. " Hush, mother ! " he said ; then turning agam to the conscripts and to the Corporal, he cried : " Your Emperor can kill me, but he cannot compel me to be a sold'er. Before God, I deny his right to summon me to fight tor him, for he is a Devil. If every man of France had my heart, he would not reign another day, for he would have no army, no sheep to lead to the slaughter. Go to your Emperor and do his bloody work — J shall remain at home." All this time he had not once turned his eyes on Mar- celle. She now approached him again crying — " Rohan ! for God's sake be silent ! These are foolish words." Srill he did not look at her or answer her. Gildas Der- val broke in with a coarse oath — " It seems to me that there is only one word for my cousin Rohan. He is un lAche/^* Rohan started, but controlling himself, looked quietly at the speaker. By this time the old Corporal, who had stood perfectly paralyzed with amazement and indignation, recovered his breath. " Attention ! " he cried aloud, purple with passion. ** Gildas is right, and Rohan Gwenfern is a coward, but he is something more. He is a choun, and he blasphemes. Listen, you who are going to fight like men for your country : — this man is a Idche^ a choun, and he blasphemes. Mother Gwenfern, thy son is accurst ! Marcel le, thy cousin is a dog ! He has spoken words treasonable and damnable — he has cursed the holy name of our father the Emperor. And yet he lives ! " The scene had now grown terrible. Rohan stood erect facing his uncle and his other antagonists, but still clasping his mother's hand. Mother Gwenfern, poor woman, could not bear to hear such words uttered of her son, and she cried through her tears — " Ewen Derval, you are wicked to speak so of my boy ! ' * Hush, mother ! " The momentary storm was over, and Rohan stood now subdued, I 120 THE SHADOW OF THE SWORD. " Attention ! " again cried the Corporal, " We will be charitable — perhaps the boy is not well, is under a charm — we will try to think so, my braves. He may come to- morrow and ask forgiveness of the good Emperor, and pray to be allowed to join you others who fight for your country. If not, mark you, we will come to fetch him ; he shall not disgrace us without a cause. He thinks he is very strong, but what is a man's strength against ours, against the Em- peror's ? I tell you we will hunt him down if need be — like a fox, like a dog ; and look you, I his uncle will lead you on. . . . Ves, Mother Loiz, I will lead them on ! . . With or without his will he will join you, remember that ; and if he goes unwillingly, may the first bullet in his first battle find him out and strike the coward down ! " Rohan said nothing, but still stood with a ghastly smile upon his firm-set face. Words were useless now, since the terrible hour had come. There was a dead silence, during which the men gazed savagely enough at the revolter. Then Marcelle crept up, and stood between Rohan and her uncle. " Your words arc too harci, uncle Ewen, and you do not understand. Rohan did not mean all he said ; he spoke in passion, and then men do not utter their right minds. And he is no coward, but a brave man — ^yes, the bravest here!" ' - - At this there was a general groan. \ ' •* " Silence, Marcelle ! " said the Corporal. " I will not be silent, for it is my fault, and it is I that have brought bad luck to my cousin. Rohan, wilt thou forgive me ? I prayed it might not be so, but God has willed it — God and his saints, who will watch over you when you go to war ! " Rohan looked sadly into the girl's face, and when he saw the wet eyes, the quivering lips, his heart was stirred. He took her hand and kissed it before them- all. An ill-favored face was suddenly thrust forward between them. " It is a pity, is it not," cried Mikel Grallon, " to see a pretty girl wasting all her comfort on a coward, when — " He did not complete the sentence, for as a lion lifts up its paw and annihilates some impertinent mouse, so Rohan, ^i» -^^ " THE A'/NG OF THE COA'SCAVPTS." 121 scarcely stirring his frame, stretched out his hands and smote the speaker down. Grallon fell like a log. A wild cry arose from all the men, the women screamed, «!arcelle shrank back aghast, and Rohan strode to the door, pushing his way out. " Seize him ! hold him ! kill him ! " cried many voices. " Arrest him ! " cried the Corporal. But Rohan hurled his opponents right and left like so many ninepins. They fell back and gasped. Gildas and Hoel rushed forward, their great frames shaking with wrath. Rohan turned suddenly and faced them at the door, but in a moment they were upon him, hurling themselves forward like two huge battering-rams. It was only for a moment that Rohan hesitated, remembering that his opponents were his cousins and the brothers of Marcelle. 'I'hen with a dexterous trick well known in Brittany he tripped up the huge Hoel and grappled with the huge Gildas. Now, Gil- das was at no time quite a match for Rohan, and just now he was half seas over ; so in another moment he lay shriek- ing and cursing by the side of his brother. Then Rohan turned his white face rapidly on Marcelle, and passed unmolested out into the darkness. Late ll.at night the little tun; or vicar, sat in the vicar- age before a snug fire. His room was furnished with an oaken table, straw-bottomed chairs, and a bed with dark serge curtains, and ornamented by rude pictures of saints and a black ebony cross on a stand, before which was a low prie-ifieu. The little cure was reading, not his breviary, but a strongly spiced history of the doings of the Church previous to the Revolution, when a loud knock came to the door. Direc*^'y afterwards the old serving-woman showed in a man, whom Father Rolland recognized at a glance as Ro- han Gwenfern. The mo?nent they were alone Rohan, who was pale as death, approaching the cure and leaning his hand upon the table, said in a low, emphatic, yet respectful voice, " Father Holland, I have come to ask your help." The priest stared, but closing his l^ook 4nd inptioning tp the chair, said— ^ ♦'Sit down," I ! i Z22 THE SHADOW OF THE SWORD. si i» Rohan shook his head, and continued to stand. " I have been drawn for the Conscription. My own hand did not draw the fatal number, and 1 might perhaps pro- test, for I was absent at the drawing ; but it would be equal — I knew from the first there could be no escape. The Emperor chooses the strong, and I am strong. But my mind is made up, Father Rolland ; I shall never go to war ; I have thought it over and over, and I will rather die. You open your eyes amazed, as if you did not understand. Well, understand this — I will not become a soldier. That is as certain as death, as unchangeable as the grave." Father Rolland had encountered such cases before — many a weeping mother and miserable son had come to him for advice — but none had spoken like this man. They had come in tears, and gone in tears, resigned. This man, on the contrary, though under dreadful excitement, was tearless, proud, almost insolent. He stood erect, and his eye never once quailed, as it met the priest's. Father Rolland raised his shoulders and rubbed his hands together. " You are drawn ? — I am sorry for you, my poor fellow, but you will have to submit." " There is no exemption ? " * "None." ... ..:? " Although I am my mother's only son? " " "■^•' " Ah, that is nothing now. Even the lame and deformed are ca,,jd upon this time. It is hard, but the Emperor must have men." There was a pause, during which Rohan looked fixedly at the priest, to the iatter's great discomfort. At last he spoke : *' Very well, Father Rolland ; — ^you have heard my de- cision. The Emperor will not spare me, my countrymen will not help me. So I have come \.o you.'' ''Tome!" '■" " To you. You are a holy man ; — you profess to give absolution, to prepare the souls of the dead, to represent God on earth. I appeal against the Emperor to your God, your Christ crucified. I say to Him and to you that war is abominable, that the Emperor is a devil, that France is a shambles, I will keep your God's commandment — that is, " THE KING OF THE CONSCRIPTS.'* 123 own hand haps pro- would be o escape. 5ng. But •ver go to ather die. derstand. ir. That ve." before — • come to n. They 'his man, lent, yas and his 3bed his fellow, ^formed 'iiperor cedly at last he my de- len will o give ►resent r God, war is :e is a hat is, I will do no murder ; I will not obey the Emperor — that is, I refuse to do wickedness because I am tempted by the Devil. Your God is a God of Peace ; your Christ died rather than raise His hand against His enemies ; you say your God lives, your Christ reigns — let Him help me now I It is for His help that I have come." It was diflficult to tell v nether the speaker's manner was quite serious or partly ironical ; his tone certainly seemed despairingly aggressive. He stood quite still, always deathly pale, and his voice did not tremble. Father Roliand was staggered. He himself was no particular friend to the Em- peror, but such words seemed dreadful under the circum- stances. He answered good-naturedly but firmly, with soothing waves of the hand — " My son, you should be on your knees when you come asking help from God. To the contrite heart, to the spirit that comes in humility and prayer. He grants rauch^ perhaps all. It seems to me you are angry. It is not in anger that Christ should be sought — hem ! " Rohan answered at once, in the same tone. " I know that ; I have heard it often before. Well, I have prayed oftan, but to-night my knees will not bend. Let me ask you. Father Roliand — you who are a good man, with a heart for the poor — is it right that these wars should take place.? is it right that five hundred thousand men should have perished as they did with last year's snow ? is it right that the Emperor should now call for nearly four hundred thousand more ? That is not all. Are not men brothers ? Was not that proved in Paris > Is it right for brothers to murder each other, to torture each other, to wade in each other's blood to the ankles > If all this is right, then, mark you, Christ is wrong, and there is no place left in the world for your God ! " This was terrible. The curS started up violently and cried aloud — " No blasphemy ! " Then standing before the fire and putting on a severe look, he continued — " You do not understand these things. I do not say that you have no cause for complaint, but as to what you say, there has always been war, and it is in the 3ook of Godt II liiii I I i 124 THE SHADOW OF THE SWORD. Men are quarrelsome, look you ; so are nations ; and a nation or a man, it is all one. If a man strike you, mon garz^ would you not strike him again ? And you would be defending your rights ? Well, a nation has rights as well as you?" Rohan smiled strangely. •i-n* v ? " Is that what your Christ says ? Did he not say rather, If a man smite thee on one cheek, hold up to him the other ? " The priest coughed and looked confused ; then he cried — " That \l the letter, mon garz, but we must look to the spirit. Ah, yes, the spirit is the thing ! Now, we are alone, and I will tell you honestly, I do not love the Emperor ; he has been rough with the Holy Father, and he is not a King by Divine Right ; but there he is, and we must obey, all of us — the Church as well as you others. I will give another quotation, my Rohan. * Render unto Caesar the things which are Caesar's, and 10 God the things which are God's.' Now, this is the way to look at it. Your soul belongs to God, and He will watch over it ; but as for your perishable body, it belongs in the mean time to — humph ! — well, to Caesar — in other words to the Emperor ! " Rohan did not immediately reply, but walked slowly up and down the room. The little cur^^ thinking to calm him, said in a low solemn voice — '.-i - ■ '■- - :■ '■ •"-"^- •■'■•' " Let us pruy ' " * ; - ^^^ Rohan started. • ' ;; " To whom ! " he asked in a hollow voice. ■ " To the good God." " To whom my soul belongs ? " " Ah, yes. Amen ! " The priest crossed himself and approached the prie>- dieu. ''-> " But not my body ? " ; -/= i:^eb " Not thy body, which is dust." i The priest was about to sink upon his knees, when Rohan placed his strong hand upon his shoulder. "Not to-night. Father Rolland \ I have heard enough | i^nd I know now you cannot help me," "^ -• - ^ " THE KT.YG OF THE COA'SCUfPTS." 125 s ; and a you, mon would be as well as ly rather, him the then he k to the re alone, 2ror ; he t a King y, all of another ■ things God's.' ongs to ishable well, to )wly up solemn i prie- Jn3ee5 when *' How is that, my son ? Come, prayer will soothe your troubled spirit, and let you hear the still voice of God." .„>" No, I cannot pray ; least c' all to Him.' ^j«What!" "" " Do not be angry. Father Rolland ; I am not to be won by fear. You are a good man, but your Gcd is not for this world, and it is this world that I love." ,, " That 's sin." " Father, I love my life, and my strength, and the woman that is in my heart, and my mother — all these I love ; and peace. You call my body dust ; well, it is precious to me ; and my soul says, * Other men, too, feel their bodies pre- cious,' and I have sworn never to do any murder at any man's bidding. I will defend myself if I can, that is all ; defence may be righteous. Good night." He was at the door, when Father Rolland, whose hu- manity was large, and who really detested to behold suffering of any sort, cried eagerly — " Stay ! stay ! my poor fellow, I will assist you if I can." " You cannot," replied Rohan ; " nor can your God, Father Rolland. He died long ago, and He will never come again ; it is the Emperor who rules the world, not He." Before another word could be uttered, Rohan was gone. The little cure sank into a chair, and wiped the perspiration from his forehead. At that very hour, while Father Rolland and Rohan Gwen- fern were talking together, Marcelle Derval was on her knees in the little chamber already described. She was alone, the poor weeping mother not having yet retired to rest ; and below there was much angry discus- sion much tippling, much savage denouncement of Rohan Gwenfern. Of course, no one thought that Rohan would seriously think of resisting the Conscription ; there was no chance of that, for the country was all on the qui vive for deserters, and no boats of any size were putting to sea. For all that, he was ;/// l&che^ and the tipsy giant Gildas was loudest of all in his denunciations. But Marcelle prayed, under the two pictures of Our Lady with the Infant, and of St. Napoleon. For the soul of her dead father, for the old Corporal and her beloved mother, >«? i!! ii 1 I ; I ! I 1 fd6 T//S SffADOlV OF TffR StVO/iD. for her brothers (and chiefly for poor Gildas, who was drawn), and lastly, she breathed the name of Rohan Gwen- fern. '* Bless my love for Rohan, O Holy Lady, and bring him back to me from the terrible wars, and make him for- give me for drawing his name out of the lists, and grant me now thy grace, that I may never offend more." Then she looked up, as was her nightly custom, at the picture of the Emperor. " And O, merciful God, for the sake of Jesus thy Son and our Holy Mother and all the Saints, preserve the good Emperor, for whom my poor Rohan and Gildas my brother are going to fight ; and give him victory over his enemies, and bring him back to us safe, as thou bringest them. Amen ! " She rose and walked across the room to the window. The moon was shining bright, for it was at the full. She could see far out on the water the still and vaporous light, and on the housetops it was bright, and in the open streets, but the houses cast great shadows. Presently something stirred in the shadow of the oppo- site house, and she saw tfie figure of a man, leaning and looking up at her window. Love has wonderful sight, and she recognized Rohan Gwenfern. She crept close to the window and opened it. The moon shone on her snowy coif and bodice, as she leant out whis- pering softly — " Rohan ! Rohan ! " ' ' ^ He had often come to that call, but this time he did not come. He looked up no longer, but moving forward into the open moonlight, he passed down the street, without once raising his head. ''•■■- . -7 ; f • V .-.* A GOOD MAN'S BLESSING. ti; , who WJ19 lan Gwen- and bring e him for- and grant » >m, at the thy Son the good ly brother enemies, est them. window. 11. vaporous the open he oppo- ling and I Rohan he moon >ut whis- did not into the »ut once -e CHAPTER XVI. A GOOD man's blessing, ON a bright sunny day, about a week after the drawing of lots in the town of St. Gurlott, there gathered, in a green field twenty miles away, a strange group. In the centre sat an elderly man, with a book in his hand, reading aloud in clear and even tones. Gathered around him, some looking over his shoulders, others seated on the ground — a few indolent and indifferent, most attentive — were eight human figures. The reader was Master Arfoll ; the rest were his pupils. The eldest was a good-humored but stupid-looking peas- ant of about five-and-twenty, who wore a broad beaver hat and an old-fashioned rusty suit — black jacket, loose black breeches, and black gaiters. He sat with his mouth and eyes wide open, a model of stupidity and curiosity. Next to him was a slender youth of eighteen, with close shaven hair, like a klodrek or religious student ; but he too was a farm laborer, or farmer's son. Next to him, two plump stolid girls of fourteen, with bright skirts, enormous coifs, and sabots. Then two clumsy and ill-favored boys. And finally, looking over Master Arfoll's shoulders, a little boy and a little girl of six — the most comical little figures imaginable ; the boy clad exactly like the adult peasant — in a black suit, tiny sabots^ and a broad-brimmed hat ; the girl with an enormous coif, the broad ends of which reached to her waist, a black bodice, a very stiff black skirt, and black stockings terminating also in wooden shoes. The children looked as solemn as a little old man and woman, the girl with her hands folded primly on her bosom, the boy with his little hands stuck firmly in the waist-band of his brazoH-bras. Inland, scattered here and there, sometimes surrounded by fir trees, more often not sheltered at all, were a number of little farms, from which these pupils came. The green •"n. ■».•.,.-.». I!! !ili ,.iit 1 1 m T28 r//E SUA DOW OF THE SWORD. field in which they sat was part of a great plain of heath and gorse, interspersed with broad green pieces of pasture, and stretching along the low granite cliffs of the sea. All was very calm and still, and Master Arfoll, from the knoll where he sat, could trace the sea coast for many miles away, the blue capes stretching dim in the distance, the cream-white surf breaking in sandy bays, the dark blue waters moving softly under the shadows of the wind. Here and there on the plain rose a menhir * or dolmen ; others lay overthrown among the furze. Not twenty yards from the knoll a moss-grown dolmen — so high that a tall man might stand within it erect — cast its dark shadow on the grass. Master Arfoll ceased ; then he turned smiling to the little maiden, and said — " Now, little Katel, read after me ! " The girl came closer, put her little face close into the book, and followed Master Arfoll's finger as it slowly trav- ersed the lines. It was the New Testament she was reading, translated into modern French. When she had read a verse, with much blundering and confusion of Bre- zonec and French proper, the teacher patted her on the head. " Good," he said, and Katel blushed with delight. Then the little boy tried, with less patience and less ;3uc- cess. His French was utterly unintelligible. " Take time, my Roberd ! " said the teacher. But Ro- berd, although he took time, fared no better than before. Presently, when the adult peasant came up to try, it was worst of all. His pronounciation of the letters was bar- barous, and the smallest word of one syllable was beyond his powers. Nevertheless, he seemed to take great delight in the pursuit of knowledge, and when the other pupils, particularly little Katel, laughed outright at his blunders, he only grinned and scratched his head with the utmost good humor. It was a scene for a painter. The sun shone brightly on the happy group, and softly touched the careworn lines of • A menhir is an upright solitary stone ; a dolmen is a chamber formed by a large stone placed erect on two upright stones, the sides being left open ; and a cromlech is a collection of dolmens. A GOOD MAirS BLESSING. X29 lin of heath s of pasture, le sea. All ►m the knoll many miles listance, the : dark blue wind. or dolmen ; wenty yards I that a tall shadow on ling to the •se into the slowly trav- nt she was in she had ion of Bre- her on the ight. id less ;3UC- But Ro- ll before, try, it was was bar- as beyond at delight er pupils, blunders, le utmost rightly on n lines of a chamber s, the sides Master Arfoll's face, and lit up the quaint costumes of his pupils; while all around him it gleamed on fields and farms, and on the great plain of furze, and on the twinkling sea. Ever and anon a white sea-gull, sailing in from the cliffs, passed softly over their heads ; and right above the dolmen, rising ever higher and higher, a lark was singing. Then Master Arfoll took the old weather beaten book, and turning over its worn leaves, read a part of a chapter, translating it rapidly aloud into melodious Brezonec. It was the fourteenth chapter of the Gospel of Luke, and the part he read was the parable of the man who gave a great supper. AH listened eagerly ; it was a story, like one of the tales told at the vcillee^ and they hearkened open-mouthed. When he had finished he said suddenly — " My children, let us pray ! " All knelt around him, from the peasant to little Katel, who fingered meanwhile a little rosary of oaken beads that hung over her white stomacher. This was Master Arfoll's prayer — '* Pour forth, I beseech thee, O Lord, Thy grace into the hearts of these Thy children ; that they, when the time comes, may know Thee and not Antichrist ; may feel Thy Divine assistance always with them, may recognize Thy E truth and Thy knowledge, nor come and go upon the earth even as brute beasts of the field. Enlighten them, since ithey need light. Amen. Teach them, since they are will- ling to be taught. Amen. Strengthen them, that they kneel [not to any graven Image or to any wicked Man. Amen. |May their souls through life knew the great gospel of love ihd peace, and may they meet at Thy great Supper, when [the days of their life are done. Amen, Amen ! " , At every repetition of " amen," little Katei crossed her- self vigorously. To none of the scholars did the prayer seem different from other prayers, though Master Arfoll ex- temporized it, as was his custom, with profounder meanings. Then all rose, and clustered round Master Arfoll in the sunlight. " That is enough for to-day," he said, with his hand on little Katel's head. " To-morrow we will meet here, my children, at the same hour." 130 THE SHADOW OF THE SlVOh'JK II "Master Arfoll!" cried little Katel. . » "Well, little one?" " Mother is angry that thou hast not stayed with her since thou earnest to Traonili. She bids nie tell thee that she hath a pair of leather shoes for thee, and more." The schoolmaster smiled kindly. ** Tell thy mother I will stay with her to-night." "Nay, that is not fair," cried out one of the older girls. "You promised Aunt Nola to stay with us." This vehemently, but with a curtsey. •' We will see, we will see," said Master Arfoll, nodding his head. "Now, hasten home, for the noon-day angelus has already sounded^ (loodman Penvcnn, till to-morrow ! Patience ! Vou will be a scholar yet ! " The last words were addressed to the eldest of the class, who grinned a delighted reply, and in a i\\'\Qk />afois pressed the schoolmaster soon to visit his brother, Mikel Penvenn, on whose farm he was a laborer. A minute more, and the "school " was scattered : Pen- venn making his way straight acro.is the plain, the young girls and the lad walking slowly this way and that, Ihe two young boys running with shouts and cries across the fields, and little Katel and her brother trotting hand in hand to the nearest farm. While the schoolmaster, with a dreamy eye, is watching his little flock retreat, it may be well to explain the pecu- liarities of his strange vocation. Before the great revolution, Brittany had been full of itinerant teachers, educated by the Church, who travelled from village to village, and from farm to farm, teaching children the Latin prayers, the Angelus Domini, and the Catechism. They were generally men whose hopes of fol- lowing the priesthood had been disappointed. Their lives were hard, their food the commonest, their whole profes- sion allied to mendicancy. Their lessons were given at all hours and under all conditions. Sometimes in the fields, in the intervals of labor ; sometimes in the stable and cowshed \ sometimes under the cross in the highway ; sometimes within, but oftener without. Their pay was miserable, six sous monthly from each family, or value for that amount. Besides this, they had perquisites and pres- M (ioo/i I/./ \".v /}/ F.ssfA'd. Ut cfl with her Ml thee that lore." older girls. )11, nodding day angel us to-morrow ! of the class, '/ois pressed el Penvenn, ered : Pen- I, the young- liat, Ihe two is the fields, in hand to watching the pecu- een full of travelled 1, teaching i, and the ipes of fol- Their lives ole profes- given at the fields, stable and highway ; pay was r value for and preS' m ents — bacon, honey, linen, measures r>f corn. They were welconu' to bed and board, wherever tliey liked to stay, and had a eerl.iin honor .unon;; the i;;iioraiil |)i.'o|jle ; for an odor of sanctity huii;; about them, seeing tlial they had been reared in the bosom of tlieChureh. Tliey travelled thus from village to village till lliey were too weak to travel any longer af»)ot ; then some of iheiii, in their age, con- trived to procure an old mule or donke)' to bear them, feeding it on the fields or in the deep roadsides ; and iinally, when they were (|uite decrepit and beyond impart- ing the little they knew, many became professional mendi- cants, begging their bread from dnf)r to door. With the fiery breath of the revolution, these itinerant schoolmasters were scattered as sparks, and most of them disappeared for ever. During the later years of the em- pire, when it was most the cue of Napoleon to appear as the father of religion and the establisher of a new and holy regime, mnnbers of iheni reai)|)eared following their old [vVocation. At the time of the Revolution, Master Arfoll must have been about thirty years of age ; but none in that district of Brittany remembered seeing his face before about the be- gining of the new century. His fiist appe.irance was as a grave elderly man, who wore upon his features the mark of some terrible trouble, and many of his utterances were so wild and peculiar that his sanity was often called in ques- tion. None knew if he had ever studied in anv church seminary. None knew whether or not he was a Breton [born. It was geiierally reported that he had been a dweller in one of the great cities, and that there, during the years I of terror, he had known such ex|)eriences as had turned his ;hair prematurely grey. However that may be, the people knew him and loved |him. A good man, whatever his opinions, disarms opposi- tion ; and besides, Master Arfoll never paraded opinions. : He was welcome at nearly every farm-house and little cot- |tage ; and when hospitality failed him, he had l)lack bread |in his wallet, and could find cresses in the brook. His life I may be called hard in a certain sense, but it was neverthe- [less the life of his desires. The scholars were soon out of sight, and Master Arfoll ■> .♦! ■ *.;. ' '"'■ pi si I3-! THE SHADOW OF THE SWORD. turned his face towards the se? He had been "sowing his seed," and he felt happy. A gentle light slejit upon his careworn face, as, holding his bible in one hand, and with both hands behind his back, he moved past the moss-grown dolmen. Me was passing by, when suddenly he hea'^d a sound be- hind his back ;at the same moment, a hand was placed upon his shoulders. He turned quickly, and there, as if sprung irom the very bowels of the earth, stood Rohan Gwenfern. Not at the first look did Master Arfoll recognize his pupil ; for already the man was cruelly changed. His hair was wild and his beard unshaven, his eyes bloodshot and sunk- en, his face careworn and pale. It does not take many hours of hunting to turn a human being into an animal ; and already Rohan had the wild listening look of a hunted thing. He seemed almost like a man uprisen from the grave ; for his clothes were torn and covered with damp loam, one sleeve of his jacket was rent and his arm bare to the elbow, and to crown all, his feet were bare. His height and powerful frame betrayed him most. Moreover, despite his wild appearance, he was still physi- cally beautiful. The head was still that of a lion ; the hair still golden, the eyes still full of their far-away visionary leo- nine look. " Rohan ! " at last ejaculated Master Arfoll, half ques- tioningly, for he believed Rohan to be many miles away, and could scarce believe his eyes. " Yes, it is I ! " answered Rohan, with a quick forced laugh, as if in mockery of his own appearance ; and he added, shaking the hair from his eyes, " I was hiding within the dolmen, waiting till you were done with your pupils. By St. Gildas, it was a gloomy tomb that for a living man 1 I thou^,";t you would never have done." He 1 lughed again. There was a curious restless reck- lessness in his manner, and his eyes instinctively looked this way and that, all round him. The schoolmaster placed his hand gently on his arm, looking anxiously into his face. " Rohan ? How is this .-* What has happened } " Rohan set his teeth together and answered the look. " It has come as I feared — that is all. " !k^ A GOOD M.t.V'S BLESSING. 133 mowing his t upon his , unci with OSS-grown sound be- aced upon 4 if sprung GwLMifcrn. ; his pupil ; is hair was and sunk- take many nimal ; and nted thing, grave ; for loam, one > the elbow, him most. still physi- fi ; the llair uonary leo- lalf ques- iles away, lick forced and he ing within our pupils, iving man I itless reck- ely looked n his arm, id?" e look. " What has come ? " " The conscription. " "That I knew. But then ?" " And I am drawn ! " answered Rohan. " Ten days ago was the drawing, and the day before yesterday was the medical inspection. A week since old I'ipriac and a fde of soldiers called to pay me their first visit. Unfortunately, I was not at home, and could not entertain them." He laughed again, a laugh of fierceness and fear. All was now clear to the old schoolmaster, and an infinite pity filled his heart. " My poor Rohan ! " he said, softly. " I have been praying for thee ever since we parted, and it has come to this'. It is a sad fatality, my son, a sad fatality. And thou art in revolt — God help thee, for it is terrible ! " Rohan turned his face away, to hide the rnist that cloud- ed his eyes. These tender words shook him like a charm. He turned suddenly and took both the schoolmaster's hands within his own. " I knew that it was coming, and it came, though I did not attend the drawing, and the number was drawn in my name. When the conscripts returned, I defied them and the Emperor ; some one reported that I was refractory. A message came commanding my appearance at Traonili. I did not go. Another ; and I stayed at home. After that it spread, and they came to arrest me. My own friends were worst, for they could not bear that they should go and I should escape. P'our days ago they hunted me from home. I laughed at them, for I knew the way a thousand times better than they. Well I was in despair : I thought of thee. I have walked two nights following thee, and asking after thee. Yesterday I was nearly trapped in a strange vil- age out there. I had to fling away sabots, and to run. A soldier caught me by the sleeve, as you see. It is hot work, Master Arfoll. It is so they hunt wolves in the For- est of Bernard." He spoke rapidly, as if fearing and deprecating any cen- sure. At every sentence his friend's face grew paler and graver. At the end he sadly shook his head, and was si- lent. Rohan continued — *' I cjuestioned at night, when they could not recognize ^MPVimippi «^ THE S/iAPOir I'/" /•///; SilOA'V, mo. .\!\ti 1 foin\*l vou wore \n 'VvaowWi. This mornin*; I fol- iowod vou, .ilw.iNs hivliuii wht-n .sti>iHi;ots vipi>v nod, tor Ou\v inii^hi ixtiow. \\'hoi\ \ou oaiuo this way I saw you wore not alono. and I hid \oiulor and waiiod. I was in droavl that vou niii^ht aoooinpanx thoni up to ilio tamis. I'hon I sprang out, as you soo ! " l"ho plain was solitaiy. and tho\ walkod on sivlo l>y side soaward. I'ho swatd was sott and i^i oon honoaih thoir loot, tho tur/o all arv>und ihoui j^uw bioasi lui;h, tinohos san>; on ovory spiav. and many laiks san^ ownhoad. lloro and thoro i;row bunrhos o\ piii\uoso>, and wild \ iolols worostir- riui; undoi tho sod. lU'Nond, tlu" soa was s{Kuklini;, and iho purplo shadows ot iho oapos suotohod out tar away. " Spoak, thou ! wh.it an» I [o do ■ " Mastor Artv>ll stariod, toi ho had Ihom plun^od in dvcp thought •' My son. it is toiiihlo ! — I am >iupot\od — I cannot advise yini, tor I soo tio hv'[>v\" •' Nc» hopo ? " •' Onlv i>no." *■* Ami that ? "' " l\> doliwr \oui>ilt u[> iv> tho authoritios and oravo for j;i\onoss. Mon ato provious now. and th»>y will roiv>iooovor thoo. Othotwi^o I >co no wa\. It th"/ tmd thoo attor- w.uds it is doaih." Rv>han mado a sovxntul i;o--tuio. '* I know that . but in anv oaso I Osin dio. and thov shall i\ot tako mo ali\o against mv will, but sa\, is this your vuU vioo, that I should ui\o mysolt" up ?" '"* I soo no othoi wa\." *' i'hai I shoulvl boo\M\io a soUlior of tho oniporor ? " " If it is ai^ainst thy will (nnl will acquit thoo. Rohan, it is a n\an ai^ainst tho world. " •' (lO on ! " *• And ovon in battlo thou ma\st soivo (\ok\. Thou will boar a woapon. but it will bo thv fault it it tako anv orca- turt^'s lifo ; and thou thou ma\st v omo baok living; whoa all isdvmo." Koh.ui listonod with dv>wi\oast o\os. "Wh.u moro ? " ho askod. '*>io moro. I know nv» othor hopo. my son," .4 (700 P VAX'S /.V A\s\v/.