Jlamilton DrummonJ
 
 THE SEVEN HOUSES
 
 'BACK, BACK!" SHE CRIED... "LET NO MAN COME WITHIN 
 THKEE STEPS OF THE TERRACE." P<*gC
 
 The SEVEN HOUSES 
 
 A ROMANCE BY 
 HAMILTON DRUMMOND 
 
 Author of "A KING'S PAWN" 
 WITH FRONTISPIECE BY A. FORRESTIER 
 
 NEfF rORK 
 
 FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY 
 PUBLISHERS
 
 COPYRIGHT, igox, 
 BY FREDERICK A. STOKKS COMPANY 
 
 All rights reserved 
 
 Published, September, 1901
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 THE HOROSCOPE i 
 
 THE HOUSE OF LIFE, 34 
 
 THE HOUSE OF KINSFOLK 71 
 
 THE HOUSE OF MARRIAGE, . . . .117 
 
 THE HOUSE OF DEATH, 155 
 
 THE HOUSE OF RELIGION, . . . .198 
 THE HOUSE OF HONOUR, .... 236 
 THE HOUSE OF FRIENDS AND ENEMIES. . 266 
 
 2135103
 
 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 THE HOROSCOPE. 
 
 I. 
 
 IN his padded settle by the gaping western 
 hearth of the great hall sat Guy de Lhoeac, Seigneur 
 of that name and Seventh Suzerain in direct suc- 
 cession. For all that it was no more than mid 
 September a birch log had hung flaming on the huge 
 brass dogs since sunset, and from time to time he 
 leant forward, warming himself : since, in spite of 
 its dregs of passions, the blood of old age is chilly. 
 At the fall of the dusk and in the dimly-lit, cav- 
 ernous hall of Chateau Lhoeac, grey and gloomy 
 even in the full of a summer's moon, the dusk fell 
 swiftly the wenches had brought lights; but the 
 Seigneur had harshly bidden them begone ; speak- 
 ing with less than even his scant courtesy, and then 
 turned back and stared afresh at the red embers. 
 
 Five times in his three hours' vigil he had leaped 
 to his feet in a quick impulse of impatience and 
 paced the broad hall up and down with a tread 
 whose firmness told little of his five-and-seventy 
 years of hard-lived life. Up and down, up and 
 down, his shortened scabbard battering against his 
 left heel as he walked. Each time he crossed the
 
 2 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 foot of the stairway that opened at the back of the 
 hall he paused, listening. A second or two, no 
 more, he stood with lifted chin and one hand hol- 
 lowed to help the dullness of hearing, then, as no 
 sound came down the stair-shaft but the common, 
 far-off babble of a great household, his pointed 
 beard sank down upon his breast again, and he 
 went on his restless way ; a living shadow amid a 
 hundred wavering silhouettes that leaped, and 
 danced, and postured in the play of the fire. Then 
 his mood would change afresh, or his mind grow 
 weaiy of the monotonous, solitary tramp. Back he 
 went to his settle, and sighing wearily bent once 
 more over the blaze warming himself, while above 
 him on the groined roof his distorted outline 
 loomed black and vast as King Solomon's im- 
 prisoned Geni of the Smoke. 
 
 A stern, pathetic face it was that drew its only 
 ruddiness from the glow of the burning wood. 
 Stern in its thin, gaunt cheeks, furrowed deep by 
 the claws of time ; its sharp, hooked nose ; its fierce 
 eyes, dull at times and heavy with age and sorrow ; 
 and yet, in such a man as Guy de Lhoeac the eyes 
 are slow to grow old for as the thoughts wake to 
 being in the still active brain, they leaped into a 
 fire that matched the sudden spirit of the flame 
 they watched. Stern, too, in its hard-pressed 
 narrow lips, its square chin showing through the 
 meagre pointed beard ; stern from white hair above 
 to white hair below : that was the face of Guy de 
 Lhoeac at five-and-seventy, and those who knew 
 him said that the face matched the man.
 
 THE HOROSCOPE. 3 
 
 Pathetic, too. Pathetic for its very sternness. 
 Lhoeac was no man to babble of his ambitions and 
 their failure, but every hard line was a story of 
 dumb grief and baffled pride. Pathetic in that no 
 ease and quiet had come to the spirit of which it 
 was the mirror : no, not though the time for shifting 
 the burdens of life to younger shoulders had come 
 and gone, a fierce, a soured, a wearied man, wearied 
 of more than the hour, was Guy de Lhoeac as he 
 sat with his spirit between the living and the dead 
 in the silent flickering darkness of that September 
 night. 
 
 At last, and he drew a long breath as he heard it, 
 there came a break in the silence, a footfall on the 
 stone stairway. No lackey's foot nor wench's, but 
 one that, in its firm assuredness, proclaimed its cer- 
 tainty of welcome, and as the noisy echo broke into 
 the Seigneur's reverie he turned himself on the 
 settle and waited, watching the black hollow where 
 lay the last curve of the steps. 
 
 But for all that the tread was as firm and arrogant 
 as his own it differed from the Seigneur's in that 
 there was no clank of steel from stair to stair. That 
 he wore no sword meant one of three things the 
 man was either a servant, a citizen of the humbler 
 sort, or a churchman, though there were times when 
 even the two former buckled on steel like their bet- 
 ters and five times out of seven a priest was no 
 man of peace. The bold assumption of equality in 
 the tread gave the lie to the two first ; neither lackey 
 nor burgher tramped the corridors of Lhoeac in
 
 4 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 such a fashion ! The new-comer, therefore, was an 
 ecclesiastic. . 
 
 "What news, brother?" cried the Seigneur, rising 
 to meet his fellow-shadow half-way ; " is the pother 
 ended ? By the Saints ! but this coming into the 
 world is a plaguey slow business." 
 
 " Well may it be so ! " answered the priest, 
 " since afterwards the biding in the world and the 
 leaving of it are both tiresome enough at times. 
 But there is no news save evil news. The girl lies 
 as she has lain these four hours, and the outlook is 
 as dark as your own stairway. Have you a design 
 upon my neck, Guy, that you do not show as much 
 as a rush-light to warn a man from the gaps in the 
 stairs? I stumbled at the turn where there is more 
 slope than flat, and a Lhoeac was like to have gone 
 out of life the same hour that another entered." 
 
 " Chut, chut," said the Seigneur impatiently, tak- 
 ing the other by the arm as he spoke. " The 
 wenches troubled me with their fumbling and the 
 dark mated with my mood. Thou fall ! I never 
 knew a churchman yet but could feel his way in the 
 dark, and keep his feet however slippery the path. 
 But the other is serious. If they hurt the child, by 
 Saint Agnes of Lhoeac they shall suffer for it, all 
 three ! both dame, leech, and frocked priest. Tut, 
 what dost thou care for a priest or two ? Let us 
 walk, Henri ; the fever of the march is in my blood 
 to-night. 'Tis tramp, tramp, tramp, with me ; and 
 for all that my journey is so near an end I cannot 
 rest until he who shall come after me is set fairly 
 on his way.
 
 THE HOROSCOPE. 5 
 
 " Think what it means, Henri," he went on, beat- 
 ing the air with his arm as he walked, the other 
 arm crooked in his brother's elbow. "The last 
 Lhoeac mishandled by a drunken midwife ! By 
 Saint Agnes, she should hang, she should certainly 
 hang, and without pity." 
 
 " And what of the mishandling of the mother ? " 
 
 " The mother, the mother ! " he answered. " Oh ! 
 the mother may fend for herself. She is none of 
 Lhoeac's, and no soul here wanted her. But for 
 Raoul's folly in Italy we should have had a stout 
 Guiennese to mother the last Lhoeac ; or a damsel 
 of Beam. Aye, Beam would have pleased me well : 
 they breed good dames in Beam. But Italy ! Italy ! 
 I had as lief it had been Spain ! The Saints give 
 me patience with Italy, for I have none of my 
 own ! A pest upon their weakling maidens ! A 
 cold wind withers them. Let the pools go crisp 
 as they will of a winter's night, and they shiver 
 and grow peakish like a blasted flower. A pest 
 upon Italy, I say ! Let a man philander there an' 
 he will, but let him marry north. 'Tis the reverse 
 of our proverb: ' Boast of the mountains, but keep 
 thou to the valleys.' Boast of the south if you will, 
 say I, but cleave to the north, and chiefly when it 
 comes to the wenches. Eh, brother, eh, is that not 
 sober truth ? But let that go what does a priest 
 know of such things?" 
 
 "Yet Raoul loved her?" 
 
 " Loved ? loved ? Say worshipped, man, say 
 worshipped ; and see what came of it in the end.
 
 6 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 A petty quarrel about the Lord knows what of fool, 
 ishness, a paltry bickering that healthy, cool, care- 
 less blood had minded not a jot, and off he went 
 north to fight King Louis' battles. A man's a fool 
 who is a lover a week after the wedding-day. See 
 what carrre of it, I say again. The king's battles, 
 no less. Aye, and he fought them well. That was 
 ever a trick of Lhoeac. There at Guinegate he 
 rode a short pike's length behind Crevecceur, when 
 they scattered the Austrian Archduke's cavalry 
 like chaff in a north wind ! Not a scratch came of 
 it. Henri, had he died then I could have given 
 God thanks that Lhoeac upheld the fame of Lhoeac 
 even to the death. That, too, was ever a trick of 
 Lhoeac. But no, but no, he came through the 
 mad riot of the hurly-burly without scathe and 
 must needs fall in the Lord knows what petty fray 
 in Angoumois: a wine-house brawl about sour drink 
 if report speaks true, a wine-house brawl, no more, 
 no less. To think of it is like the turning of a 
 dagger in a wound. A fool's quarrel over wine- 
 dregs left Lhoeac soulless, kinless, and without a 
 living branch ; for you, brother, being a priest, are 
 already as good as dead. Then comes young 
 Madame with her tale of an heir to Lhoeac, and 
 here are we this night left hanging these hours on 
 the will of a wench whether the stout old line shall 
 live or die." 
 
 " And yet, in this hour of her trial, when they 
 send for us presently, brother, you will speak softly 
 to her? She has been in heavy grief for Raoul,
 
 THE HOROSCOPE. 7 
 
 poor soul, and the suffering has worn the spirit's 
 veil of flesh to a shadow." 
 
 " And have I not sorrowed ? " 
 
 " Yes, yes," and the priest drew the other's arm 
 closer to him. " But the young suffer more than 
 the old, and " 
 
 " And they forget sooner, and so the balance 
 swings even," broke in de Lhoeac roughly. " In 
 three years she will be all eyes and blushes for the 
 
 Lord knows who ; while I But what is the girl 
 
 to you that you make so many excuses for her all 
 of a sudden ? While Raoul was here you sang a 
 different note. Ha! by the Lord! I see, I see. 
 Thou hast thirty years the better of me in age, and 
 by way of being the wench's friend wouldst put 
 thy hand on Lhoeac that his reverence the Canon 
 of Mont-de-Mersan may build a road to a bishop's 
 seat, aye, or even a cardinal's for thou hast the am- 
 bition of the devil. My wit is not so grey but that 
 it feels thy aspirations under thy smoothness as 
 one does the claws of a cat in the fur of her soft 
 paws. Well," he went on, as the other made no 
 answer save a swift upward glance in the dark, " I 
 blame no man who climbs, if he but climb honestly 
 and with clean hands. Only, look you," and stop- 
 ping in his march he swung the other facing him, 
 " look you, Henri, if aught happen the boy through 
 you, then may a curse light upon you, though you 
 be priest, bishop, cardinal, and brother in one." 
 
 "What should happen to him?" answered the 
 other drily ; " cross no bridges, my dear lord, until 
 you come to them."
 
 8 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 " Aye," and with a sigh de Lhoeac turned again 
 across the room, " but when the time of bridges 
 comes I shall be at rest with the Lhoeacs of long 
 ago pray God I be at rest and thou wilt be 
 left." 
 
 " Be sure," said the priest earnestly, " that 
 Lhoeac shall suffer no loss, no waste, no diminish- 
 ing, through me." 
 
 " Lhoeac? no, because thou wilt be Lhoeac, and 
 so may be trusted to see to thine own safe keeping 
 and aggrandisement. Trust you for that. That 
 is another of thy crooked sayings, and has a double 
 edge. Be that as it may, I call God to witness 
 that the curse stands." 
 
 The great log upon the hearth had slowly charred 
 through to the very centre and fallen in, and the 
 short outburst of flames which followed the crash 
 had sunk into a red and sullen glow. The shadows 
 no longer capered and swung upon roof, pillar, and 
 arras, but grew denser and blacker in their set places 
 as the white film of ash cooled across the hot face of 
 the embers. The soundless life which had haunted 
 the great hall had sobered into stillness, and the 
 only shadows which moved were the two grey figures 
 that walked the time-worn flags in silence. 
 
 The old Lord of Lhoeac a baron of seven genera- 
 tions and of the creation of Saint Louis himself was 
 the taller of the two by a full head: nor were the 
 brothers alike in a single point save those of stern 
 eyes, hooked nose, and strong square chin. Each 
 in his own way was a hard man, but with this differ-
 
 THE HOROSCOPE. 9 
 
 ence : pride of race and love of the Seigneurie over 
 which he reigned, ruled and spurred the elder, while 
 Henri, Canon of Mont-de-Mersan, was bondslave to 
 greed of place and power : his pride rather that which 
 he would be than what he was. 
 
 " Let there be no talk of curse between us two," 
 said he, breaking the silence at last, and laying a 
 firm white hand upon the other's shoulder. " I 
 would there were ten Lhoeacs instead of this one frail 
 life which seems so loth to come into the world that 
 a man might say it had some foreknowledge of its 
 sorrows. What shall be its name, Guy ? But I sup- 
 pose the mother may have something to say to 
 that ! " 
 
 "Themother? Oh ! the mother ? By my faith ! 
 I think I see the mother setting her will against 
 mine. The child is Lhoeac's, and Lhoeac shall name 
 its own as it pleases, though all the demoiselles in 
 Italy said no ! We shall follow the ancient custom 
 For nine generations it has been thus with us: Guy, 
 son to Raoul, son to Guy, son to Raoul, and so 
 downward. The child follows his grandsire, and 
 so the thing is settled; his name shall be Guy." 
 
 " But, my dear lord, though the mother be silent, 
 nature may have a word to say. It may be a girl 
 and so 
 
 " Peste ! Plague take your may-be's and your 
 girls too. A girl ? A girl ? Then let the mother 
 name the baggage, an' welcome ; but God send us no 
 wenches. But for the heir that is coming there is 
 already one wench too many in Lhoeac ! A girl
 
 io THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 Here I vow to Saint Agnes of Lhoeac three silver 
 candlesticks if only " 
 
 " You may spare your vows, my lord and brother," 
 said the priest; " the event is past praying for ; and 
 if all be not right you may take the word of the 
 church that not even three silver candlesticks, no, 
 nor three Saint Agneses either, will work the miracle. 
 But," and he turned towards the hollow of the stair- 
 way, " I will wager these same three the candle- 
 sticks, not the saints that aye, hearken : the old 
 
 dame has found her legs as she has never found them 
 these ten years past." 
 
 Along the corridor above could be heard the 
 quick patter of running feet not too softly shod ; 
 no light tread, but the clumsy footfalls of unaccus- 
 tomed lumbering haste. Then came the clatter of 
 wooden heels on the stairs, growing slower and 
 slower as the gloom thickened, and finally the 
 rustling fumble of a homespun skirt dragged grop- 
 ingly along the wall. 
 
 " Saint send us safe home," said a wheezy voice 
 in the darkness. " For ten times three crowns I 
 would not Lord save us ! what's that ? Is there 
 not so much as a rush-light in all Lhoeac, and on 
 this night of all nights when there are ghosts 
 abroad?" 
 
 " It is I, dame, the Seigneur. What news ?" 
 
 " The worst," answered she, clinging to the wall 
 and still panting between haste and fear, " the 
 worst, and the truth's the truth whether we like it 
 or no, and so best told. Young Madame "
 
 THE HOROSCOPE. 11 
 
 "Aye, aye, young Madame can bide. We have 
 waited on her long enough, and 'tis our turn now. 
 What of the child ? " 
 
 " There is little biding for young Madame, poor 
 lamb. For four-and-twenty years have I " 
 
 " Aye, aye, but the child, woman, the child ? 
 Mordieu, wouldst have me shake the news out of 
 you ? What of him ? " 
 
 " The child is well enough, Monseigneur, and 
 when it has starved five hours according to rule it 
 will drink its milk like a calf : no fear for the child. 
 God grant young Madame see daylight ; 'tis the 
 priest she needs now ; the leech can do no more, and 
 I'm thinking the Father who was with her knows 
 more of simples than consolation." 
 
 " You hear, Henri, you hear ? The boy thrives : 
 he is a true son of Lhoeac, and the old house has 
 caught fresh wind for the race. Oh, God, I thank 
 thee ! Saint Agnes, I give thee praise ! Hence- 
 forth this shall be a day of days f for a man child is 
 sprung from the spent stock of Lhoeac. Here on 
 my knees " 
 
 " A man child ? " she broke in quaveringly, and 
 stumbling forward as she spoke ; " who said aught 
 of a man child ? 'Tis a girl babe, and the sweetest 
 Guienne has seen this generation ! For the Lord's 
 sake, see to the Seigneur! Hold him, reverend 
 Father, hold him! Hulloa! You snails, you 
 sluggards ! quick, quick, bring wine ; I say bring 
 wine, lest there be two dead in one night ! God 
 help us ! what have we done that life and death
 
 12 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 should go so linked ? My fault, Father ? Oh, aye, 
 'tis always the woman that's to blame ! And yet 
 I said no more than the truth : 'tis the dearest babe 
 in all the Duchy." 
 
 II. 
 
