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 "THE FAIR MOON OF BATH" 
 
 OK GAUF. LSHIARY. LOS ANGELIB
 
 " The Fair Moon 
 of Bath" 
 
 By 
 ELIZABETH ELLIS 
 
 Author of 
 "Barbara Winslow, Rebel " 
 
 FRONTISPIECE 
 BY JOHN RAE 
 
 " The precious things put forth 
 by the Moon"
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1907 
 By DODD, MEAD AND COMPAHY 
 
 Published February, 1908
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I THE MIDSUMMER MOON 1 
 
 II NOON-DAY 13 
 
 III "THE TOAST" 27 
 
 IV "ON GUARD" 38 
 V THE HOUSE OF THE COIFFEUSE 52 
 
 VI "MOONLIGHT" 64 
 
 VII "A SIGH IN THE DARK" 78 
 
 VIII "A PELICAN IN THE WILDERNESS" 91 
 
 IX TRAPPED! 114 
 
 X "AT CHARITY FARM" 128 
 
 XI "THE SEDAN CHAIRS" 144 
 
 XII "THE SUN" 161 
 
 XIII A TANGLED SKEIN 172 
 
 XIV THE LURE 191 
 
 XV BEHIND THE BROWN DOOR 211 
 
 XVI THE BROKEN BUTTERFLY 231 
 
 XVII "PAN'S FORTUNE" 247 
 
 XVIII THE CLUE 26i 
 
 XIX THE HEART OF A SPY 285 
 
 XX THE DARK OF THE MOON 303 
 
 XXI THE TRIUMPH OF THE AWAKENING 320 
 
 XXII THE MOON STOOPS 336 
 
 2129271
 
 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 THE MIDSUMMER MOON 
 
 MR. TIMOTHY CURTIS rode slowly through the still night, 
 and with half -seeing eyes watched the white road to the west 
 unroll itself before him under the light of the midsummer 
 moon. His brows were drawn together in a dark frown, and 
 his face wore a look of deep dejection most unusual with 
 this happy mortal. For Timothy Curtis, though hampered 
 by the possession of what he considered a wholly inadequate 
 income, was never one to waste time in counting his lacks. 
 He brought to each draught of life a zest, which amply 
 atoned for any want of savour in the cup, and deeming the 
 possession of a strong sword-arm, a host of friends, and a 
 wealthy uncle, whom Time might propitiate, sufficient riches 
 for any man, he commonly won the smiles of Fortune by 
 virtue of his persistent refusal to flinch at her frowns. 
 
 To-night, however, Timothy's wonted happy outlook on 
 the world was clouded. He had ridden long, for to a light 
 purse every unnecessary halt is an extravagance; he had 
 ridden hungry since noon for the same reason ; and he had 
 ridden in solitude owing to his whimsical preference for a 
 journey in the cool evening rather than in the dust and heat 
 of the day. But none of these considerations was responsi- 
 ble for the melancholy that shadowed his soul. 
 
 Nor had the object of his journey appeared altogether
 
 * 
 
 distasteful to him when viewed in the light of day. The 
 pleasures of life as hitherto understood by Mr. Timothy 
 Curtis must be purchased at a price ; for ten years he had 
 en j oyed them to the full, and now, when reckoning time had 
 come, and he had no longer the wherewithal to meet the 
 demand, he was journeying down to Bristol, at the com- 
 mand of his uncle, to bargain the graces of his impecunious 
 person in exchange for the gold of a rich merchant's 
 daughter. 
 
 When Lord Westerby's command reached his nephew in 
 response to an urgent appeal for pecuniary assistance, 
 Timothy was in no wise averse to the scheme ; he was press- 
 ingly in need of money ; he was, if truth must be told, con- 
 siderably weary of the stock beauties of the town, and he 
 had the utmost confidence in his uncle as a connoisseur 
 of feminine charms. Consequently he set out upon his 
 journey blithe of heart, anticipating no difficulty in 
 his wooing, and confidently expecting to return to town 
 in the space of three weeks the affianced husband of an 
 heiress. 
 
 But now, as he rode through the scented silence of the 
 night, the still magic of the midsummer moon fired his 
 blood, the still strange light enchained him in a web of 
 dreams. A yearning seized him for that touch of the un- 
 real, of the romance which falls at times from heaven upon 
 happy mortals and turns desert places to an Eden, and a 
 longing awoke in his heart to find again his lost belief in 
 a disinterested love, to place faith again in a woman worthy 
 the offering. 
 
 For the moon may make a man a rascal or a hero, accord- 
 ing to the secret thoughts of his own soul ; but willy-nilly, 
 she will make of him a lover if there be a touch of romance
 
 THE MIDSUMMER MOON 3 
 
 in his nature to answer to her call; and his soul was filled 
 with a divine discontent of himself, of his life, and, above 
 all, of his errand. 
 
 Timothy lifted his eyes to the moon and blushed at his own 
 shortcomings. To live year in and year out untouched by 
 romance and unhallowed by devotion it was the existence 
 of a cow. And yet, surely, he argued, 'twas the Fates who 
 were to blame, not he. His life was mapped out for him as 
 was the life of his class; his feet were set upon the plain 
 highway of life, and who would dream of meeting romance 
 upon the hard highroad ? If the Fates would have him play 
 the man, let them send him the opportunity ; he would not 
 prove a laggard. 
 
 Timothy lifted his head defiantly and flung a challenge 
 to the calm-faced moon; but even as he did so his horse 
 shied and his eyes and thoughts came back to earth with 
 unexpected speed. He turned to see what had frightened 
 the animal, and with a stifled exclamation pulled up his 
 horse, and in astonishment remained staring at the appari- 
 tion which met his eyes. 
 
 On the sloping bank by the roadside, half shadowed by 
 a little group of trees, lay a girl, fast asleep. She was 
 wrapped in a handsome riding-cloak, her head was resting 
 upon a pile of tapestried cushions, and on the tiny shoe that 
 peeped below the hem of her brocaded skirt a small diamond 
 buckle flashed in the shimmering light. 
 
 Timothy rubbed his eyes and looked again. The girl's 
 hood had fallen back, revealing her face nestling against an 
 aureole of amber-coloured hair ; she seemed to Timothy very 
 fair. He dismounted and crossed the road to her side. The 
 moonbeams stole between the shadowy leaves and played 
 about her form. He stood looking down on her in silence.
 
 4 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 The dark lashes lay softly on the rounded cheeks ; she was 
 sleeping very quietly. 
 
 A sudden overwhelming desire seized him to learn the 
 colour of her eyes. The lids were full, oval, fringed with 
 dark lashes ; the raising of such lids is as the drawing back 
 of the curtains of the night. He longed to see them open, 
 to gaze into the depths beneath. He had a fancy the eyes 
 would be blue ; it came upon him as a conviction they must 
 be blue, but he wanted to see for himself. 
 
 She slept peacefully. Timothy looked at the rosy parted 
 lips and drew in his breath ; surely it was his prerogative. 
 Then he dismissed the thought sternly, and kneeling beside 
 her took her hand softly in his and pressed it to his lips. 
 He lifted his head and nodded gravely to the moon. 
 
 "Thank you, Diana," he said whimsically ; "a monstrous, 
 promising beginning." 
 
 The girl's hand stirred in his ; he lowered his glance and 
 found himself gazing deep into a pair of dark eyes filled 
 with a look of uttermost astonishment. 
 
 "Thank heaven ! they are blue," he said, with satisfaction. 
 
 The position was not without its charm, but it was never- 
 theless embarrassing. Timothy dropped her hand quickly 
 and rose to his feet. 
 
 "I I beg your pardon, madam," he stammered; "I fear 
 I have disturbed you." 
 
 The girl sat upright, and looked round in bewilderment. 
 Then her eyes met his again, and she blushed crimson. She 
 rose to her feet with a wonderful assumption of haughti- 
 ness. 
 
 "So you have come at last, sir," she said. "We are weary 
 to death with waiting for you." 
 
 "Madam?" he stammered in surprise.
 
 THE MIDSUMMER MOON 5 
 
 She looked up quickly. "Have you not come to our as- 
 sistance? What brought you here, then?" 
 
 "My lucky star, I think, madam," he answered gravely. 
 
 She resolutely repressed a smile. "Ah, then I was mis- 
 taken. I deemed the servant had fetched you to our as- 
 sistance." She paused and looked significantly at his horse. 
 "This not being the case, I will not detain you, sir," she 
 added, with a gesture of dismissal. 
 
 Timothy had no mind to obey her implied command. 
 
 "Surely, madam, as my star has led me here, you will 
 accept my help," he argued. "I am entirely at your ser- 
 vice." 
 
 She shook her head. "No, sir," she said calmly. "I 
 thank you, but your company mislikes me. The sooner 
 you ride on your way the better." 
 
 She spoke quietly, but there was a breathlessness in her 
 voice and a look in her eyes that betokened fear. 
 
 Timothy grew more persistent. "What! ride away and 
 leave you here in difficulty? Why, madam, for what do 
 you take me?" 
 
 "For a gentleman of the road," she answered shortly. She 
 lifted her arm and touched significantly a heavy gold brace- 
 let of curious design which she wore on her wrist. "I deem 
 myself fortunate that I awoke in time." 
 
 Timothy stared at her a moment in indignation, then he 
 broke into a hearty laugh* "Good heavens, madam!" he 
 cried, "you don't imagine I intended to steal your jewel?" 
 
 "Indeed, I know no other explanation of your er your 
 attitude when I awoke," she said hesitatingly. 
 
 Timothy flushed. "I assure you upon my honour, madam, 
 your suspicions are unfounded. I am as honest as as the 
 highroad. My name is Timothy Curtis, and "
 
 6 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 "Timothy Curtis!" she exclaimed. "Lord Westerby's 
 nephew?" She paused and eyed him doubtfully. "It is 
 easy to learn if that be true," she said, and began to walk 
 rapidly down the road. 
 
 Timothy followed her, leading his horse. A few yards 
 further the road turned abruptly to the right. At the 
 corner the girl paused and looked back at him. 
 
 "If you are Mr. Curtis, my sister will know you," she 
 said. "If not, the sooner you ride off the better." 
 
 The menacing tone of her voice was somewhat belied by 
 the frightened look in her eyes and the nervous clasp of her 
 white hands. Timothy smiled at her reassuringly. 
 
 They turned the corner of the road together, and he gave 
 an exclamation of surprise and comprehension. On the 
 side of the road, half leaning against the bank, was a heavy 
 travelling coach, the wheel that lay beside it giving at once 
 the key to the disaster. The horses, unharnessed, were 
 tethered near, while a man-servant, half asleep, sat on a log 
 beside them, clutching a heavy pistol in either hand. The 
 door of the coach stood open ; a couple of cushions, a cloak 
 and a fan lay scattered on the road beside it. On the steps 
 of the coach a pretty, pert-looking waiting-maid sat bolt 
 upright staring at the moon, her face wearing an expres- 
 sion of supreme disapprobation. She turned at their ap- 
 proach and rose primly to her feet, glancing at Timothy 
 with the same look of fear and suspicion which he had seen 
 on the face of her mistress. 
 
 The girl looked quickly round the group. 
 
 "Where is your mistress?" she asked abruptly. 
 
 Even as she spoke the figure of a woman appeared from 
 beyond the coach and hurried eagerly toward them. She 
 was tall, and bore herself with supreme grace and dignity.
 
 THE MIDSUMMER MOON 7 
 
 Her features were beautiful, almost frigid in their regular- 
 ity; her complexion was very fair. She wore the heavy 
 masses of her dark hair rippling back from her brow in a 
 fashion as unique in those days of pads and powder as it 
 was eminently becoming to the oval of her face. She had 
 the air of one well accustomed to receive men's homage, but 
 in no wise despising it, while the steadfast look in her dark- 
 grey eyes betokened a greater strength of character than 
 her gentle manner would otherwise have led a man to 
 expect. 
 
 Her eyes were eager, her face flushed with excitement as 
 she hurried forward to meet her sister. 
 
 "Who is this, Celia?" she cried. "What has happened?" 
 
 Timothy stepped eagerly past his companion, and bowed 
 before the advancing figure. 
 
 "Lady Wimbourne, by all that's marvellous!" he cried 
 gaily. "Sure! but I shall be the envied of all St. James's 
 for this. To find you in difficulty, and have the sole right 
 of rescue, is more than a man would dare to ask of the 
 Fates." 
 
 The flush died from her cheeks and the light from her 
 eyes, and for a moment she faced him with a look of blank 
 disappointment. It was not a gratifying reception, and 
 Timothy felt his self-esteem ebbing fast. Moreover, he was 
 conscious that the younger sister was watching him with 
 critical eyes, marking how he bore himself under this 
 ordeal. 
 
 Lady Wimbourne was the first to recover herself. She 
 bit her lip, smiled faintly, and extended her hand in 
 greeting. 
 
 "You are most welcome, Mr. Curtis," she said graciously. 
 "What brings you on the road at this unusual hour? Are
 
 8 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 you journeying to Bath, like all the rest of the world, or 
 have you taken to night-riding ? If the latter, we must look 
 to our purses." 
 
 "Nay, madam, your sister has already accused me of dis- 
 honest intentions. We are here that you may allay her sus- 
 picions and present me in due form." 
 
 Lady Wimbourne looked at her sister's blushing face and 
 gave a low, musical laugh. 
 
 "What, child ! you took him for a follower of Duval, eh ? 
 Small wonder, too, at this hour of the night. And what 
 hath he taken?" 
 
 The answer to that was what Celia wished to know. She 
 was conscious that her awakening had come a moment too 
 late. 
 
 "My sister, Mr. Curtis," continued Lady Wimbourne, "is 
 somewhat new to the world ; she made her debut but a week 
 agone. She has not yet learned to distinguish betwixt 
 rogues and honest men." 
 
 "I' faith, madam, when she has learned that lesson she 
 will be, I trust, a grandmother. But in what way can my 
 poor services assist your ladyship?" he continued briskly, 
 turning to the overturned coach. 
 
 "In none, sir, unless you be a wheelwright," answered 
 Lady Wimbourne quickly. "I have sent my servant on 
 to Newbury to bring some fashion of conveyance. He 
 should return at any moment." 
 
 "But we have waited two hours already, Adelaide," inter- 
 posed her sister, "and he does not come. If this if Mr. 
 Curtis will give us his services, I, for one, will most grate- 
 fully accept. You know, Laidie," she added apologet- 
 ically, "I am hungry." 
 
 "But nothing can be done," interrupted Adelaide impa-
 
 THE MIDSUMMER MOON 9 
 
 tiently. "Nothing avails but patience. You know, Mr. 
 Curtis," she continued, turning to Timothy, "Tracy is still 
 held prisoner in town with his broken leg ; but he would not 
 hear of our waiting till he be fit to travel. So we are jour- 
 neying to Bath without him, and never did two poor un- 
 fortunates suffer greater disasters. An hour after we set 
 out my groom fell ill, and we were forced to leave him at a 
 house by the wayside with a servant to tend him. At noon 
 to-day, when we halted at Reading, my second groom 
 disappeared, and after waiting some hours we were obliged 
 to come on without him. At six o' the clock one of the horses 
 fell lame, and we must needs proceed at walking pace ; and 
 now now this pestilent wheel has deceived us, and we are 
 tossed out on to the roadside for all the world like a sack of 
 potatoes. Were ever two poor innocents more maltreated 
 by the Fates?" 
 
 She spoke lightly, but her eyes were restless and her fin- 
 gers worked nervously together. Ever and anon she turned 
 to look down the road, and twice she stopped short in a 
 sentence and listened eagerly. Timothy regarded her curi- 
 ously; her present anxiety was a marked contrast to her 
 customary placid manner. 
 
 "In truth, Lady Wimbourne," he said gallantly, "your 
 misfortunes are assuredly due to the malign influence of my 
 lucky star. That being so, let me repair the injury and 
 escort you to a place of shelter. There's a village but a 
 mile to the south; why not walk there? Or, better still, 
 ride my mare? The inn is poor, but it could provide us 
 with a supper and better protection than the highroad. 
 Does my plan take you?" 
 
 "Lud! we are little better than fools, Adelaide," laughed 
 Celia. "We might have done this an hour agone,"
 
 10 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 "And have deprived me of the inestimable pleasure of 
 escorting you," interposed Timothy. "Gad! madam, that 
 would have been too plaguy selfish." 
 
 Adelaide looked from one to the other with puckered 
 brows. 
 
 "No," she said quickly, "we we will remain here. It 
 were wiser. The groom must return presently. Indeed, 
 I would prefer it." 
 
 "It is not safe for you to remain here alone," he argued 
 impatiently. "The roads are infested with vagabonds. 
 Tracy would never forgive me if I left you. Come, mad- 
 am, consent; I swear the inn is not so bad, and if all else 
 fails, I am reckoned a passable cook myself." 
 
 But she pressed her hands tightly together in distress, and 
 looked from side to side as though seeking escape from his 
 importunity. 
 
 "I will remain here," she muttered obstinately. "Indeed, 
 sir, you distress me by this insistence. I pray you, begone 
 and leave us." 
 
 Timothy, annoyed at her obstinacy, could say no more, 
 and turned to mount his horse. But here the younger sis- 
 ter intervened. She laid her hand shyly on his arm to 
 detain him. 
 
 "No, Mr. Curtis," she said resolutely; "we are going 
 with you." Then she turned to Adelaide. " 'Twould seem 
 the moon has turned you crazy, Laidie. Here has this 
 gentleman, whom you have just assured me is an honest 
 man, propounded a scheme for our comfort so simple that 
 we never even thought of it ; in heaven's name, then, what 
 sense lies in refusing it? We will go." 
 
 Adelaide bit her lip and eyed her sister nervously. 
 
 "You do not understand, child," she began nervously.
 
 THE MIDSUMMER MOON 11 
 
 "No, I do not," responded Celia quietly. "And if 'tis 
 our reputations you would consider, I tell you plainly, 
 Laidie, I prefer my supper. Come, Laidie," she coaxed, 
 "I am going with Mr. Curtis, so 'tis your bounden duty to 
 play the duenna." 
 
 "No, no," cried Adelaide desperately. Then she broke off 
 abruptly and walked hurriedly to the bend in the road. 
 She lifted her hands to her eyes and looked out along the 
 white track for a minute or two in silence. When she re- 
 turned to the others her face was white, but her manner had 
 regained its customary composure. 
 
 "You are right, dear," she said; "we will go with Mr. 
 Curtis. Tracy would wish it. Come, Martha, help that 
 fellow to put our mails on the horses." 
 
 They all set to work rapidly on their preparations, and 
 in less than ten minutes were on their way. Timothy led 
 the pack-horses and Adelaide rode his mare, while Celia 
 walked by her side with her arm through the bridle. The 
 maid Martha, sad of face and prim of mien, brought up the 
 rear. 
 
 They reached the inn about midnight, and with some 
 trouble procured within half an hour a supper not wholly 
 unworthy of the appetites with which they attacked it. 
 
 Their spirits rallied considerably as the meal progressed. 
 Adelaide was the most silent of the three, but even she made 
 a fair attempt to throw aside the anxiety which seemed to 
 oppress her, and rallied her sister playfully about her 
 youth and the wonders she expected from this first visit to 
 Bath. 
 
 "Happy child," she sighed, "to stand at the threshold of 
 life and dream that a romance lurks beneath every rose- 
 bush."
 
 12 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 Celia blushed and gave a wise little smile. 
 
 "Indeed, Laidie," she said softly, "I had rather dream 
 that all my life than believe, as some of your town gallants 
 profess to do, that all romance died out of the world a 
 thousand years ago. If life holds neither romance, love, 
 nor honour, I had as lief not live at all." 
 
 Timothy turned and looked into her eyes with a quick 
 smile. 
 
 "Did the moon teach you that, madam?" he said whimsi- 
 cally. "Dame Diana 
 
 A stifled exclamation from Adelaide stopped him. He 
 looked up to see her gazing over his shoulder with parted 
 lips and eyes wide with eagerness. 
 
 He turned in his chair to learn the cause of her surprise. 
 Behind him, framed in the open doorway, stood a tall, dark 
 man, booted and spurred. He wore a long, many-caped 
 riding-coat and a wide three-cornered hat, on the brim of 
 which were pinned a couple of white roses. He scanned 
 the party with mild surprise, but no particular interest. 
 
 Timothy turned sharply back to Adelaide. Her face was 
 calm and void of all interest in the stranger. 
 
 "How vastly sweet these flowers smell," she said conversa- 
 tionally, pointing to a bowl of roses in the centre of the 
 table. "I protest our hostess must forgive a theft." 
 
 Leaning forward, she selected two white roses from the 
 nosegay and pinned them in her bosom. 
 
 There was a clatter in the doorway. Wheeling round, 
 Timothy saw that the stranger had dropped his sword. 
 He stooped to pick it up, and then, with a polite "Good- 
 &pdwng," turned and strode out of the room. 
 
 -08O1
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 NOON-DAY 
 
 short summer night waned slowly, the moon sank and 
 died in a bed of fleecy cloud, and the first pale grey of 
 dawn lightened the eastern sky, but Adelaide Wimbourne 
 never closed her eyes. She suffered her maid to undress 
 her, indeed, and lay down beside her sister, making pre- 
 tence to rest ; but as soon as Celia was asleep she rose and 
 dressed quickly, tucking her hair into the hood of her trav- 
 elling cloak, and drawing the cloak around her to hide all 
 deficiencies in her toilette. Then she opened the door of her 
 room and listened intently. 
 
 No sound was heard save the creaking of wood in the old 
 floors and the heavy breathing of the other sleepers. She 
 stole to the head of the stairway and peered down, but all 
 was dark and silent. With a sigh and look of disap- 
 pointment she hurried back to her room, and there paced 
 softly to and fro in ever-increasing hesitation and per- 
 plexity. 
 
 At last, about three o'clock, a sense of impotent despair 
 overmastered her. She opened her window and leaned her 
 head against the window frame and allowed the ready tears 
 to trickle down her cheeks unrestrained, until, in utter 
 weariness, she fell asleep. 
 
 She was awakened suddenly by the touch of something 
 cold and wet upon her hand, and looking down, she saw on 
 her knee a bunch of roses wet with dew. Springing to her 
 feet, she leaned out of the open window, and dimly dis-
 
 14 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 cerned the figure of a man standing below beckoning to 
 her. With eager face she stole across the room, throwing 
 an anxious glance at Celia, who still slumbered peacefully, 
 and slipped through the door. 
 
 At the foot of the stairs the stranger of the previous 
 evening awaited her. He motioned her to precede him into 
 the room where they had supped, which was already dimly 
 illumined with the pale light of morning. She obeyed him 
 without hesitation, and turned to him a face bright with 
 relief and happiness. 
 
 "You are Captain McFee ?" she asked. "Oh ! why did you 
 fail me last night? I have suffered such misery. I feared 
 I had missed you entirely until I saw you at supper." 
 
 The man's stern face relaxed a little at sight of her eager- 
 ness. He was tall and dark, with the air of a soldier, and 
 spoke in the brusque tone of one accustomed to command. 
 
 "Indeed, madam, 'twas not I who failed you. I waited 
 for two hours after time at the appointed place, ready to 
 play the highwayman as Sir Tracy directed though a 
 more foolishly conceived plot I never heard of," he added 
 impatiently. 
 
 Adelaide flushed. "You mistake, sir," she said with dig- 
 nity. "The plot was not to blame. How else could I meet 
 you and receive the papers without exciting my sister's 
 suspicions ? And all was going well. I had rid me of three 
 of the servants and delayed our journey till nightfall, 
 when that pestilent wheel came off the coach and ruined our 
 plans. I sent my man on ahead to find and warn you, but 
 you never came." 
 
 "He did not reach me, madam. 'Tis the merest chance 
 I find you here. I did but come back to fetch my mails and 
 set off for the coast in despair of seeing you. And I would
 
 NOON-DAY 15 
 
 have left again without knowing you had you not given me 
 the signal." 
 
 Adelaide smiled. "I deserve some commendation for that 
 forethought, at least," she pleaded. "But now give me the 
 papers. My sister may wake any moment; she must not 
 find me flown. You see I, too, have risks to encounter." 
 
 Again his face softened. "You risk much, madam," he 
 said gently. "There is no more devoted adherent of the 
 cause than yourself. We know it well. For myself, I 
 would have no woman in this affair ; but this ill-timed acci- 
 dent of Sir Tracy has given us no choice. All the re- 
 mainder of the company are gone West already ; there was 
 no one else we could trust, and I must be quit of the coun- 
 try to-night." 
 
 Adelaide lifted her head proudly. "Indeed, you can trust 
 me, sir," she said quietly. 
 
 "We do trust you, madam with our lives." 
 
 He drew out his snuff-box, and pressing back the minia- 
 ture in the lid revealed a cavity, from which he drew a small 
 packet of thin paper, closely covered with minute hand- 
 writing. 
 
 "Here are the papers the key to the cipher, the list of 
 our company, the names of those in the West who are pre- 
 pared to support the Prince when he lands in England, the 
 list of arms and ammunition already purchased, and the 
 details of the plan as already arranged. Now, where will 
 you carry them? Remember, no one must dream you have 
 aught of such importance in your possession." 
 
 "Ah ! I have a hiding place as secure as your own," she 
 answered gaily. Unclasping a heavy gold bracelet, she 
 pressed a hidden spring beside the clasp and unscrewed one 
 end.
 
 16 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 "They will be safe in here," she said, showing the hollow 
 cavity thus revealed. "I wear this always, and none would 
 even suspect it contained aught." 
 
 She took the papers, and pushing them inside the bracelet, 
 fastened the spring and clasped it round her wrist. 
 "There they will stay until I hand them to Tracy," she 
 said. "Are you satisfied, sir?" 
 
 He nodded. "Yet you must not be too secure, madam. 
 Remember, we have a traitor among us." 
 
 "The man who betrayed you !" she cried quickly. "And 
 you have no notion who has done it?" 
 
 "Not a trace, madam. Yet I was betrayed sure enough, 
 and but for a timely warning should by now be swinging at 
 Tyburn. I fled London at a moment's notice, and must be 
 out of the country to-night or they may yet light on my 
 track. That one of our company should 
 
 "No, no ! it cannot be a traitor among our friends. Some 
 spy has watched you." 
 
 "Whichever it be, it behooves you to be careful," he an- 
 swered sternly. "Look you, madam, who is this fellow 
 who rode with you last night?" 
 
 "Mr. Timothy Curtis !" she laughed softly. "He is but 
 a feather-brain, a troubadour of fair ladies, with no more 
 politics than a baby. Moreover, he is Tracy's friend. You 
 have no cause to fear him." 
 
 "And wherefore not, madam? Is not his uncle, Lord 
 Westerby, the stoutest of Hanoverians? What brought 
 him here with you?" 
 
 "He fell in with us by accident on the road. But, indeed, 
 he suspects nothing, and is above suspicion." 
 
 "Madam, he may be all you say; but 'tis ever wiser to 
 suspect most where least cause appears. He is Sir Tracy's
 
 NOON-DAY 17 
 
 friend, you say ; but not of our company ? Beware of him, 
 madam, beware of him, if you would save those whose lives 
 lie here." 
 
 He touched the bracelet on her wrist. She looked up 
 quickly with the first trace of fear in her eyes. 
 
 "Ah !" she said, "if the papers should be stolen " 
 
 "There would be hangings, madam," he answered grimly. 
 "Such matters should not be committed to paper ; but I can- 
 not get at Sir Tracy, so needs must. Come, courage, 
 madam. There is small cause for fear; I would but warn 
 you to be careful. Now, farewell. I must be away before 
 folk are stirring." 
 
 "Yes, do not linger. Commend me to his Highness, sir." 
 
 She held out her hand. He kissed it lightly, and then 
 laid his fingers once more upon the bracelet. "On your 
 life, madam," he said sternly, "watch! Farewell. God 
 keep you." 
 
 He turned away and passed out of the door, leaving her 
 standing in the deep embrasure of the window watching the 
 dawn widen in the eastern sky. 
 
 "I wonder," she murmured with a sleepy smile, "I wonder 
 how much I do is for the cause and how much for Tracy?" 
 
 She was startled by a vigorous yawn in the room behind 
 her. Turning quickly, she saw Timothy Curtis emerging 
 from behind the high-backed settle, yawning, stretching 
 and rubbing his eyes. Her heart almost stood still with 
 fear. She crouched back on the window-seat and he was 
 half-way across the room apparently before he saw her. 
 Then he stopped with a prodigious start and rubbed his 
 eyes. 
 
 "Good Heavens, madam !" he cried with more surprise than 
 politeness ; "you rise betimes after your journey."
 
 18 
 
 For a moment her voice refused to sound, and she trem- 
 bled so violently she could scarcely stand. Then, lifting 
 her eyes and meeting the look of intense surprise on his 
 face, she forced herself to smile and speak as naturally as 
 possible. 
 
 "Lud! Mr. Curtis, how you startled me. Faith, sir, I 
 have not yet bidden farewell to my bed. But but wak- 
 ing, I I missed my er my bracelet, and fearing I had 
 dropped it here, I I came to seek it," she ended with a 
 little half -deprecating laugh. 
 
 Timothy bowed gravely. "And your search was success- 
 ful, I see?" 
 
 "Yes, here is the truant. And you, sir, are you stirring 
 early, or late, to rest?" 
 
 "I, madam ? I have passed a short and unholy night upon 
 the settle yonder. I did but wake two minutes since. I 
 thought," he added slowly, "that I heard voices." 
 
 Her eyes met his defiantly. "Indeed, you must have been 
 dreaming. And pray, what said those voices of your 
 dreams ?" 
 
 "They said, 'Farewell,' madam." 
 
 "And nothing more?" 
 
 "Madam," he answered quietly, "even in dreams a gentle- 
 man does not hear what is not intended for his ears." 
 
 She drew in her breath with a quick sigh of relief. 
 
 "Lud! sir," she cried lightly, "you are a very Prince of 
 Dreamers. I vow, your sponsors were greatly amiss not to 
 name you 'Joseph.' For myself, I have dreamed but little 
 to-night, and so to bed till noon." 
 
 Hitherto she had stood resolutely between him and the 
 window, but now she could invent no longer cause for de- 
 lay. He drew aside to let her pass, and reluctantly she left
 
 NOON-DAY 19 
 
 her post and walked slowly to the door. He held it open 
 for her, bowing gravely as she passed him, but as soon as 
 she had reached the foot of the stairs he closed the door 
 sharply and bounded back to the window, pulling it open 
 and thrusting his head out into the cold morning air. 
 
 As he looked out a man on horseback emerged upon the 
 road from behind an outbuilding; he was huddled in a 
 cloak, but Timothy recognised him as their visitor on the 
 previous evening. He glanced toward the inn, and 
 Timothy withdrew his head quickly. The stranger paused 
 a moment, made a gesture as if in response to some greet- 
 ing from an upper window, and touching with his spurs his 
 horse's flanks, rode away. 
 
 Timothy left the window and sat down on the edge of the 
 table, moodily swinging his legs. His mouth was set in a 
 hard line, and there was an unwonted look of anger in his 
 blue eyes. 
 
 "I don't ask much of women," he muttered, "so only they 
 be beautiful; but if a woman like Adelaide Wimbourne, 
 married to the finest man in England, can stoop to midnight 
 meetings, with that poor devil of a Tracy tied by the leg 
 in London, why why how can a man put his trust in any 
 woman's faith? Romance pish! It's only moonshine. 
 Give me honest noon-day and the open road." 
 
 So saying, he sprang to his feet and striding out of the 
 inn, made his way across the meadows to the river for a 
 morning dip. 
 
 When Timothy Curtis had finished his morning swim, 
 drunk his morning chocolate, and perfected his morning 
 toilette, he felt more disposed to take a tolerant view of 
 the world in general and of woman in particular than had 
 been the case at four o'clock in the morning. Having
 
 20 
 
 ascertained that the ladies were not intending to set out 
 upon their journey before noon, he lit his pipe and strolled 
 across the meadows, meditating calmly upon his duty to 
 his uncle and the advisability of giving Romance the go-by, 
 and placing his hand and as much of his heart as remained 
 to him at the disposal of the unknown damsel at Bristol. 
 
 "A rare cozener, Dame Diana," he mused, as he strolled 
 through the sunlit meadow; "as treacherous as all her 
 sex. But she pales in the honest sunlight as a man's 
 fancy dies in the light of sense. Dreams go well 
 enough with the moonshine; in the daylight a man must 
 live." 
 
 So musing, he topped a rise in the meadow and stood sud- 
 denly spellbound, gazing down at the sight before him. 
 
 On the bank below him sat Miss Celia Winnington, her 
 white dress gleaming against the pale green of the meadow- 
 grass. She was bareheaded; soft curls blew across her 
 forehead; the sun touched her amber hair into a halo of 
 living gold. Her round arms, dimpled at wrist and elbow, 
 and the slim white hands, pink-tipped like apple-blossoms, 
 flashed in the sun as she moved them rapidly to and fro 
 weaving a garland of wild roses and honeysuckle. The 
 oval of her cheek was smooth and rosy as a child's, her com- 
 plexion was very fair ; but the small, pointed chin and firm 
 lines of the mouth gave a touch of piquancy and character 
 to a face almost too ethereally beautiful. 
 
 She was, as it were, Love and Joy and Youth personified. 
 She was the spirit of a man's dream when the wine of the 
 rose-scent is warming his blood. She was as fresh as the 
 wind, as elusive as moonlight, as warm and tender and de- 
 licious as a summer day. She was, in fine, Miss Celia Win- 
 nington, whose picture every man carried in his heart as a
 
 NOON-DAY 21 
 
 happy memory, while no woman marvelled or grudged that 
 it should be so. 
 
 All this Timothy Curtis dimly felt as he stood above 
 her, watching the slim hands weaving the delicate garland, 
 watching the sunbeams dancing in her hair. And he mar- 
 velled that he had noted her looks so little on the previous 
 evening, and thought himself a fool for having deemed her 
 sister more beautiful than she. Then suddenly Celia lifted 
 her heavy lashes and looked up into his eyes, and Timothy 
 ceased then and there to think at all. His meditations con- 
 cerning a man's duty to his uncle, his opinions anent the 
 advantages of wealth, faded from his mind as though they 
 had never been. The sunshine completed what the moon- 
 light had begun, and Timothy crossed the sacred threshold 
 of the land of Dreams. 
 
 Timothy sat at her feet and they talked. The Fates had 
 gifted him with a tongue; there was a savour in his talk, 
 and jest, and a pleasing gallantry. Celia looked at him 
 with approving eyes, and in their light it was no hard task 
 to shine. Perhaps the greatest secret of her charm lay 
 in her subtle power to make a man appear at his best when 
 in her company. For vanity is not woman's monopoly. 
 
 Presently she dropped her hands on her lap and looked 
 out across the sunshiny world with a suggestion of wistful- 
 ness in her eyes. 
 
 "Are you journeying to Bath, Mr. Curtis?" she asked 
 simply. Was it her tone or Timothy's vanity that gave 
 her words a meaning most precious in his ears? 
 
 "No, madam," he answered slowly ; "I am er I was on 
 my way to Bristol." 
 
 "To Bristol!" she exclaimed in surprise. 
 
 The light died from Timothy's eyes and the sunshine from
 
 22 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 his world. Even as she spoke the word, into his land of 
 dreams stepped the spectre of reality, for to him Bristol 
 stood for stern duty, for loveless wisdom, for unromantic 
 reason ; in fine, for all the safety, the flatness, the solid 
 advantages of the hard highroad. 
 
 Therefore his face fell and his eyes grew hard as he 
 answered, "Faith! even so. To Bristol." 
 
 She looked at him curiously. "Your errand is unwelcome 
 to you ; is it not so ? No ?" she asked commiseratingly . 
 
 He looked up into her eyes and made a last desperate 
 clutch at vanishing reason. 
 
 "Madam," he said sadly, "I am going to be married." 
 
 "To be married?" She drew in her breath quickly, and 
 for a moment, for the fraction of a second, a shadow dark- 
 ened her eyes. Then she turned to him with a bright smile. 
 
 "I congratulate you, sir, with all my heart." 
 
 "Thank you," said Timothy glumly. 
 
 "You are a strange bridegroom, Mr. Curtis," she said, 
 watching him curiously. 
 
 "Madam, I have never seen the lady." 
 
 "Never seen her?" she cried incredulously. 
 
 A feeling of desperation, of defiance, drove him to confes- 
 sion. 
 
 "She is rich, madam," he said bluntly. 
 
 "Ah-h!" She said no more, but her tone expressed so 
 much that Timothy winced and hardened his heart de- 
 fiantly. 
 
 There was a silence ; then she heaved a deep sigh. 
 
 "Poor girl!" she said softly. "Poor, poor girl!" 
 
 Timothy started. Pity for the lady was unexpected; 
 was, he considered, somewhat wanting in taste. 
 
 "Madam?" he stammered in surprise.
 
 NOON-DAY 23 
 
 "It was surely easier for a woman to die than to marry 
 without love," continued Celia softly. 
 
 Timothy grew argumentative. "But is it not possible I 
 may not be so happy as to obtain her regard?" he asked 
 hopefully. 
 
 Her lips twitched, but she answered gravely: "If that 
 could be so, I should but pity her the more." 
 
 "But if I, too, should learn to love her, madam?" 
 
 She looked at him doubtfully. "That might well be. The 
 gods oft bestow more than is deserved. But were I the 
 lady, methinks I should be somewhat suspicious of a love 
 that follows so close on the heels of convenience." 
 
 He flushed. "Gad, madam !" he said testily, "a man must 
 live." 
 
 "Assuredly. I should have conceived that a man would 
 live not exist like a parasite upon the welfare of others." 
 
 " 'Pon my soul, madam !" cried Timothy indignantly, 
 springing to his feet. 
 
 She laid her hand on his arm. "Forgive me, Mr. Curtis," 
 she said softly. "I am but a girl and know nothing of 
 what men consider honourable. I thought only of the 
 woman you are about to to rob. Look you," she con- 
 tinued quickly, "think what is the life of a woman. She has 
 no career. She may not work, she may not fight, she must 
 not stray in unknown paths lest she trip and smirch her- 
 self in the mire. All the day she wanders fettered through 
 her world, seeking one goodly pearl, the true love of a man, 
 and when she has found it she barters all she has in ex- 
 change. Ah, sir, if, when the bargain be sealed, she find 
 her purchase counterfeit, what more remains to her in life ? 
 She cannot make the bargain anew." 
 
 Timothy stood a moment gazing down at her in silence,
 
 24 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 moved by the unexpected earnestness of her tone. All the 
 virtue in his soul was wakened by her words ; all the expe- 
 rience of his life warred against them. 
 
 "Madam," he said gently, "are not these dreams?" 
 
 "Dreams!" she echoed softly. Then she laughed sud- 
 denly, and looked up at him with challenge in her eyes. 
 "Dreams ! Maybe. But it needs a brave man to dare to 
 dream nowadays. I had not thought you a coward, Mr. 
 Curtis." 
 
 It was a challenge as surely as if she had flung the glove 
 at his feet. A challenge to turn his back on the calm haven 
 of reason and self-interest and sail his craft into the un- 
 known seas of idealism and romance. A challenge ! And 
 when had Timothy Curtis been known to refuse such? He 
 saw himself trapped. He looked down a moment into her 
 smiling face; then he flung up his head and broke into a 
 hearty laugh. "Madam, I take up the glove," he said. 
 "Henceforth I will dare to dream. I give you my word 
 that I will never wed where I cannot love, and no woman 
 shall owe her scaith to me." 
 
 She rose to her feet and held out her hands to him with 
 a pretty, impulsive gesture. 
 
 "The world is so full of cowards," she said. 
 
 "Yet you do not fear my resolution will fail?" 
 
 "No, I can trust you," she said simply. Then she turned 
 and led the way across the meadow. 
 
 At the gate she turned, a troubled look in her eyes. 
 
 "I trust I have not been indiscreet, Mr. Curtis," she said 
 simply, "to speak as I did. Adelaide is always warning 
 me that I know nothing of the world. But I forget to hide 
 my thoughts." 
 
 He took her hand with a smile. "I think, Mistress Celia,
 
 NOON-DAY 25 
 
 you need not fear to show them. No man will live his 
 life the worse for a sight of them." 
 
 She smiled back at him gratefully and passed on through 
 the gate. 
 
 Timothy stood alone in the meadow. He looked round 
 on the sunny landscape with a new light in his eyes. 
 
 "A dream may pass like a watch in the night," he muttered 
 softly, "but the remembrance of it will be blessed forever." 
 
 When he reached the inn he found the ladies' coach, on 
 which the wheel had been again secured, waiting before the 
 door. Adelaide, already cloaked, stood ready for depart- 
 ture. She greeted him brightly ; her face wore no trace 
 of conscious recollection of their previous meeting. 
 
 "I may be permited to escort you on your journey, Lady 
 Wimbourne?" he asked eagerly. 
 
 She eyed him quickly and shook her head, McFee's warn- 
 ing fresh in her mind. 
 
 "I think not, sir. There be many tongues in the world, 
 and last night's adventure, were it known, would doubtless 
 set them wagging unpleasantly. We will, so please you, 
 continue our way alone." 
 
 For a moment his eyes grew hard with suspicion. Was 
 she contemplating further midnight meetings, he won- 
 dered ? But she smiled at him so innocently he banished the 
 thought. 
 
 "We shall see you in Bath anon," she said kindly. 
 
 "Mr. Curtis is journeying to Bristol," interposed Celia 
 hurriedly, as she descended the stairs. 
 
 Timothy flushed. Adelaide looked from one to the 
 other and laughed mischievously. 
 
 "To Bristol? To Lord Westerby? Ah, well, doubtless 
 Bath will see you soon. The town holds many attractions."
 
 26 
 
 With another laugh she took her sister's arm and led her 
 to the coach. Both turned at the door and waved their 
 hands to him. A minute later the coach vanished in a cloud 
 of dust. 
 
 Timothy waited two hours after their departure, lying 
 upon his back by a certain sacred spot in the meadow, 
 dreaming of blue eyes and slim white hands pink-tipped like 
 apple blossoms. Then he returned to the inn and called 
 for his horse. 
 
 He mounted and turned to the ostler. 
 
 "Have you ever been to Bristol, my man?" he asked 
 solemnly. 
 
 "Ay !" said the man proudly ; my sister's husband lives 
 there. Keeps the sign o' the Blue Cow." 
 
 "Did you ever dream there?" 
 
 "Dream!" cried the man, stretching his head in amaze- 
 ment. "No, I never dreamed o' nowt to speak on. Nor my 
 sister, neither." 
 
 "Exactly," said Timothy with a chuckle. "Bristol, I 
 conceive, is no place for a man to dream in. I will to 
 Bath."
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 "THE TOAST" 
 
 THE chimes of Bath rang out a merry peal of welcome as 
 Lady Wimbourne's coach rattled into the city at two o'clock 
 on the following Thursday afternoon. Adelaide was weary 
 with the journey over the jolting roads, and lay back with 
 closed eyes, unmoved by any interest in the busy streets. 
 Celia, on the contrary, sat upright, her face flushed, her 
 eyes gleaming with eagerness. It was her first visit to this 
 far-famed city, which offered to every debutante the 
 Eldorado of her dreams. 
 
 As the coach turned into the High Street an overturned 
 chair brought it to a pause. Celia leaned forward eagerly 
 to watch the passing crowds. As she did so three gentle- 
 men stopped promptly and stared after the coach, greatly 
 inconveniencing the passers-by. 
 
 "Great Heavens!" breathed Sir Marcus Ormonde de- 
 voutly, "who is she ?" 
 
 "The most beautiful woman in England," murmured 
 David Beringer with conviction. "Did you mark the white- 
 ness of her hands ?" 
 
 Sir Charles Rathborne said nothing, thereby doubtless 
 intimating that he thought the more. 
 
 At the end of the street the three men took abrupt leave 
 of one another and went their several ways. Some minutes 
 later they encountered one another again inquiring of the 
 Gate Ward the name of this latest visitor to the city. The 
 encounter embarrassed them not a little.
 
 28 
 
 "Egad! Charles, you are marvellously interested of a 
 sudden in the affairs of the city," said Marcus drily ; "have 
 you a mind to rival Nash for the Kingdom?" 
 
 Charles Rathborne flushed. "I I thought they were 
 Tracy's liveries," he said indifferently; "it seems Lady 
 Wimbourne has left him in town." 
 
 "It appears she has a a lady with her; her sister it 
 seems," said Beringer, idly swinging his cane. 
 
 Marcus burst into hearty laughter. "You demmed hypo- 
 crites. For my part, when an angel enters the city, I make 
 no secret of seeking out her lodging." 
 
 "Have you ever noted," said David nonchalantly, "how 
 few pretty women have blue eyes?" 
 
 "Miss Winnington's eyes are not blue," said Charles 
 quickly, and stopped with an embarrassed air. 
 
 "Pardon me," said Beringer ; "they are as blue as Nankin 
 china." 
 
 "They are grey the colour of distant hills," said Charles 
 testily. 
 
 "For my part," said Marcus resolutely, "I shall go and 
 see for myself." 
 
 He swung off to his lodging, leaving the other two to 
 disembarrass themselves of each other's company as best 
 they might. 
 
 An hour later, being the earliest possible moment that 
 etiquette permitted it, Marcus Ormonde, resplendent in 
 blue brocade, sallied forth from his lodging to wait upon 
 Lady Wimbourne and welcome her to Bath. At the turn- 
 ing into St. James's Parade he again encountered Charles 
 Rathborne, obviously bent upon the same errand. Marcus 
 eyed his person with distaste and his costume with con- 
 tumely.
 
 "THE TOAST" 29 
 
 "You are plaguy impatient to learn Tracy's welfare," 
 he said, laughing at Rathborne's embarrassed countenance. 
 "Lady Wimbourne will be monstrously complimented by so 
 ready a visitor." 
 
 "It seems others are readier," muttered Charles discon- 
 solately, as voices and laughter floated down to them from 
 the upper window. 
 
 In the drawing-room they discovered Lord Robert Dacre 
 already in possession, supported by the youthful Sir Peter 
 Pernberton. The latter, supplying by resolution what he 
 lacked in address, had ensconced himself in a chair directly 
 in front of Celia Winnington, and being notably wanting in 
 subjects of conversation, was assuring her for the twentieth 
 time that "it was monstrous pleasant to meet her in Bath." 
 
 Adelaide Wimbourne received her visitors with an amused 
 twinkle in her eyes, and after answering somewhat con- 
 fused and absent inquiries after her husband's welfare, has- 
 tened to present them to her sister. Celia looked up at the 
 newcomers with a bright blush of welcome and a demure 
 little smile, which conveyed to each the assurance that she 
 was well aware this was the second time they had looked into 
 each other's eyes. 
 
 By the time ill-fated David Beringer (who had under- 
 gone troublous times with his cravat) appeared upon the 
 scene, Marcus and Rathborne had firmly established them- 
 selves upon a friendly footing with the fair debutante. 
 David scowled upon them as he leaned over Peter Pember- 
 ton's barricading chair and strove to make opportunities 
 for meeting Celia's eyes ; he repented the half hour he had 
 wasted in futile struggle before his mirror. 
 
 Lord Robert marked the scowl and turned to Adelaide 
 with a reproachful shake of the head.
 
 30 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 "I trust this is no goddess of discord you have brought 
 us, Lady Wimbourne," he said softly; "we cannot risk 
 quarrels in our company." 
 
 Adelaide looked across at the group around her sister 
 with a wistful smile of a great-hearted woman who recog- 
 nises that her reign is over, and stands ready to offer loyal 
 homage to her supplanter. 
 
 "You need not fear that Celia will throw the apple," she 
 said wisely; "if a beautiful woman wakes discord, 'tis her 
 own doing. It lies in her hands to make love either a 
 strengthening bond of unity or a hateful seed of jealousy 
 and strife." 
 
 "Yet she has but one heart to give in return for the many 
 that will be offered." 
 
 "What then? No man can be the poorer for having 
 offered his love to one so worthy of it. I am very proud 
 of my sister, Lord Robert." 
 
 When Celia Winnington entered the Assembly Rooms that 
 evening for her first ball rumour was already busy with her 
 name. Glasses were levelled at her from all sides. Reign- 
 ing beauties resignedly confessed to her attractions, and 
 hoary connoisseurs pronounced her charms almost the equal 
 of those of the women of their youth, the memory of whose 
 loveliness distant years had so wondrously enhanced. 
 
 Even Mr. Nash, stern arbiter of etiquette though he was, 
 for once relaxed his rigid rule and gave Beauty precedence 
 over Rank, presenting Miss Winnington's hand to the 
 Earl of Cork for the first minuet. 
 
 "It should by right be her Grace of Shrewsbury," he said 
 anxiously, when Cork proffered his request. 
 
 "Preserve us," murmured the Earl, with a grimace ; "her 
 Grace should not overtax her strength, Mr. Nash."
 
 "THE TOAST" 31 
 
 "Her Grace is already set down to whist," intervened Lord 
 Robert. "For Heaven's sake, Beau, let Cork lead out Miss 
 Winnington before Peter Pemberton choke himself over a 
 compliment." 
 
 "When the Immortals come among us 'tis only right we 
 honour them above mundane rank," said the Beau, with the 
 bow no man ever ceased to envy ; and the Earl of Cork led 
 out Celia to the dance. 
 
 It was no slight ordeal for a woman, that minuet at the 
 Assembly Rooms danced before the silent observance of six 
 hundred critical eyes. She shared, indeed, the publicity 
 with her partner, but few marked the man's performance ; 
 little was expected of him. Many women trembled with ner- 
 vousness as they danced, tripping and floundering through 
 the figure from sheer terror of the staring eyes and whis- 
 pering tongues. More than once a debutante had fled in 
 tears from the ordeal. 
 
 But Celia Winnington, in happy unconsciousness of any 
 cause for fear, danced with all the innocent enjoyment of a 
 music-loving soul. Her graceful head dipped and rose over 
 her billowing skirts like a sea-gull swooping to the waves ; 
 the lights flashed on her white hands and mellowed in the 
 delicious curves of her blue-veined arms ; her young figure 
 swayed to the music with all the charm of unconscious 
 grace. And as she danced she smiled, that sweet elusive 
 smile that only touched her lips, but deepened in her eyes, 
 telling so many mysteries, speaking such happy hopes. 
 
 It had long been the complaint of many that the ladies 
 of Bath wore too grave an air at their entertainments, treat- 
 ing the dance rather as a solemn ceremony than as a grace- 
 ful pleasure, and robbed the minuet of all the witchery, all 
 the coquettish inspiration of its interpretation. These
 
 32 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 critics were enraptured by Celia's performance, by the 
 sweet suggestion of surrender in her curtseys, by the subtle 
 hint of challenge that lurked in the laughter in her eyes. 
 Entranced, they watched her, and when at length the music 
 ceased and her partner led her to a seat, to Nash's shocked 
 amazement, a round of applause broke the well-bred silence. 
 
 Celia looked up in surprise ; then realising, at last, that 
 she was the object of this enthusiastic admiration, she 
 smiled round upon the company with the happiest expres- 
 sion of delight in the pleasure she had given them. 
 
 There was no trace of triumphant vanity in her frank 
 glance, no touch of pride in her heart; she knew she was 
 beautiful, and, like the flowers, she rejoiced in the fact 
 and was innocently glad that her beauty should add to the 
 loveliness of a world she found so kindly. 
 
 Her happy, childlike little smile of acknowledgment put 
 the final touch to her triumph, for it awakened in the heart 
 of every man that chivalrous sense of protection toward 
 woman's innocence which no fair looks alone, however rare, 
 can ever touch ; for it lies deeper even than man's love of 
 woman's beauty. 
 
 The beautiful Mrs. Greenways, who had hitherto reigned 
 supreme, laid her hand on Adelaide's arm, and there were 
 tears in her eyes as she whispered softly : 
 
 "You've brought us a new Queen of Bath, my dear, and 
 an addition to their number is seldom welcome. But 
 she wears her crown so sweetly there's not a woman in 
 the kingdom could find it in her heart to grudge her 
 homage." 
 
 Adelaide carried her sister away at an early hour from 
 the Rooms. It was barely nine o'clock when they 
 reached St. James's Parade. They sat down together in
 
 "THE TOAST" 33 
 
 the wide window embrasure, discussing the events of the 
 evening. 
 
 "It was amazingly enjoyable, Laidie," said Celia, looking 
 down into the quiet twilit street with smiling eyes; "but 
 it would seem all men are monstrously alike in this place." 
 
 Adelaide laughed softly. "Tut, child, you might be as 
 staled as Delia Leslie to find all men alike on your first 
 evening. You should by rights have lost your heart a 
 dozen times already." 
 
 Celia gave a sudden start. Past the window rode a man, 
 travel-stained, on a jaded mare. He whistled softly as he 
 rode, and turning his head from side to side, scanned the 
 windows with half-expectant looks. Suddenly his eyes en- 
 countered Celia's; He paused a moment, arrested. His 
 whole face lighted up with the quick j oy of a man who has 
 at last realised his dreams. Then he swept off his hat and 
 bowed low to the saddle, and straightening his shoulders, 
 like one who flings off a load of indecision, he rode on down 
 the street and out of sight. 
 
 Celia drew back into the room and looked at Adelaide with 
 a shy glance and blushing cheeks. 
 
 "It was Mr. Curtis, Laidie; I had thought he journeyed 
 to Bristol." 
 
 Adelaide looked at her sister whimsically and broke into 
 a soft laugh. 
 
 "Do you indeed find all men alike, Celie ? Faith ! what a 
 dull world this must be for you. Be off to bed, child, and 
 dream of the one man who stands alone." 
 
 Timothy Curtis rode on, blithe of heart, to seek lodgings 
 near the east gate in the house of a daughter of his old 
 nurse. It was an unfashionable quarter, but the rooms were 
 comfortable, the board cheap and the welcome warm. He
 
 84 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 settled his belongings, changed his coat, and sallied forth 
 in search of friends and supper. 
 
 He turned first to St. James's Parade, but the Wim- 
 bourne house was dark and silent, so he bent his steps to 
 the Bear Inn, where he learned the address of Marcus Or- 
 monde's lodging in John Street and strode thither to make 
 his advent known. 
 
 Sounds of revelry greeted him as he approached the 
 house ; it was evident that a supper party was in progress. 
 He heard Oliver Shirley's voice raised in song, struggling 
 manfully against the distracting accompaniment of 
 Beringer's flageolet. With a laugh, Timothy brought his 
 rich baritone to Oliver's succour, and joined in the verse as 
 he climbed the stairs. 
 
 Before he reached the topmost step a door was flung wide 
 and Marcus Ormonde rushed out with a hearty greeting. 
 
 "Tim Curtis, by all that's marvellous!" he cried, drag- 
 ging him into the room ; "what good fortune brings you to 
 Bath, you demmed slippery blade." 
 
 "Weathered the storm, eh, Tim?" cried Charles Rath- 
 borne, greeting him gladly. 
 
 "Did the heiress prove obdurate, eh?" asked Oliver. 
 
 "Egad, no. He wheedled the uncle, I'll go surety," 
 laughed Marcus. "Never lived so honey-tongued a vaga- 
 bond as Tim. Come, fall to and eat. Have you only just 
 arrived?" 
 
 Timothy sat down to supper and the others grouped round 
 him, smoking and asking the latest from town. 
 
 "Out with your tale, Tim," urged Lord Robert presently. 
 "What brings you to Bath?" 
 
 "I had a fancy to visit the city," answered Timothy 
 vaguely.
 
 "THE TOAST" 35 
 
 Beringer shook his head solemnly. "Ah! all the world 
 will be drawn here presently. There's a wonder come to 
 Bath, Tim." 
 
 "A wonder? What like? A dancing pig or a muckle- 
 mouthed woman?" 
 
 "Muckle-mouthed !" gasped Beringer indignantly. "Why, 
 man, it's a new beauty, Miss Celia Winnington." 
 
 Timothy looked up quickly. "Ah! you've seen her, have 
 you?" he asked. 
 
 "Seen her? Gad! yes, we've all seen her," said Marcus 
 whimsically ; "that is why we are here now. Nothing short 
 of the mellowing influence of my uncle's old wine would 
 have kept us from flying at each other's throats to-night. 
 Seen her! What ails the man? She's been in Bath nine 
 hours and he asks if we've seen her!" 
 
 Beringer heaved a deep sigh. "Her hair is like a wan- 
 dering sunbeam on a rippling lake," he murmured raptur- 
 ously. 
 
 "Her hands are like the silver cloud in which the moon 
 veils herself," said Lord Robert, not to be outdone in 
 simile. 
 
 "Her voice is the music of the forest in spring," sug- 
 gested Oliver Shirley, whose stout body clothed a poetic 
 soul. 
 
 "And her eyes," intervened Rathborne "gad, Tim, her 
 eyes^are like the ocean; no man can speak clearly of their 
 colour. When she looks at you " 
 
 "When she looks at you," Peter Pemberton blurted out 
 suddenly, "you remember all you've done in a scurvy, idle 
 life, and plague take me, but you're demmed sorry!" 
 
 Timothy put his hand kindly on the boy's shoulder. 
 
 "Monstrously wholesome for all of us, eh, Peter?"
 
 36 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 "Have you done supper, Tim?" cried Marcus impatiently. 
 "Give us a song." 
 
 "A song! To-night! Not I. I've ridden twenty miles 
 since noon." 
 
 "Oh ! none of your vanity, Tim," urged Marcus ; "your 
 voice will pass even if it be a trifle rusty. Fill up his 
 glass, Charles, and warm his blood." 
 
 Timothy rose, glass in hand, and crossing to the wide 
 window-seat, looked out into the night. The round moon 
 sailed high above the house-tops in a clear, azure sky. 
 Timothy smiled up at her thoughtfully. 
 
 "Come, Tim, a song," urged Oliver Shirley. The others 
 joined in the demand. Tim turned and faced them with a 
 humorous twinkle in his eyes. 
 
 "I'll give you a toast first," he cried, raising his glass. 
 
 "A toast !" cried Lord Robert, reaching for the decanter. 
 "Who is she? Out with it, Tim." 
 
 Timothy stood with one foot on the window-seat, his glass 
 uplifted toward the sky. 
 
 "The moon," he began slowly, "is rightly dubbed Queen 
 of the Heavens, for when she shines all the stars grow pale 
 and wan. Whoso looks too long on her glories loses his 
 wits, yet no man, for any such dread, would willingly 
 forego sight of her beauty. Gentlemen, I give you 
 
 But here Marcus Ormonde intervened. 
 
 "Timothy," he cried reproachfully, "I've not a word to 
 say against Dame Diana; she's plaguy useful on a dark 
 night. But, demme, if I'll have my uncle's old port poured 
 out to such a cold-blooded queen. Taste it, man ! taste it ! 
 You'll understand then what's fitting." 
 
 Timothy held up his hand for silence. 
 
 "Gentlemen," he continued imperturbably, "I give you,
 
 "THE TOAST" 37 
 
 not Diana, Moon of the Heavens, but the Moon of 
 Bath." 
 
 For an instant they were silent, not taking his meaning, 
 then, with a shout of delight, Marcus sprang to his feet. 
 
 "Demme, Tim, I knew your tongue would hit the mark," 
 he cried enthusiastically. "Come, fill your glasses and 
 drink her health with royal honours. Miss Celia Winning- 
 ton, the Moon of Bath !" 
 
 They rose to their feet with brimming glasses held high 
 above the shining candles, the light bejewelling the ruby 
 wine. There was a shout of agreement, a moment's silence, 
 and then the crash and tinkle of a hundred atoms of shim- 
 mering glass.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 "ON GUABD" 
 
 A MONOTONOUS splash of a fountain, a rustle of silk, and 
 a never-ceasing babble of talk; a sea of rainbow-coloured 
 silks, a forest of nodding curls, a bevy of fair women's 
 faces; add music, sunshine, and laughter and you have a 
 picture of the Pump Room at Bath on a bright July morn- 
 ing in the year of Grace 1745. 
 
 The company in the room was mostly feminine at this 
 hour. Here and there a bass voice deepened the treble of 
 talk, here and there a smooth head broke the tossing surface 
 of elaborate curls. Mr. Nash was there, over seventy, but 
 still alert, quick-eyed, passing from group to group with 
 the same sharp word for ill-manners or impertinence, the 
 same kindly smile for every shy debutante hiding behind 
 her mother's skirts. Elderly men, more concerned with 
 the cure than with gallantries, hobbled painfully about the 
 room. Half a dozen wits of that genius that requires 
 woman's appreciation whispered to as many groups of 
 ladies with the complacent knowledge that their words 
 would win the immortality of Bath. As many lovers hung 
 at the skirts of their mistresses. 
 
 But for the most part the men took their glass in the 
 gardens, strolling to and fro on the sunlit terrace or loung- 
 ing near the gate to watch the arrival of the more cele- 
 brated beauties of the town. 
 
 The group round the gate was unwontedly large that 
 morning, for Lady Wimbourne unaccountably stayed her
 
 "ON GUARD" 39 
 
 coming, and with Lady Wimbourne would come the new 
 toast of Bath, Miss Celia Winnington. Queenship in that 
 company was an uncertain tenure ; few held it more than a 
 week, the love of variety extending even into this domain, 
 but the Queen of Bath had, it must be confessed, a royal 
 reign while it lasted, for none withheld their homage, and 
 hearts were flung at her feet as freely as nosegays. 
 
 Celia Winnington had a knack of accepting either with 
 the same quiet smile and the same gracious thanks, and of 
 holding the gifts so tenderly, and withal so innocently, that 
 no man grudged that she gave him naught in return. Per- 
 chance it was to this she owed the remarkable fact that, 
 though it was now full ten days since she had made her first 
 appearance in the city, her popularity showed no sign of 
 diminishing. 
 
 The group round the gate moved restlessly to and fro, 
 staring eagerly up the street toward the southern end of 
 the town, and watching each approaching chair with keen 
 impatience till the colour of the liveries might be discerned. 
 Occasionally one or two broke away and strolled up to the 
 terrace to exchange greetings with the various ladies who 
 ventured out into the sun. But few stayed long away from 
 the post of vantage at the entrance to the gardens. 
 
 Presently a man emerged from the door of the Pump 
 Room and stood looking down upon the attendant group 
 with a whimsical smile on his lips. He was tall, fair and 
 exquisitely dressed with the perfection of one who has 
 bestowed infinite thought upon the subject. His wide grey 
 eyes wore a look of half-bored amusement, and his lips 
 curled in an habitual good-tempered sneer. His expression 
 was that of one who deems the world no better than it should 
 be, and finds no heart to blame it for its sins. It was a
 
 40 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 face to attract, a face to be loved, but too reckless, too 
 cynical to be trusted by man or woman. 
 
 He strolled slowly down toward the gate, and seating him- 
 self on a bench, put up his quizzing glass and surveyed the 
 attendant gallants solemnly, shaking his head gravely over 
 their plight. 
 
 " Ton my soul," he began sadly, " 'pon my soul, but it 
 goes to my heart to see you. Here are some twenty stout 
 hearts quavering at the advent of one chit of a girl ; twenty 
 honest souls sighing for one smile. And all in vain ! For 
 I tell you plainly, what fraction of a heart she possesses 
 was bestowed upon me full sixteen years ago. You waste 
 your pains, gentlemen." 
 
 The group of men wheeled round and faced her brother 
 in impotent embarrassment. No man avowedly awaited 
 for Miss Celia Winnington, though each guessed the reason 
 of the others' impatience; to hear the fact that they had 
 waited an hour for the chance of a passing smile thus baldly 
 stated in words upset their self-esteem. 
 
 "You go home, Rory Winnington," said David Beringer 
 gloomily. "It's monstrous unfriendly of you to to to 
 quiz your friends. Monstrous ungentlemanly." 
 
 Rory opened his eyes in well-feigned amazement. 
 
 "Unfriendly! Why, man, aren't I talking on the very 
 subject that should by rights interest you most amazingly? 
 Aren't I warning you from wasting your time? Look at 
 Tim Curtis, there. He's so far gone in love he doesn't 
 know a knave from a deuce, but he'll lose nothing for want 
 of asking. Didn't he order a certain lady to come in out 
 of the damp yesterday, and didn't she dance twice with 
 him afterward as token of forgiveness?" 
 
 Tim flushed at the fire of jealous glances directed toward
 
 "ON GUARD" 41 
 
 him. He lifted his cane and lunged playfully at his tor- 
 mentor. 
 
 "Look to yourself, Rory," he said good-humouredly ; "I 
 warrant there's a weak spot somewhere if a man could but 
 get under your guard. Some day I'll find the thrust that 
 will touch you." 
 
 "Not you, Tim," said Rory, eyeing him lazily; "not 
 you. You're blinded by a pair of white hands. A novice 
 could disarm you." 
 
 A stir by the gate announced the approach of the long- 
 expected chairs. 
 
 "Here they come !" cried Rory, springing to his feet with 
 mock eagerness. "The morning star approacheth. Lud! 
 sirs, how my heart beats. Davie, stand straight, for 
 Heaven's sake! Gad! Charlie, look at your cravat. 
 Peter, Peter, sure you'll never appear before a lady in that 
 coat! Have you seen yourself, boy?" 
 
 The men thus addressed vainly endeavoured not to look 
 conscious as the foremost of the two chairs, carefully closed, 
 was deposited at the gate. There was a rush to open the 
 door. Beringer and Rathborne were the foremost, but 
 Timothy Curtis, placing a firm hand on each man's 
 shoulder, swung them aside and took the centre place. 
 With a sweep of his hat, he opened the door, and then fell 
 back into the arms of Marcus Ormonde, while a roar of 
 laughter rose from the group behind him and rippled back 
 over the gardens up to the sunlit terrace beyond. For in- 
 stead of the fair face and golden curls of Miss Celia Win- 
 nington, the opening of the chair revealed a slight, dark 
 man with twinkling brown eyes and delicately cut features, 
 who sat smiling and bowing at the company with an absurd 
 imitation of a simper.
 
 "Tracy Wimbourne, by all that's holy !" gasped Timothy 
 in amazement. "Why, man, when did you come down from 
 town?" 
 
 "Lud, sirs, what a gratifying reception !" cried Tracy, 
 fluttering and becking like a coquettish girl and making 
 eyes at all the assembled gallants. "I vow, 'tis overwhelm- 
 ing. Here, Tim, help me out, there's a good fellow; this 
 pestilent leg of mine is not yet healed." 
 
 Timothy and Lord Robert helped him out and handed him 
 his stick, while the other men hurried to the second chair 
 and tried to conceal their disappointment when Lady Wim- 
 bourne emerged. 
 
 She looked round on their crestfallen faces and laughed. 
 
 "You must seek the rose elsewhere this morning, gentle- 
 men," she said gaily. "She is breakfasting with my Lady 
 Grey at Simpson's. Rory, you dear vagabond, why are 
 you not with her? Surely you were bidden?" 
 
 "Not I, Laidie ; her ladyship's too bedad honest for me." 
 He crossed to his sister and took her hand with a transient 
 gleam of tenderness in his mocking eyes. "So Tracy has 
 come at last, eh? When did he arrive?" 
 