\V. K^S uin;4; I fol- •vl, iox they ai wore lu^t AxK\u\ that «i\ I spi.m^^ iilo by side \ ihoir tool, los s>u\i; on Hoio Awd s woio slir klin^. .m<\ ,u away. \\ m dcc\^ unot advise loravo tor ojoioo o\ 01 thoo at lor thov shall lis vovu ad- loi : c. Rohan, riivui wilt atw oroa- i\ in^; whon *' Can I noi osoapo ? — ^nii ot Kratwo ? lo another country ? " Master ArtoU shook liis head ^nd pointed — •• That wav lies \'annos;lhai way Nantes ; that way Brest ; aiul In-twoou those towns thousands of vilLitios. On every roavl side, ai every ^Mhi^a they arc watching tor deserters. •* It I could reach Mv^rlaix. whore there are ships !" "It is inipossiblo. From hence lv> Rrondaix istholonoli est part oi lirittany ; all iho rest is tull ot eves. No disi^uise would save thee, tor ihou art a man in a huiwliovl. Thou liasi toll it ahoad\. Thov wouKl discover thee, .lud then — no MUMcy ! " Rv^Mu soomod not in iho least astv>nishod. lie hail not Huo^tjonovl Master A' toll with the air oi a n»an having; n\nch hv)po lott ; i.ithoi like a m.in who had weii;hed all his chances aiul know ihom well botorehai\d. When the scluH^hn.isioi had tiui>hcd. Rohan >aiJ quiotlv, KH>kini; up — '" l\> yield nwsoU up I To bccoino >i soldier oi the \\m- potoi ' Wol!, thai is not tlio help tor which I came." He p.uiNod. auvl then counnuoil rainvlly — '• M\ lather -tor vvui wiP lot mo call yvHi that ! — you do uvU vlo me jusiico ; yv>u think I .im weak auvl mtirm ot pur- pose ; youad\iso mo as it I woio little Raiol yonder, or her brother or aiw child. That is not tair ; tor I am a man. \\ hon a man swe.ns an oath bctoio (tod it is that man's pl.uo lo keep it or vlio. Mv l.iihor, do you remember that ni^hi whou wo waichod the women at the toui\tain, and when I a>kod \ou. wouUl a uum be justitiovl ? " Master ArtoU inclined his head in assent. His eyes now soui^hi Rv>han's t.ico with a now .»stv>nishmeni, tor he saw there a sv)ul in open revolt with nature a^^ainst the inhu n\anitios ot man. Mk^ tell robuki'il, (or indooil he h.id gi\on his coun>ol as to .ui\ cv>umuM\ cro.iture. hoping; .ii\d instructing; tor the bo>t. lUu now ho was lominvloil. as in m mv a happier ilav ho had boon reminded botore. that Rohan liweutoin w.is no couunon ere. iture, but one mavlo in the n\osi unique mouUl ot nature, ami as ti.ved m levoU as Napi>leon hin»selt in power, '• Ves, you remember ! " voutinuovl Rohan, "Well, your counsel was unkind, tor it b.ido mo bro.ik tnv i>atlr. I s.iid i would never become a soldier , iluu while breath tillcU If «36 THE SHADOW OF THE SWORD. my body I would never cause another creature's death \ that I might be killed, but that I would never kill. The time has come, and 1 am to be proved. You say there is no escape. Well, as I said before, I can die." All the wild recklessness had departed, and he spoke now in a lew voice, solemnly and gently. His tones and looks were not to be mistaken ; they expressed an indom- itable will and purpose. Master ArfoU's seed had borne fruit indeed. It was the pupil now who taught and admon- ished the master. Tears were on Master ArfoU's cheeks, and Rohan saw them — saw them and trembled at them, though there were no tears on his own. They walked slowly on till they came to the edge of the cliffs, and saw beneath them the sea rolling in on dark ribbed sands. Then Rohan sat on a rock close to the edge, and leaning his cheek on his open palm, looked seaward. Presently he said, quietly, with the air ol one fisherman making a remark to another — " There will be wind to-night, and rain. Look at that bank of clouds creeping up in the south-west." Master Arfoll did not reply ; never had he seemed so reticent. After a pause, not changing his attitude, Rohan spoke again. " Master Arfoll, you are not angry } " Angry ! With those tears still gathering in his eyes, with that tender trouble still lingering on his face ! He turned to Rohan and answered him, placing one hand on his shoulder. "I am angry with myself. To be so weak ! to feel so helpless ! to know such things are done, and yet be unable to lift a hand! My son, I deserved your rebul e, for you are right and I was wrong. It is wrong to a ori.^'itjce in evil, even to save one's life. It is accursed to r aw a sword for that man, even though France itself is threat- ened. I weep for thee as for my own child, to see thee so troubled, so pursued ; but I say in my heart * God bless him ! he is right ! — he is a brave man, and were I indeed his father I should be proud of such a son.' " Long before the words were finished Rohan had arisen to his feet. Stretching out his hands, with the tears now for the first time gathering in his eyes, he cried—' IN THE STORMY NIGHT. 137 's death ; dll. The y there is he spoke ones and in indom- lad borne id admon- ahan saw lere were till they them the 1 sat on a his open fisherman 3k at that eemed so e, Rohan eyes, with turned to shoulder. to feel so be unable I, for you uvitjce in ("aw a is tlireat- ie thee so rrod bless I indeed lad arisen tears now " My father, you have spoken at last, and it was for those words I came." He stood trembling, with the sunlight playing on his hair, and on his face a look which, if seen in a poet or a musi- cian, would be called inspiration. " I came for those words ! All are against me, save my mother and thou! all are against me, even the one I love best in the world. A good father would rather have his son die than live dishonored ; and thou art my good father, and to go to war is dishonor, though they think it glory. Thou hast made me strong, my father — strong and happy. Give me now thy blessing, and let me go ! " Master Arfoll started and trembled. " My blessing ! Rohan, it is not worth giving ! You would say so, if you knew all." But Rohan had sunk upon his knees, looking up to Mas- ter Arf oil's face. " Bless me, my father ! Thou art the only good man I know ; men say too thou wast once a priest. Your words, your love have made me what I am, and your blessing will make me better and stronger still. You have told me that I am right, that God will approve me, that I shall be justified. Now bless me, and leave all the rest to God." He bowed his head ; and then and there, touching his hair with gentle hands, and uplifting a pallid face to heaven. Master Arfoll blessed him. Worse blessings have been given, even by Saints well known in the Calendar. CHAPTER XVn. IN THE STORMY NIGHT. "pOHAN GWENFERN'S well-trained eyes had not, -»-*' deceived him. The bad weather was coming, and that afternoon it came. Parting from Master Arfoll, who slowly retreated up to the peaceful farms among which he was then dwelling, Kohan pursued his way along the brink of the crags, 1« It 138 THE SHADOW OF THE SWORD. Between him and the inland the yellow-blossomed furze grew a tall man's height, and more than once, to find a path, he had to crawl down and creep like a fly along the very face of the crag, which was touched here and there b) the sun to rosy light, with silver glimmers of mica and felspar. The further he went the solitude grew lonelier. Not a soul was to be seen on that dizzy path, which wound slowly out to the great promontory of Pointe du Croix. The expression of his face was now quite calm. The wild, hunted look had vanished, to be replaced by a sad self-possession ; for as the dark waves broke at his feet, as the white gulls hovered over his head, as the goats of the crags walked slowly and fearlessly from his path, he felt the companionship of Nature, the happiness and free- dom of a solitude that was not solitary, of a loneliness that was not quite alone. He had always loved such joys ; now he loved them almost to madness, for he was a man against the World. He was in revolt against his fellows. He had refused to follow the Phantom that was beckoning his generation. Instead of being bound like a slave in a soldier's livery, and carrying a soldier's butchering load, he was free — he could move and live as he pleased, and if necessary he could die as he pleased. Not a sea-bird on the wing, not a seal softly floating in the watery empyrean, was more justified thfin he. The heart of earth throbbed with him — he could feel it as he threw himself down on the soft green grass. The living waters leaped and rejoiced with him ; he could see them glancing for miles on miles with rhyth- mic joy. The air exulted and blew joyfully upon him ; he drank it with slow heavings of the breast, and his strength grew. It was something, after all, to be a man. It was more to be admitted to the sacrament of Nature, partaken of by all those creatures and creations which bemoan the cruelty of men. The last touch of this sacrament came from a good man's blessing. Before that was given he had been weak and afraid ; now he came back to Nature, happy and resolved. Yes, momentarily happy ; for persecution brings its hap- pmess, when it draws forth the untold treasures of courage and self-confidence that hide in a human breast. Rohan IN THE STORMY NIGHT. 139 med furze to find a along tke d there b} mica and N lonelier, ich wound Droix. Im. The 1 by a sad t his feet, goats of path, he and free- iness that Lich joys ; as a man efused to ation. r's livery, free — he 2ssary he wing, not ^as more th him — oft green ith him ; th rhyth- him ; he strength It was Dartaken iioan the 3d man's eak and esolved. its hap- courage Rohan Gwenfern had always felt himself superior to his fellows ; since, let us admit it at once, he combined with his natural beneficence a fierce animal pride. He was not common, nor felt like mere slaves of the sword or the plough. Revolt de\ eloped this pride to a passion. He loved the frightful odds ag-ainst him, and he was ready to meet them. These were the thoughts and feelings that kept his heart up for many a mile, and made him almost forget his mother and Marcelle ; but as the afternoon darkened, and the weather began to change from sunshine to a tiny rain, he began again to be conscious of desolation. By this time he had reached the utmost verge of the promontory of Pointe du Croix. It was desolate as Death. The rain was now falling heavily. A slate-colored mountain of water rose over the point, turned to livid whit* . hovered, and broke in a four- fold cataract right over the outmost rocks. The sound was terrible, like the sound of innumerable chariot wheels, like the roar of a thousand cannon. On the extremest place of safety sat in rows hundreds of cormorants, both black and green ; and although the cataracts of foam broke momently close to their webbed feet, many were asleep with their heads bitneath their wings. Here Rohan sat and rested, far away from mortal view. The cormorants below sat within thirty yards of his feet, but none heeded him. Two ravens, a male and a female, passed constantly to and fro above his head, wheeling in beautiful circles, and hunting the cliffs like hawks for prey ; often they wheeled so close that he might have struck them with a stone. Presently he drew from his breast a piece of black bread, and began to eat. He looked round for water, but none was near ; so he caught the rain in his hollowed hands, and drank it, and was refreshed. All this was nothing new. Hundreds of times he had done for sheer pleasure what he now did from sore neces- sity. Never, however, had solitude possessed so keen a zest. It was here, seated alone on the promontory of Pointe du Croix, that he conceived his plans. When he rose and 140 THE SHADOW OF THE SWORD. walked again, his ideas were all matured, and he turned his steps eastward, to his native village. When night ftll it found him walking before a wild storm of wind and rain on the desolate tract of moorland called Vilaine. Not a habitation was to be seen, not a sign of humanity in any form. Herds of wild cattle crouched together in the rain, and on the edges of the crags ran flocks of wild goats. Lines of menhirs covered this plain, like lines of giants petrified, and as the wild rain smote upon them, and ran like dark tears down their jagged cheeks, they seemed coming to life and stirrmg in answei to the Spirit of the storm. Amidst these stony phantoms Rohan fled. Fortunately, the wind was at his back and smote him on. Sometimes he paused to shelter in the shadow of a menhir \ then after a time he hastened on again. The night grew blacker and blacker till he could scarcely see a yard along the plain. The rain fell in torrents and the wind shrieked. Overhead there was a confused motion and murmur — Dant etiam sonitum patuli super aequora mundi.* — the sound of the clouds roaring over the waters of the wide-spreading upper world. On his left hand, a motion and murmur no less terrible — that of the storm-vexed sea sounding upon its shores. Heaven and ocean seemed confusedly mixed together, as in the awful Promethean tempest. 2wTeTdpafiTac 6'aid^p Tc6[iT(fi ! \ [ ! i Woe to the traveller on the plain of Vilaine that night, if he had been any other than Rohan Gwenfern. But Rohan fought his way as if by instinct. He had more than once been on the great plain before, and he knew by the situation of many of the menhirs how to steer his course. Soaked to the skin, drenched so terribly that the wind tore off parts of his dress in strips, bareheaded *Luc, de Rer. Nat. vi. io8, W THE STORMY mCHT 141 he turned nid storm nd called a sign of crouched crags ran his plain, in smote ir jagged n answei tunately, )metimes lir; then scarcely snts and 1 motion of the motion ted sea seemed iethean ight, if had md he steer y that eaded and barefooted, he rushed along, as a boat with rent sail flees before the wind. Suddenly he paused and started back. A flash of crimson light arose from the very edge of the ocean illuminating the darkness. At first superstition seized upon him, and he shrank afraid ; but in a moment he recovered himself, crept forward, and looked again. The flash continued, now coming, now going, like the gleam of a lighthouse lamp. Suddenly, instead of running away, he ran forward in the direction of the light. The rain fell heavily, the storm shrieked, but he saw all clearly soon — a great crimson fire burning on the very edge of the crag, and sending a wild stream of light out upon the tempestuous sea. He crept closer and saw distinctly, surrounding the fire, some dozen figures running round and round like the imps of an Inferno. An ordinary Breton would have crossed himself and flown ; and indeed such an apparition, seen in such solitude and on such a night, might well appal even the stoutest heart. Rohan was not so daunted. He paused and looked, and now, wafted on the wind, he distinctly heard voices. Then crouching down almost to the ground, he crept fifty yards closer still, and gazed in horror once again. Close to the edge of the cliffs — held down by ropes attached to enormous stones — stood a huge cage of iron, in which burnt a fire of bog-oak, bushes of furze, and dry sods of peat ; and surrounding it, as the flame leaped and darted in the wild breath of the tempest, were some seven or eight men and two or three old women. Some running round and round the cage momently shut out the light from the sea ; others sat on the grass glaring at the flame, their features horribly illuminated, and one groach, or old woman, like a very Witch of Endor, was leaning forward over the flame and chattering wildly as she warmed her skinny hands. Within a few yards of this group stood a low menhir partly sheltering them from the torrents of rain, and crawling up close in the shadow of this, Rohan listened and watched. 14^ THE SHADOW OF THE SWORD. " Bad luck to Penruach this night ! " said a voice, " It is too dark out there even to see our fire." ** That's as St. Lok wills," croaked the old woman. " If he means to send us luck, the luck will come." Rohan shuddered. He knew his company now. The creatures on whom he gazed were fishers from Penruach, whose wrecking propensities even the severe laws passed after the Revolution had never been able to extinguish, and who regarded every passing ship as legitimate plunder. This St. Lok of theirs, by whom the old crone swore, had been a wrecker too; for, if tradition was to be believed, he was an antique Christian who spent his time in luring to destruction the ships of infidel invaders, and who was pres- ently canonized for his pains. Outside the point of vantage where this group gathered, stretched for miles one neck of fatal ! ;efs, partially covered and partially submerged. Dark as the night was Rohan could see the flashings of foamy breakers far out to sea ; and wherever the horrible light from the cage fell, in one long stream across the water, it shone only on the white- ness of broken foam or on black edges of rock. Rohan hesitated. He knew and loathed the horrible work the creatures were about, but he was also cognizant of his own danger and wished to act with caution. His resolution was soon taken, and he acted upon it at once. " Lok ! Lok ! send us a ship ! " cried another woman, using the first line of an old distich. " St. Lok is deaf, it seems ! " she added bitterly. " Don't cry so loud, mother," cried a man. '* 'Tis enough to waken the dead. Come, drink ! Luck to St. Lok, and to the men of Penruach ! " A bottle was passed across to the woman, and she raised it to her lips. As she did so a wild shriek, startling and shrill, broke upon the night. All, men and women alike, leaped panic stricken to their feet. " See ! " shrieked a man. " An (vl du ! an eel dii /" * — and he pointed at the menhir. On the very top of the stone stood a gigantic figure waving its arms with an unearthly scream. Its form * Breton name for " the Devil." TlfE PR A VERS OF TWO WOAfEN". Hi e, " It is iian. "If w. The enruach, j passed jish, and plunder, ore, had eved, he luring to 'as pres- athered, covered > Rohan to sea ; , in one e white- horrible )gnizant 1. His once, woman, deaf, it Seemed misshapen and bloody, its face glared horribly. Elevated so high, it st'emed unspeakably terrible, and the boldest man there was panic-stricken. " It is St. Lok himself ! " shrieked one, flying past into the night. "■An (xl (III ! an oel dn!^^ said the others, stumbling, shrieking, flying, scattering themselves like foam into the darkness. In a minute the place was deserted, and Rohan, with a wild laugh, leaped down. His stratagem had succeeded. By fi.xing his hands and feet in the fissures of the stone, he had slowly attained its summit, and emerged upon the awe-struck sight of the wreckers. Not without some peril was this accomplished, for the sea was shrieking beneath his feet, and one false trick of the wind might have cast him over. Springing down upon the cage, he seized it with all his strength, loosened it from its ropes and stones, and cast it over into the boiling sea. For one moment it illumined the waters, then it sank and disappeared. The darkness that followed was so complete that Rohan, whose eyes were blinded by the light, could at first distin- guish nothing ; and overwhelmed by the fury of wind and rain, he cast himself upon the ground. Rising, presently, when his eyes were accustomed to the darkness, he silently pursued his way. enough lOk, and 3 raised ng and 1 alike, t " # figure s form CHAPTER XVIII. THfi PRAVr'RS OF TWO WOME>r. T^HE drawing was over, the medical inspection had taken ■*• place, and ihe conscripts of Kronilaix knew their fate. Gildas Derval passctl the inspection with flying colors j and being by this time fully plied with brandy and martial inspiration, he swaggered about like a very veteran. Now, it so happened that the wish of his heart was • % I ■ \i 144 /y//: SI/ADO^y OF THE SWORD. granted, and Hocl was a conscript too. Hoiil had drawn "twenty-seven," and as two of those who had drawn lower numbers turned out unfit for service, not to speak of Rohan who was v/^j-/, he was enrolled and passed among the fatal tweucy-five. 'J'he corporal was in his {T;lory, the twins full of bravado, the mother disconsolate. And in a few days they would receive their tickets and have to march. Menntime, the hue and cry had begun for the refractory " number one." A body of gendarmes from Traonili. headed by old Jacques Pipriac, were scouring the village day and night, while the conscripts were aiding them as far as lay in their power. All in vain. After the first attempt made to arrest him, Rohan was invisible. " Malediction ! " cried old Pipriac to poor Mother Gwen- fern one day, as for the fourth or fifth lime they searched her cabin. "Could I but lay my h;ind on him, he should sweat for it. Thou hast him hidd''- —deny it not ! Out with him ! A thousand devils ! " And they prodded the matresses with their bayonets, and turned out cupboards too small to conceal a dog, and look- ed everywhere into most unlikely places, while Mother Gwenfern, looking on, cried bitterly — " Ah, Sergeant Pipriac ! I never thought you could be so cruel to his father's son ! " The Sergeant, a little one-eyed, hook-nosed martinet, very fond of the bottle, twirled his grey moustache and scowled. He had been a great friend of her husband, and his present conduct seemed ungrateful. " Malediction ! one must do one's duty. Mother, thy son is a fool ; and were I not after him, there would be others far worse to do the job ! Come, let us have him, and I vow by the bones of St. Triffine that he shall be pardon- ed, and become a brave soldier of the Emperor." And while one of the gendarmes pushed his head up the chimney, and another held his nose over the black swing- ing-pot, as if expecting to find the fugitive there, the mother answered — " I have told you he is not here ! I do not know where he is ! Perhaps he has found a ship, and gone to Eng- land 1 " THE PR A VERS OF TWO WOMEI^, MS 1(1 drawn wn lower of Rohiin iiong the the twins I in a few march, •efractory 1 by old id ni<;ht, y in tlieir ! lo arrest er Gwen- searched should ot ! Out nets, and and look- ; Mother ::ould be martinet, Lche and and, and )ther, thy Yould be him, and pardon- d up the k swing- lere, the w where to Eng- " Toua les (Uahles ! to England ! " " Ves, wSergeant Pipriac ! " " Bah 1 that is not so easy, and he knows better than to trust himself in a land of wild beasts. No, he is here. I know it — I smell it as a dog smells a rat. Malediction, that the son of my good comrade, Raoul Gwenfern should turn f)Ut a coward." The widow's pale cheek Hushed. " He is no coward, wSergeanl I'ipriac." " He will not fight. He creeps away and hides. He is afraid." " It is not that. My Rohan is afraid of nothing, but he will never become a soldier." The old fellow snapped his fingers. " If I had him here, I would read him a lesson. Ah, if he would but take example by his two brave cousins, Hoel and Gildas. Those are men if you like ! each could .strangle an ox ! And their uncle, the Corporal, Mother Gwenfern — there's a man ! " Turning to his file ai gendarmes, he cried — " Shoulder arms ! march ! the fox is not here ! " '"hen turning again at the door, as if still twitted by his conscience, he cried — "Good day, Mother! but mind you, we shall come again ; . it is not our fault, but the Kmperor's orders. Take my advice, and persuade him ; in another day it will be too Jate. Now, then — march ! " They were gt)ne, and the widow was left to her lonely relief t ions. She sat by the fire, thinking. She was a tall ' wonuiii with ashen grey complexion and grey hair, and long ago she had been told by a physician up in the town that her heart was diseased. She was the half-sister of Mar- farid Maure, who had married the fisherman Derval, rother of the Corporal ; and being a very quiet retiring woman, given to her own thoughts, she had seen very little of her sister or her children. People thought her unsocia- ble and melancholy. Indeed, her whole heart was filled with her love for her only son. When she told the Sergeant that she was in ignorance of Rohan's whereabouts, she only spoke the truth. She Tiad not seen her son for several days, and she was almost o I 146 THE SHADOW OF THE SWORD. hoping that he had made good his escape to some safer district. Poor woman, she little knew how thickly the country was covered with snares and traps for deserters, and how impossible it was to elude the vigilant eyes of the public officials. From the beginning she had almost regretted Rohan's deliberate and terrible revolt. Everybody said it was cowardly. Even his own blood-relations turned against him ; the whole village talked of him in no Hattering way. Twenty times in a day the gossips brought her news which frightened her, and made her poor heart beat pain- fully, and her lips grow blue. No one thought Rohan covtld escape for long ; and when he was caught, he would be shot like a dog. Far better, she thought, had he gone at once, and trusted to the good God for help. Many had gone and come homo safe enough ; witness Uncle Ewen, who was covered with old wounds. Her heart was hard against the Emperor, but only as, in days of trouble, it had been hard against God. And the Emperor was like God — so great, so very far away ! She sat listening to the wind, v h was rising that after- noon, and to the rain, which wa ting against the door. Crouched near to her, with its eyes closed in the sleepy light of the fire, was Jannedik, the sea goat, her boy's favor- ite, and now her only companion. It was a small room, rudely furnished with coarse oaken table and chairs. The floor was of earth, the black rafters stretched overhead. On the wall hung fishing and fowl- ing nets, a fowler's pole and hook, &c. ; and pasted near the fireplace was a colored print similar to the painting in Notre Dame de la Garde, representing shipwrecked sailors on a raft, kneeling all bareheaded, while a naked child, with a halo round his head, came walking to them on the sea. The afternoon was very chilly and dreary, and where she sat she could hear the sea moaning as it does when stormy weather is coming. Presently Jannedik rose, pricked up her ears, and lis- tened. She had quick ears, had Jannedik, and would have been as good as a watch-dog, if only she could have barked her warnings. to some safer w thickly the for deserters, ant eyes of the etted Rohan's y said it was urned against tlattering way. ight her news eart beat pain- hought Rohan ught, he would ice, and trusted and come home ,s covered with le Emperor, but d against God. at, so very far ising that after- rainst the door, in the sleepy |her boy's f avor- [h coarse oaken [le black rafters ihing and fowl- ^id pasted near the painting in Ikvrecked sailors iked child, with on the sea. and where she ;s when stormy ears, and lis- md would have have barked TlfE Ph\4 Yf-.h'S OF Tiro IVOME/V. 147 She was right ; some one was coming. Presently the latch moved. Mother Owenfern did not turn round at first ; she was too used to the neighbors coming in and out, and she thought it was one of tiieni. Hut when Jannedik, is if quite satisfied, sank down again on the hearth, Motlier Gwenfern moved on the form, and saw her niece Marcelle, taking off a large black cloak vhich was wet with rain. They had only met once since that scene on the night of the drawing, and then Mother (iwenfern had been very angry and bitter. Seeing now who it was, she turned very pale, and her heart began to palpitate, as, with no greeting, ¥, she turned her eyes again upon the fire. * " It is I, Aunt' Loi/J" said Marcelle softly. She was very pale. 'I'here was no answer. The widow still felt her heart full of anger against tlie Uervals, and she was very indig- ' nant at seeing Marcelle. " I could not bear to think of thee sitting here all alone, and though my un^ le did not wish it, I have come over. Ah, God, thou art lonely ! It isdr adful when all the world is against one's own son." The widow stirred in her chair, and said, still looking at the fire — ;. " It is still more dreadful when one's own blood-relations .' hate us most. It was an ill day when my sister Margarid ^ married a Derval, for you are all alike, though Ewen Derval * is the worst. Some day, when you marry, you will know l^ what it is to suffer like me, and you will pity me then." Hanging her cloak against the wall, Marcelle came «* '* nearer and sat down upon the form by the widow's side. The widow shrank away a little, but said nothing. Mar- ,£celle, too, fixed her eyes upon the fire, and leant forward, \ warming her hands as she continued to speak. " You are unjust to me. Aunt Loiz. I pity you now — ' ah, God, how I pity you ! Uncle Ewen pities you, too, .^and he is so vexed and sad that he hardly tastes a morsel. if Our house is nearly as sad as this, for Hoel and Gildas \ are both to go, and mother does nothing ' .it cry." It was a curious sight to see those two women — one so old and grey, the other so fresh and pretty — sitting on one 148 THE SHADOW OF THE SWORD. ,^ form side by side, not lookiiiLj in each other's faces, but both, whether speakinjj; or listenin*;, only looking at the fire. Jaiiiudik seenitd to have h^'r own o|)inions on the snbjeet, for she rose cjuietly and put her larj;e head between Marcelle's knees. 'I'here was a lonjjjsileiue, and the wind and the sea cried still Unider outside. l"'inally the widow said in the same low \()ice — "Why have you come, child ? What has brought you here at last ? " " Ah, Aunt Loiz, can you not guess ? i came to ask after Rohan — whelher he is still safe"" The answer was a short, hard, bitter laugh. " So ! Well, he is safe, if you desire to know. You may go back to those who srnt \-ou, and tell them tl" it nuK:h from me. Ves ! " she continued, lu.'r xoice ra|M(liy rising in anger, " I know wfll what you came for, Alarcelle Derval. You wish to iind out where my i)()or boy is hid- den, and then betray him to iCweii Derval and his enemies. You are a f(n)l for your jjains, and may (iod i>unish you for your wickedness, though your mother was of my blood.'' Marcelle was a high-spirited girl, and it is doubtful if she would have borne as much from any other woman in the world. Strange to say, she w'as now (|uite gentle, and onh' put her hand on her aunt's arm, saying — "'Don't ! don't speak like that, for the love of God ! " Something in the tone startled the widow, and turning, she saw thii ^^;!r.to()iI moveless, and still trembling, looked into her aunt's face. rill: I'h'.wi.Rs ('/■• /•//•(» \\'OMi:.\ »49 js, but at the in the itween \ cried I same ht you to ask ou may it much y rising Lucelle ' is hid- 'uemies. lish you blood." ublful if )man in tie, and lod!" jturning, Is. She Imelting ? " jr's face |l, I will ^ex you. lout her led into " Then Rohnn h:)^ nc\cr spoken. Ami T,oi'/ ? Well, I made him |Mdmise no. lo tell I" '* 1 do not understand ! " Hut tht' widow, fiom the new lii;lit (»n her niece's cheeks, was be^iimiin;:^ to understand \erv well. '•J love kohan. Aunt Loi/ ! I did lately, but now i lo\e him deaily, and liear you. say such hard things of me,— me to be his wife ! " The widow uttered an exclamation. not know it till I cannot bear to -for he has asked The declaration did w< X surprise her so nuich in ilsi-lf, for she had often had her suspicions, but it was start liuLi^ as coming at that moment and under those circumstances. She looked keenly for a K)ng lime at Marcelle, who hung her head, and went alternately reil and pale. .Vt last she said in a more gentle tone than before — "Sit down, Marcelle !" Marcelle airain sat down bv her side, comforted and strengthened in so far tha' her confession was over. Then came a longer silence than ever ; for the widow was in her own mind going over the past, and wondering over many things, in a waking dream. Marcelle was begimiing to think her angry, when she said, in a low voice, as if talk- ing to herself — " If you love him as you say, it is strange that you brought him no better luck ! " This was a home-thrust, for Marcelle had often thought the same herself. " It is strange, as \ou say ! " she cried. " Ah, God ! it was terrible to me, for I had prayed to draw a lucky chance. Aunt Loiz, I did it for the best. He bade me draw ; and he was not there ; and if none of his kin had appeared for him, the black mark would have been put at once against his name. Uncle Ewen saved him that, for he spoke up and said he was ill. And now. Aunt Loiz, if he would only go ! Uncle Ewen has influence, and Rohan would be pardoned ; excuses could be made ; ah, if he would only give himself up at once ! Hoel and Gildas are both going, and he would have company. We two would pray for him night and day while he was away, would we not, Aunt Loiz t Ah, if he would be wise I " ''■ = »S0 Tin', sir A DOW OF rill': swoRn. By this time the women were close tojjjcther, lioldiii"; each other's Imnds, and both won' wei'pinjr. It was blessed, the widow now felt, to weep a little with one who loved her son, when all others were as^ainst him. But she cried, between her tears — " No, it is impossible ! " " If I could only see him and speak to him ! But he is so hard to understand. Ah, (iod ! to hear every one, even the children, say our Rohan is afraid — it almost breaks my heart." " He is not afraid, Marcelle " " That is what makes it all so strange. \ know he is so brave, braver than all the rest : and yet, look you, he does not act like a man. When the Kmperor calls for his chil- dren, he stays. When all the others take their chance fairl3% he keeps away. When his number is drawn, he hides — he who is so strong. What can I answer when Gildas and Hoel say that he is afraid, and even Uncle Ewen cries shame upon his name?" " He is so headstrong ! and Master Arfoll has filled his head with strange notions." " You are right," cried Marcelle, eagerly ; "it is Master Arfoll that is to blame. Ah, he is a wicked man that, and no friend to the good Emperor, or to (rod." Thus the two women conversed together, till the ice between them thawed, and they were cjuite reconciled. Mother Gwenfern had never doubted that Kohan ^vas maa to resist the imperial authority, and much as her herrt ached to think of parting with him, the dreadful uncer- tainty of his present fate was still more painful. About Master Arfoll, too, she was agreed, as we have seen. She could not understand that extraordinary being, and in her superstition she had often looked upon hun with absolute dread. He was too clever to be a safe adviser for her son, and he never went to mass or confession, and men said he had been guilty of strange deeds in his youth. Ah, if her poor Rohan had never met such a teacher ! So thought she ; and so thought the excited girl at her side. So by-and-bye it came to pass that Mother Gwenfern was holding Marcelle's little hand between her own trembling fingers, and softly smoothing it, with tender words. THE PR A YliKS OF TWO WOMRM. IS' ;ssed, loved he is :. even ks my : IS so e does is chil- i fairly, |('s — he as and n cries lied his 1 Master at, and the ice jnciled. as mad herrt uncer- About I. She in her bsolute ler son, said he , if her [thought r " Thou art a good girl," she said, " and I could wish no better for my daughter, if that could be. It was not thy fault that Rohan spoke to thee in that way, instead of first speaking to me ; men do foolish things for a girl, and Rohan is not wise, the good God help him ! O, my son, my son ! " And she began again to weep bitterly, rocking herself to and fro, while Marcelle tried in vain to comfort her ; nay, not wholly in vain, for there was solace in the touch of the soft young hands, in the sound of the gentle voice, in the very breathing and presence of one who loved her boy. The two hearts throbbed together, as hand clasped in hand