 Into the great hall of Lhoeac there were eight 
 entrances. One the main door opening into the 
 central courtyard a thing of stern defence, of 
 bolts, bars, locks, and ponderous iron studs, built 
 to laugh alike at fire or the battering of assault. 
 One the stairway facing it across the broad square 
 with its double row of triple pillars, its benches, 
 tables, and scattering of skin rugs ; four more in 
 pairs to right and left sunk deep into the side walls 
 and hung with claret-coloured cloth of Rennes 
 looped with tasselled cords ; and two through the 
 scantily-lit corridors which swept round the castle 
 in a horse-shoe from the stairs' foot corridors dank 
 and close in winter time as with the heavy atmos- 
 phere of a vault ; a ninth there was in the centre 
 of the floor, where, at a touch of a hidden spring, 
 a great flag swung upon a pivot, but it was rather 
 an exit than an entrance, and its gaping mouth had 
 served the wild justice of the wilder vengeance of 
 more than one lord of Lhoeac. 
 
 When the shadow of the eternal sleep darkens a 
 household there is commonly little room for this 
 world's slumber within its doors. So was it that 
 still September night at Lhoeac. The watchfulness 
 and waiting which had their centre in young
 
 THE HOROSCOPE. 13 
 
 Madame's dim and silent chamber spread their 
 influence from Seigneur to scullion, and no soul 
 lay down to sleep. Then, as always, the awesome- 
 ness of the great change made for wakefulness. 
 
 Four hours had passed since the bitter blow 
 dealt to de Lhoeac's confident expectation had 
 staggered him body and mind, and the two brothers 
 had betaken themselves to the Seigneur's smaller 
 justice hall, an apartment facing the courtyard and 
 entered from the left corridor. There, when the 
 frailer elder had recovered himself, they had been 
 joined by one who for some time called himself 
 Messire Jacopo Ravelli, but who, by his own show- 
 ing, had in his day borne many names. 
 
 A striking figure was Messire Jacopo, one at 
 whom a man having looked carelessly once, looked 
 again and yet again, baffled and curious, looked 
 until the furtive glance became a stare, and with 
 every second the questionings would grow as to 
 what manner of mind it was that lay behind that 
 smooth, impassive mask. Then, let the fascination 
 be broken, and Messire Jacopo was no more than 
 one of a common score, save for the waxen white- 
 ness of a face that was the face of the dead rather 
 than the quick. 
 
 A slender, hard-knit, sinewy man was Jacopo 
 Ravelli, broad-shouldered, clean-limbed, with hands 
 and feet small-boned, long and lean ; manhood and 
 youth met in him at their strongest. His black, 
 straight hair hung across his ears almost to his 
 shoulders, and being cut square upon the forehead,
 
 14 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 set the smooth and pallid face as in a dull frame of 
 ebony. His chin was as square as de Lhoeac's own, 
 his lips as firm, but never, even in the fire of his 
 hot youth and Guy de Lhoeac had lived hard and 
 known hot passions had the Seigneur's eyes lit up 
 as did those of Messire Jacopo. As to his dress, it 
 was plain to severeness, but a light sword hung at 
 his left hip, and the man had the alert air and free 
 carriage of one who could use a blade at times, and 
 have no fear that his foe would shame him. 
 
 "Sit you down, Henri," the Seigneur had said 
 while the two were still alone, " and set that sconce 
 at your back, for this Ravelli is no common man, 
 and is worth the watching. Why he is here at a 
 time when strangers have scant welcome falls out 
 thus: In '64 it was my fortune to do young Pietro 
 della Rovere nephew to that Francis of Savona 
 who is now Pope and calls himself Sixtus the 
 Fourth some little kindness. A nothing, a noth- 
 ing: no more than soldier to soldier; but the lad, 
 being only a lad, was grateful, and even as a man 
 has not forgotten. Therefore, when I wrote him 
 or rather Hugo, my chaplain for, thank the Lord, 
 I know no more of clerk's work than my dagger- 
 manual when I wrote him, I say, of the evil that 
 had befallen Lhoeac, and the gossamer upon which 
 its promise hung, he must needs send me this Ra- 
 velli and a letter that was Rovere's own self for 
 blunt frankness. ' Thou art old,' said he, ' and be- 
 ing old, had best know the good and be warned of 
 the evil that will befall the child through the stars
 
 THE HOROSCOPE. 15 
 
 in their courses. Trust Ravelli as thou wouldst 
 myself.' That was four months ago, and to-day 
 or was it yesterday ? for it must be hard upon mid- 
 night at the very prick of noon comes the man 
 himself. What dost thou make of that, brother? 
 Four months of a blank, and then to come at the 
 tick of time ! To me it smells of the fiend." 
 
 "The stars in their courses!" cried Henri de 
 Lhoeac, crossing the room to where on an oaken 
 buffet stood an array of flagons, and pouring out a 
 goblet of wine with a hand that shook in spite of 
 his self-control. " A charlatan ! a cheat ! What 
 hath a Christian man to do with black magic ?" 
 
 But the Seigneur shook his head. 
 
 " No charlatan, no cheat. What ? are the della 
 Roveres fools ? and would his Holiness join hands 
 with the devil ? That were a pretty scandal ! For, 
 trust me, this Jacopo Ravelli is linked to Sixtus him- 
 self, and closely. More than that. When a man is 
 in straits, as I am, he must needs take what help 
 comes to his hand and not question its whence or 
 its wherefore too nicely. What, man ? Wouldst 
 thou not clutch a bishopric, aye, and with both 
 hands ! even though it was the devil's claw that 
 hooked it to thee? Thou knowest thou wouldst, 
 and never boggle at it ! And when was Lhoeac 
 sharper pressed than now? With nought but a girl 
 babe and an outworn grandsire between it and ruin ! " 
 
 " And do I," demanded the other, setting down 
 his cup which he had filled twice, and returning to 
 his place by the hearth, "do I count for nothing?"
 
 16 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 " By your leave, or without your leave," replied 
 the Seigneur, looking across moodily at the priest, 
 " you are, as I told you, as good as dead, and there 
 are times when a man fears the dead more than he 
 fears the living. For, look you, you know the 
 length of the arm of the one ; but who can forecast 
 the power of the other ? Let this Italian's message 
 but guide me for the guiding of Lhoeac and I shall 
 thank him whether it comes of the blackest magic 
 that ever dripped sulphur or is the very inspiration 
 of heaven." 
 
 With that Jacopo Ravelli had joined them, bear- 
 ing himself with that mingling of courtesy and 
 assurance which alone come of long rubbing 
 shoulders with the great upon equal terms. 
 
 " It is four months," began de Lhoeac sternly, 
 " since the Marchese Pietro wrote me of your com- 
 ing." 
 
 " To be too soon is not to be in time," replied 
 Ravelli. " To-night I am required, and to-night I 
 am here." 
 
 " Aye, aye ; but what if " 
 
 "If! if! "he broke in. "Oh, believe me, Mon- 
 sieur, I am not here to bandy ifs. There are no ifs 
 to the man who knows." 
 
 "Then since thou knowest so much," said the 
 priest sharply and eyeing the Italian with profound 
 disfavour, " doubtless thou also knowest why thou 
 art here? " 
 
 " Doubtless. The reason is this : there is a child 
 born, and the Baron de Lhoeac would have the 
 stars read."
 
 THE HOROSCOPE. 17 
 
 " That della Rovere told thee ? " 
 
 "You asked me, Monsieur le Canon de Mont-de- 
 Mersan, and I have answered." 
 
 "And can you do this?" cried the Seigneur 
 eagerly, and motioning his brother to be silent. 
 
 " I can read a little of what God Almighty 
 writes," replied Ravelli soberly, and with no note 
 of pride in his voice, but rather a gentle humility, 
 " a little, a very little a word here and there, no 
 more ; and the book is great, as needs must that it 
 be great with such an Author." 
 
 " So ! " said the priest, smiling contemptuously. 
 " Thou art a prophet ? " 
 
 But the other shook his head. 
 
 " No prophet, but a groping translator of God's 
 eternal truth. You read the clouds, the winds, and 
 say, thus and thus it shall be to-morrow. I probe 
 deeper into the heart of the mysteries : that is all. 
 Give me my instructions, Seigneur, that I may do 
 that for which I came, and return to him that sent 
 me." 
 
 " Why ? What haste is there, man ? " 
 
 " There is the world's work to be done, and he 
 who bears not his own share of the burden at the time 
 and in the place where the burden should be borne 
 shifts it to another's shoulders ; or worse, it is left 
 undone for need of him, and the generation suffers." 
 
 " By Saint Agnes ! a second providence ! " cried 
 the priest, beating his hands together softly. 
 " The world's work, i' faith ! Dost thou bear up 
 the pillars of the universe?"
 
 i8 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 " To every one his share," answered the Italian 
 quietly; "and woe to the man, aye, and to the 
 church too, that offers no shoulder to the burden." 
 
 "What? Sir Wizard, the church? the church? 
 Art thou ribald ? " 
 
 " Hold thy peace, Henri," broke in the Seigneur 
 authoritatively, " and do you, Messire Ravelli, 
 attend to the work in hand. Give me instructions 
 you said a moment since : how can we instruct you 
 who are here to instruct us ? " 
 
 "To each workman his tools," replied Ravelli. 
 " In my long-vanished but unforgotten Egyptian 
 days we sought to compel the men of Goshen to 
 make bricks without straw, and evil came of it. 
 But we learn wisdom from our failures." 
 
 "Egyptian!" echoed Henri de Lhoeac ; "art 
 thou of Egypt, then ? " 
 
 " Once," replied the other curtly, " but that was 
 long ago. Tell me, Seigneur, the hour, the second 
 of the child's birth. That is the seed from which 
 grows the tree of knowledge." 
 
 "And hast thou, perchance," said Henri de 
 Lhoeac sarcastically, " the tree of life also ready to 
 thy. hand ?" 
 
 " It is an offshoot from the roots of knowledge," 
 answered Ravelli, eyeing the priest coldly, " and I 
 who have eaten of the fruit of both know that it is 
 the least blest of the two. But my answer, Seig- 
 neur?" 
 
 "That you must ask dame Therese, Messire; I 
 shall have her called."
 
 THE HOROSCOPE. 19 
 
 *' No, no, no ; by your leave, Seigneur, I will find 
 her out myself. I fear that between life and death 
 the dame is sore bestead to-night, and it would be 
 a sour kindness to give her old bones an added 
 labour." 
 
 " What ? " said the priest, his hard mouth curling 
 to a sneer. " So learned, and yet so sympathetic ! " 
 
 " Being old myself, Sir Canon, I feel for the 
 aged." 
 
 " Thou old ? Why, man, thou art younger than 
 I, and I count myself but in my prime." 
 
 " I reckon by thought, sorrow, labours, you 
 
 by , and yet, and yet," and Jacopo Ravelli's 
 
 eyes glowed beneath the heavy thatch of his brows, 
 " my years are no mean number, Monsieur le Canon 
 de Mont-de-Mersan. Give me till midnight, Seig- 
 neur, then I shall tell my message and begone." 
 
 While the Astrologer's footsteps echoed down the 
 empty passage-way the brothers stood in silence, 
 one on either side of the smouldering fire. It was 
 the younger who broke the stillness. 
 
 " Did I not say he was a charlatan and a cheat? " 
 he cried, striking with his open hand the edge of 
 the mantel by which he stood. " I marvel, Guy, 
 that you had patience with the fellow's cheap 
 solemnities and quackish parade of learning. Egypt 
 forsooth and men of Goshen ! Now who, in the 
 name of sense, were the men of Goshen ? Such talk 
 is the market patter of the mountebank." 
 
 " Patience was at least no fault of thine, Henri ; 
 no, nor courtesy either. That one of us should bait
 
 20 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 him was enough. Besides, he is vouched for by 
 della Rovere, and I hold him honest." 
 
 "Honest? A specious, cunning rogue, say I; 
 and if I know less of camps than thou, brother, I 
 know more of men. Tis not in the jostle of arms 
 that one learns men. No, it is in the city street, 
 the cunning of the mart, aye, even in the cloister, 
 that such a book is best read. I will wager that he 
 revenges my sifting of his pretensions by setting 
 thee against me." 
 
 " He is vouched for by della Rovere," repeated 
 the Seigneur, " and for the present I trust him. 
 Gibe as thou wilt, I can tell a cheat as soon as 
 thou." 
 
 That had been four hours before, and thence- 
 forward there had been little talk between the 
 brothers. Yet, for all that, the time had not hung 
 heavily. It is a mistake to think that joy alone can 
 spur the hours. Let a man's thought be but bitter 
 enough and time flies as on wings of light ; and, 
 verily, both had their sorrows to nurse the Seigneur 
 that his hopes were doomed, hopes that in his aged 
 optimism he had fed and nourished until they had 
 grown to stout certainties. Now, being a man of 
 action and wit, and not given to biting his own 
 fingers, needs must that he seek to build his house 
 anew out of its broken fragments. Henri de Lhoeac 
 had a different, and yet no less weighty cause of dis- 
 quietude. A churchman by ambition, and caring 
 little for either faith or creed, his ignorance held 
 Jacopo Ravelli in uneasy dread. His vocation was
 
 THE HOROSCOPE. 21 
 
 his ladder, and since Raoul's death he had looked 
 to Lhoeac to help him in his climbing. What if 
 this mystic was no charlatan, but a man infinitely 
 wiser than himself, and one who could indeed read 
 with clear eyes the book of men's lives and so lay 
 bare thoughts and purposes he had never yet dared 
 set naked even before his own soul ? There, truly, 
 was food for thought, and so Henri de Lhoeac 
 sat staring at the fire, his brows knit and his eyes 
 seeing nothing of the embers whitening before them. 
 
 III. 
 
 It was Jacopo Ravelli who broke in upon their 
 thoughts. As his approaching footsteps rang along 
 the corridor the brothers started, and their eyes met 
 with the one distrustful questioning in both, but 
 neither spoke until the Astrologer had silently let 
 the curtain fall behind him. In his hand he carried 
 a small square of parchment. 
 
 " Well ? " cried the Seigneur, rising stiffly to his 
 feet and passing a shaking hand across his mouth 
 and beard. " Is it good or evil ? " 
 
 " Is there a life without both ? " replied the 
 Italian. " I mean no offence, Seigneur, but even 
 the house of Lhoeac must share the common lot." 
 
 "A truce to platitudes," struck in the Canon. 
 " Delia Rovere did not send thee all these leagues 
 to talk hornbook. What the Seigneur de Lhoeac 
 means and thou knowest it is, is the child in 
 danger?" 
 
 "The answer is there," replied Ravelli, laying the
 
 22 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 parchment on the table which filled the centre of 
 the room. 
 
 " Here ? " said the Seigneur, lifting it impatiently 
 and twisting it from side to side as he bent over it. 
 "Why, this this is nought but hieroglyphics. 
 Tis liker a plan in fortifications than aught else. 
 Here we have what might be the fort, and central 
 parallelogram with angles, bastions, demilunes, and 
 the Lord knows what else abutting on its sides. 
 Do you play with us, Messire Ravelli ? God's life! 
 man, not even Rovere himself should save your 
 skin from such an ill-timed jest ! " 
 
 " 'Tis the tool of the workman, my lord ; or, to 
 use your own word, which is apposite enough, a 
 plan ; but a plan of the fort of life besieged and de- 
 fended. By your leave, Seigneur." 
 
 Taking the parchment into his own hands, 
 Ravelli spread it upon the table and laid his finger 
 on the triangle to the left of the central figure. 
 
 " Follow now what I say, and believe me I will 
 waste no words. This is the house of the Ascen- 
 dant ; in the child's case 'tis the sign Virgo ruled 
 by Mercury, and its lord is posited in the third 
 decanate. Mars is in conjunction in the same house, 
 and the promise is good. Here," and he moved his 
 finger downwards, " is Venus but newly entered in- 
 to the second house, and in trine to the sun and 
 moon in the sixth and tenth, and again the promise 
 is good. The cadent, or third house, and the two 
 that follow," and his finger swept to the right until 
 it halted at the corresponding angle of the parallel-
 
 THE HOROSCOPE. 23 
 
 gram, " are void ; but here, in a house of the des- 
 cendant, that of the feeble Aquarius, and therefore 
 in his own detriment, is the sun. Saturn is in op- 
 position, and the promise is evil." 
 
 Again his finger moved, skirting the side of the 
 parallelogram. This time the motion was upward 
 till it passed the upper right-hand angle, and turn- 
 ing to the left halted in the triangle that crowned 
 the figure. " The tenth house Medium Coeli : Mid- 
 heaven. It is the day house of Mercury, and in it 
 is the moon in trine to Venus and the sun ; the 
 promise is good. Next," and his finger moved to 
 the left, crossing the line that separated the tri- 
 angles, " is the eleventh house, and in it Cancer, a 
 malevolent sign, and throned there is Jupiter, a 
 gracious planet that in part corrects the evil. 
 Now," and he drew his hand downwards to the 
 left, " we come to the twelfth and last house. It 
 bears the sign of Leo, and in it is Saturn ; the 
 promise is evil, and the evil is strengthened by the 
 sun in opposition. These, Seigneur, are the teach- 
 ings of the stars, and for good or for evil they are 
 written across the heavens." 
 
 Straightening himself, Jacopo Ravelli stepped 
 back a pace or two from the table, while in his 
 turn the younger Lhoeac snatched up the parch- 
 ment and scanned the tracings closely. 
 
 " Did I not say it ? A mountebank's jargon, a 
 strolling cheapjack's easy patter," he cried; "a 
 bushel of words without so much as even a grain of 
 sense. Pay the fellow his fee, my lord, and let him
 
 24 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 carry his pretensions to whosoever will swallow 
 them : here they stick in the throat." 
 
 But the Seigneur shook his head. 
 
 "Thy heat is ill-timed and ill-judged," he said 
 slowly. " To me monkish Latin as they gabble it 
 at the Mass is so much gibberish, yet God 
 Almighty hears and understands the church's 
 prayers, or else what becomes of us ? If I reviled 
 Fra Hugo as a fool for his praying, the folly would 
 be mine, not his. Wait, Henri ; this, too, may 
 have a meaning for all its disjointed patter of signs 
 and planets and houses and the Lord knows what 
 all. Is it not so, Messire?" 
 
 " Three nations have perished in the making of 
 the wisdom," replied the Italian, returning to his 
 place by the table. " Monsieur le Canon de Mont- 
 de-Mersan were a wise man indeed if in the fillip of a 
 finger and thumb he had plumbed the laborious and 
 slow-built learning of Chaldea, Assyria, and Egypt." 
 