 "This morning only, as we were setting out. Oh, Rory, 
 'tis Heaven to have him back again." 
 
 Timothy, who was walking beside Tracy, heard the ex- 
 clamation and looked back quickly. If ever woman's face 
 expressed devotion, it was surely writcn upon Adelaide's as 
 her eyes rested on her husband. Tim thought of the meeting 
 at the inn and marvelled. 
 
 They passed slowly up the garden, exchanging many 
 greetings on their way. It was evident Tracy was a wel- 
 come acquisition to their company. The party came to halt 
 at a seat beside the door of the Pump Room, and the men
 
 "ON GUARD" 43 
 
 gathered round the newcomer with a storm of questions and 
 chaff. 
 
 Timothy seated himself on the back of the bench behind 
 his friend, Lord Robert Dacre lounged on the other side of 
 Tracy, leaning over his shoulder. The other men were 
 grouped in front of the newcomer. Adelaide met her hus- 
 band's eyes. She turned to Tim. 
 
 "Will you hand me into the Pump Room, Mr. Curtis, for 
 my glass? Rory, will you come?" 
 
 She departed with her escort. Tracy threw a quick glance 
 behind him. He picked up his wife's fan which lay beside 
 him. 
 
 "My wife has left her fan. Peter" turning to Sir 
 Peter, who had moved to Tim's vacant place behind him 
 "will you take it to her?" 
 
 When Sir Peter had departed on his errand, Tracy 
 Jeaned back, took his snuff-box, and, holding it up near his 
 face, slowly took a pinch. 
 
 "Gad ! how strong those roses smell !" he drawled. "Are 
 they the same blooms Allen brought from France last 
 year?" 
 
 Lord Robert lowered his eyes for a second; inside the lid 
 of the snuff-box, facing him, was a slip of paper bear- 
 ing the words: "The Christopher Inn. To-morrow. At 
 nine." 
 
 Tracy shut his box with a snap. "Touching France," 
 he continued, "rumour has it that 'the Boy,' as Geordie 
 dubs the Stuart, is growing restive, and Pelham is buying 
 eyes and ears by the bushel." 
 
 Presently Lord Robert drifted away and joined Mr. Sec- 
 combe, who was leaving the gardens. 
 
 "The Christopher Inn to-morrow at nine," he said,
 
 44 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 as they strolled through the gate. They parted at Abbey 
 Green with a nod. 
 
 The Abbey clock chimed ten. The company began 
 to disperse; the men to read the news-sheets at the coffee 
 houses; the ladies, for the most part, to the mercers' 
 shops. 
 
 Adelaide came out of the Pump Room with Tim still in 
 attendance. She paused at the door and turned to him 
 with a mischievous smile. 
 
 "Mr. Curtis, why do you not ride on Claverton Down this 
 morning?" she asked. " 'Tis a monstrously favoured spot 
 for riding parties so Celia assures me." 
 
 Timothy met her smile with a look of intelligence. 
 
 "Madam, if you advise it, I will go there presently," he 
 answered joyously. 
 
 She dismissed him with a smile, and Timothy departed 
 with a grateful heart. Lady Wimbourne's conduct toward 
 him puzzled him. She seemed at times to welcome and en- 
 courage his attention to her sister, but anon he would find 
 her watching him suspiciously and as though she feared 
 him. 
 
 Adelaide joined Tracy. He rose and limped through the 
 gardens to his chair. They were borne to their house in 
 St. James's Parade. 
 
 Directly the door closed upon the servants who had helped 
 him up the stairs, Adelaide turned eagerly to her husband. 
 He sank into a chair, and met her questioning look with a 
 reassuring smile. 
 
 "All's well, Laidie. I meet them to-morrow. Now, child, 
 your news. You have the papers safe ?" 
 
 She slipped to her knees beside him, and laid her head 
 fondly against his arm.
 
 "ON GUARD" 45 
 
 "Tracy, 'tis the first moment alone since you came," she 
 said reproachfully, "and you talk of the papers." 
 
 He laughed tenderly, and, stooping, kissed her hair. 
 
 "Am I to blame for that, sweetheart? Should not the 
 King come even before you?" 
 
 "I should not love you near so dearly did he not," she 
 said, laughing at her own inconsistency. "But tell me, 
 Tracy, you you you do love me?" 
 
 "So dearly, that, had it been possible otherwise, I would 
 not have these white hands soiled with intrigue even for the 
 King's sake." 
 
 "Ah! but, Tracy, I am grown a rare intriguante," she 
 cried eagerly ; "did you mark how I rid you of Mr. Curtis ? 
 He had shadowed us the whole day else. He has talked 
 to me of little else but your coming these ten days past." 
 
 Tracy's eyes softened. "Tim's a rare blade," he said 
 affectionately. "Where have you sent him, Laidie?" 
 
 "On a wild goose chase on Claverton Down," she laughed. 
 "Tracy, why is he not one of us?" 
 
 He hesitated. "I have tested him, but Tim is an immov- 
 able fellow," he said slowly. "And he has er prin- 
 ciples." 
 
 "Hanoverian ?" 
 
 "All his family have always stood strong for the Whigs. 
 But I have hopes he may think with us in time." 
 
 "You like him, Tracy?" 
 
 "He's the gallantest heart, the loyalest friend on earth, 
 Laidie. Why do you ask?" 
 
 "I have thought these last ten days that Celia holds your 
 opinion of him." 
 
 "Does she, indeed! And he ?" 
 
 "Oh! Celia is the reigning toast. All the world is in
 
 46 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 love with the child. I could find it in my heart to be jeal- 
 ous, were it not that I have no room in my heart for aught 
 but you." 
 
 "And the King?" he asked half mockingly. 
 
 "No," she said quickly. "My brains for the King, if you 
 will, but my heart all for you." 
 
 He took her in his arms. "Indeed, sweetheart, I am so dis- 
 loyal that I would not have it otherwise." 
 
 For a minute they sat in silence. Then he disengaged 
 himself gently from her embrace and raised his head. 
 
 "And now, child, give me the papers," he said briskly. 
 
 She checked a little sigh, smiling at her own jealousy. 
 
 "Yes, it is better you should have them at once, before 
 Celia returns," she said, rising and unclasping her bracelet. 
 "Here they have lain undisturbed these ten days. Are you 
 not proud of me for carrying them so safely?" 
 
 As she spoke she touched the spring and unscrewed the 
 lid. There was a moment's dead silence; the bracelet fell 
 with a crash to the ground, and she raised to him a face 
 white with terror. 
 
 "Tracy," she cried hoarsely ; "they are gone ! Gone !" 
 
 "Gone! Impossible!" 
 
 "Yes yes " she muttered dully. "They are not here! 
 I have lost them !" 
 
 She swayed, and held out her hands to him suddenly with 
 a gesture of utter helplessness. Her face was quivering 
 with fright. 
 
 "Tracy, help me, help me!" she cried despairingly. 
 "What can I do?" 
 
 He took her hands in his and putting his arm round her 
 helped her to a chair. She sank into it and covered her face 
 with her hands.
 
 "ON GUARD" 47 
 
 He picked up the bracelet and examined it carefully. It 
 was empty. He laid it quietly on the table and stood a mo- 
 ment, his brows drawn together with a deep frown of anxi- 
 ety. Then he crossed to her side. 
 
 "Listen to me, sweetheart," he said quietly. "The papers 
 have been stolen. You are not to blame, but you must be 
 brave and help me to find the thief. Now when did you 
 put them in the bracelet?" 
 
 He waited patiently till she choked back her sobs to 
 answer : 
 
 "The moment Captain McFee gave them to me. I have 
 not opened it since." 
 
 "And you have worn it always?" 
 
 "At first, always. But these last few days I took it off 
 o' nights and put it under my pillow." 
 
 "Ah! Why did you do that?" 
 
 "It it marked my wrist." 
 
 He looked down at her with a little despairing smile of 
 wonderment, but made no comment. Then he continued his 
 questioning quietly. 
 
 "Did any person know of the papers?" 
 
 "No one. I never spoke of them to a soul." 
 
 He thought deeply and bit his lip in bewilderment. 
 
 "Now, sweetheart, think. Some one has taken them, 'tis 
 clear. Who has been with you? Did any one know that 
 you met McFee ?" 
 
 "No. I told no Ah ! " 
 
 She drew in her breath with a sudden gasp of enlighten- 
 ment and clasped her hands. 
 
 "Tracy " 
 
 "Ah! you suspect some one?" 
 
 She threw back her head and faced him with shining eyes.
 
 48 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 "Suspect !" she cried. "No, I know, I know. Tracy, the 
 thief, the spy, the traitor, is Mr. Curtis !" 
 
 He started back as though she had struck him and put 
 up his hand. 
 
 "Adelaide," he said sharply, "think what you are saying. 
 Tim Curtis? Impossible. My life on his honour." 
 
 She rose quickly to her feet and put her hand on his 
 shoulder. 
 
 "Listen, Tracy. Mr. Curtis followed us from London 
 and came to us on the road at the very hour Captain Mc- 
 Fee should have joined me. He took us to the inn where 
 Captain McFee lodged. He slept behind the settle and 
 came out a moment after McFee left me, not knowing I was 
 still in the room. He swore he had heard nothing, but 
 He asked leave to escort us here and has been with us morn- 
 ing, noon and night since we arrived. And, Tracy Cap- 
 tain McFee told me we had a spy among us, and warned me 
 to beware of Mr. Curtis." 
 
 Tracy turned from her. "I'll not believe it," he muttered ; 
 "no, I'll not believe it." Then slowly, "You say McFee 
 warned you against him?" 
 
 "Yes, dear; he bade me watch him well." 
 
 "Have you seen anything ?" 
 
 "I saw him twice talking with Martha, my maid, in the 
 hall ; but she told me it concerned some flowers for Celia, so 
 I thought no more of it. Martha has been much sought 
 after these days." 
 
 "We must charge her with the matter. Where is 
 she?" 
 
 "I don't know. She left me two days since without 
 explanation. I had thought her untrustworthy be- 
 fore."
 
 "ON GUARD" 49 
 
 He frowned. "I'll have search made. Is that all you 
 can tell?" 
 
 "There is nothing else, save " 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "Tracy ! I had not thought of it before, but he lodges 
 in Boat-stall Lane." 
 
 He looked up quickly. "At which end?" 
 
 She nodded. "Yes, by the eastern gate." She gave a 
 little scornful laugh. "A strange lodging, is it not, for a 
 man of fashion?" 
 
 He rose and limped restlessly up and down the room. 
 
 "Tim Curtis," he muttered. "Tim! Yet yet who else? 
 And he was, I know, deucedly hard pressed for money." 
 He sighed and leaned wearily against the window, look- 
 ing out with haggard eyes over the sunlit street. "Laidie," 
 he said softly, " 'pon my soul, I had rather it had been 
 myself." 
 
 "Tracy, Tracy, you must do something," she cried im- 
 patiently. "Think, if he has the papers ! The danger is 
 horrible. Do you think he has already betrayed you?" 
 
 He roused himself. "Not yet, or I were no longer at 
 liberty. No, he is waiting till he holds all the threads. 
 Doubtless he did not expect me from town so soon. But 
 now there is no time to lose." 
 
 "He must be silenced. You must tell the company." 
 
 He stood a moment in silence, staring thoughtfully at 
 the floor. "No," he said slowly ; "Tim is was my friend. 
 No man ever had a better. He may be what you think, 
 but I'll save his honour. Not a word to the others of this, 
 Laidie. I will see him alone, he will listen to me. He shall 
 give me the papers and start the world again as an honest 
 man."
 
 50 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 Her eyes flashed angrily. "Why should you do this? 
 The world should know him for what he is a Hanoverian 
 spy" 
 
 "Hush, Laidie," he answered softly; "you don't un- 
 derstand how should you how gold can tempt a 
 man." 
 
 The sound of voices and laughter rose from the street 
 below. Celia Winnington and Lady de Putren were ap- 
 proaching the house, escorted by a number of gentlemen. 
 Lord Robert Dacre and Charles Rathborne had obtained 
 and resolutely held posts of vantage by Celia's side. David 
 Beringer sadly consoled himself with her bouquet. Roger 
 Lee and Marcus Ormonde, though forced to form flanking 
 parties, succeeded in monopolising the conversation with 
 their divinity, while the youthful Peter Pemberton and 
 Oliver Shirley, who was stout and scant of breath, were 
 reluctantly driven to escort Lady de Putren, and could 
 only content themselves with a back view of the object of 
 their devotion. 
 
 Last of all came Rory Winnington, chaffing Oliver in an 
 undertone and murmuring sadly at intervals: 
 
 "Seldom have I been so amazingly neglected. I vow 'tis 
 plaguy unmannerly of you, gentlemen, to leave me to walk 
 alone. Lud! how can you be so ill-conditioned?" 
 
 Celia dismissed her escort at the door, and leaving them 
 to Rory's tender mercies entered the house alone. 
 
 Adelaide drew back from the window and turned quickly to 
 her husband. 
 
 "Tracy, must we not warn Celia?" 
 
 He hesitated. "No," he said slowly ; "she believes in man- 
 kind; let her keep that faith. I will see that Curtis 
 leaves her alone."
 
 "ON GUARD" 51 
 
 "Poor little Celie !" she said softly. 
 
 "She has only known him ten days," said Tracy doubt- 
 fully. 
 
 "Ten days ! Ay, but a woman may live a lifetime in ten 
 short days."
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 THE HOUSE OF THE COIFFEUSE 
 
 TIMOTHY CURTIS rode over Claverton Down for four mor- 
 tal hours on that sultry July day, till his mare was 
 weary, his coat dusty and his temper soured beyond easy 
 recovery. 
 
 Slowly he rode at first, hopefully, waiting with patience 
 the appearance of his divinity, dreaming of her smile. 
 After a while his patience waned, and those who crossed 
 Claverton that day brought strange tales of a vision of a 
 desperate man galloping his weary mare wildly from end 
 to end of the Down in pursuit of distant equestrians, and 
 muttering incoherent imprecations anent all human beings 
 of the feminine gender. 
 
 At four o'clock Timothy gave up the search. He rode 
 sulkily back to Bath, dined in gloomy solitude at Simp- 
 son's and strode back to his rooms in mind betwixt dread 
 of disaster to Celia and an indignation against Adelaide, 
 which prevented his hurrying to her house to reassure him- 
 self. 
 
 But the sight of a well-known figure awaiting him in his 
 rooms drove the frown from his face. He sprang forward 
 eagerly to greet his visitor. 
 
 "Tracy, you blade ! Why, this is friendly, to seek me out 
 the very day of your arrival. I swear Lady Wimbourne 
 will deign to be jealous." 
 
 Tracy leaned back in his chair and played nervously with 
 his snuff-box.
 
 THE HOUSE OF THE COIFFEUSE 53 
 
 "Give me ten minutes, Tim," he said brusquely; "I want 
 to talk to you." 
 
 Tim's face fell. He looked at Tracy in amaze- 
 ment. 
 
 "Ten minutes? Why, what ails you, man? A plague on 
 your ten minutes. We'll make a night of it." 
 
 Tracy shook his head. "My wife is calling for me," pres- 
 ently. "We are bidden to a ball at my Lord Cornwallis's 
 house on the Bristol Road." 
 
 "Egad! so am I. I had forgotten. Is your is Miss 
 Winnington driving with you? Let me change my coat 
 and I'll ride with you." 
 
 Tracy silenced him with a gesture. 
 
 "I must speak to you now," he said abruptly. 
 
 Tim stopped half way to the door and stared at him curi- 
 ously. Then he tossed his hat and whip on to the table, 
 and dragging up a chair sat on it astride with his arms 
 crossed on the back. 
 
 "Well, what's the matter?" he asked cheerily. "Debts, 
 duns, or duelling? I'm all attention." 
 
 Tracy opened and shut his snuff-box nervously, and fixed 
 his eyes on the medallion in the lid. 
 
 "Tim, I I sounded you last April about your opinions 
 concerning er the House of Stuart." 
 
 Timothy set his jaw obstinately. 
 
 "You did, Tracy, and I told you the truth. I'd liefer 
 see Noll back in Parliament House again than yon demmed 
 Prince Lackland pluming it at Whitehall. We've a steady 
 government now in the country and civil war is an unholy 
 terror. Leave Jamie's son to play tennis at St. Germain's, 
 and give Geordie a sporting chance to show what he can 
 do for us."
 
 54 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 Tracy flushed. "You don't mask your opinions," he said 
 shortly. 
 
 Timothy eyed him a moment doubtfully, then held out his 
 hand. "Egad! Tracy, you and I can sure talk politics 
 without any 'cut and thrust.' I am ready to hear what you 
 have to say and to think it over. And for Heaven's sake, 
 man, if you must conspire and talk treason, let it be here, 
 and not in company with fliers like Roger Lee or that 
 rattlepated Rory Winnington. You can trust me." 
 
 Tracy lifted his eyes and fixed them earnestly on his face. 
 "Can I?" he asked slowly. 
 
 Tim flushed. "I don't understand you," he said stiffly. 
 
 Tracy lowered his glance. "Tim, when you found my 
 wife in the Inn parlour at three o'clock in the morning, 
 how much did you hear?" 
 
 "Wh what?" stammered Tim, staring at him open- 
 mouthed. 
 
 "How much did you hear?" 
 
 "Nothing," said Tim manfully, "not a word." 
 
 Tim was a poor liar; his face betrayed him. 
 
 "You can tell me the truth," said Tracy impatiently, "I 
 can guess it." 
 
 Tim flushed. "I heard nothing," he reiterated. "It's 
 it's demmed ungentlemanly of you, Tracy, to expect me to 
 answer your questions. Lady Wimbourne will " 
 
 Tracy stopped him. "Leave my wife out of the matter," 
 he said sharply, "I know her story. The question is, what 
 did you hear?" 
 
 "Nothing." 
 
 "You won't answer my question ?" 
 
 "No, I will not." 
 
 Tracy hesitated. "A pressing need of money drives many
 
 THE HOUSE OF THE COIFFEUSE 55 
 
 a poor beggar into an ugly corner," he said slowly. "I'd 
 never be hard on a man for for one slip." 
 
 "I'm plagued if I can make out what you are talking 
 about, Tracy," said Tim peevishly. "Out with it. What 
 hare are you hunting?" 
 
 Tracy leaned forward in his chair and eyed him thought- 
 fully. 
 
 "Tim, if a man told you that your best friend was a com- 
 mon traitor, one who spied upon his friends to betray them 
 to the Government ; who stole papers from women and bar- 
 tered them for blood money if this were proved to you, 
 what would you do?" 
 
 Tim looked up at him lazily. "It is conceivable that a 
 man who brought such a charge against a friend of mine 
 might not live long enough to prove it," he said signifi- 
 cantly. 
 
 Tracy winced. "But if it were proved? What would 
 you do?" 
 
 "Kill the traitor," said Tim carelessly. 
 
 Tracy rose to his feet with an effort and held out his 
 hand. "Ah! I've more mercy for my friends. Tim, 
 give me back the papers you stole from Adelaide, leave 
 Bath to-night, and the world shall still hold you an honest 
 man." 
 
 Timothy dropped his hands to his knees, stared for a mo- 
 ment wide-eyed at the white face and shaking hand of his 
 visitor, then suddenly he threw back his head and broke into 
 a joyous shout of laughter. 
 
 "Great Heavens, man !" he cried, "you're demmed drunk." 
 
 Tracy sat back into his chair and stared at him doubt- 
 fully. Was this innocence, or a magnificent effrontery? 
 He drew a bow at a venture.
 
 56 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 "Curtis," he asked slowly, "how much did Pelham 
 offer you to spy upon the friends of the House of 
 Stuart?" 
 
 His shot told with extraordinary effect. The laughter 
 died out of Tim's face. He sprang to his feet with an oath 
 of astonishment. 
 
 "How the devil did you hear of that ?" he gasped. 
 
 "You don't deny it?" cried Tracy. 
 
 "Deny it? No, why should I?" 
 
 For an instant Tracy lost his habitual self-control, his 
 face blazed with passion. 
 
 "You hound !" he cried, "you traitor ! Give me back those 
 papers, or, by Heaven ! I'll proclaim you to the world for 
 what you are, a contemptible " 
 
 He stopped suddenly. Timothy had crossed to his side 
 and stood over him, his face twitching, a peculiar light in 
 his eyes. 
 
 "Tracy," he said very quietly, "you are mad. I'll not 
 quarrel with you I demme, I can't quarrel with you. 
 But there are things no man shall call me to my face. 
 Plague take you " he broke out suddenly, with a laugh 
 of exasperation, "what's in the affair to make such a 
 pother? I've done you no harm." 
 
 "No harm ?" gasped Tracy furiously. 
 
 "No, but I'll be plaguy near doing it if if Heaven 
 doesn't take pity on your madness and strike you dumb," 
 muttered Tim savagely. "You crazy fool, do you 
 dream " 
 
 He stopped abruptly, turned on his heel and striding into 
 the inner room, banged the door behind him to put an effec- 
 tive end to the interview. 
 
 Tracy looked after him gloomily. "He has had his
 
 THE HOUSE OF THE COIFFEUSE 57 
 
 chance," he muttered; "we fight now with the buttons off 
 the foils, and for his life or mine." 
 
 With a quick sigh he limped across the room and slowly 
 descended the stairs to the street. 
 
 Meanwhile Timothy, in no very pleasant mood, had barely 
 arrayed his person for the evening's entertainment at Lord 
 Cornwallis's house, when the sound of voices in the outer 
 room announced the presence of visitors, and his servant 
 Simon, returning, informed him with awestruck voice that 
 Mr. John Cogswell, the mayor, waited upon him and 
 begged the honour of an interview. 
 
 Bidding Simon fetch a horse from the neighbouring 
 Mews, Timothy completed his toilet and strolled in a lei- 
 surely manner into the outer room to learn the meaning of 
 this visit. 
 
 The mayor was accompanied by two men: one stout and 
 placid, with an air of a prosperous tradesman ; the second 
 a small dapper little man whose sharp glances and quick 
 movements betokened him wide-awake to the ways of the 
 world in which he lived. When Timothy entered the room 
 he found all three men crowding in the little side window, 
 their heads close together, peering down into the alley below 
 with such intentness that he crossed behind them and 
 touched the nearest man on the shoulder with his cane before 
 he could gain their attention. 
 
 They wheeled round with a look of embarrassment and 
 bowed respectfully. 
 
 "Good-evening, Mr. Mayor," he said, laughing at their 
 surprise, "it would seem you find my window plaguy inter- 
 esting. What should there be in bricks and mortar to take 
 your fancy?" 
 
 The mayor flushed and fidgeted. "It has come to my no-
 
 58 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 tice, sir, that there are certain tradespeople here very 
 worthy citizens, Mr. Curtis who have as yet received no 
 payment for the goods delivered at your rooms." 
 
 "Faith, Mr. Mayor," laughed Timothy, "Bath is not 
 unique in that respect. Such worthies are by no means 
 rare. What then?" 
 
 "They they have expressed a wish for some guarantee 
 that they will be paid ere the month is out." 
 
 Timothy stared at him haughtily. "I would have you 
 know, Mr. Mayor," he said sharply, "that I am not in the 
 habit of giving any such guarantee other than my name. 
 And I consider the demand monstrous impertinent." 
 
 The mayor hesitated, but Mr. Simpson, the stout and 
 placid proprietor of the coffee-house of that name, took up 
 the thread. 
 
 "Your pardon, Mr. Curtis," he said, "but you have com- 
 manded three public breakfasts, four supper parties and 
 two tea parties in addition to all your private meals at my 
 rooms, and I have as yet received not a sou on account. 
 Mrs. Proud, the florist, has supplied bouquets daily, and 
 there are similar complaints from vintners, mercers and 
 the master at the East Mews yonder. Not one has received 
 as yet any payment." 
 
 "Well ! well !" cried Tim testily ; "they will be paid in due 
 time. Why, plague take you, I've scarce been in the place 
 ten days ; is it the custom of your tradespeople here to dun 
 a gentleman for a few paltry crowns before he has so much 
 as unpacked his mails? Demme! such a custom is like to 
 make your town mighty unpopular." 
 
 Here the mayor again stepped forward. 
 
 "It is not the custom, Mr. Curtis, unless the gentleman 
 have a a reputation. It is known that your credit in Lon-
 
 THE HOUSE OF THE COIFFEUSE 59 
 
 don is exhausted, and our worthy citizens would not risk 
 too much." 
 
 Timothy shrugged his shoulders and deliberately helped 
 himself to snuff. "Even so, Mr. Mayor," he said shortly, 
 "I should have deemed it less impertinent had these worthies 
 lodged their complaints themselves. Is it customary here 
 for the City Fathers to busy themselves with a gentleman's 
 embarrassments ?" 
 
 "The truth is, sir " began Cogswell, but Mr. Josiah 
 Smith, of London, intervened impatiently. 
 
 "Mr. Cogswell, you are a fool, sir. Why don't you speak 
 out plain and let Mr. Curtis know where we stand? The 
 truth, is, sir," he continued briskly, turning to Timothy, 
 "I've been sent here to keep my eye upon a certain house, 
 which is suspected of harbouring lawbreakers, of cloaking 
 their treasonable practices. Information has reached us in 
 London that matters are not as they should be here. We 
 have no names yet, and the affair must be kept quiet till 
 we know our ground, but we are sure of the house, and if 
 we watch it we have hopes we may catch the rats in the 
 trap." 
 
 "Well, what then? What has this to do with me?" 
 
 "It is difficult for us to watch the house, Mr. Curtis, with- 
 out exciting suspicion and scaring the quarry. It is for 
 this reason that we have come to seek your help in the 
 affair." 
 
 "My help !" cried Timothy indignantly. "Why the deuce 
 should I help you with your dirty work ?" 
 
 "In consideration of such help, Mr. Curtis," intervened 
 Simpson heavily, "the mayor and I would ourselves be guar- 
 antors for you to the tradespeople of Bath." 
 
 "Fool! fool!" muttered Josiah Smith under his breath.
 
 60 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 "The matter stands this way, Mr. Curtis," he continued 
 hurriedly, holding up his hand to stay an indignant out- 
 burst from Timothy. "The only place from which this 
 house can be conveniently overlooked is yonder window. I 
 was myself in favour of inducing you to change your lodg- 
 ing and taking these rooms myself, but the mayor here op- 
 posed it." 
 
 The mayor looked nervously at Josiah. "I I under- 
 stand that the woman who keeps this house was a servant 
 of Mr. Curtis's family. She it seems probable she would 
 have refused to let her rooms to Mr. Smith without Mr. 
 Curtis's consent. If you would undertake, Mr. Curtis, to 
 keep a watch upon this house at such hours of the evening 
 as you occupy the rooms, and to permit a servant of mine to 
 watch in your absence, I doubt not it would fulfil our pur- 
 pose with less suspicion than my presence here might rouse. 
 But if you will not consent, perhaps you would agree to 
 change your lodging." 
 
 Timothy crossed thoughtfully to the casement and looked 
 out. The window overlooked a narrow passage leading 
 from Boat-stall Lane to Cock Alley. The walls on either 
 side were blank, save just opposite his window, where a 
 couple of steps led up to a bright brown door on which was 
 painted the modest sign: 
 
 "MADAME GRIEVE. TOILETTE AND COIFFURE." 
 
 A small round window immediately to the left of the door- 
 way was shrouded with a spotless white curtain, the handle 
 and knocker were polished till they shone like gold. The 
 other windows of the house looked on to Boat-stall Lane ; in 
 the two lower ones the curtains were drawn aside and a 
 small collection of wigs and curls was displayed. The house
 
 THE HOUSE OF THE COIFFEUSE 61 
 
 looked innocent enough in the summer twilight, but 
 strangely quiet and deserted. 
 
 Timothy shrugged his shoulders and turned away. 
 
 "Why do you not search the house, if you suspect it?" 
 he asked curtly. 
 
 "I have made inquiries," answered the mayor; "it would 
 seem that Madame Grieve is well known and appears to be 
 above suspicion. She has lived there for two years past, 
 plying her trade as ladies' hairdresser. I can learn nothing 
 against her." 
 
 "Our information is precise," said Josiah Smith, "but it is 
 likely enough the conspiracy is yet in the egg. Yonder 
 is the house where it will hatch." 
 
 "But what fashion of conspiracy should it be?" asked 
 Timothy impatiently. 
 
 "In favour of the House of Stuart, Mr. Curtis," he an- 
 swered significantly. 
 
 "Ah-h !" Tim started ; his thoughts flew to Tracy. "The 
 crazy fools !" he muttered under his breath. He turned and 
 looked thoughtfully at Josiah. 
 
 "You are very frank with me," he said ; "do you know me, 
 that you would trust me in this affair?" 
 
 Josiah bowed. "I am in the service of my Lord Pelham," 
 he said, with meaning. 
 
 Tim frowned. He turned again to the window and 
 drummed on the pane. If there were indeed a conspiracy 
 afoot in favour of the Stuart, then Tracy Wimbourne was 
 assuredly at the bottom of it. Moreover if this house were 
 the headspring of the conspiracy, then Tracy was certain 
 sooner or later to be discovered there by any who undertook 
 to watch the place. 
 
 Josiah watched him with eager eyes. "May we hope
 
 62 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 you will consent to help us, Mr. Curtis?" he asked 
 eagerly. 
 
 For a minute Tim hesitated, doubting whether it would not 
 perchance be wiser to consent to spy on the house and 
 thereby reserve to himself the power of warning Tracy ; if 
 need be, the chance of saving him. It was a dirty job, this 
 playing for both sides, but perhaps a man should not refuse 
 to soil his fingers in friendship's need. 
 
 He wavered. Mr. Simpson again stepped forward. 
 
 "If Mr. Curtis refuses," he said blandly, "I would like 
 to remind him that there are writs." 
 
 Josiah sprang forward to silence the speaker, but it was 
 too late; he had said enough to ruin their purpose. The 
 hint of threat, the suggestion of bribery in his words served 
 to confirm Timothy in his reluctance to accede to their pro- 
 posal. 
 
 He turned from the window and crossing the room took 
 up his hat and whip from the table. 
 
 "Writs, Mr. Simpson," he said haughtily, "I think not. 
 Such a procedure would hardly add to the attraction of 
 your rooms, and Wiltshire's are sufficiently convenient. I 
 would advise you and you, too, Mr. Mayor before you 
 again visit a gentleman on a delicate business such as this 
 to give some further study to matters pertaining to a gen- 
 tleman's honour." 
 
 Cogswell's jaw dropped dolefully. "Then you refuse to 
 help us, Mr. Curtis?" he said. 
 
 "I do. Further, I refuse to change my lodgings. And 
 finally," he broke out sharply, "if I find you or yours 
 haunting my rooms or tampering with my servant, by 
 Heaven! mayor or no mayor, I'll have ye arrested for a 
 common housebreaker. Now you've heard my mind on
 
 THE HOUSE OP THE COIFFEUSE 63 
 
 this matter. Be off and whistle up your hounds if you 
 dare." 
 
 Cogswell and Simpson turned sullenly and went out, but 
 Josiah paused at the door. 
 
 "Mr. Curtis," he said hurriedly, "I am charged with a 
 message to you from my Lord Pelham." 
 
 Timothy turned and faced him. He drew the lash of his 
 whip slowly through his fingers and smiled. 
 
 "Mr. Josiah Smith," he said quietly, "if it be, as I surmise, 
 a repetition of a former proposal I received from his lord- 
 ship, I would advise you to leave that message undelivered. 
 I think you would scarcely relish receiving my answer." 
 
 Josiah bowed hurriedly, and with a shrug of his shoulders 
 followed his companions out of the room. 
 
 Timothy laughed softly. "A prudent messenger," he 
 murmured, "and worthy of his master. Egad ! but they are 
 awake at St. James's. I must warn Tracy, though it would 
 seem from what he said this afternoon that he guessed 
 what's afoot. But what the murrain he means about those 
 papers the saints only know. Plague take the mayor," he 
 muttered angrily, struggling into his coat, "what the devil 
 does he mean by his impertinence ? Writs, writs !" he grim- 
 aced sourly; "well, let them come to-morrow. I have one 
 more night to dream. And now to Cornwallis's gardens 
 and moonlight."
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 "MOONLIGHT" 
 
 THE night was dark, scented, full of mystery. The gar- 
 dens at Lord Cornwallis's house, three miles from Bath, 
 were brightly illuminated, and the majority of the guests, 
 escaping from the hot rooms, wandered to and fro on the 
 terraced walks, listening to the distant strains of music in 
 the ballroom, and idly watching the summer lightning 
 play across the southern sky. From the shadowed groves 
 in the garden echoed soft whispers and the low murmur of 
 lovers' talk, and ever and anon the hasty rustle of silk skirts 
 and a subdued laugh of triumph bespoke a swain too con- 
 fident or a nymph too coy. 
 
 On a marble seat at the end of the upper terrace sat Celia 
 Winnington, her friend Lucy de Putren beside her, her 
 court grouped round or seated on the low stone wall of the 
 terrace between the coloured lights. Behind her a high 
 box hedge, carved into the likeness of a pierced heart, shad- 
 owed the sky, and climbing yellow roses trailed across the 
 back of the seat and nodded their scented heads over her 
 shining curls. It was a merry corner; the silent witchery 
 of the night had no effect upon Miss Celia's following ; they 
 talked and laughed gaily, and rivalled one another in the 
 extravagance of their gallantries and the absurdities of 
 their comparisons. 
 
 David Beringer, who by a far-sighted diplomacy had ob- 
 tained possession, earlier in the evening, of his mistress's 
 fan, now reaped the reward of his forethought in a post at
 
 "MOONLIGHT" 65 
 
 her elbow, where he lounged gracefully, wielding his cap- 
 ture and watching the dimples come and go round the small 
 smiling mouth. Sir Peter Pemberton sat cross-legged 
 at her feet, his youthful ardour heeding neither 
 the inelegance of his posture, the unevenness of the 
 gravel, nor the unpopularity he achieved by adopt- 
 ing a position that effectually prevented another's 
 approach. 
 
 "Gad ! what a night," murmured Charles Rathborne, gaz- 
 ing up into the deep azure above them. "What a night for 
 dreams !" 
 
 "Rather a night for blessed realities," said Marcus 
 quietly ; "what dream more precious than the present 
 hour?" 
 
 "We should 'out-night' each other, as Will Shakespeare 
 has it," said Lucy de Putren, laughing. 
 
 "On such a night did seven fond men, I fear, 
 Sigh for the moon, who sighs for no man here. 
 
 What think you, gentlemen, of my first essay at rhyming?" 
 
 "I'll cap you that, madam," said David Beringer, 
 smiling. 
 
 "A challenge? What says your muse? Listen, Celia, and 
 award me the palm." 
 
 David Beringer furled the fan and looked down thought- 
 fully at the golden head below him. 
 
 "His muse deserts him," laughed Lord Robert Dacre ; "she 
 is but a fickle jade and Davie was ever unlucky with the 
 sex." 
 
 "Hush ! hush ! he has it," cried Lucy, holding up her hand 
 for silence.
 
 66 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 David coughed nervously and gave out his lines : 
 
 "On such a night a man, if he be wise, 
 Will live his hour and risk his Paradise." 
 
 "Bravo! Davie," cried Marcus. "Bedad, sage advice." 
 
 "I protest you're profane, Mr. Beringer," cried Lucy. 
 "Celia, what say you? Is not his verse monstrous im- 
 moral?" 
 
 "Give us your own version of the night, Miss Winning- 
 ton," pleaded Charles Rathborne, leaning toward her. "Is 
 a man fond to sigh for the moon, or should he risk his all 
 boldly, playing for the highest stake ?" 
 
 Celia looked up into the dark spaces and smiled wisely. 
 
 "I am no versemaker, Sir Charles ; my lines are as poor 
 and halting as a lame beggar, but I'll do my best. 
 
 "On such a night no man should be afraid 
 To give his all for naught and feel repaid. 
 
 That is my reading of the night's council." 
 
 "And, by Heaven! a worthy one," cried Lord Robert. 
 "What say you, gentlemen, should not we, too, follow the 
 night's counsel, and asking no recompense, save to rejoice 
 in her beauty, fearing no heart-ache so it be in her service, 
 dedicate our homage to the Moon of Bath ?" 
 
 "Bravo!" cried Roger Lee, and Peter Pemberton added 
 enthusiastically, "A toast to the Moon of Bath." 
 
 "My hand upon it," said Oliver Shirley softly. 
 
 David Beringer and Charles Rathborne met Lord Robert's 
 glance and nodded silently, while Marcus laid his hand on 
 his friend's shoulder in token of agreement. For those were
 
 "MOONLIGHT" 67 
 
 days when a man did not shame to show his love before the 
 world, nor grudged to offer his homage lest it be rebuffed. 
 
 "Who speaks of the moon on a night as dark as Erebus?" 
 asked a deep voice out of the darkness. 
 
 "Tracy! Where have you been wandering?" cried Celia. 
 "Where is Laidie?" 
 
 "With Lady Cornwallis, at commerce. Her ladyship 
 caught us on the terrace steps ; Rory and I fled into the 
 lime walk, and Laidie, like a hero, covered our retreat." 
 
 "Poor Laidie ! Tracy, you do play the coward." 
 
 Tracy grimaced humorously. "But commerce, Celia, 
 with her ladyship, on such a night as this ! Sure, even your 
 immovable heart would not condemn me to such a fate." 
 
 "Where is Rory now?" 
 
 "Rory drew quarry in the lime walk and vanished in 
 pursuit. Lady de Putren, who wears a violet gown freckled 
 with gold leaves?" 
 
 Lucy de Putren held up her hands, with a laugh of dis- 
 may. "Lud ! is Rory on that track ? 'Twill lead him far 
 afield." 
 
 "Has no one seen Tim Curtis to-day?" asked Beringer. 
 "I've not set eyes on him since morning." 
 
 "I saw him two hours since," said Tracy carelessly. He 
 crossed to a seat beside Lord Robert. "Bob," he said, 
 under his breath, "I must speak to you alone." 
 
 "You saw him. He's whole-limbed and yet not here to- 
 night!" cried Marcus. "Was the man sane?" 
 
 "Moonstruck, belike," said Lord Robert. 
 
 "Lud! we are all that here," laughed Lucy. She leaned 
 back in her seat, her lips close to Celia's ears, and murmured 
 softly, " 'Sigh for the moon, who sighs for no man here.' 
 Where is he, my dear, this laggard?"
 
 68 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 Suddenly from behind the high hedge at the back of 
 Celia's seat stole the sweet strains of violins, and a rich 
 baritone voice broke softly into song : 
 
 "Though stars shine bright in heaven's fair field, 
 
 Our sovereign lady of the night 
 No whit supremacy doth yield 
 Though stars shine bright. 
 
 "Ah ! Mistress mine, her counterpart, 
 
 No earthly charms compare with thine, 
 For as the moon to stars thou art, 
 Ah ! Mistress mine ! 
 
 "Dear Moon of Love, my heart's delight, 
 
 The baser moon sails clear above ; 
 Withhold not thou thy fairer light, 
 Dear Moon of Love." 
 
 The song ceased, the music died away. A round of ap- 
 plause broke the stillness and echoed through the gardens. 
 
 "It's that vagabond, Rory," said Charles Rathborne, peer- 
 ing vainly through the bushes. 
 
 Lucy de Putren laughed and shook her head as she looked 
 at Celia's flushed face. What sister's face would blush at 
 sound of a brother's singing? 
 
 "Talk of the devil! it's Tim himself," said Marcus, 
 nodding toward the arch in the hedge where Timothy Cur- 
 tis appeared, his white brocade gleaming in the darkness. 
 
 "Pouring forth music from a pierced heart," cried Lucy, 
 pointing to the device above their heads. "Lud ! I'm mon- 
 strous in the vein for poesy to-night, but 'tis mightily 
 wasted on moonstruck wits. Mr. Beringer," she con-
 
 "MOONLIGHT" 69 
 
 tinued, rising, "lead me to the supper-room. We will ply 
 our muse in more appreciative company. Sir Oliver, will 
 you not with us?" 
 
 David Beringer reluctantly furled Celia's fan. A hand 
 shot out over his shoulder and took it from his grasp. 
 With a melancholy shrug, he yielded his place to Timothy 
 and followed Lucy de Putren and Oliver along the terrace. 
 
 Tracy rose with white, set lips. He had watched Celia's 
 face during the song; he had noted the blush on her 
 cheeks when Timothy drew near; his heart was sore for 
 her. 
 
 "Bob," he said brusquely, " 'tis time we lent Adelaide 
 a pretence to escape. Come with me and effect a rescue." 
 
 As he passed his sister he looked down once more on her 
 happy face and shining eyes. 
 
 "Yes," he muttered, "I will save his honour yet, for her 
 sake." 
 
 A silence fell upon the company ; a heavy silence fraught 
 with embarrassment, rich with the consciousness that all 
 present pined to speak words meet to be heard by one ear 
 alone. At last Marcus gave a quick sigh and rose briskly 
 to his feet. He crossed to where Charles Rathborne and 
 Roger Lee stood together, and slipping a hand through 
 either arm wheeled them round to face the terrace. 
 
 "Gentlemen," he said drily, "supper." 
 
 Their retreating footsteps echoed along the walk. 
 
 Timothy looked down upon the lonely figure of the youth- 
 ful Sir Peter, still resolutely ensconced at his mistress's feet. 
 He drew out his quizzing glass and inspected him thought- 
 fully, a whimsical smile on his lips. But his banter was lost 
 upon Peter. With a magnificent impudence Tim drew out 
 his purse.
 
 70 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 "Peter," he drawled, "I forgot to pay the musicianers. 
 Find them, there's a good fellow, and give them their due." 
 So saying, he dropped his purse into the youth's hand. 
 
 Peter gasped. He looked down at the purse, he looked up 
 at the calmly smiling face of Timothy ; he looked despair- 
 ingly at Celia's lowered lashes. With a muttered exclama- 
 tion he struggled awkwardly to his feet and throwing a last 
 angry glance at Timothy, disappeared in the darkness be- 
 hind the shadowy hedge. 
 
 Again a stillness fell upon the terrace. Most of the 
 guests had retreated into the house for supper, the gardens 
 were quieter, only a soft whisper of voices stole from the 
 dusky groves. Here and there a lantern flickered and went 
 out. The heavy-scented roses nodded their heads gravely in 
 the silence, and far in the east a bank of silver-tipped 
 clouds bespoke the rising of the moon. 
 
 Timothy stood immovable beside the marble bench, look- 
 ing down on Celia's bent head and averted face. He did 
 not speak, he only looked at her with all his soul in his eyes 
 and waited for an answering glance. She was fully con- 
 scious of his desire, and for a time fought his will. 
 Her face grew rosy, her white hands clasped and unclasped 
 themselves upon her knee; her lips trembled into a smile. 
 Still he waited in silence. Suddenly her resolution failed. 
 She gave a little sigh of surrender, and, turning, lifted her 
 eyes to his. For one long minute they looked into each 
 other's eyes in silence, then with a shy smile, half deprecat- 
 ing her surrender, she turned away. 
 
 Timothy slipped into a seat on the bench beside her. 
 
 "Madam," he whispered softly, "now, indeed, has the 
 moon risen for me." 
 
 She made no answer to his gallantry. "You are late, Mr.
 
 "MOONLIGHT" 71 
 
 Curtis," she said coldly. "Many deemed you had found 
 more attractive company elsewhere." 
 
 "What nonsense! 'Twere but reasonable I had been 
 earlier, had it been possible. And you, madam? Did you, 
 too, think I should fail you?" 
 
 Her little pretence at anger vanished. She looked up 
 with a frank smile. 
 
 "No, Mr. Curtis," she said honestly. "I knew that you 
 would come." 
 
 Timothy looked into her honest eyes and drew in his 
 breath quickly. 
 
 "You knew? You awaited my coming?" he cried eagerly. 
 "Madam is it possible you wished for it?" 
 
 For a second she hesitated, then she gave a little helpless 
 laugh. "Yes," she said simply. "I wished for you." 
 
 Timothy drew nearer; his voice shook with eager- 
 ness. 
 
 "I am poor," he said. "And I have lived the life of my 
 class. I've no right to woo any woman least of all women 
 you. But ah ! Mistress Celia, since that morning I met 
 you by the river, since that hour you taught me the mean- 
 ing of life, I have loved you with all my soul. It's no pearl 
 of price I offer you, only an uncut stone, but, by Heaven ! 
 in your keeping I'd carve it to a setting worthy of your 
 life." 
 
 He put his hand reverently on the folds of her gown, and 
 leaned nearer, trying to see her face. 
 
 "I never hoped to tell you this," he continued softly. "It 
 was enough for me to give you my love, asking nothing. 
 But these last two days, madam, there has come to me a cer- 
 tain dream, a dream of madness, and I have come here to- 
 night to tell it to you."
 
 72 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 She lifted her head and faced him. "What is your 
 dream?" she asked gently. 
 
 He bent one knee to the ground and placed his hand softly 
 upon the white hands lying on her lap. 
 
 "Mistress Celia, they call you the Moon of Bath the 
 still cold moon floating so far above us in the heavens of 
 her purity, that she reigns untouched by man's desires. 
 But I have dreamed that on a certain night, dark, silent, 
 like to-night, as I sat alone watching the face of my moon 
 in worship, she stooped and came down from her throne in 
 the heavens down to my side. And as I looked, half 
 dazzled by that glory, it seemed to me her face that cold, 
 still face we fear e'en while we worship was changed to me, 
 and all the glow and all the beauty and all the radiance 
 was warm with the fire of love. Ah! madam, it may be 
 that I was blinded and saw but what my heart desired, and 
 yet I think 'twas even as I saw." 
 
 She sat silent, with lowered head. His heart gave a little 
 throb of fear. 
 
 "Madam," he said quickly, "if I have dreamed too 
 boldly forgive me. Remember, 'twas you who bade me dare 
 to dream." 
 
 She lifted her eyes to his and they were bright with tears. 
 
 "Mr. Curtis," she said gravely, "I thank you. And were 
 I indeed the moon in heaven, methinks your love would draw 
 me down to earth. But I am but a woman, sir, and I have 
 but known you ten short days and " 
 
 "You fear me, madam?" 
 
 "Ah! do not think me faint-hearted," she cried 
 quickly. "But I do not know I would not be hur- 
 ried " 
 
 "Dear heart!" he breathed gently, "it should be enough
 
 "MOONLIGHT" 73 
 
 for me that I am permitted to tell my love. I will ask no 
 more as yet." 
 
 She held out her hand with a little gesture of gratitude. 
 
 "I am cowardly," she said, smiling. "But with a woman 
 it is once and forever." 
 
 "And with a man, too, madam." 
 
 "It may be," she said, smiling a little wistfully. "But a 
 man does not give his all." 
 
 Timothy shook his head with a smile, but made no answer. 
 
 She lifted her hands and clasped them eagerly together. 
 
 "You you do not blame me for my doubt?" she asked 
 anxiously. 
 
 He looked down at her with a smile of tenderness. 
 
 "Madam," he said gravely, "I count myself blessed indeed 
 for the hope that you have given me. From to-night you 
 know that my life is at your service, and for the rest I will 
 await your pleasure." He stood a moment, thinking, then 
 he detached a seal from his fob and continued earnestly : "I 
 will not weary you, Mistress Celia, with a repetition of my 
 dreams, but if the day should dawn when you can give me 
 an answer, will you send me this token as sign that I may 
 speak again?" 
 
 She took the seal with a little nod and smile of gratitude. 
 
 "I owe you thanks for this courtesy," she said simply. 
 
 She rose, and together they walked along the terrace. 
 Suddenly she stopped and laid her hand on his arm. 
 
 "No," she said, "it is not just that I should accept your 
 service, seeing it may chance that I can make no return." 
 
 He threw up his head and laughed joyously. "It is my 
 own choice, madam. I am well content." 
 
 But she shook her head, dissatisfied. 
 
 "No, it is not just." Gravely she unfastened the heavy
 
 74. THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 gold bracelet she wore on her wrist and handed it to him. 
 "The world holds many women more worthy than I," she 
 said softly. "If you should should meet one, send this 
 jewel back to me, and I shall understand." 
 
 He toot it with a soft laugh of amusement. 
 
 "Do you deem it possible that I could so change, Mistress 
 Celia?" he asked, stooping and looking into her eyes. 
 
 She lowered her lashes with a bright blush. A smile 
 played about her lips. 
 
 "In truth," she said softly, "I am woman enough to 
 hope it may not be so." 
 
 He stood aside while she entered the windows of the ball- 
 room. A shooting star swept across the horizon. He 
 looked at it with a rueful smile. 
 
 "An evil omen," he muttered ; "it falls from heaven ! Yet 
 better a falling star than one who has never neared the 
 heavens ; it has at least the glory of remembrance." 
 
 He followed Celia into the ballroom, but Adelaide was al- 
 ready hurrying her away to take her leave. 
 
 "The coach is waiting, Celie, and I am wearied to death. 
 Tracy is returning with Lord Robert later. Come quickly, 
 child." 
 
 With a last nod and smile, Celia vanished after her 
 sister, who had not vouchsafed a look in Timothy's 
 direction. 
 
 Most of the guests had already taken their departure. 
 Through the door of the supper-room Timothy noted a 
 group of men standing by one of the tables, indulging in a 
 last stirrup cup. Tracy, Lord Robert, and Davie Beringer 
 were among them. All Timothy's world was rose-colour 
 that evening. With an almost boyish longing to share his 
 happiness, to find an outlet for his soaring spirits, he
 
 "MOONLIGHT" 75 
 
 crossed the room to join them, and striding up to the group, 
 flung his arm lightly across Tracy's shoulder. 
 
 "Well, Tracy, old man," he cried joyously, "have you 
 found your wits again? Come back with me to my lodging 
 and we'll have a hot night together. Lady Wimbourne 
 will forgive for once. 'Tis the first night we've had 
 your company for six weeks, and, begad! we've missed 
 you." 
 
 Tracy's face grew suddenly white. He drew back from 
 the encircling arm and swung round on his heel. 
 
 "Mr. Curtis," he said shortly, "you are a contemptible 
 thief." 
 
 A low mutter of amazement stirred the group of men. 
 Timothy fell back a step and stared at Tracy in bewilder- 
 ment. 
 
 "I repeat, Mr. Curtis," continued Tracy doggedly, "you 
 are a thief and unworthy the company of honourable 
 gentlemen." 
 
 Timothy sank back against the table, shaking his head. 
 "Still crazy," he muttered, in humorous bewilderment. 
 
 "What the murrain's taken you, Tracy?" cried Oliver 
 Shirley, laying a detaining hand on his arm. 
 
 Tracy shook him off and advanced a step toward Tim. 
 
 "Do I make myself sufficiently plain?" he asked shortly. 
 
 "But but demme! I can't fight you, Tracy," gasped 
 Tim desperately. 
 
 "Must I then add 'coward' to your name?" asked Tracy 
 insolently. 
 
 Timothy's eyes gleamed. Then he looked at Tracy and 
 wavered. "Plague take you !" he muttered testily. "How 
 can I fight a man who has only one leg to stand on?" 
 
 "There are pistols, Mr. Curtis."
 
 76 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 "Pistols! Yes. But pistols are so demmed risky," 
 muttered Timothy. 
 
 A titter of laughter broke from the men. Tim turned on 
 them angrily. "I don't want to kill the fool," he said 
 testily. 
 
 "I am grateful for your mercy, Mr. Curtis," said Tracy 
 with a sneer. "If you are, as I surmise, equally anxious 
 for your own skin, shall we consider that the name 
 sticks?" 
 
 "By gad!" cried Tim furiously, starting to his feet. 
 Then his eyes softened suddenly with remembrance. 
 "Tracy!" he said winningly, holding out his hand. 
 
 For answer Tracy flung the contents of his glass in the 
 other's face, and turning away, sank into a chair. 
 
 Timothy fell back choked and gasping, with an oath of 
 fury. Then he wiped his eyes, smoothed his ruffles, and 
 looked round the group with hard set mouth. 
 
 "It is enough," he said shortly. "You'll act for me, 
 Bob?" 
 
 Lord Robert stepped back. "You will excuse me, Mr. 
 Curtis," he said stiffly. 
 
 Timothy stared at him. "Egad, sir," he said sharply, 
 "such a refusal bespeaks agreement with Sir Tracy. I 
 deem it an insult, my lord." 
 
 Lord Robert bowed and turned away. Timothy looked 
 across at Charles Rathborne. 
 
 "Charlie?" he said questioningly. 
 
 Charles shrugged his shoulders and shook his head. 
 
 For a moment Tim's eyes gleamed dangerously. He put 
 up his quizzing glass and surveyed the silent group of men. 
 
 "My faith !" he said slowly. "It seems I'm like to have a 
 busy morning."
 
 "MOONLIGHT" 77 
 
 David Beringer crossed to his side. "I'll stand your 
 friend, Tim," he said quietly. 
 
 Timothy laid his hand gratefully on his shoulder. 
 
 "Thanks, Davie," he said quietly. "I leave the affair in 
 your hands. Perhaps," he added, stroking his chin and 
 coolly indicating the group of men with his quizzing glass 
 "perhaps you will kindly arrange meetings for me with 
 the remainder of these gentlemen during the course of the 
 coming week." 
 
 With a lazy smile he turned on his heel and strode out of 
 the room.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 "A SIGH IN THE DARK" 
 
 THOUGH barely eleven o'clock, Timothy rode soberly home, 
 and leaving his horse at the Mews (for Simon, not expect- 
 ing so unwontedly early a return, was not in attendance), 
 climbed the dark stairway to his room. 
 
 As he turned the corner of the stair he noted a light shin- 
 ing through the crack of the door, and he muttered a curse 
 at his man's carelessness in leaving candles alight in 
 an unoccupied apartment. A moment later a louder ex- 
 clamation followed, for in the darkness of the passage he 
 stumbled over a chair and lurched heavily against his door, 
 bursting it open. At the same moment the light inside 
 was extinguished, leaving all in darkness save for the faint 
 glimmer that entered between the window curtains. 
 
 Timothy paused in surprise and peered suspiciously 
 through the gloom. Then attributing the sudden extinc- 
 tion of the light to the draught from the opened door, he 
 shut it, and striding across to the window pulled aside the 
 curtains. 
 
 Not much light entered: the night had clouded over; 
 neither moon nor stars were visible. Without troubling to 
 relight the candles, Timothy flung himself back into his 
 chair and stared out into the darkness. 
 
 The events of the evening had given him much food for 
 thought. It was evident to him that Tracy had learned by 
 some means of Lord Pelham's proposal that he should play 
 the spy upon the Jacobites of his acquaintance ; but that he 
 should have believed him capable of accepting the proffered
 
 "A SIGH IN THE DARK" 79 
 
 bribe appeared to Tim alike such unreasonable and such 
 disloyal conduct toward a comrade that his anger stifled his 
 affection, and he hardened his heart at the thought of the 
 duel on the morrow and crushed out the last shred of reluc- 
 tance to fight his whilom friend. With regard to Lord 
 Robert and Charles Rathborne, his anger at their behaviour 
 knew no bounds. 
 
 "They shall answer for it, by heaven! I'll let no man 
 browbeat me," he muttered. 
 
 Presently softer thoughts stole in upon his anger. He 
 drew out the bracelet Celia had given him, and pressing 
 it to his lips, gave himself up to dreams of happiness. He 
 gave small thought to what she might say about this duel 
 with her brother-in-law ; that was Tracy's affair. He dwelt 
 only upon her gentleness to him that evening, upon the un- 
 expected hope she had given him, upon the unfailing look 
 of trust and kindness in her glance. His eyes softened, his 
 hard-set lips relaxed into a smile of rare tenderness as he 
 pictured her youth and innocence, her faith in all things 
 beautiful and true. 
 
 "And two weeks since I was willing to wed at command ! 
 Gad! what a blind fool a man can be till love gives him 
 light. Ah ! Dame Diana, I owe you many thanks for the 
 wisdom you taught me; small wonder that I worship your 
 counterpart on earth." 
 
 Presently the clouds broke ; a heavy shower darkened the 
 night, the fierce rain splashing noisily on the hard, cobbled 
 street. He sat up with a shrug. 
 
 "It will be plaguy slippery to-morrow," he muttered. 
 "It's lucky we fight with pistols. Where has that rascal 
 put them, I wonder? Best light up and find them." 
 
 He rose and groped his way to the bureau in the corner
 
 80 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 to search for his tinder-box. To his surprise, instead of 
 the smooth lid of the desk, his fingers encountered papers 
 and books ; it was evident the bureau was open. 
 
 "Zounds !" he muttered angrily, "who has been meddling 
 here?" 
 
 A sudden quick intake of breath, the short gasping sob 
 of fear, sounded close to his elbow. He stopped with hand 
 arrested, with head turned, peering through the darkness, 
 straining his ears for a repetition of the sound. 
 
 There was a deadly stillness in the room. But Timothy 
 knew he had not been mistaken ; some one was hiding in the 
 room in the narrow space between the bureau and the wall, 
 some one who had opened his desk, some one who had 
 extinguished the light so suddenly on his unexpected 
 entrance. 
 
 Timothy shuffled rapidly among his papers and found his 
 tinder-box, but he did not at once strike a light. Instead 
 he walked slowly back to the table, placed the box beside 
 the candle, and dragging a chair between the bureau and 
 the door flung himself back into it with a well-simulated 
 yawn. 
 
 He yawned again, twice, thrice, each time with less vigour. 
 
 Presently he began to breathe with the heaviness and 
 regularity of a sleeper. 
 
 Ten minutes passed. Suddenly he heard a little fluttering 
 sigh of relief and the faint rustle of a silken skirt. This 
 latter sound so startled Timothy that for a moment he 
 forgot to snore and the sound ceased abruptly. 
 
 "Dem it!" he muttered, "it's a woman." 
 
 He stirred and turned in his chair, and presently resumed 
 his heavy breathing. The rustle of the skirt was heard 
 again, nearer to him now evidently the owner of it was
 
 A SIGH IN THE DARK" 81 
 
 crossing the room to his side. He shut his eyes and waited. 
 Another moment and he knew she was standing over him, 
 peering down at him through the darkness. 
 
 It was an eerie feeling. Timothy's heart beat quickly, 
 wondering what was to come, but he made no sign. 
 
 Then soft hands began to move about him, a light flutter- 
 ing touch, stealing inside his coat, groping for the pocket 
 in his waistcoat. He waited immovable until the fingers 
 were touching the silken pocket-book he carried; then sud- 
 denly he threw up his hands and grasped the two slight 
 wrists in a grip of iron. 
 
 "Got you !" he cried gaily. 
 
 The woman gave a sharp gasp of terror and for a mo- 
 ment stood rigid in his grasp. Then she began to struggle 
 frantically, twisting wildly to free herself from his hold. 
 Timothy laughed softly. Cautiously he brought the two 
 wrists together until he could encircle both with one hand. 
 Then he reached out for his tinder-box. 
 
 "Now let me have a look at you, my beauty," he said 
 grimly. 
 
 The woman gave a short, hard sob and struggled more 
 wildly than ever, pulling at his arm, but his fingers were 
 like iron bands ; she was helpless in his grasp. 
 
 "Be still, you little tiger-cat," he muttered; "be still or 
 you'll hurt yourself." 
 
 Slowly and with difficulty, while she struggled and 
 wrenched at his arm, he kindled the spark and lit a candle ; 
 then he turned to face her. With a sharp cry he dropped 
 her wrists and sprang to his feet, overturning his chair. 
 
 "Lady Wimbourne !" he gasped ; "Lady Wimbourne !" 
 
 Adelaide stood before him with bowed head. Her face 
 and neck were crimson; she breathed in quick frightened
 
 82 
 
 gasps ; the ruffle at her sleeve was torn. For a full minute 
 Timothy stared at her in silence, his eyes hard, a look of 
 anger and contempt on his face. 
 
 Slowly she lifted her head and faced him. 
 
 "Mr. Curtis," she said faintly, "Mr. Curtis, I" Then 
 she covered her face with her hands and broke into bitter 
 weeping. 
 
 Timothy was very tender-hearted. The anger died out 
 of his eyes at the sound of her helpless sobs. He crossed 
 to her side and laid his hand on her arm. 
 
 "Ah ! don't cry, madam," he said gently ; "you have noth- 
 ing to fear. 'Tis I who must apologise for so mishandling 
 you. But how could I dream ! Ton my soul, madam, 
 I'm sorry for you. Come, sit down here and tell me what 
 it is you came to seek." 
 
 She sank obediently into the chair he placed for her, and 
 struggled to control her sobs. Tim poured out a glass 
 of water from the carafe on the table and brought it to 
 her. She took it gratefully, and presently her weeping 
 quieted and she drew out her kerchief and dried her eyes. 
 Timothy gave a sigh of relief; he had dreaded an attack 
 of hysterics. 
 
 He took a seat on the edge of the table beside her and 
 stared down at her in bewildered pity. 
 
 "Now, madam," he said gently, "what can I do for you?" 
 
 She turned to him with outstretched hands, with pitiful 
 pleading face. 
 
 "Ah! have pity, have pity," she cried. "Spare Tracy." 
 
 "Madam!" he stammered. His thoughts flew instantly 
 to the duel. "How the plague do women hear about these 
 things?" he muttered testily. 
 
 But Adelaide knew nothing of the scene in the supper-
 
 "A SIGH IN THE DARK" 83 
 
 room; her thoughts were centred round the dreaded be- 
 trayal of her husband's conspiracy. So they talked at 
 cross purposes, neither fully comprehending the other's 
 words. 
 
 "Ah!" she pleaded, "you are his friend. Surely surely 
 you would not bring his death upon him." 
 
 "His death ! Why, madam, how know you it means his 
 death? That's plaguy uncertain," he added with a grim 
 laugh. 
 
 "Ah! sir, certain or only possible, what is that to a dis- 
 tracted wife?" she cried desperately. "I think only of the 
 danger. You cannot deny the danger." 
 
 Timothy shrugged his shoulders. It appeared his share 
 of the risk was not to be considered. 
 
 "Whatever danger Tracy is in, he has brought it on 
 himself," he said shortly, "I bore him no ill-will." 
 
 "I know, I know," she said eagerly; "he has been reck- 
 less foolish. But you should be the last to blame him 
 you who know him so well, you who understand his 
 opinions " 
 
 "Plague take me if I do understand his opinions at all, 
 madam," he answered angrily. "I write him down clean 
 crazed." 
 
 She beat her hands together desperately, seeking argu- 
 ments by which to move him. 
 
 "Ah ! think, think," she pleaded ; "remember what you and 
 Tracy have been to one another. Why, times have been 
 when I have been jealous of you I, because Tracy gave 
 you so much of his heart. And even yet he loves you. In 
 spite of all he would have saved you, his friend." 
 
 "Monstrous queer notion of showing friendship," mut- 
 tered Tim between his teeth. He stared down at her for a
 
 84 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 minute in gloomy silence. "Look you, madam," he broke 
 out at last, " 'tis to Tracy you should plead. If he will 
 retract I'll be only too thankful to 
 
 Her eyes gleamed angrily. "Retract !" she cried scorn- 
 fully. "You know Tracy. Do you dream that any dangers, 
 any entreaties would induce him to retract ? No ; it lies 
 with you and with you only to save him. Ah ! Mr. Curtis, 
 have pity. If not for Tracy's sake, then for mine ; for 
 for Celia's sake. She loves him so." 
 
 Timothy flushed. "But, Lady Wimbourne," he argued, 
 "you don't understand. In affairs of this sort a gentleman 
 cannot go back on his engagements." 
 
 "A gentleman !" she cried with a scornful inflection on the 
 word. Then she stopped and bit her lip. "No, no !" she 
 cried ; "I did not mean that ; I have no right to judge you 
 after to-night. I can only beg you to have pity. For the 
 others I ask nothing; do to them as you will" she shud- 
 dered as she spoke "but for Tracy ah! be pitiful. On 
 my knees I beg you to spare him." 
 
 She sank on to her knees before him and seized his hand 
 in hers. Timothy flushed darkly and sprang to his 
 feet. 
 
 "For heaven's sake, madam!" he cried, "be reasonable. 
 Why, plague take me, here's a fuss over a trifle." 
 
 She looked at him with deep reproach. "A trifle! Mr. 
 Curtis, do you deem Tracy's life a trifle to me ? Ah ! I 
 think you should know a little what it is to love. By your 
 love, by your devotion to her you love, I adjure you, be 
 pitiful." 
 
 He looked at her gloomily. "You don't understand what 
 you are asking of me, madam," he said slowly ; "but there, 
 I can't refuse you. It shall be as you wish. I'll spare
 
 "A SIGH IN THE DARK" 85 
 
 Tracy." He spoke the last words with a half- 
 mocking grimace and held out his hand with a 
 smile. 
 
 For a second she hesitated, then she placed her hand in 
 his outstretched palm. "Whatever you may be to others, 
 Mr. Curtis, to-night at least you have played the man of 
 honour." 
 
 Tim lifted his eyebrows whimsically. 
 
 "It would seem your ladyship has the plaguiest ill-notion 
 of my character," he said. 
 
 She eyed him scornfully. "Is that to be wondered at? 
 There are certain codes of honour, Mr. Curtis, of which even 
 we women cannot forgive the breach." 
 
 Tim lost his temper. "Then may I ask, madam, what hon- 
 ourable occupation you were engaged upon when I inter- 
 rupted you this evening?" 
 
 She started back as though he had struck her, her face 
 flushed crimson. 
 
 "Ah ! don't ask me," she moaned. "I was mad. But it was 
 for Tracy's sake. And for his sake I would risk even my 
 honour. Ah ! I love him so." 
 
 Timothy relented. "There, there, madam," he said gently, 
 "we'll sink the matter. And now I must take you home. 
 It's too late for you to be about." 
 
 But even as he spoke voices broke the stillness below; 
 heavy footsteps were heard ascending the stair. 
 
 Timothy was across the room in a second and bolted the 
 door. 
 
 "It's Beringer," he said hurriedly, "come to tell me what 
 has been arranged for to-morrow. They mustn't see you, 
 madam. Will you wait in the inner room till I am rid of 
 them?"
 
 86 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 Adelaide hesitated. "Cannot I go out by another door?" 
 she asked. 
 
 "There is none. Quick, madam," he added as a heavy 
 knock resounded on the door and the handle was violently 
 rattled. 
 
 She followed him into the inner room. He placed a chair 
 for her at the far side of the apartment. 
 
 "You'll understand, madam," he said, smiling, "those 
 rascals won't know of your presence, and maybe the 
 tone of the conversation won't be suited to your 
 ears." 
 
 She flushed. "Rest assured, Mr. Curtis," she said with a 
 faint smile, "I will not listen at the door." 
 
 Timothy threw a rapid glance round the outer apartment 
 to assure himself that no trace of her presence remained. 
 Then he crossed to the outer door and flung it open with a 
 yawn. David Beringer entered quickly, followed by Roger 
 Lee, a tall, dark, impulsive man with bad-tempered lines 
 round his mouth. They were drenched with rain, muddy to 
 the knees, and both wore an air of resolute and unflinching 
 cheerfulness. 
 