the women wept together ; and presently sinking down on their knees, while Jannedik, the goat, blinked great brown eyes in astonishment, both women prayed that the man they loved might cease his mad pur- pose, might come in and yield the inevitable decree, might trust himself in the hands of the good God, who would preserve him for them throughout the war. By such prayer, the prayer of those nearest and dearest to him, is man often drawn away from an immortal pur- pose ; where power and strength might avail nothing, tear% and a little love avail much, to shake the soul's sense of some pitiless duty. An infant's little hands may thus draw the just man from justice, the righteous man from righteousness ; for justice and righteousness are alike awful, while to stoop and kiss is sweet. When a man's house is armed in affection against him, when, instead of help and a sword, he finds on his own hearth only feeble- ness and a love that cannot understand, strong indeed must be his purpose, supreme indeed must be his faith if he walks still onward and upward to the terrible heights of God. tern was imbling »52 TFfK SHADOW Ol' THE SWOKD. CHAPTER XIX. DOWN BY THE SHORE. WHEN Marcelle emerged from the widow's cottage, her tears were all dry and she walked swiftly through the rain in the direction of the village. The wind was still rising upon the sea, and the sea, although it was still calm, had that indescribable hollow concussion which is only to be heard previous to stormy weather. The fishermen were drawing their flat-bottomed boats up higher, nnd carrying their nets and ropes within doors for shelter, while a few strong old men in their nightcaps and blue guernseys were stolidly sn. jking in the rain and nodding their heads out at the sea. The tide was three-quarters flowed, and all the fountains were long covered. Instead of turning inland up the main street of the village, Marcelle kept her way along the wet shingle, until she had to thread her way among the ca/oges, or upturned boats converted into houses and stores, which clustered on the strand just above high-water mark. Most of these caloges had iron funnels to let out the smoke ; and on their roofs, or keels, thick slimy grass was growing, and on more than one of the roofs goats were contentedly grazing. Many of the doors were closed, for the wind Ijlew right into them, but in one or two men lounged, or women sat busy knitting, or picturesque children crawled. This was the lower village, exclusively devoted to the fishing popu- lation, and quite inferior in social status to the more solid village above. Marcelle soon found what she was seeking, a stone cabin just above these amphibious dwellings, and newly thatched. Here, in the shelter of the door-way, a girl sat in an old-fashioned armchair, busily teasing and carding wool, and singing to hei-self. " Welcome, Marcelle ! " she said, quietly, using the usual Breton greeting. nOlVX FY TffF SHORF., t5J tage, her ough the was still till calm, s only to nen were carrying le a few ^eys were leads out I, and all et of the gle, until upturned istered on of these on their on more grazing. e\v right omen sat This was ing popu- lore solid a stone md newly a girl sat d carding the usual "God he with vou. riuineveve ! " answered Marcelle, smiling ; then standing in the doorway and looking down at the busy hngers, she added, " How is Mother Goron ? " "You would say she was ten years younger," answered Guineveve ; " she sings about the place at her work, and she will never rest, and she prays for the Emperor every night, because hr has not taken Jannick away." A faint color came into the girl's face as slie spoke, but her face, seen in its tight snowy coif, was still very pale. As she sat there in her dark dress, with its white stomacher and sleeves, in her blue petticoat and stockings and leather shoes witli buckles, you would have said, had you been a Kromlaix man, " That is the girl 1 could dance with from night till dawn of day." She was not Ivromlaix born, but was a native of Brest. When she was a child only a year or two old her parents died, and Mother Goron, who was a distant relation, brought the little one back with her from Brest, where she had ])een on business concerning a pension she inherited from her husband, Jacques Goron, who had been a marine and had died in the lazaretto. From th-^* day Mother Goron brought up Guineveve as her own child, with her only son Jan. "What news?" she said, looking up quickly after a pause. " None. Aunt Loiz does not know where he is. He has not been near home for niany nights, and she is grow- ing afraid." " It is verv strange." " He is quite desperate and mad. I sometimes shud- der, for he may have drowned himself in his rage. If I could only speak with him ! " They were talking, of course, of Rohan ;but the personal pronoun was quite enough, as the girls were in each other's confidence, and understood one another. "Gildas is to go ?" said Guineveve presently. " Yes ; and Hoel. " Even then, your mother has Alain and Jannick ; and then there is Uncle Ewen. But it is terrible for the women who have only one. If the Emperor had taken Jkn, mother would have died." 154 fllF. SHADOW OF TirF SIVORD. "■ Hut Aunt Loiz prays that //r may go I " "That is different ; ah, she has courage ! If I had a son my lieart would break." " She is grieving too," answered Atarcellc ;" it is the way of women. For my part, if I had a son and he was afraid, I should never love him .any more. Think how terrible it would be if the good Emperor were served so by all his children, for whom he has done so much ; he would be mas- sacred, and then what would become of Trance ? If Rohan were in his right senses, he would not hide away." " Perhaps he is afraid," sighed Guineveve. "Well, it is no wonder! " .vlarcelle set her white teeth together, and trembled. " If I thought it was ///(//,'' she cried, " I should hate him for ever and ever; I should then die of shame. What is a man if he has not a man's heart, Guineveve ? He is no more than a fish in the sea, that flashes off if you move your hand. No, no, he is brave ; but I will tell you what I think — Master Arfoll has put a charm upon him ; he is bewitched ! " Marcelle did r.ot speak figuratively : she literally and simply meant tl;at the school ?iiastcr had affected Rohan by some diabolical art. '* But Master Arfoll is a good man ! " cried Guineveve. " You may think that if you please, but I have my own thoughts. They say he was once a Priest, and now he is friends with no Priest but Father RoUand, who is friends with everybody. He knows cures for men and cattle, and they work like magic. I was told once up in St. Gurlott that he had the evil eye." Guineveve shuddered, for she too had her superstitions, — how indeed could she avoid them, reared as she had been in so lonely and uncultivated an atmosphere ? So when Marcelle crossed herself, she crossed herself too ; but she looked up with a sad smile saying — " I do not believe that of Master Arfoll ; and you must not say so to Mother Goron — he did her a great service long ago, and she thinks he is a saint, as pure as one of God's angels. Ah, yes, he has the face of a good man I " Marcelle's eyes flashed, and she was about to repeat her charges even more angrily, when J an nick Goron walked veve. ly own he is iends , and urlott (tions, been Iwhen It she must [rvice |ne of m ! " It her lilked DOIV.V BY THE SHORE. n% hurriedly up to the door. He paused surprised at seeing Marcelle there, aim then turned smiling to Guineveve, whose face kindled at his coming. " Welcome, Ji\n ! " said Marcelle. Goron looked this way and that as if fearing an eaves- dropper; then said in a low voice rapidly — " I have news, Marcelle ! He is not far away ! " Marcelle was about to utter a cry, when he placed his hand upon her arm. " Hush ! come within, for the rain is heavy ; " and when they were standing inside, with a full view of poor old Mother Goron bustling busily before the fire, he added, " H(^ was seen at Ploubol yesterday, and a man recognized hiin, and he was nearly taken. He struck down the gen- i/iirmcs, and that will make his case worse. There is no escape ; he must soon be caught. He was last seen going in the direction of Traoniii." Marcelle wrung her hands in despair. " 7\h, God, he is lost — he is mad." " Have you seen the proclamations? " asked Goron, in the same low voice. " Well, they are posted up along the road, and there is one on the church gate, and another on your own door. They forbid one to give shelter or succor to any deserter on pain of death ; they say that every con- script wh'-' has not answered to his name will be shot like a dog ; there is to be no mercy, — it is too late." Goron was deeply moved, for he was the one man in Kromlaix of whom Rohan had ever made a friend. In his character and his whole bearing there was a nobility akin to that of Rohan himself. And who that saw the quiet light in his eyes as he looked at Guineveve could doubt thi t he too loved and was loved in return } ^ /hen Goron mentioned the proclamations against desert- ers Marcelle's heart went sick. h. e had not told her, however, of the sight he had seen with his own eyes — old Corporal Derval himself, pipe in mouth, accompanied by the gendarme Pipriac and followed by Hoel and Gildas, strutting forth and sticking up with his own hands the paper that was now to be seen on his own door ! Marcelle was not one of those maidens who wear their tc6 THE SHADOW OF THE SIVORD. hearts on their sleeves ; she had martial hloorl in her veins^ and was quite capable, literally and figuratively, of "stand- ing fire." But this gnawing terror overj^owered her, and she felt faint. All the men^ory o( that happy day in the Cathedral of St. Gildas swam before her ; she felt the embracing arms, the lovijig kiss ; and then she seemed again to behold her lover as he had appeared on the night of the Conscription, wild eyed, vehement, blas- pheming all she held holy and sublime. It was curious, as illustrating the tenacity of her character, that she still stubbornly and firmly refused to believe that Rohan, in his extraordinary conduct, was actuated by the ordinary motives of cowardice and fear. She chose rather to think him the victim of some malignant fate, some diabolic spell such as "wise men '' like Master ArfoU knew how to weave, than to dream that he acted under emotions which, in her simple idea, could be only both treasonable and base. True, she remembered with a shiver his old expres- sions concerning the Emperor, but these she always per- suaded herself were uttered when he was not in his " right mind." She did not speak now, but leaning her forehead against the door gazed drearily out into the rain. All the beautiful dream of her young love seemed blurred and blotted out by mist and tears. " Marcelle," whispered Guineveve, taking her hand softly, " do not grieve ; all will be well yet ! " There was no answer, but a heAvy sigh, and the pale, firm face wore an expression of fixed despairing pain. " After all," said Goron, sympatheticall}^ " he may be pardoned, for the Emperor wants men. If he would only come in — even now ! " Marcelle was still silent, and presently she kissed Guine- veve on either cheek, and held out her hands to Goron. " I must go now," she said quietly. " Mother will won- der where I am." Slowly, under the rain that was ever falling heavier and heavier, she moved through the streets of the village. She saw nothing, heard nothing — she was rapt in a dream ; though to look upon her as she passed, with her firm lips and her quiet eyes, with her cloak wrapped round her, stand- :r, and in the ;lt the eenied ^n the , blas- lous, as le still , in his iiotives liin the ,uch as e, ihan in her I Ijase. expies- lys per- 1 " right iit^jainst eautiful ted out [I softly, pale, [in. may be |ild only Guine- Iron. lill won- ker and e. She Idream ; ^rm lips id her, «' THE POOL OF THE BLOOD OF CHRIST." 157 and her foot as firm yet light upon the ground as ever, one would scarcely have thought that she had any care. Yet the great Sea was rising and crying behind her as she went, and before her soul a storm was spreading, more terrible than any sea. CHAPTER XX. "the pool of the blood of CHRIST." A FEW days after the medical inspection the order to inarch arrived. They were to go from home to Traonili, from Traonili to Nantes, and thence, after having joined their regiments, right on to the Rhine ! The experiences of the previous year had not brought the Fjnperor wisdom, and his struggle with Destiny was about to c.tiit the body, that portion of inert mailer would become '^-u i clinrch liich she eel yards ith. She es looked y ihrouj^h T lier, luid her Wiiy. then the lie ran on i\ul a haU ith thickly there liUle ■ ht of ll^e " Still, with When the i had found )( )ssal granite kIv of the the gloom, rous weeds, in's breast, sing herself ,t the Cross I across, but was brimful iil)led blood, of the coun- y holy in the he wells for the dews of i property of hero the sick |asa (ouuii'.n Jher when thc jny portion of 'worn ;vi>'>nt H)uld become •3^ " TV//- /"OOL OF THE BLOOD OF CHRIST:' i6i " blest," and have the power of wardinj); off danger and even death from the wearer. Only one condition was at- tached to this blessing— that the "dipping " must be done in complete solitude and be kept a secret from all other living beings. Creeping forward and kneeling on her knees, despite the rank weeds thai clustered round her, Marcelle said a short prayer j then drawing from her breast two medals, passed both into her right hand and dropped them softly into the granite basin. Trembling with terror, she closed her eyes and repeated a prayer for the occasion, mentioning as she did so the names of Hoel and Gildas. When she had tiui^hed she again slipped in her white hand and drew the medals forth. " Christ be with me I " she said in Breton, thrusting them eagerly into her boston. 'I'he medals were (jf copper and each as large as a crown piece. They had been given to her long ago by the Cor- poral, and she had religiously preserved them; but now, when the twins were going away, she meant to give them one each without exjilaining, of course, that they possessed a special "charm." I'hey were handsome perforated med- als, and. attached to a string, could be hung unseen over the heart. On one side of each was the laurelled image of the Kmperor. on the other the glimpse of a bloody battle, V'ilh the inscription — Austkrli rz. Her excitement had been great, and directly her task was o\er she turned away. Suddenly, ere she had gone many \ ards, she heard a sound of footsteps behind her. She turned again sharply, but the darkness was great and she saw nothing. Crossing herself again, she began to run. That nioment she again heard the footsteps behind her. She stopped in terror and looked back. The moon gleamed out for an instant, and she could distinctly per- ceive a tigure, earthly or unearthly, following close behind her. A less courageous girl, under the tension of such emo- 7tions as Marcelle had felt that night, would have fainted ; indeed there was not another woman, and scarcely a man, 1 J upsaaaakMM 162 THE SHADOW OF THE SWORD. in Kromlaix who would have ventured alone at such an hour, as she had done, to the " Pool of the Blood of Christ." Marcelle was terror-stricken, but she still retained her senses. Seeing the figure approaching, she tied again. But the figure was as fleet as she, and she heard its foot- steps coming behind her nearer and nearer, she ran and ran till her breath failed ; the feet came nearer and nearer, and she could hear a heavy breathing behind her back. With a tremendous effor*^ she turned, determined to face her ghostly pursuer. Close to her, with his face gleaming white in the moon, was a man, and before she cculd see him clearly he spoke, he in a low voice uttered her name. " Marcelle ! " She knew the voice instantly as that of her lover ; yet strange to say, though she had longed and prayed for this meeting, she shrank away, and made no answer. The moon came out brightly and illumined his figure from head to foot. Head and feet were bare, his form looked strange and distorted, the hair fell in wild masses about his face. He loomed before her like a tall phantom, and his voice sounded hollow and strange. " Marcelle ! — have you forgotten me ? Yes, it is I ; — r.nd you are afraid ! ' " " I am not afraid," answered Marcelle, recovering her- self ; " but )ou startled me — I thought it was a ghost." " I was .esting yonder, and I saw you come to the ' Pool of the Blood of Christ I ' " Marcelle's reply was characteii >tic. " You saw me I Then you have broken my charm." *' Not at all," answered Rohan, very coldly ; " I do not know your errand, and I could not see you when you knelt. It is a cold night for you to be abroad. There, you shiver —hasten home." He spoke as if there was nothing between them, as if he were any stranger advising another. His voice rang cold and clear. She answered in the same tone. " Hoel and Cildas are going to the wars to-morrow, and that is what brought me here. They will wonder why I Stay so long." She made a movement as if to go. He did not stir a Step to follow her. She turned her fa'^'^ again. .iK- " THE POOL OF THE BLOOD OF CHRIST: 163 such an [ Christ." ined her igiiin. cl its foot- ran and kI nearer, • back. ed to face ; gleaming cculd see ler name. lover ; yet •eel for this The moon ,m head to ked strange nit his face, .d his voice ^, it is I ;— )vering '^er- . ghost." to the ' Pool J charm." I • " 1 do not In you knelt, [e, you shiver ,nem, as if he Ice rang cold [morrow, and vonder why I lid not stir a " It is strange to see you here ; I thought you were far away. They are looking for you down there." Rohan nodded. "I know it." " There is a watch upon your mother's house' day and night, and upon ours too. There are gendarmes from St. Gurlott in the village, with Pipriac at their head. There is a paper posted up on the houses, and your name is upon it ; and there is a reward." " I know that also." Still so cold and calm. He stood moveless, looking upon her as if upon the tomb of a lost love. She could not bear it any longer : casting away her mad pretence of inditTerence, she sprang forward and threw her arms a' ound his neck. " Rohan ! K lian ! why do you speak to me like that ? " He did not resist her, but softly disengaged her arms, as she continued — " VVe did not know what had happened — I have been heart-broken — Gildas and Hoel are going. They are mad aga'nst thee, all of them. It is terrrible ! " " But thou ! " The endearing second personal pronoun was in requisi tion at last. " And I — my Rohan, I have always been on thy side. They said thou wast afraid, but I told them they spoke falsely. They are all angry with me for defending thee. Kiss .ne, my Rohan ! Wilt thou not kiss me.'*" — and after his cold lips came down and were quite close to hers, she cried — " Ah, my Rohan, I knew thou wouldst be wise. It is nr)t too late, and thou wilt be forgiven if thou but march with the rest. Come down, come down ! Ah, thank God that it IS so ! Uncle Ewen will intercede, and Gildas and Hot'l will shake hands ; it will be all well ! " i?he looked up into his face with passionate confidence ard hop<-, and as she finished, kissed him again with her \Narm ripe lips. With those white arms around his neck, with that fond bosom heaving against his own, he stood aghast. " MarccUe, Marcelle : " he cried in a heart-broken voice. " My Rohan ! " %. 164 THE SfiADOW OF THE SWORD. " Do you not understand yet / My God, will you not understand? It is not that — it is not that I h.ave changed my mind. I cannot come down ; I will never give myself up, alive ! " There were no warm arms around him now. Marcelle had drawn back amazed. " Why, then, have you come back to Kromlaix ? " "To see t/iee ! To speak to thee once more, whether I live or die ! " Trembling and crying, Marcelle took both his hands in hers. His were icy cold. " Thou wilt come down ! For my sake, for thy Marcelle ! Ah, God ! do not break my heart — do not let me hear them call thee coward. And if not for my sake, for thine own. Thou canst not escape them ; they will be after thee day and night ; thou wilt die. Mother of (k)d. Son of God ! — yes, die ! My Rohan, the Emperor will be good to thee — come down ! " " And go to the war.^* " " What then ? Thou wilt come back like Uncle Ewen ; all will look up to thee, and know thee for a brave man. " And thou ? '' " W^ilt be thy wife, my Rohan ! I swear it, dear. I will love tht-e, I will love thee." "But if I die?" "Then I will love thee more, and T will wear crape upon my arm till I am old, and I will never wed another man. Thou wilt ha\'t' died, my brave soldier, fighting for the Vm\- peror. Tiiou wilt wait for me in Heaven, and I shall come to thee and kiss thee there." There wis passion enough in her voice, in her words, and in her kiss, to have swept a\\a\ like a torrent an\' common man's resolve. Her tones, her arms, her li\ing frame, all spoke, aroun petuous 1 were eloquent in Love's name, as she clung d him and drew him on. He shook before her im- app eal ; his heart rose, his head swam, and his eyes looked wildly up to the cloudy moonlit heaven. But he was firm. " Marcelle, it is impossible. I cannot go ! " " Rohan, Roh;in : " He tottered a:, ii overpowered, and held his hand upon III- " tHE podi. OF rn^ BLOOD OF c/fR/srr 165 ou not hanged myself larcelle lether I hands in larcelle 1 lear them line own. Ihee day i God !— to thee — :le Ewen ; ve man. ar. 1 will rape upon thcr man. or the Km- shall come words, and V common 'frame, all she clung fore her im- im, and his aven. s hand upon his heart. His whole frame trembled ; he seemed no lon}^er a stron^^ man, but a sirverin^ affrighted creature. Before he ki.cw it ho had sunk upon his knees. " I cannot go — it is an oath. Farewell ! " She lor)kc(l at him fixedly as if to read his very soul. A terrible thought had flashed upon her. " Rohan, speak ! for God's sake, stand up and speak ! is it true what they say — iliat you are afraidf " He rose to his feet and looked at her strangely. " Speak, Rohan \ " " Yes, it is true." " That you are afraid ! That you are a — " " It is all true," he answered. Had it been day she might have seen a strange smile on his tortured face. " I will not serve the I'^mperor, I will not go to war. because — well, I am afraid." He did not explain his fear, for, had he done so, she could not have comprehended. He continued — "It is best that you should understand at once, for ever, that 1 will nivor fight as soldiers fight ; that it is against my heart ; I am all perhaps that you say. Were it otherwise, Mar- celle, I think your Io\ e might tempt me ; but i have not the courage to do what you bid me. There, you are shivering — it is so cold. Hasten home, Marcelle I" Her heart seemed broken now. Not in anger, not in wrath, did she turn upon him ; she stabbed him with the crueller jDain of tears. In those regions, where physical daring is a man's mightiest dower, a coward is baser than a worm, fouler than a leper of the old times. And she had loved a coward ! H 1 she been wiser in the world she might have guessed that he who brands himself with an ill name is not always the fittest to bear it. But she was not wise, and his own confession, corroborating the assertion of her kinsmen, ap- palled her. Almost unconsciously, still in tears, she was creeping away. " Marcelle, will you not give me your hand again t Will you not say good-bye ? " She pausffi but said nothing. He seized her hands, and kissed her softly on either cheek. :| 166 THE SHADOW OF THE SWORl^. "Farewell, Marcelle ! Thou canst not understanrl, and I do not blame thee ; but if evil comes to me, do not think of me in anger. Perhaps God may be good, and some day you may think better of me. Farewell, farewell ! " He turned away sobbing, when she caught him by the arm, crying passionately — " They will find thee ; they will kill thee — that will be worse ! Where art thou going? Where wilt thou Hy.''" "God will help me to find a refuge, and 1 do not think they will find me. Keep me in thy lieart ! " Then he was gone indeed. An hour after that itrange meeting Marcelle was back in the cottage trying to comfort her mother. It was midnight when Hoel and Gildas got into bed, and fell into heavy sleep. They were to rise before dawn. The Corporal sat by the kitchen fire, pipe in mouth. He was to sit up till the hour for summoning his nephews, and then afterwards to see them a short distance upon the road. Meantime Rohan (iwenfein was wandering through the darkness like a dreary spirit of the night. Shaken to the soul by the last interview with her he held dearest in all the world, yet as resolved as ever in his despairing resist- ance against an evil fate in which she seemed arrayed against him, he flitted to and fro, he scarce knew whither. The passionate love in his heart fought fiercely against the cold ideal in his soul. He could feel Marcelle's em- braces still ; for kisses less sweet, he knew, many a man would have given his salvation. He had not slept for two nights and days during which he had been creeping back to Kromlaix. 'I'he rain was still falling, and with every shower the night seemed to grow darker. Sick and wearied out, he crept back to the Cross, and there, resting his head against the stone, par- tially sheltered from the rain by the stone figure above, and entirely hidden by the weeds and furze which rose above his head, he fell into a heavy sleep. And as he slept he dreamed a dream. THE DREAM. l6j d, and t think Tie day by the will be tiy?" 3t think i back in midnight to heavy poral sat it up till Eterwards rough the cen to the lest in all ng resist- arrayed whither, y against elle's em- iny a man ng which e rain was seemed to ack to the Istone, par- above, and ose above CHAPTER XXI. THE DREAM. HE seemed, in his dream, to be still lying on the spot where he had fallen asleep, with his eyes fixed on the crucified figure above him. All was very dark around and over him ; the wind moaned and the rain still fell heavily on the ground, and plashed drearily into the granite pool. He lay crouching among the wet weeds and grasses, watching and listening in fascination for he knew not what. His heart was beaiing madly, every pulse in his frame was thrilling ; for he had been startled by a strange move- ment above him, by a supernatural sound. He listened more intently, and this time his ears were startled by a low moan as of a human mouth. It came again ; — and, behold to his horror and terror, the figure on the Cross was moving its head from side to side. Not as if in pain, not as if wholly in consciousness, but as a sleep- er moves his head, slowly awakening from a heavy sleep. The heart of Rohan failed within him, a sense as of death stole over him. He would have fled, but his limbs refused to obey his will. Hl sought to utter a cry, but the sound was frozen in his throat. P'or a moment, as it seemed, he became unconscious. When he looked again the Cross above was empty, and the figure was standing at the foot ! The rain ceased, the wind grew low, and through parting clouds the moon looked down. Black against the moon- light loomed the Cross ; while at its foot, glimmering like marble, stood the Christ. His eyes were open now, gazing straight down at the crouching form of Rohan ; and his arms and limbs moved, and from his lips there came a breath ; and he said in a low voice, " Rise I " The fascinated body of Rohan obeyed the diviner will, and rose at once and stood erect ; and at that moment THE SHADOW Of Tin-: SWORD. \ Rohan felt all his fear fall from him. and he jxazcd up into the Face, but spoke no word. And the Face stilled the troubled waters of his heart with its beauty, as moonlight stills the sea. He would fain have fallen again and worshipped, not in terror now, but in joy. Then the Christ said, '• Follow me ! " As a spirit moves, scarce touching; the earth, he descend- ed from the foot of the Cross, and moved silently along. As a man follows a ghost, fearful to lose the vision, yet afraid to approach too near, Rohan followed. The night was black, but a dim light ran before them on the ground ; silently they passed along, and swiftly ; for it seemed to Rohan, in his dream, that he moved with no volition of his own, but as if upborne by invisible hands that helped him on ; and the woods and fields seemed moving by, like clouds drifting before the wind, and the earth beneath their feet swept past them like a wind-blown sea. Now conscious, now unconscious, as it seemed, Rohan followed ; for at times his senses seemed liown and his eyes closed, but ever on opening his eyes he saw the white Christ gliding on before him, pausing ever and anon to gaze round, with the pallid moonlight on His face, and with eyes divine to beckon him on. Time trembles into eternity during sleep, there is no count of mundane minutes ; and Rohan, in his dream, seemed to follow his Guide for hours and hours atid hours. Through the hearts of lonely woods, over the summits of moonlit hills, past spectral rivers gleaming in the moon, by solitary waters hushed as death, through villages asleep in the green hollows. Wheresoever they went all slumbered ; the eyes of all the Earth were sealed. Then they passed through the darkened streets of towns, creeping along in the house-shadows till they emerged again upon the open moonlit plains. At last, passing through the wide paths of a cultivated wood, and crossing an open space where fountains were leaping, the P'igure paused before a great building with windows of glass gleaming in the moon. All around it the greensward stretched, and flowers sprang, and foun- tains leaped, but it stood very cold and still. ilk run oREAM. t60 d up into lilled the noonligWt gai-i an( I descend- tly along, vision, yet •e them on ftly ; for it ;d\vith no ible hands ds seemed d, and the wind-blown led, Rohan m and his w the white id anon to i face, and ;here is no his dream, and hours, summits of le moon, by es asleep in slumbered \ \ streets of /s till they a cultivated untains were juilding with II around it g, and foun- The Figme passed on and stood before the door, uplift- ing his hatul. The door opened and he entered in, and Rohan followed close behind. The corridors were dark as death, but the strange shin- ing light that ran before the Spirit's feet made all things visible within, 'J'hey passed through many rooms — some vast and dim, tenanted only by the solitary moon-ray, others dark and curtained, full of the low breathing of men or women in sleep ; along silent passages where the wind wailod low at their coming ; up ghostly stairs with faces of antique painting glimmering from the walls, and marble busts and statues gleaming through the dusk. Nothing stirred, nothing woke ; sleep like moonlight breathed everywhere, trembling amid darkness. And though their feet fell on hollow corridor^ and empty floors, their passing awoke no reverberation ; but the doors flew open silently, and the sleepers did not stir on their pillows ; and the only sound was the low cry of the winds in the silent courts. Again the dream faded, and Rohan's consciousness seemed to die away. When the eyes of his soul opened again he was crouching iii the shadow of a curtained door, and standing erect close to him, drawing back the curtains with a white hand, stood the Christ, pointing. Before them, with his back to them, writing busily at a table, sat a Man. The room in which he wrote was an antechamber, and through the open door of the inner room could be seen a heavily curtained bed. On the table stood a lamp, casting down the rays upon the paper before him, and leaving all the rest of the chamber dim. It seemed as if all Rohan's heart hungered to see the face of this Man, but it remained hidden, bent over the table. Hours seemed to pass ; he did not stir. He was partly undressed for sleep, but though all the world rested he still wrote and worked. Rohan's soul sickened. It seemed terrible to behold that one Form awake and alone, while all the heart of creation seemed hushed and still. Again the dream faded. When Rohan looked again the room was empty, but the lamp still burnt on the table, though the shape of the Man was gone. ! lyo THE SHADOW OF THE SWORD. Ho turned his eyes iipwarrl and mot the divine ej'cs of his Guide, who pointed to the table and formed with His h'ps, rather than uttered with His breath, this one word, " Read." He crossed the chamber and bent over the table. It was covered with papers written in a clear hand, but his eyes saw one paper only, on which the ink was scarcely dry, and it contained only two words, his own name, '* Roman Owenkkrn ! " As he read, in his dream, he felt the confused sick horror of a man half stunned. He seemed to understand darkly (hat his name so written meant something fatal and dreadful, yet he could not sufficiently grasp the sense of how or why ; all he seemed to know was the awfulness of ihis one Man, awake when all creation slept, writing thai name down as if for doom ; yet for what doom Rohan knew not, any more than he knew the likeness of the Man. Nevertheless, horror possessed iiim, and he fell on his knees, uplooking in the face of his (xuide, and dumbly entreating help from some calamity he could not under- stand. But during a sudden Hash of unconsciousness, the Christ had passed into the inner chamber, and had drawn back the heavy curtain of the bed therein ; and lo, Rohan saw clearly, as if in moonlight, the face of the Man, though it was now calm in sleep. He crept forward, hungering on the face ; and he knew it. White as marble, with closed- cold lids and lips still tlrm in rest ; a stony face — such as he had often pictured it waking, such as he had seen it on coins and medals of metal, and in rude pictures hung on cottage walls ; — the face of the great Emperor. And the Emperor slept so soundly that not even his breathing could be heard in the chamber, for as Rohan crept closer, with fascinated eyes, the lineaments of the face grew more fixed in their marble pallor, so that Rohan thought in his dream, " He does not sleep, but is dead." And one hand on the coverlet looked like marble too ; a white hand like a woman's, a small hand clenched like a sleeping child's. In that moment of wonder he turned his eyes and found himself alone. The figure of the Christ had disappeared. Th. lamp k THE DREAM. 