 "Translate, then, Messire," and taking the 
 parchment from his brother's grasp, the Seigneur 
 handed it to Ravelli. " Delia Rovere bade me 
 trust you as I would himself, and trust him I would 
 to the death. Trust begets truth in a true man, 
 Signer Ravelli ; you understand? " 
 
 " Trust begets truth," returned Ravelli gravely 
 laying the horoscope once more flat upon the table. 
 " And what della Rovere set his pledge to I will 
 redeem. Listen, then : 
 
 "The ascending sign in the House of Life is that 
 of Virgo ; the child, therefore, will be chaste, hope-
 
 THE HOROSCOPE. 25 
 
 ful, strong in fortitude under difficulties. To these 
 qualities the ruler of the house in the third decan- 
 ate adds shrewdness ; while the sun in Aquarius 
 assures that the intuition which is a sure judge of 
 men and women. In this first house is also the 
 fiery Mars, but over all his harassments and stress 
 of war will be spread coolness and foresight. Mars 
 is a sword to smite, but his edge is blunted. That, 
 Seigneur, is the lesson of the House of Life. 
 
 " Turn now to the second house," and Ravelli's 
 finger travelled downwards as at the first. " This is 
 the last ascending house, and is the House of 
 Wealth. The foundations of the child's fortunes 
 are laid and protected by Venus, the sun, and the 
 moon ; that is to say, by love, power, and thought. 
 These are in trine or equal-sided triangle, which, 
 being the form of the pyramid, is the symbol of 
 eternal strength. Happy the life that is so but- 
 tressed. The third house, which is that of Breth- 
 ren ; the fourth, of Kindred ; and the fifth, of 
 Children, are negative. That these, Seigneur, are 
 without promise of good is itself a menace, since to 
 lack the love, service, and watchfulness of these is 
 an unspeakable weakness. When the Lord God 
 spread His teachings in the heavens He gave men 
 wit to read them, and the silence of God is an 
 awful and portentous thing ; and let those who 
 have the care of the child heed well the warning. 
 
 " Now," and his finger rested to the right, and 
 below the angle of the central figure, " come we to 
 Aquarius, which is the sign in the sixth house,
 
 26 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 being the second house of the descendant. Here, 
 also, is the sun, the symbol of strength and power ; 
 his rays quenched, and with yet two more houses 
 of the descendant to pass through. There is 
 danger, Seigneur, danger imminent and great. But 
 this is the House of Health, and with the power of 
 the sun within it there is no fear for the child upon 
 this score. The danger is from without, not from 
 within, and the key lies in this the houses of 
 Brethren, Religion, and Enemies are in square, and 
 the square is as evil as the trine is good. Next 
 lies the House of Marriage, where night and day 
 meeting merge in one. It is void of direct teach- 
 ing, but has Mars and Mercury in opposition. 
 There will, therefore, at this time of life, be an 
 adverse and evil union of cunning and strength, 
 mind and force, power without scruple. In its evil 
 aspect Mercury is the very father of lies. 
 
 " The eighth and ninth houses are also void : the 
 one is the House of Death, with the planet of 
 woman's love at its coldest, so that the shadow of 
 loss falls near, very near, the babe. The other is 
 the House of Religion, and of it there is this to be 
 said : Saturn in the twelfth house and the sun in 
 the sixth are in square, and the aspect is threaten- 
 ing : a baleful conjunction of the forces of two 
 worlds. Let the child," and Ravelli looked up for 
 an instant full in the face of Henri de Lhoeac, " let 
 the child, I say, beware of the power of the church." 
 
 It was but a glance, no more ; then he turned back 
 impassively to the diagram, putting his finger on 
 the tenth house, which he had called Mid-heaven,
 
 THE HOROSCOPE. 27 
 
 " The House of Dignity and Honour: it is occu- 
 pied by the sign Gemini, and in it is the moon. 
 The planet is in her growth, and if -but the dangers 
 of the third, fourth, seventh, and ninth houses be 
 escaped, the child will come to honour through 
 strength and love, which are in trine. Last but one 
 is the House of Friends, and in it is the planet of 
 beneficent power. It is the first ascending house, 
 and when the time of trial comes its influence will 
 be potent, counteracting," and he laid his finger on 
 the triangle to the left of the upper corner of the 
 figure, "the malevolency of Saturn throned in the 
 House of Enemies a malevolency potent and im- 
 placable. To sum up all, Seigneur. Grave this 
 upon your memory and teach it to all those who 
 truly love the fortunes of Lhoeac and the life of 
 the young child. 
 
 When priest or kin hath aught to win, 
 Then trust thou least both kin and priest. 
 
 There, in a word, is the message of the stars.' 
 
 Jacopo Ravelli had spoken throughout in the 
 level, measured tone of a man whose mind is intent 
 upon the unfolding of a problem, and who, because 
 of the concentrations which it demands, has a mind 
 vacant to all else. There had been neither hesita- 
 tion nor passion ; simply the cold statement of 
 comprehending knowledge. These things were so 
 because they were so, and there was no room for 
 question, heat, pause, or deviation. Then, having 
 finished, he bowed to the Seigneur, pushed the
 
 28 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 parchment from him as if to say, " It is done with," 
 and stepped back as he had done at the first. 
 
 But before Guy de Lhoeac could open his mouth 
 the priest broke in, hot and furious 
 
 " By Saint Agnes ! did I not say so? How much 
 hath this Rovere paid thee, fellow, to villify Holy 
 Church? What a cur the man must be to bid thee 
 foul and snap at that whereby he lives, since but for 
 Sixtus where would be Rovere? Ha ! I smell the 
 trick. These Roveres are of the Italian faction, and 
 would discredit us common scum of France lest we 
 climb into their place ! By Holy Paul ! he and 
 thou shalt pay for it. What, Guy, what ? Art thou 
 dumb under such vile slanders of thy brother?" 
 
 But the Seigneur never budged from where he 
 stood leaning against the table, his arms crossed, 
 and his beard sunk upon his breast. 
 
 " The child hath other kin besides thee kin on 
 the mother's side," he answered coldly, " and it is 
 to Messire Ravelli's credit that he has told his mes- 
 sage without fear or favour. Why art thou so hot 
 to take it to thyself ? But this thing is new to me, 
 and my wit is slower than it was. Signor, let me 
 understand. You say there are twelve houses?" 
 
 " That is the modern method, Seigneur, the fangle 
 of these few hundred years," replied the Italian, 
 " and so I gave it to you. But it was not thus we 
 learned astrology on the ancient watch-towers of 
 Nineveh and Babylon. No, Chaldea knew the truth 
 more simply and yet more perfectly, and yet in their 
 essence the systems are at one. It is the accursed
 
 THE HOROSCOPE. 29 
 
 hunger after novelty and elaboration. What need 
 of twelve houses when there are but seven dwellers 
 therein ? Since what are they, these houses, but the 
 changing abodes where the Eternal forces move and 
 rule? And which is greater, the body of a man 
 or the eternal spirit that illumines it ? the house or 
 that which dignifies the house ? Truly, the latter. 
 Thence come the pulsations of the heart of the 
 universe, the flooding currents of life in which are 
 borne the powers and destinies of men. Reckon 
 them, then, Seigneur, as seven houses. Thus : the 
 House of Life and Fortune, the things which a man 
 possesses; the House of Kindred, that environment 
 into which a man is born ; the House of Marriage, 
 which is the house of the being and the blessing of 
 life ; the House of Death ; the House of Religion ; 
 the House of Dignity and Honour; the House of 
 Friends and Enemies. You are warned ; you are 
 taught, Seigneur. May the Power that through 
 the creeping centuries has shed this broadening 
 light upon the world keep and guard the child." 
 
 Turning on his heel, Jacopo Ravelli lifted the 
 curtain behind him and was gone with no more than 
 the faintest gesture of farewell. Henri de Lhoeac 
 he heeded not at all. 
 
 So sudden was the movement that the curtain 
 had fallen back into its place before the Seigneur 
 recovered from his surprise, and as he sprang for- 
 ward to recall the Italian he found his purpose 
 checked. Face to face with him in the hollow of 
 the wall was dame Therese, panting and breathless.
 
 30 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 " For the love of the Lord, Seigneurs both, come 
 to young Madame and at once. The night is 'most 
 gone, and it's on my mind that when it goes she'll 
 go with it." 
 
 " Chut, chut, dame," answered de Lhoeac as he 
 followed herjnto the passage. "White was ever 
 black with you if it had even so much as a vein of 
 grey in it. Give her the child to pet, and I'll war- 
 rant the babe will cuddle her back to strength." 
 
 " The babe, Seigneur ? Ah, but it's woeful to see 
 her with it asleep on her arm. Tis life and death 
 they are, these two ; and not a handsbreadth be- 
 tween. A dozen times have I tried to take it from 
 her, that she might rest, but she will not, she will 
 not. ' Let it bide,' says she, mumbling it with her 
 mouth, ' let it bide. I shall have her but five hours, 
 the world ten times as many years. Nay, it may 
 be longer than that ere I kiss her again ; let it bide, 
 dame dear.' And what can a body do but give her 
 her way and strive hard not to weep ? " 
 
 " Thou art a fool, woman, a fool," said the Seig- 
 neur angrily. " What ? Give the girl her way for 
 no reason but that she whines for it ? I thought 
 thou hadst more sense, and thou past middle age ; 
 but some would live to a hundred and never learn. 
 Plague take these stairs ! they grow steeper every 
 day ; and yet there was a time when I could do four 
 in a stride. Would to God I could see young feet 
 clamber up them. Stay a moment, dame, while I 
 breathe ; nay, rather go on and bid young Madame 
 put some colour in her cheeks if only for shame 
 that she has brought no son to Lhoeac."
 
 THE HOROSCOPE. 31 
 
 Dame Therese had gone on her way as de Lhoeac 
 bade her, but at his last words she turned upon 
 him, her smooth, plump face wrinkled with anger 
 and her eyes ablaze. 
 
 " What ? " she cried in a hoarse whisper, that 
 hissed along the passage like water on hot iron ; 
 " would you gall her with that, and she in her last 
 hour? To your face I tell it to you, Seigneur, and 
 come what may of the telling : you were ever a 
 hard man, and you grow no softer with age, but if 
 you fling that in her face, and she with the shadow 
 of the grave upon her, it will be an ill thing to an- 
 swer for and you so old as to be no more than an 
 arms-length from your own end. Nay, more," and 
 she fronted Guy de Lhoeac as no man had ever 
 fronted him save with a naked weapon in his hand, 
 and few even then, " if that be your thought, it 
 were better you bide outside, and not carry your 
 own hot curse with you for the tags of your days." 
 
 Round she swung on her heel again, and with 
 back squared and chin in the air went down the 
 corridor muttering, while the startled Seigneur 
 could not do more than stand leaning upon the 
 stone balustrade, staring. 
 
 " Plague take the beldame ! " he said between his 
 teeth. " Didst thou hear her, Henri ? For half a 
 word she would have had her nails in my cheeks." 
 But to his credit be it said that neither then nor 
 later did dame Therese suffer so much as a rebuke 
 for her honest speech. Whether in man or in wo- 
 man Guy dc Lhoeac respected honesty and courage.
 
 32 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 When they entered the room Therese was already 
 bending above the bed, and as the Seigneur leaned 
 across her shoulder his greeting of a rough jest died 
 unspoken. Too familiar with death in its many 
 forms to have any illusions, his first words gave the 
 key to his thoughts. 
 
 41 Where is Fra Hugo? " he asked bluntly. 
 
 " My peace is made, Seigneur. Fra Hugo has 
 come and gone." 
 
 "Thy peace, poor lamb," said the nurse, sobbing 
 and pushing back the hair from the girl's forehead 
 with a hand that shook for all its sinewy strength ; 
 "when was there aught but peace between God 
 and thee ? I'll warrant 'twas such a white con- 
 fession as Fra Hugo never before hearkened to." 
 
 " Henceforth that place is mine, dame ; " and 
 with gentle strength the Seigneur moved the weep- 
 ing woman aside, setting himself in her stead by 
 the bed-head. 
 
 With a quick flash of life the girl looked up, 
 and the fingers that caught his sleeve had a strange 
 strength for one so near the edge of the world. 
 
 " Shall it be so, my lord, shall it indeed be so ? 
 Henceforth ; and for the child too ? See ! " and 
 she drew down the coverings, showing the infant 
 asleep upon her arm. " Is that yours henceforth, 
 Seigneur? " 
 
 " While God gives me life she shall be the trea- 
 sure of Lhoeac ! " he replied solemnly, laying his 
 hand on the babe's head as he spoke. " Nay, 
 more ; by His grace I shall find away to stretch an 
 arm from the grave itself to hold her safe. God in
 
 THE HOROSCOPE. 33 
 
 His mercy deal so with me as I deal with the 
 child." 
 
 " And at the last may He be gracious to you, my 
 lord, as you have now had pity upon me. My fear 
 was for the child. The rest is nothing nothing 
 but a sleeping and awakening." 
 
 " What, ma petite? These seventy-five years it 
 has seemed to me hard to die ; is it not so at the 
 last?" 
 
 " This," and a smile flickered upon her lips as she 
 lay back with closed eyes, " this is easy, so very 
 easy." 
 
 Then she wrapped her arms closer about the 
 child and a silence fell upon the room, broken only 
 by the drumming of Henri de Lhoeac's fingers on 
 the bed-foot. But not for long. With a start she 
 looked up. 
 
 " Take her, my father, take her," she whispered 
 hoarsely, lifting the child with her last strength as 
 she spoke. " My babe, my babe, my babe ! " 
 
 Very tenderly de Lhoeac took the infant Into his 
 unaccustomed arms. 
 
 " She is mine, daughter, mine to hold and guard." 
 
 "And to love?" 
 
 " And to love," he repeated, drawing the child 
 closer. 
 
 " Into Thy hands, oh Lord Thy hands, I " 
 
 Then, from whence none noted, Fra Hugo stole 
 into the room and knelt by the bed-head. The 
 shadow of the House of Death had fallen across the 
 House of Life even as Jacopo Ravelli had foretold.
 
 THE HOUSE OF LIFE. 
 I. 
 
 FOR eight years of life Guy de Lhoeac kept his 
 word, as was the custom of his race, and then, dying 
 in the fulness and feebleness of years, kept it in 
 death. For these eight years the child Denise 
 called after her grandmother, the Seigneur's long- 
 dead wife was the plaything and the idol of the 
 Suzerainty. No Anne of Brittany, whether as 
 Duchess in her own right or as twice Queen of 
 France and Anne, astute, clear-brained and am- 
 bitious, was no puppet Queen ruled her millions 
 with a more grave assumption of right divine than 
 that with which Denise the child ruled her hundreds, 
 and the humblest of her subjects was stern old Guy 
 de Lhoeac. 
 
 It was nature's revenge, and when nature hits 
 back she hits hard. For close upon threescore years 
 he had been a law unto himself, going his own way 
 in ruthless disregard of aught but his own will, yet 
 always within such bounds as every man sets up 
 who reverences his own conscience. Now, in his 
 old age he was taken captive, and, saving for these 
 same restraints of conscience which bound him in 
 his love even as they had in his ambition and his
 
 THE HOUSE OF LIFE. 35 
 
 hate as they bind all loyal gentlemen, he had no 
 will but that of the child. His very pride of lineage 
 had taken a fresh form, and Lhoeac, the race of 
 many generations, was lost in Lhoeac the darling 
 of his prayer and thought. 
 
 But it was not for nought that Lhoeac submitted 
 itself to the will of its child tyrant. Never, for two 
 generations, had the Suzerainty known such years 
 of fat and plenty, growth and peace. Hitherto its 
 resources of both men and goods had been steadily, 
 ruthlessly drained that its Seigneur or its Sieur, the 
 old lord or the young, might hold his own in camp 
 and court as became a Lhoeac of Lhoeac. With 
 the death of the young heir in a private quarrel all 
 that had ceased, and now old Guy de Lhoeac's one 
 thought was the adding of strength to strength 
 against the day of trial ; so that to Beam in the 
 south and the furthest verge of Guienne in the 
 north Lhoeac became known as a place where a 
 man might till his fields and plant his vineyards 
 with the assurance of eating the fruit of his labour. 
 
 But Guy de Lhoeac in his hard-wrought life had 
 learned this truth amongst others : that strength 
 begets strength, and that preparedness for war is 
 the surest pledge of peace. Therefore, making no 
 haste, but rather biding his time that he might 
 pick and choose, he gathered together out of every 
 nation such a garrison as held Lhoeac as safe as 
 Louis the King held Plessis Les Tours, but with a 
 difference. The Seigneur ruled through love and 
 faith, the King through fear and hatred; and of
 
 36 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 the two the Seigneur was the better served. What 
 man wept when the eleventh Louis, that " walking 
 skeleton," laid himself down to die ? Not one in 
 all France. 
 
 After the death of the young mother there had 
 been high words between the brothers, and once 
 only through these eight years did the Canon of 
 Mont-de-Mersan visit the Chateau, and then it was 
 again under the shadow of loss. Fra Hugo passed 
 away as tranquilly as he had lived, and needs must 
 that a chaplain be found to fill his place. 
 
 In this emergency the Seigneur who was no 
 man to bear malice from one year to another be- 
 thought himself of his brother. What more natural 
 than that the priest of the family should provide 
 the family priest? Therefore he wrote to Henri 
 de Lhoeac in his canonry of Mont-de-Mersan order- 
 ing a chaplain to suit the needs of his household as 
 a man might a horse or a cow, and provided he 
 was, in the person of Brother Martin, but not direct 
 from Mont-de-Mersan. 
 
 In his fastidious zeal for Lhoeac, Henri could 
 find no man within arms-length to fill the place. 
 What more natural, then, but that in his perplexity 
 he should apply to Torriano, General of the gentle 
 Order of Saint Dominic, a man already famous for 
 that earnest spirit which afterwards found its 
 highest expression of devotion in the purging of 
 the church from the malignant heresies of Fra 
 Girolamo, commonly known as Savonarola. A fiery 
 and a terrible purging truly, but congenial withal,
 
 THE HOUSE OF LIFE. 37 
 
 and Torriano's enthusiasm was not to be limited by 
 weak considerations of justice or mercy. 
 