 "Gad! Tim, how you sleep," cried Beringer, flinging off 
 his coat. "We've knocked loud enough to wake the stiffs 
 down in the Abbey yonder. Shows you have plaguy steady 
 nerves." 
 
 Roger Lee crossed to the sideboard and poured himself out 
 a glass of wine. 
 
 "Phew! what a night it is," he muttered, shrugging his 
 damp shoulders. "We've settled your affair for you, Curtis. 
 To-morrow, in the meadow behind the wood by Charity 
 Farm. We take the air at eleven." 
 
 "It's a late hour," explained Beringer ; "but there is small
 
 "A SIGH IN THE DARK" 87 
 
 fear of interruption there. And the hour is to suit his 
 convenience." 
 
 "I'm much obliged to you both " began Tim slowly. 
 
 "Pish, man!" said Beringer, interrupting him with a 
 laugh. 
 
 "Only too glad to see you through the affair," said Roger 
 Lee. "I'm only sorry there is to be no rapier play. 'Twould 
 have been plaguy slippery, but 'tis a pleasure to watch you 
 at the work." 
 
 "What of the others?" asked Tim slowly. 
 
 Beringer laughed. "Egad, you fire-eater! Settle this 
 affair with Wimbourne first, and if Bob and Charlie don't 
 offer an apology we can arrange a meeting later." 
 
 "I don't ask what is your quarrel with Tracy," said Roger 
 Lee, pausing to see if any information was forthcoming, 
 "but I must say he has the most demmed ungentlemanly 
 way of insulting I have ever seen." 
 
 He lifted the box of duelling pistols from the sideboard 
 and carried them to the table. "Are these in order?" he 
 asked. "Have you had any practice lately?" 
 
 "Are there any little affairs I can attend to for you?" 
 asked Beringer, glancing at the disordered papers in the 
 bureau. 
 
 Tim did not answer. He sat gloomily on the arm of a 
 chair, playing with his snuff-box and staring at the ground. 
 
 The two men looked at him in surprise and exchanged 
 glances. Then Beringer put his hand on his shoulder. 
 
 "What's the matter with you, Tim?" he asked sharply. 
 "Have you no stomach for the fight ?" 
 
 Tim roused himself. "I'm very grateful to you two for 
 the trouble you've taken in this affair. But the fact of the 
 matter is I I've decided not to fight Wimbourne."
 
 88 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 "Not to fight him!" cried Lee. "Has he apologised?" 
 
 "No," said Tim coolly, "nor is he likely to do so." 
 
 Lee strode round the table and stared at him angrily. 
 
 "You you're making fools of us, Curtis. You must meet 
 your man now. The affair has gone too far to be settled 
 without an apology." 
 
 Tim shrugged his shoulders and took a pinch of snuff. 
 
 "I can't fight Wimbourne," he said doggedly. 
 
 "But why not? What ails you, man?" asked Beringer. 
 "I know you and Tracy were friends, but you did your best 
 this evening to keep out of the affair. Tracy forced it 
 upon you." 
 
 "Perhaps Mr. Curtis doesn't recollect that he has been 
 dubbed 'thief and 'coward' in public," said Roger Lee 
 stiffly. 
 
 Tim flushed, but outwardly preserved his cool demeanour. 
 
 "My mind is fixed. I shall not fight Wimbourne," he re- 
 peated. "You'll oblige me by carrying to him my message." 
 
 "By heaven ! that I shall not," burst out Lee angrily. "I'd 
 have you know, Mr. Curtis, I hold your conduct most in- 
 sulting. I'll bear a challenge for any man, but demme if it's 
 a gentleman's work to carry round the white feather." 
 
 Tim shut his snuff-box with a snap. His eyes gleamed. 
 
 "And I'd have you know. Lee," he said curtly, "I'll not 
 have my conduct called in question by you or any man." 
 
 "Egad! a man who sits down under the name of coward 
 is like to have his conduct freely questioned," retorted Lee 
 with a sneer. "I'll be obleeged, Mr. Curtis, if you will num- 
 ber me with Sir Tracy and Lord Robert in this affair." 
 
 He seized his hat, and turning on his heel with a scornful 
 gesture, strode out of the room. 
 
 Timothy watched him depart with a whimsical smile and
 
 "A SIGH IN THE DARK" 89 
 
 a shrug of his shoulders. He glanced up at Beringer ques- 
 tioningly out of the corner of his eyes. 
 
 "Well, Davie?" he asked. 
 
 Beringer looked at him with troubled brows. 
 
 "Tim, this is impossible. There are some things a man 
 can't do." 
 
 "True, and I can't fight Tracy." 
 
 "You know what interpretation will be put upon it?" 
 
 "An interpretation I can silence." 
 
 "You will have to fight half Bath to do so." 
 
 "Possibly. Will you act for me again ?" 
 
 Beringer flushed. "Plague on you, Tim, I don't un- 
 derstand you," he said huskily. "I I'll see you in 
 the morning. Maybe you will have found your senses 
 then." 
 
 He picked up his coat and with a last puzzled look took 
 his departure. 
 
 Tim sat silent till the echoing footsteps died away in the 
 lane below ; then he lifted his head with a defiant smile. 
 
 "It seems," he said slowly, "I'm in a fair way to have a 
 demmed busy morning before me." 
 
 He gave a sudden sigh, and crossing the room to the inner 
 door, called Adelaide. 
 
 "Your way is clear now, madam," he said. "If you will 
 permit me, I will take you home. The rain is over." 
 
 Without a word she pulled her hood about her face and 
 accepted his guidance down the dark stairs. Silently they 
 paced the deserted streets. When they neared the turning 
 into St. James's Parade she stopped and laid her hand on 
 arm. 
 
 "I have your word that you will spare Tracy?" she asked. 
 "I can trust you ?"
 
 90 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 "Would you like me to swear it, madam ?" he asked a little 
 impatiently. 
 
 She hesitated, then shook her head. "No, you have been 
 very good to me to-night. I cannot believe evil of you. It 
 must be that that you did not think of things as as we 
 do. But I will trust you to keep your word to a woman." 
 
 They walked on to the beginning of the parade, where she 
 stopped and turned to dismiss him. 
 
 "It is wiser that I go on alone now," she said hurriedly. 
 "My maid is watching to open for me. Mr. Curtis, my 
 honour is in your hands. No one must know what I have 
 done to-night." 
 
 "Your honour is safe, Lady Wimbourne." 
 
 She looked at him a moment in hesitation, then added wist- 
 fully: 
 
 "I would crave yet a third boon if I might." 
 
 "What is it, madam?" he asked gently. 
 
 "That you have pity upon Celia. Spare her the knowl- 
 edge of a woman's strife betwixt love and duty." 
 
 "Madam, I would die for her," he said softly. 
 
 She sighed. "I believe you, sir. So would many men. It 
 is so much easier to die for a woman than to have pity upon 
 her weakness." 
 
 She turned and left him without waiting for his answer, 
 and he strode gloomily back to his rooms, puzzling over 
 her words.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 "A PELICAN IN THE WILDERNESS" 
 
 THE Christopher Inn shared with the three famous coffee 
 houses of Bath the favours of men of fashion as a con- 
 venient breakfast centre after the morning glass at the 
 Pump Room. It was essentially a bachelor haunt. It 
 lacked the dainty appurtenances of Wiltshire's rooms, the 
 feminine attractions of the Toy-Shop Tavern ; but the 
 cooking far excelled that of any other inn in the neighbour- 
 hood, and the number of small rooms were excellently 
 suited to the private breakfasts followed by morning gam- 
 ing parties, so much in vogue at that period. 
 
 Number 7, the room most in request, was a long narrow 
 apartment in the upper story, with three tall windows look- 
 ing out upon the High Street opposite the Guildhall. It 
 was approached by a separate staircase and passage, and 
 at ten o'clock on the morning of July 10th it was crowded 
 to the utmost limit of its accommodation. Sir Tracy Wim- 
 bourne had commanded a breakfast for twenty, and 
 despite the early hour, it was a merry party. Wild shouts 
 of laughter rang through the room, floating out through 
 the open windows, waking the echoes of the quiet sunlit 
 street, and causing grave mercers to shake their heads 
 sourly or to smile in jocular sympathy, according as trade 
 was good or bad, or they themselves merrily or otherwise 
 inclined. 
 
 At last the breakfast was ended. The tables were cleared, 
 and for half an hour after the servants had left the room,
 
 92 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 the company played steadily, gathered in little groups 
 about the various tables, sorting the cards and naming the 
 stakes with monotonous regularity. Then Tracy rose to 
 his feet. 
 
 Immediately every man threw down his cards, and still 
 sitting at the tables all turned to face their host. Tracy 
 drew some papers from his inner pocket, and leaning his 
 elbow on the chimneypiece proceeded to open them and 
 scan their contents. 
 
 "Er look to the door, Noll, would you?" he said slowly. 
 "Has any one seen David Beringer this morning?" 
 
 Sir Oliver Shirley opened the door and looked down the 
 passage. It was empty, and nodding reassuringly at 
 Tracy, he returned to his seat. 
 
 "I saw Beringer this morning," said Roger Lee shortly. 
 "He should be here anon. He has news for you, Wim- 
 bourne," he added, with a scornful curl of his lip. 
 
 Tracy lifted his eyebrows. "Well, we'll not wait for him. 
 To business. I received a despatch this morning. There is 
 news and we must be stirring. The Prince sailed from Dun- 
 kirk on the second day of the month." 
 
 A stir went through the assembly. Men lifted their heads 
 eagerly, with that light in their eyes, that is only awakened 
 by a call to arms ; the fighting spirit of youth warmed their 
 blood. 
 
 "So it has come at last," muttered Roger Lee with a long 
 sigh of satisfaction. "At last !" 
 
 Rory poised the king of spades on the tips of his fingers, 
 and with a flip sent the card spinning across the room. 
 "There goes Geordie," he said mockingly, "back to his 
 country house." 
 
 Tracy resumed his explanation. "The Prince was accom-
 
 "A PELICAN IN THE WILDERNESS" 93 
 
 panied by two frigates, both well supplied with arms and 
 ammunition. His landing place is uncertain, but it is prob- 
 able, if the way lies clear, they will run in as near Bristol 
 as possible, somewhere on the South Wales coast. Kelly will 
 send a messenger to me directly he lands and we must be 
 ready at once for action. All the risings are to be, as far as 
 possible, simultaneous." 
 
 "What is the plan?" asked Marcus. 
 
 "When the signal is given we seize the gates and bridges, 
 occupy the Guildhall and the quarters of the City Guard. 
 We hold the town for King James, enroll and drill volun- 
 teers, fortify the walls and prepare to give the Prince a 
 royal welcome. There are twenty of us here, with our ser- 
 vants we number at least fourscore. There are sixty gen- 
 tlemen in Bath and as many again in the neighbourhood 
 prepared to declare for the Stuart when he lands in Eng- 
 land. We shall have half the mercers and all the 'prentices 
 on our side; all the arms and ammunition will be in our 
 hands, and we shall hold the gates. The affair should go 
 almost without bloodshed." 
 
 "And in the meantime until we hear from the Prince?" 
 asked Charles Rathborne eagerly. 
 
 "We must keep the affair silent, but so far as we can 
 without exciting suspicions test the politics of the towns- 
 folk. And we must get the arms into the town and safelj 
 bestowed at Madame Grieve's, ready for the signal." 
 
 "You are sure there is safe hiding for them at Madame 
 Grieve's?" asked Lord Stavely. 
 
 "Safe as the grave. Egad ! the patience of that woman ! 
 For two years she has lived there waiting for this chance. 
 She has her regular customers who can speak for her 
 honesty ; she has their hours fixed and knows their comings
 
 94 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 and goings. They may watch her, they may search the 
 house; they will scent nothing. For two years she has 
 sacrificed herself to suit the whims and fads of her cus- 
 tomers, all for the chance of this hour. A woman's loyalty, 
 gentlemen, is a miracle." 
 
 Rory laughed softly. "Faith, that's true. But 'tis 
 loyalty to the man, not to the King. Jamie had a tongue 
 in's youth, and Marie Grieve has not yet forgot 1715." 
 
 Lord Robert frowned. "And is her devotion to be decried 
 because love, not loyalty, may be the source?" he asked 
 sternly. 
 
 A soft whistle was heard without, hurried steps ascending 
 the stair. 
 
 " 'Twill be David Beringer," said Oliver, opening the 
 door. 
 
 Beringer entered. He looked flushed and angry and 
 muttered an excuse for his tardy appearance. Roger Lee 
 crossed to his side. 
 
 "Well," he asked, "what does he say? Has morning 
 brought counsel?" 
 
 Beringer shook his head. "He'll not fight," he said surlily. 
 
 Lee gave a mocking laugh. "We've news for you, Wim- 
 bourne," he said. "Your cock last night crowed too loudly. 
 Mr. Curtis withdraws his challenge and will not fight with 
 you." 
 
 Tracy wheeled round and faced the speaker. 
 
 "Not fight !" he gasped. "He'll not fight me? Why?" 
 
 Roger shrugged his shoulders. "Presumably because in 
 his opinion 'pistols are too demmed risky,' " he quoted with 
 a sneer. 
 
 Tracy stood silent, staring at the ground. Lord Robert 
 crossed to his side ; his eyes gleamed angrily.
 
 "A PELICAN IN THE WILDERNESS" 95 
 
 "He refuses to fight you. Tracy, isn't that enough to 
 prove his treachery? In justice you must give him over to 
 our hands now." 
 
 "Some one is coming," said Oliver quietly. 
 
 The men turned in their seats and mechanically took up 
 their cards. A moment later there was a knock at the door 
 and a servant entered with a packet, which he handed to 
 Lord Stavely, who lodged at the Christopher Inn. 
 
 "From London, my lord. By express." 
 
 Stavely dismissed the man, and opening the packet, began 
 to read the contents. 
 
 The men talked eagerly together, discussing the news from 
 France and casting curious looks at Lord Robert, who stood 
 whispering to Tracy, insistently urging his claim. 
 
 A sudden exclamation from Stavely startled them. He 
 had risen to his feet with crimson face and eyes blazing with 
 passion. 
 
 "Gentlemen," he said, "here is the most damnable treason. 
 I have received a despatch from Sir Thomas Winnington." 
 
 Rory was playing idly with the cards, balancing one upon 
 the other as children build card castles. He looked up with 
 a quick smile. 
 
 "Well," he asked, "what says my revered uncle that is so 
 damned treasonable ?" 
 
 Stavely eyed him impatiently. "He writes me that he has 
 proof that Pelham has paid 5,000 to a gentleman of our 
 company to watch the friends of the Stuart and betray to 
 him our plans. We have a spy among us." 
 
 The effect of his words was instantaneous. Men sprang to 
 their feet with clenched fists, with gleaming eyes. Rage, 
 fear, suspicion were written on every face. A low, menac- 
 ing cry echoed through the room.
 
 96 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 "His name? His name?" 
 
 "He has no information as to his name," answered 
 Stavely. "He can but assert 'tis one of our company." 
 
 Every man glanced at his neighbour with quick suspicion, 
 with incredulous wonder. Rory Winnington looked round 
 the circle with a careless shrug. 
 
 "But has no man a clue to offer?" he asked. 
 
 Lord Robert laid his hand on Tracy's arm. 
 
 "Is it to be you or I ?" he said softly. 
 
 Tracy stepped forward. "Gentlemen," he said quietly, 
 "there is no need for Sir Thomas to tell us the name of the 
 spy. I know him and can prove his guilt." 
 
 Rory steadily balanced another story on his castle. 
 
 "Ah!" he said thoughtfully. "You know him? His name 
 then, Tracy." 
 
 "Timothy Curtis !" 
 
 Rory's card castle crashed to the ground; he turned to 
 Tracy a face of incredulous surprise. 
 
 "Tim Curtis? Tim? Great heavens, Tracy, what mad- 
 brained maggot are you hunting now?" 
 
 "Wimbourne, you can prove this ?" asked Stavely gravely. 
 
 "You may rest assured, gentlemen, I should not bring such 
 an accusation were I not able to prove it. Mr. Curtis has 
 himself admitted Lord Pelham's bribe. But further than 
 this, I have reason to believe he has stolen from from my 
 household papers dealing with this affair of the Prince's 
 landing, which were intrusted to me by Captain McFee 
 papers of such import that he holds our lives in his hands." 
 
 "Since when have you known this, Wimbourne?" asked 
 Lord Stavely quickly. 
 
 "Since yestereven. I am to blame, gentlemen, that I did 
 not earlier intrust you with the matter. But the loss of
 
 A PELICAN IN THE WILDERNESS" 97 
 
 the papers was my affair ; I wished to deal with him myself. 
 I was to have met him this morning, and trusted I might 
 have the fortune to kill him in fair fight." 
 
 Lord Stavely bowed his head gravely, and the others 
 nodded acceptance of his explanation. They guessed that 
 his wife was concerned in the matter, and though the sus- 
 picions of many were far afield from the truth, they under- 
 stood his desire to move alone in the affair. 
 
 "I was with Tracy in the matter," said Lord Robert, 
 "though 'twas against my will he kept it secret. But now 
 Mr. Curtis refuses to fight. What is to be done now ?" 
 
 "The man must die," said Lord Stavely sternly. The 
 others nodded acquiescence. 
 
 "But if he will not fight?" urged Charles Rathborne. 
 
 "We will force him to do so," cried Roger Lee fiercely. 
 "I have an affair with him myself. I shall send him a 
 challenge this morning." 
 
 "But Mr. Curtis, it would seem, exercises his own discretion 
 in the acceptance or refusal of a challenge," said Lord 
 Robert sneeringly. 
 
 Beringer stepped forward. "Tim Curtis is no coward," he 
 said unsteadily. "I believed last night his refusal to fight 
 was based on the score of friendship for Tracy. I deemed 
 him ready enough to take the air with any other gentleman. 
 But if Tracy is right in his accusation, then I say frankly 
 I do not understand the man ; it may be he will refuse every 
 challenge. Only he is no coward." 
 
 "For myself," said Marcus quietly, "I do not cross swords 
 with a spy." 
 
 Lord Stavely shook his head. "The man must be silenced," 
 he repeated. 
 
 "Just so. We can force him to fight," cried Rathborne.
 
 98 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 "We will challenge him one by one. Surely we'll kill him 
 amongst us." 
 
 A murmur of assent echoed through the room. Lord 
 Robert held up his hand for silence. 
 
 "Gentlemen," he said gravely, "our first consideration must 
 be not what we owe to Mr. Curtis, nor how to secure the 
 safety of our own necks, but rather how to protect the 
 interests of the Prince. Suppose we all challenge Mr. 
 Curtis, and suppose he accepts our challenge; what then? 
 There is no man among us, given ordinary luck, who can 
 hold his own against Curtis with the rapier. I speak plainly, 
 gentlemen, you must pardon me the moment demands it. 
 There is, I am well assured, no man here who would let such 
 a consideration weigh with him for a moment did he deem 
 it his duty to meet Mr. Curtis. But there are, as I say, other 
 considerations. If we stand up one by one to be pinked by 
 this fellow, how is the Prince's service to be forwarded? 
 Gentlemen, we must not let our natural desire to punish this 
 man blind us in this matter." 
 
 Indignant protest, incoherent mutterings of agreement or 
 anger rang through the room. Tracy laid his hand on Lord 
 Robert's arm. 
 
 "You are right, Bob," he said. "I would not listen to 
 you last night, but you are right. The Prince must come 
 first. We must not waste ourselves on private quarrels." 
 
 "But if we can't meet him in fair fight, what's to be done 
 with the fellow?" cried Rathborne impatiently. 
 
 "There is but one way to silence him," began Lord 
 Stavely slowly. 
 
 "Would you assassinate him ?" asked Rory bluntly. 
 
 Stavely nodded. " 'Tis his life or ours." 
 
 There was a moment's silence, broken by Marcus.
 
 "A PELICAN IN THE WILDERNESS" 99 
 
 "I'll have no hand in the matter," he said slowly. "We 
 are a company of gentlemen, not cut-throats." 
 
 "But in the Prince's service, Sir Marcus " began 
 Stavely. 
 
 "In no man's services should it be required of a 
 gentleman to soil his fingers with assassination," answered 
 Marcus. 
 
 Tracy intervened. "Gentlemen," he said, "Timothy Cur- 
 tis was my friend, and the man's been tempted. Though 
 I am ready to go to extremes to silence him if need be, I 
 we all would gladly be spared the necessity. Why, then, 
 should we not kidnap him simply, keep him close till the 
 affair is through, and then leave it to the Prince to deal 
 with him as he chooses? Gentlemen, I move we adopt that 
 plan ; further, that Mr. Lee, Lord Stavely and Sir Charles 
 Rathborne take the responsibility of the affair. You must 
 make your own arrangements, gentlemen, but it should be 
 to-morrow night at latest, and, in the meantime, he must 
 be shadowed, that he does not escape us. You will recollect 
 further, gentlemen, the affair must be kept absolutely 
 quiet." 
 
 "But in the meantime," objected Sir Marcus, "I can- 
 not meet Mr. Curtis as though nothing were afoot. The 
 man is a spy I cannot treat him as a gentleman." 
 
 "Nor I," cried half a dozen voices. 
 
 "Nor I, demme," said Roger Lee vindictively. 
 
 "It will not be necessary," said Lord Robert quietly. 
 "One does not extend the hand of fellowship to one who has 
 been dubbed a thief and a coward and who shrinks from 
 calling his accuser to account. We shall be fully justified 
 on that score in refusing Mr. Curtis's acquaintance." 
 
 There was a low exclamation from David Beringer, who
 
 100 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 stood by the window; the others crowded round him and 
 looked down into the street below. 
 
 Down the opposite causeway in the full glare of the bright 
 sunlight strolled Miss Celia Winnington, her blue dress 
 shimmering, her bright eyes shining, her fair curls danc- 
 ing beneath the wide brim of her hat. Beside her walked 
 Timothy Curtis, leaning toward her to listen to her words, 
 his face wearing a look of blissful content. Behind them 
 marched an elderly maid, her duenna-like primness so far 
 relaxed as to smile on the couple in front. Celia was 
 laughing and chattering gaily in evident appreciation of 
 her company, and once, when she lifted her eyes and met 
 his glance, her face crimsoned sweetly with blushes and her 
 lips dimpled into a smile of happiness. They passed slowly 
 down the street and disappeared round the corner. 
 
 The watchers turned away from the window and eyed each 
 other in silence. Then Rory Winnington broke into his 
 low mocking laugh. 
 
 "Egad !" he said, "it's well for Tim Curtis that the Prince 
 is to deal with him. He'd have short shrift otherwise, I'm 
 thinking. Come, Tracy, is the sitting over? I'm due on 
 the Walks at noon." 
 
 "There is no more to be done at present," answered 
 Tracy, "save to be in readiness. Stavely, we leave Mr. 
 Curtis in your hands." He took Lord Robert's arm and 
 the two men left the room, talking eagerly together in low 
 tones. 
 
 Some of the company sat down again to cards, but the 
 majority hurried out into the sunshine and dispersed about 
 their various pursuits. 
 
 Meanwhile, Celia and Timothy dawdled happily down 
 Staul Street, through the Abbey Green and out on to the
 
 "A PELICAN IN THE WILDERNESS" 101 
 
 South Parade. They looked into the Toy-Shop to read the 
 news and examine the knick-knacks ; they called at three 
 mercers' in search of a ribband, and they paused at Lewis's 
 famous book-shop to see the latest political squibs. At 
 length, in the course of an hour, they reached the end of the 
 South Parade and stopped to look out over the wide pros- 
 pect of Beechen Cliff with its beautiful hanging woods 
 a-shimmer in the dancing sunlight. Celia broke into a soft 
 laugh of sheer happiness. 
 
 "Oh! the adorable world! the adorable world!" she cried; 
 "how heavenly it is to-day !" 
 
 A bright butterfly fluttered by her, darting and swooping 
 hither and thither in an aimless joyance of heart, like 
 the music of a child's untutored song. Celia pointed to 
 it with a smile. 
 
 "The spirit of the morning, Mr. Curtis." 
 
 Timothy laughed. "Lud ! madam, a mighty idle one. Do 
 not the divines teach us that the butterfly is a monster 
 of iniquity and sloth? I protest we don't merit the com- 
 parison, we've been mightily diligent this morning. You 
 should liken us to his reverence, the bee." 
 
 Celia shook her head. "No, no, I would rather play the 
 butterfly. For the bee methinks his virtue doth protest 
 too much. Moreover all his toil is for his own welfare. But 
 the butterfly makes the world more beautiful by simply liv- 
 ing in it." 
 
 "Then, madam, you do indeed play the butterfly," said 
 Tim softly. 
 
 She laughed and flushed. "A truce to gallantry, Mr. 
 Curtis, and attend my serious discourse. Indeed, the but- 
 terfly deserves your esteem. If man or woman be called 
 upon to work let them fulfil that duty with great-hearted
 
 102 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 zeal ; they will be rewarded here and hereafter. But for 
 us and the butterfly of whom 'twould seem God de- 
 mands no work, may there not be some merit even in rejoic- 
 ing in the sunshine, and giving thanks?" 
 
 Timothy gazed after the fluttering wings with a smile 
 in his eyes. "And when the sunshine passes, madam?" he 
 asked. 
 
 "The butterfly disappears. When, pray, saw you a 
 drenched and dismal butterfly to rend your heart with 
 thoughts of gloom? If he cannot rejoice in the sunshine, 
 making the world brighter by his happiness, he will not 
 make it sour by his pain. He hides his head till the storm 
 passes, bearing his trouble alone." 
 
 "Egad, madam, he's a rare blade. 'Twould seem you've 
 given much study to the subject." 
 
 She laughed. "Is there not rare opportunity in Bath? 
 'Tis not a town that shelters many bees." 
 
 He looked down at her thoughtfully. "I think, Mistress 
 Celia, you have a rare charity. There are not many who 
 can find virtue in a life of idleness." 
 
 "Indeed, sir, virtue may lurk in every life. It may prove 
 as hard for a butterfly to preserve his nobility in idleness as 
 it seemingly is for the bee to be silent at his work." 
 
 She turned, and together they traversed the parade and 
 strolled on towards the entrance to the Walks, which at that 
 hour were crowded with pedestrians. Here Lucy de Putren 
 came to meet them. She looked curiously at Timothy, and 
 slipping her arm through Celia's, walked along between 
 them. 
 
 "Mr. Curtis," she said slowly, "the air of the Walks is not 
 very wholesome for you this morning. Take my advice and 
 ride in the country to-day."
 
 Timothy lifted his eyebrows. "I don't follow you, Lady 
 de Putren," he said, laughing; "but I've such a spirit of 
 inquisitiveness that if I do but hear a place is unwholesome, 
 the devil in it if I can resist going there to try." 
 
 Lucy de Putren shrugged her shoulders and they walked 
 on toward a group of acquaintances chattering eagerly 
 together. 
 
 Celia paused beside them. "Good-morning," she said 
 gaily ; "what is the news ?" 
 
 They turned to greet her gladly, but at sight of her com- 
 panion a look of constraint fell upon them and an awkward 
 silence ensued. 
 
 "Egad!" cried Timothy, laughing, "here's mystery. 
 Whose reputation were you heightening, Lady Belper? I 
 warrant the story is tastily seasoned unless Digby's genius 
 has forsaken him. Eh, Digby?" 
 
 Sir Ralph Digby, the most noted rattle of the year, turned 
 on his heel without a word and strode away. Lady Belper 
 turned her shoulder to Tim, and pointedly ignoring his re- 
 mark, began to talk to Lucy de Putren. Celia looked from 
 one to the other with wondering eyes. 
 
 Two or three men gathered round her, exercising their 
 wits in such compliments as were deemed due to the Queen 
 of Bath. Twice Timothy attempted to join in the con- 
 versation, but his remarks and his presence were pointedly 
 ignored. He withdrew to the edge of the group and stood 
 swinging his quizzing glass and biting his lips in puzzled 
 vexation. 
 
 Presently Celia turned to walk on, and gave him a smiling 
 invitation to escort her. Lucy de Putren accompanied them, 
 but the others drew together again and continued their con- 
 versation.
 
 104 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 The three passed on down the Walks. Here again the same 
 conduct was repeated: hats were doffed, hands were waved 
 to Celia and Lucy de Putren, but all Tim's salutations were 
 passed over without acknowledgment; it was plain he was 
 being deliberately slighted. 
 
 Celia glanced up at him curiously. His face was flushed 
 and his lips twitched nervously, otherwise he gave no sigri 
 that he noted anything unusual. 
 
 "It seems, Mr. Curtis," she said slowly, "you are some- 
 what unpopular this morning." 
 
 He looked down on her with a quiet smile. "It seems 
 so, madam. But with your permission I will seek a more 
 convenient occasion to demand the cause of my er un- 
 popularity." 
 
 She nodded and smiled at his forbearance. At the end of 
 the Walks she paused. 
 
 "I'd be obleeged if you would fetch me a chair, Mr. 
 Curtis," she said. "I have walked for more than an hour." 
 
 He turned away to do her bidding. She laid an eager hand 
 on Lady de Putren's arm. 
 
 "Lucy, what does it all mean? Why in heaven's name 
 is every one so so insolent to Mr. Curtis?" 
 
 "Lud, Celia, I don't understand the rights of it, and I 
 like Tim Curtis you know that well. But it seems he 
 and Tracy quarrelled last night at Lord Cornwallis's house. 
 A meeting was arranged, but this morning Mr. Curtis has 
 withdrawn and refuses to meet Tracy, because, so the story 
 goes, he thinks pistols 'too demmed risky.' In short, 'tis 
 said he prefers to be dubbed coward." 
 
 "He and Tracy quarrelled! But, Lucy, he is Tracy's 
 trustiest friend. How could they quarrel ?" 
 
 Lucy shrugged her shoulders. "Tracy has a cause for
 
 "A PELICAN IN THE WILDERNESS" 105 
 
 quarrel against him now, it seems. 'Tis said he called him 
 a thief yesterday and gave him the lie, and Mr. Curtis has 
 swallowed it as meekly as the veriest calf." 
 
 Celia turned and looked down the Walks on the brightly 
 dressed groups passing to and fro. Her eyes were shining, 
 her breast heaving with emotion. There was a tender light 
 in her eyes. 
 
 "Lucy," she said softly, "I deem Mr. Curtis the most 
 courtly gentleman in England. His friend (Heaven only 
 knows why) insults him grossly; he bears the brand of 
 coward and the scorn of all his acquaintances, and yet 
 despite all he will not draw his sword on Tracy, because 
 he knows " 
 
 She stopped with a little conscious laugh. Lucy looked 
 at her curiously. 
 
 "Because he knows what, Celia?" 
 
 Celia blushed and laughed again. "Because Tracy is his 
 friend. Because he knows if ill befell Tracy it would bring 
 trouble upon Adelaide." 
 
 "On Adelaide !" said Lucy, meeting Celia's eyes and laugh- 
 ing. "The courtly gentleman ! On Adelaide or on some- 
 body else? Lud, child, if that's your interpretation, small 
 wonder you find no heart to blame." 
 
 "Blame !" she cried. "Lucy, they call me Queen of Bath. 
 A queen should lead, not follow the judgment of others. 
 I will show those impertinents yonder where the blame lies. 
 All ! here he comes." 
 
 She turned to Timothy with the sweetest smile of welcome. 
 
 "Mr. Curtis, I am sorry I troubled you ; I prefer to walk 
 home. Will you not escort me?" 
 
 She placed her hand on his arm, and nodding a farewell 
 to Lucy, walked slowly down the terrace, chattering gaily
 
 106 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 and smiling up at him with such a sweet look of trust in her 
 eyes that Timothy's heart beat high with happiness, and 
 all his soul went out in an honest prayer that he might 
 be worthy to serve her. 
 
 As they passed every quizzing glass was raised and every 
 eye was fixed upon them, but Celia took no more notice of 
 the nodding heads and becking hands than if they had been 
 so many waving flowers. Totally ignoring all salutations, 
 she walked slowly past the astounded groups, talking calmly 
 to her companion, until they reached the end of the terrace 
 and turned into Abbey Green. 
 
 Dead silence fell upon the terrace as they passed, but 
 directly they had disappeared the talk, the whispers, the 
 laughter broke out more loudly than ever. Bath had not 
 known such a sensation for fully a fortnight. Women 
 lifted their eyebrows at one another and laughed behind their 
 fans ; men scowled at the ground and muttered angry 
 threats, while the wits hurried from group to group 
 modestly repeating their laboured aphorisms upon the 
 scene. The most favoured opinion was that Miss Winning- 
 ton must be ignorant of the gossip concerning Mr. Curtis ; 
 the most general desire was to know what Sir Tracy and 
 Lady Wimbourne would say. 
 
 But Timothy, as he walked by Celia's side, forgot his 
 humiliation, forgot his anger, forgot all save that his lady 
 smiled on him as never before and chose him out before all 
 the world to be distinguished by her favour. In blissful 
 silence they walked side by side to St. James's Parade. They 
 turned the corner and found themselves face to face with 
 Lord Robert Dacre and Tracy Wimbourne. 
 
 The two men stopped dead. Tracy looked from Tim to 
 Celia and his face grew white. For a moment his eyes
 
 "A PELICAN IN THE WILDERNESS" 107 
 
 threatened an outbreak of passion. Lord Robert stepped 
 forward and laid a hand on his arm. With an effort Tracy 
 swallowed his anger, and ignoring the presence of her com- 
 panion, turned to his sister-in-law. 
 
 "Celia," he said quietly, "this gentleman has been suffi- 
 ciently in your company. I will take you home." 
 
 There was a moment's silence. Celia looked from Tracy's 
 angry face to Tim's hard-set mouth and hesitated. Then 
 she met Lord Robert's warning glance, and with quick tact 
 obeyed her brother-in-law. She held out her hand to Tim 
 with a sweet smile of friendship. 
 
 "It has been a morning to remember, Mr. Curtis," she said 
 brightly. "If you choose to come for it, you shall have my 
 hand in the first country dance at the Rooms to-night. I 
 will trouble you no longer now. Au revoir." 
 
 Tim took his dismissal without comment. He kissed her 
 hand, looked once into her eyes, and then, not casting a 
 glance at the two men, stood aside and watched her walk 
 up the street between her escort. At the door she turned, 
 waved her white hand once in farewell, and disappeared 
 into the house. 
 
 Then, his heart singing a love pfean, but his thoughts dark 
 with anger, he marched to the stables, mounted his horse 
 and rode out through the sunshine up on to the freedom of 
 Claverton Down. There he galloped till his anger had 
 vanished and all his future showed bright with love. 
 
 Celia quietly mounted the stairs to the drawing-room 
 without a word. Then she turned on her brother-in-law 
 with the light of anger in her blue eyes. "Tracy," she said 
 firmly, "I'll be obleeged if you'll explain to me what this 
 means. No, Lord Robert, do not leave us. I'll be pleased 
 to hear your explanation, too."
 
 108 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 The two men eyed each other uncomfortably, and 
 Tracy looked to the door for his wife. Celia read his 
 look. 
 
 "No, Tracy, you need not call Adelaide. I wish your 
 own explanation as to why you choose to insult a gentleman 
 a loyal friend of mine, in my presence." 
 
 Tracy pulled himself together. "I had hoped, Celia, Mr. 
 Curtis would himself have seen the propriety of avoiding 
 your company. As he refuses to do so, 'tis for you to dis- 
 miss him. We we've been mistaken in him. He is not 
 worthy to be honoured by your acquaintance." 
 
 Celia seated herself elaborately. "You and he were 
 friends ?" she asked slowly. "It would seem a man slips the 
 chain of friendship easily these days. But it is not so with 
 a woman. I'll be obleeged, Tracy, if you'll be more explicit 
 in your explanation." 
 
 Tracy crossed the room and seated himself beside her. 
 
 "Celie," he pleaded, "I'd rather not be explicit. 'Twould 
 be wiser if you would trust me and dismiss Mr. Curtis from 
 your company. Believe me, I know what I'm saying. Bob 
 will bear me out that the man is a scoundrel." 
 
 Celia flushed. "You are indeed explicit," she said coldly- 
 Then suddenly she turned and laid her hand on his arm. 
 "Tracy, Tracy, think shame of yourself for speaking so 
 of a friend. You quarrel -with Mr. Curtis, you insult him, 
 and when he refuses to fight you for for our sake you 
 dub him a scoundrel. Sure, Tracy dear, what's come to 
 you now?" 
 
 She lifted to him a sweetly pleading face, the mouth just 
 dimpling into the suggestion of a smile of mischievous 
 triumph, and she murmured coaxingly : 
 
 "Tracy, be good to me. Settle your difference with Mr.
 
 "A PELICAN IN THE WILDERNESS" 109 
 
 Curtis for my sake, and thank him for a patience with your 
 madness that does him honour." 
 
 Tracy stared at her for a moment helplessly. Then he 
 sprang to his feet and crossed to Lord Robert. 
 
 "Good lack, Bob !" he said desperately ; "what's to be 
 done?" 
 
 Lord Robert looked across at her with a great tenderness 
 in his eyes. "You must tell her the truth," he said. " 'Tis 
 the most merciful." 
 
 Tracy stood and stared out of the window with his back 
 to his sister-in-law. 
 
 "Celia," he said shortly, "Mr. Curtis has been bribed by the 
 Ministry to spy upon the Jacobites here in Bath ; you know 
 there are many of that opinion among us. He has gained 
 their confidence and learned their plans under the guise of 
 friendship, and he has stolen from a woman the private 
 papers dealing with the affair. This has been proved. Was 
 I wrong in calling him a villain?" 
 
 There was a moment's dead silence in the room. Then 
 Celia rose and crossed to Tracy's side. 
 
 "It is a lie !" she said hotly. "I'll not believe it." 
 
 He took her hand. "So I thought when I first learned 
 it," he said gently. "But it is true. He has himself ad- 
 mitted it." 
 
 Her lips faltered. She turned to Lord Robert. 
 
 "And you, my lord," she cried, "do you believe it ?" 
 
 "I'd give my life if I could doubt it, madam," he answered 
 gently. And in his heart, as he looked at her face, he 
 vowed that Timothy Curtis should pay for this hour, though 
 it cost him his all to exact the price. 
 
 She pressed her hands together desperately and looked 
 from one to the other ; her face was very white.
 
 110 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 "You say he has admitted it? And it is proved? But how 
 comes it," she cried "if this be so, how comes it that he 
 still lives?" 
 
 "Because he has refused to fight," said Tracy sharply. 
 
 "You you challenged him for this?" 
 
 "But he will not meet me. He prefers to go branded with 
 the name of thief." 
 
 "Tracy, you are sure sure?" she pleaded. 
 
 He nodded. "He was my friend," he said simply. 
 
 For a moment she stood with face averted, and to the two 
 men watching her the silence was horrible. Then she drew 
 herself up proudly and turned to her brother-in-law with a 
 pathetic little smile. 
 
 "I am sorry, Tracy," she said humbly, "that I mistrusted 
 you. You were right. And I thank you and Lord Robert 
 for your care of my honour. In future I will try to be 
 guided by you in my choice of acquaintances." 
 
 She paused, then continued lightly : "You promised to take 
 us to the concert dinner at the Assembly Rooms to-day. I 
 will go and change my gown." She smiled at him again 
 reassuringly and went quickly out of the room. 
 
 Tracy looked after her with a sigh of relief, but Lord 
 Robert shook his head. 
 
 "Demme, Tracy," he muttered miserably, "I feel as though 
 I had killed her." 
 
 Alone in her room Celia stood long gazing out into the 
 sunshine with unseeing eyes, while the tears rolled slowly 
 down her cheeks. 
 
 "I deemed him the worthiest gentleman in the world," 
 she whispered drearily, "and it seems he is a common 
 spy. Ah ! I am shamed shamed that I should be so weak 
 as to weep. I have dreamed indeed, and now I have awak-
 
 "A PELICAN IN THE WILDERNESS" 111 
 
 ened. But I think I shall remember the dream all my 
 days." 
 
 Then she resolutely lifted her head and dried her eyes. 
 She rang for her maid, and half an hour later she sallied 
 forth to dinner with smiling eyes and laughing lips, bearing 
 in her heart a dull, aching pain. 
 
 When Timothy reached the door of the ballroom that 
 evening a minuet was in progress and he was forced to 
 mingle with the little group gathered at the entrance till 
 the music should cease and he could make his progress 
 down the room. 
 
 As he waited, he became aware that he was the object of 
 many curious glances, many whispered comments, and his 
 eyes gleamed angrily as he read hostility in the faces about 
 him. He put up his glass and returned the contemptuous 
 looks of the men with a baffling smile of calm assurance, 
 but in his heart he raged at their insolence and vowed an- 
 other day should not pass before he called them to account. 
 It seemed to him monstrous that they should presume to 
 judge him for his refusal to allow an unwelcome fight to 
 be forced upon him. The whispers of the women troubled 
 him not a whit ; he had never been wont to vex his soul with 
 the fear of venomous tongues ; and indeed he had eyes but 
 for one woman and she had smiled upon him that morning 
 in token of absolute trust. 
 
 At last the music ceased, the dancers stepped aside and the 
 way lay clear for him to the top of the room, where he could 
 dimly discern Celia, seated in a crowd of men. 
 
 It is not an easy task for a man to walk the length of a 
 room, between rows of staring eyes, offering polite greet- 
 ings which receive no acknowledgment and maintaining an 
 unruffled calmness of demeanour. But Timothy was not
 
 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 easily abashed. He strolled slowly between the ranks of the 
 dancers swinging his glass, and bowing punctiliously to all 
 his acquaintances, while the twitch of his lips and the 
 twinkle in his eyes betrayed the fact that the humour 
 of the scene was not lost upon him. When he reached 
 the little group round Celia he placed a long strong 
 hand on the shoulder of Sir Peter Pemberton, and draw- 
 ing him good humouredly out of his way he stepped up to 
 her side with an air of such confident assurance that the 
 men around her could only gaze at him in mute indignation. 
 
 "Good-evening, Miss Winnington," he said gaily. "You 
 see I have come to claim the fulfilment of your promise." 
 
 Celia looked up at him ; her face crimsoned. 
 
 "I recollect no promise, Mr. Curtis," she said stiffly. 
 "And henceforth I shall be obliged if you will understand 
 that I do not count you among my acquaintances." 
 
 Timothy stared at her with a look of blank astonishment. 
 Then he drew a step nearer and leaned over her entreat- 
 
 "Mistress Celia," he pleaded softly, "what is it? Have I 
 been so unfortunate as to offend you ?" 
 
 Celia looked round upon the group of men. 
 
 "Gentlemen," she said quietly, "I must beg of you to 
 protect me from the insolence of this person's attentions." 
 
 Timothy stepped back quickly and drew himself up. His 
 face was very white. 
 
 "It will not be necessary, madam," he said quietly. He 
 gave a stiff little bow, and turning on his heel, marched 
 down the room with head erect and lips pressed firmly 
 together in a straight, hard line. 
 
 As he walked through the noisy, chattering groups a 
 sudden silence fell upon them ; they drew aside to leave his
 
 "A PELICAN IN THE WILDERNESS" 113 
 
 way clear, and he passed out of the room as he had entered 
 it alone. 
 
 The violins struck up a lively country dance. Celia turned 
 to the youthful Sir Peter. 
 
 "Shall we dance this?" she asked a little breathlessly. 
 
 He led her out with a smile of proud delight, and Celia, 
 with shining eyes and smiling lips, danced, danced, danced 
 the evening through in a vain effort to banish from her 
 thoughts the picture of that figure with white, set face 
 standing in lonely isolation before a thousand mocking eyes.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 "TRAPPED" 
 
 TIMOTHY CURTIS walked back to his lodgings with a hot 
 pain in his breast. He had been publicly humiliated before 
 all Bath, but that troubled him comparatively little ; the 
 pain for which he knew no remedy lay in the fact that Celia 
 Winnington, the girl in whom he had looked to find his ideal 
 of Womanhood, had changed to him inexplicably in the 
 course of six hours. 
 
 "Some scandalous tongue has wagged about my name," 
 he argued desperately. "The affair of the duel has been 
 misinterpreted to her. She believes me a scoundrel ; it were 
 unworthy of her did she let a scoundrel stay in her com- 
 pany. Ah ! she is right." 
 
 He mounted the stairs to his rooms with a slow heavy step 
 and flung himself wearily back into his chair. Since the 
 morning all his world had changed. Twelve hours ago he 
 had been one of the most popular men in Bath, and the 
 favoured suitor of the most adorable woman in England; 
 now he was an outcast without a friend in the city, the ob- 
 ject of open scorn and contempt, and all his dreams of love 
 and happiness were shattered. 
 
 All this, it seemed, had come upon him simply because he 
 refused to draw his pistol on a man who had been his stanch- 
 est friend. A sudden fury mastered him at the thought. By 
 what right dared they condemn him, these men whom he had 
 called his friends? He raged at their insolence. That at 
 least should be remedied. He reached out his hand for his
 
 "TRAPPED" 115 
 
 rapier and drew the white blade carelessly through his 
 fingers. 
 
 "They shall have their lesson," he muttered; "and that 
 no later than to-morrow. They question my right to 
 refuse to meet Tracy? I'll have them learn to re- 
 spect my arm if they don't respect my judgment. The 
 insolents !" 
 
 The thought of action cheered his heart for a minute or 
 two. He resolved to go down to the coffee-houses and 
 taverns at the breakfast hour on the morrow, and there 
 demand either public apology from the men who had 
 scorned him or challenge them to prove their words. But 
 he would need a friend to see him through the affair, and 
 at that thought all his isolation came back to him with sud' 
 den force ; he realised that in all the wide city of Bath he 
 knew no man who would bear his messages. 
 
 A weary sense of loneliness oppressed him. His thoughts 
 dwelt on Lord Westerby, his nearest relative ; him, too, he 
 had probably offended beyond hope of pardon, since he had 
 turned aside from his journey to Bristol. 
 
 He mused upon that journey, upon the errand that 
 prompted it. What was she like, he wondered, the woman 
 who awaited him at Bristol. Was she kind? Was she 
 gentle? Would she trust to him in defiance of the judg- 
 ment of her world? If so, such love were surely something 
 for a man whom all the world else held in contempt. 
 
 He shifted his chair and stared out into the night, where 
 the slender crescent of the waning moon trailed her white 
 skirts over the house-roofs. Romance had indeed led him 
 far afield not in the sunny bye-paths he had hoped for, 
 but up the rugged steeps of life. Should he follow her 
 further along the untrodden ways, or should he turn his
 
 116 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 back once and for all upon his dreams, and journeying at 
 last to Bristol fulfil his uncle's will? 
 
 Far on into the night he sat, weighing his choice, while 
 Reason warred against Desire, and Despair strove with the 
 flicker of a dying Hope. At last, when the dead grey light 
 of the morning pearled the eastern sky, he rose to his feet, 
 the contest ended. 
 
 "I'm a fool," he muttered with a half -shamed laugh. "But 
 faith! I'm proud of my folly. She bade me dare to 
 dream. Shall I fear to do so even though my dream may 
 know no fulfilment ? By Heaven ! no !" 
 
 He drew out from his inner pocket the bracelet she had 
 given him and pressed it to his lips. 
 
 "I have vowed to her my service, and God helping me, I'll 
 never stake my homage at any lesser shrine." 
 
 So he resolved with a half-amused smile at his sentiment. 
 
 Then he laid his plans. He decided to ride out the follow- 
 ing evening to Farleigh, a few miles along the London 
 Road, and take up his quarters at the sign of the "Horse 
 and Hound." So he would be sufficiently near to fulfil his 
 engagements with his enemies and communicate with Ade- 
 laide Wimbourne, yet far enough from Bath to avoid any 
 chance of annoying Celia by his presence. 
 
 So he resolved ; but first there must be some sword-play. 
 His eyes gleamed, his heart beat gladly at the thought. 
 
 When Timothy left his lodgings, a figure emerged from 
 the shadow of the houses opposite and followed him at a 
 distance of a hundred yards down the street. He was a 
 tall cadaverous creature, arrayed in the tattered finery 
 characteristic of the many led-captains and broken men 
 who clung to the outskirts of Bath society and picked up a 
 precarious living by the performance of such useful but
 
 "TRAPPED" 117 
 
 questionable deeds as were deemed too unclean for the 
 fingers of a gentleman. He walked with a pathetic at- 
 tempt at a swagger, the last relic of bygone prosperity, and 
 clattered his sword on the pavement with a ruffling air. 
 
 Captain Owen watched Timothy down to the entrance to 
 Simpson's, then took up his station by a book-stall at the 
 corner of the Grove, and under pretence of examining the 
 prints and political squibs there displayed awaited the re- 
 appearance of the man he shadowed. 
 
 Simpson's Rooms were crowded at that hour. Timothy 
 paused at the door and looked round the room. At a table 
 at the further side sat Marcus Ormonde, Charles Rathborne 
 and Lord Stavely at breakfast, while Sir Peter Pemberton 
 sat astride a chair behind them and read aloud extracts from 
 the morning newsletter for their edification. Timothy 
 slowly crossed the room and seated himself at the table 
 beside them. 
 
 "Good-morning, Ormonde," he said coolly; "what's the 
 latest from town?" 
 
 Sir Marcus laid down his knife and fork and looked at him 
 a moment with a curious expression in his eyes. Then he 
 turned his shoulder on the intruder and went on with his 
 breakfast. Timothy leaned across and tapped him on the 
 shoulder. 
 
 "I fear, Sir Marcus," he said quietly, "you are growing 
 a trifle deaf. 'Tis an infirmity that is apt to lead to mis- 
 understandings. You would do well to seek advice on the 
 matter. I asked you the latest from town." 
 
 Marcus slowly poured out his coffee. "The latest from 
 town, Mr. Curtis, is that: 'Pistols are demmed risky,' and 
 a man who has respect for his skin will do wisely to have 
 small respect for his honour."
 
 118 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 Timothy put up his glass. "Sir Marcus, I find your news 
 plaguy insolent," he said softly. "I shall be obliged if 
 you will afford me an opportunity to teach you a better in- 
 terpretation." 
 
 "He who fights and runs away, will live to run another 
 day," hummed Marcus. "I shall give you no such oppor- 
 tunity, Mr. Curtis. I am one with Sir Tracy Wimbourne in 
 disliking to have my arrangements upset at the eleventh 
 hour." 
 
 Timothy flushed. "Do I understand that you will not 
 give me satisfaction?" he asked. 
 
 "Your understanding is not at fault, sir," said Marcus, 
 lifting his cup. 
 
 Timothy stretched out a long strong hand and laid it 
 firmly on his arm. "If you cannot give me an explanation 
 for your refusal, sir," he said coolly, "I shall be most re- 
 luctantly obliged to force a fight upon you." 
 
 Marcus made a vain effort to lift his arm or to put down 
 his cup. "Mr. Curtis, you are delaying my breakfast," he 
 said plaintively. 
 
 "With the utmost regret, I assure you," said Timothy 
 politely. "But I await your explanation." 
 
 With a gesture of irritation Marcus turned and faced him. 
 
 "If I must be explicit, sir," it is because I decline to cross 
 swords with a spy." 
 
 Timothy gave a jump that sent the coffee splashing ove; 
 the table-cloth. He released Marcus's arm and drew back. 
 
 "I don't understand your meaning, sir, but 'twould seem 
 it's demmed insolent," he said sharply. "A man who won't 
 fight should have more care of his words. I fear I shall be 
 put to the unpleasant necessity of waiting upon you with 
 a horsewhip."
 
 "TRAPPED" 119 
 
 Marcus's eyes gleamed. He rose to his feet and picked up 
 his hat. "Mr. Curtis, when you restore the papers you have 
 stolen, and resign your present er remunerative position 
 under Lord Pelham, I will He willing to give you the satis- 
 faction you demand. Until then, I shall neither talk with 
 you nor fight with you, and any attempt upon your part to 
 force me to do either shall be dealt with by my grooms." He 
 threw a coin to the waiter and strode out of the room. 
 
 For a moment it looked as though Timothy would follow 
 him and force him to an encounter; but he restrained his 
 temper with difficulty and turned to the other men at the 
 table. 
 
 "By Gad !" he cried huskily. "Some one shall answer for 
 this. Who is the author of this damned lie?" 
 
 "The gentleman to whom we owe our knowledge of your 
 occupation is Sir Tracy Wimbourne," said Rathborne. 
 
 Tim was staggered. "Tracy !" So that is the meaning in 
 his madness! "Tracy!" he paused a moment in thought. 
 Then he looked round the ring of attentive faces and smiled 
 at them mockingly: "It seems, gentlemen, my first affair 
 must be with Sir Tracy Wimbourne. When I have dealt 
 with him I shall be at liberty to receive your apologies." 
 
 He cocked his hat on one side and strolled out of the room 
 with the satisfied smile of a man who sees his way clear be- 
 fore him. 
 
 Charles Rathborne stared after his retreating figure. 
 "Demme !" he muttered, "if I don't think the man is inno- 
 cent." 
 
 But Timothy when he had passed out into the street 
 paused and stared about him doubtfully. He had ceased to 
 smile, his path was not so clear as he had believed; on a 
 sudden he remembered the promise he had given to Adelaide.
 
 120 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 "Plague take the woman !" he muttered ; "I must fight 
 Tracy unless he withdraws this crazy charge. I'll give him 
 ten days to heal his leg and then I will meet him with the 
 rapier. I take it I can be sure of exacting satisfaction with 
 that without risk to his life. That should satisfy Lady 
 Adelaide. Now to find a man to carry my message." 
 
 He turned and walked slowly up the street. Captain Owen, 
 waiting patiently by the book-stall, pinned his attention 
 upon the print he was perusing and endeavoured to appear 
 oblivious to all passers-by. Suddenly Timothy darted 
 across the road and tapped him on the shoulder. The man 
 leaped a good yard and turned a guilty face to his ac- 
 coster. 
 
 "Good-morning," said Timothy cheerfully. "Captain 
 Owen, I believe. I am Timothy Curtis, at your service. 
 Will you do me the favour, sir, to carry a message for me?" 
 
 The man stared at him foolishly. "A a message?" he 
 stuttered. 
 
 "Yes," answered Tim impatiently. "Such a message as 
 it is not customary for a gentleman to carry for himself. 
 You take me?" 
 
 A look of relief came over the man's face, a hint of cun- 
 ning into his eyes. "I'm always delighted to obleege a 
 gentleman in these affairs," he said. "To whom am I to 
 carry your message, Mr. Curtis ?" 
 
 "To Sir Tracy Wimbourne." 
 
 "Sir Tracy Wimbourne!" Again the man's surprise be- 
 trayed itself. 
 
 "Yes," said Tim impatiently. "You've heard of him?" 
 
 " 'S blood I have," said the captain thoughtfully. "And 
 the nature of the message is ?" 
 
 "A challenge. If you will be good enough to accompany
 
 "TRAPPED" 121 
 
 me to my lodgings I will write a note for you to deliver; 
 and I shall be obliged if you will undertake the affair for 
 me." 
 
 A sudden look of suspicion crossed the man's face. 
 
 "And in the meantime?" he said slowly. "What will you 
 do?" 
 
 "In the meantime I shall ride out to the 'Horse and Hound' 
 at Farleigh and there await you. If you will be good 
 enough to ride out after me at my expense we can dine 
 there together this evening." 
 
 The look of suspicion deepened. "Why do you leave 
 Bath?" he asked sharply. 
 
 Timothy stared at him haughtily. "For my own pleasure, 
 sir." 
 
 The captain hesitated. Then he laid a somewhat grimy 
 hand on Tim's sleeve. "Look you, Mr. Curtis," he said, 
 
 "this is a d foul world and a man has scurvy tricks 
 
 played upon him. You will require two friends in this 
 affair. Mr. Tricket, an acquaintance of mine, shall carry 
 your message to Sir Tracy and bring us the answer to- 
 morrow. Meanwhile, I will ride out with you to Farleigh 
 to-night, and be in readiness to serve you." 
 
 For a moment Timothy stared at the man in haughty in- 
 dignation, then he threw back his head and broke into a 
 shout of laughter. 
 
 "Egad! captain," he said admiringly. "You're plaguy 
 determined not to let the dinner slip through your fingers. 
 Well, have it your own way. So Sir Tracy has my message 
 I care nothing who delivers it." 
 
 So the matter was settled. Captain Owen despatched an 
 urchin in search of his friend Mr. Tricket, and accom- 
 panied Timothy back to his lodgings. Within an hour the
 
 122 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 note was intrusted to the hand of the brisk, talkative 
 little man who had answered the captain's summons, and 
 Timothy and his companion were ready to take the 
 road. 
 
 Mr. Tricket watched them depart from the shelter of an 
 ale-house window. He gazed on Captain Owen's pale face 
 
 and long figure admiringly. "D ! it," he muttered; 
 
 "he's a cunning one. Caught and cooked him already and 
 a dinner into the bargain !" Then he slowly tore the note 
 to Sir Tracy into tiny fragments, and betook himself to 
 Lord Stavely's lodgings at the Christopher Inn. 
 
 As they rode out of the narrow streets of the city and into 
 the wide sunny country beyond, Timothy's heart beat high 
 with happiness. He looked back upon his depression of the 
 previous evening with wonder. For he had found at last 
 the key to the riddle: It was surely none other than this 
 rumour of "spy" that had reached the ears of Celia Win- 
 nington and caused the inexplicable change in her be- 
 haviour toward him. He was glad to think that it was so. 
 
 " 'Twould have been unworthy of her to treat me other 
 than she did," he mused, "believing what she did. And it 
 is but natural she should take Tracy's word. As for 
 Tracy demme! he's clean crazed." 
 
 It seemed a very small matter, now that he knew the accu- 
 sation, to clear his character in the eyes of Celia. He was 
 resolute not to force himself again upon her company: he 
 would appeal to Adelaide Wimbourne to help him. The 
 future was bright ; he broke into merry snatches of song as 
 he rode, and chaffed his companion upon his silence. 
 
 They reached their destination about two o'clock. The 
 inn was an old Tudor house with a red-tiled courtyard and 
 a rambling stone building behind surmounted by a high
 
 "TRAPPED" 
 
 wooden turret. It was situated about a quarter of 
 a mile from the village, and set back a little from 
 the highroad. 
 
 They dined comfortably, and later settled down to Picquet 
 to wile away the tedious hours of the evening. Timothy 
 was puzzled by his companion's moroseness. He had ex- 
 pected the wine would loosen his tongue. On the contrary, 
 he was surprisingly abstemious ; but when Timothy saw the 
 glow in his eyes and the caress of his hands on the slips of 
 pasteboard, he understood to what the man owed his fall. 
 
 They had been the sole guests at the inn for dinner, but 
 about nine o'clock they heard the sound of arrivals in the 
 courtyard. The newcomers, however, apparently went 
 straight to their rooms, for they saw nothing of them. 
 
 About ten o'clock a servant entered with a note for Tim- 
 othy. A man had left it at the door and departed without 
 waiting for an answer. 
 
 Timothy took it with a muttered explanation of surprise, 
 and broke the seal. It was written on fine, delicately scented 
 paper, ornamented in one corner with a large green wafer 
 representing a "W" inscribed in a circle of leaves. 
 
 The writing was brief: 
 
 "Mr. Curtis, you are in danger. There is a plot afoot to 
 injure you. You will do well to be wary o' nights." 
 
 That was all; it was without signature and written in a 
 feminine hand-writing, not too well formed, and possibly 
 disguised. 
 
 Timothy looked up quickly and found Captain Owen's 
 eyes fixed on him inquisitively. He grew suddenly weary 
 of this watchfulness.
 
 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 "I'm for bed," he said shortly, throwing down his cards. 
 "You've seen to our rooms, eh?" 
 
 Captain Owen nodded ; rising briskly he called for candles, 
 and led the way upstairs. They parted on the landing with 
 a nod and Timothy went straight to his room. But Cap- 
 tain Owen blew out his candle and ensconced himself in the 
 shadow between two high presses, from which he could 
 watch the door of the other's lodging. 
 
 Timothy took a cursory survey of his apartment. It was 
 a fair-sized room with two doors, the one by which he had 
 entered from the main landing, and another, he discovered, 
 opening into a narrow passage, at the end of which rose the 
 ladder-like stairway leading to the turret. Neither door 
 boasted lock or bolt; he uttered an oath of annoyance at 
 that discovery, but tilted a stout chair against either handle 
 and felt secure from any unexpected entrance. Then he 
 drew out the scented note and re-perused it. 
 
 The warning did not surprise him. The point of interest 
 to him lay in the question as to who had sent it. 
 
 For a little time he had thought of Celia Winnington, and 
 his heart leaped with a delicious hope. But he knew it was 
 unlikely ; hers was not the nature to stoop to any conceal- 
 ment. She would not have disguised her writing, nor would 
 she have omitted to sign her name. It was more probably 
 the work of Adelaide Wimbourne. When he had decided 
 this fact, his interest in the note vanished ; he tossed it into 
 his saddle-bags and prepared himself for bed. 
 
 With a recollection of the warning, he tested the doors 
 again, then assured that none could enter without his 
 knowledge, he placed sword and pistol on the table beside 
 the bed, blew out his candle, and in five minutes was fast 
 asleep.
 
 "TRAPPED" 125 
 
 He was awakened suddenly by a loud crash, but whether 
 the sound came from near or far he could not determine. 
 Quickly he put out his hand to reach the tinder-box on the 
 table beside him and his heart gave a sudden great jump of 
 fear for the table was empty, sword, pistol, and light had 
 gone! 
 
 Timothy sat still and listened. All was silent. Then he 
 drew himself higher up in bed and groped about in vain 
 search for some sort of weapon with which to defend him- 
 self. He could find nothing save the iron candle stick, 
 but in lieu of better weapon, he gripped it firmly and 
 waited. 
 
 There was no sound, but suddenly the grey blur was par- 
 tially darkened by moving shapes something was entering 
 the room. 
 
 Timothy was out of bed in an instant and stood crouching 
 against the wall in the darkness, candle stick in hand. He 
 dared not speak for fear of betraying his position, but his 
 movements had been heard. The moving figures stopped 
 
 suddenly and he heard a voice mutter : "D the fellow ! 
 
 He's awake!" 
 
 In reality only a few seconds, it seemed to Timothy an 
 eternity while he stood waiting in the darkness, staring in 
 the direction of the doorway, and listening to every creak. 
 Then a low mocking laugh broke the stillness, and Rory 
 Winnington's well-known drawling voice muttered impa- 
 tiently : 
 
 "Get on, you fools. Are you afraid of an unarmed man? 
 Bring a light." 
 
 There was a shuffle of footsteps, the scraping of a flint, a 
 spark, and then the steady light of a lamp illumined the 
 room and Timothy found himself facing four men, their
 
 126 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 swords in their hands and their eyes fixed on him in blank 
 astonishment. 
 
 Timothy conceived on a sudden a great contempt for his 
 candle stick; he flung it down and grasped the leg of the 
 little table. 
 
 "It's no use, Curtis," said Charles Rathborne, the foremost 
 man. "We've trapped you." 
 
 Timothy edged along the wall, table in hand. 
 
 "What d'ye want?" he snapped. He was thinking quickly. 
 He had worked his way along the wall to the second door 
 and stood now beside it, his eyes fixed on his opponents. 
 
 "Don't be a fool, man," urged Rathborne. "We don't 
 want to hurt you." 
 
 For answer Tim suddenly kicked the chair away from the 
 door, wrenched it open and jumped back into the passage 
 outside, pulling it to behind him. 
 
 There was a sharp sound at his elbow. He wheeled round, 
 swinging his table. He saw the slither of a blade in a ray 
 of light from a passage window, a second later he felt a 
 sharp prick in his shoulder. 
 
 He ran backwards along the passage holding the table be- 
 fore him. His foot touched the lowest step of the turret 
 ladder. He bounded up it as his door was wrenched open 
 and the four men ran out with the light. The ladder was 
 short and steep. He had hoped to find a second exit from 
 the turret, but when he reached the wooden platform at the 
 top of the steps he found he was shut in by round wooden 
 walls, pierced only by four tiny windows. There was no 
 escape. 
 
 He stood at the top of the ladder grasping the table, and 
 peered down at the men below him. Roger Lee was the fore- 
 most now, his face crimson with rage ; he stood half way up
 
 "TRAPPED" 127 
 
 the ladder, sword in hand, vainly endeavouring to lunge at 
 him past the protecting table. The other men crowded at 
 the foot, staring up at them. 
 
 Timothy laughed suddenly. "I've the advantage of you, 
 gentlemen," he cried gaily. "You'll not deny I've the ad- 
 vantage." 
 
 Lord Stavely seized Lee's shoulders and pulled him roughly 
 back. "That's no use," he said shortly. "Rush the fellow." 
 
 He dropped his sword and made a grasp at the table. Tim 
 laughed again. He drew back for a second and then rushed 
 down on the men below him with all his weight. He struck 
 Stavely fairly with the centre of the table and sent him 
 hurling back into the arms of the others. Then he stood 
 half way down the steps, and peered at them over the edge 
 of his extemporised shield. 
 
 "Rush me, would you?" he chuckled. "Try again." 
 
 A sudden sharp blow struck his ankles behind through 
 the open back of the steps, his feet shot out before him, he 
 fell heavily on his back and he and the table slithered to- 
 gether down the stairs. 
 
 He clutched wildly at the rail, he made a desperate effort 
 to rise, but they were on him in a moment. He fought with 
 fists and feet, but was helpless in their grasp. He had a 
 confused vision of Captain Owen emerging triumphantly 
 from behind the stairway waving a long broom ; he saw a 
 sword flash and heard a voice Rory's he thought cry 
 sharply : "Don't murder the fool." Then he felt a sharp 
 blow on the head and lost consciousness.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 "AT CHARITY FARM" 
 
 WHEN Timothy Curtis came to himself he was lying on 
 the settle in what appeared to be the inner kitchen of a 
 rough farm house. It was morning, and the bright sun- 
 shine streamed in through the windows. 
 
 Timothy sat up and stared about him. His head ached 
 and his body felt stiff and bruised ; a numb sensation about 
 his legs drew his glance in that direction. He found his 
 ankles were tightly bound with cord. His wrists were 
 unfettered, but one arm was fastened to his side in a 
 rough sling. He put up his hand and found his head 
 was bandaged ; there were blood stains on the sleeve of his 
 shirt. 
 
 Slowly a recollection of the events of the previous evening 
 returned to him. He recalled the fight on the stairway, the 
 faces of the men who had trapped him, he knew in whose 
 hands his fate lay. But as to where he was or what was to 
 befall him he could form no conjecture. 
 
 There were sounds in the room, the clatter of cups and 
 knives, some one was breakfasting at a table behind the 
 settle. He stooped and tugged at the thongs that bound his 
 ankles, but could not loose them with one hand. He gave up 
 the attempt, struggled awkwardly to his feet and dragged 
 himself round the end of the seat. 
 
 At the table in the window three men sat at breakfast, their 
 backs toward him. They wore their swords and their 
 pistols lay on the table beside them. Timothy recognised
 
 "AT CHARITY FARM" 129 
 
 three of his opponents of the previous evening and his eyes 
 gleamed angrily. 
 