171 : eyes of with His )ne word, table. It I, but his s scarcely ;inie, Fused sick mderstand g fatal and lie sense of vfulness of writing that ,oni Rohan of the Man. fell on his lud dumbly not under- iousness, the i had drawn cl lo, Rohan Vfan, though umgering on with closed- — such as he seen it on es hung on liot even his [or as Rohan lients of the _, that Rohan mt is dead." larble too ; a inched like a les and found Th- lamp \ still burnt in the outer chamber, but more dimly. He was alone by the bed of the great Emperor, watching, and shivering from head to foot. Strangely enough, that supernatural presence had been a source of strength. No sooner had it disappeared than an awful sense of terror and helplessness possessed him, and he would have flown ; but he could not fly — he could not turn his eyes away. To be there alone with the terri- ble Master of his life — to be crouching there and seeing the Emperor lying as if dead — was too much for his soul to bear ; he struggled and struggled in despair and dread, and at last, in the agony of his dream, he uttered a wild cry. The Emperor did not stir, but in a moment the cry was answered from distant rooms — there was a sound of voices, a tramp of feet, a rushing to and fro ; he tried again to fly, but was still helpless, as the feet came nearer and nearer ; and while the doors of the antechamber were burst open, and a haggard sight of cruel faces came in, and soldiers rushed in upon him with flashing swords to take his life, he swooned away — and woke. He was lying where he had cast himself down, among the great weeds at the Cross's foot ; the dawn was just breaking, and the air was very cold, and the stone Christ hung above him, drooping its heavy head, wet with the long . night's rain. He was about to arise to his feet and crawl away to some securer shelter, when a sound of voices broke upon his ears, and a tramp of coming feet. Then he remembered ,■ how n^ar he was to the highway, and casting himself flat I down among the weeds, he lay hidden and still. The feet came nearer ; the voices were singing a familiar song : I^ matin quand Je m'cveille, Je vols mon Empereur, — I II est doux ^ merveille I ■-■A % Rohan shivered as he lay hidden, for he distinctly Recognized the voices of Hoel and Gildas Derval. There iwas a pause on the road, a sudden silence, then another Jvoice, in the unmistakable tones of the old Corporal, cried !•* Forward I" r^ T tit THE SHAt>OW OF THE SIVORD. The tramp of feet began again, the voices renewed their singing. All passed close by the Cross, but down in the hollow of the road. Rohan did not stir till every sound of foot or voice had died. I'he conscripts of Kromlaix escorted out of the village by many of their frieuds and fellow villagers, were on their w.iy by il. uvn to join the armies of the Emperor on the banks of the far-off Rhine. CHAPTER XXII. MIKKL GRAI-LON. FROM that day forth, for many days and weeks, the fate of Roha' ''iwenfern remained unknown. Search was made for him hi^^h and low, his name was proclaimed through every village for many miles around, blood-money was offered for his apprehension alive or dearl — but all without avail. The last occasion on which he had been publicly seen was on that memorable night of the Conscription. when he made his appeal to P^ither Rolland — whose opinion, by the way, was emphatically to the elTect that Rohan had committed suicide. Only one person perhaps knew better, and that was Marcelle Derval. Not one word did she breathe, however, of the meeting under the Cross on the night before the departure of the conscripts. On this subject of Rohan the Corporal was adamant, and he lost no opportunity of uttering his denunciations. Marcelle no longer protested, for she felt that all was over, since Rohan was,either mad or worse than mad ; and when Uncle Ewen averred that while all the other conscripts of Kromlaix were good men and true, Rohan Gwenfern was a wretch and a coward, she could not utter one word in answer — ^for had not Rohan confessed with his own lips that he was afraid, and had she not seen in his face with her own eyes the sick horror a physical coward must feel ? It was terrible to think of — it was worse even than death itself I Her passion had fed itself upon his glorious man- MIKEL GKALLO.V. »73 »e\ved their own in the ry sound o£ K.romlaix frionds and to join the oft Rhine. -ks, the fate of uch was made inied through xl-money was Lnit all without been publicly Conscription, whose opinion, rat Rohan had i)s knew better, word did she Cross on the was adamant, denunciations, lat all was over, mad ; and when er conscripts ot Gwenfern was a ^r one word in th his own lips in his face with ward must feel ? even than death lis glorious man- hood, on his mi^jhty physical strength and beauty, on the power and di^^Miity of his nature, and even on his prowess in games of skill and courafj^e ; she had exulted in him, and gloried in him as even feeble women exult and glory in what is str(jiily yet most lovingly, against her prejudice and her ignorance. And this feeling awoke fear and re-ceated love, for it re-clothed Rohan in the strength that women [seek. She could better bear to think him wicked and mad — to [look upon him as a fierce enemy of her convictions, and of [the great Imperial cause — than to conceive him a coward Hire and simj^le. If the sure conviction of that had lasted tor one whole day, I verily believe that Marcelle's love /ould have turned to repulsion, that her hand would almost lave been ready to strike her lover down. Well, coward or choiian or both, he had disappeared, and if he lived, which many doubted, no man knew where he wa hiding. The nose of Sergeant Pipriac, reddened with )raii.|y but keen as an old hound's, could find no scent of le fox in or out of the village. A hundred spies were ready to claim the reward, but no opportunity came. At 4ast the cure's private suspicions spread into general cer- Jtainty, and it was everywhere averred that Rohan Gwenfern . f 174 THE SHADOiV OF THE SWORD. had made away with himself, either by leaping from one of the high cliffs, or by drowning himself in the sea. As weeks passed by and no traces of the fugitive were found, even Marcelle began to fear the worst, and her silent reproaches died away in a nameless dread. But she had her mother to comfort — the work of the house to do — the Fountain to visit — and none of her hours were idle. Had she been able to sit like a lady of romance, with her hands folded before her and her eyes fixed in a dream, her woe would have consumed her utterly, but as it was she was saved by work. Never too sadly introspective, she now looked out upon her pain like acourageous creature. Though her cheek was pale and her eye often dim, her step upon the ground was firm as ever. Her heart and lips were silent of their grief. Only when she stole down to Mother Gwenfern to whisper of Rohan, or when she placed her poor weeping head in the lap of Guineveve, did the trouble of her soul find relief. An irritating but salutary distraction came at this period in the conduct of Mikel Grallon. Grallon, whom she had more than once suspected of an attachment for herself, began now to show unmistakable indications of a settled design. True, all he did was to drop in of a night and smoke with the Corporal, to bring little presents of fresh fish to the widow, and to listen humbly hour after hour to the Corporal's stories ; but Marcelle, well skilled in the sociology of Kromlaix, knew well that such conduct meant mischief, or in other words, matrimony. It was not eti- quette in Kromlaix for a bachelor to address himself direct- ly to the maiden of his selection ; that was the last stage of courtship, the preliminaries consisting of civilities to the elders of the house, a very prosaic account of his own worldly possessions, and a close inquiry into the amount of the bride's dower. Now, Grallon was a flourishing man, belonging to a flourishing family. He was the captain of a boat of his own, and he reaped the harvest of the sea with no common skill. His morals were unexceptionable, though morals of course were a minor matter, and he was in all other respects an eligiole match. He was not a pleasant person, however, this Mikel Grallon. His thin tight lips, his small keen eyes, his M/CA'El GNALLOX. ns rom one of sea. As /ere found, her silent ork of the )f her hours of romance, ;s fixed in a ly, but as it itrospective, ms creature. :lim, her step eart and lips tole down to ;n she placed ^eve, did the at this period horn she had t for herself, of a settled a night and ents of fresh after hour to .killed in the onduct meant was not eti- limself direct- the last stage ivilities to the it of his own o the amount aurishingman, :he captain of :st of the sea exceptionable, and he was fcr, this Mikel keen eyes, his inanow foreho.id and eycbrDws tiuscly set toj^othcr, iiuli- caltd a peculiar ami act|iiisiiive character ; his head, set on broad shoulders, was loo small for symmetry ; and tliou^'li Ihis li^'lit weather- he. iten ( heek helokened health and strcn^'th, he lacked the open expression of less so|)histicate(l , fishermen. Ills features indeed resembleil folded leaves "ralherihan an open flower ; for the wind, which blows into ^open bloom the faces of so many men who sail the se.i, had *.onl\ shut these lineaments tighter together, so that no look jWiiatever of the hidden soul shone directly out of them. He went about with a smile, — the smile of secrecy, and '.of satisfaction that his secrets weie so well kept. ^ The great characteristic of the man was his silent perti- "iiacity. In whatever he did, he spared no pains to ensure puccess ; and when he had set his heart upon an object the J)eregrine in its pursuit was not more steady. ^ And so, when he began to " woo," Marcelle at once took the alarm ; and although his " wooing " consisted |Pnly of a visit two or three nights a week, during which he scarcely exchanged a word with herself, she knew well what ^is visits portended. Kvery evening, when he dropped in, khe tried to make some excuse for leaving the house, and when ihe was constrained to stay she moved about in feverish mal- lise ; for the man's two steadfast eyes watched her with a lumb fascination, and with an admiration there was no listaking. Jannick, who saw how matters stood, found a good butt )r his jests in Grallon, and was not altogether to be sub- lued even by gifts of new ribbons for the binion. He )ved to tease Marcelle on the subject of the fisherman's )assion. Strange to say, he no longer met with the fiery idignation which had often before been the reward of his ipertinences. Marcelle neither replied nor heeded ; only ier cheek went a little paler, her lip quivered a litde more. weight was upon her heart, a horrible fear and despair. Jhe was listening for a voice out of the sea or from the rave, and even in her sleep she listened — but the voice lever came. 3 176 THE SHADOW OF THE HWORD. I ! CHAPTER XXIII. CORPORAL DERVAL GALLOPS HIS HOBBY. CORPORAL UKRVAL was smoking rapidly, his face riushed all over to the crimson of a cock's comb, his black eyes burning, the pulses beating in his temples like a roll of drums, and his thoughts far away. As the gre) smoke rolled before his eyes it became like the smoke oi cannon, and through its mist he saw — not the interior of his Breton home with the faces of the astonished group around hin\ — but a visionary battle plain where a famili u figure in weather-beaten hat and grey overcoat, sat, with a heavy head sunk lieep between his shoulders, watching the right from his saddle with the stony calmness of an eques trian statue. The voice of the little cure, who was sitting at the rire side, called him back to the common day. " Corporal Derval ! " The Corporal started, drew his pij)e out of his mouth, and straightened himself to " attention." So doing, he became again conscious of his surroundings. A bright liri- burnt upon the hearth, and the door was carefully closed. — for a wild cold wind was blowing. Mother Derval sat spinjiing in a corner, and near her, sewing, s;'t Marcelle. Toasting his little fat toes by the fire sat the (7/;t Marcel le. |//<'', smokiui;- ass of corn llaecabees — ludes aboul lol far from complexion isure tm tlir ,'ere hoUlinn lid Corporal. lie lillle nn-^ nuii''inl sent, made ihc rOKPORAL nER]'AI. CM. LOPS If IS NO/iPY. 179 ocrnsion alwavs illustrious. Those who knew Uncle Ewen and had not heard his anecdote of Cismone knew him but litll — had in figures around him again and ;igain faded, and his eye searched the distance in a sort of waking dream. "We left ['lent on the sixteenth, Father Rolland ; — il was in the grey of the dawn. It was a long inarch, ten leagues of infernal country ; a forced march, you see. In the evening we reached a village, — the name I have for- gotten, but a cjuaint little village on a hi!'. That night we were so we.iry that we couM not have kept awake, only the word had run along the lines thnt the l-aniieror — ah, he was only a general then ! — iliat (General Bonaparte w..s with us. Well, we knew that it was true, for we co\.\\(\ feel him. we could swear that he was near. In the hospitals, l''ather, the doctor goes from bed to bed, touches the pulses — so ! — and says ' here is fever — here is health — here is death.' As he comes the wounded look up, and brighten; as he goes, they sink back and groan. All the wards feel him far off — every heart beats cpiicker at his coming, and slower at his going. Well, that is the w.iy with the army ; its pulses were beating all along the lines ; you would say 'the (leneral is coming — he is near — he is here — he is one — he is ten leagues away ! ' " He paused for breath, and Mother Ijerval heaved a i8o THE SHADOW OF T/fF. SlVOh'/X I heavy sigh. Poor heart, she was not thinking of the Em- peror, but of her two great sons, already with the army. The Corporal heard the sigh, and hurried on. " The moon was still up when we marched again in t* morning. We were in three columns like three big winds of the equinox, and we rushed down on the Austrians, who were strongly posted at Primolano. My (lod, but we caught them napping — we cut our way into them. Mikel Grallon, you have seen a boat run down ? — Smash ! that was the style. Our cavalry cut off the retreat, and thou sands laid down their arms. That would have been enough for an ordinary general, but the little Co-poral was not content. Forward ! he gave the word. Wurmser was at Bassano, and Mezaros was marching on Verona. We pushed on at bayonet point till we reached Cismone. It was night, and we were tired out ; so when we got the word to halt, it was welcome news." Here Uncle Ewen suited the action to the word, and halted again. The priest nodded approvingly through his cloud of smoke. " Now, I had a comrade in those davs — a tall fellow with a cast in his eye, but as good as gold — and his name was Jacques Monier, and he was born inland on the Rhone. We were like brothers ; we shared bite and sup, and many a night lay in each other's arms for warmth. Well, on that night of the seventeenth, Jacques was lying with his feet to the fire we had kindled on the bare ground, and 1 had gone to find water. When I returned Jacques was standing on his feet, holding in his hand half a loaf of black bread, and beside him, in the light of the fire, stood — whom, think you ? — the General himself. He was splashed from head to foot with mud and rain — he looked like any common soldier — but I knew ftim at once. He was warming his hands over the fire, and Jacques was saying, as he held out the loaf, ' Take it a/i, my General ! ' As I saw that, I looked into the General's face, and it was white . s death with hunger. Think of that ; it is true, for 1 who tell you know what hunger is." A murmur of amazement ran round the room ; not that the fact was new, but that such an expression of feeling was appropriate. f J of the Em- h the army. again in t' L'e big winds istrians, who 'lod, but we lieni. Mikt'l Smash ! that it, and thou- been enough oral was not, rmser was at /erona. We Jismone. It we got the he word, atid y through his •a tall fellow, [ind his Jiame n the Rhone. 3, and many IVell, on that 1 his feet to 1 had gone standing on <. bread, and vhorn, think d from head my common warming his he held out saw that, I ite . s death who tell you Ti ; not that n of feeling CORPORAL DERVAL GALLOPS HIS HOBBY. igi "Did the Emperor take the half loaf?" asked Father RoUand. *' 'Take it all,' said Jacques; 'half a loaf is not much.' Well, you should have soon the General smile. He did not answer, but he took the bread into his hands, and broke off a morsel and began ,o eat, handing Jacques back "he rest. Then came njy turn ! 1 held in my hand the little tin pot half full of water, and I emptied into it a little brandy that I had saved in my tiask, and I handed the pot to the General. Here it is — the same — 1 keep it still as a souvenir." So saying, he detached from a hook over the fire the canteen, which Father Rolland examined over and over, and under and under, in honest admiration. "' Urink, my (ieneral,' said I saluting. Ah, I had cour- age in those days ! He drank, and when he tasted the brandy, he smiled again ! Then he asked us our names, and we told liim. iiicn he looked hard at us over and over again, wrajjped his cloak around him, and went away. So Jacques and I sat down by the fire, and finished the bicad and the brandy and water, and talked of the Emperor till we fell to sleep." " That was an adventure worth having ! " observed the aire. " And the General remembered you for that ser- vice, no doubt ? " The Corporal nodded. " 'J'he General remembers everything," he replied. " Nine years afterwards he had not forgollen ! " " Nine years ! " ejaculated the curi.'. " It was a long time to wait, Corporal. Did he give you no reward ? " Uncle Ewen turned rather red, but answered promptly. " What reward would you give for a crust of bread and a drop of brandy, which any one would give to the beggar at his door.!* Besides, the General had more to think of, and it all passed like a dream. Not that we missed our reward at last. When the time came he remembered well." " That is certain," said Mikel Grallon, who had often heard the story. " Tell Father Rolland," criyd Marcelle ; " he does not know," r* l82 THE SHADOW OF THE SWORD. The Corporal hesitated, niling. " Yes, yes, let us liear all aJjout it! " cried Father Rol- land. " It was in the year 1805, at the camp at Boulogne. Great changes had taken place ; the little Corporal had been declared hereditary Kinperor of France; but Jacques Monier and 1 were still in the ranks. We thought the General had forgotten all about us, and what wonder if he had, seeing how busy he h;id been knocking off the crowns of your Kings ? The grand army was there, and we of the grenadiers were to the front. That day of the coronation was fixed for a general distribution of crosses and medals. Such a day ! The mist was coming in from the sea like smoke from a cannon's mouth. On the rising ground above the town was a throne — the great iron chair of the mighty King Dagobert ; and all below the throne were the camps of the great armies, and right before the throne was the sea. VV^ieii the Fmpcror s;;t -.iown on the throne, our cry was enough to make the sky fall — vivc I' Einpcrenr ! — you would have said it was tiie waves of the sea roaring. But look you, at that v<.r\ moment the smoke of the sea parted, and the sun glanced out : — you would have said because he waved iiis haiui ! Ah God, such a waving of banners, glittering of bayonets, llashing of swords ; such a sight is seen but once in a lifetime ; I should have to talk all night to tell you a lenlh ol tiie wonders of that day. But I am going to tt,'ll you what ha|)pened to Jacques Monier antl mysc'J. Whun the Fmpcror was passing by — wt, were in the front ranks, you observe — he stopped short, likeM/jr/ Then he took a huge pinch ol snutf from his waistcoat locket, with his head on one side, like //<;/>, study- ing our faces ; and then his face lighted up, and he came quite nea-- This is what he said — ah, that I could give you his \ oice I ' Come, 1 have not forgotten Cismone, nor the taste of that black bread and brandy and water.' Then he tiu'iied laughing and s|)oke rapidly lo Marshal Ney, who stood close by him, and \e\' laughed, and showed his white teeth, looking in our direction. \V«'1I, then the great Kmperor turned lo u.s. and gave un e.uh tlu; Crciss from his own hand, and saluted us as Corporals. I will tell you this — my eyes were dim — 1 ( onk] have cried like a girl , « CORPORAL DERVAL GALLOPS IIIS HOBBY. 183 Father Rol- t Boulogne, "orporal had but Jacques thought the voucler if he f the crowns id \vc of the : coronation md medals, he sea like ing ground .hair of the ne were the throne was throne, our 'nipcreur .' — sea roaring. ; of the sea have said a waving of ds ; such a lave to talk that day. to Jacques ssing bv — jped short, f from his ////>, study d he came could give Cismone, 111(1 water.' rshal Ney, ■ihowed his 1 the gieiil OSS from 'ill tell you ike a girl ; but before we could know whether we stood on our heads • or our feet, he was gone I " C 'orporal Derval brushed his sleeve across his eyes, which were dim again with the very memory of that inter- view and its accompanying honors. He stooped over the fire and fidgeted with his litlle finger in the bowl of his pipe, while a subdued murmur ran round the apartment. '* 'i'he Kniperor has a good head to remember," observed I the little <7//r. "I have been told that a good shepherd can tell the faces of every one of his Hock, but this is more wonderful siill. How long, do you say, had elapsed after Cismone, before you met again ,'' " " Nine years ! '* answered the Corporal. " Nine years ! " repeated the lure. '• And in those nine years, my Corporal, what battles, what thoughts, what con- fusion of faces 1 — how much to do, how much to think of! Ah. he is a great man ! And was that the last time," he added after a short pause, " that your eyes behind him ? " ''1 saw him once more," said the Corporal, " only once." " And tlien ? " "It was i)\\\\ a month or two later — the first day or two later — the first day of December. It was the eve of the glorious battle of Austerlitz." A thrill ran throu-jh the assemblv at the mention of the magic name, 'i'he Corporal lifted his head erect, and looketl absolutely Napoleonic as he towered above his hearers. The cnre iof)ked up startled. Mother Derval heaved a heavy sigh, and glanced at the Corporal's wooden leg. Alain and Jannick l.->oked serious. Mikel Grallon ga/ed curiously at .Marce'.le, whose pale face wore a strange smile. The Corporal proceeded. " We were crouched, seventy or eighty ihousand of us, watching and waiting, when some one remembered that ; just a year ago that night the little Corporal had been crowned Emperor. 'I'he word ran round. We gathered ;^ sticks and bundles of straw for joy-fires, and set them blaz- '; ing to the tune of I'ivc r Empcnnr. It was pitch dark, r_ but our fires were crimson. In the middle of it all I saw ^1 him riding past. The cry ran along the camps like flame, il but he passed by like a ghost, his head sunk down between l84 THE SHADOW OF THE SWORD. his shoulders, his eyes looking neither to the left nor right. He rode a while horse, and Jacques said he looked like the white Death riding to devour the Russians ! Poor Jacques! He got his last furlough next day, and I, my marshal's baton ! " So saying, the veteran stuck out his wooden leg, and re- garded it with a look half plaintive, half comic. The ir- reverent Jannick giggled — not at the joke, which was a too familiar one. " And you never saw him again," said the cure; "thai was the last time .'' " The Corporal nodded his head slowly and repeatedly, in the manner of a "Chinese mandarin " at a teadealer's door. He was about to speak again, when the door was suddenly dashed open, and Sergeant Pipriac, followed by four or five ^mdarmcs^ rushed into the room. CHAPTER XXIV. 'I I "a terrible death." SERCxEANT PIPRIAC was ghastly pale, and in the midst of his face shone with baleful light his bright Bardolphian nose, while his one eye glared horribly, like the eye of a Cyclops. His voice shook, partly with deep potations, partly with nervous agitation, and his legs flew this way and that with frantic excitement. His men were pale too, but much less moved. " Soul of a crow ! " cried the Corporal, " what is the matter? " The cure rose from his seat by the fire. " One would say," he exclaimed, "that the good Ser- geant had seen a ghosi I " Sergeant Pipriac glared at the (\uporal, then at the cure^ then all round the room, until he at last found voice. inji; his brow with a great cotton porket handkei< liief brilliantly ornanieiited with a portrait ot M irsh.il \e\ (»n his war steed. " Wliat have I seen.' .V ihou^.md de\ ds ! Well, I have seen your own infernal houaH \\\ a i\tph\'w ! ' " Rohan .' " eiacul Hed vho Torporal iit \ voice of thunder, while the wonU'M st nted up in U-nor and horr<»r, and the liule iH)(' blu'd \\\^ hatuls in astonislinenl. "\es, Kohan Viwenlern — the manor ilu ma«'s ghost, it is equ>vl. Is the're ever a soul here can >»ei»r lo ihe ghost's clothes, for, look you, we havi' nigh stripj»ed hirii clean ? .\n eel may slip from its skin, they say ; well, m) < ,iii he of whom I speak. I'ierre I .Vndre I who has the plunder,'" The last words were addressed to his ^cndarmts. one of whom of whom now stooci forward carrrying a peasant** jacket, and another a broad brimmed peasant's hat. " If a ghost can wear clothes, these belong lo fiim. Well, it is all the same now ; he will ne\'er need them nioie.' The articles of attire were passed from hand to haial, but there was notliiiig to flistinguish them specially as the property of the fugitive. The coat was torn down the back, as if in a severe scutiHe. Sinking into the seat by the fire. Pipriac sat until he had recovered breath, a consummation not to be achieved until he drank another glass of his favorite stimulant. Then he said grindy, looking at the Corporal — " His blood be on his own head. It is no fault of mine." The fierce frown which the Corporal's face had worn at the mention of Rohan's name relaxed. He was about to speak when M.ircelle, white as death, came between him and Pipriac. " What do you mean ? " she cried. " You have not — '' Without completing the sentence she cast at the bay- i86 TJIE a HA DOW OF THE SWOKD. onets of the f^endarmes a look of horror that could not be niislakcn. I'ipriac shook his head. " It is not th.it," he answered. ** Old Pii)riac is bad, but not so bad as that, my dear. Malediction ! is he not his father's son, and were not Raoul Gwcnfern and IVn I'ipriac comrades togetlier "i JJy the body of the Kmperor, I haVe not hurl a hair of the villain > head." "Thank God," cried the little curi. "'I'hen he has escaped." I'ipriac screwed up his eye into something very like a signiticanl wink, meant to be sympathetic, but only succeed- ing in being horrible. "1 will tell you all about it," he said; "you and the Corporal and all here. Vou know, we had given him up as (le;i I ; we had searched hi.aven and earth and hell for him without av;iil ; there sect led no place left for hin» but the bottom of the sea. Well, you may guess it was on quite different business I was pro^vling about to-night with my men ; but that is neither hert nor there : we were coming along by the great stone up yr I had hill and Corpo- ran, but •on him Andr^ he rest y yards lie cliff. 1 man. >ff, and uld not liin we In the excitement of his narrative, Sert^eant Pipriac had risen to his feet, .md he was now surrounded by all the easier circk of listeners. Marcelle rlun;^ to her uncle's arm and lisicnefl with cheeks like marble, her large eyes fixed on the speaker's face. *' No violence." I shrieked out ; "a thousand devils, take him alive ! " When we seized him a^ain, we were not ten yards from the e(l'4e of the y;reat cia<; — you know it -it is like a wall. The tide was in high spring tide, aiul the water was black far down below. We f< II upon him, ill six of us, and soon had him down ; it look all our strength, I can tell you. Well, we hat him safe and he could not stir." *' Bravo ! " said Mikel (Irailon. "It is all very well to cry ' I'.ravo ! ' " s.iid the irascible Serjeant, "but let me tell you ihi; devil himself could not hold him! He !ay for a minute quite still, and then he began to wriggle. You are a fisherman, .md have tried to hold a conger eel ; well, it w c like that. Before we knew what he was about, he had wriggled almost to the very edge of the cliff!" A low cry from Marcelle ; a nervous movement among the men. Then i*ipriac continued — " We were six to one, I s.iy, but for all that we could not stop him. I held on like Death, with my two hands twisted in his jacket ; the others gripi)ed his arms and legs. Hut when I saw what he was about — when I heard the black sea roarinir right under us — mv heart went cold. I saw there was but oneway, and I loosened f)ne hand and seized the bayonet from Andre ; it was unscrewed, and held in his hand ready to slab. Then I shrieked out, ' A thousand devils, keep still, or I shall bleed you ! ' He looked up at me with his white face, and set his teeth together. In a moment he had rolled round on his belly, slipped himself out of his jacket, torn himself loose, and was on the very edge of the crag. Heaven, you should have been there ! The loose earth on the edge broke beneath his feet ; we all stood back, not daring to venture another step, and beff)re we could draw a breath he was gone down." A loud wail came from the mouth of Mother Derval, min- gled with prayers and sobs, and the widow sank on her %. ^. IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) /. ^/ 4 A" % Zj 1.0 I.I 2.2 S^i i.8 11.25 11.4 ill 1.6 m %^ A^. >> / / /A Photographic Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716) 872-4503 y i •I 188 T//£ SHADOW OF THE SWORD. knees terror-stricken. But Marcelle still stood firm, frozen, motionless. The old corporal looked pale and conscience- stricken, while the little cure lifted up his hands, crying — " Horrible ! — Down the precipice ? " " Right over," exclaimed Pipriac. *' It was a horrible moment ; all was pitch dark b<;!ow, and we could see nothing. But we listened, and we heard a sound far below us — faint, like the smashing of an egg." " Did he speak ? Did he scream ? " cried several voices. " Not he — he had no breath left in him for that ; he went down to his death as straight as a stone, and if he es- caped the rocks he was drowned in the sea. Corporal Der- val, don't say it was any fault of old Pipriac's ! I wanted to save him, damn him, but he wouldn't be saved. In the scuffle I touched him ; but that was an accident, and I wanted to keep him from his death. Hither with that jacket, Pierre — show it to Corporal Derval and the com- pany ! " The gendarme called Pierre held up the jacket, while the Sergeant proceeded — " There is a cut here, through the right sleeve — it is gashed right through ; and the left sleeve is wet, see you : that is where I hurt him in the struggle." j " God help us ! " cried the cure, horror-stricken. '* My poor Rohan ! " " Bah ! Why did he not give in, then ? " growled Pipriac. " But let no man say it was old Pipriac that killed him. He was bent on murdering himself, and perhaps some of us — that, I tell you, was his game. Foi all that, I am sorry I wounded him. This upon the jacket must be blood. Andre, let me see thy bayonet." The gendarme called Andre stepped forward, and held up his glittering weapon, now fixed upon his gun. '' Holy Virgin, look there ! " cried Pipriac. " Yes, it is blood ! " All crowded round looking upon the weapon, all save the Widow Derval, who still kept upoir her knees and wailed to God in the low monotonous fashion of mourning women in Brittany. " Yes, it is blood ! " said one voice and another. Among the faces that concentrated their gaze on tl^^ ''.4 TRkRtfii.