 In the hands of such a man Henri de Lhoeac 
 might leave with safety the needs of his brother's 
 household, and his own interests, and doubtless the 
 six weeks or more during which the Chateau was 
 without ghostly comfort were not wasted. Brother 
 Martin was worthy waiting for. Naturally, too, the 
 young Dominican would require for private teach- 
 ing these five days he rested at Mont-de-Mersan. 
 To be rightly used spiritual influence must be joined 
 to worldly knowledge, and the Canon was an effi- 
 cient, if not a deeply learned instructor. 
 
 Nor, impelled by his Christian charity, could 
 Henri de Lhoeac neglect this opportunity of recon- 
 ciliation. He therefore accompanied his protege^ 
 and their discourse by the way was impressive and 
 to the point, being the summing up of a week's 
 teaching. " The church, my brother, the church 
 first and always; then the order; then Lhoeac. 
 Therefore it follows that the good of the church is 
 the advancement of the order and the blessing of 
 Lhoeac. Even to a man who has not learned logic 
 that much must be clear. It is clear, also, that the 
 blessing of the one and the advancement of the 
 other must be by the road of the first. Now Lhoeac, 
 with its revenues of ten thousand crowns a year, is 
 in danger of lapsing to the world by the sinful 
 folly of a dotard, when by lawful right and justice 
 it is the heritage of a son of the church and through 
 him of our common mother."
 
 38 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 " Between this justice and this wickedness stands 
 a child of five years ; a sinless age, my brother, as 
 the church rightly teaches. Mark that, and keep 
 it in thy memory ; a sinless age. If there were 
 guilt upon the soul it would be another matter, but 
 the guilt is yet to come. Truly it is to the glory 
 of God that sin should not befoul a soul ; and when 
 the glory of God and the good of the church are 
 one the duty of an earnest servant of both is plain. 
 What saith the prophet ? there is no need to give 
 it in the Latin ' Whoso coverteth a sinner from 
 the error of his ways shall save a soul from death.' ' 
 
 " It was the Holy Apostle James, was it not, 
 Father ? And is it not rather Greek ? " 
 
 " Aye, aye, Latin or Greek, 'tis all one ; and mark 
 you the 'shall.' 'Tis a thing yet to come to pass, 
 a thing that, so to speak, lies in the womb of time ; 
 therefore he wrote as a prophet and not as an 
 apostle. In future, brother, I would have you to be 
 more careful of these subtleties, lest the ribald in 
 the world scoff at us. But the point is 4 whoso con- 
 verteth.' Now, to convert is to transform to turn ; 
 therefore the prevention, or turning of this child 
 from sin you see the point, and how it is a thing 
 commanded ? Good, aptness in conception is much, 
 but swiftness in action is more." 
 
 " Only," and Henri de Lhoeac held up a warning 
 hand as he rode, " there must be no scandal ; no 
 cause for the enemy to blaspheme. Think, my 
 brother, ten thousand crowns a year rioted away in 
 Satan only knows what evil indulgences when they
 
 THE HOUSE OF LIFE. 39 
 
 might be devoted to the suppression of heresy, or 
 the bringing into the fold of the church the heathen 
 who walk in darkness." 
 
 " I understand, Father," and Brother Martin's 
 sombre eyes lit up in their hollows. " This Lhoeac 
 is no better than anathema, having rejected the 
 counsels of truth and justice. That much his 
 Greatness the General has told me. As to the child, 
 the world must move on, and it were better that 
 one die rather than a whole people perish." 
 
 " You understand, also," and Henry de Lhoeac's 
 face clouded, and his words came less trippingly to 
 his tongue, "that I cannot appear in this matter? 
 Already the world is over-fond of ascribing evil 
 motives to us churchmen. Now, our motives are 
 pure, but whatsoever happens must happen of the 
 providence of God, or in the course of nature, 
 which is the same thing. Eh, brother; you under- 
 stand? " 
 
 " Torriano was clear," answered Brother Martin 
 gravely. " He is the brain and heart ; I am no 
 more than a finger and thumb. It is honour enough 
 to me if I lift out of the church's way that which 
 hinders its progress." 
 
 Both were received by the Seigneur in character- 
 istic fashion. 
 
 " You are welcome to Lhoeac, Sir Priest ; aye, 
 and you, too, brother, in spite of all that has come 
 and gone between us. But I would have you both 
 bear this in mind. Your business is with the world 
 to come and with nought else ; leave my affairs
 
 40 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 alone, and we shall be the better friends. It will 
 rejoice your heart, Henri, to learn that the child is 
 as sturdy as her mother was frail. God be thanked, 
 she is Lhoeac through and through, spirit and 
 temper, bone and flesh." 
 
 " And does her mind keep pace with her strength, 
 my lord ? " said Brother Martin, striking in quickly 
 before his superior could reply to the blunt greet- 
 ing. " All my poor store of knowledge is at 
 her- 
 
 " What the body is to-day the mind will be to- 
 morrow," interrupted the Seigneur sharply. " I'll 
 warrant the wit when the time comes to use it. 
 What, man ? Wouldst have the babe and what is 
 five years but a babe? robbed of her freshness? 
 By Saint Agnes, Master Monk, thou wilt not be 
 long at Lhoeac if thou plaguest the little maid with 
 thy books. Teach her to love truth, to fear nought, 
 and to hate the devil ; and ten years hence will be 
 soon enough for the rest. What the pest has a girl 
 to do with books? Aye, or a boy either, if he have 
 not a mitre in his eye ! As thou hast, Henri, and 
 with little learning to aid thee ! " 
 
 Which was true enough. The Canon of Mont- 
 de-Mersan had his own methods of climbing, but 
 his ladder was not propped against the tree of 
 knowledge. 
 
 That Brother Martin took the Seigneur's blunt 
 hint to heart was presently seen in the close friend- 
 ship which sprang up between the monk and the 
 child Denise. Within a week he held the third
 
 THE HOUSE OF LIFE. 41 
 
 place in her love, coming next to the Seigneur and 
 dame Therese. With Henri de Lhoeac she was at 
 frank enmity, and made no scruple of openly ex- 
 pressing her wish that the Castle was quit of him ; 
 a wish which externally ruffled the Canon not at 
 all. 
 
 " She has been well taught," said he, with a hard 
 smile and a shrug of the shoulders. " But I am a 
 bird of passage, and count for nought. That she 
 should open her heart to Martin is much more to 
 the point, and he is winning her fast ; fast ; both 
 love and confidence, therefore all is well." 
 
 They were on the terrace which fronted the 
 great entrance to the Castle as he spoke ; and indeed 
 the monk and the child made a strange couple. 
 The man, tall and ascetic, thin to meagreness, in 
 spite of the swathing folds of his grey frock, was 
 braced against the weight of the sturdy, fresh-faced 
 child, who, grasping his loosened waistcords with 
 both hands, swung, swaying back, her long quaint 
 robe brushing the grass and her head tilted to laugh 
 up into the lined and earnest face turned down to 
 greet her. 
 
 " Aye," answered the Seigneur, his dull eyes 
 lighting up as they always did at the sight of 
 Denise ; " I am in your debt there, Henri. Some 
 day you must show me how to repay you. That 
 Martin of yours is a rare fellow and a treasure worth 
 the keeping." 
 
 This was a mood long watched for, and Henri de 
 Lhoeac was no man to let it slip.
 
 42 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 " Between brother and brother there is no room 
 for talk of repayment," said he, laying his hand on 
 the other's arm and pressing it lightly. " You are 
 Seigneur, Guy, and I well, it is written the younger 
 shall serve the elder. Yet, if I but dared say it, 
 there is a thing at the moment that you but no, 
 it is too much, beyond all reason too much ; let 
 there be no talk of repayment, my dear lord and 
 brother, I beg of you." 
 
 " Too much ? " repeated the Seigneur, still watch- 
 ing the play of the child with smiling eyes. *' You 
 have grown modest, Henri, a new thing with you. 
 
 If it touch not Lhoeac Well tugged, Denise, 
 
 thou hast a boy's strength in those arms of thine ! 
 Harder, harder ! See how he staggers, Henri, for 
 all that he is a man and she no more than a babe. 
 By Saint Agnes, it is a brave wench ! Ah, your 
 pardon. We spoke of something you had in your 
 mind, did we not? " 
 
 With a strong effort the Canon of Mont-de-Mersan 
 curbed his wrath ; yet, in spite of his control, his 
 voice shook, and though his lips smiled there was 
 no laughter in his eyes but rather much bitterness 
 as he answered 
 
 " A brave wench, truly ! and her baby's play out- 
 weighs the dearest hopes of a man of fifty years. 
 Bid her make Brother Martin stagger a second time, 
 that I may forget my chagrin in my admiration." 
 
 "So, so; I remember now. Does it lie so near 
 your heart as that? Well, if it touch not Lhoeac, 
 as I said, or if it rob not Raoul's child, who is the
 
 THE HOUSE OF LIFE. 43 
 
 heir of Lhoeac, you will not find me backward. 
 But, for the sake of the peace which is between us, 
 let that which is asleep bide asleep." 
 
 For a brief space there was silence. To attack on 
 the weakest side is as much the wit of the beggar as 
 of the soldier, and Henri de Lhoeac could afford to 
 throw away no point in his strategy. 
 
 "The Bishop of Libourne is dead," he said at 
 last, speaking slowly and with bowed head. " For 
 eight thousand crowns a Lhoeac could be Bishop 
 of Libourne. Thence to Bordeaux is but a step, 
 and and from Bordeaux to Rome has been but a 
 further step before now. Remember Clement the 
 Fifth. I am no fool, Guy, and for eight thousand 
 crowns a Lhoeac may one day sit on Saint Peter's 
 chair." 
 
 " What, Henri ? Simony?" 
 
 " No, no, no. But there are fees to be paid. 
 Does Innocent the Eighth hold state for nothing ? 
 And where is a poor Canon of Mont-de-Mersan to 
 find eight thousand crowns? Be frank, my lord; 
 is it one year's revenue of Lhoeac ? " 
 
 44 To be frank, it is not ; but it is eight thousand 
 crowns, and 
 
 From behind there came the bubbling laughter 
 of the child, and the Seigneur stopped abruptly, his 
 forehead wrinkled in thought. Then as suddenly 
 as his face had clouded it cleared ; his mind was 
 made up, and once his face was set forward he was 
 no man to look back. 
 
 44 After all it is not overmuch to pay for peace
 
 44 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 once and for all. But for I would not willingly be 
 taken for a fool to be frank again, this wild talk of 
 Saint Peter's chair, and the greatness of Lhoeac 
 moves me not at all. On such a greatness, and so 
 won, I set no manner of store. Thou," and there 
 was a sort of kindly contempt in his tone as he 
 spoke, " thou, Henri, art the first Lhoeac of us all 
 who has sought to climb by a back stair. But let 
 that pass ; thou hast chosen, and that thou wilt 
 climb, and climb high, I doubt not. I would only 
 have thee understand that these things in no wise 
 touch me. But," and his voice softened, and he put 
 his hand lightly on the other's shoulder, " thou wert 
 a babe when I was a grown man, and for all thy wit 
 I cannot but hold thee as a little of the weakling 
 still, and so a thing to be helped. That counts for 
 something. Then thou art of Lhoeac and I love 
 the race, root and branch ; that also counts for 
 something. Lastly, there is the child Denise, and 
 she counts for much, for the other two lumped 
 together, and more. It is Denise, Henri, who gives 
 thee thy eight thousand crowns. Remember it to 
 her for good when the day of her need comes." 
 
 With a quick gesture Henri de Lhoeac grasped 
 the Seigneur's hand in both of his. 
 
 " My lord ; my brother ; Guy ! " he cried, with a 
 rising inflection in his earnest, vibrating voice. 
 " How can I thank thee? How can I repay thee ? " 
 But the Seigneur shook him off almost impatiently. 
 
 " Did I not tell thee that it was Denise and not I ? 
 Remember it to Denise, Henri."
 
 THE HOUSE OF LIFE. 45 
 
 " Have no fear, brother," answered the other 
 softly, " have no fear ; I shall not forget Denise 
 no, not while I live." 
 
 Four days later he returned to Mont-de-Mersan, 
 and ten of Lhoeac's men rode with him. Eight 
 thousand crowns were not to be lightly risked, and 
 the safety of the highways of Gascony and Guienne 
 was little better than a byword. 
 
 II. 
 
 Between Henri de Lhoeac and the humble 
 brother of the Order of Saint Dominic there had 
 been little intercourse during the stay of the former 
 at the Chateau. He is a wise man who does not 
 say too much even when mind and heart are alike 
 full ; and the future Bishop of Libourne was right 
 when he described himself as no fool. One parting 
 injunction he gave, and one only. 
 
 " There is no virtue in overhaste," said he to the 
 young friar who walked by his stirrup-leather as he 
 rode slowly down the grass slope fronting the ter- 
 raced and paved causeway which surrounded the 
 Castle. " Speed hath its merits, but to do a thing 
 well counts for more than to do it quickly. See to 
 it that I can commend thee to Torriano ; " and with 
 a curt nod he shook up his beast and rode smartly 
 after his bishopric. 
 
 The advice was sound, and Brother Martin 
 knew it. Yet, with his zeal ablaze for that great 
 work for the church which Torriano had promised 
 should lie behind the fulfilment of the duty laid
 
 46 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 upon him at Lhoeac, he chafed sorely at the 
 caution. The dream of his life was a missionary 
 martyrdom, and he reckoned no price too high to 
 pay, no road too hard or too foul to travel, to gain 
 his end. Humble Brother Martin had it in him to 
 be another Peter the Hermit preaching a fresh 
 crusade, and in his pinched, starved face and fiery, 
 sunken eyes he bore the unmistakable signs-royal 
 of the enthusiast. 
 
 To such a man a child was no more than a butter- 
 fly in the sunshine, and the wise Canon of Mont- 
 de-Mersan struck the true note when he harped 
 upon the sinlessness of Denise. Yet, for all his 
 strictness, Brother Martin was too astute to play 
 the ascetic in such a community as that of Lhoeac. 
 The Seigneur was no man to be won over by stern 
 austerity. Like most men of camps he was suspi- 
 cious of extremes, and with the craft of his training 
 Brother Martin let slip into life that true nature of 
 kindly and gentle frankness which for seven years 
 he had held hard curbed. Results justified his 
 wisdom. Not only did he win the child, but 
 within a month all Chateau Lhoeac had forgotten 
 Fra Hugo in Brother Martin. The new order of 
 things had elbowed out of memory the old. 
 
 Yet, in spite of the repose from which the 
 Suzerainty sucked strength, the days were not 
 altogether days of peace to the garrison. Since 
 Talbot had fallen at Castillon some forty years 
 before the English had gradually ceased to trouble 
 in the land, but their very disappearance and the
 
 THE HOUSE OF LIFE. 47 
 
 peace which followed had let loose another form of 
 strife and fostered an internal anarchy by setting 
 free a horde of unscrupulous mercenaries, who, 
 having long lived by robbery in the name of war, 
 now turned to frank brigandage. Every fastness, 
 whether of hill or forest, had its band of marauders, 
 and the very prosperity of Lhoeac made it the 
 richer prey. 
 
 It therefore followed that English Roger Patcham, 
 who served as captain under the Seigneur, had his 
 hands full. Not a week passed without its skirmish, 
 and swords and pikes had small chance to grow 
 dull with rust a thing which pleased Guy de 
 Lhoeac hugely. He had no mind that his fighting 
 tools, whether of steel or flesh and blood, should 
 lose their keenness. 
 
 But all these comings and goings were so much a 
 matter of course that they in no wise troubled the 
 daily life of Lhoeac. It remained for the child 
 Denise to ruffle the calm. 
 
 It was a mid-July day, and Guy de Lhoeac was 
 seated on a bench in front of the great door warm- 
 ing his cold blood in the sunshine. Hard upon an 
 hour he had sat there, sunning himself, when he 
 was roused by a thin cry from the lower pasture to 
 the left, where the angle of a pine wood just hid 
 Les Rochers-des-Ours from sight ; a rough scar of 
 rocks falling rapidly for two hundred feet, and 
 where tradition said the bears of old made their den. 
 In an instant he was alert, and shading his eyes 
 with his hand stared hard across the grass.
 
 48 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 " 'Tis Pierre le Bossu," he muttered as he rose to 
 his feet. " There is trouble afoot. A man of sense 
 is Pierre, and knows better than to rouse Lhoeac 
 for nought. Hullo ! who serves within ? Bring me 
 my staff, and quickly." With the stiffness warmed 
 out of his limbs he had thrown off ten years from 
 his age, and for all his haste when the two met Guy 
 the lord panted less hard than Pierre the peasant. 
 
 " Well ? " he cried sharply, " hath Spain broken 
 loose upon us that thou comest howling in such a 
 fashion ? " 
 
 " Oh, Seigneur, the maid, the little maid ! " gasped 
 the hunchback. " I saw her tumble like a shot 
 goat. With my own eyes I saw it." 
 
 " What maid, fool ? " 
 
 " Mamzelle Denise ; like a shot goat, Seigneur, 
 like a shot goat." 
 
 Down fell the staff and out flew Guy de Lhoeac's 
 two hands, and with the words still in his mouth 
 Master Pierre was being shaken as never his great 
 harridan of a wife had shaken him in all their 
 fourteen years of troubled matrimony. 
 
 w Mademoiselle Denise ? What tale is this ? 
 Talk, fool, talk." 
 
 " For the love of God, Seigneur ! Saints ! My 
 tongue is bitten through, Seigneur. Seigneur, how 
 can I talk and all my breath trounced out of me ? " 
 
 "There!" and still unconscious of his own 
 violence, Guy de Lhoeac flung the hunchback from 
 him so that he spun and staggered from heel to heel 
 on the dry sod, (l Now talk, fool."
 
 THE HOUSE OF LIFE. 49 
 
 " It was this way, Seigneur," and with an effort 
 Pierre le Bossu pulled himself together and faced 
 the stern old lord. " I was setting my mole- 
 traps " 
 
 " Plague take thy mole-traps ! God in heaven, 
 man, give me a plain answer! What of Made- 
 moiselle ? " 
 
 " She was on the brow of the rocks with the 
 grey friar, Seigneur. There she was, dancing and 
 capering like a goat kid, as a child should, and 
 when I saw her I straightened my back " 
 
 " Thy back, man ! Spur thyself, I say." 
 