 "Good-morning," he said sharply. 
 
 The men wheeled in their chairs and stared at him. 
 
 "Gad!" exclaimed Roger Lee; "he's cheated the devil, 
 after all." 
 
 Tim hopped awkwardly to the table. 
 
 "Give me something to drink," he said curtly ; "and dem- 
 me ! take these cursed things off my legs ; I can't run away 
 
 yet." 
 
 After a second's hesitation, Charles Rathborne stooped 
 and cut the thongs that bound his ankles, and Timothy 
 staggered to a chair grimacing with pain as the blood 
 rushed back to his benumbed limbs. Roger Lee poured out 
 a cup of strong coffee and pushed it across the table toward 
 him ; he drank greedily and put down the cup with a sigh 
 of satisfaction. 
 
 "Now," he drawled softly, "I'll be obliged if you'll tell 
 me what's the meaning of all this." 
 
 Lee filled up his cup again. "You know well enough," he 
 said shortly. 
 
 "Know ! Demme, if I do. I suppose 'tis concerned with 
 this cock-and-bull story of espionage Tracy Wimbourne has 
 devised, but hang me if I understand what you're up to 
 now." 
 
 Lord Stavely shrugged his shoulders. "This affectation of 
 ignorance is wearisome, Mr. Curtis," he said stiffly. "We've 
 a little affair on hand in which we do not wish your er 
 connivance. You've been proved a spy, and if you had 
 your deserts you should hang from yonder beam. You are 
 fortunate that we choose another way to silence you. We 
 purpose to keep you close until the affair is ended and then
 
 ISO THE PAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 hand you over to the judgment of the one whom you have 
 most injured." 
 
 "Keep me close? Where?" 
 
 "Here until to-night. Hereafter in the Scots Theo- 
 logical College in Paris. You have the choice whether you 
 will journey there in comfort as a gentleman 'on parole'; 
 or in er considerable discomfort as a prisoner." 
 
 Tim did not hesitate long; whatever the discomfort, he 
 had no mind to go tamely to prison. He did not calculate 
 his chance of escape was great, but he was resolved to make 
 the most of it. 
 
 "I'll give you no parole," he said coolly. "Truth to tell, 
 gentlemen, I'm interested to see how you take me there. 
 We'll have an eventful journey, I'm thinking." 
 
 Stavely looked across at Lee. "That means three of us." 
 
 "Three!" cried Tim indignantly; "faith, sir, you under- 
 rate me !" 
 
 The door opened suddenly and a sturdy six-foot farmer 
 entered. Tim sprang toward him quickly, then fell back 
 with a disappointed air. "Ah !" he said ; "member of your 
 company, I see Then I'll not trouble him." 
 
 The farmer grinned. He crossed to Stavely and said 
 something softly. 
 
 "What? It's time to cage him, eh?" asked Lee. 
 
 "Safer, sir," answered the farmer. "We're known pretty 
 well hereabouts and not troubled much with visitors, but on 
 a farm you never can be sure. And at times the ladies 
 and gentlemen from Bath call here for a glass of milk when 
 they ride on the down." 
 
 Tim pricked up his ears. He had hitherto had no glim- 
 mering of an idea where he was ; the windows looked on to a 
 courtyard beyond which was a thick wood. But from the
 
 "AT CHARITY FARM" 131 
 
 man's words it seemed he was not many miles from the 
 city, possibly at one of the farms on the hill behind Claver- 
 ton Down. 
 
 Rathborne touched him on the shoulder. 
 
 "If you refuse your parole, Curtis, you must be prepared 
 for forcible measures," he said warningly. "We run no 
 risks." 
 
 Tim nodded, "I take you, Charlie. Were I in your case, 
 I'd be plaguy prudent." 
 
 Rathborne walked round the settle to the side of the open 
 hearth. Pie touched a spring concealed behind one of the 
 hearthstones and the wainscot by the fireplace sprang apart 
 revealing a narrow aperture about two inches wide. He 
 inserted his fingers, and with a slight jerk pulled back the 
 panelling until the gap was wide enough to admit of a man. 
 A large cavity was revealed, evidently an old hiding hole, 
 dimly lighted by a small window opening into the chimney 
 about eight feet up. The place was large, extending all 
 round the back of the chimney, but it was almost filled with 
 strong wooden cases and neatly stacked bundles of arms. 
 
 Timothy eyed the place queerly and hesitated. Then he 
 shook his head : "I'll give you no parole," he repeated. "I'll 
 escape you yet." 
 
 "Tie him up then," said Lee shortly. 
 
 Timothy grimaced sourly as they bound him hand and 
 foot, but he made no useless attempt at resistance. Only 
 when they produced a gag did he raise objection. 
 
 "Plague take it, that's too much !" he muttered. "Charlie, 
 I'll give you my word of honour, I'll not speak or shout or 
 make any sign while I'm in there, but hang me, if I'll en- 
 dure being gagged for six mortal hours." 
 
 "Don't trust him," said Stavely quickly.
 
 132 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 Tim's eyes gleamed savagely. He turned to Rathborne 
 and looked him in the face. "My word, Charlie," he said 
 quietly. 
 
 Rathborne nodded. "I will take it. I go surety for him." 
 
 No further objection was raised. Tim was lifted into the 
 hiding hole and the wainscot shot back upon him. 
 
 He sat down on one of the cases with a whimsical shrug 
 of resignation and prepared to endure as patiently as might 
 be his weary hours of captivity. He could hear the conver- 
 sation on the other side of the wainscot and gathered that 
 Stavely and Lee purposed riding to Bath to report, while 
 Rathborne was to remain on guard at the farm. Presently 
 the voices were silenced, and he conjectured that the men 
 had left the room. 
 
 The time dragged on. His wounded shoulder smarted, his 
 wrists and ankles ached. He shifted his seat restlessly. 
 
 "I'd give my ears to have ten minutes' conversation with 
 Tracy now," he muttered savagely. 
 
 Suddenly he sat upright and listened eagerly. People had 
 entered the room and were drawing near his hiding place. 
 
 Then a low, well-known voice broke the stillness and his 
 heart leaped with a sudden amazed delight. Celia Winning- 
 ton was close to the fireplace, separated from him only by 
 the thin wall of wainscot. 
 
 It was evident from the sound that she was sitting on the 
 settle ; she spoke with little breathless gasps of laughter as 
 though she had been running. 
 
 "Lud, Sir Peter, what a storm of rain ! Who would have 
 expected it when we set out. Whither did the others ride?" 
 
 "I don't know, madam," answered Peter Pemberton. 
 "When the storm broke I seized your rein and dashed for 
 the nearest shelter."
 
 "AT CHARITY FARM" 133 
 
 "And bundled me off my horse on the other side of the 
 wood and made me run for it," laughed Celia. "A monstrous 
 gallant proceeding, I vow." 
 
 "But, madam, 'twas the simplest way. The wood is too 
 thick for the horses and 'twas a long ride round to the 
 road," argued Sir Peier anxiously. 
 
 "Well, I forgive you. But do you go back now and bring 
 the poor beasts into shelter." 
 
 "And leave you alone, madam?" 
 
 "Faith ! what else ? I presume this is no ogre's hole. Where 
 are we?" 
 
 "Charity Farm belongs to the three Dawson brothers, of 
 whom, no doubt, you've heard." 
 
 "Not I," laughed Celia. "Who are they?" 
 
 "Corinthians, madam the finest prize fighters in the 
 country, when they were younger. It's rumoured their 
 neighbours find them surly, but they are deemed hospitable 
 to sports, and half the er the affairs of honour in Bath 
 take place on their land." 
 
 Celia laughed softly. "Faith, Sir Peter, you're full of 
 gossip. I vow I would love to meet our hosts, but it seems 
 they are afield to-day. And now, for pity's sake go and 
 bring in the poor horses and see them stabled; I shall not 
 stir from here till the rain ceases." 
 
 "At your bidding, madam. I'll be back anon. Why, 
 Rathborne what brings you here ?" 
 
 Rathborne had entered quickly and stopped with a sharp 
 exclamation of astonishment at the sight of Celia. 
 
 "Miss Winnington! You here?" 
 
 "Storm bound, Sir Charles," laughed Celia. "Are you in 
 the same plight?" 
 
 "An affair?" asked Peter, with a knowing wink. "Yes,
 
 154 THE FAIR MOON OP BATH 
 
 yes, Miss Winnington ; I will not delay. 'Tis lucky Rath- 
 borne's here, to bear you company till I return." 
 
 Sir Peter departed noisily. There was a sudden silence in 
 the room. Tim muttered impatiently under his breath; it 
 maddened him to know Celia so near and to be obliged in 
 honour not to reveal his presence. The silence irked him ; 
 he pined to know what was passing in glances between the 
 two in the room. 
 
 Rathborne crossed over to Celia's side ; his face was white 
 and his eyes eager. It seemed he had entirely forgotten 
 Tim's presence behind the wainscot, forgotten all save the 
 sudden unexpected joy of finding himself alone with the 
 woman he adored. 
 
 "Miss Winnington," he said simply, "some might judge 
 this time inopportune and my bluntness ungallant if it be 
 so, I crave your forgiveness. But it seems to me that if a 
 man's whole heart is full of one thought, it matters little 
 what time or manner he chooses for imparting it. By the 
 kindness of Heaven I find you here alone, let me take Hea- 
 ven's gift and tell you my thought." 
 
 Celia rose quickly to her feet. 
 
 "Sir Charles," she pleaded gently, holding out her hand, 
 "is it not written 'Silence is golden'?" 
 
 "No, madam," he answered quickly. "Let me speak; 'tis 
 kinder. Ah! I love you so. Since that day I first saw 
 you driving into Bath I have known nothing clearly save 
 that I love you. Is there no hope for me Celia?" 
 
 Celia laid her hand gently on his arm, there were tears of 
 pity in her eyes. "Sir Charles," she said sadly, "I am a 
 most unhappy girl. For you offer me that which a woman 
 should be proud to accept and yet humble in accepting 
 but I cannot take your gift."
 
 "AT CHARITY FARM" 135 
 
 "You cannot madam? Ah! but I ask so little in return. 
 Who am I to dream that I can win all your heart? I will 
 be content with the right to try to win it." 
 
 She hesitated, then she shook her head. 
 
 "No," she whispered ; "no, it is impossible. I cannot take 
 all and give nothing in return." 
 
 "And you have nothing to give me?" he pleaded "noth- 
 ing?" 
 
 She lifted her eyes to his. "Nothing, save this: that all 
 my life through I shall go the gladlier for the memory of 
 the love you have offered me to-day." 
 
 He stooped and kissed her hand. "It should be enough," 
 he said softly ; "but, ah ! madam, hope dies hard. Is I 
 have no right to ask it but is your heart already given ?" 
 
 She turned away and stood a moment silent. "I do not 
 know," she said slowly, "I do not know. Yet if it be possible 
 for a woman to love where she loathes, to hold sweet what 
 it shames her to remember, then Heaven pity me it is." 
 
 Charles Rathborne stared at her a moment doubtfully. 
 Then he clenched his fists in sudden enlightenment. 
 
 "He is not worthy of you, madam," he said hotly. 
 
 She lifted her hand to stay his anger. "I know it, sir," 
 she said proudly. "And you may rest assured that, know- 
 ing it, I had rather live all my life through unloved, un- 
 honoured, than suffer that man to soil so much as the edge 
 of my robe by the pollution of his touch." 
 
 A sudden light of hope gleamed in his eyes. "Madam," 
 he pleaded, "this being so, will you not give me the right 
 to protect you 
 
 "Against myself?" she interrupted, with a little bitter 
 smile. "Ah ! not to-day, not to-day indeed you must not 
 press me more to-day, sir ; I cannot bear it."
 
 136 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 "Madam, I have been thoughtless," he cried in quick 
 contrition. "But it is easier for a man to see his way with 
 only a glimmer of hope than in the darkness of despair. 
 Forgive me. I will leave you now and we will speak of this 
 later." 
 
 Kissing her hand again he turned and left the room, 
 closing the door behind him. 
 
 Celia stood a moment motionless, then with a long shivering 
 sigh of utter weariness she leaned her arms on the high 
 chimney piece, bowed her head and broke into bitter weep- 
 ing. 
 
 "Ah!" she whispered; "I love him, I love him and the 
 shame of it will kill me." 
 
 Timothy, standing a yard away from her inside the wain- 
 scot, drew in his breath with a sharp sigh of pain when her 
 sobs broke the stilllness, and ground his teeth savagely at 
 the impotence of his position. He had had no choice save 
 to listen to every word of her conversation with Rathborne, 
 and truth to tell, he had not been sorry for the necessity 
 that forced him to overhear it. He winced horribly at the 
 scorn in her voice when she spoke of his unworthiness, but 
 there was sweetness in the bitter, for now he knew that she 
 lovecl him, could he but prove to her his innocence. 
 
 But when the helpless sobs continued so near him, a sud- 
 den savage fury seized him. His honour bound him to give 
 no word or sign that he was there, but no vow held him from 
 making his escape therefrom could he contrive it. In 
 desperation he strained at his bonds till his sinews cracked 
 and the blood started afresh from the wound in his shoulder. 
 He stooped and gnawed savagely at the cords that held 
 him ; blindly he felt with his fettered hands for a chink in 
 the wooden wall.
 
 "AT CHARITY FARM" 137 
 
 And then suddenly, whether some unconscious movement 
 of hers touched the spring, or whether it had never been 
 securely locked and his groping fingers caught in the panel, 
 the catch gave and the wainscot slowly opened the width of 
 two inches. 
 
 Celia heard the click of the latch and lifted her head ; she 
 gave a little gasp of surprise at sight of the opening. The 
 curiosity mastered her; she inserted her fingers into the 
 aperture and jerked at the panel. It slipped back and 
 she found herself suddenly face to face with Timothy Cur- 
 tis. 
 
 She started back with a little cry of terror and stood 
 gazing at him in wide-eyed amazement. Timothy was 
 purple with his exertions, but he in no wise lost his wits ; he 
 hurled himself out of the opening, staggered, steadied him- 
 self against the settle and stood upright, bound still hand 
 and foot, but free from his prison and close to Celia's side. 
 
 For one long moment they looked into each other's eyes 
 silently ; then Celia turned away and walked slowly toward 
 the door. 
 
 Timothy gave a little cry of pain. "Madam !" he pleaded 
 desperately. "Surely women should be merciful?" 
 
 Slowly, unwillingly she turned again and faced him. 
 
 "Should women show pity to a traitor?" she asked. 
 
 "Rather pity than condemn him unheard," he answered 
 quickly. 
 
 She started, then very slowly she drew a few steps nearer. 
 
 "Have you any excuse?" she asked, then she shook her 
 head quickly. "No no there is, there can be no justifi- 
 cation for treachery." 
 
 "Yet in justice you will listen to me, madam, he said 
 firmly.
 
 138 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 She did not answer, but she went a few steps nearer to him, 
 drawn by his glance, and stood waiting for him to speak. 
 
 "You have been told, madam," he said slowly, "that I am 
 the blackest-hearted traitor that ever played the Judas to 
 his friends. But will you tell me why you have believed it?" 
 
 She started. "Why, sir? Because I have been told by one 
 whose truth and loyalty I have no right to doubt." 
 
 "And what right have you to doubt mine?" 
 
 She looked at him with a long searching glance. "Ah I 
 how can I know -the truth ?" she cried. "Tracy loved you, 
 but he believes you guilty all the world believes it." 
 
 "But you, madam, in your heart do not believe it." 
 
 She stood silent. Timothy strained impatiently at his 
 bonds. For the first time in his life he realised the advantages 
 of gesture. It is indeed difficult for a man to plead his case 
 when he can neither move a step nor lift a hand. 
 
 "Listen, madam," he continued desperately. "There may 
 be men who could spy upon their friends and find justifica- 
 tion for the act in their own hands I do not know, the 
 world holds many kinds of men, and none of us, I warrant, 
 bear no stain upon our shields. But can you believe that 
 any man could talk with you as we have talked together, 
 could love you as I love you, and yet could hide in his heart 
 such base treachery? Surely, madam, God Himself would 
 rather strike him dead." 
 
 She lifted to him a face full of doubt and distress, clasp- 
 ing her white hands in the eager little gesture he knew so 
 well. 
 
 "Ah! it is so difficult for me to judge the right," she 
 cried. "We women are so easily deceived, and how could 
 Tracy be so mistaken? Do you not see how hard it is for 
 me?"
 
 "AT CHARITY FARM" 139 
 
 His eyes softened at sight of her distress. 
 
 "Madam, I wouldn't presume to blame you," he said 
 quickly. "Who am I that I should dare to count upon 
 your faith ? But your belief in my honour is life or death 
 to me. Were I but free I could track this lie to its source, 
 and lay hands upon the real spy. But now, plague take it, 
 I'm trapped, trapped, and helpless to clear myself." 
 
 "Ah ! yes," she said slowly ; "you are a prisoner. Are 
 they are they going to kill you?" 
 
 "What do I care what they do," he muttered miserably, 
 "if I cannot win your belief?" 
 
 She looked once more into his eyes, then turned and picked 
 up Rathborne's sword, which lay on the table. Crossing to 
 his side she cut the ropes that bound his hands and feet. 
 
 "You are free," she said simply. 
 
 He stretched out his arms with a cry of joy. "Ah! you 
 believe in me, madam?" 
 
 "No," she said slowly; "not yet. I I dare not. But 
 prove your innocence find the spy of whom Tracy has 
 been warned, and I will beg your forgiveness for a cow- 
 ardice my weakness cannot help." 
 
 "Forgiveness !" he laughed softly ; "I would not have your 
 trust on any easier terms. But I too would ask of you 
 one little thing," he continued wistfully. "Ah! madam, 
 don't again beg others to protect you from me for indeed 
 you may rest confident I will not trouble you until I can 
 prove my right to do so. Do not fear me, madam." 
 
 She flushed and dropped her eyes before his glance. 
 
 "I do not fear you," she said quietly. 
 
 He took the sword from her and drew the blade lovingly 
 through his fingers. "Now I'm myself again," he cried 
 joyously. "Never fear, madam, I will prove worthy of
 
 140 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 your trust. Now will you tell me the points of Tracy's 
 accusation." 
 
 She hesitated. "I do not know the story in full, sir, and 
 Adelaide will not speak of it. But it seems Tracy believes 
 you to have accepted Lord Pelham's bribe ; and further, cer- 
 tain secret papers which Adelaide was carrying for Tracy 
 to be delivered in Bath were stolen that night we rested at 
 the inn, and Adelaide says you must have taken them, as 
 none but you knew they were in her possession." 
 
 "Lady Wimbourne says that ?" he cried in amaze. 
 
 Suddenly her eyes widened with fear. "Hush !" she said ; 
 "some one is coming !" 
 
 Sir Peter's voice sounded in the outer room. 
 
 "They must not know you have freed me," cried Tim. He 
 tucked the sword under his arm, picked up the ropes, and 
 springing back into his hiding place shut the wainscot be- 
 hind him just as Sir Peter entered the room. 
 
 "The rain has ceased, Miss Winnington, and the horses 
 are here," cried Peter. "Where is Charles ?" 
 
 "He left me some time since," answered Celia vaguely. 
 
 "The monstrous ungallant fellow," cried Peter indig- 
 nantly. "But perhaps his affair would not wait. Shall 
 we be stirring, madam ?" 
 
 Timothy heard the sound of departure. Then Rathborne's 
 voice echoed in the outer room, giving an order. He en- 
 tered and crossing to the settle sat down with a sigh. 
 
 Timothy laid his plans quickly. He must effect his escape 
 before the others returned, or he might find it impossible if, 
 as he expected, their pistols were charged. He tapped 
 lightly on the wainscot. "Charlie, Charlie," he whispered, 
 "let me out." Rathborne sprang to his feet and opened 
 the panel. In a second Tim was on him; they struggled
 
 "AT CHARITY FARM" 141 
 
 together. Rathborne was taken by surprise and for the 
 moment Timothy, though the smaller man, had the advan- 
 tage. He jerked up his sword to the other's throat. 
 "Speak and you're a dead man," he whispered breathlessly. 
 
 For answer Rathborne smiled. "I'm your surety," he said. 
 He opened his mouth and roared for help. 
 
 Timothy dropped his point. "You fool!" he said re- 
 proachfully. "Now I must run for it." 
 
 The door burst open, two enormous men appeared on the 
 threshold. Timothy dashed for the open window and 
 hurled himself across the little courtyard. The wall was 
 high but roughly built, he was easily able to obtain foot- 
 hold, and scrambled up, holding his sword between his 
 teeth. 
 
 A pistol clicked and a bullet grazed his cheek ; then a man 
 rushed across the yard and seized his foot. But already he 
 had his knee over the coping ; he swung free his sword arm 
 and lunged at his opponent. The man jumped back and 
 Tim tumbled over into the wood on the other side. 
 
 He was on his feet in a second and ran through the wood 
 gasping for breath and tripping over roots and stumps. 
 Even when clear of the wood and out on the open downs 
 he did not pause, so fearful was he of recapture. He ran 
 on until he dropped down on to a stretch of the Bradford 
 Road, luckily at the time empty of passers-by, and then 
 at last he stopped, realising that, unless he would be ac- 
 cused of lunacy, he must moderate his pace and sober his 
 appearance. He was without hat or coat, his shoulder and 
 forehead were bleeding, and his sword was unsheathed in 
 his hand. 
 
 He stepped down to a little stream in the meadow border- 
 ing the road, bathed his face, and succeeded in checking
 
 the bleeding in his shoulder wound. Then, feeling a trifle 
 more presentable, he walked back to the road. 
 
 A groom exercising two horses appeared, riding one and 
 leading the other. Timothy stepped up to him and laid 
 his hand upon the rein of the saddle-horse. 
 
 "Whose horses are these?" he asked coolly. 
 
 The man stared at him amazedly. Tim repeated his 
 question. 
 
 "Sir Marcus Ormonde's," muttered the man, still staring. 
 
 Tim chuckled. "So? One of his grooms? Oblige me, 
 my man, by dismounting and allowing me to ride back to 
 Bath." 
 
 "I'll not. Let me go, d you!" cried the groom in- 
 dignantly, trying to shake him off; but the led horse was 
 restive, he could not free his rein. 
 
 "I think you will," said Timothy coolly, seizing his foot. 
 "A whip is no match for a sword, and the road is no soft 
 place to fall on." 
 
 With an oath the groom slipped to the ground and Tim- 
 othy sprang to the saddle. "You'll find this horse at the 
 stables by the east gate," he said. "But first go to Sir 
 Marcus and tell him that Mr. Curtis has found his first 
 encounter with the grooms monstrous opportune." 
 
 He dug his heels into the horse's flanks and galloped 
 toward Bath, leaving the groom cursing in the road. 
 
 When he reached Bath, he overtook a heavy travelling 
 coach just entering the city, and drew rein to allow it to 
 pass through the gate. A woman, seated with her back to 
 the horses, looked up at him curiously and their eyes met. 
 She was very fair, with copper-coloured hair and strange 
 eyes, the colour of burnt umber. It seemed to Timothy as 
 he looked at her that the light of recognition dawned in her
 
 "AT CHARITY FARM" 143 
 
 face and she gave a little smile of greeting; but before he 
 could be sure the coach passed on its way, and he rode on 
 through devious streets to his lodging, puzzling his brains 
 over her identity.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 "THE SEDAN CHAIRS" 
 
 TIMOTHY CURTIS kept his room for three days. The 
 chirurgeon who dressed his wound advised it, and indeed 
 Tim had little wish to oppose his directions. As he sat 
 alone through the long day, racking his brains for one clear 
 thread to guide him through the tangled skein of circum- 
 stances, there flashed again and again across his mind a dark 
 suspicion. He dismissed it angrily, but still it returned, 
 and each time with clearer, with more circumstantial, details. 
 Was it not possible that the traitor, the thief of the papers, 
 was Adelaide Wimbourne herself? 
 
 Such things had been. He knew well there are women 
 who would stoop to any treachery to satisfy their desires, 
 but that Tracy's wife was such an one he could not, he 
 would not, believe. 
 
 And yet, he thought of her strange conduct on the road 
 to Bath, her evident annoyance at his company ; of her mys- 
 terious midnight encounter with a stranger of which he had 
 never yet been able to find satisfactory explanation. Other 
 mysteries in her conduct flashed across his mind. Why 
 had she sent him on a wild goose chase to Claverton Down 
 the day of Tracy's return? What was she seeking in his 
 room the night she visited him ? Why had his letter assert- 
 ing his innocence and challenging the accusation received 
 no answer from Tracy? Had she intercepted it? One by 
 one the points of evidence were amassed against her, and 
 reluctantly he confessed that the evidence was strong. The
 
 "THE SEDAN CHAIRS" 145 
 
 papers had been intrusted to her by her husband, she had 
 given them to the stranger at Avington, either through fear 
 or through love, and to shield herself, she had invented the 
 tale of theft and woven a skilful chain of suspicion round 
 himself. 
 
 So the story shaped itself in his mind. He recalled dimly 
 the snatches of conversation he had overheard from his post 
 behind the settle, vague whispers of papers, of loyalty, and 
 those last stern words of farewell: "On your life, madam, 
 watch." Surely, surely the proofs were strong. To be 
 sure Tracy knew something of that scene in the inn par- 
 lour, for he had questioned him about it, but doubtless 
 Adelaide had been beforehand with her version of her mid- 
 night wandering, lest it should reach the ear of her husband 
 from another source. 
 
 The evidence seemed clear, and yet Timothy fought the 
 belief with all his might. He had known Adelaide long, and 
 though never actually one of her suitors, he had always 
 believed her worthier than any woman to be the wife of his 
 friend ; and her devotion to Tracy had seemed the one ob- 
 ject of her life. He could not believe her such a consummate 
 hypocrite. But further, he shrank from belief in her guilt 
 for another reason, for if she be indeed the spy he sought, 
 how could he accuse her to Celia ; and without that accusa- 
 tion how could he hope to prove his own innocence? His 
 only chance lay in obtaining an interview with her, and 
 then should he succeed in bringing home the charge, he 
 must persuade her either by threats or by entreaties to clear 
 him in Celia's eyes. The opinion of the rest of the world 
 was to him of trifling consequence. 
 
 The thought of the interview was not cheering, he had a 
 dread of scenes with women, he hoped it would not be neces-
 
 146 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 sary to have recourse to threats. He could find it in his 
 heart to pity her. It was obvious she had accused him 
 merely to save herself from suspicion, and the warning she 
 had sent him to the "Horse and Hounds" showed a genuine 
 wish to spare him evil consequences. He cursed the fates 
 for sending him to be the Nemesis of her guilt. 
 
 As he sat wiling away the hours by dealing and cutting 
 the cards, hand against hand, he had yet a source of uneasy 
 thought. His departure from Bath the previous day 
 seemed to have awakened the suspicions of the trades- 
 people; on his return he found his table covered with un- 
 pleasant-looking accounts. The thought of these pressing 
 creditors recalled to his mind the offer of Mr. Josiah Smith 
 and the threats of the mayor of Bath, which, in the excite- 
 ments of the past two days, he had forgotten. A faint 
 curiosity with regard to the suspected house stirred him, 
 and having nothing better to do, he dragged his chair into 
 the embrasure of the window early on the second morning 
 of his confinement, and set himself to watch the entries and 
 exits at the bright brown doorway opposite. 
 
 It would seem the little French coiffeuse had a large 
 clientele. Chair after chair was borne down the narrow 
 alley and in at the demure brown doorway until at six 
 o'clock the last visitor departed. Then she drew the curtains 
 closely across her windows and emerged from the demure 
 doorway, followed by an elderly serving woman. She locked 
 the door behind her and tripped away along Boat-Stall 
 Lane, and out of the eastern gate of the city. 
 
 The coiffeuse was a small middle-aged woman, betraying 
 her nationality in every line of her neat figure, from the 
 top of her elaborately dressed head to the tip of her well- 
 shod feet. She still retained much of the beauty of youth,
 
 "THE SEDAN CHAIRS" 147 
 
 though how much was due to powder and paint it was diffi- 
 cult at a distance to determine. She had bright black eyes, 
 a full figure and full, red-lipped mouth, and walked with the 
 short, quick steps of a busy, energetic woman. She nodded 
 and smiled at many acquaintances as she passed down the 
 lane, and paused at the gate to pat the head of the gate- 
 ward's child before she turned along the London road to 
 her home. After her departure the house remained silent 
 and deserted until her return on the following morning. 
 
 Now when a man devotes himself for the space of two days 
 to watching the comings and goings of a crowd, and when, 
 moreover, his eyes are sharpened by suspicion, he is likely 
 enough to alight upon many curious matters. So it was 
 with Timothy. 
 
 At first this regular procession of sedan chairs, one on an 
 average of every twenty minutes, appeared to him as inno- 
 cent as it was uninteresting, but presently, as he watched, 
 he noted certain remarkable facts that considerably sharp- 
 ened his curiosity. He remarked, for example, that every 
 chair which was open, which deposited its occupant in the 
 roadway, or which was borne by liveried servants, came up 
 Boat-Stall Lane from the direction of the city, but every 
 chair which swung up the passage from Cock Alley was 
 without exception closed and was carried directly into the 
 house. He remarked again that the boots worn by the 
 bearers of these latter chairs were smirched with heavy 
 country clay and not, as might have been expected, with 
 the mire of city gutters. 
 
 Again, he noted that the men bearing the chairs up Cocls 
 Alley sweated and toiled under the weight of their burdens 
 with an effort unusual to chairmen, but when, after a de- 
 cent interval allowed for coiffuring, they departed again
 
 148 
 
 from the house, they swung down the passage with the light 
 step and easy carriage that usually betokens an empty 
 chair. Yet it was not possible that they could have left the 
 fares behind them at the house, for none ever departed on 
 foot. 
 
 But chiefly was Timothy's curiosity aroused by the re- 
 markable likeness among the chairmen who came up Cock 
 Alley. After studying them carefully for two days, it was 
 clear to him that there were but four different sets of chair- 
 men coming and going to the house from that direction. 
 Now they were obviously hired chairs, therefore it was not 
 unlikely that one chair should be frequently hired on the 
 same job, but that the same four chairs should be hired in 
 rotation with such unchanging regularity for two whole 
 days struck him as such an extraordinary coincidence that 
 he resolved not to allow another hour to elapse without in- 
 quiring further into the mystery. 
 
 Accordingly, his shoulder being now almost healed, he 
 prepared to go out and investigate. He muffled himself 
 in a high-collared riding-coat and wide-brimmed hat, and 
 waiting until Madame Grieve had departed for the night, 
 he plunged down into the narrow alley and knocked lustily 
 at the bright brown door. 
 
 His summons met with no response. The knocking echoed 
 against the high walls in the alley and died away in the 
 distance. He stepped back and stared up at the house and 
 knocked again, listening eagerly for any sound within ; but 
 all was quiet and deserted. 
 
 Suddenly, he stood arrested, staring with wide-open eyes at 
 the little round window to the left of the doorway, shrouded 
 in its white muslin curtains. For as he threw a last glance 
 over his shoulder at the house, for a moment, for the f rac-
 
 "THE SEDAN CHAIRS" 149 
 
 tion of a second, the white curtains were parted, and a 
 woman's face framed in an aureole of copper-coloured hair 
 appeared in the opening. He caught one glimpse of a pair 
 of bright eyes, the colour of burnt umber, and then the 
 shadow of the curtain fell again across the window, and all 
 was blank. 
 
 Timothy rubbed his eyes and looked again. The curtain 
 hung motionless before the window, the house gave no sign 
 of life. He knocked again, and waited. He knew he was 
 not mistaken in the face, it was the same woman who had 
 smiled at him from the coach window three days previously, 
 but who she was and why she was here, lurking in an empty 
 house, were questions it baffled him to answer. His curiosity 
 in the mystery of the house redoubled. 
 
 But it was clear no more was forthcoming that evening. 
 Reluctantly he left his post, and turning down into Cock 
 Alley, he strolled thoughtfully in the direction of the High 
 Street. 
 
 A man stepped out suddenly from a doorway and tapped 
 him on the shoulder. Timothy wheeled round quickly, his 
 hand on his sword; his nerves were jumpy. He found him- 
 self face to face with Mr. Josiah Smith. 
 
 "Good-evening, Mr. Curtis," he said eagerly. "Did you 
 see anything? I see you are watching the house." 
 
 "How dare you play the spy on me, sirrah?" cried Tim 
 angrily. "Do you honour me with your suspicions?" 
 
 Josiah gave a little apologetic bow and turned to walk 
 beside him. 
 
 "It's the house, Mr. Curtis," he said dolefully. "I watch 
 day and night as well as it's possible. But though I've had 
 my eye on it for a week, I can't see any sign of what I 
 expected."
 
 150 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 Timothy checked an impulse to order the man away. It 
 dawned upon him that Josiah Smith might prove a useful 
 mine of information to be explored in his search for the 
 spy. He eyed him thoughtfully. 
 
 "What roused your suspicions in the first instance?" 
 
 "A letter, sir, an anjonymous letter expressly stating that 
 this house sheltered a band of conspirators who hid their 
 arms and ammunition in the upper rooms. But we've 
 searched the house, we've watched it, and I've sent women 
 at all hours under the pretence of wanting their hair 
 dressed, and at no time have we seen anything out of the 
 common or in anyway suspicious." 
 
 "Ah-h !" said Tim thoughtfully ; "it strikes me, man, the 
 letter was a blind and you are on the wrong tack." 
 
 Josiah shook his head. "I thought so myself, sir, and was 
 for searching elsewhere, but last night !" He stopped 
 and eyed Timothy doubtfully ; but he was evidently yearn- 
 ing to confide in some one, and after a moment's hesitation 
 he continued in a low voice: "Last night, sir, about eleven 
 o'clock, I walked along here to have a quiet look, and as I 
 reached that corner yonder, I looked up suddenly at the 
 sky and I saw a woman on the roof of that house." 
 
 "Saw what?" cried Tim amazedly. 
 
 "A woman, sir. It was only for a moment, and the light 
 was shifty, but I saw her as plain as I see you. She was 
 in white, sir, with flames round her head. She stood there 
 for a second, and then she vanished." 
 
 "Vanished! Demme! Where?" 
 
 "Nowhere, sir. Disappeared. Sank away." 
 
 "Pooh ! A trap-door." 
 
 "There is none, sir. The mayor sent a man up to examine 
 the leads on the pretence that a broken chimney endangered
 
 "THE SEDAN CHAIRS" 151 
 
 the street, and he says there is no way to the roof from 
 the house." 
 
 "Egad!" ejaculated Tim thoughtfully; "it strikes me, Mr. 
 Smith, that your house is haunted." 
 
 Josiah eyed him queerly and gave a nervous laugh. 
 
 "It it is strange, isn't it, sir?" 
 
 "Strange? It's demmed uncanny." 
 
 Josiah coughed. "You'll understand, Mr. Curtis, after 
 seeing that, a man doesn't care over much to be about the 
 place at midnight alone. But the mayor thinks with you, 
 that the letter was a blind, and will take no further part in 
 the watch." 
 
 Timothy eyed him shrewdly. "You want me to take up 
 the work, eh?" 
 
 "Only at night, sir. Your window is so opportunely 
 placed." 
 
 Tim considered. "This conspiracy, Mr. Smith you 
 deem it Jacobean, eh?" 
 
 "Yes, sir. It is rumoured in London that the Prince has 
 already sailed from Dunkirk. They netted a whole peck of 
 traitors hatching their plots down in Dorset last week, and 
 'tis known well there are many Jacobites in Bath." 
 
 "Why don't you apprehend them, then?" 
 
 "That is not my work. I am sent here to watch this house. 
 My Lord Pelham has other assistants." 
 
 "Who are they?" asked Tim bluntly. 
 
 Josiah flushed crimson; he drew himself up stiffly and 
 stared at Tim. 
 
 "I beg your pardon, sir." 
 
 "I asked you who are Lord Pelham's other assistants ; who 
 is er watching the conspirators?" 
 
 "I cannot tell you, sir," said Josiah stiffly.
 
 152 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 "D'ye mean you don't know ?" 
 
 "No, sir. I mean I cannot tell you." 
 
 "Pish !" said Tim shortly ; "I'll not betray the confidence, 
 but I wish to know. Look you, man, a bargain. I will 
 watch this house for you at night and mark the doings o' 
 these ghosts if you, on your part, will tell me the name of 
 Lord Pelham's man. If you wish it, I will add some er 
 pecuniary value to my side of the bargain." 
 
 Josiah stood still. His face was very red, he twisted his 
 hands nervously together and stared at the ground. 
 
 "Mr. Curtis," he said reproachfully, "you misunder- 
 stand me, sir. I'm paid by Lord Pelham to spy on that 
 house, and 's blood, I'll spy on it by every means in 
 my power. But I I've my own notion of honesty, sir, 
 and it don't allow me to risk my master's interests by be- 
 traying those who help him. I ask your pardon for 
 troubling you, Mr. Curtis, and wish you a very good- 
 evening." 
 
 He looked at Timothy with a certain dignity that was 
 almost pathetic, and turning away, walked down the street. 
 
 Tim stared after him, biting his lip. "Plague on it !" he 
 muttered. "It would seem I'm the most bedad fool in the 
 kingdom. But I thought him only a spy whom any purse 
 could buy." 
 
 A man swung out of a tavern and almost knocked down 
 Josiah. He started at the sight of him and looked sus- 
 piciously from him to Timothy. Then he laughed lightly, 
 and walking up to the latter, laid a hand on his shoulder. 
 
 "Come on, Curtis, and have a turn at the cards. Come 
 back to my lodgings and we'll make a night of it. Gad! 
 what if you be paid by Pelham! Jamie's men are not so 
 plaguy honest that they can tu/~ up their noses at you.
 
 "THE SEDAN CHAIRS" 153 
 
 The friends o' the top dog are contemptible spies, and the 
 friends o' the bottom dog are damnable traitors all the 
 world over. For myself, I'd deal a hand or drink a cup with 
 either." 
 
 He linked his arm through Tim's, and strolled up the 
 street by his side. Tim made no objection. He knew the 
 value of Rory Winnington's mocking tongue too well to 
 take any count of his words, and after three days' solitude 
 any companionship was welcome. 
 
 "Egad! Curtis, you're a rare man in a rough and 
 tumble," continued Rory with a chuckle. "Faith ! but we 
 had the liveliest time with you and your table. I've not 
 laughed so much since Noll upset the tea-stand on Lady 
 Cornwallis's cat. What a fool you were not to take it 
 quietly. Lee was for pinking you at the end; he has the 
 devil's own temper." 
 
 "Hum," said Tim drily, "so you were there ? It strikes me 
 we have an account to settle over that affair." 
 
 "Not I," said Rory coolly ; "I don't quarrel with any man 
 for swearing when his night's rest is disturbed." 
 
 He laughed at the cool effrontery of the man. "How is 
 Charles Rathborne?" he asked. 
 
 "A bit stiff in the arm where you pinked him, and plunged 
 in melancholy madness for letting you escape. You're a 
 slippery eel to writhe through their fingers." He eyed him 
 thoughtfully for a minute. "It's my belief, Tim, a pair 
 o' white hands had their share in your escape, eh ?" 
 
 Tim flushed and made no answer. Rory whistled softly. 
 
 "I thought so. Bedad ! but you must have the tongue of 
 an angel to win my pretty sister to your side after her re- 
 ception of you at Tuesday's ball. Women are plaguy un- 
 accountable creatures."
 
 154 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 "Docs any one else guess her share in the matter?" asked 
 Tim hesitatingly. 
 
 "Not they," answered Rory with a sudden sternness. 
 "And you will do well, Curtis, to keep it to yourself. If 
 tongues wag about the affair, I shall make it my business 
 to silence them. You understand?" 
 
 Tim nodded. "You need not fear I'll take advantage of 
 her her pity," he said softly. 
 
 Rory looked at him thoughtfully. "Look you, Tim," he 
 said suddenly. "Bath air is plaguy unwholesome for you 
 at present. Have you no affairs to call you to town?" 
 
 Tim shook his head obstinately. "Not I. I don't leave 
 Bath till I've finished a quest I have in hand." 
 
 "What's your quarry, eh?" 
 
 "The man or woman who holds Pelham's bribe." 
 
 Rory looked at him with a queer smile in his eyes. 
 
 "Ah-h !" he drawled ; "a monstrous entertaining hunt, I'll 
 warrant. Well, if you will stay in the city, be advised 
 walk in the sun and keep house o' nights, and don't let your 
 sword arm stiffen." 
 
 A woman had been following them up the street, at a re- 
 spectful distance, a pretty, pert-looking creature showily 
 dressed. Now she drew nearer and hailed Rory nervously. 
 
 "Mr. Winnington, sir, could I speak to you?" 
 
 Rory turned to her with an impatient frown, which melted 
 into a smile of whimsical resignation when he met her be- 
 seeching blue eyes. 
 
 Tim looked at the girl. "Why, Martha," he said, "it's 
 you, is it? What's to do? Lost your place, eh ?" 
 
 She bobbed him a curtsey. "Yes, please, Mr. Curtis, I 
 left Lady Wimbourne a week ago. Can't I speak to you, 
 please, Mr. Winnington ?"
 
 "THE SEDAN CHAIRS" 155 
 
 Rory shrugged his shoulders. "You go on, Curtis," he 
 said shortly. "I'll be with you in a minute." Then he 
 turned to the girl. "Well, my dear, what d'ye want now ?" 
 he asked wearily. 
 
 She dropped her eyes and scraped her toe nervously to 
 and fro on the gravel. "You you've not been to see me 
 since Friday last week," she said slowly. 
 
 "No," said Rory coldly ; "I've had no need to, my dear." 
 
 The girl looked up with a startled air. "No need 
 to ?" she repeated slowly; "is it only news you come for 
 then?" 
 
 He laughed. "Why, what else did you dream brought me, 
 child?" 
 
 She flushed. "You you said I was the prettiest girl in 
 Bath," she muttered. 
 
 "Did I? Egad! my dear, I've said it so often I've lost 
 count of 'em all." 
 
 Her mouth drooped : she looked at him beseechingly. 
 
 "But, Mr. Winnington, I I'd be main glad if you'd come 
 again, sir," she whispered entreatingly. 
 
 Rory looked down into her blue eyes and wavered, then he 
 set his mouth resolutely and shook his head. "No," he mut- 
 tered ; "I promised Laidie I'd not hurt the girl, and 
 demme, I'll keep my word." He stooped and pinched her 
 chin playfully. "Wake up, child, you're too pretty a play- 
 mate for me go find you a husband." 
 
 She held out her hand entreatingly, but he shook his head 
 smilingly, and with a sudden sob she turned and hurried 
 down the street. 
 
 Rory shrugged his shoulders lightly and followed Tim. 
 "Faith! Curtis," he said drily, "I have my virtuous mo- 
 ments, and can play the deaf adder as well as any man."
 
 156 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 They emerged into Cheap Street and were nearing the 
 door of Rory's lodgings when a loud voice hailed them 
 from the opposite sidewalk. A tall, erect, handsome, old 
 gentleman dressed in the perfection of fashion stood on the 
 edge of the walk and waved his cane violently to attract 
 their attention. At sight of him Tim clutched Rory's arm 
 with a cry of astonishment. 
 
 "Bedad ! it's my uncle." 
 
 Rory looked from one to the other and burst into a shout 
 of laughter. "Bear up, Tim, he only carries a cane! 
 Why? Didn't you know he was here? They arrived in 
 Bath Thursday last." 
 
 "I never heard of it," said Tim, stepping down into the 
 gutter to cross the road. 
 
 "I'm not to have your company to-night then?" said 
 Rory. "Well, maybe I'll see you later at Lady Westerby's. 
 There's mettle monstrous attractive there!" 
 
 Tim crossed the road to his uncle. The two men faced 
 each other in silence for a moment, then turned and walked 
 along side by side. 
 
 "Well," said Lord Westerby curtly, "what is the explana- 
 tion?" 
 
 "I did not know you were in Bath," answered Tim laconi- 
 cally. 
 
 "Hum! Poor. Where have you been hiding?" 
 
 "Not hiding ; doctor's orders." 
 
 "Why? Have you been duelling?" 
 
 "No. I ran against another man's sword point." 
 
 "Ah-h ! What are you doing in Bath ? Why did you not 
 obey orders and come to Bristol?" 
 
 "I find Bath air pleasanter, sir." 
 
 Suddenly Lord Westerby stopped and laughed. "You
 
 "THE SEDAN CHAIRS" 157 
 
 don't change, my boy," he said, putting his hand on his 
 arm. 
 
 "Nor you, my lord," answered Tim affectionately. "Is 
 my aunt here with you?" 
 
 "Yes, and one in whom you'd do well to take more interest, 
 Miss Dorothy Smallshaw." 
 
 Tim whistled. "Why is she here?" he asked anxiously. 
 
 "She finds Bath air pleasant," chuckled Lord Westerby. 
 
 "Don't be a coward, my boy ; you'll find her a pretty saucy 
 piece of goods and an heiress to boot." 
 
 Tim set his mouth obstinately and shook his head. Lord 
 Westerby laughed good-naturedly. 
 
 "Ah! well, see her, see her, my boy. Sho hasn't any to 
 surpass her in all Bath, and only one equal in my judg- 
 ment, and the two beauties are as unlike as sun and moon." 
 
 As they strolled up the street together, they passed many 
 acquaintances bound on their way to church or supper. 
 These greeted Lord Westerby courteously, but it was ob- 
 vious that Timothy Curtis was still banished from society, 
 his salutations were significantly overlooked. Lord Wes- 
 terby remarked this, and eyed his nephew quizzically. 
 
 "It seems you are not popular here," he said drily. 
 
 "No," said Tim coolly ; "it seems I am not." 
 
 Lord Westerby stopped dead. "Nothing disgraceful, I 
 hope," he asked sharply. 
 
 Tim looked him straight in the eyes. "No, sir," he said 
 quietly. 
 
 Lord Westerby nodded and pursued his way. "Popular- 
 ity," he said cynically, "is largely connected with purse 
 strings ; but politeness, my boy, can be taught at the sword 
 point." 
 
 Tim flushed and made no answer. At the top of the street
 
 158 
 
 he stopped, and his heart gave a sudden bound. Swinging 
 along in an open chair came Celia Winnington. She was 
 smiling up into the eyes of Lord Robert Dacre, who walked 
 on her right, while Charles Rathborne rested his hand on 
 the door at her left; behind came Sir Peter, linking arms 
 with David Beringer, and Oliver Shirley, the stout and 
 courteous one, brought up the rear, escorting Lady Wim- 
 bourne's chair. 
 
 Tim stood aside, hat in hand. Celia gave him no greet- 
 ing, but as she passed she lifted her eyes for a second to his 
 with a long searching look, then the lids were lowered and 
 she turned away her head. The men ignored his presence 
 entirely. 
 
 Lord Westerby looked sharply from Celia to his nephew. 
 "That is the only woman in Bath who can hold a candle to 
 Dorothy," he said emphatically. 
 "Do you know her?" asked Tim eagerly. 
 "Know Winnington's niece? Of course I do. So do you." 
 Tim smiled bitterly. "No," he said shortly ; "she does not 
 count me among her acquaintances." 
 
 "Ah!" said his uncle slowly. "Then you are a greater 
 fool than I thought you." 
 
 Lady Westerby welcomed her nephew affectionately. She 
 had been a beauty in her youth and was, some thought, even 
 more beautiful in her old age. Moreover, she still preserved 
 that subtle power of exciting men's admiration without any 
 effort, of attracting their homage as it were her due, which 
 is the most charming characteristic of a woman born to 
 rule. She had a certain gentle dignity that rebuked im- 
 pertinence more than any haughty demeanour, and even 
 in that age of ceremony she was noted for her courtli- 
 ness.
 
 "THE SEDAN CHAIRS'* 159 
 
 "Your uncle will have told you, Timothy, that Miss 
 Smallshaw has journeyed hither with me, and that it is our 
 wish you should become acquainted with her. She is young, 
 and her spirits are high, and she is wilful on occasion, hav- 
 ing been spoiled all her life ; but I love her, Tim, and she is 
 very beautiful. She has already learned to be interested 
 in you. Be kind to her for my sake." 
 
 Tim kissed his aunt's hand. "If she be as beautiful as my 
 uncle reports she will have no lack of champions in Bath. 
 My attentions were but superfluity." 
 
 Lady Westerby smiled. "Were you a woman, Timothy, 
 you would know that to a woman no man's attentions are 
 a superfluity. And were I a man, my nephew, methinks I 
 should enjoy the conquest of a wife who gave me some 
 trouble in the chase." 
 
 Tim grimaced. "Sense is an excellent thing in woman. 
 If the quarry desire capture, why does it fly ?" 
 
 "Lud ! Timothy, you gallants of the present day are lag- 
 gards indeed. Your uncle " she stopped and laughed. 
 
 Tim laughed and kissed her hand again. "My uncle, 
 madam, reached for a star worthy any man's agonising to 
 win." 
 
 She laughed and shook her head. "It seems men's 
 tongues are not less ready though their hearts are lag- 
 gard now. Reach me my fan, dear; the evening is op- 
 pressive." 
 
 Timothy rose and crossed to the table for her fan. He 
 turned, and suddenly the fan fell clattering to the ground, 
 and he stood rooted to the spot, his eyes wide with blank 
 astonishment. A woman had entered the room and stood 
 by the door smiling at him ; her face was very fair, with an 
 aureole of copper-coloured hair, and the bright eyes that
 
 160 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 viewed his amazement with a twinkle of suppressed amuse- 
 ment were the colour of burnt umber. 
 
 "Dorothy, allow me to present to you my nephew, Mr. 
 Curtis," said Lady Westerby ceremoniously. "Timothy, 
 this is Miss Dorothy Smallshaw, my guest."
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 "THE SUN" 
 
 TIMOTHY bowed, but for the moment his wits deserted him, 
 he could think of nothing to say. He picked up the fan 
 and placed it on the table, and he stood aside to let her pass 
 to a seat in the window, but he was too entirely amazed to 
 utter the compliments usual on an introduction. 
 
 Dorothy, for her part, smiled at him in frank amusement ; 
 it would appear she attributed his want of aplomb to aston- 
 ishment at her unexpected charms. 
 
 "I have seen you before, Mr. Curtis," she said. "Is it 
 your custom to ride abroad at noonday without hat or 
 coat?" 
 
 Timothy recovered his wits. "Not always, madam," he 
 said significantly. "At times I walk abroad at nightfall 
 muffled to the eyebrow." 
 
 She gave no sign that she understood the allusion in his 
 words. "I'd give the world to know what had befallen you 
 the other day," she laughed. "But I suppose I may not 
 ask." 
 
 "I would beg you not to, madam, for I could not tell you, 
 and 'twould break my heart to cause you disappointment," 
 he said gallantly. 
 
 She flashed a merry look at him from under her lashes. 
 
 "Lud! sir, are you there already?" she cried saucily. 
 " 'Twould seem there are some roads you travel faster than 
 the one to Bristol. But I have already learned that Bath is 
 a city where the tongue wags faster than the brain works."
 
 162 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 "And where, perhaps, the eyes, being privileged, speak 
 faster than either," he said, smiling at her. 
 
 He sat on, exchanging gallantry and compliment and puz- 
 zling his brains over the mystery connected with the girl. 
 That it was her face he had seen in the shadow of the cur- 
 tained window of the empty house he was certain, but what 
 she was doing there and how she had come thence were mys- 
 teries he could not fathom. As for the girl herself, in 
 truth, she was very fair with her clear skin, her rich col- 
 ouring, and her merry face with its quaint little humorous 
 twist of lips and eyebrows when she talked. She was never 
 at a loss for words, and constantly broke into little ripples 
 of laughter, as though she found the world a mightily 
 amusing place. She was dressed very richly, and on her 
 arms and neck wore many gems. She was never still, ges- 
 ticulating and nodding constantly as she talked, so that the 
 general effect was that of a flashing, glittering jewel. 
 
 Timothy, comparing her in his mind with Celia, under- 
 stood Lord Westerby's similes of sun and moon here was 
 indeed the rich, blazing, almost brazen beauty of noonday. 
 
 Nay, more, there was that in the full lines of her lips, in 
 the subtle movements of her limbs, in the tempting glances 
 she flashed from under her gold-tipped lashes, that sug- 
 gested a glow, a warmth, a prodigality of passion breath- 
 ing the luscious sweetness of Southern sunshine. 
 
 Presently sounds of arrival were heard below. Dorothy 
 leaned out of the window and blushed. 
 
 " 'Tis Mr. Winnington, madam," she said. "He is 
 come to escort us to the concert at the Assembly Rooms." 
 
 Rory entered with his confident air, his mocking smile. 
 He saluted Lady Westerby, and then crossing the room, 
 seated himself coolly on the window seat by Dorothy's side.
 
 "THE SUN" 163 
 
 "Madam," he began gaily, "your advent to Bath has 
 caused the greatest brain-racking we've had this sennight. 
 All the poets are seeking new similes for your charms,, and 
 all the wits are crazing their intelligences for a name by 
 which to toast you." 
 
 She laughed. "Lud! Mr. Winnington, cannot you give 
 them the benefit of your experience? If rumour speaks 
 true, you have toasted every woman in the kingdom in your 
 day." 
 
 "Rumour, madam, is of the feminine gender and never 
 knows when to hold her tongue." 
 
 "And Presumption is of the male gender, sir, and must 
 not be encouraged." She rose and walked to a distant seat 
 on the settee, laughing at him over her shoulder. 
 
 "You've been abroad, madam," he said, unabashed. 
 
 "How know you that?" she asked. 
 
 "The enviable earth still clings to your garments," he said, 
 pointing to a stain on her skirt. "Gad! madam, and cob- 
 webs, too ! One would say you had been over house-roofs 
 and down chimney-stacks by the marks." 
 
 She stared at him for a minute, then burst out laughing. 
 
 "Heaven keep us," she cried; "you are amazing! But it 
 is indeed a stain," she muttered. "I must go change my 
 gown. Mr. Curtis, you will come with us to the Rooms?" 
 
 Lady Westerby looked anxiously at her nephew as he 
 walked beside her chair on the way to the Assembly Rooms. 
 
 "Dorothy is light-tongued, Tim," she said apologetically ; 
 "but she and Mr. Winnington are old acquaintances. He 
 was in Bristol for full three months in the spring, and much 
 at her father's house." 
 
 Tim nodded. "They are a well-matched pair," he said in- 
 differently.
 
 164 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 Lady Westerby frowned. "Mr. Wilmington has the mer- 
 riest heart and the readiest tongue of any man I know, but 
 I would not willingly trust him with any woman's happi- 
 ness. There is matter behind his mockery. He is secretive." 
 
 "And Mistress Dorothy is she transparent, madam?" 
 
 "Why, the child is open as the day. Her frankness will 
 be her undoing, I fear. She speaks her mind as rashly as 
 an untutored savage." 
 
 Tim lifted his eyebrows and made no answer. 
 
 The arrival of Lord Westerby's party at the Assembly 
 Rooms created a sensation. Miss Dorothy Smallshaw had 
 been but two days in Bath, but in those rapid times, two 
 days had sufficed to establish her reputation as the readiest 
 wit and one of the brightest beauties in society ; her court 
 awaited her. 
 
 The popularity of the Westerbys was great, their coming 
 to the city was welcomed gladly. 
 
 The reception accorded to Tim was varied and excited his 
 humour. His appearance under the wing of Lady Wester- 
 by and in the train of the new queen considerably changed 
 the aspect of affairs and moderated public opinion ; more- 
 over, four days had passed since the hour of his banishment, 
 and the subject was a trifle stale. Nevertheless, gossip still 
 hovered about his name. Men eyed him queerly, and stif- 
 fened when he approached them, women flushed with em- 
 barrassment while they accepted his gallantries. Dorothy 
 marked their conduct, and when, at nine o'clock, they passed 
 out into the upper rooms for tea, with characteristic frank- 
 ness Dorothy Smallshaw demanded an explanation. 
 
 She was sitting in a little group of men, and Timothy 
 was holding her cup, when she coolly launched her question. 
 
 "I have been out o' the world and heard no news since
 
 "THE SUN" 165 
 
 Queen Anne died. Tell me then what has Mr. Curtis done 
 to anger you all? It seems he is monstrous unpopular." 
 
 A gasp of surprise went round the circle; the men eyed 
 one another in amused embarrassment. For a moment 
 Tim's eyes gleamed angrily, then his humour conquered his 
 indignation and he laughed. 
 
 "I will enlighten you, madam. There are certain misin- 
 formed folk in the city who have been pleased to dub me a 
 spy." 
 
 Dorothy started ; for an instant her face grew grave. "A 
 spy," she whispered. Then her laughter broke out afresh. 
 "You, a spy ; fiddle-de-dee, why you have not even eyes to 
 note a woman's face." 
 
 "Nay, madam, I have been noting women's faces the even- 
 ing through," he said teasingly. 
 
 "Women, Lud ! Mr. Curtis, there is staleness in numbers. 
 Take one at a time." 
 
 As the evening passed, it became speedily evident that 
 Miss Smallshaw was bent upon distinguishing Timothy 
 with every mark of her favour. She smiled on him, talked 
 to him, jested at him, and he never left her side. Lady 
 Westerby seconded the girl's efforts ; she smiled upon the 
 couple, and was evidently resolute to bring them together. 
 
 "Now we have caught you, Timothy, we will keep you," 
 she laughed. "You must be our escort while we remain in 
 Bath. And in truth, 'tisn't possible you should wish to 
 escape." 
 
 "From you, madam? Good heavens, no." 
 
 She sighed and shook her head. "Where are your eyes, 
 sir, that you turn from youth to age?" 
 
 Mr. Nash came near to offer to Lady Westerby the cere- 
 monious welcome he considered due to new arrivals. She
 
 166 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 had been of those who knew and admired him in the hey- 
 day of his reign as King of Bath, and in her gracious kind- 
 ness, she ever accorded him the same respect, though age 
 and increasing poverty had robbed him of much of his 
 former buoyant confidence. 
 
 "The scene does not change, Mr. Nash," she said, with 
 a little sigh at memory of bygone days. "Beauty and wit 
 and gallantry still make the world go round." 
 
 Mr. Nash looked round the crowded rooms with a frown 
 of discontent. "It may be my eyes grow dim and my ears 
 hard of hearing, madam, but it appears to me that beauty 
 and wit lack the brightness of twenty years ago. And for 
 gallantry 'tis going, 'tis going, madam. Our modern 
 gallants, 'twould seem, have no leisure left to woo." 
 
 "Perchance they have no hearts to love with, Mr. Nash. 
 I have but now rebuked my nephew concerning laggard 
 love." 
 
 Nash eyed Tim sternly. "Mr. Curtis, madam, requires no 
 spur." He turned to him with a sudden assumption of his 
 old, outspoken, tyrannous manner. "You should learn, Mr. 
 Curtis, that 'tis only upstarts who force themselves unde- 
 sired on a lady's company." 
 
 Tim flushed crimson with anger. But Mr. Nash was a 
 privileged person. If he could scold a duchess for her in- 
 elegant costume, he could assuredly rebuke a gentleman 
 for ill-behaviour. There was no redress. Tim bowed 
 haughtily and turned away. 
 
 Lady Westerby intervened. "Permit me to present you 
 to my debutante, Miss Dorothy Smallshaw, one of our new- 
 est beauties, Mr. Nash." 
 
 "I have heard of her already, madam, and am eager to 
 offer her my compliments." The old beau shook out his
 
 "THE SUN" 167 
 
 ruffles, fixed his glass and favoured Dorothy with a bow no 
 man in that assembly could equal. The curtsey with which 
 she responded evidently met with his approval, he poured 
 forth a complimentary address of welcome. 
 
 "Bath is honoured, honoured indeed, madam, by your 
 sojourn here. We do not lack beauty in our company, but 
 new loveliness is ever welcome, and I vow you will not find 
 our gallants slow in offering their homage. Ah, madam, 
 there will be sword points flashing, I fear, unless you veil 
 your eyes." 
 
 Dorothy smiled with evident pleasure. "Lud ! sir, 'twould 
 seem in this company, there are beauties enough for all." 
 
 "We do not lack stars, madam, and there is one here who 
 has already been toasted as the Moon. But methinks until 
 this hour, we have missed the glory of the sun to complete 
 our heaven." 
 
 "Bravo, beau !" cried Rory ; "you've hit it. Miss Small- 
 shaw is the rollicking sunbeam that peers into every cranny 
 and dances into every heart, and out again." 
 
 Dorothy laughed at him saucily. "Monstrous complimen- 
 tary, I vow." 
 
 Nash eyed him sternly. "Your interpretation, sir, is as 
 poor as your gallantry," he said stiffly. 
 
 "Mr. Nash, you speak of the Moon. Who is my rival?" 
 asked Dorothy bluntly. 
 
 "Madam, there should be no rivalry in beauty. Venus may 
 vie with Minerva, but not with a sister grace," answered 
 Nash, with somewhat mixed mythology. "For every 
 beauty has her own light and every light is various." 
 
 Dorothy pouted at the rebuke. "Nevertheless, who is 
 the Moon?" 
 
 "Miss Celia Winnington."
 
 168 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 She looked up at Rory questioningly. 
 
 "My sister," he explained. 
 
 "I should like to be presented to her," she said 
 slowly. 
 
 Mr. Nash stepped eagerly forward, seeing occasion for 
 a ceremony in the presentation of the two beauties. 
 
 "Might I have that honour, madam, and conduct you to 
 her?" 
 
 Dorothy eyed him wickedly. "You would have me go to 
 her, Mr. Nash? Wherefore?" 
 
 The poor beau started, seeing the threatenings of one of 
 those wars of precedence through which he had so often 
 struggled. "The newest comer, madam," he stammered. 
 
 Dorothy laughed and gave him her hand; and with an 
 air of importance and a walk that bespoke ceremonious 
 consideration in every step, Mr. Nash escorted her through 
 the room to the spot where Celia held her court under 
 Adelaide's wing. Dorothy eyed her rival curiously and 
 frankly owned to herself the beauty of her face. She 
 flashed a glance round the attendant circle of gentlemen, 
 and smiled when she marked Lord Westerby among their 
 number. Mr. Nash effected the introduction with a wealth 
 of flowery compliment, and the two ladies swept low 
 curtseys. 
 
 "Madam, I have come to salute the Moon," said Dorothy. 
 
 "Madam," responded Celia, smiling, "the poor Moon 
 pales at the advent of your light." 
 
 It was not the first time Celia had viewed her rival ; she 
 had studied her face all through the evening concert, 
 studied it with a little pang of jealousy, since Timothy 
 Curtis, too, appeared to notice its attractions. 
 
 "I am vastly honoured to make your acquaintance," con-
 
 "THE SUN" 169 
 
 tinned Dorothy. "I have long been acquainted with your 
 brother." 
 
 "With Rory ?" Her face softened. "Ah ! then I trust we 
 may see much of you, madam. Adelaide, let me present to 
 you a friend of Rory's." 
 
 "Dorothy," said Lord Westerby, "Lady Wimbourne and 
 her sister will breakfast with us here to-morrow and join 
 our riding party on Claverton Down." 
 
 Dorothy's eyes brightened. "Lud ! That's montrous de- 
 lightful. We'll be a goodly company." 
 
 "Claverton Down will be for one short morning the envied 
 of the heavens," said Davie Beringer, who having small wit 
 of his own, was wont to enlarge upon that of others, "for 
 they can boast but one light at a time." 
 
 The ladies parted with ceremonious farewells, and Dorothy 
 moved away with Lord Westerby. Adelaide looked after 
 her with a frown. 
 
 "I do not like her, Celia," she whispered. "I do not trust 
 her. I pray to Heaven she may not cast her favours to 
 Rory." 
 
 "Rory," said Celia. "Oh, Rory " she gave a gesture 
 implying extraordinary indifference to her brother's en- 
 trapping. Adelaide looked at her shrewdly, and turned 
 away with a sigh. 
 
 A merry company rode out to Claverton Down the follow- 
 ing morning under Lord Westerby's leadership. The host 
 himself monopolised Celia with a skill born of many years' 
 experience in the art ; it was evident that he already ranked 
 himself among her devotees ; and Celia welcomed the atten- 
 tions of this shrewd, kindly courtier, who would ask noth- 
 ing in return. Ormonde and Rathborne, who hovered in 
 the rear, scowled at the erect back of the elderly beau.
 
 170 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 Tracy rode with his wife, and presently, Lord Robert 
 joined them. "No news yet?" he asked, glancing back to 
 see they were not overheard. 
 
 "None. But it may come any moment. It is well we are 
 prepared." 
 
 "What do you think of the latest addition to your com- 
 pany ?" Tracy frowned. "A feather-brained fool, as rattle- 
 pated as Rory himself. 'Tis pure madness; the affair is 
 too serious to play pranks. I shall speak to Rory." 
 
 "What is it now?" asked Adelaide curiously. 
 
 Tracy looked at Lord Robert, and shook his head. 
 
 "Sweetheart, leave us to intrigue as we choose, but do you 
 keep clear of the affair. It is no woman's work." 
 
 "You will not trust me any more," she said humbly. 
 
 "With our lives, madam," interposed Lord Robert quickly, 
 "if it could do any good. But we would not have you bear 
 a jot more anxiety on your mind than is necessary. As for 
 Curtis " he hesitated a moment, eyeing Timothy thought- 
 fully from afar, "demme, Tracy, if I can understand the 
 man. He makes no move. But then we watch him well." 
 
 "There seems one likely to take the task off our hands," 
 said Tracy, nodding toward Dorothy, who rode ahead in 
 a posse of men. "She holds him close enough to-day." 
 
 Timothy rode by Dorothy's side, watching her with a 
 serious intentness. All his curiosity was aroused, and he 
 was not one to sit indifferent when any mystery baffled his 
 intelligence. She seemed so open, so amazingly outspoken, 
 that had he not seen her at the window in the house of the 
 coiffeuse, he would have written her down at once a merry- 
 hearted coquette, and have taken small interest in her 
 doings. 
 
 "You must know, gentlemen," she said, throwing a mis-
 
 "THE SUN" 171 
 
 chievous look in Timothy's direction, "that Mr. Curtis is 
 such a man as Diogenes himself vainly sought for. Think 
 on the marvel ! He was offered a wife and a fortune would 
 he but ride to Bristol, and lo! he took horse and galloped 
 forthwith to Bath." 
 
 Timothy flushed, and then laughed good-humouredly. 
 "Is there any matter in heaven and earth, madam, you do 
 not know?" 
 
 She laughed. "Not many, sir." Then she hummed a bar 
 of "When Jamie comes again," and threw a mocking 
 glance at Rory. "In truth, I know what many would give 
 a fortune to discover." 
 
 "And what's that, madam?" asked Sir Simon Dewhurst 
 eagerly. 
 