}^. death:' 189 n, frozen, nscience- prying— horrible :ould see far below al voices, that J he if he es- oral Der- ' wanted In the it, and [ /ith that he com- vhile the ^e — it is >ee you : I. '* My Pipriac. lim. He of us — sorry I blood. id held es, it is >ave the I wailed women on th^ sight was that of Marcelle. The girl still stood firm, her lips set together, her eyes wide open in horrid fascination. She could see the shining blade glittering in the light — then the dark red stains glimmering upon it — but even then she did not swoon. ** It is the last you will see of Rohan Gwen^ern in this v/orld," said Pipriac after a pause. " Yes, it is blood, and no mistake ! " So saying, he wetted his forefinger with his lips and drew it deliberately down the bayonet's blade; then he held his finger up to the light, and showed it moist and red. A murmur of horror ran round the room, while Marcelle, without uttering a sound, dropped down as if dead upon the floor. Early the next morning, when it was tmyrte met; or dead low-water, a crowd of villagers gathered right under the enormous crag on the summit of which stood the colossal Menhir. Looking up, they saw a precipitous wall of con- glomerate and granite, only accessible to the feet of a goat, which was feeding far up on scanty herbage, and moving cautiously along the minute crevices of stone. It was Jannedik, with whose form the reader is already familiar. Looking down from time to time from her dizzy eminence, she inspected the chattering throng below, and then pro- ceeded leisurely with her refreshment. Right at the foot of the crag lay fragments of loose earth and rock, recently detached from above, but of the body ci Rohan Gwenfern there was no trace. At high-water, l.owever, the tide washed right up against the foot of the crag, and the waters there were swift and deep ; so the presumption seemed to be that Rohan, after falling prone into the sea, had been washed away with the ebb. Pipriac and his satellites, accompanied by Corporal Der- val, inspected every nook and cranny of the shore, poked with stick and bayonet into everyplace likely and unlikely, swore infinitely, and did their duty altogether to their own satisfaction. The women gathered in knots and wailed. The villagers, with Mikel Grallon and Alain and Jannicl- Derval, gaped, speculated, and talked in monosyllables Several boats were busy searching out on the sea, which was dead calm. 190 TrfE sir A now of rnE swokD. Sustained by the iinnsiial courapje of her temperament, Marcelle came down, with all her hidden agony in her heart, and her face tortured with tearless giief. Since she had swooned the night before — and never before had she so lost consciousness, for she was of no "fainting" breed — she had wept very little, and uttered scarcely a word. Too great a horror was still upon her, and she could not yet realize the extent of her woe. She had scarcely even uttered a prayer. The decision of the men assembled was unanimous. Rohan must have been killed by the fall before he reached the sea ; on reaching it, his body had in all probability sunk, and then been sucked by slow degrees into the deep water. There was very little chance of finding it for some days, and indeed it might never rise to the surface or be recovered at all. " And between ourselves," said Pipriac, winking grimly, "he is as well where he is, down there, as buried up yonder with a bullet in his heart. He would have been shot, you see, and he knew that. Don't say old Pipriac killed him, however — it was no fault of mine ; but duty is duty, after p.ll." Mikel Grallon, to whom these remarks were addressed, quite concurred. Honest Mikel was indefatigable in all respects — both in aiding the general search, and in con- vincing Marcelle that her cousin could by no possibility have escaped. He was if anything p little too zealous, and taking into consideration the terrible nature of the catastrophe which had just occurred, several degrees too buoyant in his spirits. Leaving the crowd at the foot of the crag, Marcelle walked slowly along the shore in the direction of Mother Gwenfern's cottage. The sun was shining on the sea, and in her own sweet face, but she was conscious of nothing save a heavy load upon her heart. Lifting the cottage latch she entered in, and found the widow seated in her usual upright attitude before the tire, her grey face rigid and tearless her lips set light together. Standing close to the fire was Jannick Goron, who was speaking in a low voice as she appeared, but grew silent as she entered in. It was very strange, but the widow showed no sign o| 1 mu^'mmmi*. perament, uy in her Since she e had she >g " breed ly a word, could not cely even lanimous. e reached rol)abih'ty the deep for some ace or be \g grimly, ip yonder shot, you illed him, uty, after i dressed, jie in all 1 in con- ossibility zealous, re of the frees too Marcelle Mother sea, and nothing cottage d in her ice rigid close to in a low ed in. • sign o( T//E JUNE FESTIVAL— AN APPARrT^ON: igi absolutely overwhelming grief ; her face rather betokened an intense resolve and despair. The news of the ex- traordinary catastrophe had not struck her to the ground ; perhaps its very horror upheld her for the time being. Silent as a ghost, Marcelle crossed the room, and sat down before the hre. " There is no hope," she said, in a low voice ; " it is all as they said, Aunt Loiz." No wail came from the lips of the widow, only a deep shivering sigh. Goron, whose whole maimer betokened intense nervous agitation, looked keenly at Marcelle and said — " I was there this morning before them all j I could not find a trace. It is a terrible death." CHAPTER XXV. THE JUNE FESTIVAL — AN APPARITION. A MONTH had passed since that memorable night of the struggle on the cliffs, and it was the morriing of the June Festival. The sea-pink was blooming, the laven- der was in fiower, the corn had thrust its green fingers from the sweet-soiled earth, and the fields behind the crag were sweet with the breath of thyme. Heaven was a golden dome, the sea was a glassy mirror, the earth was a living form with a beating heart. In that season to live at all was pleasant, but to live and be young was paradise. There was a green dell in the meadows behind theclififs, and in this green dell were the ruins of a dolmen, and to this dolmen they flocked from Kromlaix, with music and singing, happy as shepherds in the golden climes of Arcady. Young men, maidens, and children came gathering merrily together; for here in Kromlaix the usual Breton custom, which excludes from the fcsti\-.ii young people under the age of sixteen, was never enforced and indeed scarcely known. The only members of the population rigorously excluded were the married of both sexes. Tlie feast was the feast of youth and virginity, and no sooner did a man 192 TIN: SHADOW OF THE SWORD. or maid pass the portal of Hymen than his or her festive days were o\er for ever. Kvery youth that could play an instrument was in re* quisition. Alain Det val was there with a new black flute bouj^hl lately in St. Gurlott, and Jannick was to the fore with his hiiiioH ; but besides these there were half a dozen oilier billions, and innumerable whistles both of tin and wood ; and to crown all, the larks of the air, maddened with rivalry, sang their wildest and loudest overhead. Around the ruined dolmen, clad in all. colors of the rain- bow, were groups of sunburnt girls and lads ; some romp- ing and rolling, son.e gathering cowslips and twining daisy- chains, some running and shouting, while voices bubbled and the medley of music rose. In the broad hat of every man or lad was a blade of corn, and on the breast of every girl was a lio^'er of fiax, with or without an accompaniment of wild heath and flowers. Presentlv, approaching these groups from the direction of Kromlaix, came a little procession, such as m^ht have been seen of old during the 'I'halysia and sung ni divine numbers by Theocritus. A flock of little children ran first, their voices singing, their hands full of flowers, and behind them came a group of young men, bearing on their arms a kind of rustic chair, in which, with her lap full of butter- cups and flowers of flax, sat Gnineveve. By her side, laughing and talking and flourishing his stick, trotted Father R( Hand, as eager as any there. Strange to say, his presence scarcely disturbed the idyllic and antique beauty of the picture ; for his black coat was scarcely noticeable in the gleam of colors surrounding him, and he carried his hat in his hand, and his round face was brown as a satyr's, and he was joining with all his lungs and throat in the choric song. The little cure was no kill- joy, and he had enough Greek spirit in his veins to forget for the nonce that skuHs were ever shaven or sackcloth and ashes ever worn. [t was, howe\er, an almost unprecedented thing to behold Father Rollard at such a gathering. The feast was of Pagan origin, discountenanced in many parishes, especially by priests of the new Napoleonic dispensation, and Fa* her RoUand, although he was not bigot enough to interfere ^r festive as in re* ack flute the fore a dozen tin and addened verhead. the rain- e romp- iig daisy- bubbled of every of every laniment lirection •hi have 11 divine ran first, 1 behind r arms a '■ butter- er side, trotted e idyllic oat was ing him, ace was s lungs no kill- ) forget ckcloth 'behold was of jecially Fa* her iterfere THE JUNE FESTIl'AL—Ay APPARITIOiV. 193 with the innocent happiness of the day, had never before been present on such an occasion. His coming was not altogether unexpected, however, and he was greeted on every side with a pastoral welcome. Coming close up to the Druid ic stone of the dolmen, the men set down ihtir burden, while Father Rolland stood by wiping his brow with a silk pocket-handkerchief. Then Jannick Goron, who had been one of the bearers, lifted Guineveve in his arms and placed her on a knoll among a group of giris, who greeted her by name and made room for her beside them. The eyes of Guineveve were spark- ling brightly, and she spoke rapidly to her comrades in Brezonec ; — it was something amusing, for they all Jaughed and clapped their hands. At that moment, however, Father Rolland raised his hand. The music and laughter ceased, every face was turned one way, and all became quite still : only the larks kept on singing overhead in a very ecstasy of triumph at having (as they inuigined) beaten and silenced all other competitors. Father Rolhind's face was very grave. Every face around him suddenly grew grave loo. " Boys and girls," he said in Brezonec, "do you know what has brougiu me here? You cannot guess — so I will tell you. It is simple enough and very sad. It is right for you to make merry, tncs ^arz, because you are young, and because there will be a good harvest, but it is also right to remember the dead,'' Here the little cure, crossed himself rapidly, and all the other members of the gathering crossed themselves too. '' Sad events have taken place since last you gathered here ; many ha\e been taken away by the Conscri|)tion, some liave died and been buried, and some are sick ; but it is not of any of those that 1 want to speak, but of the poor garz who was your patron last year, and who is now — ah God. where is he now } Let us hope at the feet of holy St. Gildas himself and of the blessed Virgin !" Again, automatically, they made the sign of the cross, even little children joining. Some looked sad, others care- less and indifferent, but all knew the little cure spoke of Rohan Gwenfern. It was the custom every year for the young people to choose among themselves a sort of king 13 194 THE SHADOW OF THE SWORD. and queen, who led the sports and reigned for the day, arid last year Rohan had been king and Marcelle had been queen — or to translate the dialect of the country, " patron " and " patroness." " I am not going to praise or blame him who is gone ; he was foolish perhaps and wrong, though for all that he came of a tine family, and was a pleasure to look at for strength. Well, he is dead, and there is an end — peace to his soul ! Now that you are so merry, don't forget him altogether, nor poor Marcelle Derval, who was his patron- ess last year, and is too heart-broken, I am sure, to join you to-day." Here the little cure was greeted with a loud murmur from all his hearers, and all heads vverj turned, looking away from him. Then, to his amaze, he saw Marcelle herself rise up and approach him. She wore no mourning but a saffron hood ; her dress was dark and unadorned, and her face was pallid and subdued. " I am here, Father Rolland," she said as she met his eye. " Blessed saints !" ejaculated the cure. '■' Well, my child, thou art right to cast off care ; it is courage, and I am pleased." Nevertheless the priest looked very serious. In his own heart he thought Marcelle rather unfeeling, and would have been better satisfied to hear that she had stay- ed away. " I did not think of coming at first," she said, approach ing close, " but Guineveve begged me, and at last I con sented. It is for Guineveve's sake I came, and for Jannick Goron's. My cousin Rohan is not here to-day, and will never be here again, but I know what would have been his wish. He would have wished Jannick Goron to be patron, and Guineveve to be patroness ; and that is my wish too." There was a moment's silence, then came a loud crying and clapping of hands. " Yes, yes !" cried the groups of men and girls, only k few dissentient voices crying *' No, no ! " But the affaii had been settled long before, and that was why Goron had carried Guineveve thither. "The blessings of the saints be upon you, Marcelle Derval," said the cure., " for you have a kind heart ; it is day, and bad been patron " is gone ; 1 that he ok at for ■peace to »rget him > patron- • join you f. inur from ng away e herself ig but a and her met his Veil, my ;e, and I In his and ad stay- "g» Dproach I con Jannick md will Deen his patron, sh too." I crying oups of g *' No, 3re, and larcelle ■t; it is r^/E JUNE FESTIVAL— AN APPARITION. 195 good to think of those whom the good God has afflicted, though for that matter Guineveve is a girl in a thousand. Well, boys and girls, is that your choice ? " The answer was unmistakable, the consent almost unani- mous. And already, seated on a knoll in the midst of a garland of girls, Guineveve was enjoying her sovereignty with supreme and perfect happiness, light in hei face, joy in her heart, flowers on her breast and in her lap ; while Goron, ciad brightly as a bridegroom, stood over her, looking down into her eyes with perfect admiration and love. Marcelle saw it all, — the bright, the happy smiling faces, — and her thoughts went back to last year, when she and Rowan, then almost unconscious of passion, were merry- making in the same place. Her cheek grew whiter, and for a moment all she saw went dim. Then she thought to herself, '* No one must know ! I will creep away as soon as I can, for it all seems dreadful now Rohan is dead." After a few more words, Father RoUand lifted up his hands to pronounce a blessing ; and all knelt down on the grass around him in silence as he prayed. It was done in a minute, and before they could all rise up again the priest was trotting away back to the village. The pipes and binious struck up again, sports and rompings began, all voices chattered at once like the voices of innumerable birds, and great grew the fun of the feast. It was the custom for the new patron and patroness to lead off the gavotte, or country dance ; and the dance began. One after another couple joined, all uniting hand in hand till they formed one long chain of shining, glancing bodies, leaping, crying, intertwining, interturning, perform- ing the most extraordinary steps with heel and toe, till the eyes grew dizzy to look at them. *' Marcelle, will you not dance .^" said a voice in her ear. She was standing looking on like one in a dream, when she heard the voice, and she did not turn round, for the tones were familiar. " I shall not dance to-day, Mikel Grallon." "That is a pity," said Mikel Grallon quietly, for he was too shrewd to show annoyance. " One turn — come ! " " No, I am going home." i i 196 THE SHADOW OF THE SIVORD. ii Goinj; home, and the sport has only just commenced I But you will try your charm on the love-stone before you^o ? " It was the custom on that day for every sinfjle woman to leave a flower of ilax, and every sinjj;le man al)lade of corn, on the stone of the dolmen. So lon^- as flower and blade keep their freshness the hearts of their depositors are faith- ful ; if they wither before the week is out all will go wrong. So Marcel le answered — " I have brought no posy, and I shall try no charm. It is all foolish, and I shall not stay." And truly, in a little time she had slipped away from the company, whose merry laughter sounded in the distance behind her, and was hastening heart-broken homeward. She walked fast, for she was trying in vain to shake off Mikel Grallon, who followed close to her talking volubly. " You shall not soil your fingers or carry a load — no, not even a drop of water from the Fountain ; and 1 shall take you sometimes to Brest, to visit my uncle who keeps the cabaret, and you shall have shoes and new gowns from Nantes. And if the good God sends us children, one of the boys shall be made a priest.'' This was plnin speaking for the wooer, but Marcelle was not shocked. The height of a Breton mother's ambition is to have a son in the priesthood, and Marcelle was by no means insensible to the promise, especially as she knew well the speaker had means enough to carry it out. " I shall never marry," she replied vaguely. "Nonsense, Marcelle! The good Corporal and thy mother wish it, and 1 will take you without a dower. It is yourself that I wish, for I have enough of my own. I have set my heart upon it. * * * You should see the great press of linen my mother has prepared for the home-coming : soft as silk and white as snow — it would do your heart good, it smells so kindly." Marcelle glanced at him sidelong, almost angrily. * '• I have told 3'ou twenty times that I will not have you. If you speak to me of it again, I shall hate you, Mikel Grallon." Mikel scowled — he could not help it ; his brows were knitted iitvt^Ii'.nlarily, and an ugly light shot out of his eyes. He took a false step, and lost his temper. 1 4.. /•/// 7''y^ i-F.sri\\\f -AX Ai'PARrTfoxr '97 It " f know why ymi treat iiic s . Vdu are thinking of that choiitiii of a cousin ! ' Marci'lle luined upon him sudflcnly. " If hi' was a rZ/rv/.;/.', you arc worse. He is dead — his soul is with Ciod ; and it is like you to speak of iiini so." Mikel saw his blunder, and hastened to retrieve it if possible. " Do not be anj^ry. for I did not mean it. Rohan Gwen- fern was a /'• yy/A sword tvouki have said it was an ww^c^ from Iumvlmi. riwcskleii says he had great wings ; for my own pail I did not see the wings, hut 1 will tell you what I did see — the devil's feet, and they were great cloven hoofs, horrible to behold." 'i'here \/as a long pause. Presently MiUel (irallon mut- tered, as if connnuning to himself — "Suppose, after ill, it had been a man ! " The old fisherman stared at (Irallon with |)rolonged and stupefied amazement. " A man ! " he echoed. " Floly saints keep us, a man !" The others repeated the words after him, staring ai Grallon as if he had been guilty of some Imrrible blas- phemy. "A man in the cathedral of St. Gildas at dead of night !" he exclaimed with a contemptuous laugh. " A man as tall as a tree, shining lik-j moonlight, and with wings, with wings! Aman teaching ' Master Koberd ' his confession ! Mikel (Irallon, art thou mad ? " (irallon was in a minority. Less grossly superstitious than many of his fellow-villageis, and disposed to enquire in his own rude manner into matters they took on hearsay, he was regarded by a goodly number of his neighbois as officious and impertinent. I'or ali that he bore the charac- ter of a pious man, and he did not care to lose it. "Ob, I say nothing," he ol)ser\'ed. " Such tilings have been, and the Cathedral is a dreadful place. Hut is it not strange that the saint should carry a light.-'" "Strange?" grunted the fisherman. "And what is strange in that, Mikel Grallon ? Was it not black dark, with never a peep of moon or star, and Ikhv should the blessed saint see his way without a torch of lire to light him.!* Strange — ugh ! it would have been strange if the blessed one had been standing there with ' Mastei Roberd ' in the dark, like a miserable mortal man." 'J'his answer was so conclusive that not aiotherword was possible, and indeed Mikel Grallon si'emed to think he had committed a blunder in making so very absurd a sugges- tion. This was decidedly the opinion of his hearers, for as Grallon walked away into the village, leaving the group behind him, the old salt observed, shrugging his shoul ders — %\ ^fIKEL CnAr.LON MAKES A DISCOVEK\ ^v 20t " Mikel (irallon used to be a sensible man ; but he is in love, you see, and perhaps (hat is why he talks like a fool." Here doubtless the weather-wise worthy was at fault, for Mikel Oralloii was no fool ; he was only a very suspicious man, who never took anything for granted, always except- ing, of course, the dogmas of that religion wlierein he had been born and bred. I'hysically, he was timid ; intellertu- ally, lie was bold. Mad lie been one of the original wit- nesses of the \isioii in the C.uhedral he woidd possil>ly have shared the terror of his comrades to the full, and brought away as exaggerated a narrative ; but receiving the account coolly in the broad light of day, reading it in the light of recent e\i'nts, weighing il in (he scales of liis judg- ment against his knowledge of the folly and stupidity of those who brought it, he had — almost involuntarily, for with such men suspicion is rather an instinct than a process of thought — come to a conclusion startlingly at variance with the conclusions of the general poinilaci'. What that con- clusion was remains to be seen ; meaiuime he kept it care- fully to himself. I lis lime was fully occupierl in prosecu- ting his suit with Marcelle Derval. Now he had not exaggerated in the least when he had said that that suit had been fa\(>rably heard by the heads of the I)er\'al household. Hy means of innumerable little attentions, not the least of which lay in his power of listen ing without apparent weariness to tales that were re|)eated over and over again, and which had invariably the same Imperial centre of interest, lie had fjuite succeeded in wiinung the heart of the Corporal ; while in the eyes of Mother I)er\'a! he was a low spoken, pious persr)n, of ex- cellent fan^ily. well able to maintain a wife, and well worthy of a virtuous girl's esteeu). As to Alain and Jan- nick he found in them tolerable allies so long as he plied them — iiarticularly the wicked humorist Jannick — vvi^h little pr<'sents such as youths love. He might, therefore, be said wiih justice to be already an approved suitor in the eyes of the whole family. Had Marcelle been a girl of a different stamp, more sub- missive and It: s headstrong, the betrothal woultl have been as good as concluded. Unfortunately for the suit, however, the chief party concerned was resolute in resistance, and they ,/*. T 202 TIJE Sf/APOlV OF THR SWORD. knew her rlinracter too well to use harsh measures. The etiquette tor a Kromlaix maiden under such circumstances was to take unhesitatingly the good or bad fortune which her guardians selected for her, to leave all the prelimina- ries in their hands, and only at the last moment to come tiuward and behold the object of the family choice. Mar- celle, however, had a way of following her own inclinations, and was not likely to alter her habits when choosing a lius- band. Just then the very thought of love was terrible to her. No sooner did she feel assured that Rohan was dead than all her old passion sprang up twenty-fold, and she began to bathe the bitter basil-pot of memory with secret and nightly tears. She forgot all his revolt, all his outrage against the Emperor ; nay, the Emperor himself was forgotten in the sudden inspiration of her new and passionate grief. " I have killed him ! " she cried to herself again and again. " Had I not drawn the fatal number he might be living yet; but he is dead, and [ have killed him; and would that 1 might die too! " In this mood she assumed mourning — a saffron coif, dress of a dark and sombre dye ; there were young widows in the place who did not wear so much. Nor did she now conceal from any one the secret of her loss. " Tell them all, mother ; Ido not care. I loved my cousin Rohan ; 1 shall love him till I die." In due time, of course, this travelled to the ears of Mikel Grallon. Strange to say, honest Mikel, so far from persisting under the circumstances, delicately withdrew into the back- ground and ceased to thrust his attentions on Marcelle. This conduct was so singular in a being so pertinacious that it even awakened amazement in the Corporal, " Soul of a crow ! " he said, *' have you no courage ? She sees you too little — let her know that you mean to win. Girls' hearts are taken by storm ; but you have not the spirit of a fly." Mikel Grallon sighed. " It is no use. Uncle Ewen. She is thinking too much of one that is dead." Corporal Derval scowled, but replied not ; he knew well ; (1 MIKEL GRALION MAh'ES A DISCOVERY. 203 living to whom Grallon was referring, and having latterly thought more tenderly and pityingly of his unfortunate nephew, not without certain sharp twinges of the conscience, he did not care to discuss the subject. Under any other circum- stances he would have been savage with Marcelle for having formed her secret attachment to her cousin ; but the bloodhounds of the Conscription had been unleashed, and the man, his own flesh and blood, had been hunted down to death, — and now after all silence was best. It can- not be denied that at this period the Corporal showed an uneasiness under fire unworthy of such a veteran. He who would have cheerfully led a forlorn hope or marched up to the very jaws of a cannon, now fidgeted uneasily in his chimney corner whenever he felt the great silent eyes of his niece fixed upon him. He felt guilty, awkward, almost cowardly, and was glad even of Mikel Grallon to keep him company. But as we have already hinted, Grallon's attentions began to fall oflf rapidly soon after that memorable vision of the fisherman at the Gate of St. Gildas. You would have said, observing him closely, that the man was the victim of some tormenting grief. He became secret and mysterious in his ways, fond of solitude, more than ever reticent in his speech ; his days were often passed in solitary rambles along the cliffs, his nights in lonely sails upon the sea ; and from the cliffs he brought no burden of weed or samphire, from the sea no fish. He, naturally a busy man, became preternaturally idle. There could scarcely be found a finer example, to all appearance, of melancholia induced by unsuccessful love. It was one wet day, during one of his long rambles, that, suddenly approaching the Stairs of St. Triffine, he found himself face to face with a woman who leant upon a staff and carried, a basket. She was very pale and breathing hard from the ascent, but when she encountered him her lips went quite blue and a dull color came into her cheeks. "What, Mother Gwenfern!" he exclaimed; '*you are the last woman one would have thought of meeting in such weather. Shall I carry your basket for you } You must be tired." As he held out his hand to take her burden from her, ■; iL 204 THE Sir A DOW OF THE SWORD. she drew back sliiveriiip^. A thick misty rain was falling, and her cloak was dripping wet. "God's mercy, mother — you are as pale as death — you have caught fever perhaps, and will be ill," As he spoke he watched her with a look of extraordinary penetration, which strongly contradicted the simplicity of of his manner. She had been struggling all this time for breath, and at last she found her speech. " I have been gathering dulse. You are right, Mike! ; it is a long journey, and I should not have come so far." " It is not good for old limbs to be so fatigued," replied Grallon, simply ; " at your age. mother, you should rest. Look you, that is what all the neighbors say is strange." " What is strange ? " asked the woman, sharply. " A little while ago you were forever sitting by the fire or busy in the cottage ; not even on a holiday did you cross the door ; and we all thought it was your sickness and were sorrv. Vet since you have lost your son — amen to his soul ! — you are never content at home, you are for- ever wandering up and down as if you could not rest in peace." *' That is true," said Mother Gwenfern, looking at him fixedly with her cold scared eyes ; " I cannot rest since " — she paused a moment shivering — " since they killed my bov." " Ah, yes," said Grallon, forcing into his face a look of sympathy. " But mother, in such weather ! " " When one has a broken heart, wind and rain cannot make it better or worse. Good-day, Mikel Grallon." As the tall figure of the old woman disappeared in the direction of the village, Grallon watched it with a strange and cunning look ; when it was quite invisible he quietly descended the Stairs to the seashore, walked quickly along the beach, and came as close as possible to the Cathedral — but the tide was too high for a passage round to the Gate. So he stood on the water's edge, like one in profound meditation ; then, as if an idea had suddenly occurred to him, he began curiously to examine the shingly shore. He soon came upon traces of human feet, just where the retiring tide left the shingle still dark and wet ; the heavy marks of wooden shoes were numerous and unmistakable MIKEL GRALLON MAKES A DISCOVERY. 205 Mother Gvvenfern had been wandering to and fro on the water's edge. All at once Grallon stooped eagerly down over a patch of sand, soft as wax to take any impression left upon it ; and there, clear and uniuisiakable, was the print r)f a nak'-d human foot. With a patient curiosity worthy of some investigator of natural science, some short-sighted ponderer over " com- mon objects of the sea-shore," Mikel Grallon examined this footprint in every possible way and liglit — spanned and measured it lengthways and across, stooped down close over it with an extraordinary fascination. Not the immortal Crusoe, discovering his strange footprint on tiie savage shore, was more curious. Having completed his examination, Mikel Grallon smiled. It was not a nice smile, that of Mikel Grallon ; rathet the smile of Reynard the Fox or Peeping Tom of Coven- try ; the smile of some sly and cruel creature when soiue other weaker creature lies at its mercy, thtnigh mercy it has none. With this smile upon his face Mikel re ascended the steps and returned quietly and peacefully to his virtu- ous home. From that day forth his conduct became more peculiar than ever ; his monomania so possessing him that he neglected proper sustenance and lost his natural rest. Curiously enough, he had now so great a fascination for Mother (iwenfern's cottage that he kept it all day in his sight, and when night came he was not far from the door. It thus happened that the widow, whenever she crossed her threshold, was almost certain to encounter honest Mikel, who followed her persistently with jxpressions of sympathy and offers of service ; so that, to escape his company, she would return again into he; cottage, looking wearied out and pale as death. And whenever he slept some other pair o'^ eyes was on the watch ; for he had a confidant, some nature silent as his own. Whatever thought was in his mind it never got abroad. Like one that prepares a hidden powder mine, carefully laying the train for some terrible explosion, he occupied himself night and day, hugging his secret — if secret he had — to his bosom, with the characteristic vulpine smile. Whenever he found himself iu the company of Marcclle, f u it il 206 THE SHADOW OF THE SWORD. this vulpine look was exchanged for one of pensive con- dolence, as if he knew her sorrow and sympathized — under gentle protest, however — with its cause. A little later on, Mikel Grallon had another adventure which, however trifling in itself, interested him exceeding- ly, and led at last to eventful consequences. He was moving one evening along the cliffs, not far from the scene of the fatal struggle between Rohan Gwenfern and the gendarmes ^ and he was very stealthily observing the green tract between him and the village, when he suddenly became aware of a figure moving close by him and towards the verge of the crags. Now it had grown quite late, and the moon had not vet risen, but there was light enough in the summer twilight to discern a shape with its face turned upon his and moving backward like a ghost. For a moment his heart failed him, for he was superstitious ; but recovering himself he sprang forward to accost the shape. Too late ; it had disappeared, as if over the very face of the cliff, as if straight down to the terrible spot where the traces of death had been found some weeks before. Strange to say, this time also, but not until he had recovered from the first nervous shock of the meeting, Mikel Grallon smiled. After that, his watchings and wanderings grew more numerous then ever, and his feputation as a confirmed night-bird spread far and wide. " I will tell you this," said one gossip to another, " Mikel Grallon has something: on his mind, and he is thinking far too much of the ola Corporal's niece. Even the announcement of the arrival of the mackerel did not alter him ; for instead of taking his seat as captain of his own boat, he put another man in his place, and took only his one share as owner of the boat. He had the air of a man for ever on the watch — a contraband air as of one ever expecting to surprise or be surprised. At last, one day, final and complete success having crowned his endeavors, he walked quietly into the Cor- poral's kitchen, where the family were gathered at the mid -day meal, and said in a low voice after passing the usual salutations — " I bring news. Rohan Gwenfern is not dead j he is hiding in the Cathedral of St. Gildas. THE HUE AND CRY. 207 CHAPTER XXVII. THE HUE AND CRY. more i ALAIN and Jannick were out at the fishing, and the only members of the family present were the Corporal, Mother Derval, and Marcelle. The Corporal fell back in his chair aghast, gazing wildly at Mikel ; Mother Derval, accustomed to surprises, only dropped her arms by her side and uttered a deep moan ; but Marcelle, springing up, with characteristic presence of mind ran to the door, which had been left wide open, and locked it quickly, — then returning white as death, with her large eyes fixed on Mikel, she murmured — " Speak low, Mikel Grallon ! for the love of God, speak low." '* It is true," said Grallon in a thick whisper ; " he lives, and I have discovered it by the merest chance. True, I have suspected it for a long time, but now I know it for a certainty." " Holy Mother, protect us ! " cried the widow. " Rohan —alive ! " By this time the Corporal had recovered from his stupor, and advancing on Grallon before Marcelle could utter another word, he exclaimed — " Are you drunk, Mikel Grallon, or are you come here sober to outrage us with a lie ? Soul of a crow ! take care, or you will see me angry, and then we shall quarrel in good earnest, mon garzj'^ " Speak lower I " said Marcelle, with her hand upon her uncle's arm. " If the neighbors should hear ! " " What I say is the truth," responded Mikel, looking very white round the edges of his lips ; " and I swear by the blessed bones of St. Gildas himself, that Rohan is alive. I know his hiding-place, and I have seen him with ray own eyes." " His spirit perhaps ! " groaned the widow. Il I 208 r/ZE SI/ADO IV OF THE SWORD. " Ah God, he died a violent death, and his poor spirit cannot rest." Mikel Grallon cast a contemptuous look in the widow's direction, and faintly shrugged his shoulders. " I am not one of those who go about seeing ghosts, mother ; and I know the difference between spirits of air and men of flesh and blood. Go to ! This is gospel that I am telling you, and Rohan is hiding in the great Cathedral, as 1 said." '' In the Cathedral ! " echoed the Corporal. ''There, or close at hand ; of that I am certain. I have tracked him thrice, and thrice he has disappeared into the Cathedral ; but I was alone, see you, and I did not care to follow too close, for he is desperate. I should have put my hand upon him once, but he walks the cliffs like a goat, and he went where 1 could not follow." The news, though thus quietly announced, fell like a thunderbolt on the heart of the Corporal, and perfect consternation followed. As for Uncle Ewen, he was com- pletely overpowered, for the announcement of his nephew's death had been pleasant compared with the announcement that he was not dead at all ; since to be alive was still to be in open arms agai^ist the Emperor, to be still a misera- ble •' deserter," worthy the contempt and hate of all g(jod patriots ; to be, last and worst, a doomed man, who might be seized and shot like a dog at any moment. Uncle Ewen was hoiror-stricken. Of late he had been con- science-twinged on account of Rohan, and had secretly reproached himself for undue harshness and severity ; and in his own stern way he had thought very softly of the gentle dead, so that more than once his rough sleeve had been brushed across his wet eyes ; but now to hear all at oiicc ihat all his sorrow had been wasted, and that the spectre of family sliame was still haunting the village, was simply overwhelming. Marcelle, for her part, rose to the occasion instead of sinking under it. She was one of those unique women who feel rather than think, and whose feeling at once assumes the form of rapid action. With her eyes so steadily and questionably fixed on his face that Grallon became quite tremulous and uncomfortable, she seemed - v. mmmmm THE HUE AND CRY. 209 good might Uncle in con- ;ecretly ; and of the 'C had all a I lat the re, was ^1 I occupied for a brief space in reading the honest man's very soul ; but speedily satisfying herself that she had completely mastered that not very abtruse problem, she said with decision — '• Speak the truth again, Mikel Grallon ! Have you spoken of this to any other living soul ?" Mikel stammered and looked confused ; he replied, however, in the negative. " If you have not spoken, then remember — his life is in your hands, and, if he is discovered through you, his blood will be upon yoar head, and the just (iod will punish you." Mikel stammered again, saying — " Others may have also seen him , nay, I have heard Pipriac himself say that he suspects ! Look you, you must not blame me if he is found, for other men have eyes as well as I. Ever since that night of the vision in the Cathe- dral, they have been on the watch, for it is clear now that it was not the blessed saint at all, but a mortal man, Rohan (iwenfern himself.'' 