 " Yes, Seigneur, yes and waved so ; but she 
 never saw me, though the monk did, for he an- 
 swered me like this. Then I stooped, and when I 
 looked again there was a wisp of blue and white 
 rolling down the rocks, just like a shot goat. So I 
 ran, and " 
 
 But Guy de Lhoeac, with one hand pressed hard 
 upon his heart, was running through the fringe of 
 pines which there broke into the grass-lands as he 
 had not run in twenty years. On and on, with his 
 teeth hard set and his eyes seeing little else through 
 the suffused mist that was before them but a blue 
 and white bundle tumbling down a bottomless 
 cascade of rocks, and a sweet, fresh face staring 
 him back from the twinkling mass of colour. A 
 bitter hard race it was, and not far from a race of 
 death to the old Seigneur, yet he won through, and, 
 breathing fast between his clenched teeth, broke 
 from the shadow to the sunshine to see Brother
 
 50 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 Martin coming to meet him with the wisped bun- 
 dle of his agonised terror held tenderly in his arms. 
 
 " Dead ? " he cried shrilly, his voice catching and 
 cracking in his dry throat. " My Denise, my Den- 
 ise ! Oh, God, have mercy upon me ! " 
 
 Then above the monk's grey sleeve he saw a 
 vision of a scared white face struggle into sight, 
 and a still sturdy voice cried back 
 
 " That's my Granddad, that's my own Granddad. 
 Be good to Denise, Granddad, for she's frighted 
 herself." 
 
 Slipping from the priest's hold, she ran to the 
 Seigneur, who, raising her, held her to his breast 
 with almost fierce passion ; nor could Brother Mar- 
 tin, as he stood silently by with moist eyes, have 
 told which of the twain comforted the other the 
 more. 
 
 Presently, laying one arm round de Lhoeac's 
 neck, she settled herself in his clasp, and said 
 
 " Carry Denise home, Granddad ; Denise is tired." 
 
 But reaction had set in, and it was with a pathetic 
 bitterness that de Lhoeac, recognising his own 
 feebleness, replied 
 
 " Granddad is tired, too, Denise. Brother Martin 
 will take thee." 
 
 Promptly the child turned to the friar. " Martin 
 is good," she said then she held up her face that 
 the white-haired mouth might kiss her " but you 
 are better, Granddad. Martin will carry Denise." 
 
 As they went forward, the child having settled 
 herself in his arms with a sigh of comfort, the
 
 THE HOUSE OF LIFE. 51 
 
 friar began his story of what had befallen her, but 
 de Lhoeac stopped him at the very outset. 
 
 " Take her to dame Therese, and let there be no 
 time lost," he said curtly. " I will follow at my 
 own pace. Later Denise herself shall tell me what 
 has happened." 
 
 But as he saw the child's hand go up and pat the 
 monk's cheek and heard her crooning to herself in 
 his arms, a foreboding that had been half-stirred 
 within him was laid to rest. Her faith and love 
 were unchanged, therefore Brother Martin could 
 have had no hand in the accident. 
 
 As it chanced, he had the end of the story told 
 first, for as he went slowly through the wood he 
 met one of the hunchback's fellow-peasants, and 
 from him learned how the Dominican had risked 
 his own life for that of young Mamzelle. 
 
 " Down he clambered, Seigneur, more like a cat 
 than a man. My faith ! how he swung himself 
 from rock to rock when a slip was death, and that 
 grey skirt of his flapping his legs like petticoats on 
 a windy day ! Doubtless the blessed saint upheld 
 him, but it is none the less a fearsome thing for a 
 man to have nought but his faith betwixt him and 
 a hundred feet of nothing and the next world. Yet 
 he did it, Seigneur, he did it ; and with not so much 
 of a pause as would serve for an Ave. Even when 
 he reached Mamzelle Denise he held his life at stake, 
 for she hung out, poor lamb, on a ragged stump, 
 and had he slipped an inch as he reached after her 
 they were both gone pouf ! But he drew her in,
 
 52 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 as one might draw a fish on a hair-line, inch by 
 inch. Then he bound her in the skirt of his robe 
 with those swinging cords of his, and climbed back 
 again, liker to a cat than ever. As for me, I was 
 on my knees mumbling. 'Twas all a man could do, 
 Seigneur, and I made no doubt it helped." 
 
 Later, as Denise with difficulty held back her 
 tears at the ignominy of bed, she was cheered by 
 the unaccustomed sight of the Seigneur. For all 
 his fondness for the child de Lhoeac held that even 
 in his own house there were places where the master 
 had scant right to show himself. Denise's night 
 quarters came under this head, and as she saw him 
 the child reared herself bolt upright, and cried 
 
 " Indeed and indeed, Granddad, Denise was not 
 bad." 
 
 "Nay, my wench, of that I am sure," and the 
 Seigneur, drawing a stool beside her, laid his arm 
 round her, so that the dark curly head rested upon 
 his shoulder. " Tell Granddad all about it." 
 
 " We walked and we walked, and the sun was so 
 hot that Martin said, ' Let us go into the woods/ 
 Then it was cold ; at least, Martin said it was cold ; 
 so we went out again where the nasty rocks are, 
 and Pierre le Bossu was working in the field below. 
 And he waved so and Martin waved back. 
 Then Martin said, ' Granddad likes flowers.' And 
 Denise said, ' Yes, and Denise likes flowers too.' 
 'There is. such a pretty one,' Martin said; 'look, 
 there in the rocks. Is Denise afraid to get it?' 
 And I stamped my foot, and said, ' Denise is Den-
 
 THE HOUSE OF LIFE. 53 
 
 ise de Lhoeac, and not afraid of anything,' and 
 went to get it. And Martin said, 'Come back;' 
 but I tumbled. Was Denise bad not to be afraid, 
 Granddad? " 
 
 " No, no, my wench ; but another time Denise 
 must leave the rocks to the goats, lest she play ball 
 with herself a second time." 
 
 From Denise he went straight to Brother Martin. 
 
 "The child has told me all," he said harshly. 
 " If it was a jest, let there be no more such jests. 
 If it was a trial, her courage has stood the test ; 
 and who art thou to jest or test Mademoiselle de 
 Lhoeac? Either way it was a fool's trick. But 
 let that pass. If I speak no thanks, monk, for what 
 came after, it is because such folly strangles a man's 
 thanks in his throat. I give praise to no man who 
 sets another's life and death on a cast, and then 
 snatches life by no more than a cinq-quatre. Let 
 there be no more such tricks, I say. Do you 
 understand, master priest?" And Brother Martin 
 answered never a word, good or bad. 
 
 Nor was the old lord's wrath unjustified, for though 
 within two days Denise was as she had ever been, 
 the Seigneur's sands were shaken a month for an 
 hour, and after fourscore a month counts for much. 
 
 After that Lhoeac again had peace, and the July 
 days ebbed out in tranquillity. But with early 
 August the quiet was again stirred, and again by 
 Denise. 
 
 On the crest of the slope upon which stood 
 Chateau Lhoeac were the ruins of an ancient keep,
 
 54 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 the victim of fire and sword in the days of the 
 English occupation. The Lhoeac of his days, the 
 Seigneur's grand-uncle, had retired within it, send- 
 ing to Sir Thomas Chisholme, of Starke Hill, the 
 English captain who threatened Lhoeac, a courteous 
 message that he trusted to his care the safety and 
 honour of the defenceless women left in the Chateau 
 a bold move, and yet a shrewdly subtle one; for, 
 full of the chivalry of his time, Chisholme held the 
 Castle and all within it sacred, ignoring, indeed, its 
 very existence saving that he hung to the Lhoeac 
 chestnuts three archers who had dared to cross its 
 threshold. 
 
 As for the grey keep on the hill-top, that was 
 another matter, as the Seigneur found to his cost. 
 For eight days he held out, but in a feint assault 
 undercover of night Chisholme with the barbarity 
 so closely knit with the chivalry of the age con- 
 trived to set the internal, worm-dried timbers ablaze 
 and then block the doorway, penning the besieged 
 like rats in a burning trap. 
 
 In vain Lhoeac besought that they might have 
 leave to come out and to fight, even though it were 
 no more than bare-handed against naked steel, and 
 so at least die as men. 
 
 Chisholme was obdurate. 
 
 " What ? " he cried back, " give eight good days 
 to every petty lordling who shakes his fist in our 
 faces ? No ! by Saint George ! Life is too short for 
 such foolishness, and so thou must serve as a lesson 
 to the rest."
 
 THE HOUSE OF LIFE. 55 
 
 As floor after floor sunk under his men's feet 
 Lhoeac retreated to the flat roof, but it, too, crumbled 
 in the terrific heat, and the rising sun found nothing 
 of the ancient keep standing but a cracked and 
 blackened shell, in which, piled slantingly almost to 
 the machicolations, was the still smoking funeral 
 pyre of the defenders. 
 
 Since that dismal night the English tower, as it 
 was in consequence called, had been left to the owls 
 and bats, untouched save that the doorway was 
 cleared of the fire-gnawed rubble which had blocked 
 it. Whether by day or by night the peasants 
 shunned it as the haunt of devils and a place ac- 
 cursed, pointing out as proof that, in spite of the 
 years which had passed, the terrible slope of charred 
 timbers and broken stone had never borne as much 
 as a blade of grass, nor been brightened by one soli- 
 tary weed. There it mounted, grim and threaten- 
 ing, ghastly, black, and naked, as on the night when 
 it first hid its charnal secrets. 
 
 But with Guy de Lhoeac the tower was a favourite 
 resting-place. From thence the Seigneurie spread 
 before him with its pastures, its vineyards, its woods, 
 its corn-lands, its villages, and near at hand the grey 
 pile of Chateau Lhoeac. It therefore happened, 
 that few days passed in which, at one time or an- 
 other, the English tower was not visited. 
 
 On one of these pilgrimages, as he neared the 
 tower, he heard from within the novel sound of 
 life, the rattle of stones crashing down the crumbling 
 face of the slope, and their ring and clatter as they
 
 56 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 jarred against the wall at the foot. Thinking that 
 some wild beast had crept there for shelter, he 
 paused, and, grasping his staff as a weapon, waited. 
 Louder grew the sound as the movement drew 
 nearer the door, and with all his hunter's instincts 
 keen within him de Lhoeac stole forward to gain the 
 advantage of surprise. In the jaws of the entrance 
 was Denise, dishevelled, tear-stained, tattered, and 
 begrimed. 
 
 " Martin is bad ! " she cried, staying her whimpers 
 as she saw the Seigneur. " Bad, bad ! To tell lies 
 is bad, and Martin tells lies." 
 
 " What the plague art thou doing here ? " cried 
 de Lhoeac, staring down at her too astonished to 
 be angry ; " and how earnest thou into such a 
 plight?" 
 
 " Martin said Denise would find her Maman at 
 the top, so Denise went. But," and the grimy face 
 puckered into the fresh beginning of tears, " there 
 was no Hainan" 
 
 "What? Thou didst never climb there, my 
 babe?" 
 
 " Denise is not a babe ; Denise is a wench, 
 Granddad, and does not tell lies like Martin. Denise 
 did climb. Ouf ! but it was nasty ! Look what 
 Denise found, Granddad ; it was on a little black 
 stick." 
 
 From the pocket of her ragged frock she drew a 
 dingy circle of metal, and held it up to the Seigneur. 
 Laying it on his palm, he turned it over curiously. 
 It was a ring, tarnished and weather-stained, but
 
 THE HOUSE OF LIFE. 57 
 
 upon the collet, under the corrodings of fire and 
 time, there could still be traced the arms of his 
 house. 
 
 " An omen, an omen ! " he cried, his eyes light- 
 ing up. " What went from Lhoeac has come back 
 to Lhoeac ! Granddad will keep this for thee, 
 Denise, and thou shalt have it back when thou art 
 a grown wench." 
 
 This time the Seigneur said no word of reproach 
 to Brother Martin, but thenceforth the friar and 
 Denise were never left to themselves whether 
 within the Chateau or without. Neither to Roger 
 Patcham nor dame Therese was any reason vouch- 
 safed, but both knew from Guy de Lhoeac's harsh 
 insistence that the order was no mere whim, but 
 had some secret stern necessity behind it. So for 
 the second time the Dominican was baulked of his 
 missionary enterprise. 
 
 It was in September that the crisis broke a crisis 
 that robbed Lhoeac of the ministrations of its 
 chaplain. 
 
 For all his suspicions the old lord had never 
 varied in his courtesy to Brother Martin, and, as 
 from the beginning of the Dominican's stay at 
 Lhoeac, it was the custom that the three, Seigneur, 
 Denise, and friar, dined daily together in that small 
 room in which Jacopo Ravelli had explained the 
 horoscope. Their positions at table never altered. 
 At the head sat Guy de Lhoeac, to his left the child, 
 and opposite her was Brother Martin. 
 
 It was Friday, and a jour Maigrc, though the
 
 58 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 Seigneur and Denise, the one by reason of age 
 and the other of youth, were held excused from 
 fasting. On such days the monk, always frugal, 
 lived chiefly on bread and fruit, and as the meal 
 came to a close he drew a platter of apples to 
 him and selected one at random. 
 
 " Now," and he nodded smilingly to Denise, " let 
 us do a thing which is a custom in my country. To 
 share a good apple is to share a pleasure, we say, 
 and he who shares a pleasure doubles it. There 
 is room for a trick in logic there, Seigneur, is there 
 not ? " and he turned to de Lhoeac, whose dim eyes 
 were watching him vigilantly. " If the apple be 
 a pleasure and who can doubt it, smelling its smell 
 and seeing its colour ! and if the sharing doubles 
 pleasures, why," and he drew a silver knife from 
 his inner girdle, and beat the air with it as if driving 
 home his points, then divided the apple, " each 
 must needs have a whole fruit ; though, alas ! 
 you, Denise, will find it no more than half for 
 all the logic ! There, petite, that is the side with 
 rosy cheeks like thine own." 
 
 But the Seigneur stretched out a long, lean hand 
 between the two. 
 
 " Custom for custom," said he, his eyes never 
 shifting from the monk's face. " In such cases we 
 change halves." 
 
 "With all respect," and Brother Martin shook his 
 head with a smile, " a discourteous custom ; for 
 see, this half is cankered." 
 
 " Then you have the less cause to cavil," answered
 
 THE HOUSE OF LIFE. 59 
 
 the Seigneur shortly. " I hold to the custom, 
 master priest." 
 
 But Brother Martin pushed back his stool. 
 "And I hold to mine," he said. " Let it rest there, 
 my lord ; the thing is not worth bickering over ; " 
 and he made as if to rise. 
 
 With a half-leap and a stride de Lhoeac was be- 
 hind him with both of his still powerful hands 
 pressed hard upon the other's shoulders. 
 
 " Run thou to thy dame, Denise," he said sternly, 
 "and as thou runnest bid Michel keep the door 
 without until I call ; run, child, quickly." 
 
 " Now, monk," and though his hands shook, his 
 finger-tips bit deeply into Brother Martin's shoul- 
 ders, and his fierce old eyes flamed as they had not 
 flamed in years. " I have no mind to shame either 
 thy church or order, but, by the Lord God who 
 made me, it is eat or hang, for all thy grey frock." 
 
 Backwards leaned Brother Martin and stared up 
 into the set face bent above him. 
 
 " This way is best," he said ; and lifting the apple, 
 he ate it tranquilly. 
 
 " So ! " said the Seigneur. " That was bravely 
 done, and like a man. Now may God forgive you 
 as I do." Then he went out softly. 
 
 III. 
 
 That night Guy de Lhoeac wrote, by the unac- 
 customed hand of Captain Roger Patcham, a letter 
 to the newly-made Lord Bishop of Libourne. An 
 ill-writ, ill-spelt epistle it was, for honest Roger knew
 
 60 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 no more of letters than would suffice twice a year 
 to let his old and widowed mother in Rye-town 
 know that he lived and thrived, and had sent her 
 half his pay by a sure hand. A rough and a bluff 
 soldier was Roger Patcham, but he had this saving 
 salt in him, that he feared God without terror, and 
 reverenced his mother ; and it was chiefly because 
 of these two things that the Seigneur came to trust 
 him as he did later on. 
 
 But for all its blots, and however much clerkly 
 schoolmen would have gibed at the fruits of Roger 
 Patcham's labours, its meaning was clear ; and, 
 after all, what more than that could be desired? 
 Put into equivalent English, it ran something in this 
 fashion : 
 
 Mye Lord Bysshoppe and dere Bruther, 
 
 Thoue wert at suche paynes tofynde me a chyrch- 
 mannefor Lhoeac thatte it wylle greve yr. harte 
 
 " Plague take it, Seigneur, and with all respect," 
 said Captain Roger, laying down his goose-quill at 
 this point ; " cannot I say in so many words the 
 man is dead, and God be thanked ! My fingers are 
 crook'd like bird's claws with the cramp." 
 
 " Aye, aye ; " and old Guy nodded sympatheti- 
 cally ; " talk comes easy, and I had forgotten that 
 the brunt of the work fell upon thee. Neverthe- 
 less, having gone thus far, we must go on. What 
 was the last word ? aye. ' Grieve your heart.' " 
 
 to tern thatte 
 
 Bruther Martyn hath dyde of eatynge an appel 
 as dy'd al menne. Nexte tyme I wylle chuse myne 
 ownc preste. Ande nowe marke thys welle.
 
 THE HOUSE OF LIFE. 61 
 
 " Aye, I know, I know," broke off de Lhoeac as 
 his secretary groaned and stretched the knotted 
 muscles of his great sinewy fingers, " but this is the 
 pith of the whole thing, without which all the rest 
 goes for nought." 
 
 If the chylde Denyse 
 
 dyethyunge notte one deny ear of al Lhoeac goeth 
 to thee. Thatte is clear, mye Lord Byshoppe, soe 
 marke it wel I saye agayne, for it is God hys 
 trnvth. Thou wylt knowe why. 
 
 " Now give it to me. Why, man, it is so well 
 and clerky writ that it matters nothing whether a 
 man doth turn it upside down or not." 
 
 DE LHOEAC. 
 
 " There ! let him swallow that. For all that he 
 is my brother it had been no great harm to the 
 Seigneurie if he had shared to-day's after-feast with 
 that poor wretch who, to my mind, was the finer 
 man of the two." 
 