 Rory jerked his rein suddenly and his horse reared. 
 Dorothy laughed. "Steady, steady, Mr. Winnington. All 
 is not yet lost. Ah! but you sit well. You would learn 
 what I know, Sir Simon? why the thoughts of my own 
 heart." She threw him a most tender glance. "Would not 
 many give much to discover them?" she asked saucily.
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 A TANGLED SKEIN 
 
 WHEN Timothy returned to his lodgings after his morn- 
 ing ride he was annoyed t6 find no servant in attendance. 
 The worthy Simon, despite his genius for stupidity, was 
 no laggard in the observance of his duties, his absence was 
 consequently remarkable. 
 
 The landlady, summoned from the back regions, could 
 shed no enlightenment, save that he had gone out in com- 
 pany with another man soon after his master's departure. 
 She further informed Timothy that two gentlemen had 
 called to see him, and had waited for an hour in his rooms, 
 but had finally lost patience at the delay and had gone, 
 leaving no message. 
 
 Vowing vengeance on Simon's truancy, Tim mounted 
 to his room, and prepared his toilette for. the afternoon 
 garden fete at Prior Park, whither he was bound in com- 
 pany with Lady Westerby. 
 
 As he wandered into the outer room in search of a better 
 light by which to tie his cravat, his eye was caught by a 
 paper lying half hidden under his bureau. Mechanically 
 he picked it up, and was surprised to find it was one of his 
 private papers, which he was wont to keep in the inner com- 
 partment of his desk. 
 
 With an oath of astonishment, he tried the lid of his 
 bureau ; it was locked securely. Taking out his keys he 
 opened it. At the first glance, all was apparently in order, 
 but further investigation confirmed his suspicions, that the
 
 A TANGLED SKEIN 173 
 
 place had been ransacked in his absence. He noticed that 
 certain papers were folded differently and placed in a dif- 
 ferent order, that the dust on the inner compartments had 
 been disturbed, that a smear of freshly spilled ink stained 
 the wood. 
 
 The discovery enraged him. His first supposition was 
 that his servant had robbed him and absconded, but further 
 search seemed to prove that nothing had been taken. As 
 he puzzled over the matter, the door was burst open and 
 Simon ran panting into the room. Timothy seized him by 
 the collar and shook him savagely. 
 
 "What have you been up to, you rogue?" he demanded 
 sharply. "Why were you not here when I arrived? What 
 the devil do you mean by leaving my rooms open and 
 empty for any thief to enter and ransack at will ?" 
 
 "Thief!" muttered the man dully, staring round. 
 
 "Yes, thief, you idiot. Who has been tampering with my 
 desk?" 
 
 "I don't know, master. But you are safe," answered 
 Simon. 
 
 "Safe! Safe! What do you mean, fellow? Are you 
 crazy? Why the plague shouldn't I be safe?" 
 
 Simon scratched his head. "The man told me that you 
 had met with an accident on the London Road, sir, and said 
 I was to ride out at once to attend you." 
 
 "Whatman?" 
 
 "I don't know, sir," said Simon vaguely. "He came on 
 a horse." 
 
 "And you believed a cock-and-bull tale like that," cried 
 Timothy desperately, "and trailed over the country, leav- 
 ing my rooms free to any light-fingered Jack? Oh! 
 you "
 
 174 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 He turned to close his desk, puzzling over the identity of 
 the men. It was evidently the work of the Jacobite con- 
 spirators, a search for their lost papers; he chuckled at 
 their disappointment. 
 
 A sudden thought struck him. He reopened the inner 
 drawer and ran his eyes rapidly over the contents ; then 
 he drew in his lips with a long whistle. The note of warn- 
 ing which he had received the evening before he was kid- 
 napped had been taken. 
 
 This discovery put a new aspect upon the affair. It was 
 possible that the men might be emissaries of Lady Whn- 
 bourne, sent by her to destroy her letter, lest it betray to 
 others her interference with their plan, but this was not 
 likely. It was too risky a proceeding to commend itself, 
 even to the harebrained intelligence of a woman in- 
 trigante. Timothy returned to his former surmise that 
 the visitors had been in search of the stolen papers, and had 
 lighted upon this letter by accident. But if that were co, 
 what would be their treatment of Adelaide? 
 
 Timothy's chivalrous pity for the woman was aroused. He 
 must spare her if it were possible ; at least, he must warn her 
 of the theft. 
 
 For one short minute he did indeed harbour the thought 
 that the discovery of Adelaide's guilt would clear his name 
 and spare him further trouble, but he dismissed it manfully. 
 
 "No !" he muttered. "There are things a gentleman can't 
 do. I can't clear myself at the expense of a woman. She 
 shall right me to Celia ; for the others, I'll look out for my- 
 self." 
 
 With this resolve he set out to join Lady Westerby and 
 accompany her and Dorothy to the afternoon fete. 
 
 The afternoon was dull and very oppressive, heavy
 
 A TANGLED SKEIN 175 
 
 thunder clouds piled the horizon and the air was electric 
 with the threat of a coming storm. The company, gathered 
 on the lawns and in the alleys of Mr. Allen's garden, was 
 languid and dull, and the entertainment dragged weari- 
 somely. 
 
 Only Miss Dorothy Smallshaw's high spirits seemed proof 
 against the prevailing depression. She laughed and talked 
 as gaily as ever and rallied her companions upon their 
 dulness. 
 
 "Lud! gentlemen, I vow you are all as stale as a Pump 
 Room biscuit. What ails you ? I must find you matter for 
 conversation. Interpret to me why Mr. Curtis, having set 
 out for Bristol, found himself at Bath?" 
 
 "Madam, I had not then beheld the glory of Bristol," in- 
 terposed Tim quickly; the subject annoyed him. 
 
 "La, la, you would win pardon by gallantry. Never fear, 
 Mr. Curtis, I would never blame a man for love of freedom. 
 But why Bath, sir?" 
 
 Curious eyes looked at Tim. He flushed with annoyance. 
 
 Dorothy laughed mischievously. "Did you track a quarry, 
 sir? Ah, ah, Mr. Curtis, you blush! Come, gentlemen, a 
 little persistence, and we'll fathom his secret." 
 
 Tim's temper fled. "Beware, madam, lest I seek to fathom 
 yours," he said significantly. "May not a man look in at a 
 window, as well as a woman may look out?" 
 
 For the fraction of a second a startled look dawned in 
 her eyes. Then she laughed defiantly. "I vow, here is Mr. 
 Curtis propounding riddles. I'll read you the answer: 
 'There are many women in the world and many windows, 
 and they are as alike as chalk to cheese, or Jamie to 
 Geordie.' " 
 
 The men around stared from her to Timothy with puzzled
 
 176 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 faces. Rory laughed softly, and eyed her with a glance of 
 wondering admiration. 
 
 "The height of your conversation is above me, madam. 
 Will you not walk? The Italian Garden is worthy even 
 your presence. And I'll warrant, I'll find subjects enow 
 for conversation, if you will but be silent long enough to 
 permit me to speak." 
 
 "You are amazing impudent, Mr. Winnington, yet 'tis too 
 hot to oppose you. But I warn you I shall expect you to be 
 as vastly entertaining as Mr. Walpole himself." 
 
 "I cry you mercy, madam. Do not look for Horry's inani- 
 ties from me. My wit is crystal." 
 
 "Ay! it requires long gazing to see anything in it," an- 
 swered Dorothy promptly. 
 
 Laughing, they walked off together. When they had 
 passed from the lawn into the shadow of a yew-hedged walk, 
 Rory looked down at her with a reproving headshake. 
 
 "Madam, you sail too near the wind. Do you not know 
 Mr. Curtis has the reputation of seeing too far into other 
 folk's affairs? Be careful with him." 
 
 She blushed, half ashamed. "Do you believe him to be a 
 spy ?" she asked. 
 
 " 'Pon my soul, madam, I'm not sure. He's demmed elusive. 
 But he suspects something. 'Tis not every noon a man sees 
 a face at the window of an empty house." 
 
 She laughed. "Lud ! it seems he saw me sure enough. I 
 had hoped he would believe it a vision. But I do not think 
 him a spy, Mr. Winnington ; 'tis an honest face." 
 
 He looked at her thoughtfully. "And a spy can have no 
 virtues, you hold?" 
 
 She hesitated. "Espionage is hardly noble work. And yet 
 a spy goes with his life in his hands. There must be some
 
 A TANGLED SKEIN 177 
 
 virtue in a courage that can laugh on the brink of an 
 abyss." 
 
 "You think that, madam ?" 
 
 "Indeed, yes. No man surely could risk death without a 
 qualm." 
 
 "Better death than dulness. A spy must have such hours 
 of excitement as no lesser stake could give." 
 
 "I protest I am interested in Mr. Curtis." 
 
 "And I protest I'm jealous of your interest," laughed 
 Rory. "Is it the man or the spy you admire ?" 
 
 "Both. The man, because he refused to marry me " 
 
 "Egad ! A queer reason, but rare enough, I warrant. And 
 the spy ?" 
 
 "Because I love all courage." 
 
 "You have plenty, madam." 
 
 "Not I ; I have one grim fear. I cannot abide the thought 
 of death. To go out of the sunshine, alone. Horrible !" 
 
 Rory looked down on the bright company in the Italian 
 Garden, and gave a little shiver. "Out of the sunshine," he 
 muttered. "Gad ! madam, you make a man almost afraid." 
 
 Tim, freed from the duty of escorting Dorothy, wandered 
 through the gardens in search of Adelaide. He found her 
 soon, but surrounded by acquaintances, and though he fol- 
 lowed and watched her the afternoon through, he could get 
 no private speech with her. Only just on the eve of de- 
 parture, when she waited in the hall while Tracy sought 
 their coach, was he able to approach her. Celia stood a little 
 apart talking to Lord Robert and Rathborne, and Adelaide 
 was for the moment alone. 
 
 "I must speak to you, Lady Wimbourne," he urged 
 quickly. "Will you give me a moment?" 
 
 "What is it, Mr. Curtis? Why do you not speak to my
 
 178 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 husband?" said Adelaide, looking at him with a frightened 
 glance. 
 
 "It is urgent, madam, and private." 
 
 Adelaide stepped back. "Private !" she said sharply. "I 
 have no private affairs with you." 
 
 "For Heaven's sake, madam, be reasonable," urged Tim 
 irritably. "It is for your own sake. If you will not listen, 
 Tracy must learn what you have done." 
 
 "What I have done ? Do you threaten me ?" 
 
 "For pity's sake," cried Tim desperately. But her agita- 
 tion had been remarked by the others. In a moment Lord 
 Robert was by her side. 
 
 "Mr. Curtis," he said sharply, "in future see to it that 
 you leave this lady unmolested, or I shall assuredly call you 
 to account." 
 
 He took her hand and led her toward the door. Timothy 
 fell back with an angry shrug of his shoulders. 
 
 "A wilful woman must have her way," he muttered. "I can 
 do no more for her. But if this demmed impertinence is to 
 continue, I shall be plaguy near venting my temper on 
 somebody." 
 
 He returned home much soured in temper. He had no 
 heart for the coquettish gaiety of Miss Smallshaw, so he 
 wandered down to the "Bear Inn" for an evening's play. 
 Early though it was, many men were gathered round the 
 tables, and in a few minutes after his arrival Rory entered, 
 and hailing Tim challenged him to ecarte. At first they 
 played with varying fortune, then Rory began steadily to 
 lose. For half an hour he bore it with equanimity, then he 
 became restless. With unmoved countenance he began to 
 have recourse to the various most approved methods of win- 
 ning luck. First, he shifted his seat. That having no re-
 
 A TANGLED SKEIN 179 
 
 suit, he unfastened a seal from his fob and placed it on his 
 stake. Thirdly, he took off his coat. This final action ap- 
 peared to appease fortune, for luck became again equal. 
 Rory sighed with relief. 
 
 "Queer thing, Tim," he said solemnly; "demmed queer 
 thing. Dame Fortune is as hard to woo as a woman." 
 
 Tim looked across and nodded. Then he stopped in the 
 middle of his deal, his eyes riveted on Rory's waistcoat. The 
 top was unbuttoned and in the opening a folded paper. In 
 one corner of the paper was a green wafer, a "W" inscribed 
 in a circle of leaves ; the writing was in the same hand as the 
 note he had received on the eve of his kidnapping. 
 
 Tim dropped the cards, his hand shot out toward Rory. 
 
 "That's mine !" he said sharply. "You have stolen it from 
 my room this morning." 
 
 Rory sprang back, upsetting his chair. "What the devil 
 are you talking about?" he asked angrily. 
 
 "That letter. You have stolen it from my rooms." 
 
 Rory put his hand up to the paper, and pushed it out of 
 sight. He eyed Tim queerly. 
 
 "If I did not know that you were crazy, Tim, I'd call you 
 to account for such a demmed insolent accusation," he said 
 angrily. "Plague take you ! Are you the only man in the 
 world to receive a billet-doux?" 
 
 Many eyes were turned on them curiously at the sound of 
 the angry voices and overturned chair. Rory noted this. 
 He picked up the chair and leaned across the table, one 
 hand over his letter. 
 
 "It's like enough you've had letters from the same hand," 
 he said softly. "She's plaguy er liberal. But this is 
 mine. Another time keep your jealousy chained if you'd 
 play with gentlemen."
 
 180 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 He picked up his winnings, and throwing on hat and coat, 
 strode angrily out of the room. 
 
 Tim bit his lip with vexation. He recognised the reason- 
 ableness of Rory's defence, and was ashamed of the impulse 
 that had led him to hurl his accusation of theft. But Rory's 
 words puzzled him they would seem to imply that the let- 
 ter was not from Lady Wimbourne. Bewildered, he turned 
 into his lodgings, and taking his stand in the little side 
 window, he stared out at the house of the coiffeuse. He 
 could see nothing, the alley was pitch dark. All was still, 
 only a few belated revellers at the neighbouring tavern 
 disturbed the silence of Boat-Stall Lane. 
 
 An idle whim seized him. He carried a lantern to his win- 
 dow sill and tilted it so that the rays of light were focussed 
 on the little round window low in the wall opposite. "Now," 
 he muttered, "we'll see what more visions the crystal will 
 disclose." 
 
 He tied a coin to the end of the long lash of his riding 
 whip, and leaning out swung it across the passage and 
 flicked the glass sharply. The tap of the coin echoed 
 against the high blank walls. Again and again he re- 
 peated the experiment with no result, but at last his pa- 
 tience was rewarded. A large red hand parted the curtains 
 and a face peered out into the darkness. The dim light of 
 the lantern illumined it, and Tim recognised the cadaverous 
 countenance of Mr. John Cogswell, Mayor of Bath. 
 
 Tim drew in his whip, blew out his lantern and sat down 
 with a blank countenance to puzzle out the situation. What 
 was the mayor doing in a house he had expressly desired his 
 co-operation in watching? Was he hiding there the better 
 to play the spy? Was he prisoner? Or was the charge of 
 conspiracy but a blind, and the house of the little coiffeuse
 
 A TANGLED SKEIN 181 
 
 a gathering-place of a very different nature? A woman's 
 figure had been spied on the roof, a woman's face had ap- 
 peared at the window. It was very clear the house pos- 
 sessed another entrance besides the demure brown door. 
 
 Timothy inclined strongly to this new opinion. He rec- 
 ollected a distinct nervous reluctance in the mayor's man- 
 ner on the occasion of his visit ; even then it had appeared 
 that he was urged on by his companions, rather than eager 
 himself. It was quite conceivable that the house was used 
 as a gambling den, or as a convenient spot for revels of an 
 even less respectable nature; quite conceivable that the 
 mayor lent his encouragement privately to what officially 
 he was obliged to discountenance, and that Josiah's 
 suspicions were utterly unfounded. 
 
 The more he thought over the matter, the more Timothy 
 became convinced that he was on the right track. With 
 Charity Farm at their disposal, it seemed inconceivable 
 that the Jacobite conspirators should wish to hold meetings 
 in the town, where the danger of discovery was so infinitely 
 greater. 
 
 What Dorothy Smallshaw was doing in such a house it 
 puzzled him but little to guess. Dorothy's heart, he had al- 
 ready decided, was large and liberal, and such a house would 
 serve as a convenient meeting-place with one whose acquain- 
 tance Lady Westerby might refuse to countenance. The 
 world is full of adventures and Dorothy an heiress. 
 
 Meanwhile, behind the shuttered and shrouded windows of 
 the house of the coiffeuse, a busy scene was being enacted. 
 Men in shirt sleeves, with sweating foreheads and 
 panting breaths, were toiling busily, carrying heavy cases 
 up the narrow stairway from a room at the end of the hall 
 where they were piled, and stowing them away securely in
 
 182 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 the long upper chamber, the windows of which, heavily 
 shuttered, looked out upon Boat-Stall Lane. The whole of 
 this room was lined with a double wall, a space of three 
 feet being left between the inner wall and the outer one of 
 panelled wainscot which could be pushed aside. In this 
 space the cases were hidden away. For this was the hiding- 
 place which Marie Grieve had prepared with the help of the 
 Dawsons during the two years she had occupied the house, 
 in preparation for the coming of the Stuart. 
 
 The men worked rapidly, toiling up the stairs with case 
 after case of the ammunition they had brought into the 
 town in sedan chairs, in readiness for the seizure of the city 
 for King James. They worked silently in their stocking- 
 feet ; there were empty rooms between the stairway and the 
 next house, but it was clear they would run no risk of dis- 
 covery. 
 
 Four nights they had toiled thus, stowing away each 
 evening what they had sent during the day, for the carriers 
 of the chairs had opportunity only to deposit their burdens 
 in the lower room during the daytime, when any hour might 
 bring a genuine visitor to the coiffeuse. But now the last 
 cases had been cleared from the farm, and as midnight 
 chimed from the Abbey clock, the final one was stowed be- 
 hind the wainscot, and the weary men proceeded to clear 
 away every trace of their movements and to put on their 
 coats preparatory to departure. 
 
 "What's that queer tapping?" asked Oliver Shirley sud- 
 denly, lifting his head to listen. "Cogswell, can you see 
 any one from the window?" 
 
 The mayor, whose Jacobite sympathies made him an in- 
 valuable ally to the conspirators, crossed the hall and 
 .peered between the muslin curtains.
 
 A TANGLED SKEIN 183 
 
 "Don't lift the curtains, you gaby," whispered Ormonde 
 sharply ; "there's a light outside." 
 
 Cogswell dropped the curtains and stepped back with a 
 frightened air. "No one is there," he said. "The light is in 
 Mr. Curtis's window." 
 
 "Devil take the fellow, will he never be satisfied?" mut- 
 tered Marcus savagely. " 'Twas you set him on this house, 
 Cogswell." 
 
 "I couldn't help myself, sir ; Smith and Simpson forced my 
 hand, and indeed then I supposed he would be a less danger- 
 ous spy than that d Josiah." 
 
 "It's my opinion he has had too long a rope as it is," said 
 Lord Stavely. "There are some occasions on which even 
 assassination is justified if we cannot trap him." 
 
 "Here's Tracy," said a voice on the landing above. The 
 men trooped up the stairs and encountered Tracy emerging 
 from a small room at the back. 
 
 His customary quiet demeanour was disturbed; his eyes 
 were angry, his whole appearance bespoke a suppressed irri- 
 tation. The men crowded round him with eager questioning. 
 
 "Any news, Tracy?" 
 
 "News !" he cried irritably. "How should I know ? Here's 
 a despatch come from McFee at Dunkirk, and I can't read 
 a word of it." 
 
 "Can't read it?" 
 
 "No. It is in cipher, and the key was with those papers 
 Curtis has stolen. Devil take him !" 
 
 There was a moment of tense silence. Then Rory began 
 to laugh softly. "It's so demmed funny," he said apologet- 
 ically. 
 
 "Funny!" cried Tracy angrily. "It's desperation! The 
 messenger "
 
 184. THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 "Ah ! what does he say ?" 
 
 "He knows nothing of the contents of the despatches ; but 
 he says one of the frigates that sailed with the Prince has 
 returned to Dunkirk disabled. It appears they fell in with 
 the English fleet off Cornwall. It is believed that the Prince's 
 ship got clean away and sailed north, but where he is or 
 what his plans are now, Heaven may know, I don't." 
 
 A look of consternation passed round the circle. Lord 
 Stavely shrugged his shoulders. "Stuart luck !" he mut- 
 tered resignedly. 
 
 "And here is this despatch from McFee as useless as a 
 bit of burnt paper," muttered Tracy, staring hopelessly at 
 a roll of paper he drew out of his inner pocket. 
 
 "And here are we with our necks in the noose, and blind 
 as addle-pated owls," muttered Oliver Shirley whimsically. 
 
 Tracy looked round with a remorseful face. "I'm very 
 sorry, gentlemen," he said. "My carelessness has brought 
 you to this." 
 
 Lord Robert put his hand on his shoulder. "Nonsense, 
 Tracy, you are not responsible." 
 
 "Egad ! no ; 'tis that cursed spy opposite," said Stavely 
 savagely. 
 
 "For my part I feel no call for choking yet," said 
 Rory gaily. "The noose is not drawn tight. Give me the 
 cipher, Tracy ; I've worked out some in my time, and it's 
 possible I may get the sense of this one. I will try to- 
 night." 
 
 Tracy handed him the paper, and he secreted it in his in- 
 ner pocket. 
 
 "It's very uncertain you'll be able to decipher it," he said 
 despondently. "We must get back those papers from Curtis 
 by some means. They were not on him when we took him;
 
 A TANGLED SKEIN 185 
 
 he must have hidden them in his rooms, for our necks assure 
 us he hasn't sent them to Pelham." 
 
 "Lee and I drew his rooms this morning," said Stavely. 
 "We ransacked every nook and cranny." 
 
 "And found nothing?" 
 
 Stavely hesitated. "Not what we sought. But er Lee 
 has something to show you, Wimbourne." 
 
 "Lee? He came in just behind me. Where is he?" 
 
 Roger Lee stepped out of the group ; his face was flushed 
 with embarassment. 
 
 "I would not have told you, Wimbourne," he said, "only 
 it's too risky, it must be stopped. We found this letter 
 among Curtis's papers. It warns him of our plot to kidnap 
 him last Wednesday, and it is written by a woman." 
 
 "A woman?" cried Tracy. "Nonsense. What woman knew 
 of it?" 
 
 "There's but one woman in our secrets," said Stavely signi- 
 ficantly. "Your wife, Wimbourne." 
 
 "My wife!" said Tracy sharply. "Where is this letter?" 
 Lee handed him the scented note. Tracy read it and his face 
 grew white. He passed it to his brother-in-law. 
 
 " 5 Tis Laidie's paper, Rory," he said unsteadily. "But she 
 has disguised her hand." 
 
 Rory took the letter and examined it carefully ; there was 
 a queer light in his eyes. 
 
 "This is not Laidie's doing," he said resolutely. "Any one 
 could steal the paper, and the hand is not disguised, 'tis too 
 regular." 
 
 "But what other woman knew of the affair?" 
 
 "Miss Smallshaw," suggested Lord Robert. 
 
 "She did not arrive in Bath until Thursday," said Rory 
 quickly.
 
 186 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 Tracy shook his head. "It is my wife's paper and seal. She 
 was aware of the plot to lay him by the heels, and women 
 are very pitiful. If you will permit it, gentlemen, I will 
 make this my affair." 
 
 He held out his hand for the letter. Rory retained it, eye- 
 ing him queerly. "Gad! Tracy," he said, "you have a 
 genius for hunting the wrong hare." 
 
 Tracy frowned. "Give me the letter, Rory," he said 
 sharply. 
 
 Still Rory hesitated. "If Laidie denies the charge?" he 
 asked slowly. 
 
 Tracy lifted his head and looked round the circle of men. 
 "If my wife deny the charge," he said proudly, "I shall 
 know it unfounded, and seek elsewhere for the writer." 
 
 Rory nodded, satisfied, and handed him the letter. There 
 were one or two doubtful faces in the group, but no one 
 made any further objection. 
 
 "And now for Curtis and those papers," said Tracy. 
 "What's to be done?" 
 
 "The fellow has had too long a rope already, Wimbourne," 
 urged Stavely. "The papers are not in his rooms ; he must 
 carry them on his person now. In any case, we must trap 
 him and make him disgorge them." 
 
 "It is a difficult matter. We can't take him openly; we 
 can't risk a disturbance at his rooms and 
 
 "He's so monstrous careful o' the night air," said Ormonde 
 with a laugh. 
 
 "Cannot we entice him here?" suggested Stavely. "There 
 must be some lure to draw the fellow. What are his weak- 
 nesses wine, women or cards?" 
 
 Ormonde shook his head. "None of those will draw him. 
 He's a slippery fish."
 
 A TANGLED SKEIN 187 
 
 "Well, rack your brains and lose no chances," said Tracy. 
 "It's time we were away now. Is all safe here ?" 
 
 They picked up coats and hats and followed Tracy into 
 the little room at the back. On one side stood a tall cup- 
 board reaching to the ceiling, full of boxes, cloths, stands 
 and other accessories of the coiffeuse's art. A rope ladder 
 hung at one end of the cupboard from a trap in the roof 
 which was open. Up this they climbed quickly, one by one. 
 They pulled up the ladder behind them, unhooked it, and 
 shut down the trap, replacing the loose tiles over it. 
 
 They crept silently along the roofs till they reached an 
 open skylight, through which they climbed down into the 
 house below, a little tavern in Cock Alley, which enjoyed a 
 bad reputation as a gambling den. As they passed through 
 the house they encountered no one, but despite the late hour 
 the place was still astir ; there was the sound of voices, the 
 rattling of dice, and the clinking of glasses behind the 
 closed doors. A man who sat behind the bar looked up 
 and nodded as they passed him, and in parties of two and 
 three they went out and hurried away down the dark 
 alley. 
 
 Rory was the last to cross the roof ; he paused on the edge 
 of the skylight and smiled up into the starlit sky. 
 
 " 'Twill be a short shrift when it does come," he muttered. 
 "And I felt the prick at my throat to-night. Why the plague 
 doesn't Tim burn his letters? Well, I can't go back on my 
 tracks now, and it's a game worth the playing; there's no 
 stake sends the blood coursing through the veins like the risk 
 of a man's life. But I'd give my left hand to know who 
 holds those blessed papers." 
 
 He dropped down into the attic, but he did not follow the 
 others out of the house. Instead he turned to the left down
 
 188 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 a passage, and tapped at a door at the end. A weary voice 
 bade him enter. Rory opened the door and walked in. 
 
 At the far side of the room a girl sat sewing wilh an air 
 of sullen and unwilling industry. She took no notice of 
 his entrance, but went on with her work without lifting her 
 head. 
 
 Rory watched her a moment, then he broke into his low 
 soft laugh. The girl wheeled round in her chair, dropped 
 her work and springing to her feet ran toward him with 
 outstretched arms. 
 
 "Ah!" she cried joyously; "you've come again!" 
 
 Rory laughed, patted her cheek and tucking one small 
 brown hand under his arm drew her across the room to her 
 empty chair. He sank into it and the girl seated herself on 
 the table close beside him, devouring his face with looks of 
 devotion. 
 
 "Yes, Martha, my dear," he said slowly, "I have come 
 again. You see your blue eyes are not so easily forgotten." 
 
 The girl pouted. "You wouldn't look at them yesterday, 
 Mr. Winnington. You were cruel to me." 
 
 Rory pinched her chin. "You chose an inopportune mo- 
 ment, my pretty." He looked idly at her work-roughened 
 fingers. "So you are being a good girl and working for 
 your living again, eh ?" 
 
 "Needs must or starve," she answered sulkily. 
 
 "Tut! We'll not let it come to that. Mother Hobbes 
 will keep you off the street till we find you a stout 
 husband." 
 
 The girl wrenched her hand away angrily. Rory laughed. 
 
 "You're not for a husband? Egad ! you're as unreasonable 
 as every other woman. Why did you run away from your 
 place?"
 
 A TANGLED SKEIN 189 
 
 "I was afeard to stay, after what I'd done to them," she 
 muttered. 
 
 He shook his head. "You were much more useful to me 
 there." 
 
 Her eyes filled with tears. "Ah ! you think o' nothing but 
 how I can serve you," she cried. 
 
 Rory took her face between his hands and looked thought- 
 fully into her blue eyes. "You pretty pigeon," he said 
 slowly, "I'd give much to know what other men have found 
 you as useful." 
 
 "You're monstrous unkind, Mr. Winnington," she sobbed. 
 "I'd ha' done it for no man but you, and you know it. I 
 believe I hate you." 
 
 He kissed the pouting mouth and released her. Then he 
 drew from his pocket the scented note Timothy had claimed 
 earlier in the evening. 
 
 "You sent me this? Why?" 
 
 "I I wanted you to come back to me." 
 
 "Ah-h! To how many others have you written on this 
 paper, which I gather you stole from your mistress ?" 
 
 "I've written to no one but you and the letter you made 
 me write last week to Mr. Curtis," she answered sulkily. 
 
 "Hum, well, possibly you are speaking the truth. But now 
 I want your promise not to be too liberal with your letters, 
 my dear. If you have any more o' this paper, burn it, and 
 don't let your pretty writing come to the sight of Sir 
 Tracy, Mr. Lee, or Lord Robert Dacre. Promise?" 
 
 The girl eyed him wonderingly. "Why?" she asked defi- 
 antly. 
 
 "Because they are on the track of the writer of that letter 
 to warn Mr. Curtis. Should they learn the truth, the conse- 
 quences would be almost as awkward for you as for me."
 
 190 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 She set her mouth obstinately. "What does it matter what 
 happens to me?" she said. "Much you would care." 
 
 Rory eyed her with his whimsical smile. "As you will, my 
 dear. But the consequences to me would be unpleasant 
 demmed unpleasant." 
 
 For a moment she wavered, then she snatched his hand and 
 covered it with kisses. "Ah ! you know, you know, I wouldn't 
 have you hurt. I'll write no more to any but you." 
 
 He patted her cheek. "Good girl. I knew you'd be reason- 
 able. But don't write to me again, child. 'Tisn't safe." 
 
 "Then you will come and see me," she pleaded. "You will 
 come to-morrow?" 
 
 He nodded carelessly and rose to his feet. 
 
 "I'll see you again, never fear." 
 
 "And you won't drive me away as you did before?" she 
 cried suspiciously, clinging to his hand. "You won't be so 
 cruel and you will come? You won't forget?" 
 
 He released himself gently from her clinging hands. 
 "Little fool !" he said caressingly, "you must let me go 
 now. I'll not forget you, but you must learn to be content. 
 And get a husband, girl ; there will be too many bees where 
 the honey is so sweet. It's high time you learnt wisdom." 
 
 He pushed her gently from him and strode away whistling, 
 but she dropped her face on her arms and burst into angry 
 sobbing. 
 
 "I hate him ! hate him !" she cried savagely. "Ah ! how I 
 wish I could hate him !"
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 THE iLURE 
 
 WHEN Sir Tracy Wimbourne reached home after his 
 meeting with the conspirators in the deserted house, his wife 
 was already in bed and asleep. He went softly into her 
 room, and stood looking down at her as she lay, with one 
 white arm flung wide across the coverlet, and her dark hair 
 half shrouding her face. His stern eyes softened as he 
 watched her. 
 
 "I will not disturb her to-night," he resolved ; "to-morrow 
 will be time enough, poor child! If it be treachery, 'twas 
 pity that prompted it." 
 
 But as he turned away he tripped on the rug and woke her. 
 She started up with a cry and slipped her hand mechanically 
 under her pillow. "Who is it ?" she whispered breathlessly. 
 
 Tracy turned back. "Ah ! you are awake, Laidie. I came 
 in to speak to you. But wait till to-morrow, dear." 
 
 "No, no, Tracy ; what is it ?" she cried eagerly, sitting up 
 and brushing back the hair from her eyes. "Has the Prince 
 come ?" 
 
 He sat on the side of the bed and took her hand. "Don't 
 be afraid, dear, 'tis not serious. But we had a meeting to- 
 night and Roger Lee brought me this. He found it in Mr. 
 Curtis' rooms." 
 
 He fumbled in his pocket for the letter. A frightened look 
 crept into her eyes. "In his rooms ?" she whispered. "What 
 is it?" 
 
 He handed her the note. She opened it quickly and a look
 
 192 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 of relief crossed her face. "Who wrote it?" she asked 
 simply. 
 
 Tracy watched her doubtfully. "That is what we must dis- 
 cover," he said slowly ; "it is your paper, Laidie." 
 
 "Yes," she cried indignantly, "my paper and seal. What 
 impertinent has dared to use it?" 
 
 "You know nothing of it?" he asked quietly. 
 
 "I ? Tracy !" she cried quickly, "you don't you couldn't 
 suspect me?" 
 
 "Who else knew of the plot to entrap him? Did you tell 
 any one? Celia?" 
 
 She shook her head. "No. Oh! surely, surely you know I 
 could not betray your plans," she pleaded. "I've been care- 
 less, ah, so careless, you've no reason to trust me again ; but 
 you know I could not betray you." 
 
 "Pity drives a woman down queer paths," he said slowly. 
 
 "Pity !" she cried contemptuously. "Do you think I pity 
 him? I would gladly see him killed if that would spare you 
 one finger-ache. And yet he has been very good to me," she 
 added softly. 
 
 Tracy took her hands in his. "Laidie, you must give me 
 your word of honour that you know nothing of this letter," 
 he said sternly. 
 
 "Tracy !" she cried indignantly. Then she bowed her head 
 with a pitiful little smile. "Yes, yes, you are right," she 
 said humbly, "I have not deserved your trust. But I swear, 
 by my love for you, that I know nothing of it." 
 
 He kissed her. "Then think no more of it, dear." 
 
 "Ah, but, Tracy, I must ! The others will not believe me. 
 Let me do something to prove my faith. Let me help in the 
 work." 
 
 "No, I will not have you concerned more in the affair."
 
 THE LURE 193 
 
 Her face fell. "You don't trust me yet?" 
 
 "Yes, I trust you but " 
 
 "You would not give me more occasion than needs to try 
 your trust," she said with a sob. "Ah ! let me help." 
 
 He soothed her tenderly but would give no heed to her 
 prayer for confidence, and when he left her at last, she felt 
 his trust hung in the balance, and resolved to take her own 
 path and prove her innocence. 
 
 Tracy, alone in his dressing room, shook his head over 
 the mystery of the letter. "Lai die is cleared," he said 
 with a sigh of relief. "There remains Celia. If she has 
 written it, knowing what she does about him, Heaven 
 help her." 
 
 The following morning Adelaide drew Lord Robert aside 
 on the terrace of the walks and urged her plea to help in 
 the work of conspiracy. 
 
 "Tracy has told me of the letter," she began rapidly, "he 
 believes me, but " 
 
 "So do we all, madam," said Lord Robert earnestly. 
 
 "No, not in your hearts. I must prove my faith. Help 
 me. What can I do to show my sincerity? Tell me your 
 plans with regard to Mr. Curtis, and let me help you to per- 
 fect them ; I will so willingly do anything." 
 
 Lord Robert hesitated. 
 
 "You see, you do not trust me," she said sadly. 
 
 "I do, madam," he answered slowly ; "I will prove it, for I 
 think you can help. We must seize this man, it has become 
 an absolute necessity. We must entice him at night into the 
 house in Peter's Wynd. Do you know any bait likely to 
 dra-w him ?" 
 
 Adelaide wrinkled her brows. "No," she said slowly, "none 
 save "
 
 194 THE FAIR MOON OP BATH 
 
 "None save that which we cannot use without your sister's 
 permission," he said, interpreting her thoughts. 
 
 She nodded. "We shall not win that permission ; and, in- 
 deed, I would not have her drawn into the affair. But there 
 must be some other lure. I I will speak with him to-night 
 at Lady Westerby's ball. Surely I will learn his desires and 
 find some way to draw him. Let this be my work, to prove 
 my loyalty." 
 
 He looked at her curiously. "You would do this, madam ?" 
 
 "Yes, willingly," she answered. Then she stopped with a 
 quick intake of her breath. "Ah ! but you will not kill him ?" 
 she asked. 
 
 "We want the papers, madam no more," he answered 
 ambiguously. She was satisfied and asked no more. 
 
 "Adelaide, have you seen the china in Mr. Hall's shop in 
 the High street?" asked Lucy de Putren at her elbow. 
 "Celia and I are bound thither. Do come with us and help 
 in my choice." 
 
 The company was already dispersing. The three ladies 
 turned out into the Grove and bent their steps toward the 
 old shop at the top of the High street. 
 
 Now it chanced that Mr. Hall had business at the Guild- 
 hall that morning. His apprentice had played truant to go 
 a-fishing, so he had prevailed upon his lodger, a rare con- 
 noisseur in china, to take his place in the shop. 
 
 When the three ladies entered the shop, the lodger was 
 critically examining an old piece of Venetian glass, and 
 was so engrossed with its virtues that he entirely forgot his 
 post as salesman. When recalled to his duties by Adelaide, 
 he flung himself eagerly into the work of displaying the 
 wares, but mingled so much frank criticism with his valua- 
 tion that the customers eyed him with amazed amusement.
 
 THE LURE 195 
 
 "Methinks you are a better connoisseur than merchant, 
 Mr. " 
 
 "Smith, madam. Josiah Smith, at your service," said the 
 man, bowing humbly. 
 
 "Lud! Mr. Smith, if you give all your customers such 
 frank advice," continued Adelaide, laughing, "there is, I 
 fear, much of your stock likely to lack purchasers." 
 
 Josiah looked distressed. "Indeed, madam, Mr. Hall has 
 a most rare collection of modern ware, well deserving your 
 notice. But for antique " he stopped with a shrug of 
 his shoulders. 
 
 "You have a poor opinion of its value ? Pray, why do you 
 stock it ?" asked Lucy de Putren. 
 
 "This is not my shop, milady," explained Josiah hur- 
 riedly, "I am but obliging Mr. Hall for an hour this morn- 
 ing." 
 
 "But this vase," said Adelaide, pointing to a piece of 
 Venetian glass, "this is beautiful and rare of a surety." 
 
 "Well enough, well enough," he answered tolerantly, "but 
 I could show you one in the city ten times its value, madam, 
 and purchasable for half the price." 
 
 "Lud ! I must see this rarity. Where is it ?" 
 
 "In a potter's shop in Boat-Stall Lane, milady, hard by 
 the east gate, barely three minutes' walk from here. If you 
 wish it, I will go there with your ladyship, and see that the 
 potter who is but a Jew asks the same price as he wished 
 me to pay him." 
 
 "I should be monstrously obleeged. But may you leave 
 your shop unattended?" 
 
 "I will ask the neighbour to send his 'prentice in for a few 
 minutes," said Josiah, with all a true connoisseur's eager- 
 ness to see a treasure find worthy purchaser. The appren-
 
 196 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 tice was called, and the three ladies turned down Boat-Stall 
 Lane, with Josiah walking humbly beside them in the 
 gutter. 
 
 "Laidie, you are crazed on your glass," laughed Celia, 
 "you will ruin poor Tracy with your vagaries." 
 
 "For my part I warrant you will find your purchase less of 
 a rarity than your guide," laughed Lucy; "he is an 
 eccentric." 
 
 As they passed the end of Peter's Wynd, the passage lead- 
 ing down into Cock Alley, Celia's eyes were caught by the 
 name on the brown door. She stopped. 
 
 "Lucy, here is the coiffeuse of whom Lady Esdaile spoke. 
 I would gladly try her skill. Our new maid has the fingers 
 of a milkmaid. What do you say? Shall we leave Laidie 
 to visit her potter and call on Madame Grieve?" 
 
 "Willingly," cried Lucy, "I am curious to see the woman." 
 
 Adelaide looked at them nervously. "You little vanity, 
 Celia!" she cried. "Be content as you are and come and 
 help me choose my glass." 
 
 "No, Laidie, I would liefer wait here," objected Celia. 
 "We have not overmuch time to spare, and I warrant you 
 will be an hour at least among your pots and pans. Come 
 to us at Madame Grieve's when you have made your 
 purchase." 
 
 Adelaide, fearing to rouse suspicion, made no further ob- 
 jection, and indeed there was nothing to fear from the visit. 
 Many of her acquaintances were regular clients of Madame 
 Grieve. Celia and Lucy turned down toward the brown 
 doorway, and she went on to the potter's shop with Josiah. 
 
 As Celia had prophesied, when Adelaide found herself 
 among curios, time and money lost all value for her. She 
 made many purchases under Josiah's guidance, and full
 
 THE LURE 197 
 
 half an hour elapsed before she emerged with him from the 
 dark little shop and parted from him in the doorway. 
 
 "Do you hasten back to your duties, Mr. Smith," she 
 urged. "I will rejoin my friends. I fear I have detained 
 you a monstrous long time." 
 
 "Indeed, madam, 'tis a j oy to meet a lady with such a rare 
 taste in china. But now, if your ladyship can spare me, I 
 will run back and see how Mr. Hall's business fares." 
 
 "Do so, and accept my grateful thanks," said Adelaide, 
 dismissing him with a wave of her hand. 
 
 Josiah hurried along Boat-Stall Lane, and disappeared 
 round the corner, while Adelaide strolled slowly after him 
 and turned into Peter's Wynd. 
 
 But their parting had been witnessed by a pair of amazed 
 eyes. Timothy Curtis, coming out of the Mews by the 
 east gate, was just in time to see the couple emerge from 
 the dark shop. He recognised them both, and the sight 
 of these two, so inexplicably met in eager conversation, 
 put the final point to his assurance of Adelaide's espionage. 
 Without doubt she was the other assistant of Lord Pel- 
 ham, whose name Josiah had so loyally refused to 
 divulge. 
 
 Timothy resolved to lose no time in facing her with the 
 accusation of guilt and pleading with her to clear him at 
 least in her sister's eyes. And of late a new plague had 
 come to torture him, the pangs of jealousy. While Celia 
 moved in a crowd of suitors and smiled upon all alike, or 
 reserved her special favours for boys like Peter Pemberton, 
 Timothy had no fears, but of late it had been noticeable 
 that Charles Rathborne enjoyed an especial amount of her 
 confidence. He was seldom absent from her side, and Tim 
 lived in constant dread lest the slender chain by which he
 
 198 THE FAIR MOON OP BATH 
 
 held her love snap asunder, and she grow weary of trust- 
 ing one whom all the world else held contemptible. 
 
 For he did not know that a woman's love, once won, can 
 never wholly die, though she strive with all her power to 
 drive its memory from her heart. 
 
 There was another and less vital consideration that urged 
 Tim to bring affairs to a crisis. His creditors had 
 relaxed their pressure since his uncle's arrival on the scene, 
 but he was very hard pressed for money, and his ap- 
 plication to Lord Westerby brought but scant assist- 
 ance. 
 
 "You're demmed extravagant, my boy," said his lordship 
 sternly. "Do you eat money ? Eh ! What !" 
 
 "I don't fling it as wide as you did, sir, I'll warrant," an- 
 swered Tim coolly. 
 
 The old man's eyes twinkled at sportive recollections. 
 "Gad! it's a costly world," he sighed. "We pay the full 
 price for all our pleasures, whether it be in gold, gout, or 
 demme ! nephews. But for this present matter mend your 
 own fortunes, Timothy. Here's Dorothy Smallshaw at 
 hand to help you." 
 
 Tim shook his head. "She doesn't want me, sir." 
 
 "Woo her, woo her, boy. If you've an ounce of the old 
 stock in you, you should know the way." 
 
 "I will not. She would make a man a merry wife, I 
 grant you, but I'd as lief be permitted to be serious on oc- 
 casion." 
 
 Lord Westerby eyed him shrewdly. "Your taste is a trifle 
 too cultured, my boy. But I don't blame you. I am with 
 you in esteeming the pearl a purer gem than the brilliant. 
 So look you, Tim: woo this pearl, this moon among stars, 
 and when you win her, I'll pay the price of your success."
 
 THE LURE 199 
 
 Timothy turned away without speaking. His uncle fol- 
 lowed and laid a hand on his shoulder. 
 
 "Tim, have you forgot that you own a sword ?" he asked. 
 
 Tim shook his head. "A string of pinked throats will not 
 convince a woman," he said despondently. 
 
 "Maybe not, but 'twill teach her you are to be feared, and 
 that is the first step to love, with most of 'em." 
 
 So Timothy resolved to play his stake with Adelaide, and 
 awaited her arrival at his aunt's ball with desperate deter- 
 mination to force her to an interview. 
 
 To his surprise the task was not difficult. He approached 
 her side in confident expectation of a rebuff, but she yielded 
 at once to his petition for her hand in the dance, and when 
 the minuet was over suffered him to lead her out into the 
 quiet garden. He was astonished, but supposed she had 
 thought over his threat of the previous day, and had re- 
 solved that her wisest course would be to hear him. 
 
 When he was alone with her at last, he found an unex- 
 pected difficulty in broaching the subject, and conscious 
 that he had not much time at his disposal, wasted some 
 minutes in awkward silence. He was too preoccupied with 
 his own thoughts to notice a like hesitation in Adelaide's 
 manner. 
 
 At last, as is ever the way with one who seeks a delicate 
 opening for a subject, he lost patience with diplomacy and 
 plunged headlong into the matter. 
 
 "Lady Wimbourne," he began bluntly, "I have discovered 
 the secret of your midnight meeting at Avington. I know 
 what you have undertaken, and unless you will yourself 
 clear me of this charge you have trumped up against me, 
 Tracy must learn the truth." 
 
 He was prepared for some emotion upon Adelaide's part,
 
 200 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 but not for the face of blank astonishment she turned to 
 him at his words. 
 
 "Mr. Curtis," she cried, "I fail to comprehend a word of 
 your speech. That you overheard the object of my meet- 
 ing with Captain McFee I have long understood to my 
 sorrow; but for the rest what, pray, have I undertaken, 
 and what must Tracy learn?" 
 
 "The name of the thief who stole his papers, madam," said 
 Tim sternly, angered by what he judged her ready dissimu- 
 lation. 
 
 "I thought you were aware, Mr. Curtis, that Tracy has 
 already learned that name," she answered coldly. 
 
 "I'm aware, madam, you've trumped up an absurd accusa- 
 tion against me," answered Tim irritably "an accusa- 
 tion which I must insist upon your withdrawing." 
 
 "Really, sir, you are amazing," said Adelaide sharply. 
 "Why should I withdraw what I believe to be true?" 
 
 "Because you have no such belief. Because you know bet- 
 ter than any my innocence. Ah! Lady Wimbourne," he 
 broke out entreatingly, "be reasonable. Believe me, I 
 have no will to harm you. Prove me but honest in Celia's 
 eyes, and I swear the rest of the world shall never learn 
 from me of your your mistaken zeal for King George." 
 
 "King George !" she echoed blankly. "Faith ! Mr. Cur- 
 tis, I can't follow you." 
 
 Tim lost his temper. "Do you wish me to be more ex- 
 plicit, madam?" he asked sharply. 
 
 "I'd be monstrous obleeged if you would give me some 
 clue to your meaning," she answered scornfully. 
 
 "Then listen, madam. The papers Tracy committed to 
 your keeping you yourself have stolen, delivering them 
 over to a stranger at dawning at Avington. You are in
 
 THE LURE 201 
 
 the pay of Lord Pclham to watch the Jacobites, and in or- 
 der to clear yourself from suspicion, you have blackened 
 me in the eyes of all my friends. Is that sufficiently ex- 
 plicit, madam?" 
 
 Adelaide stopped dead in the middle of the walk and 
 turned deliberately to face him. "Upon my soul ! Mr. Cur- 
 tis," she gasped ; "upon my soul !" She broke into a little 
 laugh which she checked as quickly. "But you are insolent, 
 sir," she said haughtily. "Your explanation is as imperti- 
 nent as it is absurd." 
 
 "Nevertheless, madam, I have proofs of its truth." 
 
 "Proofs? What are they, pray?" 
 
 "Your meeting with this stranger at Avington. Your ac- 
 cusation against myself. Your letter of warning. Finally, 
 your talk this very morning with Lord Pelham's second 
 
 spy." 
 
 Adelaide flushed. " 'Tis unreasonable I should defend my- 
 self to you, but I will be just and do so. Know, then, I 
 wrote no letter of warning, I spoke with no spy, and for 
 the stranger he was none other than the Jacobite envoy 
 who intrusted the papers to my keeping. Of the truth of 
 this Tracy will assure you, if you choose to broach the sub- 
 ject to my husband. In truth, Mr. Curtis," she added, 
 with a scornful smile, "I do not wonder you wished to spare 
 Tracy knowledge of my doings." 
 
 Tim was staggered: all his carefully built up evidence 
 tumbled to the ground. "But but Josiah Smith?" he 
 gasped helplessly. "You were with him this morning?" 
 
 "Josiah Smith? Ah! my guide to the purchase of old 
 china. Is he a spy ? It seems you have a greater acquaint- 
 ance with the breed than I, Mr. Curtis." 
 
 Timothy stood silent. He was inexpressibly relieved to
 
 202 
 
 find his suspicions unfounded, but utterly at a loss to know 
 where to found new ones. Adelaide eyed him quizzically. 
 
 "Your accusation, Mr. Curtis, was founded on very slen- 
 der proofs," she said. 
 
 "No more slender than those you hold against me, 
 madam?" he answered testily. 
 
 Adelaide started. "I wonder " she muttered. "No, no, 
 Mr. Curtis, even without our knowledge that Lord Pel- 
 ham bought your services, we could prove you guilty. For 
 none save you knew I held the papers. On your own show- 
 ing you saw Captain McFee give them into my hands." 
 
 "I did nothing of the kind. And if I had, what then? 
 How do you claim I took them?" 
 
 "By the simple expedient, Mr. Curtis, of bribing my 
 maid." 
 
 "Your maid? Martha? Does she accuse me? Where is 
 she? Heavens! I'll drag the truth out of her if I have 
 to scare her witless first. Where is she?" 
 
 "You should know best. She ran away after doing your 
 work. I have no trace of her." 
 
 "If she knows the truth I'll find her, if it cost me my life," 
 he muttered savagely. "The lying minx !" 
 
 Adelaide started. "Ah-h!" she said thoughtfully. She 
 gave a little gasp of excitement ; here was the lure she 
 sought. 
 
 "Mr. Curtis," she said slowly, "you pretend innocence, 
 but it seems to me you do protest too much. Yet, if you 
 can find this girl and draw the truth from her, 'twould be 
 the surest proof of your honesty." 
 
 Tim listened eagerly. "You can give me no clue, madam ?" 
 
 Adelaide hesitated. "I believe she is still in Bath. She 
 had relatives here. I will inquire among my servants, and
 
 THE LURE 
 
 if I can find trace of her whereabouts I will let you know." 
 
 "Lady Wimbourne, I'm grateful. And in the mean- 
 time ?" 
 
 "In the meantime, Mr. Curtis, I hold to my former opin- 
 ion, and beg that you will not further weary me with your 
 accusations. Now take me back to the house." 
 
 In the brightly lighted house the gay company were do- 
 ing their utmost to atone for their previous day's depres- 
 sion. There was no lack of liveliness at Lady Westerby's 
 ball. Perhaps Miss Smallshaw infected the guests with her 
 own spirit, for revelry ran high, and more than once the 
 stately hostess lifted her eyebrows at an unconventional 
 levity that, in her opinion, would better have graced a 
 tavern kitchen than the floor of a lady's drawing-room. 
 
 " 'Twas vastly different in my young days, Tim," she 
 said to her nephew under her breath. "For pity's sake go 
 and silence that child Dorothy. She's the best-hearted girl 
 in England, but as rattle-brained as as your friend Mr. 
 Winnington. In my day, a few subjects were still held 
 sacred, but our wit did not halt for lack of them. But now- 
 adays " she shrugged her shoulders expressively. "The 
 world goes so fast, Tim, that it has no choice left it save 
 to grow shallow, shallow, shallow. Go talk to Dorothy." 
 
 Timothy reluctantly crossed the room to the girl's side. 
 She greeted him with a bright glance of pleasure. 
 
 "Here comes Mr. Curtis, the crystal-gazer," she cried 
 saucily. "Have you again been studying the mysteries of 
 the glass?" 
 
 "Yes, madam," he answered, eyeing her coolly. 
 
 "Lud! You're persistent. And what said the oracle?" 
 
 "Faith ! that when a woman looks out of a window, 'tis like 
 enough a man is at her back."
 
 204 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 Dorothy started. "A man? What manner of a man ?" 
 
 "One, madam, who would liefer greet her in the darkness 
 than walk with her in the light," he answered, with a signifi- 
 cant smile, and bowing, walked away. 
 
 His interruption effectually silenced Dorothy's chatter; 
 she stared after him in amazement. 
 
 "What is his meaning now?" she gasped. 
 
 "Don't seek to fathom it, madam," said Sir Simon. " 'Tis 
 well known he's been crazed this sennight past." 
 
 "Crazed! What ails him?" 
 
 "He has been moonstruck," laughed Sir Simon. 
 
 Rory frowned. He stooped over Dorothy. "Shall we after 
 him, madam, and make him expound his meaning?" 
 
 She looked up at him questioningly, then gave him her 
 hand, and together they walked through the room. 
 
 "I have had the most pestilential lecture from Tracy Wim- 
 bourne," said Rory pathetically. "Concerning yourself, 
 madam." 
 
 "Lud! A monstrous pleasing subject; what saith Sir 
 Tracy?" 
 
 "He blames my free confidence and your ready tongue." 
 
 "He need have small fears. In a blind world a one-eyed 
 man is king these bats look for no meaning in my words. 
 For your confidences am I not one of the band?" 
 
 "You are, and Tracy is mightily grateful for your sub- 
 scriptions, but he would have you take his use of them on 
 trust." 
 
 She laughed. "Lud! He's monstrous prudent." 
 
 "A man with one foot on the scaffold is like to be." 
 
 "Does he know of my visits to the house ?" 
 
 "Gad ! no, madam. Tracy's tongue once loosed is plaguy 
 unpleasant."
 
 THE LURE 205 
 
 She grimaced. "I vow he is selfish. Am I to have all the 
 expense of conspiracy and none of its pleasures? I shall 
 lodge a complaint when his Highness arrives." 
 
 They passed out into the garden. Rory stooped and 
 looked questioningly into her face. "Lady mine," he said 
 coolly, "I can find it in my heart to be jealous." 
 
 She gave a soft laugh of pleasure. "Jealous ! Of whom ? 
 Of the Prince?" 
 
 "Faith! No. Of the look in your eyes when they greet 
 Timothy Curtis." 
 
 She flushed. "He is an honest man, Mr. Winnington." 
 
 "The breed is not so rare, madam. Is it for that you love 
 him?" 
 
 "Love? Who spoke of love? I think I fear him." 
 
 "Yet fear begets admiration and admiration love. I am 
 jealous." 
 
 Again she gave her soft glad laugh. "Admiration begets 
 love ? Not with women ! 'Tis a well-known fact that 
 the blackest-hearted vagabonds win the most loving 
 wives." 
 
 Rory laughed. "If I cry myself vagabond, madam, will 
 you -?" 
 
 "Will I believe it?" she interrupted, laughing. " 'Twould 
 not be difficult. But a vagabond should, at least, have the 
 grace to pretend honesty." 
 
 "Yet to win his wife " 
 
 "What? Would you deny honour for a woman? For one 
 woman ?" 
 
 "Honour !" he laughed grimly. "A bubble, madam, swol- 
 len with the breath of centuries of talkers. I grant you it 
 wears well enough in the sunshine, but comes the rain, blows 
 the tempest, and your bubble bursts."
 
 206 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 "You do indeed cry yourself scoundrel, Mr. Winnington," 
 she said with a frown. 
 
 Rory winced. "I have seen the world, madam. But I'm 
 not too old to be convinced. Perchance if the sun sent 
 rays to enlighten me, I might yet learn to blow my bubble 
 as blithely as the rest." 
 
 Dorothy laughed softly. "The sun, Mr. Winnington, 
 must spread his rays, not devote all to the lighting of one 
 path, however dark it be. But we grow serious, sir, a crime 
 of which you are not often guilty. Let us go in. There is 
 the music of the country dance." 
 
 Timothy wandered through the rooms, doing his duty as 
 host. He found much matter for amusement in thus courte- 
 ously entertaining men who were seeking by every means in 
 their power to entrap him to a prison. He passed on, and 
 in the last room, in a retired alcove, he discovered Celia and 
 Sir Peter Pemberton. 
 
 A sudden madness seized him, a bitter jealousy that all 
 others should have the right to woo her and he must stand 
 aside and watch her won. He would not endure it without 
 one more plea. He hurried back through the crowded 
 rooms until he discovered Lucy de Putren. 
 
 "Madam," he pleaded, "will you be pitiful and give your 
 aid to a man most intolerably abused?" 
 
 "What is it, Mr. Curtis?" she asked good-humouredly. 
 Lucy de Putren had a tender place in her heart for Tim 
 Curtis. 
 
 "Sir Peter Pemberton at present monopolises Miss Win- 
 nington." 
 
 She eyed him sharply. "You would speak with her alone? 
 But can you deem Celia wished it, Mr. Curtis?" 
 
 He winced. "Give me but the opportunity to learn her
 
 THE LURE 207 
 
 will," he pleaded. "If she does not wish my company she 
 has but to say so." 
 
 Lucy nodded. "True. Celia, methinks, can speak her 
 mind on occasion as plainly as most women. If you are 
 resolved to risk another rebuff, you shall have the oc- 
 casion." 
 
 She suffered him to lead her back to the distant room 
 where Celia and Sir Peter were chattering gaily, and to- 
 gether they penetrated into the alcove and stood before the 
 absorbed couple. 
 
 "Sir Peter, I am here to beg a boon," began Lucy de 
 Putren brightly. 
 
 "A boon, madam?" cried Peter, springing to his feet. 
 
 "You swore you would show me the new Dutch step in 
 the country dance. The music is but now beginning; will 
 you not keep your word?" 
 
 "Willingly, madam," answered Peter with some embarrass- 
 ment, "if Miss Winnington will pardon my desertion." 
 
 "I will come and watch you," said Celia, rising, "and take 
 my lesson, too, in terpsichorean wiles." 
 
 "Do," said Lucy quickly. "Mr. Curtis will conduct you. 
 Come, Sir Peter, or we shall lose our places." 
 
 Laughing mischievously to herself at her unseemly haste, 
 she gave her hand to Peter and almost dragged him from 
 the room, leaving Celia staring after them in amazement. 
 
 When they had disappeared Celia turned stiffly to Timothy. 
 
 "Will you take me to the ball room, sir?" she asked coldly. 
 
 He did not move. "If you command it, madam, I must. 
 But do not so command. Stay here but a little and let me 
 speak to you." 
 
 Celia seated herself stiffly. "What have you to say?" she 
 asked sharply. Her face was cold, unmoved, but her hands
 
 208 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 trembled, and her white fingers twisted themselves nervously 
 together. He noted this and took courage. 
 
 "Mistress Celia," he pleaded, "I have a boon to ask." 
 
 "What is it?" she asked coldly. 
 
 He shook his head with a smile. "Nay, madam, how can 
 I speak to one so cold and distant? In older days when 
 subjects would approach their sovereigns to urge a plea, 
 they awaited a sign permitting audience. Without that 
 sign I dare not speak. Will you not lower the sceptre of 
 your disdain and let me draw nearer your throne?" 
 
 For a moment Celia hesitated, then, as though almost 
 against her will, she drew in her skirts and made place for 
 him on the seat at her side. 
 
 "I will listen to your plea," she said quietly. 
 
 He did not seat himself beside her, but stood leaning 
 against the wall opposite, looking down at her bent head. 
 "Mistress Celia, it is but a plea for a place, however small, 
 in your thoughts. A plea, dear Moon, that when you sail 
 the heavens in your glory with all the planets in your train, 
 and gladden all men with your beauty, you will remember 
 there is one man upon the earth whose nights are always 
 dark." 
 
 "Are they so dark?" she asked quickly, and there was 
 jealousy in her tone. 
 
 He met her eyes and smiled. "So dark, madam, that he 
 has not even eyes to see what other men hold fair." 
 
 "But what is the boon you ask?" she muttered hurriedly. 
 
 "Only remembrance, madam. When others draw near to 
 your side, touch your hand, tell of their love, ah ! Mistress 
 Celia, remember there is one who loves you more than all 
 the world loves you not for your beauty, not for your 
 brilliance, not because you are the toast of Bath, but be-
 
 THE LURE 209 
 
 cause he has looked into your soul and read its purity. 
 Others may look in your eyes, but he must turn away ; 
 others may speak their homage, but he must keep silent. 
 All the day and all the night his thoughts are yours, 
 madam ; will you not give him in return the little boon he 
 asks? Will you not remember?" 
 
 She lifted to him eyes dark with tears. 
 
 "Remember ' she whispered softly, "ah ! I strive day 
 and night to forget but, Heaven pity me I cannot." 
 
 "Would you forget, Mistress Celia?" he asked; and he 
 stooped and looked into her eyes. 
 
 She looked up with a pathetic little smile of helplessness. 
 "No," she said slowly, "I would not. Spy though you be, 
 dishonoured though you be, I think you love me, and surely 
 love, if it be honest, can never bring shame. I cannot love 
 you, I cannot trust you " 
 
 "I ask neither, madam as yet. Only that you will re- 
 member." 
 
 Tracy appeared round the end of the screen in front of 
 the alcove. 
 
 "Mr. Curtis," he said shortly, "Lord Westerby seeks you." 
 
 Timothy rose. He took her hand and kissed it, and bow- 
 ing quietly to Tracy, walked out of the room. 
 
 Celia turned to her brother-in-law and laid her hands on 
 his arm. 
 
 "Tracy," she said earnestly, "tell me here and now on what 
 foundation rests your proof against Mr. Curtis." 
 
 He looked down at her pityingly. "Celia, has it come to 
 that?" he asked. 
 
 She nodded. "I must know all, Tracy. You say he stole 
 the papers from Laidie. How did he get them?" 
 
 "By bribing Martha."
 
 210 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 "Has she confessed to it?" 
 
 "She has disappeared. We can find no trace of her. But 
 we have other, stronger proofs, Celia." 
 
 She shook her head. "I will not believe it, Tracy. No 
 man could look so, speak so, and have a soul so black." 
 
 "You don't know men, dear. Words come easily, espe- 
 cially when love-inspired. And I do not doubt that he loves 
 you." 
 
 "How could he love and deceive ?" 
 
 "Love has driven men to dishonour before this, Celia." 
 
 Her eyes filled with sudden tears. "Tracy," she cried, 
 "give me but proofs that I may know him innocent or 
 guilty, and love him or put him out of my heart forever." 
 
 "Proofs? What more proofs do you need?" 
 
 "I do not know. Find Martha; let us learn her story. 
 Bring him face to face with her and I will believe. Ah! 
 Tracy, do this for me, and do not be angry with me that I 
 still distrust." 
 
 "I will, Celia. We'll scour the kingdom for the girl and 
 force her to the truth. Will that satisfy you ?" 
 
 She gave him her hand gratefully and they went back to 
 rejoin the dancers. Tracy thought of the note of warn- 
 ing to Timothy in his pocket, but he forbore to tax her with 
 it. 
 
 "Poor child," he muttered. "She has enough to bear now. 
 She is breaking her heart for Timothy Curtis, who's not 
 worthy to touch her hand. Truly there's matter for mar- 
 vel in the doings of Providence and a woman's heart."
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 BEHIND THE BROWN DOOR 
 
 THE following morning Timothy Curtis commenced his 
 search for Martha Williams, Lady Wimbourne's maid. He 
 consulted his landlady, Mrs. Buzzard, about all possible 
 lodgings the girl might have occupied, and visited them 
 with inquiries. He despatched Simon to draw the likely 
 covers in the neighbourhood of Cock Alley where he had 
 seen her the week before. He inquired at the coach office 
 and sought council of the watch, but with no result. He 
 could find no trace of her whereabouts, though he sought 
 her eagerly for the space of two days. He would have 
 employed the town crier, but feared to scare her into closer 
 hiding. 
 
 But the afternoon of the second day, light dawned. On 
 returning to his rooms after an unavailing search through 
 the lower part of the town, he found awaiting him a note 
 from Adelaide Wimbourne. He recognised the seal and 
 paper at once, and opened it eagerly. 
 
 "I learn from my cook-maid, that Martha Williams is to 
 be heard of at the house of one Madame Grieve, a coiffeuse. 
 A. W." 
 
 That was all ; it was curt indeed, in its brevity, but it suf- 
 ficed for Timothy. He picked up his hat and hurried down 
 into the street, round to the house in Peter's Wynd. His 
 suspicions concerning the character of the house were con- 
 firmed ; he marvelled that he had not thought earlier of in- 
 quiring there.
 
 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 An elderly Frenchwoman answered his summons at the 
 door. She seemed puzzled at his appearance there, and as 
 she spoke English with an execrable accent, and understood 
 but little of what he said, it was some time before he could 
 make clear to her the object of his inquiries. 
 
 When at length she understood, she proved incapable of 
 assisting him. 
 
 It was true, she said, many young girls came to the house ; 
 the one he nought might be among them. Assuredly, 
 Madame Grieve would know. 
 
 "May I speak to madame, then?" asked Tim, eager to 
 force an entry. 
 
 The woman looked horrified. "Mais, monsieur!" she 
 cried; "monsieur ne doit pas entrer. Gentlemen zey do 
 not come in. Ze ladies it is not conformable, vous com- 
 prenez ? Ze house is for ze coiffure." 
 
 "Then ask Madame Grieve to do me the honour to speak 
 with me here," he asked impatiently. 
 
 The woman shut the door on him and went away. Tim- 
 othy waited impatiently. Presently the door was reopened, 
 and Madame Grieve herself appeared upon the step. 
 
 "Your pardon, madame," said Tim gallantly, "I fear I 
 have disturbed you. I am in search of a girl named Martha 
 Williams, and was directed to inquire for her here." 
 
 Madame Grieve eyed him curiously with her bright, black 
 eyes. 
 
 "To be sure, monsieur, I know the girl, but she is not here 
 now," she said, smiling. "I am sorry for monsieur's disap- 
 pointment." 
 
 "Can you not tell me where she lodges ?" he asked eagerly. 
 
 Madame Grieve shook her head. "I am desolee, mon- 
 sieur, I do not know, but I will inquire. Only for the
 
 BEHIND THE BROWN DOOR 
 
 moment I am engaged. Monsieur will doubtless under- 
 stand. I cannot keep a lady waiting in the middle of the 
 coiffure. Will monsieur call again?" 
 
 "Willingly, madame. I am monstrously grateful to you 
 for your kindness. At what hour shall I call?" 
 
 She hesitated. "At six o'clock I go to my supper. I will 
 make inquiries then. If monsieur will call here about nine 
 o'clock I will have the girl to receive him, or at least news 
 of her." 
 
 "But, madame, I fear I put you to trouble," said Tim. 
 "Can not you tell me where to find the girl myself?" 
 
 She shook her head. "You would not find her, monsieur," 
 she laughed. "But come here at nine to-night and you shall 
 see her. You will excuse me, monsieur, I cannot keep my 
 customer waiting longer. Au revoir." 
 
 She shut the door in his face and Timothy returned to his 
 rooms in no very satisfied frame of mind. His hand was al- 
 most on his quarry, but he was nervous ; he had no proof 
 that the house had any connection with the Jacobite con- 
 spirators. Indeed, it seemed to him that he held proof to the 
 contrary. But Josiah's assurance troubled his memory. 
 He liked neither the house nor the hour fixed for the meet- 
 ing. 
 