'I'his was said with such manifest confusion and hesita- tion, and accompanied with so guilty a lowering of the vulpine eyes, that Marcelle leaned at once to a conclusion fatal to honest Mikel's honor. She fixed her look again upon him, so searchingly and so terribly that he began bitterly to reproach himself for having brought his infor- mation in person at all. The truth is, he had expected a wrathful explosion on the part of the Corporal, and had calculated, under cover of that explosion, on playing the part of an innocent and sympathetic friend of the family ; but finding that all looked at him in suspicion and horror, as on one who had conjured up some terrible phantom, and who was responsible for all the consequences of the fact he had announced, he lost courage and betrayed too clearly that his conduct had not been altogether disinter- ested. At last Uncle Ewen began to find his tongue. "But it is incredible!" he exclaimed. "Out there among the cliffs, with no one to bear him food, a man would stan'c!"' "One would think so," said Gralion, "but I have seen 14 f 210 THE SHADOW OF THE SlVORD. his mother wandering thither with her basket, and the basket, be sure, was never empty. Then Rohan was not like others ; he is well used to living out among the sea- birds and the rock-pigeons. At all events, there he is, and the next thing to ask is, what is to be done ? " The Corporal did not reply, but Marcelle, now pale as death, drew from her breast a small cross of black bog- oak, and holding it out to Mikel, said, still with her large eyes fixed on his — " Will you swear upon the Blessed Cross, Mikel Gralloii, that you have kept the secret ? " Mikel looked amazed, even hurt, at the suggestion. " Have I not just discovered it, and to whom should I speak ? If you wish it, I will swear ! " Providence, however, had not arranged that Mikel Grallon was to commit formal perjury ; for at that mo- ment some one was heard fingering the latch, and when the door did not open there came a succession of heavy knocks. " Open ! " cried a voice. Even the Corporal went pale, while the mother sank on her knees close to the spinning-wheel in the corner, and Marcelle held her hand upon her heart. " Holy Virgin ! who can it be ? " whispered Marcelle. " Perhaps it is only one of the neighbors," responded Mikel, who nevertheless looked as startled as the rest. " Open ! " said the voice ; and heavy blows on the door followed. "Who is there?" cried Marcelle, running over to the door, with her hand upon the key. " In the name of the Emperor ! " was the reply. She threw open the door, and in ran Pipriac, armed, and followed by a file of gendarmes with fixed bayonets. His Bardolphian nose was purple with excitement, his little eye was twinkling fiercely, his short legs were quivering and stamping on the ground. " Tons les diables /" he cried, "why is your door locked at mid-day, 1 ask you, you who are honest people ? Do you not see I am in haste ? Where is Corporal Derval ? " "Here," answered the old man, straightening himself to " attention," but trembling with excitement. TifE nrr. avp crV. 211 and the I was not g the sea- ^re he is, w pale as ►lack bog- her large el Grallon, stion. . should I hat Mikel t that mo- , and when 1 of heavy er sank on :orner, and Marcel le. responded e rest. )n the door aver to the armed, and lets. His is little eye ivering and loor locked ;ople ? Do Derval ? " himself to " It is str;iMj,'c news I bring you — news that will make you juni|) in y/IADOlV OF THE SWORD. attached to a lonndre' '•Nonsense," cried Mikel Grailo i. "He knows the cliffs better than others, that is all, and he is like a goat on his feet. You can guess now how he saved his neck that night when you fancied he was killed. Well, he will soon be taken, and there will be an end of his pranks. i "We are wasting time," exclaimed Pfpria:, who had been gliiring with no very amiable light in his one eye at Mikel Grallon. "We must descend and follow, down the Stairs of St. Triffine ; but you four — Nicole, Jan, Bertran, Hoel — will stay about and keep watch on all we do. But mind, no bloodshed ! If he should ascend, take him alive." " But if he should resist ? " said one of the men. "Malediction ! vou are four to one. You others, march ! Coine, Mikel Grallon ! " said the gendarme Pierre. # THE FA CES IN THE CA VE. 219 , too far which a if waver- inward, Beneath roofless right out w would lompara- : heights face as the sea." lie voice, ^d a cry. be walk- fly ; and oked up rose to and the an could an egg." e Pierre. ows the goat on eck that vill soon lad been xMikel le Stairs n, Hoel ut mind. march ! # Leaving the four men behind, the others hastened on. They had not proceeded far when Pipriac uttered an excla- mation and started back ; for suddenly, emerging rom the gulfs below, a living thing sprang up before them and stood on the very edge of the cliff, gazing at them with large startled eyes. It was Jannedik. " Mother of God! " cried Pipriac, "my breath is taken away ; — yet it is only a goat." " It belongs to the mother of the deserter," said Gral- lon ; " ii is a vicious beast, and as cunning as the Hlack Fiend. I have often longed to cut its throat with my knife, when I have seen Rohan Gwenfern fondling it as if it were a good Christian." Having recovered from her first surprise, Jannedik had slowly approached, and passed by the group with supreme imconcern. For a moment she seemed disposed to butt wilh her horned head at ihe gendarmes, who poked at her grimly with their shining bayonets, but after a moment's reflection over the odds, which were decidedly against her, she gave a scornful toss of her head and walked away. Tiiey had now reached the Ladder of St. Trifiine ; and slov/ly following the steps cut in the solid rock, they de- scended until they emerged upon the shore. Looking up when they reached the bottom, they saw Jannedik standing far up against the sky, on the very edge of the chasm, and tranquilly gazing down. By this time it was growing quite dark in the shadow of the cliffs, and wherever they searched, under the eager guidance of Mikel Grallon, they found no traces of the fugitive. Grallon himself, at considerable risk, ascended part of the rliff down the face of which Rohan had so re- cently descended ; but after he had reached a height of some fifty or sixty feet, he very prudently rejoined his com- panions on the solid shingle below. " If one had the feet of a fly," grumbled Pipriac, " one might follow him, but he walkj where no man ever walked before." '' He cannot be far away," said Mikel. " Out that way bevond the Cathedral there is no path even for a goat to crawl. It is in the Cathedral we must search, and fortu- nately the tide has begun to ebb out of the Gale," i 220 THE SHADOW OF THE SWORD. Another hour had elapsed, however, before the passage was practicable, and when, wading round the outlying wall '-'hich projected into the sea, they passed in under the Gate, the vast place was wrapped in blackness, and the early stars were twinkling about its roofless walls. Even Pipriac, neither by nature nor by education a superstitious man, felt awed and chilled. A dreadful stillness reigned, only broken by the dripping of the water down the sides of the furrowed rocks, by the low eerie cries of seabirds stirring among the crags, by the rapid whirl of wings pass- ing to and fro in the darkness. Nothing was perceptible. Night there had completely assumed her throne, and the only lights were the rayless lights of heaven far above. Ranged in rows along the walls sat numbers of cormorants, unseen, but ever and anon fluttering their heavy pinions as the strange footsteps startled them from sleep. The men spoke in whispers, and crept on timidly. " If we had brought a torch ! " said Pierre. *' One would say the Devil was here in the darkness," growled Pipriac. Mikel Grallon made the sign of the cross. " The blessed St. Gildas forbid," he murmured. " Hark, what is that "i " There was a rush, a whirr overhead, and a flock of doves, emerging from some dark cave, crossed the blue space overhead. "It is an accursed spot," said Pipriac ; "one cannot well see an inch before one's nose. Malediction ; one might as well look for a needle in the great sea. If God had made me a goat or an owl I might thrive at this work, but to grope about in a dungeon is to waste time." So the retreat was sounded in a whisper, and the party soon retraced their steps from the Cathedral, and were standing in the lighter atmosphere of the neighboring shore. Total darkness now wrapped the cliffs on every side. A long parley ensued, throughout which Mikel Grallon protested vehemently that Rohan could not be far away, and that if watch were kept all night he could not possibly escape. " Otherwise," averred the spy, " he will creep away 4i- TttE FACES m THE CAVE. 22 t ; passage lying wall mder the , and the Is. Even >erstitious s reigned, the sides i seabirds ings pass- irceptible. e, and the :ar above. )rmorants, pinions as dly. V iarkness," 1 "Hark, a flock of the blue annot well 3ne might God had work, but the party and were jighboring on every el Grallon far away, )t possibly away di- rectly the coast is clear and fly to some other part of the coast. My life upon it, he is even now watching to see us go. If he is to escape, good and well— I say nothing — I have done my duty like a good citizen ; but if he is to be caught, you must keep your eyes wide open until day." In honest truth, Pipriac would gladly have withdrawn for the night and returned to the pursuit in the morning ; for, after all, though he was zealous in his duty, he would just as soon have given the deserter another chance. Something in Grallon's manner, however, warned him that the man was a spy in more senses than one, and that any want of energy just then, if followed by the escape of Rohan, might be misrepresented at head-quarters. So it was decided that the Cathedral of St. Gildas, with all the circumjacent cliffs, should be kept under surveillance till daybreak. Despatching two more members of his force to join the others on the cliff, and scattering his own force well over the seashore and under the face of the crags, he lit his pipe and proceeded to keep watch, 'i'he night passed quietly enough, despite some false alarms. At last, when every man was savage and wearied out, the dawn came, with a rising wind from the sea and heavy showers of rain. All the villagers, save only Mikel Grallon, had returned to their homes, shrugging their shoulders over what they deemed a veritable wild-goose chase. Once more, for the tide had again ebbed, Grallon led the way round under the Gate, and the lone Cathedral echoed with the sound of voices. Great black cormorants were still sitting moveless in the walls ; some floundered away to the water with angry wings, but many remained moveless within a few yards of the soldiers' bayonets. All now was bright and visible ; the crimson granite walls stretching out from the mighty cliff, the Gate hung with dripping moss as green as grass, the fantastic niches with their traceries of lichen green and red, the blocks upon the floor like black tombs, slimy with the oozy kisses of the salt tide, and the mighty architraves and minarets far above the roof of the Cathedral, and forming part of the overhanging crag. The men moved about like pigmies on the shingly floor, searching the nooks and crannies in the walls, prying this 1 222 ruE sir A DOW of the s;woRr). way and tlint way like Tien very ill-used, but finding no trace of any living thing. At every step he took Pipriac grew more irritated, for he was sorely missing his morning dram of brandy, and the ^.?«//(r/r;«^.f shared his irritation, '•'•Tons les diablcs l^' he. cried. '* one might come here hunting for crabs or shell-fish, but I see no hiding-place for anything bigger than a bird. Look you here ! The high tide fills this accursed place whenever it enters ; there is the mark all round, as high as my hand can reach ; — and as for hiding up there in the walls, why only a limpet could do that, for they are as slippery as grass. Malediction ! let us depart. There is no deserter here. March ! " "Stay!" said Mikel Grallon. Pipriac turned upon him with a savage scowl. "Perdition! what next?" " You have not searched everywhere." Pipriac uttered an oath ; his one eye glittered in a per- fect fury. " You are an ass for your pains ! Where else shall we search.? Down thy throat, fisherman? " " No," answered Grallon with a sickly smile ; " up yon- der ! " — and he pointed with his hand. "Where?" "Up in the 7)w//" The great Altar of the Cathedral, which we have already described to the reader as consisting of a lovely curtain of moss covering the cliff for about fifty square feet, was glimmering with its innumerable jewels of prismatic and ever-changing dew ; and just above it was the dark blot on which Marcelle had gazed in terror when she stood before the Altar with Rohan. High as the gallery of some cathe- dral, the TroH^ or Cave, out of the heart of which the mys- tic water flowed, loomed remote, and to all seeming inac- cessible. As Pipriac gazed up, a flock of pigeons passed overhead and plunged into the Cave, but instantly emerging again, they scattered swiftly and disappeared over the Cathedral walls. "Did you mark that?" said Grallon, sinking his voice. Pipirac, who was gazing up with a disgusted expression, scowled unamiably. " What, fisherman ? " THE FACES IN THE CA^F:. 2^3 fling no L Pipriac morning tation. im<2 here place for rhe high there is :h ; — and pet could ediction ! 11 ! " in a per- shall we *' up yon- e already curtain of feet, was Inatic and k blot on kI before Ime cathe- the mys- hing inac- is passed I emerging over the |hi!5 voice. Lpression, "The blue doves. They enter the Trou, but no sooner did they disappear than thev returned again." "And then?" "The Cave is not empty, that is all." Pipriac uttered an exclamation, and all the men looked in stiii)efaction to one another, while Grallon smiled com- placently and cruelly to himself. " But it is impossible," exclaimed the Sergeant at last. " Look ! The walls are as straight as my hand ; and the moss is so slippery and soft that no man could climb ; and as to entering from above, why see how the crags over- hang. If he is there, he is the Devil ; if he is the Devil, we shall never lay hands upon him. Malediction ! " It certainly did seem incredible at first sight that any human being coulil h;'ve reached the Cave — if Cave it was — from above or from under, unassisted by a ladder or a rope. Mikel Grallon, however, being well acquainted with the place, soon demonstrated that a.sccnt, though difficult and perilous in the extreme, was not altogether impossible. In the extreme corner of the Cathedral, close to what we have termed the Altar, the cliff was hard and dry, and here and there were interstices into which a climber might press his hancfe and feet, and so crawl tediously upward. " I tell you this," said Mikel whispering ; " it can be done, for 1 have seen the man himself do it. You have but to insert toes and fingers thus " — here he illustrated his words by climbing a few yards — " and up you go." " Good," said Pipriac grimly ; " I see you are a clever fellow, and untlerstand the trick of it. Lead the way, and by the soul of the Emperor we will follow." Mikel Grallon grew quite white with annoyance and mortification. " 1 tell you he is there." " And I tell you we will follow if you will show us how to climb. Malediction ! do you think old Pipriac is afraid.!* Come, forward ! What, you refuse ? Well, I do not blame you ; for I have said it, only the Devil could climb there." Turning to his men, however, he continued in a louder voice — " Nevertheless, we will astonish the birds. Pierre, take aim at the Trou yonder. Fire I " ■Mi0^ m- 224 THE SHADOW OF THE SIVOA'/J. The gendarme levelled his piece at the dark hole far above him and fired. There was a crash, a roar, a mur- mur of innumerable echoes, and suddenly, overhead, hovered countless gulls, shrieking and Hying, attracted by the report. For a moment, it seemed as if the very crags would fall and crush the pigmy shapes below. . ?< *' Again !" said IMpriac, signalling to another of his men. The concussion was repeated ; fresh myriads of gulls shut out the sky like a blinding snow, and shrieked their protestations ; but there came no other sign. "'■. n '• One would say the very skies were falling," growled ripriac. *' Bah ! he is not there." At that moment the gendanncs, who were still gazing aagerly upward, uttered an exclamation of wonder. A head was thrust out of the Tron^ and two large eyes were eagerly gazing down. The exclamation of wonder was speedily followed by one of anger and disappointment ; for the head was not that of a human being but that of a goat ; — no other, in- deed, than our old friend Jannedik, who, with her two fore- feet on the edge of the Cave, and her great grave face gleaming far up in the morning light, seemed quietJy demanding the reason of that unmannerly tumult. Mikel Grallon ground his teeth and called a thousand curses on the unfortunate animal, while the gendarme Pierre, cocking his piece with -e look at his Sergeant, seemed disposed to give Jannedik short shrift. But Pipriac, with a fierce wave of the hand, bade the gendarme desist, and warned his men generally to let Jan- nedik alone ; then turning to Mikel Grallon, he continued sneeringly — " So this is your deserter, fisherman ? — a poor wretch of a goat, with a beard and horns ! Did I not say you were an ass for your pains ? Malediction ! the very beast is laughing at you ; I can see the shining of her white teeth." *' Since the brute is yonder," answered Grallon angrily, " the master is not far away. If we had but a ladder ! You would see, you would see ! " " Bah ! " And Pipriac turned his back upon Grallon in disgust, and signalled to his men to depart. A PARLEY. "S ark hole fai* roar, a mur- •, overhead, attracted by e very crags !r of his men. fids of gulls irieked their ig," growled gazing still wonder. A ge eyes were followed by lead was not no other, in- her two fore- it grave face med quietly luh. Mikel d curses on rre, cocking disposed to |d, bade the to let Jan- continued )r wretch of you were [ry beast is hite teeth." Ion angrily, Idder ! You in disgust, " Then if he escapes, do not say that I am to blame," cried the fisherman, still in a low voice. '* I would wager my boat, my nets, all I have, that he hides in yonder, and is afraid to show his face. Is not the goat his, and what is the goat doing up in the Trou i Ah, I tell you that you are wrong, Sergeant Pipriac ! I have watched for nights and nights, and I know well where he hides. I did not come to you before I had made certain. As sure as I am a living man, as sure as I have a soul to be saved, he is up yonder, up in the 7>w//" Despite the intensity and evident honesty of this asser- tion, Pipriac did not vouchsafe any further reply ; — and he and his men had turned their sullen faces towards the Gate, when a voice far above them said, in low clear tones, which made them start and turn suddenly in a wild amaze — "Yes, Mikel Grallon, I am here." CHAPTER XXX. A PARLEY. ALL looked up ; and there, standing high above them at the mouth of the Cave, with dishevelled hair and a beard of many weeks' growth, was the man they sought — so worn and torn, so wild and ragged, that only his great stature made him recognizable. The goat had disappeared, either into the Cave or up the face of the cliff, and Rohan stood alone, his whole figure exposed to the view of his pursuers. Standing there in the morning light, with his naked neck and arms, his ruined garments, his unco\'ered head, his features distorted and full of the quick panting intensity of a hunted animal, he showed the traces alike of great mental agony and physical suffering ; but over and Beyond its predominant look of pain, his face displayed another passion, akin to hate in its quick and dangerous intensity, and his eyes, which were fixed on the face of Mikel Grallon, burnt with a fierce fire. At first, indeed, it seemed as if he would precipitate himself like an enraged K^ 1 sa6 THE SHADOW Of THE 6iV0JiD, I beast prone down upon the spy, — but such an act would have been certain and immediate death, so great was the height at which he stood. He remained at the mouth of the Cave, panting and watching. As toGralion, he ahnost crouched in his sudden consternation and fear ; while Pipriac and the gendarmt'.s stared up at the vision, too stupefied at lirst to utter a word. " Holy Virgin," cried Pipriac at last, " it is he ! " — then ho added witli a fierce nod and at the pitch of his voice, " So ! you are there, mon ^arz I " Rohan made no reply, but kept his eyes fixed on Mikel Grallon. Pipriac pursued his speech uneasily, like one that felt the awkwardness of the situation. " We have been waiting a long time, but now we are glad to find you at home. What are you doing up there, so high in the air ? Diahle^ one might as well fiy like a bird ! Well, there is no time to lose, and now that we have found you, you had better come down at once. Come, surrender ! In the name of the Emperor ! " At these words the gendarmes gripped their guns and fell back in military line, looking up at the Trou and ready to fire at the word of conunand. The situation was an excit- ing one, but Rohan merely put up his hand to throw back his hair from his eyes, smiled, and waited. '* Come, do you hear?" proceeded Pipriac. "I shall not waste words, mark you, if you delay too long. The game is up ; — we have trumped your last card, and you will gain little by stopping up there like a bird on its nest. Descend, Rohan Gwenfern, descend and surrender, that we may lose no time." The voice of the old martinet rang loudly through the hollow walls of the Cathedral, and died away among the lonely cliffs above. All below was in shadow, but over- head on the cliff the chul light was gleaming as on a polished mirror, and one lonely sunbeam, severed as it were from its companions, was glimmering right down upon the inaccessible Irou and on the figure of Rohan. So the man stood dimly illumed, in all his raggedness and physical desolation ; and the light touched his matted golden hair, and stole down and glared upon his feet, which were quite naked. ct would . was the mouth of le almost r ; while ision, too 1 " — then his voice, on Mikel like one ow we are up there, I rty like a iw that we :e. Come, ns and fell id ready to ls an excit- throw back long. I shall The |l, and you u its nest, nder, that irough the [among the 1, but over- Ig as on a rered as it right down of Rohan, ledness and his matted In his feet, \ A PARLEY. " What do you want ?" he asked in a hollow voice. The irascible Sergeant shook his fisl. "7 " Want ? Hear him ! Well, you ! Diiihlt\ have W' not been searching up and down the earth until our souis are sick of searching ? It is a good joke, to ask what we want ; you are laughing at us, fox that you are. Surrender, I repeat ! In the name of the Kmperor ! " Then, as if carried away by a common inspiration, all the ^euiianncs brandished their weapons, echoing " Sur- render !" I'he Catheil'al rang with the cry. After a pause, the answer came from above, in a low yet clear and decid- ed voice. " \'ou are wasting your time. I will never be taken alive." Pipriac glared up in astonishment ; and now, for the Hrst time, Mikel Oral Ion looked up too, still with sensa- tions the reverse of comfortable, for the hgure of the hunted man seemed terrible as that of some wild beast at bay. The black mouth of the Cave was now ilknninoted, and far overhead clouds of gulls were hovering like Hakes of snow in the morning light ; but the Hoor and rooHess walls of the Cathedral, never lit unless the sun was straight above them in the zenith, were untouched by the golden gleam. " No nonsense ! " shrieked Pipriac. " Come down ! Come, or" — here the speaker glared imbecilely up the inaccessible walls — "or we shall come and take you." *' Come ! " said Rohan. Pipriac was a man who, although his blustering and savage manners concealed a certain fundamental good- nature, could never bear to be openly thwarted or placed in a ridiculous position : and now a complication of senti- ments made him unusually irritable. In the first place, he would much rather have never discovered the deserter at all ; for, after all, he pitied the man and remembered that he was the son of an old friend. Again, he had, he con- sidered, behaved throughout the whole pursuit with ex- traordinary sympathy and forbearance, and had thereby almost laid himself open to the suspicion of lacking "zeal." Lastly — and this feeling was perhaps the most powerful and predominant at the moment — he had been '"I RPtPHMIHII \i 228 r///i SNA DO IF OF THE SlVOJiD. up all night, without a drop of liquor to wet his lips, and insomuch as that Bardolphian nose of his was a flame that, when not fed with natural c^timulants, preyed fiercely on the temper of its owner, he was in no mood to be crossed — especially by one who had so stupiilly allowed himself to be discovered. So he took fire instantly at Rohan's taunt, and snatching from one of the ^rni/drma his loaded gun, he cocked il rapidly. *' I will give yt)U one minute," he cried, '"then, if you do not surrender, I shall fire. Do you hear that, deserter ? Come, escape is useless — do not be a fool, for I mean what I say ; I will pick you otT from your perch as if you were a crow." After a pause, he added, " Are you ready .<* time is up I " Rohan had not stirred from his position ; but now, with a strange smile on his face, he stood looking down at his tormentors. Standing thus, with his tall frame fully ex- posed, he presented an easy mark for a bullet. "Once more, are you ready.' In the name of the Emperor ! " Rohan replied quietly, without stirring — "1 will never surrendei." In a moment there was a Hash, a roar, and Sergeant Pipriac had fi'ed. But when the smoke cleared away they saw Rohan still standing uninjured at the mouth of the Cave, tranquillv looking down as if nothing whatever had <.)ccurred. The bullet had struck and been ilattened against the rock in his close vicinity, but whether IMpriac had really taken aim at his person, or had simply fired off the weapon with the view of intimidating him, is a question that cannot easily be answered. If intimidation was his object, ho reckoned without his man, for R( han Cwenfern was the last person in the world to be scared into submis- sion bv anv such means. No sooner was it discovered t lat Pipriac's bullet had missed its mark than all the other i^rniiarfncs had their weapons ciK^kcd aiul ready to fire also, but the Sergeant immeiliately interposed, with a savage growl. • 1 lalt arms ! ions It's t//a/>/iS, he w!k) fires before I toll him sh.i'ii .-.mail fy his men, larm fiercely \ \ V, seized ; he was about to shake off the offendinjj grip, when turning slightly, he rccognizerl Marccllc. " Speak, Mikel Grallon ! " said the girl, her large eyes burning with an unnatural light. "What have they done? Have they found him ? Is he killed ? " Jloncst Mikel shook his head, with what was meant to be a reassuring smile. *' He is safe — yonder in the Cathedral of St. Gildas." "In the Cathedral?" . "Up in the Trou !" There was a general murmur, for although the words were specially addressed to Mnrcelle, an eager thror.g had caught the news. Mnrcelle released her spasmodic hold, anid Grallon passed on up to the shore, rejoining Pipriac and liis satolliti's. who stood consulting together in a group. And now, like a fountain that is suddenly unfrozen from its prison in the ground, the long-suppressed love of Marcelle Derval rose murmuring within her heart. All things were forgotten save that Rohan lived, and diat he was engaged against overwhelming odds, in a frightful fight for life ; not even the Emperor was remembered, nor the fact that it was against the Emperor that Rohan stood in revolt ; it was enough for the time being to feel that Rohan had arisen, and with him her old passionate dream. Only a few hours before she had moved about like a shadow, certain of nothing save a great void within her soul, of a great unutterable loss and pain ; then had come Mikei Grallon's discovery — then the sound of the hue and cry ; so that indeed she had scarcely had time to collect her thoughts rightly and to look her fate in the face. Despair had been easy ; hope, the faint wild hope that had now come, was not so easy. She had kept still and dead amid the frost of her great grief, but when the light came, and the winds and rains were loosened, she bent like a tree before the storm. Not without pride did she now remember her lover's strength, and observed how it had hitherto conquered and been successful. He was there, unarmed, within a little distance, and yet he had escaped his enemies again, as he had often done before ; indeed, there seemed a charm upon his life ; and perhaps the good God loved him after all ! F ^32 THE SHADOW OF THE SWORD, \ Gradually, from group to group, the intelligence spread that Rohan Gvvenfern had ensconced himself up in the Trou d Gildas, the black and terrible abyss into which few feet save his own had ever passed ; and that there, night after night, he hid alone, communing perhaps with ghastly spirits of the darkness. For the place, all folk knew, was haunted, and few men there would have cared to pass along that strange Cathedral-floor at dead of night. Did not the phantoms of the evil monks still wander, moaning for mercy to the pitiless saint who cast them into eternal chains ? Had not the awful saint himself been seen, again and again, holding spectral vigil, while the seals came creeping about his knees, and the great cormo- rants sat gazing silently at him from the dripping walls ? The place was terrible, curst for the living till endless time. He who lingered there safely must either have made an unholy pact with the Prince of Evil, or be under the special protection of the saint of God. As to this last point, opinion was divided. A few grim pessimists held firmly that Rohan had sold himself body and soul to " Master Roberd," who in his turn had carried him safely through so many dangers, and was now watch- ing over him carefully in his " devil's nest " up in the Troii. The majority, however, were inclined to think that a good Spirit, not a bad, had taken the matter in hand, and that this good Spirit might be the blessed St. Gildas himself. There was a strong undercurrent of anti-Imperial feeling, which spee Jily resolved itself into an unmistakable sympathy with the deserter, and a belief that he was under Divine protection. After a rapid consultation with his subordinates Pipriac determined to despatch a messenger to St. Gurlott for more assistance, and meantime to keep a careful watch from every side on the no.v inundated Cathedral. Of one thing he was assured, that escape out of the Cave was impossible, so long as the cliffs above and the shore below were carefully guarded. There was no secret way which the fugitive might take ; he must either, at the almost certain risk of life, creep right upward along the nearly inaccessible face of the crag, or he must swim out to sea, or he must pass round to the shore by the way the others iN THE CAVE. n% ce spread ip in the ito which tiat there, haps with ;, ^ill folk ave cared 1 of night. I wander, them into jself been while the ;at cormo- ing walls ? II endless ther have r be under ^ few grim iself body ad carried low watch- lup in the think that r in hand, St. Gildas i- Imperial luistakable was under Pipriac turlott for jful watch Of one I Cave was 2 below ;ay which le almost ^he nearly )ut to sea, the others i/' had gone and come. Further away in the direction of the villajre, a great precipitous headland projected, surrounded on every side and at all tides by the sea, and quite impassable. " He is in the trap," growled Pipriac, "and only God or the Uevil can get him out ! CHAPTER XXXI. IN THE CAVE. WHILK his pursuers were speculating and deliberating, Rohan Gwenfern waited solitary up in his hiding- place, making no attempt at flight ; which, indeed, he well knew to be at present impossible. Now and then he listened, but the only sound he heard was the sea creeping in and covering the vast Cathedral-floor. Hl was safe, at least for the time being, since the waters washed below, and no human feet could reach him from above. He lay within a vast natural cave, hewn in the very heart of the granite crags, and dimly lit by the rays that crept^in by its narrow mouth, or Troii.. Great elliptic arches, strangely hung with purple moss and soot-black fungi, loomed overhead, while on Cv-ery side down the lichen-covered walls sparkled a dewy fretwork resembling that external curtain of glittering mosaic which we have called the " Altar." The place was vast and shadowy as the vault of some cathedral built by hands, so that one could not well discern its exact extent ; and here and there its walls were gashed with streams of water, falling down and stretching out into blackest pools. The air was damp and cold, and would have been fatal to* one of tender frame ; but Rohan breathed it with the comfort of a hardy animal, in a corner of the Cave he had strewn a thick bed of dry seaweed, on which he was lying. By his side, and near to his hand, were his fowler's staff, a pair of sabots, and part of a black loaf ; while in a fissure of the wall above his bed was fixed a small rude lamp of tin. Here, in complete solitude, and often in total darkness, h i^34 THE SnADDlV OF THE SWORD. he l):i(l pnssPfl many a nifi^ht, and whethor it was ralni or storm In; had slept sound. He was well used to such haunts, and his powerful physique was in no way affected by the exposure — indeed, had it not been for the constant anxiety of mind created by his horrible situation, he might have remained entirely unchanged. But even animals, however vij^orous by nature, will waste away to skin and bone under