 To that letter Henri de Lhoeac returned no 
 answer. If it be wise to leave alone dogs that 
 sleep and the life must be a short one that does 
 not prove its wisdom how much wiser to have 
 nought to do with stirring up those that snap and 
 are broad awake ! 
 
 Thereafter followed three tranquil years years 
 in which, in his growing frailty, Guy de Lhoeac 
 leant more and more on Roger Patcham and never 
 found the prop to fail. His one joy in life was to
 
 62 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 sit fronting the hearth in the great hall, where, even 
 in the heart of summer, a faggot was always kept 
 ablaze, and listen to Denise singing the camp chants 
 which he himself had taught her, or the songs 
 which Olivier Basselin had sent out across all France 
 from his home in the Vaux-de-Vire. There, night 
 by night as the dusk grew to dark, the two were to 
 be found like boon companions side by side, he in 
 his padded chair, Denise upon her low stool, his 
 right hand nursed in her lap and her head resting 
 against his arm. And there, as she sang, in the 
 thickening shadows he died ; slipping the cord of 
 life so quietly that the child still held his hand and 
 sung on, unconscious that the eternal had drawn 
 near, even to within arms-length. 
 
 Let the tale of her grief pass. If it is the blessed 
 privilege of youth that sorrows are soon forgotten, 
 it is also its penalty that for at least a brief space 
 the unreasoning, uncomprehending soul of the 
 child can suffer a keener distress than greyer years. 
 So suffered Denise, and with cause. Her wealth 
 of personal love was but small, and its greater bulk 
 had been swept away in a night. 
 
 From the hour of Guy de Lhoeac's death Roger 
 Patcham stepped unquestioned into the vacated 
 authority ; unquestioned within the Seigneurie, 
 that is, but presently, as was to be expected, a 
 challenge came from without. How it came to 
 Roger's ears that Henry of Libourne meditated a 
 bold stroke for his own enriching none knew, but 
 five days after the Seigneur had been laid to rest in
 
 THE HOUSE OF LIFE. 63 
 
 the great vault beneath the church of Saint Agnes 
 he marshalled his fifty men in the courtyard behind 
 the Chateau, and told them bluntly that the time 
 had come to hold Lhoeac even in the very teeth of 
 my Lord Bishop. 
 
 " And," added he, " if any one of you mislikes 
 the getting into handigrips with the church, let him 
 go in peace and save his soul elsewhere. To my 
 mind there is no question of lay and cleric and the 
 rights of holy things, but of Lhoeac and Lhoeac 
 and the rights of the child Denise, who is the natural 
 heir. Bide or go, which ye will, but understand 
 this : whosoever bides, and shrinks when the pinch 
 comes, even though it be from lopping short my 
 lord's crozier, by Him who made me I will cut him 
 down as traitor with my own hand, though he had 
 all the scruples of the College of Cardinals. Choose 
 now ; which ? " and not a man stirred from the ranks. 
 
 Three hours' gentle trot from the Chateau, 
 Captain Roger halted his troop of thirty picked 
 men. The spot chosen was where the Bordeaux 
 road crossed the bounds of the Seigneurie, for it 
 follows that at Lhoeac he who says Libourne says 
 Bordeaux. Nor had they long to wait. Within an 
 hour the trooper Roger had sent as scout a half- 
 league northward was pounding back through the 
 dust with word that my Lord Bishop was following 
 hard behind. 
 
 "And a mixed crew he hath at his back," he 
 added. "Six men-at-arms, four monks, and as 
 many lackeys with pack-horses."
 
 64 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 Whereat Captain Roger smiled grimly. 
 
 " So he comes in the power of the Lord, and not 
 in the might of this world ! Well, so much the 
 better. The Lord is on the side of innocence, and 
 so there will be fewer blows struck. Saddle up, 
 men, and see that your girths are tight, though I 
 have little fear of an onset. Then form in double 
 line across the road a Flemish pikes-length apart 
 and two from rank to rank. By Saint George ! it 
 will be a strong anathema that will find its way to do 
 mischief in Lhoeac through such an array as that ! " 
 
 Putting his horse to a walk, he went forward a 
 hundred paces, leaving his men standing, then drew 
 rein and sat watching the oncoming cloud of dust 
 which, to his great discomfort, Henri de Lhoeac 
 carried along with him. But thick as was the cloud 
 it could not hide the blink of steel bonnets and the 
 flash of polished bridle-chains, so that presently he 
 settled down to a foots-pace and gradually the dust 
 blew aside. 
 
 "Ha! 'Tis our worthy Englishmen," cried he, 
 spurring to the front. " What ? Master Roger 
 Patcham, are the Lhoeac roads so unsafe for simple 
 travellers like ourselves that thou comest out with 
 such a guard to meet us ? Changed days already 
 since my dear brother's death. Well, it was a 
 courteous thought. Bid your fellows turn in behind 
 me, and we will push forward." 
 
 " So unsafe," answered Roger, " that, to speak 
 frankly, I am here to bid your lordship give Lhoeac 
 the go-by."
 
 THE HOUSE OF LIFE. 65 
 
 " Bid, fellow ? Who art thou to bid the Seigneur 
 de Lhoeac do aught but that which pleases him ? 
 Aye, and who gave thee license to keep thy head 
 covered ? Off with thy bonnet and learn manners; 
 then off with thyself. Thy day is done ; Lhoeac 
 has had overmuch of thieves and blood-suckers. 
 Thy day is done, I say." 
 
 "You are my dead lord's brother, my Lord 
 Bishop, and so I would not willingly fail in respect, 
 but a shrewish tongue, whether in priest or woman, 
 may goad a man into plain truth at times. Bluntly, 
 you are six ; we are thirty, and we hold the road." 
 
 " And by what right " 
 
 From the pocket of his buff jacket Roger Patcham 
 drew a parchment. 
 
 " The right of law and the right of force," 
 answered he, " and 'tis not often the two pull in 
 double harness in Guienne. This is the will of the 
 Seigneur, Guy de Lhoeac, as drawn by Maitre Jean 
 Deschamp, of the Ruede Tutelle in Bordeaux. He 
 holds the original, signed by the said Seigneur, 
 sealed with his own cypher, and countersigned by 
 five witnesses who are all yet living, two being 
 churchmen." 
 
 " Aye, aye ; and what then ? " 
 
 " Bid your men turn back fifty paces, my Lord 
 Bishop, and I will tell you what then." 
 
 " But," said de Lhoeac uneasily, " if this should 
 be a snare ? " 
 
 " Have I not thirty snares at my back ? " an- 
 swered the other impatiently. " That they bide 
 where they are is my proof of faith."
 
 66 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 At a gesture from their master the mixed troop 
 of priests, soldiers, and servitors drew to the rear 
 out of earshot, where, at the command of a second 
 gesture they halted, facing the pair left midway be- 
 tween the two troops. 
 
 " Now, Master Patcham, make an end of these 
 mysteries. Granted that all is as thou hast said, 
 again I ask, What then ? " 
 
 " It was for your sake, my Lord Bishop nay, 
 that is not true, since you are nought to me ; it was 
 for Lhoeac's sake ; for sake of the love and rever- 
 ence I bear the dead, that ' 
 
 "Tut, have done, man. To preach is my affair, 
 not yours, and what I mislike in myself I love less 
 in others. A moment since you spoke of force and 
 law. The first I see and admit, though this is the 
 King's highway, and in such force there is little of 
 law. What of law, Master Patcham ? " 
 
 For answer Roger Patcham tapped the parch- 
 ment. 
 
 " Law for all France," said he. " Listen, my lord. 
 Lhoeac is left to me ; understand, to me ; in trust 
 for the child Denise, and by the Lord God who 
 made me, neither Pope, bishop, nor priest shall 
 touch my right with so much as a finger-tip." 
 
 " To thee, fellow ? Lhoeac left in thy hands ? 
 My brother was mad ! " 
 
 " The Seigneur, your brother, knew men, my 
 lord. I say no more, and I could say no less." 
 
 "And the next thing will be that there is no 
 Denise, no heiress of Lhoeac, no trust ; and that
 
 THE HOUSE OF LIFE. 67 
 
 thou art Seigneur ! God give me patience ! Roger 
 Patcham, the hireling trooper, Seigneur of Lhoeac ! 
 A pretty plot, by Saint Agnes ! " 
 
 " This is my lord's message," answered Patcham, 
 keeping his temper and giving no heed to the other's 
 anger ; " and it is for the giving of it that we two 
 are here alone : ' Tell my brother, and bid him chew 
 well the telling, that if Denise die short of a woman's 
 age short of twenty that is I have left the King 
 my heir ; and he will be a shrewd bishop that picks 
 such a plum as Lhoeac out of the King's pocket. 
 He will know the wherefore of this. Say to him 
 further; that in spite of Saint Dominic he is still of 
 the Lhoeac stock, and so I command that when 
 Denise comes to her own she shall pay him sixteen 
 thousand crowns ; but let him know that the pay- 
 ment is more for the child's sake than for his own. 
 Again he will know why.' All that, my Lord 
 Bishop, is there ; " and Roger Patcham struck the 
 folded parchment with the back of his hand till it 
 rang like a pistol-shot. 
 
 " Aye, aye, granted that I believe thee, though I 
 do not say that I do, the Seigneur was mad and 
 doting, and the will cannot stand." 
 
 " If there is a law in France that will spoil the 
 King of his presumptive heirship, I have yet to hear 
 of it," answered the other. " The Seigneur had a 
 grey wit, and the will shall stand." 
 
 " Rogue ! " burst out de Lhoeac, foaming. 
 "What fiend's guile taught him that trick? But 
 again : granting what thou sayest is true, and that
 
 68 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 there is no justice in France for a robbed man, what 
 hinders me from entering Lhoeac if I will ? Thou 
 canst not bide there for ever." 
 
 " Enter and welcome," retorted Roger. "I pray 
 God you may; for it is so written here that if 
 Henri de Lhoeac set foot within the Seigneurie 
 while the wardship lasts the sixteen thousand 
 crowns are cut in half. But that I am an honest 
 man, Lord Bishop, and so stayed you at the bound- 
 ary, the sixteen had already been eight. Enter 
 and welcome, I say ; it is so much more in the 
 pocket of Mademoiselle Denise." 
 
 Round in his stirrups swung de Lhoeac, and, 
 leaving his left hand on his horse's haunches, jerked 
 his head backward. 
 
 " Hulloa ! To me ! " he cried ; and so remained, 
 waiting till his troop came up. Then he turned to 
 the perplexed Englishman, who, not knowing what 
 next might follow, had tightened his reins to be in 
 readiness for the first danger. 
 
 " I am a man of peace, Master Bully," he went 
 on, speaking loudly so that all might hear. " Thy 
 might makes right, as is too much the case in this 
 unhappy land. Swagger home, thou and thy cut- 
 throats, and boast of thy prowess ; thirty men have 
 turned back six ! Well, be it so ; but remember 
 there is a God, and Belial will not always triumph, 
 nor might be always right. Come, men, and let us 
 seek honester company." 
 
 With a jerk of the bridle he wrenched his beast 
 round, and riding through his troop left Roger 
 Patcham staring.
 
 THE HOUSE OF LIFE. 69 
 
 " Peste ! " said he to the world at large as his wits 
 cleared. " That was a cunning move. He saves 
 his crowns and reputation, flouts me, and damns 
 Lhoeac, all with one breath ! " 
 
 Thereafter neither by word nor act did the of- 
 fended Bishop deign to condescend to Lhoeac, save 
 that once a year he formally invited his dear niece 
 to his palace at Libourne ; an invitation which was 
 as formally refused. 
 
 But though no other direct communication 
 reached the Seigneurie, the man himself was too 
 restless and adroit to stay hidden in a corner. 
 Bruitings of his growing power both in church and 
 state were loud and frequent, and at the least there 
 were not a few who ascribed the peacefulness and 
 prosperity of Lhoeac to the vigilant protection of 
 the masterful prelate a notion carefully fostered 
 by Roger Patcham. 
 
 " Why not ? " said he when the more candid but 
 duller witted dame Therese took him to task for 
 his crookedness. " A rotten tree may shelter a 
 man from the heat as well as would a sappy trunk. 
 Let Lhoeac suck good from what it can. My faith ! 
 Mademoiselle hath not much to thank her uncle 
 for." 
 
 And suck good did Lhoeac, prospering within 
 and without, even to the addition of a small estate 
 in Piedmont, though it was an accession at which 
 Roger Patcham looked askance. 
 
 " \Ve have both pockets full as it is," he grumbled, 
 " and a hundred and fifty leagues away is a far cry.
 
 70 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 Besides, he who said ' Italy is the grave of France ' 
 said right." 
 
 Then with characteristic caution, and in spite of 
 his grumbling, he set himself to see that not a rood 
 of its lands slipped through Mademoiselle's small 
 fingers ; so that in the House of Life and of Posses- 
 sions all was well with the child.
 
 THE HOUSE OF KINSFOLK. 
 I. 
 
 FOR two more years after the death of her grand- 
 sire, old Guy de Lhoeac, the child Denise ran wild, 
 a sturdy, honest-hearted elf of the woods and fields, 
 with body and mind alike in health, but with little 
 growth in the latter. Then Captain Roger Pat- 
 cham and dame Therese held a counsel over her, 
 with a result that two things became clear one, 
 that for the heiress of Lhoeac lissomeness and 
 strength of frame were not enough unless the child 
 were to grow up no better than a gilded peasant ; 
 and, further, that she must needs have fitting com- 
 panionship of her own age. 
 
 " She is my very life," said the dame, shaking her 
 great white cap, " but that she should lord it as she 
 does is not good. On my word I think children 
 are so many Barbary Turks for ruthlessness, and 
 Denise is no better than the rest. We must put 
 ourselves below stairs, I'm thinking, and set some 
 grand dame to train her, a learned priest to school 
 her, and another like herself to fine her down. 
 Trust a child to set another child to rights! They 
 know each other's tricks and thwart them, and so 
 misuse grows to disuse." 
 
 " Aye," answered Roger Patcham, pulling his
 
 72 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 grizzled moustache thoughtfully ; "to say ' must ' 
 is easy, but the 'doing' is another matter. How 
 can such as we pick and choose? A sword, or a 
 pike, or a musketoon, now, you can judge by the 
 haft and swing ; but grand dames and priests ! 
 That is where my Lord Bishop would come in ; but, 
 saving your presence, dame, I would sooner seek 
 them from the devil." 
 
 " Aye, I know, I know ; and mayhap be as well 
 served. We have had priests enough from Henri 
 de Lhoeac, though we have had but one. The 
 curate of Saint Agnes might serve at a pinch. He 
 is a humble soul, and will do as he is bid, as the 
 lesser clergy should ; which is no small gain, since 
 you cannot change cassocks as you would shoes. 
 Thou and I, Captain Roger, are not Seigneurs of 
 Lhoeac, and we thrive best with the church by 
 singing small. As to the grand dame and the 
 child, why aye, it is the very thing. Seek out 
 young Madame's folk. The Seigneur never loved 
 them, and I'll wager they think him still alive and 
 so keep clear of Lhoeac." 
 
 So it was settled. With four men at his back to 
 do him honour and give his mission weight, Roger 
 Patcham crossed the passes into Italy, and the tale 
 of how he fared in no way comes into the life of 
 Denise de Lhoeac, save in so far that he brought 
 back with him an elder and a younger Catherine 
 Cavallazzi penniless gentlefolks and her cousins 
 thrice removed. 
 
 To them Lhoeac was more than a refuge. It was
 
 THE HOUSE OF KINSFOLK. 73 
 
 the rooting out from life of the thousand petty 
 carks and sordid cares that early sour the sweetness 
 of even youth itself, and the planting in of peace 
 and love, and that blessed security from pinching 
 want that can stretch out a hand even to the future 
 unafraid. It was as if into their poverty and daily 
 grind of anxious thought had come the calm and 
 benediction of a higher world. 
 
 So the meek and courteous lady, the gentle girl 
 her daughter, and the hardier, more imperious 
 Denise grew into one another's lives, and as the 
 years passed the wisdom of dame Therese was 
 justified. 
 
 But for all the peace that blessed Lhoeac, these 
 years that followed the coming of Catherine Caval- 
 lazzi to the Seigneurie were stirring years for the 
 world. In them Columbus gave a new continent 
 to Spain ; Charles the Eighth went groping after 
 the chimera of Italian dominion, and the spoiler 
 came back spoiled ; Roderigo Borgia became the 
 infamy of Rome under the name of Alexander the 
 Sixth ; Savonarola laid down his life in fire ; France 
 grew the stronger by Brittany, and the weaker by 
 Rousillon and a disastrous campaign ; Henry of 
 Lhoeac climbed higher in power and more towering 
 in ambition, adding to Libourne the Bishopric of 
 Saint-Seurin. Finally, the direct line of Valois 
 failed, Charles of the elder branch went to his own 
 place and Louis of Orleans succeeded to a long- 
 coveted inheritance. But all this passed Lhoeac 
 by. What cared its peasants for the making or
 
 74 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 breakings of empire. Within the Seigneurie they 
 planted, they sowed, they reaped ; fat years of 
 peace trod one upon the other with no room be- 
 tween for loss or discord till as a child, so now as a 
 woman, Denise disturbed the quiet. 
 
 " Tis very well for you, Father Roger," she de- 
 clared, " to be content year in and year out. When 
 the itch for life creeps into your blood you whistle 
 up Martin Noret and bid him make ready a span of 
 men, and off you go a-hunting ; wolves or your 
 fellows as the whim takes you or the itch drives. 
 But when I would go a bare half-league from 
 Lhoeac there is as much ado as if Queen Anne 
 went on a progress." 
 
 " That," said he, " is lest the hunter should be 
 the hunted. France has but one queen, we have 
 but one mistress, and there are men 
 
 " La, la, la ! " cried she, waving him down with 
 open hand. " Hunted, quotha ! Small chance of 
 that ! As to men, here is Caterina, one-and-twenty, 
 sweet, tall, and fair as any Madonna lily, and never 
 so much as a man to tell her so. Lord ! Madame, 
 look how she blushes ! Madonna lily ! 'Tis a rose 
 peony. If thou gettest so red at the very name of 
 a lover, where wouldst thou find breath to say 
 'Thank you kindly ' to the thing itself?" 
 