 He dined alone at the open window, watching the door op- 
 posite and the roof alternately. The blind walls stared 
 back at him blankly ; what secret did they hide behind their 
 stones? He thought, with a shiver, if his enemies wished 
 to trap him they were never likely to have a better oppor- 
 tunity than that night in the lonely house. Surely he was 
 a fool to give a chance to men who would lose no chances. 
 
 He sat down to write a note to Madame Grieve, repudiat- 
 ing the engagement, and bidding the girl wait upon him
 
 214 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 elsewhere ; but shame at his timidity stopped him. If he die. 
 not meet the girl to-night, he would probably lose her; it 
 was not likely that she would willingly put herself in the 
 power of the man she had slandered if she were aware of his 
 identity, and he could not expect Madame Grieve to trouble 
 herself to arrange another interview. To find the girl was 
 his first step toward clearing his reputation, and should he 
 shrink from risk in the search, he deserved to lose her al- 
 together. 
 
 He was ashamed of his cowardice. He put on his wide- 
 brimmed hat and long coat, and buckling on his sword sat 
 down again at the window to await the appointed hour. 
 
 The blind walls frowned across at him. He began to recall 
 stories of silent murders behind such dark stone walls, of 
 men secretly done to death in corners of deserted houses. 
 He grew afraid and angry at his fears. He rose once, and 
 priming a pistol slipped it into his pocket. He considered 
 the advisability of taking Simon with him, but dismissed it 
 contemptuously. 
 
 "Pish !" he muttered angrily, "I've no more nerve than a 
 boggart-scared plough-boy. What should harm me? I'm 
 in Bath, in the eighteenth century, not in Venice under the 
 Ten. I'm armed. What the plague should make me so 
 demmed jumpy?" 
 
 He pulled out his pistol defiantly, and threw it on the 
 table, and so, alternating between bravado and fear, he 
 waited for the hour to come. 
 
 At last, about a quarter to nine, he heard steps in the 
 passage below and looking out saw Madame Grieve, fol- 
 lowed by a woman heavily shawled. They opened the brown 
 door and entered the house opposite. With a final laugh 
 at his fears, he rose to follow her.
 
 BEHIND THE BROWN DOOR 215 
 
 At the door he paused, and drew from his inner pocket the 
 bracelet Celia had given him. 
 
 "I'll not take this," he muttered, "into such a place. Who 
 knows with what wooing I must win the girl? I'll not take 
 this." 
 
 He locked it in his bureau, and bidding Simon wait up for 
 his return, passed out into the darkening street. 
 
 Peter's Wynd was almost in darkness. He paused for a 
 moment with his hand on the knocker of the brown door 
 and looked back at his open window opposite. 
 
 "The mouse is nibbling," he muttered whimsically, "will 
 the trap close?" 
 
 Then he laughed again at his nervousness and lifted the 
 knocker. 
 
 The door was opened a little way and Madame Grieve 
 peered round the chink. "Is that you, monsieur?" she asked 
 softly. "The girl is here." 
 
 She opened the door a little wider and Timothy crossed 
 the threshold. The door shut behind him with a bang, and 
 he found himself in darkness. 
 
 Timothy stood still, with his hand on his half-drawn 
 sword. He had a queer, uncanny feeling that eyes were 
 peering at him through the darkness, and figures stealing 
 past him. 
 
 "Have you no light?" he asked irritably, and he stepped 
 back and felt for the latch of the door. 
 
 "This way, monsieur," said Madame Grieve, taking his 
 hand. "Let me direct you. The draught has blown out 
 the candle." 
 
 Timothy stumbled forward a few steps and then stopped 
 dead. He felt a sharp prick at his throat, and putting up 
 his hand touched cold steel. At the same moment, a door
 
 216 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 at the end of the hall was opened and the place was flooded 
 with light. 
 
 The hall was full of men surrounding him. In front 
 stood Marcus Ormonde with raised blade, smiling into his 
 eyes. 
 
 "Caught at last, Mr. Curtis!" he said. "Faith, you are 
 an easy man to gull." 
 
 "Damnation !" cried Tim savagely. He turned and bowed 
 elaborately to Madame Grieve. "Your pardon, madame ; one 
 does not expect the presence of ladies on such an occasion." 
 
 The little Frenchwoman clapped her hands. "Ah ! mon- 
 sieur is still gallant. Ah, ha ! Monsieur, bright eyes lead 
 men far astray. Bon soir. I leave you to your swears." 
 
 She dropped him a curtsey and disappeared up the stair- 
 way. 
 
 "And now to business," said Ormonde shortly. "You'll 
 understand, Curtis, the slightest noise on your part will be 
 er effectually silenced. Take his sword and tie his 
 hands, Lee. He sha'n't slip us again." 
 
 "Is it to be Paris then?" asked Tim, with a resigned 
 shrug. 
 
 "No, Mr. Curtis, a longer journey," answered Lee grimly. 
 
 Timothy's heart gave a leap of fear ; with a sudden effort 
 he threw off his captors and sprang toward the door. A 
 dozen hands seized him. He was overpowered in a moment. 
 His hands were tied and he was dragged up the stairs. 
 
 Rory met them on the landing. He shook his head re- 
 proachfully at Tim. 
 
 "That demmed inquisitive nose of yours, Tim ! I knew it 
 would lead you astray some day. But I never dreamed 
 you'd be so bedad easily gulled." 
 
 In the large upper room Lord Robert Dacre sat talking
 
 BEHIND THE BROWN DOOR 217 
 
 with three or four of the Jacobites. Tracy was not present. 
 They looked up at Tim's entrance and smiled. 
 
 "Trapped, eh, Mr. Curtis?" said Lord Robert. "A trifle 
 too trusting this time, it seems. Has the ass forgotten 
 the taste o' the whip?" 
 
 "What d'ye want with me?" asked Tim sullenly. "I've 
 told you I'm innocent of any interference with your affairs. 
 I can't do more than give you my word." 
 
 "That is unfortunate," sneered Lord Stavely, "the word 
 of a spy being of no great value." 
 
 "I'm no spy," cried Tim angrily, "I have told you so a 
 dozen times. I fail to understand what reason you have 
 for believing it." 
 
 "Lord Pelham has told Sir Thomas Winnington that you 
 are in his pay to watch the Jacobites," said Lord Robert 
 shortly. 
 
 Tim stared aghast. "Pelham said that?" he gasped. 
 "Egad! I knew he was a blackguard, but he takes a 
 mighty strong revenge for being told so." 
 
 Lord Robert rose impatiently. "Search him," he said 
 shortly. Tim sullenly submitted to the inevitable ; he knew 
 they would find nothing. 
 
 Roger Lee and Lord Stavely subjected him to a careful 
 search while the others watched. 
 
 "No ; he has not the papers on him," said Stavely at last. 
 "Where the plague does he hide them?" 
 
 Lord Robert crossed to Timothy and faced him menac- 
 ingly. 
 
 "Now, Curtis," he said sharply, "we're not playing a 
 game with you. Where are those papers?" 
 
 "I haven't got them," said Tim irritably. 
 
 "Have you already sold them?"
 
 218 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Then where are they?" 
 
 "How the devil should I know?" 
 
 Lord Robert turned away with a muttered oath of impa- 
 tience. He drew two or three of the men apart and they 
 talked in low voices. Tim grew hot and cold by turns. 
 His hands were damp and clammy and his heart beat 
 quickly. He turned his eyes from side to side in search of a 
 possible way of escape, of one friendly face among the 
 crowd. 
 
 Presently Lord Robert came back to his side. 
 
 "You do not appear to understand, Mr. Curtis, that this 
 is a case of our necks or yours. You won't tell us where 
 these papers are?" 
 
 "I can tell you nothing about them," snapped Tim 
 angrily. 
 
 "Then you must take the consequences." 
 
 "What are you going to do to me?" he asked indifferently. 
 
 "The most popular suggestion is to hang you out of 
 hand," answered Lord Robert coolly. 
 
 "Hang me! Nonsense! I tell you I have done you no 
 injury." 
 
 "We don't believe you." 
 
 "Then you're demmed ungentlemanly," shouted Tim 
 savagely. "Hang me ! Give me a sword and I'll fight any 
 two of you left-handed." 
 
 Lord Robert shook his head impatiently. "This is no tav- 
 ern brawl. You are judged and condemned. And you will 
 be so good as to moderate your tones, Mr. Curtis, or we 
 shall be put to the disagreeable necessity of running you 
 through on the spot." 
 
 For a moment Tim stood silent, facing the FOW of resolute
 
 BEHIND THE BROWN DOOR 219 
 
 faces ; then pride conquered his fears. He shrugged his 
 shoulders indifferently and smiled at them defiantly. 
 
 "Very well," he said coolly, "hang me, if you will. 'Tis 
 a demmed ungentlemanly way of kicking off this planet, 
 but it seems I've wandered into Bedlam, so I must take the 
 consequences. Give me a few minutes to prepare myself 
 and I'm ready for my last dance." 
 
 Rory sat on the table swinging his legs and watching Tim 
 critically. He drew out his pipe and lighted it. 
 
 "The man is innocent, Bob," he said. "I'd go surety for 
 it anywhere." 
 
 David Beringer looked round at him eagerly. "How do 
 you know?" he asked quickly. "Have you any proof?" 
 
 "No," said Rory cheerfully, "I've no proof. But he 
 couldn't be a spy, he's such a demmed fool." 
 
 Lord Robert shrugged his shoulders. "Is that all you 
 have to urge ?" he asked contemptuously. 
 
 "No," said Rory, puffing at his pipe. "Give him another 
 chance now you've shown him the halter. If he will tell 
 where the papers are now, prove him a knave and let him 
 go free ; but if he will rather hang, why prove him a fool 
 and hang him." 
 
 Lord Robert turned to Tim. "You hear him, Curtis. The 
 noose is round your neck. Tell us where to find those pa- 
 pers and we cut the rope." 
 
 A drowning man will clutch at a straw, and a man with 
 his foot on the scaffold steps will stumble to make time. 
 Every moment was precious when so few remained, every 
 chance of delay held hope. Tim's wits worked quickly. 
 He could gain a few minutes by sending some of the men 
 on a wild-goose chase to his rooms, and when they returned, 
 even if no help intervened, his position would be no worse.
 
 220 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 He assumed a sulky air and gave in with well-simulated 
 reluctance. "Go to my rooms and get them then," he said 
 sullenly. 
 
 "Where shall we find them?" 
 
 "In a square tin box hidden behind my bed," he said 
 slowly, "there you'll find all the treasonable correspondence 
 I possess. My man knows which it is." 
 
 Lord Robert eyed him suspiciously. "He is tricking us, 
 I believe, Marcus," he said. 
 
 "What matter?" answered Ormonde shortly. "We have him 
 safe here. Stavely and I will go over to his lodging and 
 search." 
 
 "You will want a line in his hand to his man to let you 
 in," suggested Lee. 
 
 "Mr. Curtis will supply it," said Lord Robert ; "loose his 
 right hand, Lee." 
 
 Paper and inkhorn were on the table. Tim picked up the 
 quill and scrawled a line to Simon: 
 
 "Rouse the town and tell Lord Westerby I'm held prisoner 
 by Jacobites in the house of Madame Grieve." 
 
 He folded the paper and tossed it to Ormonde. It was 
 a desperate chance and it failed. Ormonde slowly unfolded 
 and read the slip. He looked across at Tim and smiled re- 
 proachfully. 
 
 "Really, Mr. Curtis," he said, "you underrate our intelli- 
 gence." 
 
 Tim laughed grimly. "I apologise, gentlemen; 'twas a 
 slender hope, but any log in a shipwreck." 
 
 He rewrote the note under dictation, and the two men pre- 
 pared to depart. Rory rose to his feet. 
 
 "I go surety, Bob, the man is innocent ; therefore it's not 
 to be doubted he'll hang; but I tell you plainly I've no
 
 BEHIND THE BROWN DOOR 
 
 stomach for the work, so I'll leave you to it. Good-bye, 
 Tim. Commend me to Diogenes if you meet him on the 
 further side Styx." He strolled to the door and then 
 paused, but did not turn his head. "If you are bent on 
 hanging, demme! do it in a gentlemanly fashion. Let the 
 poor beggar have a few minutes to himself first." 
 
 He went out, followed by Stavely and Ormonde. 
 
 There was an awkward silence. Tim stood staring at the 
 floor, desperately racking his brains for another expedient 
 to try, when the searchers returned empty-handed. The 
 men shifted their positions in embarrassed restlessness. 
 
 Oliver Shirley leaned over to Lord Robert. 
 
 "Gag him and put him in the next room, Bob," he urged. 
 "And let us get on with the business. We'll be here all 
 night." 
 
 "As you please," said Lord Robert indifferently. 
 
 Lee produced a scarf, and wound it round Timothy's 
 mouth. The latter raised no objection, it was of small 
 moment to him what they did. Lord Robert tested the 
 cords that bound his wrists, and opening a door at the end 
 of the room motioned to him to pass through. Tim strolled 
 through into the inner room and the door was shut upon 
 him. 
 
 Directly he heard the latch fall he threw up his head 
 and looked round eagerly, then his face fell. He was in a 
 perfectly empty room lighted by a small hanging lamp. 
 Four white walls closed him in, offering no hope of escape. 
 The only door was the one by which he had entered ; the only 
 window, set high in the wall, looked sheer down into Boat- 
 Stall Lane, a drop of fifty feet on to the hard cobbled road 
 below. 
 
 The lattice was slightly open ; he peered out eagerly but
 
 222 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 could see little in the gathering darkness. The window 
 was in a small gable; on either side the high roof sloped 
 steeply up a height of eight feet to the ridge of the tiles ; 
 there was not so much as a pipe or a gutter to offer foothold 
 on the smooth surface of roof or wall ; even were his hands 
 unfettered, escape that way was clearly impossible. 
 
 He next tried to bite through his gag that he might shout 
 from the window in the vain hope of attracting attention 
 from the neighbouring houses ; but he only succeeded in 
 half choking himself Lee had done his work too well. He 
 stared once more desperately round the bare room and then 
 recognising the futility of further effort he gave up the 
 struggle and leaning against the wall opposite the darken- 
 ing window resigned himself to his fate. 
 
 He stood face to face with death. His mind groped into 
 the mists of that undiscovered country with the awed won- 
 der of humanity contemplating eternal mysteries. But he 
 had a simple faith in his Maker and conscious that he had 
 held his honour untainted, he did not fear to ask mercy for 
 his many sins. He looked back over his life with a blush 
 for the darker passages, with a sigh of regret for wasted 
 hours. He thought of his friendship for Tracy Wim- 
 bourne, that friendship so suddenly, so unaccountably 
 snapped. He felt no emotions of anger toward him ; had he 
 been in Tracy's place, he believed that he would have acted 
 in the same way. But he was glad that his friend had not 
 been present that evening. It pleased him to think that 
 Tracy would have no hand in his death. 
 
 He raged at the credulity that had led him to be so easily 
 trapped, and he thought with a puzzled wonder of the share 
 Adelaide Wimbourne had taken in his undoing. But he 
 would not dwell on it; the edge of the grave is no place
 
 BEHIND THE BROWN DOOR 223 
 
 to harbour revengeful thoughts, least of all against a 
 woman. 
 
 Then he let his thoughts wander to Celia. What would 
 she think, he wondered, when she saw him no more ? Would 
 she question her brother, and learning the truth, weep a 
 little over his fate ? Or would she deem he had but met the 
 punishment he deserved and remember him only in her 
 dreams? He could never now convince her of his honesty. 
 His bitterest thought was this, that he must die still un- 
 justified in her sight, must go out into the darkness, leav- 
 ing her to believe his love only a shameful hypocrisy. He 
 would fain have spared her that ; fain have left her a re- 
 membrance scented with sweet rosemary, not with such bit- 
 ter rue. He had no shadow in his heart for her want of 
 trust in him ; it would have been unworthy of her had she 
 given her love to one whose honour was tainted. 
 
 A bitter sigh escaped his lips ; the thought of Celia made 
 life very sweet in his eyes. She was so warm, so tender, so 
 utterly desirable, and the darkness before him was so cold, 
 so blank. 
 
 He lifted his head once more, and looked round the room 
 in a last desperate search for escape, but no hope offered. 
 He stared blankly across at the darkening window, and then 
 stood suddenly rigid with a startled intake of his breath. 
 For even as he looked something darkened the pallid light 
 of the window ; he saw a man's leg swing past the pane and 
 disappear. 
 
 With two strides he was across the room, staring out into 
 the darkness. He could see nothing, and had almost per- 
 suaded himself that he had been mistaken when again the 
 leg appeared. It was a shapely leg, cased in elegant blue 
 silk stockings with silver clocks ; the shoes were diamond-
 
 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 buckled ; the knee-breeches gartered with pearl-embroidered 
 straps. It swung down across the window for all the world 
 as though suspended from the clouds. 
 
 Timothy gaped at it in blank astonishment. Was some 
 man, madman it would seem, sitting astride on the gable, 
 swinging his legs over that hideous drop into the darkness 
 below? If so, by what magic had he reached such a posi- 
 tion? 
 
 Timothy's heart beat high with hope and excitement ; where 
 one man could come surely another could go. He strained 
 vainly at his bonds in a desperate effort to be free that he 
 might open wider the lattice and lean out to his visitor. 
 
 Slowly, tentatively, as though doubting the possibility of 
 the undertaking, the leg swung lower till the diamond 
 buckles were on a level with the bottom of the window. At 
 the top of the window pane appeared an arm and shoulder 
 clad in pale-green satin. The man was evidently hanging 
 on to the point of the gable with his hands and right knee, 
 while his left foot swung loose into the darkness, groping 
 for a resting-place. There was no sill outside the window, 
 not so much as a jagged stone to give foothold. The man 
 inserted his toe in the crack of the open lattice, and felt 
 along the opening for the latch. 
 
 Tim struggled madly with his cords ; were he but free to 
 open the window, the man's attempt might be successful. 
 The foot groped blindly along the crevice and its example 
 inspired him ; he lifted his own foot and kicked at the latch. 
 It gave way ; but he could not push open the window while 
 the leg was before it. 
 
 There was a soft scrambling sound on the roof, evidently 
 the man was trying to regain his seat astride the gable; 
 twice the leg swung up and slipped down again, dangling
 
 BEHIND THE BROWN DOOR 225 
 
 helplessly over the dark abyss. There was the sound of 
 rending cloth and then a low, amused, but somewhat breath- 
 less chuckle. 
 
 At last, with the third effort, the climber succeeded in 
 regaining his equilibrium ; he swung his leg clear of the win- 
 dow and Timothy pushed it open with his head and peered 
 up. He could see nothing; the man was sitting just above 
 him ; he drew in his head and waited. 
 
 There was a pause. Evidently his rescuer was taking a 
 much-needed breath. Then the soft scrambling on the roof 
 began again. Slowly, cautiously, the man lowered himself 
 down from the gable, his legs swinging over the abyss till 
 they touched the sill ; he grasped the window with one hand 
 and swayed outwards for a moment as he let go his hold 
 on the roof; then he gave a little jump forward and landed 
 safely, sitting on the window sill, his feet hanging down 
 into the room. 
 
 It was Rory Winnington ! His fair hair shone in the 
 pale light from the lamp. He looked across at Tim with a 
 smile of satisfied achievement, and dusted his hands daintily 
 with his lace handkerchief. 
 
 "Egad!" he whispered, "the plaguiest risky job I've ever 
 undertaken." 
 
 He slipped silently into the room, and drew a clasp-knife 
 from his pocket. He cut loose the scarf across Tim's 
 mouth, but the cords round his wrists he untied carefully. 
 
 "We shall need these," he whispered. "It's bedad tricky 
 work up there. Quick now! Lee should be back any mo- 
 ment and I don't gather he will bring much matter with 
 him, eh?" 
 
 "Only creditors' accounts," said Tim, with a laugh. 
 
 Rory tied a noose in either end of the rope and leaning
 
 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 far out backward, while Tim held him, he threw one 
 loop round the spike of the gable. The other end 
 of the rope reached half-way between the sill and the 
 point of the gable. 
 
 Rory tested it. The spike and noose held firm. 
 
 "It will serve," he muttered. "I will go first, Tim, and 
 give you a hand. Heaven grant you've a cool head." 
 
 He climbed on to the window sill, steadying himself by 
 Tim's shoulder; then he lifted one foot and put it in the 
 noose and so, hauling himself up the rope, reached the 
 gable, and swung himself astride it. He lowered the rope 
 and waited for Tim to follow, leaning down to give him a 
 steadying hand. 
 
 As he did so he noticed that the noose round the gable had 
 frayed with the strain of his weight. He laughed softly. 
 
 "Egad ! 'twould seem the devil is bent on having him, this 
 way or hanging. It won't stand his weight." 
 
 He crooked his knees and one arm round the point of 
 the gable, and swung head downward, reaching out his hand 
 just as Tim put his foot in the noose of the rope. 
 
 "Put your weight on my shoulder, Tim," he said; "the 
 rope is giving." 
 
 Timothy drew in his breath sharply, but he had no time to 
 think of the depth below. He steadied himself by the top 
 of the window with one foot on the sill and one in the 
 dangling noose. Then with a wild spring he trusted his 
 weight for one second to the rope and clutched at Rory's 
 hand. He got one knee on the top of the window, sharing 
 his weight. He loosed Rory's hand and flung his arm over 
 his shoulder ; with another effort he worked his foot to the 
 top of the open lattice, grasped the spike of the gable and 
 stood a moment resting his feet on window and fraying
 
 BEHIND THE BROWN DOOR 
 
 rope and hanging his weight on his arms while Rory 
 struggled back to an upright position and hauled him up 
 to his side on the gable. 
 
 Then the two men looked at each other and laughed 
 triumphantly. 
 
 "A hot corner, eh, Tim? I'm thinking they'll seek your 
 mangled corpse in the gutter." 
 
 Tim held out his hand. "Thanks, Rory," he said simply. 
 
 Rory shook the outstretched hand, eyeing him queerly. 
 
 "Couldn't let you hang, Tim. You owe me my revenge at 
 ecarte. Come along now, we've no time to waste in er 
 compliment." 
 
 "If the others guess your hand in this " 
 
 "It will be mighty unpleasant," said Rory, grinning, 
 "but they will have no clue to your rescuer. Egad ! I was 
 glad to find you alone in the room." 
 
 The two men crawled to the end of the gable, where a 
 rope ladder hung from the ridge of the roof. Up this they 
 scrambled and dropped on to the flat tiles on the further 
 side. Rory dragged the ladder up after him. 
 
 "Thank your stars we are in time," he gasped breath- 
 lessly. "I must put this ladder back before the others miss 
 it. Be off with you, Tim. Straight along the roofs till 
 you are over the 'Cock and Bull' tavern. You'll find the 
 skylight on the right open. Go straight through the 
 house; no one should stop you, but if there are any ques- 
 tions from Rigby tell him 'Geordie has gone over the water' ; 
 that will silence him. But should you meet Marcus or 
 Stavely, demme! jump into space rather than let them 
 catch you now." 
 
 "Are you not coming, too ?" 
 
 "Not I," said Rory, crossing to the open trap in the roof.
 
 228 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 "I'm going back to watch their faces when they find you 
 flown, and do some monstrous entertaining play-acting." 
 
 With a soft laugh he clambered out of sight down the trap 
 and Timothy sped over the roofs in the direction of Cock 
 Alley. 
 
 He listened a moment at the skylight, then slipped through 
 into the attic below and hurried out on to the stairs. He 
 paused again to listen and peered down. No one was to be 
 seen, but behind the closed doors he heard the rattling of 
 dice. The familiar sound gave him a feeling of security ; he 
 crept down the staircase. At the first landing he stopped 
 with a beating heart ; he heard Marcus Ormonde's voice be- 
 low at the turn of the stairs. 
 
 Without a second's delay he turned and hurried down the 
 passage on his left, and opening a door at the end slipped 
 into a room just as two men turned the corner. 
 
 The room was in darkness save for the dim light from the 
 window, but he heard the rustle of a woman's dress and a 
 low cry. He held up his hand for silence and stood with 
 his ear to the door, listening to the retreating footsteps of 
 the two men. To his amazement the woman ran across the 
 room to his side and seizing his hand in hers, lifted it to her 
 lips. 
 
 "Ah ! you've come again as you promised," she whispered. 
 "I was main feared you'd leave me, Mr. Winnington." 
 
 Tim stood silent till he heard the men's footsteps die away, 
 then he slipped his hand over her mouth to prevent a 
 scream, and drew her back from the door. 
 
 "I'm not Rory Winnington," he said, "but he sent me 
 here." 
 
 She wrenched free from his hand. "Sent you here? 
 Won't he come himself? Who are you?"
 
 BEHIND THE BROWN DOOR 229 
 
 "Never mind that, I am going now," said Tim, hurriedly 
 fumbling for the latch. 
 
 "Stop !" cried the woman. She ran across the room, struck 
 a flint and lighted a candle. 
 
 Timothy took two steps toward her. 
 
 "Martha!" he gasped. "So I've found you at last, my 
 girl." 
 
 She stared at him, her eyes growing wide with fright. 
 
 "What do you want with me, Mr. Curtis?" she asked, 
 shrinking back. 
 
 Tim stopped. He dared not wait much longer ; any mo- 
 ment they might pursue him and find he had not left the 
 tavern. He must not frighten the girl or he would lose her. 
 He held out his hand encouragingly. 
 
 "No harm, child," he said coaxingly, "but I want a little 
 of your company, I want a talk with you. Will you come 
 and see me to-morrow? You know where I live." 
 
 She eyed him queerly, but seemed in no wise averse to his 
 proposal. "What do you want?" she asked, with a toss of 
 her head. 
 
 "You'll come?" he coaxed, drawing nearer. "I want you 
 monstrously, my dear." 
 
 She laughed, looking at him with a pleased light in her 
 eyes. "I don't know/' she said slowly. "What would folks 
 say, Mr. Curtis?" 
 
 "Are we so particular, eh? Well meet me at er 
 Mason's rooms at eleven. 'Tis a convenient place." 
 
 "Ay," she said slowly, "convenient enough." She eyed 
 him thoughtfully. "Maybe I'll come, Mr. Curtis," she said, 
 "maybe I won't. I don't know." 
 
 "If you do not, I shall come and fetch you," he said, 
 laughing.
 
 230 
 
 She gave a little pleased laugh of vanity. "Do you want 
 me that bad? Then I'll come. I'd as lief show others 
 I've more than one string to my bow." 
 
 Tim dared stay no longer. "Good girl," he said, patting 
 her cheek. "I shall be waiting for you at eleven o' the clock. 
 Don't fail me." With a parting nod and smile he opened 
 the door and stepped out into the passage. 
 
 All was quiet. Without further interruption he sped down 
 the stairs, out into the quiet street. 
 
 When he reached the open air he took to his heels and ran 
 the length of Cock Alley, as though all his enemies were in 
 pursuit. He dared not risk Peter's Wynd and the chance 
 of the brown door opening as he passed. He ran till he 
 reached his rooms. Only when at last he found himself in 
 his comfortable lighted chamber and had refreshed his spirit 
 with a glass of wine, did his full courage revive. He looked 
 across at the dark house opposite, and wondered what was 
 happening behind its silent walls. 
 
 Five minutes later he heard the door in Peter's Wynd open 
 softly ; three men stepped out into the passage. He heard 
 Ormonde's voice. 
 
 "If he jumped he is bound to be killed. Why, demme! 'tis 
 a fall of fifty feet." 
 
 Tim snatched up a lamp and crossed to the open window. 
 He leaned out with a twinkle in his eyes. 
 
 "Good evening, gentlemen," he said. "A fine night for a 
 stroll." 
 
 Three faces of blank amazement were lifted to the win- 
 dow. Three low and fervent ejaculations echoed down the 
 silent street. 
 
 With a chuckle Tim pulled a curtain across the window and 
 left the three men staring up into the darkness of the night.
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 THE BROKEN BUTTERFLY 
 
 IN a small house on the wall, hard by the west gate of the 
 city, Mrs. Juliana Mason, a stout and smiling dame, with a 
 large heart and loose morals, held her abode and offered 
 entertainment to such of the dwellers in the city as hovered 
 only on the outskirts of society and were denied entrance 
 to the more select, but in no wise more reputable, portals of 
 "Simpson's rooms" or "Wiltshire's assemblies." 
 
 Mrs. Mason's establishment boasted one large room where 
 coffee and chocolate were served on command, and two small 
 private rooms at the back, with windows looking out over 
 the King's Mead meadows that bordered the Bristol Road. 
 
 At the door of this hospitable mansion Timothy waited the 
 following morning, looking eagerly down the narrow street 
 for the approach of Martha Williams. He was mortally 
 afraid that she would suspect his purpose and fail him, but 
 punctual to the hour he saw her trim and showily dressed 
 little figure trip jauntily into sight round the corner, her 
 pretty face wearing a ludicrous expression of complacent 
 vanity. Tim hurried out to meet her, and together they 
 went in and secured a table in one corner of the large 
 coffee-room. 
 
 The room already held a goodly complement of visitors: 
 well-to-do tradesfolk ; gaily dressed ladies of the demi- 
 monde with their ardent escorts ; ladies' maids and gentle- 
 men's gentlemen. Martha sipped her chocolate and looked 
 about her with the pleased wonder of a child at a show, and 
 Timothy watched her with a humorous tolerance, puzzling
 
 232 
 
 his brains how to open his attack on this soulless little atom 
 of humanity. 
 
 Martha's attention was much occupied with watching a 
 yellow-haired demoiselle from the theater below the As- 
 sembly Rooms. 
 
 "Do you think her so pretty, Mr. Curtis?" she asked 
 na'ivejy. 
 
 "I don't know, I am not looking at her," answered Tim, 
 smiling into her blue eyes. 
 
 She gave a pleased laugh. "There's many pretty faces in 
 Bath, sir," she said. "They say the new beauty, Miss 
 Smallshaw, is loveliest of all. Do you know her, Mr. Curtis?" 
 
 "Oh, yes ! I know her well." 
 
 "Does Mr. Winnington know her ?" she asked slowly. 
 
 "Mr. Winnington ! Egad ! yes," laughed Tim. 
 
 She looked up quickly, catching his thought and frowning 
 at the idea his words suggested. "Is she so beautiful?" she 
 asked jealously. 
 
 "Some hold her so beautiful that they would give all they 
 possess to win her favour." 
 
 She sat a moment silent, then she tossed her head. "My 
 Miss Winnington is more beautiful than any lady," she 
 said defiantly. 
 
 Tim started and looked down at her with a friendly smile. 
 
 "Your taste is commendable, Martha," he said. 
 
 She nodded. "Ah ! but you haven't seen her as I have, Mr. 
 Curtis," she said. "She's as white as a lily. Her hair 'tis 
 all her own, Mr. Curtis, and it comes down to here, and it 
 shines like like lamplight on a gentleman's sword." She 
 caught the look on his face, and laughed saucily. "You'd 
 fain see her as I've seen her, wouldn't you, sir? And she's 
 that bright 'twas a pleasure to serve her."
 
 THE BROKEN BUTTERFLY 233 
 
 "Then why did you leave her service ?" he asked quickly. 
 
 She looked up suspiciously. "I I was tired of service," 
 she muttered sullenly. 
 
 "You would rather play the lady, eh ? You silly little pea- 
 cock !" He laughed down at her angry face. 
 
 She tossed her head indignantly. "I may be a lady some 
 day. There's no telling. There's fortunes in faces." 
 
 "You a lady ! Not you. Ladies don't tell lies about gentle- 
 men, my dear." 
 
 "Some does. And who has told lies about gentlemen?" 
 
 "You have. You told Lady Wimbourne 'twas I who bribed 
 you to steal her papers." 
 
 He shot the bolt without any warning, and the shot went 
 home. A frightened look crept into her eyes and her mouth 
 opened in astonishment. 
 
 "Does she know I did it?" she whispered. "How does she 
 know I did it?" 
 
 Timothy was nonplussed. He had understood from Ade- 
 laide that the girl had been charged with her share in the 
 theft and had thrown the burden on his shoulders. But now 
 it would appear he was mistaken. He saw a chance to obtain 
 a hold over her, but it demanded cautious treading. 
 
 "Why did you tell her I bribed you?" he repeated 
 sternly. 
 
 "I never did !" she cried. "On my soul I never did ! Why, 
 how could I, Mr. Curtis ? I left next morning. I never saw 
 her after " She stopped and put her hand over her mouth. 
 
 "After what?" 
 
 "I won't tell you," she said. "I won't talk to you any more 
 about it." 
 
 "Oh, yes, you will!" said Tim cheerily. "You will tell 
 me all about it. See here, you silly child, you would like to
 
 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 go back to serve Miss Winnington? If you will tell me how 
 you took those papers, and to whom you gave them, I will 
 ask her to take you back." 
 
 The girl set her mouth obstinately. "I'd as lief be free," 
 she said indifferently. "I'm tired o' service." 
 
 "You'll find prison a plaguy more wearisome place." 
 
 "Prison !" she cried. "She wouldn't send me to prison, 
 Miss Winnington wouldn't." 
 
 "No, possibly not. But I will, if you refuse to clear me," 
 he said sharply. "Listen here, child. Miss Winnington be- 
 lieves that 'twas to me you gave what you stole. She must 
 be told the truth." 
 
 She eyed him qucerly. "Why should she think that ?" 
 
 "No matter why ; she does think it, and you must tell the 
 truth or go to gaol. Now, be reasonable. You took the 
 papers ?" 
 
 "He made me," she muttered defiantly. 
 
 "Very good. He made you. Who is he?" 
 
 "I won't tell you," she repeated obstinately. 
 
 Tim gave a gesture of impatience. "We'll see about that 
 presently. Now tell me how you did it." 
 
 The girl hesitated. "You you'll not be hard on me, Mr. 
 Curtis?" she asked unsteadily. 
 
 "Not if you tell the truth," he answered. He looked at 
 her. Tears were very near her eyes; he was fearful of a 
 scene in public. "Come along into the inner room," he said 
 kindly. " 'Tis more convenient for a talk." 
 
 She rose reluctantly and followed him, evidently too 
 frightened to refuse. Tim secured the use of one of the 
 little rooms at the back and motioned her to sit in the chair 
 by the window. 
 
 "Now," he said, stooping to pinch her cheek, "there's no
 
 THE BROKEN BUTTERFLY 235 
 
 call for tears. I won't harm you ; but be reasonable and tell 
 the truth. Where did you find the papers ?" 
 
 "I don't know, Mr. Curtis." 
 
 "Nonsense !" said Tim, sharply. "You must know." 
 
 "I don't, Mr. Curtis, on my soul I don't. First he bid me 
 get him my lady's writing box ; and then my lady's letter- 
 case, and then the key of her cabinet, and then her jewel- 
 casket. But he wouldn't tell me what he wanted and I don't 
 know what he took." 
 
 "Her jewel-casket?" asked Tim in surprise. 
 
 "Yes, Mr. Curtis, and then he sent me back for her gold 
 bracelet she puts under her pillow o' nights ; and I was so 
 afraid she would waken. But he didn't take that, I had to 
 put it back again." 
 
 "What the plague did he want it for?" muttered Tim. 
 
 "I don't know, Mr. Curtis, I don't know what he wanted. 
 Please, sir, let me go now, there's no more to tell." 
 
 "Oh, yes, there is, my pretty one. You must tell me the 
 name of the man whom you say made you do it." 
 
 "What will they do to him ?" she asked quickly. 
 
 "That is no affair of yours. Who is he?" 
 
 "I won't tell you. I won't ever tell you, so how you ask," 
 she said obstinately. "I'd do it again if he asked me." 
 
 Tim looked at her in desperation. 
 
 "You blessed little fool," he muttered. "I'll drag the truth 
 out of you by some means. See here, child, be reasonable. 
 This man's a rascal ; you must let him take his punishment. 
 What has he done for you that you should take his crime 
 upon your own shoulders or for the matter of that saddle 
 me with it? Did he give you money? I will double the 
 price. Is it kisses he bought you with? You owe him little 
 for that, they are cheap enough."
 
 236 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 She flushed angrily. "He loves me. Belike he'll make me 
 a lady." 
 
 He laughed scornfully. "Do you build on that, you silly 
 little creature? Can't you see, child, he only uses you? 
 When you cease to be of service to him he'll drop you into 
 the gutter. Can't you see Oh ! plague take the woman !" 
 He broke off savagely, staring helplessly at the girl's 
 obstinate back. 
 
 She sat with her elbows resting on the window sill, her 
 chin in her hand, staring out on the King's Mead. Tim put 
 his hand on her shoulder. 
 
 "If you won't tell me, will you tell Miss Winnington?" he 
 pleaded. 
 
 She shook her head. "I'll tell no one. I swore I would 
 not." 
 
 "You obstinate little devil !" he cried savagely, giving her 
 a shake. "I'll make you speak." Then he turned sharply 
 away and strode up and down the room, mastering his 
 temper. 
 
 Suddenly Martha started ; she dropped her hands to the 
 sill and leaning forward stared eagerly out of the window. 
 
 "Is that Miss Smallshaw?" she asked. 
 
 Tim glanced over her shoulder. "Yes," he said shortly. 
 "What do you want with her?" 
 
 Rory Winnington and Dorothy were riding side by side 
 across the King's Mead, their reins hanging loosely on the 
 horses' necks, their heads close together. 
 
 Martha drew a long breath. "She's very beautiful," she 
 muttered. 
 
 Tim gave a laugh of exasperation. "My good girl, keep 
 to the affair in hand. See here, my dear, if you'll tell me 
 this man's name you shall have " He paused to think of
 
 THE BROKEN BUTTERFLY 237 
 
 some object of feminine enticement. "You shall have the 
 prettiest gown in Bath." 
 
 Martha did not answer. She was breathing quickly, lean- 
 ing out over the sill with her eyes fixed on the two riders. 
 
 The King's Mead was deserted, save for these two, and it 
 was evident they had forgotten that walls have eyes and 
 considered themselves alone. They were a handsome couple, 
 well matched in every way, and obviously content with each 
 other's company. Rory- rode with his hand on Dorothy's 
 arm, his head bent low over hers, talking eagerly. Both 
 were laughing, but there was a blush on her cheek, a glint 
 in her eye, that bespoke an earnest undercurrent to their 
 conversation. From their attitudes and expression it 
 seemed that he was half pleading, half threatening, and she 
 laughing defiance of his threat. 
 
 Suddenly, just as they passed below Mason's window, 
 Rory gave a soft laugh of mischief, slipped his arm round 
 Dorothy's waist and kissed her cheek. She started back 
 with a laugh, whipped up her horse and cantered across the 
 meadow to the west gate, while Rory rode after her with a 
 smile in his eyes. 
 
 Timothy saw nothing of this comedy. He had flung him- 
 self desperately back into a chair, racking his brains for 
 further arguments to move the obstinate girl. He had never 
 in his life felt more helpless and was hard put to it to keep 
 hold on his temper, feeling his secret so near, yet so unat- 
 tainable. 
 
 Suddenly Martha threw up her head and turned to face 
 him. 
 
 "Mr. Curtis," she said shortly, "I'll tell you what you 
 want to know." 
 
 He stared at her in amazement. Her whole face seemed
 
 238 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 changed, its lines were sharp and pinched; the soft lips 
 of her pouting mouth were hard and set, the look in her 
 eyes was almost savage. 
 
 "I'll tell you," she said, "tell you all he has done to me, 
 and you may do to him what you will." 
 
 "Marvellous!" muttered Tim. "What the plague docs 
 this mean?. Is it the dress has caught her?" 
 
 "The man who bribed me is the same 
 
 He stopped her with a sudden thought. "Wait," he said, 
 "do not tell me yet. They must have no grounds for be- 
 lieving we've concocted the tale together. Come with me 
 now to Miss Winnington and tell me in her presence." 
 
 "Miss Winnington?" she said slowly and for an instant 
 her face softened. But only for an instant; it grew hard 
 and stern once more and she nodded. "They are all o' the 
 same feather," she muttered. "Yes, I will go with you, Mr. 
 Curtis." 
 
 "I will send for a coach," he said, fearful of losing her 
 again before she could reach St. James's Parade. His 
 heart was on fire to reach Celia's side and make her hear the 
 truth. Half an hour more and then who knows ? he might 
 hold her in his arms. 
 
 It was full fifteen minutes before the coach appeared. Tim 
 paced the room impatiently, looking anxiously at Martha, 
 lest she should show signs of relenting. But she sat passive, 
 staring moodily before her, and he was forced to call her 
 twice before she roused herself to follow him to the coach. 
 
 Rory Winnington, obeying Miss Smallshaw's imperative 
 command, parted from her at the west gate, and well pleased 
 with his morning, trotted through the streets, humming an 
 air, till he reached his brother-in-law's house in St. James's 
 Parade. He dismounted, threw the reins to a servant, and
 
 THE BROKEN BUTTERFLY 239 
 
 learning that Tracy was in his library, strode up the stairs 
 to join him. But as he passed the music room he heard 
 Celia's voice singing at the harpsichord, and pushing open 
 the door he entered on tip-toe to listen. 
 
 The words of her song were simple, composed by one of 
 the many minor poets of the day ; but the music had a tender 
 lilt, and she sang as though the words came from her heart : 
 
 "I made my dear a garland 
 
 To twine his brows above, 
 White roses for our faithfulness, 
 
 Red roses for our love. 
 He dropped it by the river, 
 
 And heedless let it lie, 
 So I have brought it home with me 
 
 To watch the roses die. 
 
 "I made my dear a promise 
 
 And sealed it with a kiss, 
 That all my life should be his joy, 
 
 His service all my bliss. 
 But Cupid never sanctioned 
 
 A bargain such as ours, 
 For he has ta'en my whole fond heart 
 
 And left me withered flowers." 
 
 Her voice died away on the last word, she bowed her head 
 down on the lid of the harpsichord and sat very still. 
 
 Rory crossed to her side and slipped his arm round her 
 neck. 
 
 "Celia," he said softly, "is the world going hardly with 
 you, sister mine?"
 
 240 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 She put up her hand to his and lifted her head. There 
 were no tears in her eyes, only a look of infinite weariness. 
 
 "Oh, Rory," she said, "I'm glad 'tis you. Stay and talk 
 to me ; I have the vapours." 
 
 He sat down beside her on the bench of the harpsichord. 
 
 "The vapours !" he said jestingly. "What ! Is the Queen of 
 Bath already wearied of her subjects?" 
 
 "Oh, Rory," she cried impatiently, " 'tis all so stale, so 
 wearisome. Day after day, the same compliments, the same 
 gallantries, the same jests. There is no truth, no virtue in 
 it all. What is the worth of such a life?" 
 
 "And yet, Celie, a week ago you were entranced with your 
 queendom ?" 
 
 She leaned her cheek against his hand with a little sigh. 
 
 "Was I? But that was a week ago." 
 
 He turned her face to his. "Sister mine," he said softly, 
 "is the Queen of Bath wearied all for lack of one of her 
 subjects?" 
 
 She flushed and dropped her eyes. Rory ran his fingers 
 softly over the keys of the harpsichord. 
 
 "Celia, would you have no charity for a spy?" he asked 
 abruptly. "No forgiveness?" 
 
 She shook her head. "How were it possible, Rory ? What 
 shred of virtue could he still possess ?" 
 
 "A spy has courage ; he carries his life in his hands." 
 
 "So does many an honest man." 
 
 "He might still love, child." 
 
 "And of what worth his love, tainted with dishonour? A 
 woman, winning such love, is cheapened by his homage. 
 Without his honour a man is stripped clean, indeed." 
 
 "Honour," said Rory slowly. "What is honour? This 
 man holds his honour what that man holds his shame. One
 
 THE BROKEN BUTTERFLY 
 
 will lie to save his honour; another kills for his honour's 
 sake. Every man prates of his honour, but every honour 
 has its price. With one 'tis gold, with another love. Who 
 shall judge?" 
 
 She shook her head and smiled. "Rory, vagabond ! I know 
 you too well to think you earnest now. Why ! 'twas you 
 who first taught me the worth men set on honour. Do you 
 remember? We were babies playing we were Desmond's 
 men. You were in hiding and I betrayed you to Laidie. 
 You would not speak to me for a week, you held my crime 
 so heinous. Since that day I have never, even in thought, 
 dared to play the traitor." 
 
 Rory looked at her with a wistful smile. 
 
 "Ah! Celie, those days of dreams are very far away." 
 
 She dropped her head back upon his arm. "If honour 
 were a dream, Rory, then I should pray God never to let 
 me wake. But it is no dream, dear. It is the one true worth 
 our spirits hold; let us lose that and we fall lower than 
 Lucifer." 
 
 There was a moment's silence. Then Rory rose to his feet 
 and crossed to the window. 
 
 "Celia," he said abruptly, "I do not believe Tim Curtis a 
 
 "You do not?" she cried quickly. "What reasons have 
 you?" 
 
 "Nay, tell me first the reasons to believe it." 
 
 "Lord Pelham himself has accused him." 
 
 "Pelham! Egad, child! Pelham's a minister. You'd sure 
 never hold him accountable for his words ?" 
 
 "But why should he accuse him falsely, unprovoked?" 
 
 "He has a quarrel with Curtis. Tim has a plaguy explicit 
 tongue on occasion."
 
 "But but, Rory, none else knew that Laidie had the 
 papers." 
 
 He laughed. "Tut! child, you cannot keep a secret so 
 close in this world. I'll lay a dozen folk knew of it. Why, I 
 knew." 
 
 "You, Rory?" 
 
 "Yes, but for that you do not dub me spy." 
 
 "Yet if it were not Mr. Curtis, who has stolen the papers ?" 
 
 "That I would give my left hand to find out. But if it be 
 Tim Curtis never again call me a judge of an honest 
 man." 
 
 She sighed. "Ah, well! 'tis like we shall soon be assured. 
 Tracy has promised to hunt the kingdom through till we 
 find Martha." 
 
 Rory turned and faced her. "Martha!" he said slowly. 
 "What should that pink-and-white piece of goods do in this 
 affair?" 
 
 " 'Tis only through her aid the papers could have been 
 taken." 
 
 Rory nodded. "So 'twould seem, if Laidie kept them so 
 close. So Tracy is on her track, eh?" 
 
 "Yes ; she alone can give us the clue. He has promised me 
 he will not rest till he has found her and learned the truth." 
 
 Rory eyed her a moment with a strange smile. Then his 
 face hardened. " 'Twould seem to me, sister mine," he said 
 sharply, "that you were better employed learning the value 
 of an honest gentleman's love, than in hounding on Tracy 
 to track some poor devil to his doom." 
 
 Celia flushed and threw up her head. " 'Tis a doom he 
 richly deserves, Rory." 
 
 "Deserves ?" he said sternly. "How know you what a man 
 deserves? Do you think one who throws away his honour
 
 THE BROKEN BUTTERFLY 243 
 
 walks so lightly without it ? I tell you, child, he pays to the 
 full the price of his freedom." 
 
 The door opened and Tracy entered hurriedly, an eager 
 light in his eyes. 
 
 "Celia," he said, "Mr. Curtis is below. He has found this 
 girl Martha and brought her here to clear him of sus- 
 picion." 
 
 Celia sprang to her feet with a little cry of j oy . 
 
 "Ah, Tracy! I knew, I knew he was innocent. Ah! but 
 we must ask his pardon, indeed, for this shameful insult. 
 Bring him up, Tracy, let let me speak to him." 
 
 Tracy eyed her doubtfully. "Wait at least, Celia, till we 
 hear what is the girl's story." 
 
 He stepped out on to the landing to bid the servant bring 
 up the visitors. Rory stood looking down at Celia with a 
 wondering smile in his eyes ; his face was flushed. 
 
 "You are still resolute, Celie, to hound this spy to punish- 
 ment?" he asked slowly. 
 
 She clasped her hands entreatingly. "Ah ! Rory, don't 
 hold me cruel. Indeed, indeed, I pity him. But Rory dar- 
 lint," she coaxed, "sure I must know the truth, for until he 
 is unmasked, Mr. Curtis bears his guilt." 
 
 He took her face between his hands and kissed it. "Go 
 your own way then, child, and may you never repent it." He 
 turned away as the others entered the room. 
 
 Timothy advanced to Celia with a face of triumph and a 
 look in his eyes that called the blush to her cheeks. 
 
 "Miss Winnington, I have found the truant. And I have 
 ventured to promise in your name that if she will tell us 
 for whom she stole Lady Wimbourne's papers you will re- 
 ceive her back into your service. Have I taken too much 
 upon myself?"
 
 244 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 Celia looked across at the girl. "No," she said gently ; "if 
 she tells us the truth she shall suffer nothing in conse- 
 quence." 
 
 "Come then," said Tim gaily, "out with it, Martha. Who 
 is the man?" 
 
 The girl stood silent, staring at Rory, who sat at the 
 harpsichord, with his back to the group, softly fingering 
 the keys. 
 
 "Come, girl, speak," cried Celia impatiently, "tell us his 
 name." 
 
 Martha threw up her head. "Yes," she said fiercely, "I'll 
 tell you his name, Miss Winnington. He's a bad heart to 
 treat a woman so." 
 
 She stopped suddenly. Rory had swung round on his seat 
 and was looking at her with a face of whimsical reproach. 
 There was neither anger nor menace in his glance, only a 
 half weary smile under his drooping lids and the familiar 
 mocking twist of his lips. 
 
 The others leaned toward her, waiting eagerly for her 
 words. 
 
 "Well, speak out, girl," said Tracy impatiently. 
 
 Without warning she covered her face with her hands and 
 burst into tears. "I'll not tell you," she said, "I'll not tell 
 you." 
 
 Timothy gave an exclamation of anger. "You little 
 baggage!" he cried. "Out with the truth at 
 once." 
 
 Tracy looked at him doubtfully. "Can not you tell us 
 yourself, Curtis?" 
 
 "No," said Tim, angrily. "Like a fool I would not let her 
 tell before. I would not have you think there was any col- 
 lusion." He put his hand on the girl's shoulder and gave
 
 THE BROKEN BUTTERFLY 245 
 
 her a little shake. "Now then. You promised you would 
 tell Miss Winnington. You shall speak." 
 
 She flung him off with a savage movement and turned on 
 him furiously. "Then I will speak. Sir Tracy, 'twas him, 
 'twas Mr. Curtis who made me steal. 'Twas him as took the 
 papers." 
 
 Rory swung round to the harpsichord, and ran a scale 
 up the keys. His face was crimson with suppressed 
 laughter. 
 
 Tim stood a minute absolutely silent, mastering his rage. 
 
 "You lying little jade," he said unsteadily. "How dare 
 you?" He looked round on the others eagerly. "Why, it's 
 clear she is lying. Should I have brought her here to tell 
 such a tale?" 
 
 "No," said Tracy drily. "Doubtless it was a very differ- 
 ent story she was instructed to relate." 
 
 Tim faced him squarely. "You believe her tale ?" he asked. 
 
 Tracy bowed. "It has the air of truth, Mr. Curtis." 
 
 Tim turned away with a hard laugh of exasperation. 
 "Then it seems I must seek a less convincing liar," he said 
 shortly. He glanced at Celia and his lip quivered. He 
 crossed to her side and looked her straight in the eyes. "Re- 
 member, Mistress Celia," he said softly, "I have still my 
 week." 
 
 Then he went quietly away. 
 
 There was silence for a moment after his departure. Then 
 Tracy beckoned Martha to follow him and left Rory alone 
 with his sister. 
 
 Celia stood silent by the window with averted face, staring 
 out into the sunshine with hard, tearless eyes. Rory rose 
 and put his hand on hers. 
 
 "An I were in your place, sister mine," he said softly, "I
 
 246 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 would not take the word of a jealous woman against that 
 of an honourable man. Let your heart speak, child ; I war- 
 rant its eyes see deeper than the world's judgment." 
 
 He kissed her lightly and left her alone. 
 
 Celia stood long where he had left her, with a hard look on 
 her face and a dull ache in her heart. 
 
 "What is the matter with me?" she cried helplessly. "The 
 sun shines brightly, the birds still sing, the flowers bloom 
 sweetly ; all the world is fair as ever, and I, only I, am flat 
 and stale and wearisome. Ah ! what ails me ?" 
 
 She stared out over the smiling landscape with quivering 
 lip ; then she dropped her eyes and started. On the window 
 sill, in the full blaze of the sunshine, close to the petals of 
 a climbing rose, was a large butterfly, his bright colours 
 shimmering in the light ; he was crawling painfully toward 
 the green of the rose-tree, dragging a broken wing. 
 
 With a little cry she sank on her knees, the tears stream- 
 ing from her eyes. 
 
 "Poor butterfly," she whispered, "poor butterfly ! You un- 
 derstand. The sun shines, the birds sing, the flowers bloom 
 sweetly; but you and I have broken our wings, we shall 
 never fly again."
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 "PAN'S FORTUNE" 
 
 THE nave of the Abbey Church on a fine Sunday in July, 
 with the sunshine slanting in from the high windows, upon 
 silks and satins of every conceivable hue, upon waving 
 plumes, flashing jewels, glittering sword-hilts and buckles, 
 and gleaming necks and arms, bore a strange resemblance 
 to a field of Dutch tulips after a passing shower of rain, 
 when each dew-filled cup flashes its shimmering colours back 
 at the sunbeams and, swayed hither and thither by the 
 breeze, pours out its heart in a wealth of perfume. 
 
 The congregation was never still; there was ever a rust- 
 ling, a whispering, a clanking of swords ; the air was heavy 
 with innumerable perfumes and stirred by the waving of 
 multi-coloured fans. The grey walls made a fitting back- 
 ground to this blaze of colour. It was a gay assemblage, 
 and if some there deemed that they did God sufficient service 
 by occupying His house for an hour a week, perchance He, 
 who made them what they were, found pardon. 
 
 The congregation rose and rustled out into the sunshine, 
 spreading out like a wide fan across the Abbey Green, and 
 hastening toward the Orange Grove and the walks beyond. 
 
 "You are amazing impertinent, Mr. Winnington," laughed 
 Dorothy. "How dare you sit by me in the Abbey after 
 your behaviour yesterday?" 
 
 "Egad, madam! what did I do amiss?" asked Rory re- 
 proachfully. "Did you not bid me give you proof of my 
 courage? What greater proof were possible than to brave 
 your anger and steal what you withheld ?"
 
 248 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 "Thieves should be imprisoned, Mr. Winnington." 
 
 "Am I not already fettered by your eyes ?" 
 
 Dorothy looked at him almost wistfully. "Are you ever 
 serious, I wonder?" she sighed. 
 
 "Heaven f orf end, madam ! Never, save for the 
 morning hour after a merry night. I have not yet 
 found any affair worthy of serious thought except a 
 headache." 
 
 "Not even the wooing of a wife, Mr. Winnington?" asked 
 Lady Westerby. 
 
 "That least of all, madam. If she would not take me 
 laughing, I would not take her at all." 
 
 "Yet how should she know your meaning if you laugh at 
 your own vows?" 
 
 "Faith ! I'd marry her first and explain my meaning after- 
 wards." 
 
 "Indeed, yours will be a strange wooing, sir." 
 
 "A plague on your wooing! I would say," he turned to 
 Dorothy, "I would say: 'Look you, ma'am, I've a mind to 
 be married to you on Wednesday next at Gretna. Let it 
 be boot, saddle, to horse and away on Monday night at ten 
 o' the clock.' " 
 
 Lady Westerby laughed. "And should she refuse the 
 offer?" 
 
 "Why then, madam, I turn elsewhere. I hold with the 
 poet: 'If she be not fair to me, what care I how fair she 
 be?'" 
 
 "And you would expect a woman to entrust herself to your 
 care?" asked Dorothy slowly. "Surely you must deem the 
 sex crazy." 
 
 He turned and looked at her with a smile. "Egad ! madam, 
 were she afraid I would have none of her."
 
 PAN'S FORTUNE 249 
 
 "Methinks you are like to live and die a bachelor, 
 Mr. Winnington," laughed Lady Westerby, turning 
 away. 
 
 "Indeed, madam, there are worse fates," laughed Rory. 
 
 "You're monstrous ungallant," pouted Dorothy. 
 
 Rory stooped and looked into her eyes with a reckless 
 smile: "Well, madam, Gretna awaits you." 
 
 Dorothy laughed nervously. "Faith, sir, I prefer a less 
 tempestuous wooing." 
 
 "What! with Lady Westerby's headshakings over your 
 lover's improvidence and Lord Westerby's frowns at his 
 debts? With lawyers here and guardians there, and cere- 
 mony everywhere? Piff ! away with it all I'll have none of 
 it. But, Dorothy " he stooped again nearer, "the wide, 
 white road and the thunder of the hoofs and the rush of the 
 cold night air. Ten minutes alone with the worthy black- 
 smith, and then and then Dorothy ' 
 
 "Lud! then belike a headache, Mr. Winnington," she 
 laughed. 
 
 He joined in her laugh. "There are some matters, madam, 
 worth a headache, had a woman but the courage to believe 
 it." 
 
 "I do not lack courage," said Dorothy angrily. 
 
 "Then shall it be Gretna, madam?" 
 
 She laughed. "Methinks you said ten o' the clock on 
 Monday. There is time 'twixt then and now for you to 
 woo a dozen women, Mr. Winnington. Are we all to travel 
 north in company?" 
 
 "Faith ! it would be a merry journey," laughed Rory. "Yet 
 there is but one woman who boasts the courage to come with 
 me and I do not go to seek her despairing." 
 
 "You have amazing confidence," said Dorothy, frowning.
 
 250 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 "We leave it at Monday then, madam?" He laughed and 
 strode away to greet Lucy de Putren. 
 
 Lucy de Putren was leaning against the wall of the ter- 
 race watching Timothy Curtis, who was talking apart with 
 Lady Westerby. Timothy had taken his second banishment 
 from Celia's side very quietly. Perhaps his eyes were a 
 shade harder, his laugh a shade less ready, but he gave no 
 other sign of how bitter had been the disappointment of his 
 hopes. He had lost all clue to the personality of the spy he 
 sought to unmask, and was for the time at a loss which way 
 to turn in his search. It seemed hopeless to make another 
 attempt to extract her secret from Martha. Yet he had but 
 two days more of the week he had begged of Celia, and as 
 he watched her walk home from the abbey with Charles 
 Rathborne by her side, there was a look in his eyes as of 
 one who sees the closing of the gates of paradise. 
 
 Lucy de Putren marked his face and gave an impatient 
 sigh. 
 
 "Mr. Winnington," she said shortly, "an I were a man and 
 loved a woman I'd not waste my breath in sighing. What 
 ails Mr. Curtis, think you, that he hath lost all his cour- 
 age?" 
 
 "It seems the Fates have a quarrel against him, and he's 
 out o' court at Olympus. He has the devil's own luck just 
 now." 
 
 "Heaven pity him," sighed Lucy. 
 
 "I think one angel's pity would be enough for him without 
 troubling the whole hierarchy," laughed Rory. "Women 
 ask so much of a man." 
 
 "Women ! You mean Celia ? Mr. Winnington, I crave 
 your pardon for saying it, but Celia is a fool." 
 
 "Say rather a dreamer who will not stoop to pick up what
 
 PAN'S FORTUNE 251 
 
 the gods have thrown her because, forsooth, it hath lain a 
 moment in the dust." 
 
 "Lud ! a fool or a dreamer 'tis all one to me," said Lucy 
 sharply. "I've small patience with either. One moment she's 
 for flouting her friendship with him in the face of Bath, 
 and the next she is looking through him as though he were 
 nothing better than a scarecrow. If I were Tim Curtis I 
 would tell her plainly what I thought of such conduct." 
 
 "Give him your advice, madam," laughed Rory. "He is 
 plaguily in need of some." 
 
 "I will," said Lucy resolutely, stepping forward to inter- 
 cept Tim as he left Lady Westerby's side. 
 
 "Mr. Curtis," she said, " no man is meet to wed a woman 
 who has not courage to woo her." 
 
 Tim looked astonished at this sudden attack. He liked 
 Lucy de Putren and she knew herself privileged to speak 
 her mind. She turned and walked beside him. 
 
 "Mr. Curtis, when a woman sees a man grow grave for 
 love of a girl and the girl breaking her heart for lack of 
 him, surely, in the interests of a merry world, she should 
 bid him be wise in time." 
 
 Timothy turned and looked at her eagerly. "Breaking 
 her heart, madam ?" he asked quickly. 
 
 "Ay, breaking her heart or souring her temper 'tis one 
 and the same thing, the one is but the outward sign of the 
 other. I' Heaven's name, Mr. Curtis, what is the quarrel 
 between you and Celia?" 
 
 "She has been told on the most excellent authority that I 
 am a Government spy, madam, and believing that, what 
 should she do but scorn me?" 
 
 "Believing it yes. But why the murrain should she be- 
 lieve it?"
 
 252 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 "I cannot disprove it yet." 
 
 "Then teach her to trust you without proof. And mark 
 me, Mr. Curtis, you will never do that by holding aloof and 
 leaving her to those who believe you guilty." 
 
 "But, Lady de Putren, I have promised that I will not an- 
 noy her with my presence." 
 
 "You have promised ? Without doubt. Tell me, Mr. Cur- 
 tis, did she ask you for such a promise?" 
 
 "Why no, madam," said Tim, with a laugh of dawning 
 comprehension. 
 
 "I knew it !" cried Lucy triumphantly. "Oh, you men will 
 never learn wisdom. Go to her, Mr. Curtis, and teach her 
 you've a tongue as well as your accusers." 
 
 "Go to her ! Egad ! monstrous sage advice, but not so easily 
 obeyed. I am no welcome visitor at St. James's Parade." 
 
 Lucy gazed at the distant horizon, a mischievous smile 
 playing about her lips. "This afternoon Celia drives with 
 me to Beechen Wood. Are you like to walk in that direc- 
 tion?" 
 
 "Madam, never in my life was I more set on such a walk," 
 answered Tim, with twinkling eyes. 
 
 "Then we may chance to meet. And look you Mr. Cur- 
 tis, no cowardice. Play the rude Boreas and scatter the 
 clouds that would hide the light of your Moon." 
 
 As Celia drove out into the country with Lady de Putren 
 that afternoon, down the rose-bordered lanes to Beechen 
 Wood, for the first time her friend's high spirits and saucy 
 tongue jarred on her nerves. Lucy chattered unceasingly, 
 holding forth upon the follies of mortals in general and 
 women in particular; breaking ever and anon into a little 
 laugh of reminiscence or anticipation entirely inexplicable 
 to Celia.
 
 PAN'S FORTUNE 253 
 
 "It would seem I grow dense, Lucy," she broke out at last, 
 impatiently, "but what is there to call for laughter in your 
 story of that madcap, Delia Leslie ?" 
 
 "Child, there is cause for laughter in all mad doings. 
 Therefore let you and I be mad to-day, for it seems you 
 have forgotten how to laugh this week past." 
 
 Celia started. "Am I, indeed, so stale, Lucy? Nay then 
 I'll join any frolic you choose, so it be not selling oranges 
 in Old Drury like her Grace." 
 
 "Come with me to drink at Pan's well, and sigh our wishes, 
 then," said Lucy, promptly stopping the coach. " 'Tis but 
 over that stile and a few paces through the wood there. 
 We'll play Chloe and Phyllis. Maybe a country Colin will 
 come our way and we will win his heart for sport. Come, 
 Celia." 
 
 "You are mad, Lucy," said Celia reluctantly, alighting 
 from the coach. "But if you will have it so be quick. Where 
 is this well you speak of?" 
 
 Lucy led the way down one of the narrow green glades of 
 the wood till they reached a small, moss-carpeted clearing 
 in the centre of which was the well. It was sunk in the 
 ground, roughly built round with lichened stone work, and 
 bowered in climbing roses. Three old stone steps, hollowed 
 with age, led down to the water. Celia gave an exclamation 
 of pleasure. 
 
 "How lovely, Lucy! I vow 'tis a most romantic spot 
 for your Colin. How comes it I have never been here 
 before?" 
 
 "Oh! 'twas a vastly modish place last summer, but this 
 year 'tis out o' date. There have been no pilgrimages in 
 search of Pan's fortune." 
 
 "Pan's fortune?"
 
 254. THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 "Yes. Did I not tell you 'twas a wishing well? Whoso 
 drinks and cries on Pan shall have his wish." 
 
 She tripped down the steps, cupped her hand, and stooping 
 lifted the water to her lips. "Hear, O Pan ! for I come a 
 most unselfish petitioner. Grant that a maid may know her 
 mind and that the Moon may cease her multitudinous 
 changes." She lifted a mischievous face to Celia as she 
 remounted the steps. "Now, Celia, 'tis your turn. Drink 
 and wish. Pan will hear, though you wish in silence." 
 
 Laughing, half against her will, Celia stepped down to the 
 water and drank. Then she leaned further over the well 
 and resting her hand on the stone wall gazed long down at 
 her own reflection in its depths. 
 
 "How clear it is. One would almost hope to see the goat- 
 footed god sitting in the deep, but 'tis only one's own face. 
 There's an allegory in that thought, Lucy, had one but the 
 wit to work it out. I shall offer the fancy to Mr. Walpole 
 when we go back to town." 
 
 There was no answer save the soft rustling of the leaves. 
 Celia looked round ; Lucy had disappeared. 
 
 Celia turned back to the water and waited for her friend 
 to return, supposing she had wandered further down the 
 glade. The minutes passed ; she did not reappear. 
 
 Presently Celia rose and walked after her, calling her 
 name, puzzling over her disappearance. 
 
 "Faith ! 'twould seem the madcap hath met her Colin," she 
 muttered impatiently. She could find no sign of Lucy and 
 retracing her steps hurried back to the road where they had 
 left the coach. The road was empty; coach, grooms and 
 Lady de Putren herself had all disappeared ! 
 
 Celia gazed blankly around. She was alone in the wide 
 smiling landscape, not a living creature was in sight. It
 
 PAN'S FORTUNE 255 
 
 was evident that Lucy had deserted her, for what mad pur- 
 pose she could not conceive. She was very angry, but she 
 had no mind to tramp back to Bath alone ; she would wait 
 until it pleased some one to find her. She sat down stiffly by 
 the roadside, but the sun beat down fiercely and the dust was 
 unpleasant. Presently she rose and went back into the wood, 
 and sitting on the stone wall of the well, resumed her medi- 
 tations upon her allegory, varied by indignant musings 
 upon the meaning of Lucy's frolic. 
 
 The wood was very quiet ; ever and anon the soft whistle 
 of a bird broke the stillness, and always the rustling leaves 
 whispered the secrets of nature. But it was evident that she 
 was quite alone. The silence almost frightened her ; it seemed 
 so fraught with mystery. 
 
 Presently, far down in the depths of the wood, a twig 
 snapped sharply, and a rich, baritone voice broke suddenly 
 into song: 
 
 "Oh ! Pan has a kingdom and blithe is his sway, 
 They know no regret who his ruling obey, 
 For hope is his counsel and joy his command, 
 And youth the reward we receive at his hand. 
 Though faces be furrowed hearts cannot grow old, 
 'Neath the sway of his sceptre no future looks cold; 
 But fear he must scorn and all prudence must ban 
 Who'd taste Fortune's cup in the kingdom of Pan." 
 