the strain of perpetual fear and persecution ; and so Rohan had j^rown into the shadow of his former self — a gaunt, forlorn-looking, hunted man, with large eyes looking out of a face pale with unutterable pain. His garments, not new when lie first took flight, had turned into sorry rags, through which gleamed the naked flesh ; his hair fell below his shoulders in a wild and matted mass ; his beard and mustache had grown profusely; and upon jiis arms and limbs were cuts and bruises left by dangerous '"alls. One foot was swollen and partly useless — a fact over which his pursuers would have gloated — for it left him practically in their power, and less able than usual to pursue his usual flights among the cliffs, even had an opportunity offered. Mikel (irallon had suspected shrewdly when he guessed that Rohan owed his daily subsistence to the secret help of his infirm mother. Twice or thrice weekly Mother Gwenfern had cotne secretly to the neighborhood, bearing with her such provisions as she was able to prepare with her own hands ; these she had secretly given to her son, or placed tliem, with preconcerted signals, on the places she knew him to frequent, or even (as we have seen on one occasion) let them right down to his hiding-place from the top of the cliffs. Without this assistance the man would necessarily have starved, for it was physically impossible to exist solely on the shell-fish and dulse which he was in the habit of gathering from the sea. He was not now alone in the Cave. The goat Jannedik was perambulating uneasily to and fro, carefully keeping at a distance from the mouth, through which so alarming a volley had lately been raining. From time to time she came up close and rubbed her head into his hand, as if soliciting an explanation of the extraordinary scene which had just taken place, m TUE CAVE. m ralm or to such ; affected constant he might animals, skin and secution ; lis former large eyes ain. His id turned ed flesh ; d matted iely ; and is left by useless — ed — for it han usual en had an e guessed cret help y Mother 1, bearing pare with er son, or laces she on one froiTi the an would Impossible lie was in [jannedik keeping alarming time she ind, as if Ine which The visits of Jannedik to her master's hiding-plare had been erratic. She had first discovered him by accident, while roaming at random, as was her custom, among tlie cliffs ; then, once acquainted with his haunts, she had come agaii\ ; and now seldom a day passed without a visit from her, however brief. Her coming and going soon became an exciting event, for when she appeared Rohan did nr)t feel altogether without companionship ; and she had strange wild ways to soothe a human heart. Nor was this all. Many a secret communication had been concealed about the goat's thick coat, and borne from the fugitive to his mother in her cottage. .More than an hour had passed since Pipriac and the rest had fled from the Cathedral, when Rohan rose from his seat and passed out again into the open air at the cavern's mouth. All was perfectly still ; the green water filled the floor of the Cathedral, covering all its weedy tombs, and a seal was swimming round and round, seeking in vain to find a landing-place along the walls. Standing up there, he felt like one suspended between water and sky. So far there had been a certain fierce satisfaction in resisting what so many living men deemed the Irresistible. Weak and single-handed as he was, he had stood up in revolt against the Emperor — had openly and unhesitatingly defied him and abjured him — had conjured up on his behalf all the power and elements of Nature — had cried to the Earth, " Hide me ! " and to the Sea, " Protect me ! " and had not cried in vain. True, he had suffered in the struggle, as all that revolt must suffer ; but, so far, no specially evil consequence, apart from his own unpleas ant experiences, had ensued from the attitude he had taken. He had certainly obeyed the behest of his con science, and that to him, "hen, and thenceforth for ever, was the veritable voice of God. In those hours of dark extremity Marcelle Derval was to him both an anguish and a consolation : an anguish, because he feared that she loved him no longer, that her sympathy was with his enemies, that she believed him to be a renegade from a good cause, a traitor and a cow- ard — a consolation, because he remembered all that she Ar » p 236 rilR SHADOW OF THE SWORD. had been to him ; and because, night after nii];ht, passion ate and loving as of okl, she came to him in dreams. Many a lonely hour, when no soul was near, he had lingered in the centre of the Cathedral, going over in his mind all the details of that divine day when first he clas|)ed her in his arms and felt hei" virgin kiss upon his mouth. " Solitude to him Was sweet society," when he had for companionship her quiet image. He saw her then as a little child, walking with him hand in hand along the sands of the village ; or, as a happy girl, climb- ing with him the lonely crags, and watching him as he gathered cliff-flowers and sea-birds' eggs ; or, as a holy maiden, kneeling by his side before the altar of the little chapel of Notre Dame de la Garde. Such happy memo- ries are consecrated gleams, which make this low earth Heaven. Yet he had lost her, that was clear. He had chosen his lot with the outcasts of the earth— with those Esaus who refuse to acquiesce in the accepted jurisdiction of the world, and who map out a perilous existence for them- selves at the cost of family, caste, peace of body and mind, sympathy, and social honor. Fie might as well (nay, far better from this mundane point of view) have denied his God as have denied his Emperor ; for the Emperor seemed omnipotent, while God remained so acquiescent in evil, and so far away. Faith in the divine order of things had long forsaken him. His only reliance now was on Nature, and on his own heart j for if the worst came to the worst he could die. With every hour and every day that he brooded thus his hate of War grew deeper, the justilication of his resistance seemed more absolute. Even if safe submission had then been possible, on the condition that he recanted and joined the great army that did Napoleon's will, he would have resisted with even more tenacity than at ihe first, for he was a man in whom ideas grow and multiply themselves, and become sinews of strength to the secret will. With his moral certainty deepened his physical horror. In the darkness of that lonely cave he had conjured up such il IN THE CA VE. 237 passion dreams. lingered mind all d her in He saw in hand rl, climb- ni as he IS a holy the liUle py memo- low earth :hosen his i^saus who i\\ of the for them- md mind, (nay, far enied his r seemed evil, and had long tiire, and worst he ll thus his resistance had then pd joined kild have |st, for he imselves, ll. With In the up such phantoms of the battle-field as might fitly people the blood- red fields of Hell ; all that he had read, all that he had fancied and feared, took tangible slia|)es, and mo\ed to and fio along those sunless walls; ghastly spectres and adumbraliops of an all too horrible reality, they came there from time lO lime, paralyzing his heart with despair and fear. S(j that, aftt:r all, if we must have it so, he was in a certain sense of the word a coward, capable of the nervous prostration cowards feel. He had senses over-keen and subtle, and could detect even theie in his cave the fatal sc:ent which is found in slaughter-houses where cattle are slain, and on battle-fields where men are butchered ; he could liear the cry of the stricken, hold the cold hand of the dead ; he was conscious of the widow weeping and the orphan wailing ; and he beheld the burning trail which the VV^ir-Ser|Dent left wherever it crawled ; the blood and tears which fell to earth, the fire and smoke which rose to heaven. With more than a poet's \ ision, with the conjur- ation of a vivid imagination, stirred by dee|) personal dreail, he eould see and hear these things. Each man bears his own Inferno within his breast ; and these were Rohan Gwenfern's. , In due time the tide, which had risen high up the walls of the Cathedral, and was shining smooth as glass and green as malachite, began to ebb out through the Gate. Rohan stood watching it from the Trou, while gradually it sank lower and lower, till a m; n might have waded waist- deep on the shingl) tfoor. Gradually the great weed-cov- ered boulders and granite-slabs became visible, and a certain space immediate'.y e.nder the cave was left quite dry. Standing thus, Rohan calculated his chances. As- cent was certainly possible, though difficult in the extreme, and beyond measure dangerous: iniposi^ible, certainly,»lo a nian encumbered by arms or any heavy weapon. Nor could more than one man approach at a time, that was certain. In a word, Rohan's position was virtually impreg- nable, so long as he kept upon the watch. Just then Jannedik came out from the Cave, and began quietly to walk upwards. Her path was easy foi some distance, being the same path by which Rohan had lately ij '■) 238 T//£ SHADOW OF THE SWORD, descended ; but when she had passed a certain point she became as a fly walking up a pjrpendicular wall. At last, without once dipping a foot, she disappeared, like a bird fading away into tiie skies. Which skies had darkened --'qain, and were blurred with a dark mist. The rain, blow. ;n from the sea, was beating pitilessly against the face of the cliffs, deepening to moist purple their granite stains, and lighting up liquid gleams in their grassy fissures. It fell now heavily on Rohan, but he scarcely heeded it — he was water-proof ; besides it was warm rain, such as steals sweet scent from the boughs in autumn woods and lanes. Slowly, calmly, quite sheltered from the wet wind which blew without, the sea ebbed from the Cathedral, until at last it all disappeared through the Gate, and only the glis- tening walls and shingle showed that it had been lately there. The sea washed, and the rain fell, and the wind moaned, while Rohan stood waiting and watching. Pres- ently he heard another sound, faintly wafted to him through the Gate. Human voices. His pursuers were returning. As the sounds came nearer and nearer, he quietly withdrew into the Cave. Pipriac and the gendannes did not return alone ; besides Mikel Grallon, there came a swarm of villagers, men and v/omen, excited and expectant. From time to time the Sergeant turned upon them and drove them back with oaths, but after retreating a few yards they invariably drew nigh rnce more. Pipriac could do nothing, for he was in a min ) ity, and they numbered three or four score ; and so now, when he reentered the Cathedral with his men, the crowd, chattering and pointing, blocked up the Gate and partially filled the Cathedral. PYom the darkness of his Cave Rohan, himself unseen, could behold this picture ; leaning forward to the Trou, but keeping well in darkness, he looked down upon the pigmy shapes below him, — first, Pipriac and the others,crawling up towards the " Altar " like so many dwarfs, their bayonets glittering, .their voices muttering, — then the villagers in iheir quaint dresses of many colors, gazing up in wonder and tremulous anticipation. Suddenly his heart leapt vithin him and he grew ghastly pale \ for behold, standing IN THE CA VE. 239 Dint she At last, e a bird red with \ beating to moist i gleams ihan, but es it was oughs in lid which , until at the glis- en lately the wind g. Pres- n through jturning. i quietly ; besides men and time the lack with ibly drew |e was in a and so men, the aate and If unseen, VTrou, but [he pigmy iwling up 1 bayonets lagers in wonder irt leapt standing s'- apart, some yards in front of the group from the village, he recogni/cd Marcdlc, quietly looking upward. He could see her pale face set in its salTron coif, he could feel the light of her large uptunit-'d eyes. What had brought her there ? Ah, God, was she leagued against him with his persecutors .' Had she come to behold his misfortune and degrndatian, perhaps his death.'* Sick with such thoughts, he strained his painful sight upon her, forgetting all else in the intensity of his excitement. So a wild animal gazes from its lair when the cruel hunters are close at hand. And now, t) I'ipriac, to business ; for ye are many against one, and the Kmperor is impatient to settle the affair of this revolter, that of him may be made a terror and a shining example to all the Hock ! Fetch him down, O Pipriac, from his hiding-place : draw the fox from his hole into full day ; spare not, but take him alive, with a view to full and proper retribution ! It is useless, indeed, to stand here with thy myrmidons, with so many gaping throats, staring up, as if the deserter would drop into thy mouth ! Vet this is exactly what Pipriac is doing, and, indeed, the more he stares and gapes the more pu/zled does he become. If one were a bird or a fly, yea or a snail, one might climb up yonder to thr Cave, but being a man, and moreover a man not too steady on the legs, Pipriac justly deems the feat impossible ; nevertheless, ne suggests to this comrade and to that, and notably to Mikel Grallon,'the performance of that forlorn hope ; with not much result, save grumbling refusals and mutinous looks. Meantime, he grows savage, for he believes the villagers are 'aughingat his discomfiture, and tinding deeds impossible, again has recourse to words. " What ho, deserter ! Listen ! Are you here ? Diablc^ do you hear me 'i Attend ! " There is no answer save the echoes reverberating from cliff to cliff. *' Malediction ! " cries the Sergeant. " If he should be gone." " That is impossible," said Mikel Grallon. " Unless he is a ghost, he is still there." "And who the devil says he is not a ghost .=*" snarls Pipriac, " Fisherman, you are an ass — stand back. If we had but a ladder, we would do ; malediction ! if we had : r 240 THE SHADOW 01- lUE SWORD. only a ladder." And he 'hritk'.d nioud again at the top of his voice, " Deserter I Number one ! Rohan Gwenfern ! But there was no answer whatever, no stir, no sound. The villagers looked at one another and smiled, while Mrircelle crossed herself and prayed. CHAPTER XXXri. A S I F, (i E 1 N M I N I A T U R K . IT is necessary to be precise as to the date of these occurrences. When the fishermen beheld that memorable midnight vision in the Cathedral, and mistook for St. Oildas and the Fiend the living shapes of Rohan and Jannedik the goat, it was just after the June festival. Many weeks had elapsed while Mikel Grallon was secretly upon the .sceivt^of the fugitive ; but nearly three entire months had passed away before he actually discovered the whole truth that Rohan lived and was hiding in the great Ca- thedral. So that it was now the end of September, 1813. A memorable time, out in the great storm-beaten world, as well as here in lonely Kromlaix ; other tides were turning besides that which conies and goes with weary iteration on the sea-shore ; stranger Storms wt;re gathering than any little Kromlaix knew : nay, had gathered, and were bursting now around the figure of the one Colossus who bestrode the world. On the Rhine had Napoh-on ])aused, facing the multitudinous waves of avenging hosts ; had lifted up his finger, like King Canute of old, crying " Thus far and no farther ! " — yet to his wonder the waves still roared, and the tide still rose, and the living waters were now washing blood-red about his feet. Would he he submerged ? Would his evil genius fail him at last ? These were the supreme questions of Autumn, 1813. ^^ *'^^ World was against him ; nay, the World and the Sea and the Sky; yet he had tamed all these before, and might again \. and his word was still a power to conjure with, his presence A SIEGE IX MIXIA TCRE. 24t the top ifern ! " sound. . while of these jmorable for St. lan and Many itly upon 2 months le whole reat Ca- er, 1813. n world, les were 1 weary atherin^ •ed, and Colossus apolfon ; hosts ; , cryin- e waves g waters Id he he ? These All the \ and the it again ; bresence .still an inspiration, his shadow still a portent and a doom. He might emerge ; and then ? Why, there was little left for the stabbed and bleeding Earth but to die ; for, alas ! she could bear no more. Our business is not yet with the movement of great armies, with the motior. of those elemental forces against which the Avatar was then struggling ; our picture is to contain the microcosm, not the macrocosm ; yet the one is potential in the other, as one monera of M(rckel represents the aggregate of a million moneras visibly covering the sea- bottom but gernunaled from one invisible speck. No human pen, piling horror upon horror, can represent the aggregate of war ; it q\w only c.italogue individual agonies, each of which brings the truth nearer home than any number of generalities. And we, who are about to chronitle to the best of our power a siege in miniature, l)egin by affirming that it represents the spirit of all sieges, however colossal in scale, however aggranilized by endless combi- nations of the infinitesimal. Here in Kromlaix the matter is simple enough — it is one man against many ; up till now it ha^ been bloodless, and so far as the one man himself is concerned it may remain so till the end. And now, O Muse, for a pen of fire to chronicle the doings of Pipriac the indomitable, as at last, with fiery Bardolphian nose lifted in the air, he collects his martial forces together! Small pity now is left in his heart for the creature whom he pursues ; all his fierce passions are aroused, and his only aspiration is for cruel victory ; his voice is choked, his eyes are dim with rage and bloodthirst. He, Pipriac, commissary and representative of the Emperor, to be defied and held at bay by a single peasant, crouching unarmed like a fox in a hole ! by a miserable deserter, who has openly refused to fight for his country, who is a chouan and a coward, with a price upon his head ! It is utterly incredible, and not to be endured. Up, some of you, and drag him down ! Andrd, Pierre, Hoel, climb ! Tons les diahks, is there not a man among you — not a creature with the heart of a fly > Ha, if Pipriac were not old, if his legs were not shaky, would he not read you a lesson, rogues that you are ! x6 942 THE SHADOW OF THE SWORl). \ • i -J Stimulated by the curses of his superior, Pierre takes off his shoes, puts his bayonet between his teeth, and be- gins to climb ; the rocks are perpendicular and slippery, but there are crevices for the hands and feet. Pierre makes way, watched eagerly by all the others ; suddenly, however, his foot slips and down he comes with a groan. Fortunately, he had not gone far, and beyond a few bruises he is little hurt. Now it is Andrd's turn ; Andr^, a dark, beetle-browed, determined-looking dog, with powerful legs and sinewy hands. He makes even better way than Pierre ; foot by foot, bayonet between teeth, he goes up : there is not a word, there is scarcely a breath ; he is half way, clinging to the treacherous rocks with fingers and toes like a cat's claws, and wearing a cat-like determination in his face, when suddenly one utters a cry, and points up. Andrd looks up too, and there, stretched out above him, are two hands, and in those two hands, poised, an enormous frag- ment of rock. A white murderous face glares over at him — the face of Rohan Gwenfern. It would be easy now to pick off the deserter, but if this were done, what of Andre i* — down would descend the stone, and woe to him who clung below. Andr " " Why, then, you will die too. but like a dog. There is but one law for deserters— one law and short shrift. Now, do you understand } " *' I understand," : { ii ; I !^ i' " - ■ ^* 1 246 THE SHADOW OF THE SWORD. " And to save trouble, will you surrender ? " " Not while I live." The Mayor, folding up his paper, handed it to Sergeant Pipriac with an air that said " I have done my duty, and wash my hands of the whole affair." A long colloquy ensued, at the end of which the Mayor said, frowning — "The rest is in your hands, and should be easy ; he is only one man, while you are many ; I leave it to you. Sergeant Pipriac — he must be taken, dead or alive." "That is more easily said than done," said Pipriac; "it is more than a man's life is worth to climb up there, and besides, without ladders only one man could ascend at a time." The Mayor mused ; he was a grim pale-looking man, with cruel grey eyes and pitiless mouth. " The example is a dangerous one, Sergeant Pipriac ; at all risks he must be reached. Are there no ladders in the village?" " Ah, m'sieu," returned Pipriac, " just cast your eye up at the Troti ; it would be t. long ladder indeed to reach so far, and even then — " At this moment Mikel Grailon, hat in hand, approached the Mayor as if to speak. ' * M 'sieu le Mai re. ' ' " What man is this .-' " asked the Mayor, scowling. " This is the man who first gave information," said Pipriac. " Stand back, fisherman ! What do you want ? " Mikel Grailon, instead of falling back, came closer, and said in a low voice — " Pardon, M'sieu le Maire, but there is one way if all the rest fail—" "Well?" ^: " The deserter is without means of subsistence. If the worst come to the worst, he must starve to death," 9. HUNGER AND COLD. 247 it to Sergeant my duty, and long colloquy frowning — s easy ; he is ve it to you. • alive." I Pipriac ; " it up there, and d ascend at a looking man, It Pipriac ; at ladders in the your eye up :d to reach so 1, approached owling. ation," said int?" e closer, and way if all the ce. If the feth." CHAPTER XXXIir. HUNGER AND COLD. MIKEL GRALLON, with characteristic and cruel foresight, had hit upon the truth : that however successful Rohan Gwenfern might be in keeping his assail- ants at bay from his seemingly impregnable position, he must inevitably, unless provisioned for a period, which was altogether unlikely, either yield himself up, or famish and die. To secure this latter end it was necessary carefully to cut off all avenues of supply, which, indeed, Pipriac had already done, every portion of the cliffs, both above and below, being well watched and guarded ; aud now the only question was whether to try at once to take the position by storm, or to wait patiently until such time as the deserter either capitulated or perished of starvation. Pipriac, being a man of action, was for an immediate attack ; with which view he sent messengers to scour the village for ladders of some sort ; but when these messengers returned empty- handed, after searching high and low, he saw the hopeless- ness of rapid attack, and determined to conduct the siege passively until such time as capitulation came. It should never be said that old Pipriac was baffled and defied by a peasant, smiling as it were within a stone's-throw of his hand. Tons les diables, duty was duty, and it should be done though it took him a score of years ! In the mean time, however, he sent to St. Gurlott for ladders, which might be useful sooner or later, if not for reaching the deserter alive, at least for recovering his dead body. Then, pending their arrival, he sat down like a mighty general with his army surrounding a beleaguered town before the Trou d Gildas. Figuratively, not literally ; for the constant ebbing and flowing of the tide left the Cathedral quite out of the question for head-quarters ; and moreover, it was necessary for Pipriac to pass to and fro, inspiring and directing his I ! 248 THE SHADOW OF THE SWORD. men, both those stationed on the high cliffs and those be- low. A day and a night passed ; and the prisoner made no sign. It would be tedious to describe the various harmless sallies of the besiegers. At every morte mer they v^atched the Cave and reconnoitred, but saw nothing of the be- sieged ; sometimes they called aloud upon him, at others they crept in and crept out in silence. All the night double watch was kept, not one avenue of escape being overlooked ; and to make assurance doubly sure, Pipriac relused to let any villager, man or woman; approach the scene of the siege. Twice Marcelle Derval was driven back, almost at bayonet-point, for the men were growing savage through sheer impatience. What her errand was none knew ; but one suspected : that it was to carry the deserter bread. On the morning of the second day th** ea rose high, and the wind blew boisterously from the south-east j by noon the wind had risen to a storm ; before night it was blowing a gale, with heavy blinding rain. For two days and nights more the storm continued, growing fiercer and fiercer, on the land and on the sea: the groat cliffs shook, the cor- morants sat half-starving in their ledges looking at the raging sea. The gendarmes kept their posts, relieving each other at regular intervals. The sentinels bore lanterns, which were flashed full all night upon the cliffs in the neighborhood of the Cave. In the tumult of these tempestuous nights Rohan might possibly have escaped, but he did not try: out in the open country he would have soon been taken, and he knew no " coign of vantage " equal to the position he occupied. Twice, at considerable peril, he made his way in the dark- ness up the cliff to the spot where he had been discovered by Mikel Grallon and the rest ; and on the second occasion a hand from above, as before, let him down food — black bread and coarse cheese. So he did not starve — ^yet. And now the storm abated and calm days came, and nights with a bright moon. The besiegers made no attempt to reach him ; they had clearly determined on starving him put. HUNGER AiVD COLD. 249 nd those be- ler made no >us harmless they matched % of the be- im, at others \\\ the night iscape being sure, Pipriac pproach the was driven ere growing errand was to carry the 3se high, and St ; by noon was blowing s and nights I fiercer, on ok, the cor- >king at the lieving each e lanterns, :liffs in the • )han might in the open knew no occupied, n the dark- discovered id occasion )od — black — ^yet. came, and 10 attempt irving him On the fifth night from the connnencement of the siege the besiegers made a discovery, I'lie sentinels on the crags above, as they stood twixt sleeping and waking at tht ir posts, saw a dail' figure creeping, almost crawling, on ihe edges of the crags; sometimes it paused and lay (piite still, at others it almost ran ; and at first they crossed them- selves superstitiously, for they deemed it something un- earthly. There was a moon, but from time to time her light was buried in dense clouds. Now, whenever the moon-light shone out the figure lay still ; whenever all became dark it again moved forward. One genUanne, separating himself front his fellows, followed on his hands and knees — moved when the figure moved — paused when the figure paused — and it last, with a powerful efifortof the will — for he had his superstitions — sprang forward, seized the figure — and found it fiesh and blood. Then the others, running up with lanterns. Hashed them in the pale face of a woman, who uttered a loud wail : Mother Gwenfern. Her errand was instantly discovered ; she carried food, which she was obviously about to convey to her son by means of a hempen cord, which they also found upon her person. It was a pitiful business, and some there would fain have washed their hands of it ; but the more brutal ones, faithful to their dufv. drove the old woman back to her cottage at the bayonet-point. From that time forth a still closer watch was kept, so that no soul could possibly have left the village and approached the great cliff-wall unseen. " He will die ! " " Mother, he shall not die ! " " There is no ho le — there is no way ; ah, my curse on Pipriac, and on the n all ! " " Pray to iht goo 1 Vtod ! He will direct us ! " "Why should I pay .' God is against us, God and the Emperor ; my boy will die, my boy will die ! " It was evering ; and the two women — Mother Gwenfern and Marcelle — sat alone together in the widow's cottage, cUnging together and crying in despair; for the widow's last attempt to send succor to her son had failed, and now t 250 r//E SHADOW OF THE SWORD. her very door was watched by cruel eyes. Ah, it was ter- rible ! To think that the son of her womb was out yonder starving in the night, that he had not tasted bread for many hours, that she was powerless to stir to help him any more ! What she had previously been able to convey to hi.n had been barely sufficient to support life, yet it i.ad sufficed ; but now ! — a whole day and night had passed since she had vainlv tried to reach him and had been discovered in the attempt. Merciful God! to think of the darkness, and the cold, and the dreary solitude of the Cave ; and then, to crown all, the hunger ! The agony of those months of horror had left their mark on the weary woman ; gaunter and more grim than ever, a skeleton only sustained by the intensity of the ma- ternal fire that burnt within her, she waited and watched : that ominous blue color of the lips often proclaiming the secret disease that preyed within. Her comfort in those desolate hours had been Marcelle, who with a daughter's love and more than a daughter's duty had watched over her and helped her in her holy struggle. Come back to the Cathedral of St. Gildas ; it is night, the tide is full, and the moon is shining on the watery floor. Far above on the cliffs the sentinels are watching ; on the shores around they are scattered, standing or lying ; Pipriac is not with them, but he too, wherever he is, is on the qui vive. All is still and calm : stillest of all that white face gazing seaward out of the Cave. The pinch has come at last, the cruel pinch and pang vhich no strt^ngth of will can subdue, which nothing but bi'^ad can appease. Last night Rohan Gwenfern ate his last crust ; then, climbing up to the old spot, watched for the old liignal, as he had watched the night before, in vain. Wlien food had i.ome he had husbanded it with care — only partaking of just enough to support simple life, dividing the rest into portions for the future hours ; but he had come to the end at last. Down on the shores there misjht be shell-fish capal^le of nourishing life, but thither he dared not fare : he must remain like a rat, within his hole ; and help from the sea-birds there was none, for the puffins had all fled many weeks before, and the gulls were strong- winged and beyond his reach. Water he lacked not \ the HUNGER AND COLD. 251 1, it was ter- 5 out yonder lad for many m any more ! to hin had ad sufficed ; ince she had ^ered in the ess, and the and then, to i left their ; grim than J of the ma- id watched : :laiming the )rt in those L daughter's atched over it is night, iratery floor. \\g ; on the wg ; Pipriac on the qui white face and pang lothing but irn ate his matched for re, in vain. care — only e, dividing Dut he had lere might r he dared hole ; and muffins had ire strong- 1 not j the cold rocks distilled that liberally enough ; but food he had none — nay, not even the dulse of the sea to gnaw. He was caged, trapped ; and now he starved. What wonder, then, if his face looked wild and despair- ing as he gazed out on the lonely sea.' Far out in the moon, creeping like black water-snakes along the water, he saw the fishing boats going seaward : ah, how merrily had he sailed with them in those peaceful days that were gone ! He had lost all that ; he had lost the world. . . . Yet he could bear all, he would not care if he had only a crust of bread to eat ! Sometimes his head swooned round, for already hunger had begun to attack the citadels of life ; sometimes he fell away into a doze and awoke shivering ; yet waking or asleep, he sat watching at the Cave's mouth in desolation and despair. " Rohan ! Rohan ! " He starts from his half-sleep, looking wildly around him. Almighty God, is it a dream .'* Something black stirs there in the moonlight ; something black, and amidst it some- thing white. It is too dim for him to see well — to distin- guish shapes — but he can hear the well-known voice, though it comes only in a whisper. Can it be real ? "Rohan! Rohan!" Yes, it is real ! Peering down he sees, floating under the Altar, a small boat containing two figures. Yes, surely a boat, by the movement of the muffled oars. It moves softly up and down in the great swell that rises and fa'ls in the Cathedral. " Rohan, are you there ? Listen, it is I — xVlarcelle ! Ah, now I see you — whisper low, for they are on the watch." " Who is with you ? " "Jan Goron ; we crept along close to shore through the Porte d'Ingnal, and no one saw ; but there is no time to lose. We have brought you food ! " The man's eyes glit^^r*- as he bends over the descent, looking down at the boat. As he hangs in this attitude, a sound strikes upon his ears, a-'d he listens wildly ; again I yes, it is the sound Oi oars beyond the Gate. "Quick ! begone I " he cries ; " they are coming See ! throw the food down on the shingle and fly I " I 252 THE SHADOW OF THE SWORD. The tide is still nearly full, but just under the Troti there is a narrow space of shingle from which the water has just ebbed, and on which the boat's prow strikes at intervals. On this shingle Marcelle, leaning quickly forward, deposits what she bears ; then, with an impulsive movement, she stretches her arms eagerly up to him who haftgs above her, as if to embrace him, while Jan Goron, with a few swift strokes of the oars, forces the light boat out across the Cathedral floor, through the Gate, and out to the sea beyond. Scarcely has he passed the shadow of the Gate, however, when a gruff voice demands " Who goes there ? " and a black pinnace, rowed by sailors of the coast-guard, bears down from the darkness. In an instant a heavy hand is laid on the gunwale of Goron's boat ; bayonets and cutlasses glisten in the dim moonlight, and a familiar voice cries — " Tons les diabtcs ! It is a woman ! " The speaker is Pipriac, and he stands in the stern of the pinnace, glaring over at Marcelle. "■ The lantern ! let us see her ft*ce I " Some one lifts a lighted lantern from the bottom of the boat and flashes its rays right into the face of Marcelle. She is soon recognized ; and then the same proceeding is gone through with Goron, whose identity is hailed with a volley of expletives. " Is this treason ? " cries Pipriac. " Malediction ! answer, one or both. What the foul fiend are you doing out here by the Gate at such an hour ? Do you know what will be the consequence if you are discovered aiding and abetting the deserter .'