 But for all that she jested Roger Patcham took 
 the jest seriously. 
 
 " There is young de Crete," he began gravely. 
 
 " A buff jerkin hung on a pikestaff," cried Den- 
 ise, her brown eyes dancing as she saw the fish had
 
 THE HOUSE OF KINSFOLK. 75 
 
 bitten. " If I were a hunting dog, now, or even a 
 horse, de Crete might please me and I de Crete, for 
 with them his thoughts both begin and have an 
 end. But I being a woman and he what he is, thou 
 must think again." 
 
 " La Clazonne is a comely lad " 
 
 " Give him to Caterina, then ; I want a man to 
 woo me, and not a red-cheeked girl. Try another 
 cast of the net, Father Roger." 
 
 " La Clazonne is no fool," answered Patcham. 
 " Give him another year or two, and his red cheeks 
 which you have not seen these three years will 
 be nut-brown and his girlish roundness a man's 
 strength. Then, his land marches with Lhoeac, 
 and when the old lord dies 
 
 " La, la, la ! Lhoeac is big enough for its mis 
 tress to please herself. Rack your brain yet again, 
 I say." 
 
 " H'm, truly, when the question is weighed thus 
 
 I own I am Madame, such things are more in 
 
 your way than mine, though Lhoeac is not to be 
 flung to the first comer." 
 
 "No, by Saint Agnes! No; nor its mistress 
 either ; " and Denise stood over him to the full of 
 her inches. For all her slender build she was no 
 weakling, and could look many a man level in the 
 eyes. " We are not chattels, either one or other, 
 Seigneurie or Denise de Lhoeac." 
 
 " There is Claud de la Terre-Seche," said Madame 
 Cavallazzi, looking up from her embroidery frame ; 
 " but, Denise, ma mie, this sifting of lovers even in 
 a jest is "
 
 76 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 " Aye, Madame Maman, I know, I know. But 
 Lhoeac is dull, and dullness is either a child of evil 
 or evil of dullness, nor does it matter a tags-point 
 which when the two go hand in hand. As for 
 Messire Claud, let him marry a monastery. If a 
 priest would serve my turn I should choose old 
 Pere Junot, who has taught me all these years and 
 has himself learned this much in his teaching : that 
 when I say yea or nay, yea or nay it is, and that's 
 an end of it. Merci for Messire Claud, Madame 
 Maman ! Who next, Father Roger ? What ? Is 
 that the tale of the list ? A boor, a milksop, and a 
 monk ! A pretty choice for Denise de Lhoeac, to 
 say nought of Caterina. I would carve better men 
 out of carrots. What ? No more than three for 
 two maids to choose from ! 
 
 Pity ye our grievous woe ; 
 
 Never gallant comes our way : 
 Love sits by with broken bow ; 
 
 Nought hath he 
 
 Thou are right, ma mie Maman of the reproachful 
 eyes ; Denise is naughty. And yet, what is Lhoeac 
 but a cage and we a pair of pigeons pent within it ? " 
 Stopping short in her song, she threw her arms 
 round the elder woman, to the great discomforture 
 of an elaborate headgear, and so made her peace 
 with an embrace that was half-jest, half-earnest, and 
 altogether honest. Indeed, there were few who 
 could long be at odds with Denise de Lhoeac if she 
 once chose to set herself to wheedle them into 
 complaisance.
 
 THE HOUSE OF KINSFOLK. 77 
 
 " A cage ! " cried Captain Roger, picking up her 
 words, " a pretty cage, truly, that runs fourteen 
 miles to the north, five to the south, four to the 
 east, and twelve to the west ! God send us all such 
 cages ! Room enough there, mademoiselle, for any 
 pigeon to flap wings and yet never beat the bars." 
 
 "Aye," she persisted, with a nod of her head. 
 " Yet, if it were as long and as broad as all France, 
 it would be no more than a cage if I fretted to pass 
 beyond and could not. Tis the ' bide where thou 
 art ' that makes the cage and not the length of 
 perch. So, now see how it is. Since the world will 
 not come to Lhoeac, Lhoeac must go to the world. 
 Libourne for choice." 
 
 " Because of my Lord Bishop," said Roger 
 sourly ; " but since my Lord Bishop has had two 
 mitres for his one head he is no longer at Libourne. 
 It was too small for him, and presently I think he 
 will outgrow Bordeaux itself." 
 
 " Bordeaux then before he outgrows it." 
 
 But Roger Patcham shook his head. " Not with 
 my will," he said, setting his face in a fashion Denise 
 understood well, and respected for all that it crossed 
 her purpose. She could trust Father Roger to have 
 sound sense for his yea or nay, and the more so 
 since he seldom thwarted her. " No ! not for all 
 Guienne." 
 
 " And why ? " she persisted, rather to save her 
 retreat than force her point. 
 
 " The air of Bordeaux is unwholesome for Lhoeac. 
 Try another cast of the net."
 
 78 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 " Why not Meluzza ? '' It was Madame Catherine 
 who spoke. 
 
 " Meluzza ! " and Patcham fairly gasped. " Why 
 'tis a fifteen days' journey." 
 
 " Meluzza ! " echoed Denise, clapping her hands. 
 " Ma mie Maman, thou art the dearest, the sweetest, 
 the Oh, Denise must kiss thee for that ! " 
 
 Again the headgear was in danger of destruction ; 
 but not for long. Roger Patcham must be 
 wheedled into consenting, and quickly lest he should 
 say no ! 
 
 " 'Tis Meluzza, is it not, Father Roger?" and 
 she twisted his stiff moustache with dexterous 
 fingers-as she leaned across his shoulder. "Italy 
 for Maman and Caterina look how her eyes shine 
 at the thought. That is the fire to set tinder 
 aflame. I'll warrant thou shalt have three gallants 
 within a week, and all a-cutting one another's 
 throats for love. Aye ! it is a shame to tease thee. 
 Italy for them, Father Roger they are butterflies 
 and want pleasuring and forme life and its serious 
 duties, and to visit my mother's kindred. It is full 
 time I saw Meluzza. Besides, we may meet rogues 
 on the way, and thou hast not hung a man for a 
 week ! Fifteen days' journey ! Why, 'tis nothing ; 
 I would it were a hundred and fifty, since the longer 
 it is there is the more room for change. It is yes, 
 is it not?" and she rubbed her chin softly against 
 his crisp crop of hair as she bent over him. 
 
 "Ah, Mademoiselle, Mademoiselle, I think you 
 could lure a bird from a bough if you had a mind
 
 THE HOUSE OF KINSFOLK. 79 
 
 to ! There will be sore hearts some of these 
 
 days " 
 
 " All in good time," said she cheerfully, " but 
 there are none now, for that means yes, Father 
 Roger. Caterina mia, we must make a new verse 
 to our song 
 
 Hasten, boy, and string thy bow, 
 See thy quiver lacks not darts ; 
 Thou and we a-hunting go 
 
 Fill up the last line as thou wilt, Caterina. Hearts 
 or Smarts as thou likest best ! I'll wager thou wilt 
 give the one the other before we see Lhoeac 
 again." 
 
 II. 
 
 What is a poor gentleman and soldier of fortune 
 to do when war turns peace and princes fight their 
 battles by shifts of crooked policy instead of honest 
 fire and sword ? That the one may be as deadly as 
 the other is no comfort to the blunt captain who, in 
 the way of duty and having no conscience but ht3 
 general's, would burn a church sooner than face a 
 Court. 
 
 How many a one found answer to the question 
 w.is shown in the hundred and one bands of brigands 
 which plagued every petty state in Italy. To them 
 rapine by license of war, and rapine by license of the 
 stronger arm and bolder heart, were one and the 
 same, save that the latter had the added risk of a 
 sliding noose.
 
 8o THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 But Messire Carlo Perego could not so easily 
 solve the difficulty. For his ten years of manhood 
 he had kept his hands as clean as a poor gentleman 
 could whose trade was to fight and do as he was bid, 
 asking no curious questions. For all his poverty, 
 and the strange bedfellows into whose company it 
 had many a time brought him, he had never lost 
 his inborn respect for a certain Carlo Perego who 
 came of an honourable line. The scum of the 
 camp, as poor in crowns as himself and as rich in 
 brute courage his equals in the sense of fighting 
 value was still scum, and a foulness to be passed 
 by as needfully as a man with but one pair of 
 breeches passes the mire of the road ; nor, in his 
 ten years of rough schooling, had he learned that 
 quaint trick of humour that finds every cheat a 
 merry jest, a lie but a kind of quip, and the weak- 
 ness of woman a thing of prey and laughter. 
 
 At all times crowns were slow to come and swift 
 to go, and now, since the peace or what in Italy 
 passed for peace which followed the French retreat 
 through Savoy, the flow had not alone been swift, 
 but all one way. Yet, turn frank bandit and play 
 the human wolf he could not. Therefore, for three 
 bitter months he rusted and soured, the bottom of 
 his pocket coming daily to his hand with a sorrow- 
 ful and most discomforting ease. 
 
 At last, of all his ten years' spoils never much, 
 since the princes and great lords had first to be 
 gorged there remained nothing but the clothes on 
 his back, patched and well-worn ; the blade by his 

 
 THE HOUSE OF KINSFOLK. 81 
 
 side, notched and unpolished ; and the beast he 
 rode, a thing as forlorn and weary of hungry life as 
 himself. Then it was that the devil, in the fitting 
 shape of Luigidi Gadola, and with a cunning know- 
 ledge of his weakness, came and tempted him. 
 
 On the face of things but that was a wile of the 
 evil one it was a fair enough offer of most honour- 
 able employment, and as such, in his dire necessity, 
 Messire Carlo Perego received it, hoodwinking his 
 soul for a brief hour after the fashion of most men 
 at some pinch or other in life. 
 
 The two had foregathered at a little wine-shop in 
 the outskirts of Turin, a dismal, evil-smelling den, 
 and no place for a man of di Gadola's wealth, how- 
 ever suited to the other's poverty. Nor was it their 
 first acquaintance. There are camp scum in silken 
 doublets as well as in tattered jerkins, greater rogues 
 by reason of their greater power, since your rascal, 
 high or low, is the creature of opportunity ; and as 
 one of such Carlo Perego had more than once 
 turned his back on Luigi di Gadola. But di Gadola 
 had been all unconscious of the slight, and merely 
 marked his man as one having a cool head, a quick 
 wit, and a light purse. Now, having crossed him in 
 the streets of Turin and tracked him to the sign of 
 " The Golden Pigeon," he looked to buy the two 
 first by grace of the last, for it was clear to his con- 
 tempt that Carlo Perego was woefully out-at-elbows. 
 
 Nevertheless, having somewhat to gain, Luigi di 
 Gadola hid his contempt and played the frank 
 comrade.
 
 82 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 " Ha ! old friend ! " he cried, dropping an open 
 palm familiarly on Perego's shoulder. " This is 
 better than Fornovo ! My faith ! but the French 
 gave us a bad half-hour that July day." 
 
 " Yet of the two I choose Fornovo," answered 
 Perego, with a curt nod of greeting, for it galled 
 him to see how the other's eyes noted each frayed 
 edge and tell-tale threadbare patch. " There at 
 least, there was a man's work to be done." 
 
 " Aye ! and thou wert ever a glutton for a man's 
 work. Host ! another measure of wine here. On 
 my word as a gentleman I have drunk worse a 
 hundred times and been thankful. Does the rogue 
 steal it, d'ye think? A glutton for work ! that was 
 ever Carlo Perego ! Dost thou remember how I 
 and thou, though, faith ! thou wast leading how 
 thou " 
 
 " Keep your thou's for your familiars and your 
 lackeys, Messire di Gadola. I am neither one nor 
 other." 
 
 " Plague take the hot temper of the man ! " and 
 di Gadola's foxy, wizened face wrinkled into what 
 he meant to be a genial smile. " We were com- 
 rades, were we not ? What ? Comrades, I say. 
 Aye! and may be again. Are you your own 
 master, Messire ? " 
 
 " Aye ! " answered Perego, with a hard laugh ; 
 " and a poor service it is, with the wages paid in a 
 curse every hour of the day." 
 
 "So? Then this is my lucky day. Casa Fos- 
 cotti has need of a military governor, Messire 
 Perego. What do you say to the post ? "
 
 THE HOUSE OF KINSFOLK. 83 
 
 " Casa Foscotti ? " 
 
 " My poor house in Piedmont. "Tis the captaincy 
 of thirty men, and a free hand over them. No great 
 thing for such a man as you, but a stop-gap, perhaps, 
 until times are better." 
 
 " A free hand ! " said Perego, thoughtfully, as he 
 eyed closely the mean and cunning face turned 
 towards him across the angle of the table. " What 
 may that mean, Messire di Gadola? " 
 
 "That? Why it means this" and Luigi di 
 Gadola shifted his gaze to a cobweb in the further 
 corner of the wine-shop " save for a thing or two 
 which may touch myself my neighbours do not 
 love me over-well I shall be nothing more than 
 friend and comrade. But in these things you 
 know our Italy, its enmities, feuds, revenges, and 
 how a man must guard his life even though he 
 strike at another in the guarding in these things, 
 I say, I must play the master, the general as it were, 
 and you no offence, Messire Perego you must 
 obey so long as you draw your forty crowns a 
 month, paid in advance." 
 
 " Forty crowns a month ? " In imagination Carlo 
 Perego could hear his last two coins jingle in his 
 lean purse as he looked round the filthy, reeking 
 hole into which his sordid poverty had thrust him. 
 " And only such duties as a man's honour " 
 
 Down came di Gadola's clenched fist on the table 
 with such a will as made even the heavy wooden 
 beakers dance and stagger. 
 
 " Am I a man to set to such a one as you a task I
 
 84 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 would not face myself? There may be danger, 
 Messire Perego I grant frankly that I am not 
 loved, and there may be danger ; but talk not to me 
 of dishonour. 'Tis an offence, an offence, I say : or 
 would be were we not comrades and friends. 'Tis 
 for that I let it pass. Are you answered, Messire 
 Perego ? " 
 
 Which, though it was no answer, and both knew 
 it, was yet the right way to take Carlo Perego, for 
 being himself a man of honour as times went, it cut 
 against his grain to say bluntly that he took another 
 to be no better than a rogue. 
 
 Thus it came that for forty crowns he bought his 
 ease and sold himself a month ahead to Luigi di 
 Gadola, who was not the man to come worst out of 
 a bargain. Not, indeed, that the penniless gentle- 
 man had much to complain of. That he was little 
 better than a hired bravo he knew, but princes and 
 sovereign states had set the fashion of hiring bravos 
 to further their revenges, aye, and had ennobled 
 them, too, when their work was well done ; and so of 
 late the trade had grown into good repute. So long 
 as di Gadola left him a free hand as to methods he 
 was content. What was it, after all, but war on a 
 minor scale? Casa Foscotti against Castelnuovo 
 instead of Medici at the throat of Este ! Units 
 at stake instead of thousands. 
 
 That it was in violation of law troubled him no 
 whit more than the spoiling of Milan troubled a 
 Sforza. Law, forsooth ! A pretty thing it would be 
 if the law were to take upon itself to settle quarrels
 
 THE HOUSE OF KINSFOLK. 85 
 
 of honour and the like! These were things of con- 
 science, and above the law. Therefore he pro- 
 visioned Casa Foscotti, set his sentries, guarded 
 Luigi di Gadola, aye, and made his sorties and 
 fought his frays also, without so much as a dis- 
 comforting wrinkle in his serenity of conscience. 
 Blood was shed ; lives were lost ; there was even a 
 burning or two ; but it was all frank, fair fighting 
 and according to the code of honour. 
 
 Too much so to please his patron if the truth 
 were known. But Luigi di Gadola understood his 
 man, and so pressed him to take no discourteous 
 advantage lest a rupture follow before his work 
 was fully done. To play the master was a card to 
 be kept for some supreme necessity. 
 
 On his first coming to Casa Foscotti, di Gadola 
 had taken him up to the broad parapet that lay 
 behind the crenellated coping of the Castle wall. 
 
 " You are military governor, Messire ; therefore 
 mark our strength. Here are we perched on this 
 rounded mound. Behind is a bare ravine of two 
 bowshots width, and backed by sloping rocks. A 
 goat might come that way, but nothing on two legs. 
 That is the north. To right and left these hills run 
 south-east and south-west. The valley anima mia / 
 what a valley it is ! the very fatness of Piedmont. 
 May Paolo Besana burn everlastingly for his but 
 we shall come to that presently ; 'tis the sorrow and 
 hope of Casa Foscotti. The valley, I say, runs 
 south. All day long the sun streams into it, and a 
 man might hunt the world through and never find
 
 86 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 such corn-lands, such vineyards, such saints ! it 
 bursts my gall to think of them and della Besana's 
 accursed folly ! All that you see, Messire, from the 
 ridge behind, round by these slopes and into the 
 glare where a man blinks in the sun at noon, aye, and 
 beyond these slopes, all that is Foscotti. Further 
 south lie the lands of Montalbano. To the sunrise is 
 La Manza. Be wary of these, Messire, in making 
 friendships, for there is some small question of blood 
 between us." 
 
 "A quarrel of long standing?" inquired Perego 
 as di Gadola relapsed into silence, and fell a-staring 
 at the mid-distance where the fatness which had so 
 stirred his wrath lay in dazzled light and shade 
 grove, vineyard, and pasture " and one that touches 
 Casa Foscotti nearly ? " 
 
 " Of some five-and-thirty years with Montalbano, 
 and, on my life, I have forgotten the wherefore. 
 These things slip a man's memory in time, but the 
 wound remains. With La Manza it is of yesterday 
 no more than eight or ten years' old, and of much 
 moment, since it turns on the ownership of half a 
 league of marsh. We have already spent thirteen 
 lives upon it, and the call is now with me." 
 
 " The marsh must needs be of high value to have 
 cost so large a price," said Perego gravely. 
 