 The words died away, but the music still lilted merrily in 
 a low whistle; the bushes behind the well were parted and 
 Tim Curtis stepped out into the mossy circle. 
 
 He started to find Celia alone, and his eyes gleamed gladly. 
 
 "Good-evening, Miss Winnington," he said gaily. "What 
 brings you here at this hour, and alone?"
 
 256 
 
 Celia rose to her feet and faced him, crimson with indig- 
 nation. She understood now the meaning of Lucy's deser- 
 tion and raged to think that any man should have dared to 
 lay such a plot to take her unawares and force his com- 
 pany upon her. 
 
 "Methinks, Mr. Curtis," she said coldly, "there is but 
 small need to pretend such amazement. 'Tis evident you 
 looked to find me here." 
 
 He faced her with an amused twinkle in his eyes. 
 
 " 'Tis true, madam, Lady de Putren told me at noon that 
 she and you would drive this way to-day. But 'twas she 
 I looked to find here." 
 
 "Then you must look elsewhere, sir," said Celia shortly. 
 "Lady de Putren has gone." 
 
 "Gone? And left you alone? How so?" 
 
 "It's very like you know the explanation better than I do," 
 she answered angrily. "When my back was turned she 
 drove away and left me alone." 
 
 Timothy laughed softly. He crossed the clearing and sat 
 on the stone wall of the well. 
 
 " 'Pon my honour, madam, I had not expected this most 
 base desertion. I am in like case. Rory vowed to meet me 
 here with his curricle at four of the clock, and here's no 
 sign of him. So here are we two marooned five miles from 
 Bath, with no help in sight. What is to become of us, 
 madam ?" 
 
 Celia eyed him indignantly. "For my part, I do 
 not anticipate that Lady de Putren will long delay her 
 return, yet if she does I I shall drive home with 
 Rory." 
 
 "And leave me to bear my fate alone? Madam, you are 
 no true comrade in misfortune."
 
 PAN'S FORTUNE 257 
 
 She did not answer, but stood stiffly awaiting his depar- 
 ture. Timothy smiled at her whimsically. 
 
 "Might I propose, madam, as we may yet have some time 
 to wait our rescue, that you should sit?" 
 
 Celia seated herself angrily on the further side of the 
 wall. 
 
 "I was about to propose, Mr. Curtis," she said haughtily, 
 "that you might conceivably find a seat elsewhere, where 
 your presence would be less irksome to me. The wood is 
 wide." 
 
 "Faith ! madam, I regret if the sight of me disfigures the 
 landscape for you," he answered, smiling. "Yet 'tis a 
 fault easily remedied." He crossed to her side and leaned 
 on the wall behind her. "Now, madam, if you will turn 
 your head but a little so you will not notice my pres- 
 ence." 
 
 Celia gave a little gasp of amazement at his coolness. 
 For a moment her lips twitched; but she repressed her de- 
 sire to laugh. She was still very angry. 
 
 "You are amazing impudent," she said shortly. "Why do 
 you not respect my wishes and leave me?" 
 
 "Ah, madam, in Bath you are queen, and we obey your 
 behests. But here we have strayed into the kingdom of 
 Pan, and bow to his rule alone." 
 
 "Then am I to be put to the inconvenience of awaiting 
 Lady de Putren in the roadway?" she asked coldly. Yet 
 she made no motion to rise and leave him. 
 
 "The Fates have thrown us together, madam," he con- 
 tinued gaily, "at the foot of Pan's throne. What shall we 
 ask of the god?" 
 
 "I have already asked you to leave me, Mr. Curtis," she 
 said haughtily.
 
 258 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 "Faith! madam, it's not of me you must make request 
 here. I am a subject of Pan and can but do his bidding." 
 
 "That is to be regretted since his bidding seemingly forces 
 you to such unmannerly conduct." 
 
 "Ah, madam ! don't flout the god in the heart of his 
 kingdom, or who knows what evil may come of it? You 
 and I, madam, must speak him fair, and then, who knows? 
 We may taste of 'Pan's fortune.' Do you know what is the 
 secret magic of this well?" 
 
 She did not answer. Her white hands lay still upon her 
 knee; her whole attitude expressed rigid disapproval. 
 Timothy eyed her back with a whimsical shake of his head. 
 
 "At a certain hour, madam," he continued slowly, "none 
 know surely which, but 'tis held to be when the sun steals 
 through the shade and crimsons the water with his kisses, 
 a magic falls upon this spot. He who then draws near to 
 taste of the water forgets the past, thinks not upon the 
 future, but lives for one short hour in the glory of the 
 present, heeding naught besides. That, madam, is 'Pan's 
 fortune.' 'Tis given to few mortals to dare to taste its 
 sweetness." 
 
 She turned her head a little and stared down at the water, 
 flushing in the low rays of the sun. 
 
 "See, madam," he whispered, "it crimsons. The hour has 
 come." 
 
 He passed behind her, and stepping down to the 
 well stooped and drank. Then he took out his gold 
 snuff-box, threw out its contents, washed it out and 
 filled it with clear water. He turned and held it out to 
 her. "Drink, madam," he pleaded. "Taste of 'Pan's 
 fortune !' " 
 
 She took it and laid it on the wall beside her. "Mr. Cur-
 
 PAN'S FORTUNE 259 
 
 tis," she asked slowly, "did you plot with Lady de Putren 
 to trap me here alone?" 
 
 He looked at her with a little smile of reproach. "That is 
 the past," he said whimsically; "I have drunk and forgot- 
 ten." 
 
 She turned away with a helpless gesture of impatience. 
 Tim picked up the snuff-box and handed it to her again. 
 
 "Do you fear to drink, madam?" he asked, smiling into 
 her eyes. "Do you fear to forget the past and the 
 thought of the future?" 
 
 She rose and turned away. "Mr. Curtis," she said un- 
 steadily, "you forget your situation and mine. You for- 
 get the conventions. Were you more chivalrous you would 
 take pity on the the embarrassment of my position and 
 leave me alone. A woman cannot dare not forget her 
 world." 
 
 "Dare not ?" He put his hand gently on her shoulder and 
 drew her back to her seat. 
 
 "You and I, Mistress Celia," he said softly, "are two chil- 
 dren who have lost our way in a wood. The world is that 
 wood, and we have gone astray in it, and stand weeping be- 
 cause our path has grown so dark, and the light of love has 
 left us, and we cannot see our way. And all the time, 
 Mistress Celia, our nurse dear Mother Nature is 
 calling to us to come back to her again. But we are 
 afraid." 
 
 She lifted her hands and clasped them beneath her chin. 
 Her eyes widened with thought. 
 
 "Yes," she said slowly. "We are afraid." 
 
 "Because we have wandered far into the wood, and the 
 briars of convention bar our passage, and the thorns of 
 slander tear our clothes, and Mother Nature's voice, bid-
 
 260 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 ding us take courage, is very faint and far away. But let 
 us put trust in one another. Let us take hands and run 
 back from the terror of this wood, following the guidance 
 of our own hearts, and step out again into the sunshine to 
 Mother Nature's arms." 
 
 He took her hand gently ; she let it lie in his. "Are you 
 still afraid, Mistress Celia?" he asked softly. 
 
 "Ah !" she whispered, "they told me you had the tongue of 
 angels." 
 
 His face flushed with sudden anger, but he checked the 
 outburst. "Madam, be careful, you are letting the thorns 
 of slander blind your sight," he said whimsically. "It is 
 not my words but your heart I would have you obey. We 
 cannot win from the wood alone, Mistress Celia; we must 
 trust one another. Are you afraid?" 
 
 She sat silent; he watched her face with a passionate 
 eagerness. Suddenly she threw up her head proudly and 
 turned to him a face alight with love. 
 
 "No," she said proudly, "I am not afraid. If I love you 
 surely love may pardon even dishonour." 
 
 He took both her hands in his and looked her squarely in 
 the face. "No, madam, not so. Dishonour would kill love. 
 If you love me you must trust me. I will have naught 
 else." 
 
 "You you won't have my love?" she faltered. 
 
 "I will have your trust first." 
 
 Tears darkened her eyes. She turned away. "I cannot, I 
 cannot yet," she cried. "I would so fain say I do trust 
 you ; but it would not be the truth. I only know that for 
 good or evil I love you." 
 
 A shadow of disappointment crossed his face. He 
 dropped her hands.
 
 PAN'S FORTUNE 261 
 
 "So we must still wander on into the wood, madam," he 
 said drily, "seeking more courage." 
 
 She bowed her head with a helpless sob. He wavered. 
 Then his eyes fell on the snuff-box. A queer smile crossed 
 his face. 
 
 "You cannot forgive the past, you cannot trust the fu- 
 ture," he said slowly. "Mistress Celia, have you courage 
 to forget both for an hour? Dare you taste 'Pan's for- 
 tune' and lose recollection of all save the sweetness of the 
 present? Can you trust me so far?" 
 
 For a long minute she looked into his eyes. Then with 
 a little doubting laugh she raised the cup to her lips and 
 drank. Turning to him she held out her hands in gesture 
 of surrender. "For an hour," she said softly. 
 
 He put his arm round her and kissed her. Then, with 
 his arm still about her, they sat down on the wall together 
 and she dropped her head back on his shoulder with a sigh 
 of absolute content. 
 
 So they sat while the sun crimsoned the horizon and the 
 shadows of the trees grew longer and longer across the 
 mossy sward. They did not talk much ; the song of the 
 birds and the whisper of the leaves spoke all they had to 
 say. Only they tasted to the full the sweetness of Pan's 
 magic and were at peace. 
 
 At last Timothy lifted up his head; he heard the sound 
 of wheels far down the road. He kissed her once more and 
 rose to his feet. 
 
 "The hour has passed, Celia," he said, "and memories 
 return." 
 
 She looked up, and she, too, heard the wheels. She met 
 his eyes and suddenly flushed crimson. "Ah," she cried, 
 "what have we been doing?"
 
 262 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 He smiled at her reassuringly. "Daring to dream. This 
 has been our hour, dear, and come what may now, I, for one, 
 have sighted heaven." 
 
 But the look of distress deepened in her eyes. 
 
 "Ah!" she cried, "surely I have been mad, mad! I 
 forgot all all save ! What have I done ? How 
 could I?" 
 
 "Magic, Mistress Celia," he laughed softly. " 'Pan's 
 fortune.' " 
 
 She turned away with her white hands clasped tightly. 
 
 "What must you think of me?" she muttered. "Sure you 
 must indeed despise me now." 
 
 "No, no, dear," he said quickly. "Don't spoil the 
 memory of our hour. I think of you now, as always, as 
 the bravest and sweetest among women ; one who dares to 
 dream and yet whose dreams are pure." 
 
 "And to-morrow?" she asked. 
 
 "In truth the hour has passed," he said, smiling wistfully, 
 "if the shadow of to-morrow falls already on our path. 
 Never fear, dear, you shall have no after regrets. Either 
 I will prove myself worthy the love you have given me or I 
 will see you no more." 
 
 When Lucy de Putren, with a guilty face, hurried back 
 to the wood for Celia, she found her alone, sitting as she 
 had left her, her hands in her lap, gazing down at the dark 
 water. For amoment she was disappointed, and muttered 
 an exclamation against the folly of man. Then her eyes 
 rested upon a gold snuff-box in the girl's hand, and she 
 broke into a mischievous smile. 
 
 "Come, Celia, surely you've forgiven my frolic," she said 
 coaxingly. "Did you catch a Colin, eh?" 
 
 Celia made no answer. She rose, and slipped her hand
 
 PAN'S FORTUNE 263 
 
 through her friend's arm and looked round with a wistful 
 smile. 
 
 "Let us go home, Lucy. The light is dying, and the wood 
 the wood is very lonely now." 
 
 As she drove homeward with her silent companion Lucy 
 grimaced dismally out into the darkness. 
 
 "A body might expect a word of confidence or grati- 
 tude," she mused. "But, oh dear, no ! not one. 'Tis mon- 
 strous dull playing the Fates to a woman."
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 THE CLUE 
 
 MORE resolute now than ever to unmask the man whose 
 guilt he bore, Timothy, as he trudged home to Bath, racked 
 his brains for a clue to the mystery of the stolen papers. 
 But no light came to guide his search. He half repented 
 his chivalrous promise to Celia to redeem his parole should 
 he be unable to prove his honesty ; for the week he had de- 
 manded expired on the Tuesday evening ; only two days re- 
 mained to him in which to discover the spy. The difficulty 
 of the task appalled him, but he did not lose hope. Three 
 people knew the secret, from one of those three he could 
 surely extract the truth. 
 
 His first thought was to post to London, beard Lord Pel- 
 ham and learn from him the name of the man who served 
 him. But he speedily dismissed this plan ; his last inter- 
 view with that minister, in which he rejected the proffered 
 bribe, had been marked by so acrimonious a tone that he 
 was by no means inclined to risk a second. He shrewdly 
 suspected that only his relationship to Lord Westerby saved 
 him from a more open vengeance than that which Pelham 
 had already taken. Nevertheless, he abandoned this scheme 
 with regret; he felt he could have expressed himself very 
 forcibly on the subject of his lordship's conduct. It was 
 not to be expected that Pelham should intrust the true name 
 of his spy to Sir Thomas Winnington (that minister as 
 generally untrusted as he was universally beloved), but it 
 was an action worthy of his peculiar genius to throw the
 
 THE CLUE 265 
 
 onus of the dishonour on the man who had scorned him for 
 proposing that dishonour. 
 
 From Lord Pelham Timothy turned to the maid, Martha, 
 debating the advisability of a second appeal to her. But 
 he knew no fresh entreaty or threat to move her; further 
 argument with her seemed waste of time. 
 
 There remained only Josiah Smith. Timothy had already 
 once run up against the stone wall of his honour, his only 
 hope now was to surprise the secret out of him. 
 
 With this end in view, he set out early on Monday morn- 
 ing in search of Josiah. He did not know where the man 
 lodged, but knew enough to feel sure that he could exact 
 what information he chose from Mr. Cogswell, that re- 
 doubtable trimmer. Accordingly, he bent his steps toward 
 Gay Street in pursuit of the mayor. 
 
 It was yet early and the streets were quiet. Here and there 
 a rosy-cheeked maid was scrubbing steps and polishing 
 knockers, while a man whistled her a serenade from a 
 neighbouring area. The morning was hot and most of the 
 windows were open, but a fresh breeze fluttered the curtains 
 and curled the dust in little spirals of cloud along the 
 street. As Timothy turned into Quiet Street, a sharp puff 
 of wind almost carried away his hat. At the same moment, 
 the breeze caught the curtain of an upper window of a 
 house a few yards in front of him ; the curtain bellowed in- 
 ward and then flew out through the casement, sweeping in 
 its folds a sheet of paper which eddied a circle or two in the 
 air and then descended to the ground at Timothy's feet. 
 
 Timothy stooped mechanically to pick it up. He looked 
 up at the casement but no head appeared ; evidently its loss 
 had not been marked. He turned it over to see whether it 
 were of sufficient importance to justify his ringing at the
 
 266 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 bell and returning it to the owner. It proved to be a half- 
 finished letter in a bold feminine handwriting. 
 
 "Dear Myra," it ran, "I am half crazy with fears. If 
 Heaven send not help by Monday night I can endure no 
 more. A black-hearted scoundrel writes me 
 
 Here the letter broke off abruptly ; it would seem the writer 
 had been interrupted or had no heart to finish her corre- 
 spondence. There was no explanation, no signature 
 only this desperate cry of helplessness from a woman's 
 breaking heart. 
 
 Timothy stared at the letter and then looked up again at 
 the house. All was quiet, undisturbed. No face appeared 
 at the casement, no voice broke the stillness. The street, 
 too, was deserted, Timothy stood alone in the sunshine with 
 the letter in his hand. 
 
 He was puzzled what course to pursue. He could not en- 
 dure the thought of handing in that letter at the door to 
 be inspected by prying eyes of maid and footman ; he would 
 not leave it where it had fallen to carry its story to every 
 curious passer-by. 
 
 He threw one more glance up at the house. It looked so 
 calm, so quiet, so respectable with its air of comfortable 
 prosperity, and yet somewhere behind those grey walls a 
 woman was breaking her heart in fear lest help should not 
 come. What manner of help, he wondered, did the writer 
 seek? Was it a woman's pity or a man's sword? Who was 
 she to be so void of friends that even hope had deserted her ? 
 
 As he passed the grey house in Quiet Street, suddenly he 
 heard a lute thrummed somewhere in the upper story; the 
 contrast between this merry sound and the heart-broken 
 words of the letter struck him afresh with pity. Was the 
 writer tortured by that merry tune? Or was she, in des-
 
 THE CLUE 267 
 
 perate struggle to hide her misery, the player beating out 
 the music with trembling hands and aching heart? 
 
 He had affairs enough of his own on hand, yet two days 
 remained to him in which to fulfil them ; this woman had 
 but a dozen hours. "If Heaven send not help What 
 help? The letter spoke of a black-hearted scoundrel; he 
 longed to cross that scoundrel's blade. 
 
 It might be that the woman was young and lonely, with 
 no man in all that wide city of Bath in whom she could 
 place her trust. It might be she went in fear of a bully 
 for lack of a sword to silence his threats. 
 
 "If Heaven send not help " And the letter had fallen 
 at his feet ! 
 
 Without pausing to map out his course of conduct, acting 
 only on the impulse of the moment, Timothy paused before 
 the grey house and rang the bell. The maid who opened 
 the door betrayed no surprise at seeing him, but in response 
 to his request to see her mistress ushered him at once up- 
 stairs into the very room from the window of which the 
 letter had fallen. 
 
 Once in the house a sudden embarrassment fell upon him, 
 he had not a notion how to proceed with his undertaking. 
 He was conscious of a certain impertinence in his presence 
 there at all. 
 
 "If she deny her confidence," he muttered, "it will be, 
 bedad, awkward. I can but crave pardon and retire." 
 
 The music of the lute stopped suddenly and there was a 
 short silence. Then a skirt rustled along the corridor, the 
 door opened, and Delia Leslie entered the room. 
 
 It was impossible for any one living in Bath not to have 
 heard of this woman's doings; and Timothy was no ex- 
 ception.
 
 268 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 As she advanced to meet him with smiling lips and the 
 coquettish glance the woman in her could not restrain, he 
 noticed that dark rings were round her eyes, and her smile 
 was hard and forced. Assuredly, she was in trouble. 
 
 He drew out the letter and handed it to her. "I have 
 come to restore your property, madam." 
 
 She snatched the paper eagerly and glanced at it, then a 
 look of bitter disappointment crossed her face. She gave 
 a quick sigh, crumpled it in her hand and tossed it into 
 the grate. 
 
 "Is that all ?" she muttered. "I had hoped" She 
 stopped and eyed him curiously. "Where did you find it, 
 sir?" 
 
 "It fell from the window at my feet, Mrs. Leslie. I 
 thought it best to return it to you in person." 
 
 She nodded. "Thank you," she said absently; "I am 
 vastly obleeged." 
 
 She stood waiting for him to take his leave. Something 
 in the despondency of her attitude gave him fresh 
 courage. 
 
 "Madam, I read your letter," he said simply, "and I 
 have a sword. If you require help, I beg you hold me at 
 your service ; if not, I take my leave." 
 
 She lifted her head slowly and faced him. 
 
 "You would help me ?" she asked slowly. 
 
 "I am here to put myself at your commands." 
 
 "But why? Why?" she murmured amazedly. 
 
 "The letter fell at my feet," he said simply; "I learned 
 you had need of help." 
 
 She drew a deep breath and looked at him curiously. 
 "We we have never been much acquainted, Mr. Curtis." 
 
 "What has that to do with the matter, madam? I hold
 
 THE CLUE 269 
 
 that a gentleman's sword should always be at the service 
 of a woman in distress." 
 
 "And you have come here to offer your help without 
 reservation without condition?" she asked slowly. 
 
 "If you will honour me by accepting it." 
 
 Her eyes filled with sudden tears. "I don't under- 
 stand," she said softly, "but Heaven knows I need the 
 help you offer. I have sought Bath for such a man as 
 you, and failed to find him. There were always 
 conditions." 
 
 "Surely not, madam," he said gravely. "Sir Victor Poin- 
 son?" 
 
 Her face softened. "Ah! he indeed were different. But 
 I could not tell him my trouble." She paused, and then 
 continued quickly. " 'Tis a case of blackmail, Mr. Curtis. 
 Ah ! I've been crazy. 'Madcap Delia Leslie,' they call me, 
 and I live up to my reputation. But this affair was so 
 long ago, when Mr. Leslie lived. I I was wed at sixteen, 
 Mr. Curtis ; do not blame me. I could not love my husband. 
 He my lover he was an adventurer and abused my youth. 
 Then he held my letters over me and lived on my bounty 
 till death took him. I could not trace the letters, but heard 
 no more of them and hoped the affair was dead. And then 
 the very day after I am affianced to Sir Victor these 
 letters come again to haunt me." 
 
 "Who holds them, madam ?" 
 
 "I do not know. The man writes from the 'Cock and Bull' 
 tavern. He threatens that if I fail to meet him to-night 
 at nine o' the clock with 300 guineas, he will expose me. 
 But I have not a half the sum. I have lost so heavily at 
 whist of late, and I knew not how to raise it alone. I was 
 writing as you see to Lady Martin, but she is ill, and fur-
 
 270 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 ther, how could a woman assist? But if you will help me, 
 perhaps you could go to the Jews and ' 
 
 "Nonsense, madam," laughed Tim ; "that's no way to meet 
 blackmail. If you pay once he will sponge you dry. A 
 horsewhip is what this scoundrel deserves." 
 
 "Ah ! no, I dare not risk refusal. I could not endure that 
 Victor should see my letters as he threatens." 
 
 "Never fear. He won't carry out that threat. 'Twoukl 
 ipoil his market." 
 
 She shook her head. "You don't understand, Mr. Cur- 
 tis ! 'Tis not to Victor he would take the letters. If I pay 
 not he will find a ready market elsewhere. I I have 
 enemies, sir, and many would gladly pay the sum to ruin 
 me with Victor." 
 
 Tim nodded thoughtfully. "I see. The rascal must be 
 silenced. But not with gold. Leave me to deal with him. 
 I'll keep your appointment " 
 
 "You cannot. He writes that I must go myself and alone 
 to the tavern with the full amount of money and show his 
 letter as token. If I fail to fulfil these conditions my let- 
 ters will be offered elsewhere. Ah! what can I do?" 
 
 Timothy stood a moment, silent. Then his eyes twinkled. 
 
 "Look you, Mrs. Leslie, we are of an even height. Have 
 you a long cloak and hood to spare me? I'll play the 
 woman and beard the fellow in your stead. Never fear, but 
 I will silence him by force or guile." 
 
 She gave a cry of excitement. "You would do that? 
 Will it be possible, Mr. Curtis?" 
 
 "Why not? 'Twill be dark, and there should be no need 
 to speak till I am closeted with the scoundrel. Give me his 
 letter, madam." 
 
 She drew it from her pocket and handed it to him. He
 
 THE CLUE 271 
 
 glanced at it and muttered an oath of astonishment ; the 
 handwriting was identical with that of the note which had 
 warned him of the plan to kidnap him. 
 
 He stared down at it in puzzled bewilderment. Who was 
 the writer? Adelaide, Dorothy, Celia? all his former con- 
 jectures were proved unfounded, they were not the women 
 to stoop to blackmail ; yet, if not one of these, who else had 
 learned the conspirators' plans and what was their object 
 in warning him? His heart beat eagerly. Surely if he 
 learned the key to this mystery he might find some clue to 
 the traitor he sought to unmask. It was a hope, slight, 
 elusive, but yet one clear chance to cling to in the vague 
 tangle of his suspicions. 
 
 Delia Leslie watched his face wonderingly. What is it, 
 Mr. Curtis?" she asked curiously. 
 
 He laughed. "Madam, you bring me luck. It seems that 
 in tracking your hare I cross a quarry of my own ; I also 
 have affairs with the writer of this letter." 
 
 "You know him?" 
 
 "Not yet, madam. I trust we shall become better 
 acquainted at nine o'clock to-night. And now the 
 cloak." 
 
 "You cannot carry it through the streets now ; I will send 
 it to your lodging later." 
 
 "So be it. I'll delay you no longer now. Rest assured, 
 madam, your anxiety is over, and you shall have your let- 
 ters to-night." 
 
 She laid her hand on his arm. "Mr. Curtis," she said 
 softly, "it is difficult for a woman to thank a man." 
 
 Timothy blushed with embarrassment. "There's no need, 
 madam; the bearding of a scoundrel is matter of vast en- 
 joyment. So in this I serve myself."
 
 272 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 "And you will not think too hardly of me in the future," 
 she pleaded. 
 
 "Good Heavens ! madam," he cried desperately, "who 
 made me a judge over women?" 
 
 She sighed. "Ah! Mr. Curtis, a guilty conscience is apt 
 to see judgment in every eye. I fear " 
 
 "Then you do wrong," he interrupted; "let the past go, 
 madam. Henceforth you will be accountable only to Vic- 
 tor Poinson." 
 
 Her face grew softer. "Believe me, Mr. Curtis, I'll prove 
 a loyal wife to him." 
 
 "There's not a doubt of it, madam," he answered gaily, 
 and took his departure, eager to end an interview that grew 
 embarrassing. 
 
 The hours dragged on for him until evening came. He 
 passed the time in an unavailing search for Josiah Smith, 
 but all his hopes now were bent on the interview before him, 
 it seemed so likely that the man who knew the conspirators' 
 plans and had cared to warn him was none other than the 
 man he sought. 
 
 When nine o'clock came he donned his woman's cloak and 
 hood and slipped quietly down Peter's Wynd to the "Cock 
 and Bull" tavern. He carried sword and pistol beneath his 
 cloak, for he judged the tavern no safe place for him 
 should his identity be discovered. His nerve had recovered 
 from the fears his capture had awakened, and the spirit of 
 adventure was strong upon him when he pushed open the 
 door of the tavern and entered with the mincing step and 
 furtive air he judged suited to the part he played. His 
 hood fell far over his face and he held his handkerchief to 
 his lips further to conceal his features. 
 
 The front bar of the tavern was empty save for an elderly
 
 THE CLUE 273 
 
 woman who sat knitting busily by the dim light of a rush 
 candle. She looked at him curiously, and for a moment 
 Timothy thought she penetrated his disguise, but if she 
 did she made no sign. She glanced at the letter held out to 
 her as a token of his errand, and with a nod motioned him 
 to follow her up the stairs. 
 
 Kis eyes gleaming with eagerness, his feet stumbling per- 
 petually over the long skirts of his cloak, Timothy obeyed 
 her gesture. She lighted him up to the narrow cupboard 
 staircase and down a short passage to a small room at the 
 back of the tavern, where a dim oil lamp burned on the 
 table. The room was poorly furnished; the low half -shut- 
 tered window looked into a narrow yard. 
 
 "Wait here," said the woman curtly. She shut the door 
 behind her and walked away. 
 
 Timothy waited for five minutes. His heart beat uncom- 
 fortably quickly. He felt under his cloak for his pistol 
 and loosened his sword in its sheath. If the old woman 
 had by any chance recognised him, he was trapped indeed, 
 and was likely to have need of all his wits and his sword- 
 play to effect escape. 
 
 At last he heard a step approaching the door and the tap 
 of a woman's heels. He pulled the hood closer round his 
 face and stood with his back to the light, awaiting her 
 entrance. The door opened and Martha Williams appeared 
 on the threshold. 
 
 Timothy made no motion of surprise ; he stood with bowed 
 head waiting for her to open the attack. 
 
 Martha eyed him superciliously and laughed. Then she 
 shut the door and, flinging herself into a chair, said, with 
 a ludicrous attempt at haughty insolence. 
 
 "So, mistress, you've come. It's to be hoped you have
 
 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 the gold with you, or you are like to have your journey in 
 vain. If you haggle over the price, there are others who 
 will pay it, I'll warrant." 
 
 Timothy, curbing his stride, crossed to her side and flung 
 himself at her feet in an attitude of supplication. His eyes 
 twinkled beneath the dark shadow of his hood. He laid his 
 right hand as it were pleadingly on both hers, and sud- 
 denly flung up his left arm and pressed his fingers tightly 
 across her lips. 
 
 "So, my pretty," he said, shaking back his hood, "it's 
 blackmail this time, is it?" 
 
 The girl stared at him, her eyes wide with fear and 
 astonishment. For a minute Timothy held her rigid, 
 then he cautiously moved his hand from her mouth, hold- 
 ing himself in readiness to prevent any attempt to 
 scream. 
 
 "Well, what have you to say for yourself?" he asked 
 blithely. "Say it softly, my dear, or I may be driven to 
 hurt you." 
 
 "What do you want, Mr. Curtis?" she gasped. 
 
 He eyed her sternly. "I'm here for Mrs. Leslie, whom 'tis 
 plain you expected. You must give up the letters of hers 
 you hold." 
 
 "Have you the money?" she asked eagerly. 
 
 "There will be no question of money, my dear," he an- 
 swered coolly. 
 
 "Then you won't get the letters," she responded sharply. 
 "They are worth 300 guineas to Mistress Leslie, I'll war- 
 rant." 
 
 "They will be worth nothing at all to you in gaol," he 
 said menacingly. 
 
 She laughed. "You can't gaol me, Mr. Curtis; I know
 
 THE CLUE 275 
 
 that now. Mistress Leslie will not have the affair pub- 
 lished." 
 
 "Peste! You baggage!" he muttered. "You know more 
 than I bargained." He drew a bow at a venture. "There's 
 more than one indictment against you, my dear. When 
 did you steal Mrs. Leslie's letters?" 
 
 "I never stole 'em. That Tom Hunter lodged with my 
 aunt, and when he died she took his boxes to pay his account. 
 She gave me these letters ; she didn't know what to do with 
 them. But I never used them, Mr. Curtis, till I " 
 
 "Till you learned their value, eh ?" 
 
 "No, sir," she answered angrily, "till I needed the money. 
 Tell Mistress Leslie to pay my price and I'll give up the 
 letters." 
 
 Tim was nonplussed. He made a second attempt to 
 terrorise her. "I can have you gaoled for robbing Lady 
 Wimbourne if you won't be reasonable," he threatened. 
 
 Again she laughed scornfully. "Not you. Miss Win- 
 nington promised I should go free if I told the truth." 
 
 "And you lied like a trooper," he said angrily. 
 
 "Maybe," she laughed, "but Miss Winnington doesn't 
 know it." 
 
 Timothy's fingers itched to shake the girl, but he kept his 
 temper with difficulty. He was resolved to gain possession 
 of Mrs. Leslie's letters at all costs, but he wished also to 
 learn the name of the man the girl shielded ; he feared that 
 forcible measures which might possibly gain him the letters 
 would destroy all hope of success in his second undertaking. 
 Moreover, he wished, if possible, to avoid the hateful neces- 
 sity of maltreating a woman. He played his last card. 
 
 "There's one other matter, child, in which it seems your 
 pretty fingers have meddled," he said slowly. "How did
 
 276 
 
 you learn my life was in danger when you wrote to warn 
 me, eh?" 
 
 Her face blanched suddenly. "I never wrote to you," she 
 muttered. 
 
 "Lies are of small service, my dear, when the handwriting 
 tallies," he said coolly, tapping her letter to Mrs. Leslie. 
 "You wrote to me I wish to know at whose dictation." 
 
 "I'll not tell you," she said shortly, eyeing him furtively. 
 
 "Ah! but you shall, girl," he said, grasping her wrist 
 tightly. "Was it the same man who taught you to rob 
 your mistress?" 
 
 She winced under his grasp and set her little mouth obsti- 
 nately. "I'll tell you nothing. He saved your life." 
 
 "Hum ! We will say he did his best. But there are some, 
 Martha, who would owe him no gratitude for that. Some 
 who, if they knew what he had done, would make the con- 
 sequences to him demmed unpleasant, my dear." 
 
 She started. They were the very words Rory had used 
 when he warned her to keep the matter secret. A look of 
 fear crept into her eyes. Timothy noted it, and drove home 
 the thrust. 
 
 "You won't tell me his name, eh ? Well, I warrant there 
 are others who would have small difficulty in guessing it if 
 they knew you were his mouthpiece. Shall I tell them what 
 I know, Martha?" 
 
 She looked at him with frightened eyes. She could not 
 tell how much he knew, nor how much those other men of 
 whom Rory had warned her would guess, did they know 
 her the accomplice. The whole affair was a mystery to her ; 
 she only knew that Rory had bidden her keep secret at all 
 costs the fact that she had written the letter of warning to 
 Mr. Curtis.
 
 THE CLUE 277 
 
 Timothy watched her frightened face with rising hopes. 
 
 "Am I to tell them Sir Tracy, Lord Robert Dacre, and 
 the rest that it was you who spoiled their plan, eh?" he 
 asked. 
 
 She shook her head. "No," she muttered. 
 
 "Then you must be reasonable, my dear, and tell me this 
 man's name," he argued. 
 
 A look of suspicion crossed her face. "I'll not. You 
 would use it against him." 
 
 "What ! When he saved my life?" 
 
 She nodded. "You would. I'll tell you nothing." 
 
 "Very well, then I tell Sir Tracy what I know," he said, 
 turning toward the door. 
 
 She caught his hand. "No, no, Mr. Curtis," she cried, 
 "not that." 
 
 "Then will you be reasonable ?" 
 
 She hesitated. "I I'll never tell you his name," she 
 muttered, "but if you will keep close about my warning 
 you, I I'll give you Mrs. Leslie's letters for 100." 
 
 Timothy laughed. "For nothing, Martha. They are 
 useless to you. Who would believe in forged letters offered 
 for sale by a proved spy? You will give them to me for 
 nothing." 
 
 "You you're very hard, Mr. Curtis," she sobbed. 
 
 "Egad! my dear, not near so hard as you deserve," he 
 answered coolly. "Am I to have those letters ?" 
 
 She looked at him furtively, measuring his resolution. 
 Then she gave a sigh of helplessness. "Yes, you shall have 
 them, if you will give me your word you will not ask me 
 again to tell on the man who made me write to you." 
 
 Timothy hesitated. If he gave his word it would close 
 one channel to the truth he sought, for it seemed clear that
 
 278 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 the spy was the same man as the dictator of her letter to 
 himself. On the other hand, his hold on the girl was very 
 slight, it was a pure game of bluff that he played; if he 
 left her now he would lose all chance of gaining Mrs. 
 Leslie's letters. He had taken her service upon him; her 
 claims must come first. 
 
 "Very well," he said, "it is a fair bargain. I leave you 
 alone for the future if you give me those letters." 
 
 He held out his hand. Martha looked at him doubtfully. 
 Then she put her hand inside her bodice and drew from her 
 under-pocket two packets of letters. She held them from 
 him. 
 
 "You've given me your word, Mr. Curtis?" 
 
 "I have ; do you trust me?" 
 
 "Oh, yes," she said simply, "I trust you." 
 
 She handed him the letters. He looked at them carefully ; 
 they were in Mrs. Leslie's handwriting, but signed by some 
 love name. "Are these all, girl?" he asked sternly; "re- 
 member, if you play me false I have still power to break 
 my word." 
 
 She nodded. "You have them all. You you might give 
 me something for them, Mr. Curtis." 
 
 He laughed and pocketed them. "Were they your dowry, 
 eh? Well, here are three guineas and a deal more than 
 they are worth." 
 
 She took the money eagerly, seemingly content with her 
 bargain. 
 
 "You have my word not to trouble you further, Martha," 
 continued Tim, "but if ever you have a mind to tell me 
 who made you write that letter to me, 'tis information for 
 which I would pay you handsomely." 
 
 She shook her head. "I will never tell you, he "
 
 THE CLUE 279 
 
 She stopped suddenly and lifted her head to listen, her 
 face alight with eagerness. A step was approaching the 
 door. 
 
 Tim turned quickly. " 'Twill be the fellow himself," he 
 muttered. 
 
 The door opened and Rory Winnington appeared. 
 
 He looked from Martha to Timothy with a sharp, ques- 
 tioning glance, then he broke into his familiar low, mock- 
 ing laugh. 
 
 "Tim, Tim," he said, shaking his head reproachfully, 
 "you are poaching. This little piece of pink and white is 
 my preserve." 
 
 Tim did not answer. He stared at the girl, who stood gaz- 
 ing on Rory with a look of adoration in her blue eyes. 
 Rory crossed to her side and patted her cheek. 
 
 "She's a liberal little lady, Tim," he said, laughing; "and 
 a man does well to keep his hand and eyes on such, eh?" 
 
 Tim faced him squarely, a strange suspicion was growing 
 in his mind. "I'm here on business," he said shortly. 
 "I'm here to ask this girl who dictated the letter she wrote 
 warning me of Stavely's plot to kidnap me." 
 
 "Ah !" said Rory with interest, "and has she told you ?" 
 
 "No no," said the girl quickly, "I never " 
 
 Rory held up his hand, smiling. "Don't talk so fast, my 
 pretty, 'tis wearisome. Why do you want the information, 
 Tim?" 
 
 "Because I hold it will give me the clue to the spy whose 
 guilt I bear." 
 
 Rory laughed. "The wrong scent again, Tim. I dic- 
 tated the letter." 
 
 "You?" said Tim slowly. 
 
 Rory watched him closely. "Yes, I. You look plaguy
 
 280 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 surprised, Tim. It's not the only time I've wasted to save 
 you from the consequences of your er inquisitiveness." 
 
 "No," said Tim significantly, "it is not." 
 
 Suddenly Rory's manner changed. "Faith, Tim!" he 
 cried quickly, "what the mischief are you doing here at all ? 
 Haven't you yet learned what a plaguy unwholesome spot 
 this is for you ? Why, good Heavens ! You will have all of 
 them down on you in ten minutes. And I warn you if they 
 get their hands on you again there'll be no second oppor- 
 tunity for cat-walking on the tiles. They will shovel you 
 out of the world without waiting for a parson to smooth 
 your passage." 
 
 Tim's hand rested on his sword. "I know," he said 
 calmly. "I'll not be trapped again. I am going in a min- 
 ute " 
 
 "In a minute?" Rory shook his head. "You'll go now, 
 Tim, if you want to get out, and lucky you'll be to escape. 
 Did Rigby see you come in? He's marking you." 
 
 "He wouldn't know me if he did," said Tim, picking up 
 his cloak. "I came cloaked and hooded like a wandering 
 beauty." 
 
 Rory burst out laughing. "Faith, Tim, you go the pace ! 
 But that won't serve you with the others ; you stride like a 
 drunken ostrich. Come on with me, I'll take you out." He 
 slipped his arm through Tim's and pulled him toward the 
 door. Tim hung back. 
 
 "Wait," he said quickly ; "I want to know 
 
 "Whatever it be you must wait till to-morrow to ask it," 
 cried Rory impatiently, "or I warn you, you'll soon know 
 what all the philosophers on earth are seeking to discover. 
 Come on, man. Is Rigby below, Martha?" 
 
 "No ; there's no one there but the old missus."
 
 THE CLUE 281 
 
 Half unwillingly Tim yielded to Rory's insistence and 
 allowed himself to be hurried downstairs. The house 
 sounded strangely empty and deserted. At the door of the 
 tavern Rory peered out into the silent street and nodded 
 reassuringly. 
 
 "The way is clear. Now be off with you, Tim, and don't 
 put your inquisitive nose in here again. I'm devilish tired 
 of playing the nursemaid to you." 
 
 With a laugh Rory went back into the tavern and Tim 
 walked slowly away down the street, thinking deeply over 
 what had passed. He had gone a few yards when he saw 
 a man approaching through the gloom of the dimly lit 
 alley. With a new-born prudence he stepped back into the 
 shadow of a doorway, and waited till he should pass. The 
 man came within a few feet of his hiding-place and then 
 paused beneath a hanging lamp to study a paper he held 
 in his hand. The light fell upon his features and Tim 
 recognised Josiah Smith. 
 
 His first impulse was to hurry forward and accost the 
 man whom he had sought all day, but on second thoughts 
 he drew back into the shadow and waited. The study of 
 the paper, the furtive walk, suggested an appointed meet- 
 ing in the neighbourhood; Tim had a mind to learn with 
 whom Pelham's agent sought secret interview. It might 
 be that here lay the clue he sought. He resolved to spy 
 upon the spy. 
 
 Josiah passed along without noticing the lurking figure 
 in the doorway ; he was intent upon studying the fronts of 
 the houses. At the door of the "Cock and Bull" tavern he 
 paused, peered up at the sign, dimly lighted by the hang- 
 ing oil lamp, then entering quickly closed the door behind 
 him.
 
 282 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 Timothy stepped out of his concealment, his heart beat- 
 ing with excitement, suspicion deepening in his mind. He 
 stared up at the tavern. All the front windows were dark 
 with the exception of the bar, and that, he could see, was 
 empty. He turned down the passage at the side of the inn 
 and walked round to the back. A lamp still burned in the 
 room he had just quitted; he saw a girl's figure outlined 
 against the light. Presently she stepped to the window and 
 leaning her elbows on the lower half of the shutters stared 
 out into the darkness. He could not see her face, but he 
 guessed it to be Martha and from her attitude he concluded 
 she was alone. 
 
 He went back down the side of the tavern and now a light 
 appeared in an upper window looking on to the alley; in 
 all probability it was here that the interview was to be held. 
 
 A water-butt stood at the corner, and a gutter ran from 
 it along the wall some way below the lighted window. Tim- 
 othy marked it. He scrambled up the butt, grasped the 
 sill of a window above it, reached out to the shutter of the 
 next window and steadying himself by this crept along the 
 gutter, face to the wall, till he was on a level with the lighted 
 casement. Cautiously he lifted his head and peered into 
 the room. 
 
 The window was open and uncurtained; a high-backed 
 settle obscured his view of the occupants of the apartment, 
 but he could see their shadows thrown upon the opposite 
 wall. He was able to distinguish Josiah, who stood lean- 
 ing on a table; the other figure was evidently sprawling 
 back in a chair, his blurred shadow upon the wall was un- 
 recognisable. 
 
 Josiah was speaking when Tim reached the window. 
 
 "The arms are hidden in Madame Grieve's house, behind
 
 THE CLUE 283 
 
 the wainscot in the upper room? This is most valuable in- 
 formation, sir. We will have a raid on the place to-night. I 
 am to understand you will convey to his lordship the names 
 of those concerned in the conspiracy in a few days when the 
 list is complete?" 
 
 The second shadow nodded; he was evidently occupied in 
 lighting his pipe. Tim muttered an oath of impatience. 
 At any moment he might be observed from the street or 
 from a neighbouring window; he could not long hope to 
 maintain his post of observation. Yet until Josiah's com- 
 panion moved from behind the settle, or spoke, he had no 
 means of ascertaining his identity. Josiah spoke again. 
 
 "I am directed by his lordship to give you this, sir," he 
 said. A purse was handed across the table and pocketed in 
 silence by the man in the chair. Josiah drew a letter from 
 his pocket. 
 
 "Concerning the other matter about which you wrote me, 
 sir," he continued, "I do not think his lordship has any 
 third agent here in his employ. The letters you mention, 
 if indeed stolen, have been taken by some one working inde- 
 pendently. But for Mr. Curtis, I can assure you he has 
 no hand in this affair. The matter was broached to him 
 by Lord Pelham, and I understand he rejected the offer in 
 the most er the most offensive terms." 
 
 Then at last the second shadow drew his pipe from his 
 lips. A low laugh of amusement broke the silence. 
 
 "Egad!" he said, "I'd have given a fortune to hear the 
 interview between the foolish knave and the honest fool. 
 Curtis has a rare tongue." 
 
 Even as the words were spoken a sharp, rending sound 
 echoed down the alley ; the gutter on which Timothy stood 
 gave way beneath his weight, and he jumped backward just
 
 284 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 in time to escape a fall. He landed on his feet and turning 
 away ran up the alley under cover of the darkness. 
 
 He heard an exclamation from the window above, but he 
 did not look round. He had learned enough. The laugh, 
 the voice were unmistakable. Lord Pelham's spy was none 
 other than Rory Winnington.
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 THE HEART OF A SPY 
 
 AFTER his first fierce rage at the black treachery of the man, 
 Timothy found his anger against Rory evaporating. It 
 seemed impossible to urge against this lovable vagabond 
 the stern judgment merited by any man less openly unprin- 
 cipled and reckless. Moreover, Rory had persistently urged 
 his assurance of the other's innocence, and had twice risked 
 his life to save him. Had there been only himself to con- 
 sider, Timothy would have been almost persuaded to conceal 
 the secret he had discovered and leave Rory to the judgment 
 of his own conscience. 
 
 But his share in the affair was the least consideration. 
 After what had passed he owed it to Celia Winnington to 
 prove his honesty at all costs ; it would surely be chivalry 
 run mad deliberately to take on his own shoulders the guilt 
 of another man, even though that man were her brother. 
 He must unmask the traitor to the Jacobites, but he hoped 
 it might yet prove possible to keep the knowledge of Rory's 
 guilt from his sisters. 
 
 The fate of the conspirators lay in his hands at last. He 
 alone knew of the dangers that threatened them, the pro- 
 posed raid on Madame Grieve's house, and the betrayal that 
 hung over their heads. 
 
 Timothy was human. For ten days these men had treated 
 him with contumely, had plotted against his liberty, threat- 
 ened his life; there lurked a certain whimsical humour in 
 the thought that it was to him the Fates had intrusted the
 
 286 
 
 saving of their necks. Timothy undoubtedly found much 
 consolation in the possession of this eminently satisfactory 
 vengeance. 
 
 He realised that he had no time to lose if he would warn 
 the Jacobites. Though he now suspected that Rory's haste 
 to send him away from the tavern had been merely in order 
 to clear the way for Josiah, it was still probable the con- 
 spirators might visit the suspected house later in the even- 
 ing and be trapped. He waited only to despatch Mrs. 
 Leslie's letters by Simon, and then strode off to the Bear 
 Inn, where Charles Rathborne had his lodging. 
 
 He scarcely hoped to find Rathborne at his rooms, but 
 good luck attended him. Charles had just returned from 
 a rout, and was changing his coat preparatory to joining 
 a gaming party at the Christopher Inn. His face hardened 
 when he recognised his visitor, and he gave him curt greet- 
 ing. 
 
 "What are you seeking here, Curtis? I had thought you 
 had learned by this time to avoid our company." 
 
 "Like the devil when there are more than three of you 
 together," answered Tim coolly. "But, egad! I find one 
 or two of you at a time vastly refreshing company." 
 
 "What d'ye want?" asked Charles shortly. 
 
 "Merely to set your noses on the right scent for once. I 
 have told you till I am tired of telling that I'm not the 
 man you seek. Now I'm here to prove it." 
 
 "We are as weary of hearing your assurances as you pro- 
 fess to be of making them," answered Rathborne. "And 
 we are like to grow as weary of your proofs. Wimbourne 
 has told me of the affair last Saturday with the girl 
 Martha." 
 
 Tim sat down astride a chair and put up his glass.
 
 THE HEART OF A SPY 287 
 
 "Heaven has only blessed me with a limited amount of 
 patience, Charles," he drawled. "Don't draw too freely on 
 the store. Either listen to me now with reasonable cre- 
 dence, or I swear I'll hold my tongue and Jamie's boy may 
 whistle for your help." 
 
 "What do you mean?" asked Charles quickly. 
 
 "Pelham's agent has received information that certain 
 Jacobites have hidden arms and ammunition behind the 
 wainscot in Madame Grieve's house. The place will be 
 raided to-night." 
 
 "Damnation !" cried Charles, starting to his feet. 
 
 "Exactly," drawled Tim. "Plaguy annoying, isn't it?" 
 
 Charles strode across the room and faced him, his voice 
 was shaking with passion. "You hound ! You are the man 
 we have to thank for this. By heaven ! Curtis, I'll kill you 
 before another hour is past." 
 
 Timothy put up his hand soothingly. "You men of 
 Jamie's are so demmed hotheaded," he complained re- 
 proachfully. "Use your intelligence, Charles. If I had 
 betrayed you, should I be here now to warn you of the 
 raid?" 
 
 "Yes, when it is obviously too late to prevent it," an- 
 swered Rathborne sharply. 
 
 Tim stared at him a moment in silence. "Egad!" he said 
 admiringly, "you have the choicest conception of a villain, 
 Charles." 
 
 Rathborne turned away with an oath. Tim stretched out 
 his hand and tapped him on the shoulder. 
 
 "Don't you intend to profit by the warning? Are you 
 going to do nothing?" 
 
 "Do!" cried Charles savagely. "What is there to do? 
 We are ruined. We can't prevent the raid, and we cannot
 
 288 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 possibly move the ammunition now. It must go. Nothing 
 can be done." 
 
 "The others can be warned." 
 
 Charles shrugged his shoulders. "To what purpose? All 
 Bath wiU know in an hour or two. No one goes to the 
 house to-night, and it were wiser that Marie Grieve should 
 go as usual to-morrow. She will have no difficulty in prov- 
 ing her ignorance. It's well known she was only in the 
 place in the daytime." 
 
 Tim dropped his glass and swung it idly to and fro. 
 
 "It seems my news has fallen devilish flat," he said coolly. 
 
 " 'Tis monstrous discouraging to find such a plaguy lack 
 of interest taken in one's information." 
 
 Charles eyed him doubtfully. "Have you given Pelham 
 our names ?" he asked. 
 
 "// Have I?" cried Tim, exasperated. "My faith ! but 
 you try the patience of a saint. It's not I whom you need 
 fear. You've a traitor in your own company, and if you 
 don't lay him by the heels to-night he'll hand you all over 
 to Pelham for one thousand guineas." 
 
 "A traitor in our company !" cried Charles. "Nonsense ! 
 Whom?" 
 
 "Rory Winnington." 
 
 "Rory!" Charles fell back a step and stared at him in 
 absolute unbelief. "You accuse Rory of betraying us?" 
 He laughed suddenly. " 'Pon my soul, Curtis, I did not 
 believe even you capable of offering such a crazy tale for 
 our belief. Rory ! Why, he has been Tracy's right-hand 
 man in the affair from the beginning. He was down at 
 Bristol all March organising the shipment of arms." 
 
 "That may be," said Tim shortly. "It seems he has 
 changed his politics. An hour ago he told Pelham's agent
 
 THE HEART OF A SPY 289 
 
 the secret of Madame Grieve's house, and promised to for- 
 ward a full list of the Jacobite conspirators in a few days." 
 
 Charles shook his head. "I don't believe you," he said 
 bluntly. 
 
 Timothy flushed. "I don't allow any man to give me the 
 lie," he said sharply. "If I were not so demmed sorry to 
 see you all with your necks in the noose, I swear I wouldn't 
 raise another finger to help you." 
 
 Suddenly his manner changed. He put his hand on Rath- 
 borne's shoulder. "Charles," he said earnestly, "have I 
 been such a bad friend to you all, that you should take 
 Rory's word against mine now? I'm Hanoverian, I'm 
 Whig, but demme! if I've ever done anything to deserve 
 that you should hold me such a contemptible villain as I 
 must be if there's no truth in Rory's guilt." 
 
 Charles hesitated. Then he picked up his hat and crossed 
 to the door. "You shall come with me to Rory now," he 
 said shortly, "and accuse him to his face." 
 
 "I ask nothing fairer," said Tim, with alacrity. "I've 
 no proof to offer save my word; you shall judge between 
 us." 
 
 The two men walked to Rory's lodging in silence. Tim 
 was debating the best way to bring home his accusation, 
 since he knew the traitor was not one to be easily taken off 
 his guard. But Rathborne's silence covered a deeper 
 struggle. For in his soul temptation warred against his 
 honour, since the proving of Timothy's innocence meant 
 the loss to him of that which he held dearer than his life, 
 the hope of winning Celia. He prayed in his heart that 
 justice might guide him, knowing himself to be so blinded 
 by love. 
 
 A light was burning in Rory's room when they reached
 
 290 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 the door of the house in Cheap Street, where he lodged, but 
 his servant met them at the foot of the stairs and assured 
 them his master was not at home. 
 
 "Where is he ?" asked Charles sharply. 
 
 "At the Christopher Inn, sir," answered the man slowly. 
 But even as he spoke Rory's laugh floated down to them 
 from the window above. 
 
 "You insolent liar," cried Charles angrily, "make way." 
 
 Still the man barred the passage, looking scared. 
 
 "Mr. Winnington is engaged, sir," he persisted. "I am 
 to admit no one." 
 
 "Our business is too urgent to wait," answered Tim 
 shortly. "Light us up, fellow." 
 
 The man stood a moment hesitating, then turned and run- 
 ning hurriedly up the stairs, darted into his master's room, 
 shutting the door behind him. 
 
 "Plague on the rascal ! What does he mean by his inso- 
 lence?" said Charles angrily. "Shall we go up, Curtis?" 
 
 Timothy nodded. They stumbled up the dark staircase 
 and knocked at the door of Rory's room. A sleepy voice 
 bade them enter. They found Rory alone sprawling on 
 a couch, drawn near to the window, paper and pencil in 
 hand. He looked up and nodded a welcome. 
 
 "Here, Tim, you've a monstrous pretty wit for stringing 
 verses, give me a rhyme for 'Cupid,' " he drawled, staring 
 at his paper. "I'm crazing my wits over a sonnet I vowed 
 I would write for Lady de Putren. The first three lines 
 would have driven the little hunchback Pope wild with 
 envy, but demme! if I can think of a fourth to equal 
 them." 
 
 Charles looked across at Timothy doubtfully, it seemed 
 so impossible to believe this handsome, smiling dilettante the
 
 THE HEART OF A SPY 291 
 
 traitor he had declared him to be. Timothy's face har- 
 dened. 
 
 Rory looked at them curiously. "Egad! you are both 
 monstrous solemn," he said. "What's amiss? Listen to 
 this: 
 
 i 
 
 "When Venus from her playful boy his barbed arrows stole, 
 She gave him into Vulcan's care his wildness to control. 
 But e'en the horny-handed god could not control young 
 
 Cupid : 
 Two hearts he forged 
 
 Have you read anything to equal that in all Pope's folios ?" 
 
 "We've come on urgent affairs, Rory," said Charles im- 
 patiently. "You must give us your attention." 
 
 "What the plague d'ye want?" asked Rory plaintively. 
 
 "Can't you see I'm demmed busy? 'Cupid stupid 
 drooped.' 'Drooped' might serve at a pinch." 
 
 With an exclamation of impatience Charles leaned over 
 him, snatched the paper from his hand, and threw it, a 
 crumpled ball, out of the window. Rory sat upright, eye- 
 ing him indignantly. 
 
 "Confound you, Charles, that's my sonnet ! I shall forget 
 the blessed thing if I don't write it down again. 'When 
 Venus first ' How did it go?" 
 
 He reached out to the table for another piece of paper and 
 began to scribble. Tim laid a strong hand on his wrist. 
 
 "Rory," he said sternly, "the game's up. I've brought 
 Charles Rathborne here to tell him that you are in Pelham's 
 service, bribed to betray the Jacobite conspirators to the 
 government." 
 
 The paper in Rory's hand shook slightly, but his face
 
 292 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 did not change. He gazed up at Timothy in mild amaze- 
 ment. 
 
 "Ah!" he said coolly, "why do you tell him that?" 
 
 "Curtis claims he can prove it," said Charles, eyeing him 
 closely. 
 
 "Does he? Now, that's demmed interesting," drawled 
 Rory. "What are your proofs, Tim? Has Pelham 
 peached? Have you found papers in my hand to the gov- 
 ernment? Has any one seen me playing the traitor? Out 
 with your proofs, man." 
 
 "I heard you an hour since betraying the secret of Madame 
 Grieve's house to Lord Pelham's agent," said Tim reso- 
 lutely. 
 
 "You heard me? You didn't see me? Where did you 
 hear me?" 
 
 "At the 'Cock and Bull' tavern." 
 
 Rory shook his head. "A mighty lame tale, Tim. Go 
 home and think of more detail." 
 
 "I can swear you were there." 
 
 Rory smiled. "Well, how many witnesses do you want to 
 swear I was not, eh? I'll produce them." 
 
 Tim stood silent thinking, still grasping the other's wrist. 
 Rory took the pen in his other hand and went on with his 
 scribbling. 
 
 "I don't blame you, Tim," he said coolly. "I'd have done 
 the same myself, only " he laughed, "bless you, Tim ! I 
 would have thought of a more convincing lie." 
 
 Timothy smiled. "I don't doubt it," he said drily. 
 "Truth is always simpler than fiction." He turned to 
 Rathborne: "Charles, you have only our two words to go 
 by," he said quietly. "But remember this; you hold no 
 clearer proof against me than I hold against Rory. Fur-
 
 THE HEART OF A SPY 293 
 
 ther, I could have no means of knowing where your arms 
 were hid, yet that knowledge has been betrayed." 
 
 Rathborne hesitated. "Rory, do you deny this charge?" 
 he asked slowly. 
 
 "Deny it ! Egad ! yes, as often as you like. 'Two hearts 
 he forged at Tim, what the plague does rhyme with 
 'Cupid'?" 
 
 Timothy dropped his wrist with a despairing gesture. 
 Rory laughed. 
 
 "Not in the vein for poesy, eh? You should prac- 
 tise it, Tim. 'Tis demmed good training for the in- 
 vention." 
 
 Timothy's eyes hardened ; he was losing patience. 
 
 '"It's no good, Rory," he said. "I know you to be the 
 traitor; proving it is only a question of time. But for 
 Charles here, and the others, time's a consideration. They 
 cannot let you go free under suspicion, you know too 
 much." 
 
 "I've a plaguy short memory when it's convenient," 
 laughed Rory. "Let them console themselves with that." 
 
 "Have you forgotten that it was you who warned me of 
 Stavely's kidnapping, you who rescued me from Marie 
 Grieve's house?" 
 
 Charles started. "Is that the truth?" he asked sharply. 
 
 "No," said Rory coolly. "Tim's invention is improving. 
 He'll find me a rhyme for 'Cupid' presently." 
 
 But Charles Rathborne was shaken by Tim's quiet firm- 
 ness. 
 
 "If it was you who rescued Curtis," he began, "it 
 was " 
 
 "Demmed ungrateful of Curtis to mention it," interrupted 
 Rory cheerfully. "I agree with you, Charles."
 
 294 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 Timothy crossed to the bureau. "I claim the right to 
 search through your papers," he said shortly. 
 
 Rory laughed. "You'll find them mighty uninteresting." 
 He detached a key from his fob and threw it across to Tim. 
 "Read what you like," he said coolly. 
 
 Charles joined in the search. Together they hunted 
 through the bureau and all other available hiding-places 
 for papers. They found nothing except a copy of the 
 letter from McFee which Tracy Wimbourne had received 
 the previous week. Poems, bills, and billet-doux were there 
 in abundance, but nothing to throw light upon the supposed 
 treachery. 
 
 Rory lay back at his ease and watched them smilingly. 
 
 "Dear, dear, Tim!" he said, "nothing to be found? How 
 bedad annoying !" 
 
 Timothy looked round. "The inner room," he said, cross- 
 ing to the door. 
 
 Rory sat upright suddenly. "No," he said sharply, 
 "demmed if you shall ! I'll have no more of your interfer- 
 ence. Leave my bedroom alone, Tim." 
 
 Timothy tried the door; it was locked. He turned to 
 Rory and faced him with a dangerous light in his 
 eyes. 
 
 "Give me the key," he demanded sharply. 
 
 "Not I," laughed Rory. "What! you'd intrude on the 
 privacy of a bachelor? Lud! gentlemen, you're marvellous 
 indacent to suggest it." 
 
 He rose and lounged between the two men and the inner 
 door. "I'm plaguy weary of this comedy," he drawled ; "be 
 off, both of you, and let me finish my sonnet. 'Cupid 
 drooped quadruped.' Gad! 'quadruped's' a bedad tasty 
 word. What do you say to it, Tim?"
 
 THE HEART OF A SPY 295 
 
 "You hand me that key or I swear I'll break in the door," 
 said Tim sharply. His temper was roused at last. 
 
 Charles Rathborne intervened. "Don't play the fool, 
 Rory. Either let us search your rooms, or we draw con- 
 clusions that you are hiding something. This is a matter 
 of life and death ; there's no time for scruples." 
 
 Rory eyed him queerly. "You take my refusal to let you 
 ransack my rooms as proof of my guilt, eh?" 
 
 "We don't leave here till we are satisfied that you have 
 nothing to conceal," answered Rathborne resolutely. 
 
 Rory stepped back toward the door. "Then devise some 
 other mode of satisfying yourselves ; you don't enter this 
 room." 
 
 With a sudden exclamation of exasperation Charles threw 
 his arms round Rory, pinioning him. 
 
 "Now, Curtis force the door," he said sharply. 
 
 For a second Rory struggled fiercely ; but his strength 
 was nothing compared with Rathborne's. He gave up the 
 attempt to free himself. A queer light dawned in his eyes, 
 a smile almost of self-mockery curled his lips. 
 
 "Very well," he said quietly. "Come away from that door, 
 Tim ; I give in. You are right ; I sold the information 
 about the arms to Pelham's agent this evening; I'm in his 
 pay to spy on the Jacobites." 
 
 There was a moment's dead silence ; then Charles's voice, 
 deep with indignation and contempt, broke the stillness. 
 
 "You d - traitor !" 
 
 Rory shrugged his shoulders. "Comments on my conduct 
 are not asked for, Charles," he said coolly. 
 
 Charles looked at him with a hopeless contempt. "When 
 did you take up the affair?" 
 
 "Last month. 'Tis possible I might have played Pelham
 
 296 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 false in the end and spared some of you the noose ; I'd no 
 wish to hang you all." 
 
 "Where are Tracy's papers?" asked Charles quickly. 
 
 "Ah! I wish I knew," said Rory. "I was too late there. 
 The nest had been robbed before I reached it. Have you 
 got them by any chance, Tim?" 
 
 Charles turned to Timothy suddenly and held out his 
 hand. "We owe you apologies, Tim," he said huskily. He 
 gave away his last hope of winning Celia with this admis- 
 sion of Timothy's innocence. 
 
 Rory looked from one to the other with shrewd question- 
 ing glance. "Well," he drawled, "now you have the truth, 
 what are you going to do with it and with me?" 
 
 Timothy looked doubtfully across at Charles. "That is 
 your affair," he said, "I've no quarrel with him. But I 
 suppose you must have him silenced." 
 
 Charles nodded. "Bob and Tracy must decide. They 
 may ship him off to Paris in your stead to await the Prince's 
 decision. Perhaps they'll want er shorter measures." 
 
 Rory threw himself back in a chair and idly fingered his 
 pistol which lay on the table; Charles moved across and 
 moved it from under his hand. Rory laughed softly. 
 
 "Charles," he said suddenly, "what's the price of your 
 silence ?" 
 
 Rathborne shook his head. This man's betrayal had 
 ruined the work for which they had risked their lives; he 
 had no pity for him. 
 
 "I'd give you my word to meddle no further in the mat- 
 ter," said Rory slowly. "Or I could lead Pelham on a wild- 
 goose chase." 
 
 Rathborne showed no signs of relenting. Rory eyed him 
 eagerly.
 
 THE HEART OF A SPY 297 
 
 "You won't trust me again, eh ? Well you're wise." He 
 bent his head and examined the buttons on his cuff; his 
 face was flushed. "You must clear Tim," he continued 
 slowly. "Perhaps Bob and the rest must be told. But 
 demme ! Charles, I'd be plaguy grateful if you could keep 
 the truth from my sisters. They Celia has such a 
 marvellous belief in my honesty. I'd as lief she never 
 learned the what I've done." 
 
 "For my part," said Timothy quickly, "I hold with Rory. 
 She never shall be told." 
 
 "Ay ! but she will hear, if 'tis known. Women bless their 
 hearts hear everything. You don't see your way, Charles, 
 to keeping it close?" 
 
 Rathborne shook his head resolutely. His stern Scotch 
 honesty knew no pity for a traitor. 
 
 Rory sat a moment gazing silently into the night. "Out 
 of the sunshine !" he muttered, with a wistful smile. 
 
 He turned to Rathborne. "Charles," he said gravely, 
 "there's one price, I take it, would buy your silence. If you 
 will give me back my pistol I'll pay it now." 
 
 Rathborne started. "You mean ?" 
 
 "Dead men tell no tales ; therefore no tales are told about 
 them. If I er disappear there will be no need to publish 
 the cause." 
 
 The two men stood silent. Rory looked up questioningly. 
 "Well," he asked, "is my price acceptable?" 
 
 "Yes," said Charles gravely, "we will speak no evil of the 
 dead." 
 
 He hesitated, then continued quickly : "But it must not 
 be done here ; that is impossible." 
 
 Rory shrugged his shoulders indifferently. "As you will. 
 I will go with you half a mile down the London Road ; that
 
 298 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 will serve, and the footpads can bear the blame. Let me 
 write one letter, then I am ready." 
 
 He picked up the paper on which he had scribbled his son- 
 net, wrote a few lines on the back; then folded and ad- 
 dressed it, and laid it on the table. 
 
 "Now," he said quietly, "I am ready to go with you." 
 
 "No, Rory, no ! I cannot endure it !" 
 
 The cry rang out in a woman's anguished voice. The in- 
 ner door was flung wide, and Dorothy Smallshaw appeared 
 on the threshold. 
 
 Tim started back with an exclamation of surprise. Rory 
 turned and looked at her, a smile of tender amusement on 
 his lips. 
 
 "My dear," he said, shaking his head reproachfully, "you 
 should be more careful of your reputation. I have been at 
 er the greatest pains to preserve your privacy." 
 
 She flung herself on her knees beside his chair, and caught 
 his arm. "I know I know. Ah ! Rory, I have heard all ; 
 but you must not, you shall not put an end to your life." 
 
 He took her hand caressingly. "My dear child, it is cus- 
 tomary to hang a spy with insult. These gentlemen have 
 granted me a pleasanter mode of exit." 
 
 "Ah ! no no ! Why must it be at all?" 
 
 "Every man has his weakness, Dorothy, and must pay for 
 it. Mine is my reputation." 
 
 "Yes, I know," she cried piteously. "And you don't think 
 of me, Rory?" 
 
 "Of you?" He laughed softly. "Dear heart! Bath is 
 full of vagabonds. In a year I shall be but a memory to 
 you." 
 
 She did not attempt to argue with him; she turned to 
 Timothy.
 
 THE HEART OF A SPY 299 
 
 "In an hour we should be on our way to Gretna," she said 
 simply, offering the strongest plea she could. 
 
 "Yes," said Rory, "a marvellous unpleasant interruption 
 to our wedding journey, is it not, Dorothy?" 
 
 "Mr. Curtis : " pleaded Dorothy, holding out her hands. 
 
 Timothy crossed to Rathborne. "Charles," he said 
 quickly, "we must devise some other way. It is impossible 
 to insist on his death now." 
 
 Rathborne shook his head. "There is no other way," he 
 said resolutely. 
 