* Well, it will be death — death, look you — even for you, Marcelle Derval, though you are only a girl and a child ! " Marcelle answers with determination, though her heart is sick with apprehension lest her errand is discovered. " Surely one may row upon the water without offence, Sergeant Pipriac." " Ah, bah ! tell that to the fishes ; old Pipriac is not so stupid. Here, one of you, search the boat." A man leaps, lantern in hand, from the larger boat into the smaller, searches it, and finds nothing; at which Pipriac shakes his head and growls. It is characteristic of Pipriag iit*AuhP Axn corn. I Trou there ater has just at intervals, ird, deposits •vement, she s above her, a few swift : across the to the sea )f tlie Gate, oes there ? " coast-guard, int a heavy ayonets and miliar voice stern of the ttom of the f Marcelle. oceeding is liled with a rci ! answer, ig out here lat will be nd abetting ook you — only a girl ler heart is ered. ut offence, : is not so 253 f^- that when he is least really in;;iy he voriforntos and objur- gates the most ; when most subdued he is nv)st dangerous. On the present occasion his huigiMjjf is (piite unquotable. When he has finished one of the men inquires quietly if Marcelle and Ooron are to be arrested or sutitered to go about their business, " Curses upon them, let them go ! but we must keep our eyes open henceforth. Jan (Joron, I suspect you — be warned, and take no more moonlight excursions. Mar- celle. you too are warned ; you come of a good stork, and 1 should be sorry to see you get into trouble. NTow, away with you! — Home, like lightning I And hark you, when next you conu; here by night you will find it go hard with you indeed. IJegone ! " So Marcelle and (rorongo free — partly, perha|)s, through the secret good-nalure of the St-rgeant. (ioron pulls rapidly for the \illage, and soon his boat touclu's tlu' shore ifnmediately beneath the cottage of Mother (Jwenfeni. Meantime Pipri.ac has peered through the Gate into the Cathedral ; seeing all quiet and in darkness, he gi\es the order to depart, and so his boat, too, disappears from the scene. No sooner has the sound of his oars quite died away in the distance than a dark figure begins to descend from the Cave ; hanging by the- feet and hands to creej) -dowr from crevice to crevice of the dangerous wall, until it reaches the space of shingle beneath : there it finds the burden which Marcelle brought, which it secures carefull\' before again climbing ; then, even more rapidly than il came down, il proceeds to reascend, and, ere long, in per feet safety, it returns to the mouth of the Cave. So Kohan Gwenfern is saved from famine for the time being. r boat into ich Pipriac of Pipriag aS4 TlfE SHADOW OF TUF SWORD, CHAPTER XXXIV. A F (J U R - F O O r K D CHRISTIAN. ''"PHE siege has lasted nearly a fortnight, and still the -^ deserter seems as far off from surrendering as ever. It is inscrutable, inconceivable ; for every avenue of aid is now blocked, and there is no known means by which a human being could bring him help, either by land or sea. Save for the fact that from time to time glimpses are caught of his person, and indications given of his existence, one would imagine the deserter to be dead. Yet he is not dead ; and he does not offer to surrender; and indeed, he is tiresomely on the alert. Naturally the patience of his pursuers is exhausted ; but they do not neglect their usual precautions. Pipriac. in his secret mind (where he is super- stitious), begins to think he is dealing with a ghost after all ; for surely no human being, single-handed, could so consummately and so calmly set at defiance all the forces of the law, of Pipriac, and the great Emperor. Of one thing Pipriac is certain, that no human hand brings the deserter food ; and yet he lives ; and to live he must eat ! and how all the devils does he provide the wherewithal ? Unless he is mysteriously fed by an angel, or (which is far more probable in Pipriac's opinion) by a spirit of a darker order, he must himself be soir .'.hing more than human : m which case affairs look grim, and yet ridiculous indeed. Food does not — at least in these degenerate days — drop from heaven ; nor does it, in a form suitable for human sustenance, grow in rocks and caves of the sea. How, then, by all that is diabolic, does the deserter procure that food which is so terrible and common-place a human necessity .-' It puzzles thinking. What the open-minded and irascible soldier, too fair and too fiery for subtle suspicions, fails altogether t-^ discover, is finally, after many nights and days, rootc out and brought to light by the mole-like burrower in mean soiL A FOUR FOOTEn CI/A'/S 77 AY. HS incl still the ing as ever, lue of aid is by which a hind or sea. s are caught istonce, one t he is not indeed, he ence of his ; their usual he is super- ghost after [d, could so the forces X. Of one brings the 2 must eat ! lerewithal .'' lich is far f a darker in human : HIS indeed, ays — drop or human ea. How, ocure that a human 30 fair and "> discover, . out and mean soiL Mikel Grallon. Honest Mike! has been all this time, more or less, a hangt-r-on tt) the skirts of the besieging parly : coniing and going at irreguhir intervals, but never quite abandoning his functions as scout and spy in general. Him Pipriac ever regards with a malignant and bakful e)e, but to Pipriac's dislike he is skin-proof. His business now is to ascertain by what secret means the deserter sets his enemies at defiance and cannot even be starved out, or />/, his citadel. Here Grallon, uidike the Sergeant, has no superstitions ; he is convinced with all his crafty mind that there are sound physical reasons for all that is taking place : Rohan Gwenfern is receiving ordinary sustenance — but /ami i It comes upon Grallon in one illuminating flash, as he stands, not far from Pipriac, at the foot of the Stairs of St. Triffine, looking upward. Westward on the cliff's face, not far from the Cathedral, something is moving, walking with sure footsteps on paths inaccessible to man : it pauses ever anon, gazing round with quiet unconcern ; then it leisurely moves on ; nor does it halt until it has descended the green side in the very neighborhood of Rohan's Trou. Great inspirations come suddenly; to Grallon it seems " as if a star has burst within his brain." He runs up to Pipriac, who is sullenly sitting on a rock with a group of his men around him. " Look, Sergeant, look ! " And he points at the object in the distance. Pipriac rolls his one eye round in no amiable fashion, and demands by all the devils what Mikel Grallon means. " Look ! " repeats Mikel. " The Goat ! " " And what of the goat, fisherman ? " "Only this : it is going to the Trou, and it goes there by day and night to feed its master : now at the cottage, then at the Cave. What fools we have been ! " Here Grallon chuckles silently, much to the anger of the Sergeant. " Cease grimacing and explain !" cries Pipriac. "Well ?" " I have my suspicions — nay, am I not certain i* — that Madame Longbeard yonder is in the plot. Is she not ever wandering to and fro upon the cliffs, and will she not come to the deserter's call, and would it not be easy to I 256 T//E Sir A DOW OF THE SlVOkD. conceal foofl nbout her body ? — no matter how little ; a crust will keep life alive. liOok! she descends — she is out of si^'[ht ; she is going straight down to the Cave ! " Pij3iiac keeps his live-coal of an eye fixed on Grallon's, looking through rather than upon him, in a grim abstrac- tion ; then he rises, growling, to his feet, and calls a con- sultation, the result of which is that the goat shall be strictlv watched. The following morning Jannedik is intercepted as she eni'M-ires on the cliff, surrounded, and *' searched," but noth- ing being discovered, she is suffered to go. The morning afterwards, however, Pipriac is more fortunate ; for he finds, carefully buried among the long iiair of the goat's throat, and suspendcrl by a strong cord round the neck — a small basket of woven reeds containing black bread and strong cheese, it is now clear eno'igh that Jannedik has been the bearer of supplies froin time to time. *' It would l)e only just," says one of the li^cnilivmi's^ " to shoot her for treason against the Kmperor." Piprif : scowled. " No, let her go," he cried, " the beast knows no better ; " and as Jannedik leapt away without 'he load, and began descending the cliffs in the direction of the Cathedral, he nuutered, " She will not be so welcome to-day as usual, without her little present." So the gendarmes eat the bread and cheese, and laugh as they reflect that Rohan is circumvented at last, while Pipriac paces up and down, ni no lamb-like mood, for he is secret- ly ashamed of the whole business. Still, duty is duty, and the Sergeant, with dogged pertinacity, means to pertoim his. Henceforth all efforts to use Jannedik as the bearer of supplies are unavailing: a gendarme is posted at the widow's door night and day, with strict orders to watch the whole family, especially the goat. He notices that Jannedik seldom goes and comes at all, and never stays long out of doors ; for lying 0,1 the hearth within she has a little kid, who requires constant maternal attention. When one night the kid dies and Jannedik is left lament ing, the gendarme regards the affair as of no ijnportance ; — but he is wrong. D. how little ; a :enc!s — she is he Cave ! " on Grallon's, grim abstrac- cl calls a con- ?oat shall be :epteci as she ed," but noth- The mornino late ; for he of the goat's 1(1 (ho lujck — ck bread and jamuMJik has fii/dnnrs, " to s no better ; " 1, and began Cathedral, he lay as usual, nd laugh as [vhile Pipriac he is secret- is duty, and to perl. (Tin pe bearer of ited at the s to watch lotices that [never stays hin she has attention, left lament iportance j A FOUR FOOTED CHRISTIAN. 257 More days pass, and still the deserter is not dead but liveth. Wild winds blow with rain and hail, the sea roars night and day, the besiegers have a hard time of it and are growing furious. How the fierce winds lash the cliffs ! how the spindrift fiies in from the foaming waters ! — and yet screened from all this sits the deserter, while the ser- vants of the Emperor are dripping like drowned rats. Hours of storm, when Pipriac's loudest malediction is faint as the scratch of a pin, unheeded and scarce heard ! Is this to last for ever ? To Pipriac and the rest, pacing there in mist and cloud, peeping, mut^ed to the throat, there come from time to time tidings from the far-off seat of war. The great Em- peror has met with slight reverses, and some of his old friends are falling away from him ; indeed, if Pipriac could only discern it, the cloud no bigger than a prophet's hand is already looming on the (Jerin in Rhine. ^\\iii gendarmes laugh and quote the bulletins ., ^ they tramp up and down. They are amused at the folly of those who have fallen off from the Emperor, and look forward for the news of ]'rench victory which is to come soon ! Once more, as they stand below the cliffs, Mikel Grallon points upward, calling the attention of Pipriac. *• Well ?" snaps the Sergeant. " That accursed goat ; it goes to the Trou oftener than ever." " What then } It goes empty, fisherman — we take care of that. Pshaw, you are an ass." Mikel trembles and quivers spitefully as he replies — " I will tell you one thing that you have overlooked, clever as you think yourself ; if you had thought of it you would never have let the goat go." "Well?" *' The goat is in full suck, though her kid is dead ; and a mouth draws her milk each day ! " Pipriac utters an exclamation ; here is a new light with a vengeance ! "Is this true .^" he growls, glaring round. "Maledic- tion, but this Mikel Grallon is the devil ! After all, a man cannot live on the milk (A a goat." " It may suffice for a time," says Mikel Grallon ; " there '7 i' I ii ill it 258 THE SHADOW OF THE SWORD. is life in it. Curses on the beast ! If I were one of you, I would soon settle its business." As he speaks the goat is passing overhead, at a distance of several hundred yards, leisurely pausing ever and anon, and cropping the thin herbage as she goes. A diabolical twinkle comes into the Sergeant's eye. " Can you shoot, fisherman ? " he asks. " I can hit a mark," is the reply. " I will wager a bottle of good brandy you could not hit a barn-door at a hundred yards ! Nevertheless, — Hoel, give him your gun," The gendarme hands his weapon to Mikel Grallon, who takes it silently, with a look of interrogation at Pipriac. " Now, fire ! " -:V, " At what ? " " Malediction, at the goat ; let us see what you are made of. Fire, — and miss ! " The thin lips of Mikel Grallon are pressed tight together, and his brow comes down over his eyes. His hand does not tremble as, kneeling down on knee, he steadies the piece and takes aim. Up above him Jannedik, with her side presented full to him, pauses unconscious. He is so long in taking aim that Pipriac swears. " Malediction \—fire /" There is a flash, a report, and the bullet flies on to its mark above. For a moment it appears to have missed, for the goat, though it seemed to start at the sound, still stands in the same position, scarcely stirring ; and Hoel is snatching his gun back with a contemptuous laugh, when Pipriac, pointing upwards, cries — " Tous les dicbles ! — she is hit ; she is coming down ! " But the niche where the goat stands is broad and safe, and she has only fallen forward on her knees ; it is obvious she is hurt, for she quakes and seems about to roll over ; restraining herself, however, she staggers to her legs, and then, as if partially recovered, she runs rapidly along the cliffs in the direction of the Cave. M )ne of you, a distance and anon, . diabolical \ VIGIL. 259 CHAPTER XXXV. luld not hit iss, — Hoel, rallon, who Pipriac. u are made it together, hand does teadies the k, with her rs. on to its ve missed, ound, still nd Hoel is ugh, when down ! " and safe, s obvious roll over ; legs, and along the V VIOIL. FOR a second time Mike! Grallon, with the cunning of his class, had giu'ssed correctly ; and for two long days and nio^hls Rohan Gwenfern had received no other suste- nance t!ian tlie milk of the goat. At first, after the death of her kid. fnnnedik had been running about the clitTs distract- ed, bnrdc. d with the weight of the milk the little lips could no longer draw ; and the famished man in the Cave, find- ing in her discomfort his hodilv salvation, had in direst extremity put his mouth to her teeming udder and drunk. From that moment forth jaimedik returned many times a day to be relieved of her painful burden ; and the more relief came the freer the milk tlowed — a vital and an invig- orating stream. Hui by this time the stru;^gle was well-nigh over, and Rohan Gwenfern knew well that the end was near. The hand of Death seemed upon hin>, the wholesome flesh had worn from off his bones, and iiis whole frame was shrunken and famine-stricken. No eye undimmed with tears could have seen him there, crouching like a starved wolf upon his bed, with wild eyes glaring out through hair unkempt, his cheei s sunken, his jaw drooping in exhaustion and despair. From time to time he wailed out to God inar- ticulate sounds of lisery ; and 274 T//£ SHADOW OF THE SWORD. pair. Awe-stricken, amazed, Rohan stood stretching his hands upwards with a cry, for the lineaments on which he gazed seemed ahnost godlike, and the P'orm too seemed divine. But as he looked the features took another like- ness and grew terribly familiar, until he recognized the face whir!) had so long haunted his life and which the white Ciirist had once revealed to him in dream. Column kfter column moved past, the whole heavens were darkened, and in their midst, satanic and command- ing, moved the Phantom of Konaparte. It was the 19th of October, 1813, and at that very moment the French armies were in full retreat from Leipsic — with Bonaparte at their head. CHAPTER XXXVIII. " HOME THEY BROUGHT THEIR WARRIOR DEAD." \ \ ) WHEN the besieging party returned to the Cathedral they found the body of the Sergeant stranded high and dry near the Gate. Not without fear and trembling, they again placed their ladders against the wall, and mounting without opposition searched the C'ave. How- ever, not a trace of Rohan >vas to be found ; horror-strick- en, doubtless at his own deed, he had fled — whither they knew not, nor did they greatly care just then to know, for the death of Pipriac had filled them with terror and amaze. By this time dawn had come and the storm had ceased. Dejectedly enough, followed by a crowd of villagers, they bore their burthen away — out through the Gate, up the stairs of St. Triffine, and along the green plateau towards the village. It was a sorrowful procession, for with all his faults the Sergeant was a favourite. Passing underneath the bunch of mistletoe which hung as a sign over the door of the little cabaret, they bore in their burden and placed it down on the great table which stood in the centre of the kitchen. Then Hoel the gen ling his hich he seemed ler like- zed the lich the heavens mmaiid- idt very 1 Leipsic D." athedral Idod liigh mblinj^, all, and Hovv- r-strick- er they now, for amaze, ceased, irs, they I, up the ] towards |h all his :h hung ibore in which Ithe g€n \ I ''HOME THEY HKorairr;' etc. 75 darmc, took f)!! his :x'"ea(co;it and |)la(ed it over the corpse, coverinjj; the blood stained face from sij^Iu. Poor old PipriacI Man}- a nii»inin^ had he swa^^cicd into that kitchen to lastc the widow (,Moriet's i)randy ; many a time had he smoked his pijie beside that kitchen hre ; many a "iiu' also, with a wink of his one eye, iiad he wound his arm in tipsy alTection round the w;Mst (jf tiie red liaired waitnii; wench Yvonne. It was all over now, and there he lay, a statelier and mcjre solenui figure than he had ever been in life ; while the tiembling widow, in honor of the sad occasion, distributed little cordi d ii;lasses all roimd. 'i'he Cabaret was soon full, for the dreadful news had spread far and wide. I'ae Viw^ liie little Priest, with a face as while .is a sheet, entered in, and kneeling by the dead man's side, said a long and silent prayer. When he had linished In; rose to his feel and ([uestioned the i^i'ii- darinrs. '• And the other — Rohan — where is he .^ Is he taken ?" 'X\\c }:;cndiu nw Hoel shook his head. " He is not taken, anci i;e\er will he taken, alive ; wc have seaiched the Ca\e, the cliffs ; but the Mend protects him, l"'alher Rolland, and it is cdl in vain." There was a loud murmur of astonishment and acciuies- cence. "' How did it all lian[H.'n ? " pursued the priest. "You attempted Lo l.ike him and he struck in selfdetVuce ; bul then?" 'i'his was the signal for Hoc! to launch forth into a long (k;Mcri|)tion of the latter jiart of the siege, duiing which he was ev(,'r and anon interrupled by his e\( ited conuadcs. 'The consensus of It ^limon\' went to show ihat Rohan, in his mani. u.d resistance, had neither been alone nor unassisted ; hut that, in the shadow of'the nigh!, and anjid the loudness of the sujrm, he had conjured to his aid the powers of daikness, whose hand:, had hinled down upon t!u; besiegers fiagments of rork far loo huge to be uplifted b\' human siicngiJi. 'riial In' haally undertaken lo j)ioie( t him from the I'.mperor. was a statement which received general afhrmation. ** Master Robert," it was well known, was ever on the look out fur .such bargains ; and the belief il 276 THE SHADOW OF THE SWORD. that he had been leajijued with the deserter against them flattered alike the vanity of the gendarmes , d their super- stition. Down from his cottage stumped the old C'cjrporal, fol- lowed by the remnant of his '* Maccabees ;" and when he looked in the dead man's face his eyes were for a moment dim. ** Peace to his soul — he was a brave man ! " ejaculated the VL'tt-ran. " He did his duty to the Kmperor, and the good (k)d will give him his reward." "And after all," said tlie Priest in a low voice, "he dieil in fair light, as it might be on the open field." " That is not so," answered the Coipoi al hrmly, lookmg very white round the edges of his moutli. "That is not so, msieiirlc iiiri\ for he- was foully nnu'dered by a coward and a eltoimn, whom (lod will punish in his turn. Hear me — I say it, though the man was tlesh and blood of mine." The little cure shook his head dolefully. " it is a sad thing, and il all comes, doubtless, of resist- ing the laws of the I'lmpi-ior ; but look \(hi, it was a matter of life and death, and if he had not stricken in self- defence, he would have been taken and slain. After all, it was one man against many." " One man I — a thousand Devils ! " cried Hoel, uncon- sciously repeating his dead leader's favorite expression. •' He was wioiig from the beginning," pursued the Priest moralising. "One man cannot set the world right if it is in error ; and it is one's [ilace to obey the law, and to do one's duty to God and tht.- lMU|M'ror. He would not obey, and now he has shed blood, for which, alas I the good God will have a reckoning late 01 >oon." 'I'o such purpose an* in so many words, moralised Father RoUand , and tiiose who heartl shuddered and crossed themselves in fe.i-. It occurred to nf* one present to reflect that Pipriac iuul fallen in fair war, in a war, moreover, in which he was the aggressor ; and that Rohan Gwenfern was as justifled in the sight of Heaven as atiy (|ii ililied li' -•nliite in the art of killing. So .Irange a law is It ol out hum ni ' '>;i •■ iou.sne.-.s. that murder loses its liorror wIku nuiliiplied by twenty thousand! Phose who it them r super- ral, fol- vhen he iioment Lculated and the :e, "he lookini; s not so, coward Hear )lood of of resist- a matter in self- fler all, nncon- ision. \e Priest |l if it is id to do lot obey, )od God iioralisod red and present a war, It Rohan as any ,c a law lo^es its bse who " uo.u/^ rriF.Y nRorarrr:' etc. 277 wonld have rahnly snrvovcrl ;i hatile ti'-M strt^vn with (lead could noi n'l^aiclone solitary coip-^e with e(.|naniniity. 'I'hiise who would li:i\i' :i(loienucli a deed, however justifiable, there would be no mercy, nml that for such a murderer there would be no pity. Rohan was outlawed for ever, and every human hand woulil now be raisc^d a^jainst him. To them, as they sat together, came jan Goron, with more tidinii^s of what was goinij^ on in the village. The gt'H(farmc's, furious and revengeful, had been searching the Ca\e and scouring the cliffs again, but not a trace of Rohan couKl now be found. In the darkness and con- fusion of last night's storm he had doubtless sought sotne other hiding place. "There is other news." said Goron, anxious to change the sad subject. "The King of Saxony has deserted the Emperor, and the armies of France have fallen back on Leipsic. Some say the Emperor is meeting his match at •7« 77//.' ,s//.i/>i>ir !>/■■ ■/•///■: su'/fA'/j. 1 1 ' I last, nnd tli it ,ill ilu' kin^s -.no now ii-.iinst iiiin. Wdl. he has eaten half .1 d'l/cn Uin,:;s |i»r Incaktasl hi-IVnc now, and will do so ai^ain,'" At anotiu'i- time llicse tidings wouUI haw lC'imiIv cx cited Marcelle Dcival ; hut now they sei-nied almost devoid of interest. The loriimi-s of I'Vanee and the l'',m|>eror were utterly for^^ot ten in her individual trouhle. llowev(M-, she shru;;i'ed her pretty shoulders incredulously, wluu) Goron hinted at defeat, and s aid listlfssly — " At Leipsic. say \ou .> |'>oih IIoiH and (iildis. will he there." And she added, in a low weary voic-e, "We hid a letter from (iild is last week, and he has heen llnci' tiin>s under lire without so much as a m rii.h or a huiii. Ili' lias seen the I'lmperor (juite closi;, and he sa\> he is look iufj verv old. Hoi-l. too. is will \h dud. if iii\ cui ,in Rohan'wtMe with lluiii as he mi'j,lit lii\i Ixi'ii, happ) ami well and strouj^-. tV;hlin;4 for the {''niperoi ! "" As she spoke her tears hurst f'-rth .ii;aiii. and M'llu r (jwi'iifern answered her with a liiller will. \ es, this, doubtless, was the hitlen-l of all--ilic feeliu«i that Kojian had heiMi madK llyiuii '>'"'" ■' '"''''" pli'i'iloin. and thai, h.ld he (|uietl\- acce|»l*''' '^'^ '•"'• ''*" ^^""''1 ^''" '^='^'' '"''" liviu.L;- honored and happ\. like lloel aiid(;ild.is. I'.y doiu^ his dulv and l)eeomiu_u; a l)ia\e soldier, he would have avoided all liiat series of troubles and sins which hid beru the couse(iuence of his i(>sist nice. iJlo id lie mi';ht base shed, l)Ut onlv the blood of his euemie-^: which, as all good |iatriots knew, would have been of small couser|iience. Jt was nf»t for simple women likt* these to ,L;ra-p the sub- lime irutli that all men are liroiluMs. ami ih it e\en staunch ])atriois mav wear the livery of Cain. Nif;hl came on, black and stormy. The wind, which had fallen during the day. rose a<,'ain. and heavens and -.eas were blindly blent to.it;ther. In the cotta<;e, which quaked with every blast, and cowered before the tierce torrents of rain, Mareelle still lini^^cMfd. Ivninjj: sent word home that she would not return that nii^ht. The turf lire had burnt luarlv out, aiiij |||c iiiilv lij;hi in the hut was cast by a miserabh.' lamp wlikh swuu}» from the rafters. Side liy side, now si)eakiul>\ ami ,1 Mulu r Hv ihis. Ill Kr)han iiml tlial, i;i\ f l)(M n l'.\ (li)in;^ iiKl liavi" h.ul Ih-tii i';ht have •h, as all ,i'(lijence. ) ilu' sub- i\ ■^tauni'h hich IkuI a IK I seas [h (|nakeil Dirciils of iiimc thai \\ li-;lu in |u\\;; ivom jpers. now J he lire, focling all the world against thoin, heart-broken, soul- strirkcn. Iistenin need for om* look, lot one word of recog- Wilion ; swifi ;\s an electric- llanh the recognition > ime, in one n^ad Kaping \\{ the hv\\rt. and before ihey « i>tild grasp hi.^ hand tu u.y/A- into his tace they knew it was he — the one ciVi\tvne tliey heM dearest in the world. Rapidly, with her characteristic pveseiuc of mind, Mar- celle seemed the door ; then, while Kohan ran shivering ai loss to the nearly e.Ntinguished lire, she carefullv drew the curtain of the window, closing all iew fnnn without. Then, too excited to speak, the women stood gazing with affrighted eyes at the new comer. Ragged and half-naked, soaking and dripping, with his wild hair falling over his shoulders, and a beard of many weeks' growth covering his face, he stood, or rather crouched, before them, with his eyes on theirs. Certainly the dark heavens that night did not look down on any creature more pitiable; and most pitiable of all wa«i the white light upon his face, the dull, dead tire that burned in his eyes. With no word or sign of greeting he gazed round him then, pointing with his hand, he cried, hoarsely : "Bread!" Now, for the first time, they remembered that he was starving, and knew that the mad light in his face was the light of famine. Swiftly, without a word, Marcelle brought out food and placed it before him ; he seized it fiercely, and devoured it like a wild beasi. Then the mother's 'i m 2So THE SHADOW OF THE SWOkP. heart broke to see him eat. Kneeling by his side, while he was eagerly clutching food with his right hand, she took the other hand and covered it with kisses. *' O my son, my son ! " she sobbed. He did not seem to heed ; all his faculties seemed ab- sorbed in seeking sustenance, and his eyes only moved this way and that like a hungry hound's. When Marcelle brought brandy and placed it before him — he drank ; then, and not till then, his eyes fell on hers with some sort of recognition, and he said, in a hard and hollow voice : " Is it thou, Marcelle } " She did not reply, but her eyes were blind with tears ; then he laughed vacantly, and looked down at his mother. " I was starving, and so I came ; they are busy up there, and they will not follow ; but if they do, I am ready. You have heard of Pip'-iac — the old fool has got his deserts, that is all ! What a night ! " There was something in his tone so i-eckles.s, so dis- traught, that they almost shrank away from him, and ever and anon he gave a low, mindless laugh, very painful to hear. Presently he gazed again at Marcelle, saying : " You keep your good looks, little one ; ah, but you have never known what it is to starve ! But for the starv- ation, look you, it would all have been a good joke. See, I am worn to the bone — I have no flesh left ; if you met me out of doors, you would say I was a ghost. How you look at me ! I frighten you — and no wonder, Marcelle Derval. Ah God ! you are afraid ! " " No, Rohan, I am not afraid ! " answered the girl, sobbing. For a moment or two he looked fixedly at her, then his breast heaved painfully, and he held his hand upon his heart. " Tell me, then," he cried quickly, " why do you look at me like that .'' Do you hate me ? Mother of God, an- swer ! Do you hate me, noiv ? " No, no ! God help you, Rohan ! " And she sank, still sobbing, at his feet, and while the widow grasped one hand she held the other, resting her head upon his knee. He sat spell-bound, like one between sleeping and waking, while his frame was shaken with the ''HOME TlfEY BROUCHr:' ETC. i8l le, while ind, she med ab- ly moved Marcelle ik ; then, le sort of ice : th tears; s mother, up there, . tdy. You 5 deserts, s, so dis- and ever gainful to ing : but you the starv- ike. See, if you met How you Marcelle the girl, [, then his upon his you look God, an- Iwhile the jsting her between with the sobs of his mother and his beloved. Suddenly he snatched his hands away. " You are mad, I think, you women ; you do not know what you are touching : you do not know whom you arc embracing God ancl men are against mr, for I am a murderei, and tor minclorers there is no niercy, Look y(ju, I have killed Pipriac, who was my father's friend. Ah. if you had seen — it was horrible! The rock crushed m his breast like a crab's shell, and in a moment he w.i^ dead — old Pipriac, whom my father loved .' " Their answer was a low wail, but they only clui,;^ the closer to him, and both his hands were wet with tears. His own soul was shaken, and his feverish eyes j;re\v dim and moist. Reaching out his trembling arms, ht Jrew the women to him with a low heart-broken cry. " Mother! Marcelle! You do not hale me, vou are not afraid .> " - ' They looked up into his face, and their features shone with that love which passe Ji understanding. The old worn woman and the pale beautiful girl alike looked up with the same passionate yearning, hokling him the dearer for his sorrows, even for his sins. His eyes lingered most on the countenance of Marcelle ; her devotion was an unexpected revelation. Then across his brain flashed the meuiory of all the happy past, and hiding his fare in his hands, he sobbed like a child, but almost without tears — for tears his famished heart was too dry. Suddenly, while they watched him in awe and pain, his attitude changed, and he sprung wildly to his feel, listen- ing with that fierce look upon his face which they at first had feared so much. Despite the sound of wind and rain his quick ear had detected footfalls on the shingle outside the cottage. Before they could say another word a knock came to the door. " Put out the light ! " whispered Marcelle ; and in a moment Rohan had extinguished the swinging-lamp, which indeed, had almost burnt out already, rhe cottage was now quite dark ; and while Rohan, creeping across the floor, concealed himself in the blackest corner of the chamber, Marcelle crossed over to the door. \ \ IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) ''/■ %// 4 ^ .'^i.. '4^ /. 1.0 I.I 1.25 Uf lU 122 1.4 m 1.6 <^ Vl e A '/ HiotDgraphic Sciences Corporation 4 4 a\ \ 6^ 33 WIST MAIN STRilT WnSTIR.N.Y. MSM (716) •73-4503 '£o & ^ j»S? THE S//A/)0]V OF Tlfh. S]VOh'}), \ x " ^\1thil1 iIkmc !" rricci ;i voire, " Answer, I say ! Will vm keep ii ^^(nnl ChrisLiaii (liij)pin^ here all niujil like a (liownccl rat ?" " \'ou rannot enter/' said Marcelle ; " it is too late, and and we are abed." Tile answer was a heavy blow on the door, which was onh" secured by a frail latch. " I know your voice, Marcelle Derval, and I have come all this way to Hnd you out. 1 ha\e news to tell you ; so open at once. It is I, Mikel Grallon !" " Whoever you are, go away !" answered Marcelle in agony. '•(Ioawa\? Noi I, till I have seen and spoken with you. Open the do(;r, or I will break it open — Ah !" As he sj^oke, the man dealt heavy blows ujDon the frail woodwork, and suddenly, before Marcelle could interfere, the latch yielded, and the door, to which there was no ])oll, flewojK-n. Mother (Iwenfern uttered a scream, while amid a roar of wind and a shower of rain, jSfikel ( Jrallon entered in. Hut white as death Marcelle blocked up the entrance, and when the man's heavy form fell against her, pushed it fiercely back. " What l^rnigs you here at this time, Mikel Grallon.?" she demanded. " Stand still — you shall not pass another step. Ah, that Alain, or Jannick, or even my Uncle were here, you would not dare ! Begone, or I shall strike you, though I am only a girl." The reply was an imbecile laugh ; and now for the first time Marcelle perceived that (irallon was under the in- fluence of strong drink. His usually subdued and delib- erate air was exchanged for one of impudent audacity, and his voice was hisolent, threatening, and devil-may-care. " Strike me ! " he cried huskily ; " I do not think your little hand will hurt much ; but i know you do not mean it — it is only the way of you women. Ah, my little Mar- celle, you and I understand each other, and it is all set tied ; it is all settled, and your uncle is pleased. Now that that coward of a cousin is done for, yc will listen to reason — will you not, Marcelle Grallon ? Ah yes, for Mar celle Grallon sounds prettier than Marcelle Derval." Leering tipsily, he advanced, and before she could resist :'r, I say t c all night )o late, and which was have come i\\ you ; so tiarcelle ii) pokcn with Ah !" in the frail d interfere, ere was no :reani, while kcl Crrallon :ked up the against her, Grallon?" iss another Uncle were strike you, for the first der the in- and delib- .idacity, and ay-care. think your ? not mean little Mar- t is all set- ased. Now vill listen to ^es, for Mar rval." could resist 'n ).]//■ Til FY P.ROI r^-A - /"T-* *• inc. 29.x had lliiown his arms aiouiifl hrr ; she slrugglofl in his h lid, and slimk him with her rliaulied hand upon tin- face, but he only laughed. Strange to .sa^', sin; uUeretl no cry. Her lieail was too I'liU of tciror lest Rohan, whom she knew to be listening, should betray hiiM,-.en or bt; dis- co\'(rod. *■ Let me go I" she said in a low intense \()ice. "In (iod's name, let me go ! " .So saying, with, a |)owerl'ul effort, she shook luMself frt-e, while (Irallon staggered forward into the centre of the room. Ri'co\ering himself with a tierce oath, he found himself face to face with Mothei ( rwenfern who, with wihl skeleton fianu and gleaming e\'es, stoofl befoie him like some weary ghost. " Aha. you are tlu-ie. mothei" !" he cried as his e)'es fell upon luT. "Weil. [ suppox.' you havi; heard all tlu' news, and \()u know now what If) think of \'our wrc^lch of a son. lie has kilk'd a man, and when he is caught, which will be Soon, he will be lorturcul like a dog. This is youi" rt.-warfl for bringing cowai'ds into tin,' world, old woman; Iain sorrv for \ou, but it is vou that aie lo blame." " Silence, Mikel (irallon ! " said Afarcelle, still terror- si ri(d