 "Gad !" muttered Tim, "you're a hard man, Charles." 
 
 Rory gently raised Dorothy to her feet. "Let Curtis take 
 you home, child," he said tenderly. "Your presence here 
 is demmed embarrassing for Charles Rathborne." 
 
 But Dorothy shook off his hand and turned to face Rath- 
 borne, her eyes blazing with anger. "You shall either 
 spare his life, Sir Charles, or take mine, too," she cried. 
 "I know as much of your plots as he does. If you touch a 
 hair of his head, Lord Pelham shall know what I know be- 
 fore a day has passed." 
 
 Rory broke into a sudden soft laugh of admiration: 
 "Bravo, Dorothy! Egad! you have him there. But you 
 forget, my dear my reputation." 
 
 Rathborne stood silent, staring moodily at the floor. Tim- 
 othy put his hand on his shoulder. "Come what may of it, 
 Charles," he said resolutely, "the man must live." 
 
 There was a pause. At last Rathborne lifted his head, 
 his resolution taken. 
 
 "There's one alternative, Winnington. Ride with me to 
 Bristol to-night, take ship to the Colonies, and never set 
 foot in England again. If you do this only Tracy and 
 Bob Dacre need learn the truth."
 
 300 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 "The Colonies!" said Rory, with a grimace. "Demmed 
 uncivilised places!" 
 
 "If you return to England," continued Charles, "or if 
 you play us false, I will publish your treachery, and have 
 you hounded out of the society of gentlemen." 
 
 Rory flushed. "I can't call you to account for your lan- 
 guage, Charles, but you're bedad free with your tongue." 
 
 "Is it to be America, or a longer journey?" asked Charles 
 curtly. 
 
 Rory turned to Dorothy. "I'd as lief taste cold steel here 
 as go to the Colonies alone," he said softly. 
 
 She put her hands in his. "I will go with you, Rory," she 
 said resolutely. 
 
 Timothy started forward. "No! I will not have that. 
 You are in my uncle's care, Miss Smallshaw." 
 
 She wheeled round and faced him in a fury. "Mr. Curtis, 
 you dare to prevent me?" 
 
 Rory laughed and patted her arm. "Tut ! child, Tim's 
 right. Demmed improper notion of yours!" 
 
 He looked down into her eyes and smiled. She put her 
 arm about his neck. "I will come," she whispered softly, 
 "to the world's end if you want me. What is it to me what 
 you have done?" 
 
 Rory looked across at Charles. "Five minutes, gentle- 
 men," he said entreatingly. 
 
 Charles nodded. He and Timothy drew back into the win- 
 dow, and left the two whispering together. 
 
 "A frigate sails to-morrow," said Charles. "I will see 
 him away and return as quickly as may be. Be advised, 
 Tim, keep house to-morrow. This loss of the arms will 
 drive the Jacobites desperate. But you shall be cleared of 
 all suspicion when I return." He hesitated a moment, then
 
 THE HEART OF A SPY 301 
 
 he laid his hand on Timothy's arm. "Celia Winnington 
 loves you, Tim," he said huskily. "I'm glad for her 
 sake the accusation against you is disproved. There's no 
 man worthy of her, but you'll make her happy." 
 
 Tim looked out into the night, his eyes glowed. "Heaven 
 helping me, Charles, I will love and serve her all my days," 
 he said softly. 
 
 "Come, Charles, boot, saddle, and away," cried Rory 
 briskly. 
 
 Rathborne turned to him. "Are you ready?" he asked 
 curtly. "Then I'll send your man for horses." He left the 
 room to make preparations for their ride. 
 
 Rory turned to Tim. His gravity had vanished ; his eyes 
 danced with eagerness and excitement. 
 
 "So it's westward ho, eh, Tim? Egad! Geordie must look 
 to his laurels. Why shouldn't Prince Lackland lay hold on 
 America ? Faith ! we'll have stirring times there before our 
 beards are grey. The notion takes me amazingly." 
 
 Timothy looked across at Dorothy ; her eyes were spark- 
 ling with excitement as she listened to Rory's talk. Tim's 
 suspicions were awakened ; but it was not his affair to curb 
 the spirits of runaway heiresses. 
 
 Presently Rathborne returned. "All's ready," he said, 
 looking to the priming of his pistols. "Your mails shall 
 follow you, Winnington. If you slip me, you know the 
 consequences." 
 
 "Take Dorothy home, Tim," said Rory. He kissed her 
 hand ; they looked again into each other's eyes, then with a 
 little laugh she drew away her hand and preceded Tim out 
 of the room. 
 
 Rory turned to Timothy ; his face grew grave and wistful. 
 
 "Tim," he said slowly, "you you will take care of Celia?
 
 302 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 She loves you, and she egad ! Tim, she's the most honest 
 soul alive. I'd have died rather than have her lose her faith 
 in me. Let her always believe in my love for her." 
 
 "She'll never hear a word of this from me, Rory." 
 
 Rory held out his hand. For a perceptible moment Timo- 
 thy hesitated; then he shook it heartily and followed 
 Dorothy. He was no man to judge harshly of another's 
 trips. 
 
 But Rory stood a moment silent, staring down at his hand. 
 His face was flushed, his lips drawn tight together. 
 
 "An honest gentleman!" he muttered slowly. "Now be- 
 twixt him and a scoundrel there was a great gulf fixed." 
 
 He gave a quick sigh, threw back his head defiantly, and 
 followed Rathborne out into the darkness.
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 THE DARK OF THE MOON 
 
 THE gossips of Bath who gathered at the baths and the 
 Pump Room the following morning had ample subject for 
 conversation. Miss Dorothy Smallshaw, the beauty of the 
 hour, had fled in the night, none knew whither; Mr. Rory 
 Winnington had likewise disappeared; rumours, conjec- 
 tures, conclusions were rife. The matter had proved enough 
 to serve Bath with talk for a week, had not another and 
 more enthralling item of news arisen to turn men's thoughts 
 speedily from so commonplace a matter as a runaway 
 match. 
 
 Here was conspiracy in their midst! Arms hidden in a 
 house ! Gunpowder stowed behind innocent-seeming wain- 
 scot! Who could tell what dread plot was afoot to over- 
 throw established order, to upset the constitution, and to 
 murder innocent citizens in their beds? Fair bosoms flut- 
 tered with anxious fears. Nervous and bejewelled dowagers 
 ordered their horses for flight. Politicians clacked their 
 tongues ; wits wrote letters ; the grave city fathers groaned 
 under the weight of their responsibilities. Men eyed one 
 another askance, suspicion was in every mind. For here 
 was a plot, plain enough ; yet no trace of the plotters 
 only an indignantly bewildered little French coiffeuse with 
 reputation so stainless that none could lift a stone to fling 
 at her. 
 
 Verily, indeed, Bath had matter enough for gossip that, 
 sunny 25th of July. Greater still would have been the ex-
 
 304- THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 citement could the gossips have known that on that very 
 morning the ill-fated Prince for whom the conspiracy was 
 hatched had set foot at last in his native land. 
 
 In and out among the chattering groups strolled the con- 
 spirators, ready as any with conjectures and amazement. 
 But who can tell what black rage seethed in their hearts at 
 this betrayal of their plan? Who can guess what dark 
 fears shadowed them at thought of the sword hanging over 
 their heads? 
 
 At a small table at the back of Simpson's coffee-room 
 Roger Lee, Lord Stavely and Mr. Seccombe sat break- 
 fasting in moody silence. Lee's lips were drawn straight 
 and tight, the man's ungovernable temper mastered him ; he 
 raged to be at the throat of the betrayer. His companions 
 eyed him anxiously, fearing to talk lest in the heat of dis- 
 cussion he should lose what small restraint he had. 
 
 Presently Lord Robert and Marcus Ormonde entered. 
 They paused at the door to speak with a little group of men 
 passing out; then they settled down at a table near to 
 Stavely's seat. The rooms were almost empty; no man 
 tarried long in any place that morning; all hurried hither 
 and thither in search of news. 
 
 Lord Robert leaned over Stavely's chair. 
 
 "That rattlepate Rory has gone off on some wild-goose 
 chase just when he should have proved most useful," he 
 grumbled. "Tracy has ridden off already to Bristol to set 
 on foot negotiations for a fresh supply of arms. 'Tis all 
 we can do until we hear from the Prince, or learn how we 
 stand here, how much is known." 
 
 Lee muttered an oath of impatience. "All we can do !" he 
 said angrily. "Is that damned traitor then to go unpun- 
 ished?"
 
 THE DARK OF THE MOON 305 
 
 Lord Robert's eyes darkened. "No," he said shortly. 
 "He shall pay the price of his betrayal. Give those two 
 led-captains Owen and Trickett what they ask and leave 
 it to them to take him to-night on his way back from the 
 ball to his lodging. He will be unarmed; the Beau allows 
 no swords in his kingdom. I myself will undertake, gentle- 
 men, to bring him down to the Rooms. More he shall be 
 at the Orange Grove at half -past nine. I know the lure to 
 draw him." 
 
 Marcus eyed him doubtfully. "Gad! Bob, don't let us 
 draw women into this affair," he said shortly. 
 
 "There is no need they should know of it," answered Lord 
 Robert impatiently. "Or, at most, only Lady Wimbourne, 
 and her husband's life is at stake." 
 
 Marcus shook his head. "So the affair be arranged in a 
 gentlemanly-like manner, I'm as willing as any to pay 
 Curtis my dues. But demme if I will soil my fingers with 
 any villain tricks compromising women." 
 
 Lord Robert stiffened. "You can safely leave that to me, 
 Marcus," he said, "and remember again, we fight not for 
 our own necks, but for the success of the Prince." And 
 then quickly to Lee, "What would you have?" 
 
 "Plainly a thrust in the dark, and an end to the whole 
 affair." 
 
 "Cut-throat work?" asked Marcus slowly. 
 
 "None other is certain," answered Lee. 
 
 "What else does the damned traitor merit ?" urged Stavely. 
 
 "There's no other way to silence him," muttered Seccombe. 
 
 There was a moment's dead silence. Then Lord Robert 
 rose to his feet. "We give you carte blanche, Lee," he said 
 quietly. He slipped his arm through Ormonde's and turned 
 to leave the room. Marcus hesitated a moment ; then with
 
 506 THE FAIR MOON OP BATH 
 
 a little shrug of his shoulders he allowed himself to be 
 walked away. 
 
 "After all," he muttered, "every man must take his chance. 
 And Tim Curtis is not to be caught napping." 
 
 It was three o'clock when Lord Robert waited on Adelaide 
 Wimbourne to seek her help in his plan. At first he was 
 denied admission, the servant declaring that his lady could 
 see no one, but upon his urging the importance of his errand 
 the man consented to take up his name. He reappeared 
 immediately and ushered the visitor upstairs with a haste 
 that bespoke the great anxiety of his mistress to receive 
 her guest. 
 
 Lord Robert found Adelaide standing in the centre of the 
 room, eagerly awaiting him. She almost ran to meet him, 
 and clung to his hand in an agony of fear. He was 
 shocked at the wildness of her air, the disorder of her ap- 
 pearance. 
 
 "Madam madam, this will never do," he cried im- 
 patiently, when the servant had left the room. "You must 
 control your fears. This disturbance is enough to centre 
 the suspicions of the whole city upon Tracy." 
 
 She dropped his hand and turned away, making an effort 
 to control herself. "You bring no fresh news?" she asked, 
 in a low voice. 
 
 "None. And every hour's delay gives new hope. It would 
 certainly seem that our names are still secret, since no at- 
 tempt has been made to arrest us." 
 
 "But how long can we hope they will remain so?" she 
 moaned. 
 
 "Come, Lady Wimbourne," he urged kindly, "indeed 
 there is small cause for such immediate fears. Even if we 
 be accused, the evidence against us can be but slight. Do
 
 THE DARK OF THE MOON 307 
 
 not give way to such unreasoning terror. Twenty-four 
 hours agone and you were the bravest of us all." 
 
 "The blow had not fallen then ; I did not realise the 
 danger. But now ah! Lord Robert, you cannot under- 
 stand. You men have but your own necks to care about; 
 I have Tracy's. 'Tis so hard to stand by and watch an- 
 other's danger, having no power to help." 
 
 "You have that power, Lady Wimbourne ; 'tis for that I 
 come to ask." 
 
 She turned to him quickly. "You want my help? Ah! 
 what can I do? I will do anything anything so it will 
 save Tracy." 
 
 "Then dry your eyes, madam ; quiet your fears, and listen 
 to me. The only man outside our company who had power 
 to betray us is Timothy Curtis : 
 
 "Ah!" she interrupted quickly. "You are sure of that?" 
 
 "Whom else should we suspect? He knows what we are 
 about. Our lives are in his hands and he goes free." 
 
 "But why does he go free?" 
 
 "He is too prudent, madam ; we cannot lay hands on him. 
 But we must have him to-night, or our safety will only be 
 a question of hours." He hesitated, watching her closely. 
 "It er it is here, madam," he said slowly, "we require 
 your aid." 
 
 She looked at him doubtfully. "You mean ?" 
 
 "He must come down to the Rooms this evening, and keep 
 a rendezvous at the Orange Grove at half-past nine o'clock. 
 How can that be contrived?" 
 
 Adelaide turned from him abruptly and crossed to the 
 window. "Why do you come to me?" she asked, in a low 
 voice. 
 
 "Because you alone can help us."
 
 308 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 "He will not come for my sake." 
 
 "No, madam. But you can bring him." 
 
 She hesitated. "Celia would never forgive me did she 
 guess I had brought him to harm by such means," she said 
 slowly. 
 
 His face hardened. "Has it gone so far as that? Then 
 for her sake as well as Tracy's he must be removed." 
 
 "But not by such tools," she pleaded. "Ah ! no indeed, 
 I cannot do it." 
 
 " Ton my soul, Lady Wimbourne, I can contrive no 
 other." 
 
 There was a short silence. He crossed to her side. 
 
 "I won't urge it, madam," he said gently. "I know the 
 task is distasteful. I would never have suggested it were 
 you not Tracy's wife but we have learned to expect so 
 much of you." 
 
 She lifted her eyes to his. "It would be for Tracy's sake," 
 she said, arguing with herself. 
 
 "To save his life and, it may be, your sister's happi- 
 ness." 
 
 Again she stood silent for a minute. Then she bowed her 
 head. "I do not think," she said simply, "Fate should 
 ask so much of a woman." 
 
 "But you will do it, madam?" 
 
 "I have no choice." 
 
 "How will you contrive it ?" 
 
 "Leave that to me. To bring him to the Rooms is a simple 
 matter. For the rest, many couples venture into the gar- 
 dens these hot evenings ; it should be easy to induce him to 
 walk with me to the Grove." 
 
 Lord Robert looked at her curiously ; she spoke in a cold 
 matter-of-fact tone; her face had grown hard and set. It
 
 THE DARK OF THE MOON 309 
 
 was as though she had once for all put womanly tenderness 
 behind her and walked resolutely along the way she had 
 chosen. 
 
 There was a sudden clash of chords in the adjoining room ; 
 Celia's voice, uplifted in a joyous melody, broke the still- 
 ness. A little quiver of pain crossed Adelaide's face. 
 
 "Perchance," she muttered, "this is the last day Celia will 
 find the heart to sing." 
 
 Lord Robert winced. "Lady Wimbourne," he cried im- 
 patiently, "you must not think so so brain-sickly. A 
 girl's fancy ! What is that against a man's life ? Against 
 a prince's kingdom?" 
 
 "It may prove 'tis the worth of a girl's soul," she an- 
 swered softly. Then her face hardened. "You are right, 
 Lord Robert, I will think no more." 
 
 He took his leave, dissatisfied with her, with his errand, 
 with life altogether. As he walked down the street, Celia's 
 voice, singing joyously, rang in his ears. He hurried to 
 the Christopher Inn to deaden the sound with the soft slip- 
 slip of the cards. He hated the work he had set on foot, 
 but for the sake of the Stuart he would let no woman turn 
 him from his path. 
 
 "Celia," Adelaide said sharply, "I must speak to you about 
 Mr. Curtis." 
 
 Seated at her harpsichord, Celia broke off in the mid- 
 dle of a song and looked up in surprise at her sister's 
 tone. 
 
 "Why, Laidie, what has happened?" she cried quickly. 
 
 "Happened! Enough, I should hope. Do you go about 
 with your ears closed that you have heard nothing?" cried 
 Adelaide impatiently.
 
 310 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 "Do you mean the report concerning Rory and Dorothy 
 Smallshaw?" asked Celia, in bewilderment. 
 
 "No. What do Rory's mad doings concern us? Have 
 you not heard of the discovery last night?" 
 
 "The arms hidden at Madame G rieve's house ? Yes, truly, 
 but how should that concern us or Mr. Curtis?" 
 
 "Child how blind you are! They were hid by the 
 Jacobite conspirators, of whom Tracy is the chief." 
 
 Celia sprang to her feet, her face white with fear. 
 
 "Laidie, do you mean it? Has Tracy been betrayed?" 
 
 Tears rushed to Adelaide's eyes. "Who knows? He goes 
 free as yet. But the hiding-place for the arms has been 
 betrayed ; the plans are ruined. At any hour the company 
 may be arrested. It is clear the traitor has no mercy." 
 
 "The traitor you mean ?" 
 
 "Mr. Curtis." 
 
 Celia's hands dropped stiffly to her side. "No no 
 Laidie," she said, in a low, angry voice. "You are mis- 
 taken. It was not he who stole your papers ; it is not he 
 who has betrayed Tracy. There is some other spy in the 
 company." 
 
 "Indeed? And who is he, pray? Has Mr. Curtis, per- 
 chance, told you his name among his other information?" 
 
 "No," faltered Celia, "he has not yet discovered him." 
 
 "Nor is he like to. Child, how lightly you are fooled. A 
 look in the eyes and a tripping tongue, and every man is an 
 angel to you." 
 
 Celia flushed crimson. "Laidie, I will not have you speak 
 so. A touch of suspicion and you hold a man the blackest- 
 hearted traitor. What proof can you give of Mr. Curtis's 
 treachery ?" 
 
 "More than you can give of his honour. He alone knew
 
 THE DARK OF THE MOON 311 
 
 where the papers were hid; Martha confessed to his theft; 
 Lord Pelham told our uncle himself that this man took his 
 bribe. What more do you need to be convinced? Have 
 you forgotten the base of our accusation?" 
 
 Slowly the flush died from Celia's cheeks. She brushed 
 her hand wearily across her brow. Her mouth quivered. 
 
 "I seem to have forgotten everything," she said un- 
 steadily, "except " 
 
 "Except the man's flattering tongue," interrupted Ade- 
 laide sharply. "Then awaken your recollection, child. Re- 
 member that this man who has bewitched you with his arts 
 has ruined the Prince's cause here; has spied upon his 
 friends, and holds in his hands the safety of Tracy of 
 Rory himself. E'en now he may be betraying them even 
 now Tracy's life may be at stake." 
 
 She broke off suddenly with a sob, and sinking into a chair, 
 wept bitterly. 
 
 With a little cry of tenderness, Celia ran to her side and 
 threw her arms about her. "Laidie mavourneen ah! do 
 not cry," she pleaded. "Indeed, it can't be as you think. 
 If if Mr. Curtis has indeed disclosed the conspiracy (which 
 I do not believe), he will never betray Tracy his friend. 
 Don't cry, Laidie." 
 
 Adelaide impatiently threw off the encircling arm. 
 
 "If if " she cried angrily; "you do not believe? You 
 had rather see Tracy delivered to his death than raise a 
 hand to help me to save him." 
 
 "Help you? Laidie, you know I would do anything to 
 help you," cried Celia reproachfully. "What can I do?" 
 
 "You can bid Mr. Curtis attend the ball this evening ; fix 
 a rendezvous with him at the Orange Grove at half -past 
 nine," said Adelaide, eyeing her closely.
 
 312 
 
 Celia started. "I I should do this?" she cried indig- 
 nantly. 
 
 "He will venture for no other." 
 
 "But to what end, Adelaide?" 
 
 "To the end that he may meet with his deserts and be 
 silenced," she answered shortly. 
 
 Celia stood looking down at her sister with a queer light 
 in her eyes. "Laidie," she said gently, "you don't think 
 what you are saying. Were he ten thousand times traitor, 
 that were no reason we should turn traitor, too. I could 
 not do this thing you could not ask it of me." 
 
 "Yet I do ask it of you for Tracy's sake." 
 
 "For Tracy's sake," Celia repeated slowly. She sank on 
 her knees beside her sister, and took her hands. "Laidie, 
 dearest," she said earnestly, "I would give my life for 
 Tracy if I might, but not my honour. Tracy himself 
 would not have it so." 
 
 Adelaide snatched her hands away. Terror and misery 
 had made her brutal. 
 
 "Your honour " she said scornfully, " 'tis not your 
 honour, miss, that holds you, but your love for this black- 
 hearted spy." 
 
 Celia flushed. "I do love him," she said steadily. 
 "Whether he be spy or no, I do love him. Yet if he be 
 proved true I would deny his love could that serve Tracy, 
 and if he be proved spy I would not lift a finger to save 
 him from death; but I will not play the traitor were it to 
 save the whole kingdom from ruin." 
 
 "Or your sister from despair," cried Adelaide bitterly. 
 
 Celia's eyes filled with tears. "Laidie, dearest, forgive 
 me," she pleaded. "Indeed, I cannot do this thing. You 
 know I do surely love Tracy, but "
 
 THE DARK OF THE MOON 313 
 
 "What love is this that values honour more?" 
 
 " 'Tis the only love worth the name, Laidie," answered 
 Celia steadily. "Love without honour is clay without soul. 
 Dearest, we will strive, we will pray for Tracy's safety; 
 but if that may not be, better then we should die great- 
 heartedly than live in the shadow of a treachery." 
 
 Adelaide sprang to her feet. "And such is your love 
 she cried scornfully, "cold pale the love of a coward. 
 But I verily, I would give my soul to save Tracy from 
 one moment's sorrow." 
 
 She turned toward the door. Celia sprang after her. 
 
 "Laidie," she cried sharply, "what are you going to do?" 
 
 "That which you dare not you pale-hearted chit!" an- 
 swered her sister furiously. 
 
 "Betray him? Laidie, you shall not. Be he the blackest 
 traitor unhung you shall not soil your hands with his undo- 
 ing." 
 
 "Shall not ! Who is to prevent me?" 
 
 "I will if necessary I will warn him." 
 
 "You " Adelaide seized her sister's hands in a vice. 
 "Celia," she said, in a low, fierce tone, "try to prevent me 
 if you dare ! Nay, you shall not dare ! I will lock you up 
 here till night-time, and not a servant shall come near you. 
 Oh ! I'll have no warnings sent, I warrant you." 
 
 Celia made no attempt to struggle in her sister's grasp, 
 but she lifted pleading eyes to hers. "Laidie," she said 
 softly, "mavourneen you are cruel to me." 
 
 Adelaide's face softened suddenly. She put her arms 
 round her sister, and stooped to kiss the pleading face. 
 
 "No, Celia," she said resolutely, "I am kind. Tim Curtis 
 must die, and you shall have no chance to prevent his death. 
 For even were Tracy's life not at stake, I would do this
 
 314 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 to save you from a man whom all but you know to be a 
 scoundrel." 
 
 She turned suddenly and hastened from the room. Celia 
 heard the lock click behind her. She was held prisoner. 
 
 For a moment she stood rigid where her sister had left 
 her ; then she sank into a seat by the harpsichord, and lean- 
 ing her head on her arms broke into bitter weeping. 
 
 It was not her sister's severity nor the helplessness of her 
 position that overwhelmed her, that turned her day to dark- 
 ness and killed the joy in her heart. In her ears resounded 
 again and again those parting words of Adelaide : "A man 
 whom all but you know to be a scoundrel." 
 
 All save herself! On the one side stood the assurance of 
 her friends, Lord Pelham's assertion, Martha's accusation, 
 proofs strong indeed. And on the other was only his denial 
 and the cry of her own heart. 
 
 Ever since she had freed him at Charity Farm her belief 
 in his honesty had grown. She had rested with such con- 
 fidence on his promise to clear himself. After that magic 
 hour she had made no further attempt to deny her love, 
 but had given free rein to her dreams of happiness. 
 
 With her whole soul she loved him; he was the light of 
 her life. And now the world stood between her and her love, 
 and all her life was darkened. For her it was indeed the 
 "Dark of the Moon." 
 
 Bitterly she wept, her fair face hidden in the dear white 
 hands, pink-tipped like apple blossoms ; wept her heart out 
 over her broken ideal. 
 
 At length she grew calmer. She sat up, brushed away 
 her curls, and surveyed her future. No light dawned on 
 her own trouble ; but recollection stirred within her of other 
 sorrows not so nearly her own.
 
 THE DARK OF THE MOON 315 
 
 She rose, and slowly paced the room. What could she do ? 
 Was there no way in which to help her sister? Adelaide 
 had asked one thing of her, but that she could not perform. 
 Even as she thought of it a horror of the proposed treach- 
 ery shook her. Surely not for any man's life should a 
 woman stoop to such a deed luring a man on to destruc- 
 tion. Adelaide was indeed desperate to dream of such a 
 crime. Better that Tracy should die a thousand times 
 than that he win his life at the price of his wife's dishonour. 
 
 "Ah, no ! no !" she whispered, "she must not do it. I 
 must plead with her again." 
 
 She ran to the door and then stopped. Too well she knew 
 her sister's resolution, her utter devotion to Tracy's wel- 
 fare ; what word of hers could win the wife from what she 
 deemed her husband's service? 
 
 "I must send him warning," she muttered desperately. "If 
 if indeed he be traitor perchance it were well he he 
 died. But but not by Laidie's treachery. I must warn 
 him." 
 
 She stood irresolute. It seemed impossible to let her sis- 
 ter commit this treachery, impossible to let the man she 
 loved be lured to his death. And yet, if he were indeed the 
 spy they called him, every hour he went free held danger 
 for the conspirators. Could she deliberately endanger her 
 brother's life by saving his enemy? 
 
 She pressed her hands to her brow with a little cry of 
 despair. "Ah, God ! why must I have this choice? For my 
 love I will plead nothing, but between a sister's honour and 
 a brother's life ah, God ! help me, for Christ's sake." 
 
 Her own words came back to her. "Better die great- 
 heartedly than live in the shadow of a treachery." Surely, 
 surely, honour is the one true guide through life else
 
 316 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 wherefore live? Yes, her path was clear. She must save 
 her sister from this crime and leave the rest to God. 
 
 A sudden hope came to her. "I will warn him," she cried, 
 "and then I will go to him and stoop to plead with him 
 for Tracy's life. Perchance, if he indeed love me he will 
 grant what I ask ; if not if not and he still desire me 
 why, I am beautiful it may be my hand in marriage will 
 purchase what I crave." 
 
 She stood a moment silent. "I did not think I could wed 
 a traitor," she said slowly, "yet if he be a traitor and ask 
 that price I will pay it." 
 
 Then a little smile brightened her eyes. "Perhaps" she 
 whispered very softly, "perhaps God may yet prove him a 
 true man." 
 
 Her resolution was taken, but now she stood at pause how 
 to carry it out. Adelaide must know nothing of the warn- 
 ing, and the difficulty of employing a servant to take her 
 message in the teeth of her sister's watchful suspicion stag- 
 gered her. 
 
 She tried the door ; but the lock held firm. She ran to the 
 window, which overlooked a small strip of garden behind 
 the house, and peered down in the vain hope of escape in 
 that direction. No chance offered. She drew back baffled, 
 and sat down on the wide window seat to think out her plan. 
 
 The various noises of the street came up to her muffled by 
 distance; but the house itself was very quiet. The silence 
 worried her unstrung nerves ; there was no sound audible 
 save the loud tick of the landing clock, and and what 
 was that other sound unnoted before in the agony of her 
 struggle, but now clear, distinct in the stillness that low, 
 crooning song just below her window? 
 
 She leaned out and peered down through the closely inter-
 
 THE DARK OF THE MOON 317 
 
 twined branches of the elm tree at her right hand. 
 Through the shimmer of the leaves she caught a glimmer of 
 grey and gold and a black curly head. It was Adelaide's 
 tiny black page the little nine-year-old negro boy who 
 carried her fan and salts when she walked abroad, and who 
 was alternately spoiled and tormented by the household. 
 No lady of fashion was without her black page, but Ade- 
 laide had small liking for the boy and used his services but 
 lightly. 
 
 Celia's heart gave a leap of hope ; here was the messenger 
 she sought. She leaned further from the window : "Sam," 
 she called softly, "Sam, what are you doing there?" 
 
 There was a quick rustle among the leaves, a dark face 
 looked out at her doubtfully, evidently expecting rebuke, 
 Celia put her fan to her lips to enjoin silence. 
 
 "Sam, be a good boy, and listen to me," she said brightly. 
 "I want you to carry a message for me. 'Tis secret. Will 
 you serve me?" 
 
 Sambo's eyes brightened. He nodded readily. "Yes, my 
 lady," he said eagerly. 
 
 Celia hesitated. "Lady Wimbourne must not know of 
 it. No one must see you leave the house. You must slip 
 out when you can do so unobserved. Do you understand?" 
 
 "Yes, my lady," answered the boy, preparing to climb 
 down the tree. 
 
 "Wait, child, you have not learned my errand. Do you 
 know where Mr. Curtis lodges in Boat-Stall Lane?" 
 
 "No, my lady," answered the boy stolidly. 
 
 "But you can find out ?" 
 
 "No, my lady," he repeated. 
 
 "No! Why not, pray?" 
 
 "Not knowing Boat-Stall Lane. Not knowing Bath. Not
 
 318 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 wanting to ask," answered the boy, with frightened eyes 
 and lips trembling on the verge of tears. 
 
 "But cannot you adventure?" cried Celia desperately. 
 
 "No, my lady," he repeated obstinately. 
 
 Celia gave a cry of impatience. She knew the helplessness 
 of this pampered little negro one check or difficulty, and 
 he would abandon his errand and resort to lies to escape 
 punishment. It was useless to insist. 
 
 For a moment she was checked; then fresh inspiration 
 came. 
 
 "Sam, listen. You know where Lady de Putren lives? 
 J Tis but four doors from here?" 
 
 The boy nodded, his face brightened. 
 
 "Take me a note to her house and I will give you a 
 shilling." 
 
 "A shilling !" He held out his hand eagerly. 
 
 "No, no. You must take the note first. If it reach her 
 safely before six o' the clock you shall have the money. 
 You understand?" 
 
 She turned to the bureau and hastily wrote a line to Lucy 
 de Putren. 
 
 "For pity's sake, Lucy, warn Mr. Curtis not to adventure 
 to the Rooms to-night. There is a plot afoot for his un- 
 doing and I cannot get at him with my warning." 
 
 She sealed the note and dropped it down to the boy. It 
 was a slender hope, but no other help offered. She gave 
 the child a box of sweetmeats as earnest of further reward, 
 and he slipped down the tree and disappeared into the 
 house. 
 
 A few minutes later she heard steps approaching the door. 
 
 The key turned in the lock. Adelaide entered, followed 
 by her maid.
 
 THE DARK OF THE MOON 319 
 
 "Do you feel recovered, Celia?" she asked, keeping up 
 before the maid the fiction of ill-health she had rumoured 
 below as the cause of her sister's retirement. 
 
 "Perfectly, Laidie," answered Celia gently. "I hope you 
 will permit me to go to the Assembly." 
 
 She feared her sister might refuse her request ; but Ade- 
 laide agreed willingly. It was necessary that Celia should 
 be at the Rooms to keep Timothy Curtis there until the ap- 
 pointed hour. 
 
 "Come and dress in my room to-night, as Tracy is away," 
 said Adelaide. Celia saw that she was to be given no op- 
 portunity for private speech with her maid, but she fol- 
 lowed her sister without objection. 
 
 As they turned the corner of the stairs she looked back. 
 She caught a vision of a small grey and gold figure slip 
 through the hall door and dart down the steps, and her 
 heart found a mite of comfort. If the letter reached Lucy 
 de Putren, she knew her friend would not fail her; and if 
 the message went astray she herself would be at the Rooms 
 and free to use her wits to save Timothy from the threaten- 
 ing danger.
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF THE AWAKENING 
 
 TIMOTHY CURTIS took Rathborne's advice and kept house 
 all Tuesday. He guessed shrewdly what would be the rage 
 of the conspirators at the betrayal of their plot, and he had 
 sufficient fear of their vengeance to determine him to avoid 
 their company until Rathborne's return should clear him 
 from all suspicion. 
 
 But the whereabouts of the stolen papers puzzled him 
 greatly. Both Rory and Josiah Smith had denied all 
 knowledge of them ; it was clear that a third hand had been 
 at work. Had the thief taken them to sell to the govern- 
 ment or to hold as a threat over Tracy Wimbourne? In 
 either case it was imperative that he be foiled. Timothy re- 
 solved not to hold himself quit of his task until he could 
 return the papers safely to their owner. 
 
 It was late in the afternoon when a footman in the grey 
 and gold liveries of the Wimbournes delivered a note at 
 Timothy's lodging, instructing Simon to give it at once 
 into the hands of his master. Tim opened it eagerly, smil- 
 ing at the sentiment which moved him to keep the C. W. 
 of the seal intact. The contents were brief. 
 
 "I must see you again. I give you my trust. Come to 
 me at the Rooms to-night at the tea hour and I will give you 
 what you have craved so long, if your forgiving pity can 
 find pardon for my doubts. C. W." 
 
 Timothy read the note with a smile of happiness in his 
 eyes. He folded it carefully and put it in his inner pocket
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF THE AWAKENING 
 
 beside the bracelet he carried. His face was alight with 
 triumph. 
 
 His love had conquered at last ! She had obeyed her heart ; 
 without further assurance, against all her world, she had 
 yielded him her trust. He prayed that he might prove 
 worthy to hold it untarnished forever. 
 
 He dined alone, impatient for the appointed hour. Half 
 way through dinner a letter was brought to him from Lucy 
 de Putren. It was hurriedly scrawled, evidently in the 
 midst of the lady's toilet, for it was plentifully besprinkled 
 with powder. 
 
 "For Heaven's sake," it ran, "do not allow even Cupid 
 himself to lead you to the Rooms to-night. There is a plot 
 afoot for your undoing and disgrace. And you be not 
 wholly crazy, keep house. 
 
 "Your well-wisher in truth, 
 
 "LUCY DE PUTBEN." 
 
 Timothy read the hurried lines and his brow grew troubled. 
 Lucy de Putren was not a woman to take unnecessary 
 fright. It might well prove she had good reason for her 
 warning. He could guess the temper of his opponents. For 
 a moment he was almost moved (standing as he did within 
 an ace of safety) to take the proffered advice and avoid 
 danger until Rathborne's return. Prudence clearly urged 
 him to this course. But prudence hath a homely face 
 mightily unattractive. Tim took out Celia's letter and re- 
 read it; he needed no further spur to his resolve. If she 
 could find courage to trust him in face of all her world, he 
 would let no fears hold him back from obedience to her 
 call. Crazy it might be, but she should not find him lag- 
 gard.
 
 She had called him! Again the look of triumph lighted 
 his eyes. With a laugh he tossed Lucy de Putren's note 
 into the grate, and summoning Simon, proceeded to dress 
 for the Assembly. Though all the ravens of Christendom 
 croaked his doom, he would not turn from his path. 
 
 He arrived at the Rooms about nine o'clock without mis- 
 adventure. The first person he encountered upon entering 
 was Lucy de Putren herself. She started at sight of him, 
 and, leaving her companion, crossed to his side. 
 
 "Mr. Curtis you received my note? Are you clean 
 crazed?" 
 
 He laughed lightly. "Do not hold me ingrate, madam. 
 But I have matter of import to bring me here." 
 
 "Heaven grant no evil come of your madness then. There 
 must be some stuff in the count of your danger, for Celia 
 entreated me to warn you to keep house." 
 
 "Celia? Why, 'twas she herself bade me come here." 
 
 Lucy stared at him doubtfully. "If that be so, I under 
 stand nothing of the matter. It seems she has changed her 
 mind. But be advised for once, Mr. Curtis. Go home." 
 
 Tim looked round the crowded rooms. His eyes encoun- 
 tered those of Roger Lee watching him suspiciously from 
 a distant doorway. A sudden feeling of reckless defiance 
 overmastered him. 
 
 "Go home? Not I, madam," he laughed. "A wise man will 
 go to meet danger ; if he run away he may be stabbed in the 
 back." 
 
 "As well seek haste from a snail as wisdom from a lover," 
 sighed Lucy. "Go your ways, wise man Heaven protects 
 her fools." 
 
 "Can you tell me where I am like to find Celia?" he asked. 
 
 Lucy looked round and shook her head. "Lady Wim-
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF THE AWAKENING 323 
 
 bourne turned faint ten minutes since and withdrew to the 
 small card room. It is like enough Celia is with her." 
 
 He thanked her and turned to make his way through the 
 crowd to the room indicated. His progress was slow, for 
 the throng was great, and many stopped him to interchange 
 greetings and news. It was fully ten minutes before he 
 reached the door of the little card room. As he lifted the 
 curtain to enter he encountered Lord Robert Dacre emerg- 
 ing with Celia on his arm. 
 
 Celia stopped dead at sight of him. Her face grew white 
 to the lips. "Mr. Curtis! You here?" she faltered. 
 "What brings you?" 
 
 Timothy looked at her with sudden suspicion dawning in 
 his eyes. "Your note, madam ; your note to me. You bade 
 me come." 
 
 Celia stood silent, biting her lip in indecision, reluctant to 
 betray her sister, hating the falsehood implied by her si- 
 lence. Lord Robert intervened. 
 
 "The music has commenced, madam. We shall lose our 
 place," he urged courteously. 
 
 Celia turned to Tim with sudden resolution. "Mr. Cur- 
 tis, I I wish to speak to you. Will you await me here un- 
 til the dance is ended?" 
 
 "I am always at your service, madam," he answered. 
 
 Lord Robert hurried her away, leaving Tim staring after 
 her with puzzled brows. 
 
 He turned and entered the card room. Adelaide was there 
 alone, leaning back in a cushioned chair. She looked 
 ghastly, but when he made a motion to withdraw she held 
 out her hand quickly to prevent him. 
 
 "Stay Mr. Curtis I I need your help." 
 
 With a look of concern Tim crossed quickly to her side.
 
 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 "What can I do, Lady Wimbourne? Shall I call your 
 sister? A glass of wine " 
 
 "No, no," she cried impatiently. "My faintness has 
 passed. I pray sit down, Mr. Curtis I I can speak 
 better so " 
 
 Tim took a seat beside her, looking at her with puzzled 
 brows. Adelaide did not meet his eyes. She sat, twisting 
 her fingers nervously together and breathing quickly. 
 
 "Mr. Curtis " she said at last, "do you hold it ever justi- 
 fiable to take the life of a villain ?" 
 
 Tim lifted his eyebrows. "Why, yes, madam, on occa- 
 sion I take it a man holds his sword that he may clear the 
 earth of vermin." 
 
 "Then if you knew a man deserving of death you would 
 kill him?" 
 
 Timothy laughed. "Not quite so, madam. I'm no butcher. 
 And 'tis no light undertaking to write any man down a 
 thorough rascal. I take it few of us would cumber the 
 earth long if we had our deserts." 
 
 "Yet if you knew a man to be a traitor, disloyal to friend- 
 ship, false to his word, cruel to a woman would you hold 
 yourself justified in killing him then?" 
 
 He thought a moment. "Yes, madam," he answered 
 slowly. "In fair fight and with no favour I'd do my best 
 to rid the earth of such an one." 
 
 "In fair fight," she muttered. "Mr. Curtis they say 
 you are unmatched with the rapier." 
 
 Timothy flushed. "I I've enjoyed rare occasion for 
 practice, madam," he explained apologetically. 
 
 She nodded. "I need the help of such a sword as yours. 
 Mr. Curtis, at half-past nine there will be waiting at the 
 corner of the Orange Grove a man even such a man as I
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF THE AWAKENING 325 
 
 have described. He must be killed. Ah! wait listen " 
 she cried quickly, as Tim started back with a gesture of 
 repugnance. "This man is false, cruel. While he lives 
 there can be no peace, no happiness for me in life, no safety 
 for Tracy. His life shadows ours like a cloud, threatening 
 every moment to whelm us in destruction. He has no pity, 
 no remorse. Does not such an one deserve his death?" 
 
 Timothy hesitated. "Cannot you be more explicit, 
 madam?" he urged. "I am at your service, but 'twould 
 seem this is a matter rather for Tracy's judgment." 
 
 "Tracy ! What can he do ? He is not yet recovered from 
 his accident. Moreover, as you know well, he is no swords- 
 man." 
 
 "Nevertheless, madam, I don't hold he would relish my 
 interference with his affairs." 
 
 Adelaide sat upright, and put her hand on his arm. "Mr. 
 Curtis I'll be frank with you. Tracy must know noth- 
 ing of this affair. No man save you can give me the help 
 I need. 'Twas for that reason I sent you that note, pur- 
 porting to be from Celia, to draw you here to-night." 
 
 Tim started. "You did that, madam?" he said slowly. 
 The shadow of disappointment darkened his eyes. "Then 
 Miss Winnington " 
 
 "Knows nothing of the affair, and holds you still as we 
 all do an enemy of the Jacobite cause. But whatever you 
 may have done against that cause you have a ready sword 
 arm, and can keep a silent tongue, and 'tis for those rea- 
 sons I must have your help to-night. Ah ! surely you can- 
 not deny me. I am crazy for lack of hope, and should you 
 fail me Ah ! 'tis but ten minutes to the trysting time, and 
 if the villain die not to-night our lives must be darkened for- 
 ever. Surely surely you cannot deny me."
 
 326 
 
 Timothy eyed her in amazement. She looked almost dis- 
 tracted with fears. The whole affair was a mystery to him, 
 but it seemed she was indeed in need of succour. 
 
 "You would have me go to the Orange Grove, meet this 
 fellow, pick a quarrel with him and kill him?" he asked 
 slowly; "is that your wish?" 
 
 "Yes, yes," she said eagerly; "you you carry a 
 sword." 
 
 "Not here, madam, but one is easily procurable at Simp- 
 son's. Are you sure the man will be there ?" 
 
 "Yes. I I was to have gone there, too, to meet him ; but 
 I cannot." 
 
 "How should I know him?" 
 
 "He will be waiting in the shadow of that group of elms 
 at the west corner of the grove. When you reach the place 
 whistle so and he will come out to you." 
 
 Tim frowned. " 'Tis a mighty distasteful affair," he 
 muttered. 
 
 "Ah! But you will do it?" she pleaded. 
 
 "I do not know why I should, madam," he began slowly. 
 
 "Why ? Because I am a woman and in trouble and 
 I ask your help." 
 
 He bowed. "I yield, Lady Wimbourne. I can't refuse 
 you the use of my sword if indeed you insist on the ras- 
 cal's death. But I cannot have any cut-throat work, you 
 understand, madam. We must meet in fair fight. Will 
 that satisfy you?" 
 
 "It is all I ask. Now go go I entreat you, or you will 
 be too late." 
 
 Timothy hesitated. "I promised to meet your sister here 
 when the dance is ended," he began slowly. 
 
 "I will explain your absence," said Adelaide readily.
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF THE AWAKENING 327 
 
 "Come come to St. James's parade to-morrow morning. 
 You shall talk with her then." 
 
 He looked at her eagerly. "You permit that, Lady Wim- 
 bourne? Then I will delay no longer now." 
 
 Without more words he left her, strode down the passage 
 at the back of the Assembly Room, and so out of the side 
 door on to the terrace. He was bitterly disappointed to find 
 that Celia still apparently withheld her trust, but his pres- 
 ent service fully occupied his thoughts ; he would not waste 
 time on regrets for what might not be. 
 
 Left alone, Adelaide Wimbourne sank back in her chair 
 and pressed her hands to her forehead with a heavy sigh. 
 She had succeeded in the task she had undertaken. Timothy 
 Curtis had gone forth to the ambuscade prepared for him ; 
 fifteen minutes more and he would be lying dead. 
 
 She had succeeded, her husband's safety was secured, her 
 anxieties on that head were ended, and now came the re- 
 action. 
 
 As she sat in the brightly lighted little card room listening 
 to the distant music of the dance, slowly the scene of the 
 murder shaped itself in her mind. She saw, as in a vision, 
 Timothy Curtis hurrying through the grove intent upon 
 his errand to save her from despair. She saw him pause 
 by the dark, many-branched clump of elms, heard him give 
 the signal for his own destruction. She saw the lurking 
 figures, the gleam of a dagger, the dull red stain crimson- 
 ing the white brocade. One low, choking groan broke the 
 stillness then fell that heavy silence which can never more 
 be broken. 
 
 That awful, unbreakable silence! It was about her now, 
 pressing her down, crushing her, forcing upon her fearful 
 soul the realisation of the irretrievable nature of the deed
 
 828 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 that she had done. 'Twas but the cessation of the dance- 
 music, the closing of a door twixt her and the revellers, but 
 the silence touched her unstrung nerves with a sudden un- 
 controllable horror. What had she done? Ah! what had 
 she done? 
 
 Her resolution had served her while there was still need 
 for her wit and resource, now that her work was over it 
 failed. Her self-control vanished. A terror of the betrayal 
 overwhelmed her. She had killed a man killed him as 
 surely as if she had herself borne the dagger, and now she 
 was alone alone in a horror of death-like stillness. 
 
 The curtain over the doorway was lifted, Celia appeared in 
 the entrance. With a scream, Adelaide sprang to her feet 
 and pressed her hands over her eyes. 
 
 "Go away," she cried, "go away Do not look at me so. 
 I I have killed him." 
 
 Celia's heart gave a great leap of fear, but her wit did 
 not desert her. She turned quickly to Lord Robert, who 
 was at her elbow. 
 
 "My sister is not well," she said hurriedly ; "will you ask 
 Lady de Putren to come to me here?" 
 
 Lord Robert looked anxiously across at Adelaide. "Can 
 I not assist you " he began. 
 
 "No no 'tis but an attack of hysteria. Lady de Putren 
 and I will take her home if you will call a coach. Go 
 quickly, I entreat you, sir." 
 
 He could raise no further objection, but departed reluc- 
 tantly in search of Lady de Putren. Celia crossed to Ade- 
 laide and put her hands firmly on her shoulders. 
 
 "Laidie," she said, very quietly, "tell me what you have 
 done." 
 
 "I have sent Mr. Curtis to an ambuscade in the grove.
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF THE AWAKENING 329 
 
 They will kill him," she moaned. Suddenly she dropped her 
 hands and clung to Celia, her eyes wide with horror. 
 "Celia " she cried, "I have killed him I ! All my days 
 I must go through the world knowing that I have killed a 
 man." 
 
 Celia's face was as white as her sister's, but her steadfast 
 courage never failed her. 
 
 "No no Laidie," she said soothingly, "I will save him. 
 God will help me to do it. There is yet time. But do you 
 be quiet, darling ; no one must hear of this, or we are indeed 
 undone. I must go go at once. Can I leave you? Can 
 you be quiet be brave?" 
 
 "Yes yes " cried Adelaide. "See I am quiet now; I 
 will be controlled. Only do you go and save him." 
 
 "When Lucy comes tell her you are faint tell her I 
 have gone for wine. Ah ! be brave, Laidie, or Heaven only 
 knows what may befall us." 
 
 She dared wait no longer ; horror of what might even now 
 be passing in the shadowed grove shook her heart. She 
 pushed her sister gently back into a chair, and ran down 
 the passage and out into the darkness of the terrace walk. 
 
 When Lucy de Putren, escorted by Lord Robert, hurried 
 into the small card room, she was shocked by the ghastliness 
 of Adelaide's face. Her shreAvd eyes divined at once that 
 more than a simple fainting fit lay at the bottom of her 
 friend's disturbance, but with ready tact she followed Ade- 
 laide's lead and administered salts and restoratives with de- 
 voted zeal, puzzling her wits to account for Celia's mysteri- 
 ous absence and Lord Robert's evident anxiety. 
 
 As for Lord Robert, he hovered over the couple with the 
 most assiduous attentions, advancing ready excuse for 
 every errand on which Lucy vainly endeavoured to despatch
 
 330 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 him, evidently resolved not to leave the two women alone 
 together. 
 
 A sound of voices echoed in the passage, a footman entered 
 hurriedly and crossed to Lord Robert's side. 
 
 "My lord," he said softly, "Sir Tracy Wimbourne is at 
 the outer door and wishes to speak with you on urgent 
 affairs." 
 
 Adelaide sprang to her feet. "Tracy ! Here !" she cried. 
 "Ah ! bring him to me. Why does he not come to me ?" 
 
 "He is not powdered, my lady," began the footman. 
 
 "What does that matter? Bid him come in. Or I will go 
 to him " She stepped toward the door ; Lucy laid a de- 
 taining hand on her arm. 
 
 "Wait, Adelaide; he can come to you here, by the side 
 door. Go bring him in, Lord Robert." 
 
 Lord Robert hesitated, looking doubtfully at Adelaide. 
 Lucy stamped her foot. 
 
 "Lud! my lord, you're monstrous tardy to-night. You 
 fellow " she added sharply, turning to the servant, "tell 
 Sir Tracy Lady Wimbourne wishes his company here at 
 once." 
 
 The footman departed. Lord Robert followed him to the 
 door, hesitated, then turned and crossed to Adelaide's side. 
 
 "Madam," he whispered sharply, "keep the affair secret 
 from your husband. 'Tis imperative he should not hear 
 of it." 
 
 Lucy watched the whispering couple with curious eyes. 
 
 "My stars!" she muttered, "here's a mystery. It seems 
 my company is no longer desired." 
 
 She was strongly tempted to stay and probe the mystery, 
 but her kindly heart forbade such unnecessary prying. 
 With a sigh of unsatisfied curiosity she slipped quietly
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF THE AWAKENING 331 
 
 through the door and rejoined the company in the Assembly 
 Room. 
 
 Neither Adelaide nor Lord Robert noted her departure. 
 The latter continued to urge his wish. 
 
 "You understand, madam, Tracy must not be told. 'Tis 
 his life or Curtis's. You will be silent." 
 
 "I do not know " muttered Adelaide absently, her eyes 
 fixed on the door. "Perchance he will " 
 
 The curtain was raised. Tracy entered briskly, followed 
 by Charles Rathborne. Both men were booted and spurred, 
 and stained with the dust of the roads. With a cry of joy 
 Adelaide sprang toward her husband. 
 
 "Tracy Tracy Ah! you have come at last!" She 
 clung to him in a passion of weeping. 
 
 "Why, Heaven help us, Laidie, what's amiss?" cried Tracy 
 in bewilderment, soothing her tenderly. "Have you been so 
 fearful for my safety, Little Faint-heart?" 
 
 Marcus Ormonde and Oliver Shirley entered hurriedly. 
 They stopped in amazement at sight of Adelaide and turned 
 to leave the room. Tracy stopped them with a gesture. 
 
 "Wait! I sent for you here ? I must speak to you at 
 once. Laidie, sweetheart, calm yourself. There is no 
 more cause to fear now." 
 
 "Tracy you don't know Mr. Curtis " 
 
 "Tim ! What has happened to him ?" He turned to the 
 men. "Gentlemen, that is the gist of my business with you. 
 We have done Tim a monstrous wrong. He is no spy he 
 is innocent." 
 
 Lord Robert started back with a cry. "Innocent! My 
 God! Tracy you are convinced?" 
 
 Charles and I have full proofs of his honesty. We will 
 give them to you later. The true spy, the man who be-
 
 332 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 trayed our plans, has met with his deserts. Tim Curtis is 
 innocent of all injury to the cause." 
 
 Lord Robert jerked out his watch; he glanced at it and 
 without another word dashed for the door, followed by Mar- 
 cus Ormonde. 
 
 A long shuddering sigh broke from Adelaide's lips. 
 
 "Tracy," she cried hoarsely, "he's no traitor? And now 
 even now, they are killing him in the grove." 
 
 "Killing him ? Whom ? Tim Curtis ? Adelaide you are 
 crazy." 
 
 "No no it is true. They are killing him, and I sent 
 him there to his death." 
 
 She sank into a chair and broke into bitter weeping. 
 Tracy paid no heed to her. His face was white and set, his 
 eyes terrible in their rage. "Is this true ?" he asked, turning 
 to Oliver Shirley. 
 
 Oliver shook his head, his face was very grave. "I knew 
 nothing of it, but Bob and Marcus must have gone to pre- 
 vent it. Heaven grant they are in time." 
 
 Without a word Tracy strode out of the room. Oliver 
 turned to follow, then he stopped and looked at Adelaide. 
 He stood a moment irresolute, then crossed to her side. 
 
 "Madam," he said gently, "for pity's sake, madam, don't 
 cry. Be comforted. Surely they will be in time." 
 
 She rose unsteadily to her feet. "Take me to them," she 
 muttered, "take me to Tracy." 
 
 "Ah ! no. Not yet. Wait here, madam, till he return." 
 
 "No I must follow them. Celia is there." 
 
 "Celia!" His face flushed. She is there? Alone? You 
 are right, madam, you must go to her. Do you wait here 
 while I bring your cloak, then I will take you to seek her." 
 
 He hurried in search of her cloak. She stood by the door
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF THE AWAKENING 333 
 
 white-faced, rigid, waiting in a frenzy of impatience for 
 his return. 
 
 Meanwhile, Celia, her heart beating wildly with terror, 
 hurried along the deserted terrace in the direction of the 
 shadowed grove. The night was very dark, her thin san- 
 dals made no sound as she ran along the walk, none noted 
 her passing. A little way beyond the entrance to the grove 
 she paused, peering through the shadows, straining her ears 
 to catch the slightest sound. She was trembling in every 
 limb, her breath came in little frightened gasps. All was 
 still save the tinkling of the fountain, the rustle of the 
 leaves overhead. She ran further, bending her steps 
 toward the thickest corner of the grove. 
 
 Again she paused to listen. Footsteps echoed behind her, 
 crunching on the gravelled walk. She turned and saw a 
 white figure moving toward her between the black trunks 
 of the branching trees. Shaking with fear she drew back 
 into the shadow and waited until he was abreast of her, then 
 with a little cry of joy she sprang to his side. 
 
 "Mr. Curtis! Ah! thank Heaven, you are safe!" 
 
 He started back with an exclamation of amazement. 
 
 "Celia ! you here ! Great heavens !" 
 
 She caught his arm. "Ah ! come away quickly quickly," 
 she whispered ; "there is a plot to kill you here an ambus- 
 cade. Any moment they may be upon us." 
 
 "And you have come to warn me?" Alone?" 
 
 "Yes yes. But, ah! don't tarry to question. Come 
 away." 
 
 The sound of their whispering voices echoed through the 
 stillness. A dark figure stole from behind a neighbouring 
 elm and crept silently toward them, keeping in the shadow 
 of the trees.
 
 334 
 
 Tim stood looking down at the dim figure of the girl at 
 his side. Again the smile of triumph shone in his eyes. 
 
 "Celia," he said softly, "you came to warn me? You give 
 me your trust at last?" 
 
 "I I came to save your life," she said quickly, pulling 
 at his arm. 
 
 "Because you trust me?" 
 
 "Because I love you. And Adelaide " 
 
 He gave a sigh of disappointment. "Celia, hare I not 
 yet won your trust ?" 
 
 "Ah ! come, come," she pleaded ; "there is danger." 
 
 The lurking figure drew nearer, stealing silently across 
 the grass. 
 
 Tim gave a low laugh. "Danger! What's that to me 
 now? Your trust or your disbelief is life and death to 
 me. If you cannot trust me, what's my life?" 
 
 "There there are so many proofs," she answered, with a 
 sob, reaching out vainly after her vanishing doubt. 
 
 "Proofs !" he cried bitterly. "Ay. And to-morrow I can 
 give you proofs, assurances enough. But that's the world's 
 way ; I want your trust to-night, Celia." 
 
 The dark figure was quite close to them now, watching 
 them from behind a gnarled branch. 
 
 Tim put his hand on hers and looked down at her bent 
 head. 
 
 "Dearest to-morrow I will woo you soberly, with full 
 proof of my right to do so. But if you could find it in your 
 heart to give me your whole trust to-night taking my sim- 
 ple word against the world the memory of this hour would 
 be with us through our lives, making our love stronger, 
 more perfect, knowing no more fears." 
 
 She gave a little sigh. "Dreams ! dreams!" she whispered.
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF THE AWAKENING 3S5 
 
 "Yes, dear, and 'twas you who taught me it takes courage 
 to dream." 
 
 Bowing her head, she laid her cheek against his hand. 
 "No," she whispered, "this is no dream. I have been asleep 
 this long time, but this is the awakening. I love you I 
 love you. I give you my trust forever." 
 
 He put his arm about her and stooped to kiss her face. 
 A link-boy passing outside the grove flashed the light 
 through the trees. Tim looked up. He saw a man stand- 
 ing a few paces from him with something shining in his 
 uplifted hand. With a shout he pushed Celia back and 
 sprang away from her side. The man leaped on him, stab- 
 bing twice fiercely at his heart. Tim sank to his knees with 
 a muffled cry. 
 
 An answering shot came from the edge of the grove, 
 footsteps ran along the gravel path. The assassin turned 
 and slunk away through the trees, grasping in his hand 
 the hilt of a broken dagger.
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 THE MOON STOOPS 
 
 WHEN Lord Robert and Marcus Ormonde reached the spot 
 they found Tim kneeling in the centre of the path, holding 
 the prostrate figure of Celia in his arms. He looked up at 
 them with a dazed expression. 
 
 "She has swooned," he muttered. "Bring some water 
 quickly." 
 
 Lord Robert turned and ran toward the fountain. Marcus 
 put his hand on Tim's shoulder. 
 
 "Are you wounded, man ?" he asked anxiously. 
 
 Tim shook off his hand. "Let me be," he said surlily. 
 "You can take my sword, I'll not escape you, but let me be 
 till she is in safety." 
 
 Marcus drew back with a flushed face. Lord Robert re- 
 turned with his hat full of water, just as Tracy and Charles 
 Rathborne arrived on the scene. 
 
 Tim bathed Celia's temples, and presently she opened her 
 eyes and looked round on the group of men, first with 
 amazement, then with a sudden fearful recollection. Her 
 eyes met Tracy's. She sat up and put her hand on Tim's 
 arm. 
 
 "Tracy," she said resolutely, "you shall not harm Mr. 
 Curtis. He is my betrothed." 
 
 "And my friend, Celia," said Tracy softly, "if he can find 
 pardon for distrust." 
 
 Tim looked up. He recognised Charles Rathborne, and a 
 look of enlightenment crossed his face. He held out his 
 hand to Tracy.
 
 THE MOON STOOPS 337 
 
 "You blind bat !" he said, with a low laugh. "But, Tracy, 
 my dear fellow where the mischief are these papers there's 
 such a pother about?" 
 
 Tracy's face darkened. "I would to Heaven I knew," he 
 muttered. "They must be found." 
 
 Celia rose to her feet; she was white and shaken. Lord 
 Robert looked across at her. 
 
 "Bring Miss Winnington into my lodging," he said 
 quickly, " 'tis convenient, and I will call a coach." 
 
 Tim put his arm jealously round Celia, but made no ob- 
 jection to the proposal. They followed Lord Robert down 
 the grove. 
 
 At the entrance to the walks they met Adelaide and Oliver 
 Shirley. The whole party turned together into Lord Rob- 
 ert's house and went up to his library. There Adelaide 
 drew Tracy aside into the embrasure of a window, eager to 
 make confession of the betrayal that weighed on her con- 
 science. 
 
 Timothy put Celia gently into a chair ; then he turned and 
 faced the men with a queer look in his eyes. 
 
 For a minute they eyed each other in silence, their faces 
 flushed with embarrassment, then Tim broke into a hearty 
 laugh. 
 
 "You demmed fools !" he said affectionately. 
 
 He shook hands with Marcus and Oliver, but Lord Robert 
 hesitated. 
 
 "I count my actions justified under the circumstances," 
 he said resolutely. "I would do the same again did his 
 Highness's service demand it." 
 
 Tim put his hand on his shoulder. "I don't doubt it, 
 Bob," he said gravely, "the Stuart is to be envied his ser- 
 vants."
 
 338 
 
 "Are you touched, Tim?" asked Marcus anxiously, point- 
 ing to a crimson stain on the other's sleeve. 
 
 "Only a scratch on the wrist. Something turned the dag- 
 ger and broke the blade." As Tim spoke he put his hand 
 inside his coat and from his inner pocket drew out the 
 bracelet Celia had given to him. He held it out to her 
 with a smile. " 'Twas this saved me." 
 
 She took it with a little shudder and turned it over to ex- 
 amine it. The blade of the dagger had twisted and broken 
 it, piercing in places the gold scroll-work. Oliver Shirley 
 leaned over her shoulder and looked at it curiously. 
 
 " 'Twas not the gold that turned the blade," he said, "but 
 the paper between. It is padded with rolls of parchment." 
 
 "So it is," said Celia wonderingly. "I never noted that 
 before." 
 
 She bent wide one of the cracks in the gold and prised out 
 the roll stuffed inside. The men watched with interest 
 while she unfolded it and spread out the closely written 
 sheets of paper. 
 
 Oliver drew in his breath suddenly with a sharp, hissing 
 sound. He picked up one of the papers, glanced at it and 
 passed it on to Lord Robert. 
 
 "Bob," he said sharply, "do you see what this is?" 
 
 Lord Robert took the paper. Marcus leaned over his 
 shoulder; they read it together. Marcus gave a cry of 
 surprise : 
 
 "What the mischief! Tim these are Tracy's missing 
 papers." 
 
 Lord Robert looked up at Tim with questioning glance. 
 
 "These papers have been stolen," he said significantly; 
 "how did they come into your possession, Curtis?" 
 
 Tim stared at them in bewilderment. "On my honour, I
 
 THE MOON STOOPS 339 
 
 have not the dimmest understanding of the affair. Are 
 those the papers that caused all the mischief?" 
 
 "Yes and they are now found in your possession," said 
 Lord Robert quietly. "What's the explanation?" 
 
 Tim made no answer. He stood looking across at Celia 
 with a shadow of anxiety in his eyes. 
 
 "Come, Tim, explain," urged Marcus impatiently. 
 
 Celia lifted her head and looked at Tim with a little smile 
 of confidence. "Mr. Curtis tells us he knows nothing of 
 the matter," she said with dignity. "We can trust his 
 word." 
 
 A smile of triumph lighted his eyes. He threw back his 
 shoulders with a gesture of relief and turned briskly to 
 examine the bracelet. 
 
 "It's demmed queer," he muttered; "did you know the 
 bracelet held aught, madam?" 
 
 Celia shook her head. "No. I knew it was intended to 
 hold private papers. 'Twill open, but " she stopped sud- 
 denly, a look of enlightenment crossed her face. 
 
 "Laidie," she cried sharply, "come here." 
 
 Tracy and Adelaide turned at her call. Adelaide looked 
 from the papers to the battered bracelet, and with a cry 
 fell on her knees by Celia's side. 
 
 "Celie! Who gave you this?" 
 
 "Rory did. Why, Laidie, you know, you have one, too." 
 
 "But this is mine mine?" 
 
 "No, it is not," answered Celia firmly; "you are always 
 mistaking them, Laidie ; yours differs in the chasing. You 
 took mine once before, but I took it away again." 
 
 "You took it? When was that?" 
 
 "That morning you slept so late, when we were journey- 
 ing here. You took mine and wore it all night seemingly.
 
 340 
 
 I was tetchy with you for always mistaking them, so I took 
 it from your arm without wakening you and put back your 
 own in place of it." 
 
 "You never told me." 
 
 "I thought no more of it. till this moment. I did 
 not know you carried anything of value inside it, least of 
 all Tracy's papers. It seems 'twas I who robbed her, 
 Tracy." 
 
 "And I who received the stolen goods," said Tim, with a 
 laugh, "and have carried them, unwittingly, for two weeks. 
 It would seem I owe you apologies, gentlemen!" 
 
 Adelaide rose to her feet and turned to Timothy, her face 
 was very white. "Mr. Curtis " she faltered, "I 
 
 Tim put out his hand and stopped her. "Madam," he 
 said gently, "we have been the playthings of the Fates. 
 Now that the game is ended let us forget what antics they 
 forced us to perform." 
 
 Tracy gathered up the papers with a sigh of relief. 
 "Thank Heaven, I have my hand on them at last," he mut- 
 tered: "Tim you'll keep a silent tongue?" 
 
 "That I will. 'Tis no concern of mine. And to be honest 
 with you " he added with a laugh, "I'm demmed glad to 
 be quit o' the affair with accident." 
 
 Lord Robert laughed, and crossing to the fireplace pulled 
 the bell-rope. "What say you to a trifle of supper?" he 
 suggested. "Come into the inner room and see what my 
 rascal can do for us." 
 
 "Supper by all means," cried Tracy. "I've ridden twelve 
 miles since I dined." 
 
 He took Adelaide's arm and with a significant glance 
 from Tim to Celia led the way from the room. The other 
 men looked across at Tim with a nod and smile and followed
 
 THE MOON STOOPS 341 
 
 suit pell-mell, leaving him alone with Celia. It was their 
 atonement not to begrudge his happiness. 
 
 The door closed very gently. Tim turned and looked at 
 Celia with the joy of anticipation shining in his eyes. 
 
 She sat with sweetly blushing face and eyes demurely 
 lowered to the clasped white hands, pink-tipped like apple 
 blossoms ; the shadow of a mile played round the rosy curve 
 of her lips. 
 
 Timothy crossed to her side. 
 
 "Mistress Celia," he said with a plaintive sigh, "I have 
 vowed to you that I will only wed where I can love. Must I 
 then live a bachelor all my days ?" 
 
 She lifted her eyes to his. There was utter trust in her 
 look, and the deep mystery of joy, and a little homely 
 laughter to hold her down to earth. 
 
 "In truth, Mr. Curtis," she said demurely, "I have ever 
 heard that the estate of bachelorhood is blessed with a holy 
 freedom from cares." 
 
 Timothy knelt beside her and looked up into her face ; his 
 voice was deep with tenderness. 
 
 "Alack !" he sighed, "the moon is so cold, so still, so dis- 
 tant. How may a man dare to reach up to the far heavens 
 and steal her glories?" 
 
 The crimson deepened on her cheek, the smile brightened 
 in her eyes ; but she made no answer. 
 
 Timothy drew nearer. His eyes glowed with an eager light 
 as he watched her face. 
 
 "Celia," he whispered, softly, "if the moon were to 
 stoop " 
 
 He paused, expectant. With a soft laugh of happiness, 
 Celia placed her hands on his shoulders and, stooping, kissed 
 his lips.
 
 342 THE FAIR MOON OF BATH 
 
 A sudden burst of sound came from the inner room, laugh- 
 ter and the clinking of glasses. Marcus Ormonde's voice 
 rose clear above the hubbub : 
 
 "Gentlemen a toast a toast "Long Life to the Moon 
 of Bath and good speed to Endymion Curtis." 
 
 THE END
 
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