 " Value ? God knows ! There are ducks in 
 winter," and di Gadola shrugged his shoulders 
 indifferently. " But value or not, it is mine, and 
 what I have I hold ; understand that, Messire 
 Perego ; and what I have not and want, that I shall
 
 THE HOUSE OF KINSFOLK. 87 
 
 get ; understand that, too. That brings me to 
 Meluzza, and the evil done me by Paolo Besana. 
 See," and with one hand he^gripped Perego by 
 the shoulder, while with the other he pointed south- 
 ward beating the air with his clenched fist, " see 
 how it cuts into Foscotti ! But for it, all within 
 sight would be mine, and, by the Saints, mine it 
 shall be. All this came to me through my mother. 
 My father God rest his soul ! possessed nought 
 but the wit to marry her, and it was enough ! 
 Twice she married. First a Besana who owned 
 what I own, Meluzza being her portion, and between 
 them it was agreed that the survivor should take all. 
 Do you follow me ? That," and again he shook 
 his fist to the south, " that which I have lost was my 
 mother's by birthright." 
 
 " And how " began Perego. 
 
 " Thus," said the other, cutting him short, and 
 anticipating the question. " By della Besana she 
 left a son, Paolo. My sire came next, and died 
 before her, leaving me. Then she died also, and I do 
 not quarrel with her that she gave all to my half- 
 brother, since his only child, a daughter, was dead, 
 and he at bitter odds with her French kinsfolk by 
 marriage. Then came the wrong done me. There 
 was a grandchild, Messire, a miserable puling girl 
 child, and with the repentance of death upon him 
 may God refuse such a repentance ! the time for 
 a man's good works is in his strength and not in his 
 weakness what does he do? He robs me of 
 Meluzza, the very kernel and heart of Casa Foscotti,
 
 88 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 on the miserable plea that, after all, the girl was his 
 own flesh and blood and the last of his race, and so 
 should have something! Robbed me! robbed me! 
 but," and the foxy face grew wolfish and the grip 
 on Perego's shoulder tightened like a vice, " there 
 shall be restitution, and hourly I pray God the day 
 may come soon." 
 
 " And who is this girl ? " 
 
 The fox that had become a wolf became a devil 
 of malice and uncurbed wrath. 
 
 " A daughter of our foes, Messire Perego. Re- 
 member that when the time comes. She is called 
 Denise de Lhoeac." 
 
 III. 
 
 Messire Carlo Perego had for six months filled 
 the honourable office of military governor of Casa 
 Foscotti when Denise de Lhoeac reached Meluzza. 
 The three weeks'. journey, for all its discomfort of 
 bad roads and worse inns, had never brought her a 
 tedious hour. Even the inevitable mishaps which 
 set Roger Patcham cursing himself for a fool in 
 quitting Lhoeac were but a new delight, and how- 
 soever the miry leagues might weary the flesh the 
 spirit never flagged nor found them dull. 
 
 Nor, even after a month of Meluzza, did the time 
 hang heavy. The alchemy of youth turned all the 
 hours to gold. The growing heat of early summer 
 cut half the day out of life, though to Denise it 
 was still a very sweet and very living world that 
 stretched away before her as she sat through the
 
 THE HOUSE OF KINSFOLK. 89 
 
 nooning in the shadows of the great porch, staring 
 dreamily over the field swimming in a heat that 
 silenced the very shrilling of the crickets. Of her 
 neighbours she knew little. Roger Patcham had 
 no love for new acquaintances, but rather a fear, and 
 the memories of Madame Catherine were of that 
 bitter sort which are none the better for stirring up. 
 Therefore the bonds of Meluzza sufficed them, and 
 the brave gallants Denise had so gaily pictured as 
 fighting to the death for even the barren privilege of 
 a smile were as absent as at Lhoeac. One visitor, 
 indeed they had, and, in that contradictoriness that 
 plagues life at times, him they would gladly have 
 done without. 
 
 Early one forenoon Luigi di Gadola had ridden up 
 at a gallop, five men at his heels, of whom Carlo 
 Perego was not one ; had swaggered in at the open 
 door with never so much as a " By your leave," and 
 announced his presence by beating loudly with his 
 heavy whip upon a small table standing midway 
 across the hall. 
 
 " Hola ! Hola ! Hola ! " he cried, underscoring 
 each syllable with a sounding blow. " Who serves 
 within here ? Hola ! I say ! It was time for thee 
 to come, friend. By the Mass, if I had thee but four- 
 and-twenty hours at Casa Foscotti I would teach 
 thy sleepy head watchfulness. Go tell thy mistress 
 that her kinsman the Sieur de Foscotti hath caught 
 her napping." 
 
 44 Had the Sieur de Foscotti come with fifty in- 
 stead of five," said Roger Patcham, who had entered
 
 90 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 the hall behind di Gadola, " he had met with another 
 reception, and one which might have pleased him 
 even less." 
 
 Round spun di Gadola, and his fists on his hips, 
 stared at the Englishman up and down. 
 
 " And who art thou ? " said he, pushing out his lip, 
 " though by the Mass, that matters nought ; for 
 understand this, whoever thou art, that Luigi di 
 Gadola rides to Meluzza with thrice fifty if he has a 
 mind to. This time I come as a kinsman." 
 
 " So much the better for the Sieur de Foscotti," 
 answered Captain Roger, squaring his shoulders in 
 his turn ; " but on your part understand this : no 
 party of fifty or thrice fifty gets within bowshot of 
 Meluzza without leave of Denise de Lhoeac. As to 
 who I am, I am her poor friend and servant." 
 
 " Talk, talk, talk," cried di Gadolo. " Why, let me 
 but bring twoscore " 
 
 " Find them first," broke in Patcham ; " that is to 
 say, add ten to the thirty at Casa Foscotti. I know 
 my business, Messire di Gadola." 
 
 He is a wise man who knows when he is beaten. 
 In a wink the wolf turned fox. 
 
 " Confess, Messire, that on your part this talk of 
 stopping me a bowshot off was no more than talk." 
 
 For answer Roger Patcham drew back the curtain 
 behind him and pointed through the doorway it 
 exposed. 
 
 " There hang twenty steel bonnets," said he, " and 
 on my honour as a soldier I have men's heads 
 within the walls to fill them every one, and as many 
 more who are elsewhere."
 
 THE HOUSE OF KINSFOLK. 91 
 
 "Aye," said di Gadola, with a cunning look and 
 laying a hand on the other's arm, " but where ? " 
 
 " On the business of Mademoiselle de Lhoeac, 
 Messire di Gadola. But let the rattle of sword on 
 sword only be loud enough and you understand ? " 
 
 " Good, good. Safeguard and close ward is a 
 fine motto, and nowhere truer than in Italy, where 
 quarrels not that we have one, I come as a kins- 
 man grow and grow until poof ! all's ablaze ! 
 You know our proverb? Goutte sur goutte faitle 
 frontage. That is Italy." 
 
 But, had di Gadola only known it, it would have 
 been a rare clatter of steel that had made itself 
 heard from Meluzza to Lhoeac. 
 
 " And this," he went on, as Denise, accompanied 
 by Maman Catherine, entered the hall, " is our niece ? 
 And what? aye! by the Mass; our dear cousin! 
 Chut, chut ; I, too, must go to Guienne and grow 
 young. Though for the matter of that seven-and- 
 forty is no more than a man's age. Cousin Denise, 
 let there be no more talk of uncles ; the gap 
 between is none so great. I kiss your hands," he 
 added hastily, fitting the act to the altered intention 
 as Denise drew back. 
 
 Thenceforward for a long hour he held them in 
 close talk, making, at times, the women's ears burn 
 with the blunt frankness of his tales of camp life, 
 until at last Roger Patcham as a hint took pity on 
 the five left to broil in the scorching glare of the 
 sun, whilst the patron drank his wine at his ease in 
 the cool hall.
 
 92 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 " Nay, nay," said di Gadola carelessly, "let them 
 bide. Thou and I, Messire, have endured worse a 
 hundred times. And yet the beasts are good beasts 
 and, aye, with your permission, cousin, they will 
 unsaddle under that great chestnut yonder." 
 
 So for another hour he sat and drank and talked, 
 fawning more and more upon Denise until with 
 every sentence there was a touch upon her arm, a 
 playing with the loose folds of her hanging sleeves, 
 a smoothing of her skirt, while she, drawn back to 
 her furthest inch against the wall, sat and shook after 
 a fashion strange to the mistress of Lhoeac. 
 
 At last he rose, his eyes glazed and his face flushed 
 with wine, and so staggering in his gait that for very 
 courtesy Roger Patcham could do no less than take 
 him by the arm. And a fortunate thing it was he 
 did so, since but for the restraint Luigi di Gadola 
 would have made his adieus in a strange blend of 
 privileges, uncle, cousin, brother, and the Lord 
 knows what, all garnered into one. 
 
 But drunk as he was he could put his thought into 
 words. 
 
 " I have it," he hiccupped, leering up into the 
 Englishman's face as he lurched blinking into the 
 sunlight ; " the thing has puzzled me these two hours 
 back ever since I saw that plaguey line of steel 
 bonnets. To beat a stone wall even with a mailed 
 fist is folly ; therefore I shall marry her. Give me 
 thy good offices, Master Patcham Saints ! what a 
 mouthful of a name ! 'tis like so much soft cheese 
 thou shalt see that Luigi di Gadola can be grateful.
 
 THE HOUSE OF KINSFOLK. 93 
 
 Casa Foscotti was bound to have a mistress sooner 
 or later, and my cousin may as well have me as 
 another. Eh ? Is it a bargain ?" 
 
 " The Lord forbid that I should meddle with 
 Madame Cavallazzi's affairs," answered Patcham, 
 but " 
 
 " Madame Cavallazzi ! To Mahound with Madame 
 Cavallazzi. 'Tis Denise de Lhoeac I mean." 
 
 " Mademoiselle ?" and Captain Patcham wrenched 
 himself loose from the hold the other had taken of 
 his arm, sending him staggering back as he did so 
 until he sprawled against the angle of the porch for 
 support. " Is this a drunken jest, Monsieur di 
 Gadola? " 
 
 " Drunken ! " cried the Sieur, his face flushing 
 yet deeper ; " if thou callest this drunken thou 
 knowest little of Luigi di Gadola ! 'Tis sober 
 earnest, and as such thou hadst best take it, lest 
 but the time for threats is not yet." 
 
 "But!" answered the Englishman, gnawing his 
 lip in perplexity. " You are her uncle, Messire. The 
 laws of the church " 
 
 "The church!" scoffed di Gadola; "have no 
 fear of the church ! " and he laughed derisively. 
 " We of Italy know Alexander the Sixth better 
 than that ! A dispensation is value so many hard 
 crowns, and there's an end of it. As to the uncle- 
 ship, what was good enough for kings before now 
 may well serve the turn of a Sieur de Foscotti ! 
 But be not hasty in broaching it to her, Messire 
 Patcham. I will sleep on the project and see if it be
 
 94 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 the smoothest way out of the rut, and will tell thee 
 later." 
 
 But waking or sleeping, drunk or sober, the idea 
 took such fast hold of his mind that for seven days 
 he haunted Meluzza with the faithfulness and wel- 
 come of a spirit damned, until Denise was ready 
 to weep for vexation that she had ever quitted the 
 quiet of Lhoeac. In the end she had a watch set, 
 and so soon as the Sieur di Gadola appeared within 
 eyeshot, which he did twice or thrice a day, she 
 slipped out into the fields and made her way to a 
 certain arbour on the face of the slope that lay to 
 the south of Meluzza. Even this, being as he 
 supposed a pretended coyness, was but a fresh whet 
 to di Gadola's ardour, and his wrath was great when, 
 on the eighth day of the siege, Roger Patcham 
 bluntly told him the truth. 
 
 " Let this folly have an end, Messire. The maid 
 is at her wits' end with terror, and 'tis the first time 
 in fourteen years that I have known .her quake. 
 She hides from you like chicken from hawk, like 
 rabbit from weasel. The Lord knows we want no 
 quarrel, but, to be plain, if it is a choice between this 
 harassment and the ill-will of the Sieur de Foscotti 
 we men will risk the blows rather than that she 
 should fret another hour." 
 
 For a moment di Gadola failed to understand, 
 and sat fingering the wine-cup with which according 
 to his custom he had solaced his disappointment, 
 staring up into Roger Patcham's face the while. 
 
 " Harassments? Terror?" he said at length.
 
 THE HOUSE OF KINSFOLK. 95 
 
 "Strange language that from such as you to such 
 as I. Master Squire. Be plain, be plain." 
 
 " Lord, lord, was I not plain ! Have it, then. We 
 like neither you nor your ways, your person, your 
 manners, nor your talk ; and whether as kinsman 
 or lover thou her lover ! God save the mark ! 
 Mademoiselle de Lhoeac bids me say " 
 
 But what Mademoiselle had bid him say remained 
 untold. With the snarl of an enraged dog, di Gadola 
 sprang at the other's throat, clawing and tearing at 
 him with his nails, more like a shrewish hag than a 
 man. So unlooked-for was the onset, and so power- 
 ful the spring, that Roger Patcham reeled back under 
 it for all his sinewy strength, and it needed no small 
 force to push from him his panting enemy. Still 
 staggering, di Gadola's hand slipped down to his 
 right hip, and had not the noise of the scuffle brought 
 in three or four of Lhoeac's men the Englishman 
 would have had steel between his ribs. The Sieur 
 de Foscotti was no man to boggle over a foul blow 
 when it would serve his end. But the sight of the 
 guard sobered him. Leaving behind him nothing 
 worse than a curse and a shake of his clenched fist, 
 he turned on his heel; and presently Roger Patcham 
 could hear the quick thud of his horse-hoofs on the 
 hard sod. 
 
 " Let there be a double watch henceforth," he 
 said, turning to the growing crowd of curious faces ; 
 "double both in men and wakefulness. My word 
 for it, he who sleeps at his post is like to sleep 
 till the crack of doom and all Meluzza with him.
 
 96 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 Plague take the ways of wenches ! Why could she 
 not have fooled him a little and then said ' no' 
 prettily ? But that's a woman all over. Cursed 
 with downrightness, when she should be so politic 
 and yet, when it pleases her, able to coax and 
 wheedle and go to work sideways like a cat after 
 cream." 
 
 Thenceforward Luigi di Gadola came no more to 
 Meluzza. But though Roger Patcham's fears were 
 groundless and the days passed without so much as 
 the blink of his beast's cheek-chains showing in the 
 sun, Denise still fled daily to her arbour, and thus, 
 in an unexpected fashion, widened her knowledge 
 of her kinsfolk. 
 
 It was a fortnight or thereabouts after the rupture 
 with Casa Foscotti, and Father Roger's precautions, 
 though not relinquished, were less keenly set on 
 edge. A guard no longer kept Denise in sight 
 whithersoever she went, though at first it had 
 tramped within flutter of her skirts, so that the 
 sight of a single wayfarer crossing the fields afoot 
 gave her no alarm. Indeed, now that the issue 
 betwixt Lhoeac and Casa Foscotti was knit, the 
 young chatelaine's courage had come back. 
 
 Nor was there anything in the man or his greeting 
 to set her fears fluttering. Almost a generation 
 older than Luigi di Gadola, his grave, smooth-shaven 
 face, broad in the brow, full in the cheek, firm in the 
 mouth, square in the chin, was set in a half-circle 
 of silvered hair that fell almost to the shoulders. 
 Broad and strong in build, he carried himself in an
 
 THE HOUSE OF KINSFOLK. 97 
 
 arrogant fashion that agreed but little with the 
 severe and modest greyncss of his dress, which, from 
 velvet cap to buckled and beribboned shoes, was 
 colourless in its sobriety. A sword, shorter and 
 more slender than the vogue, was looped to his 
 leather belt, and the poniard on his right hip was 
 pushed back almost out of sight, as if its wearer 
 would say, " I am not one who has need of thee." 
 On his breast, hung by a purple cord round his 
 neck, was a small crucifix of dull bronze. 
 
 " Thanks be to Saint Agnes, who has answered 
 my prayers," said he, stretching out both hands as 
 he came abreast of Denise. " Nay, surely Lhoeac 
 need have no fear of Lhoeac ; and thou and I, 
 pretty one, are the last of our ancient race." Then, 
 as Denise still shrank back, his face darkened, and 
 he cried with a quick show of passion, " What ? 
 Has Master Patcham's misguided and unworthy 
 zeal so outrun truth and discretion that thou art 
 afraid of thy uncle Henri? Sad changes, my 
 niece, since I held thee in these arms nineteen years 
 ago, and watched thy mother thou a sleeping babe 
 slip quietly to rest. That thou hadst two uncles 
 to guard thee was her great comfort ; though, in- 
 deed, sweet soul, she was full of comfort in her- 
 self." 
 
 It would have puzzled my Lord Bishop to have 
 told what he meant by these last words. But they 
 rounded off his sentence, and he knew Denise was 
 in no mood to be a stickler for verbal niceties. 
 Besides, nine times out of ten what tickles the ear
 
 98 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 pleases both spirit and mind, and words are hypo- 
 crites that easily assume the disguise of truth. 
 
 " You ? " she answered, still shrinking back ; 
 " you, my Lord Bishop of Saint-Seurin ? " 
 
 " Nay, nay, nay, that is for the world at large ; 
 with thee I am neither priest nor bishop : nought 
 but kinsman." 
 
 " But Father Roger said you were at Bordeaux. 
 How then " 
 
 " I am where it is needful I should be to watch 
 over thee, my child," and Henri di Lhoeac's white 
 teeth showed in a smile: " Lhoeac or Meluzza, 
 France or Italy; 'tis all one ; and never didst thou 
 need safe guardianship as thou dost to-day, or, to be 
 precise, as thou wilt to-morrow. 
 
 " I have Messire Patcham," and Denise straight- 
 ened her lips even as old Guy de Lhoeac might 
 have done. " We are not easily afraid at Meluzza." 
 
 " Poor maid ! poor maid ! How can an honest 
 dog like Master Patcham hope to match the wits of 
 such a fox as Luigi di Gadola ? I know him of old 
 and how he hungers for this Naboth's vineyard 
 of thine ; therefore am I at Casa Foscotti for the 
 good of my health, his very close friend and thy 
 protector. Now mark this, my child : go to thy 
 booth to-day if thou wilt. Dream, and be happy, 
 as a child should and in the ways of this evil world 
 what art thou more than a simple babe? dream 
 and play thyself to-day, but for thy life's sake, aye, 
 and for more than thy life, go not there to-morrow. 
 Tell all that to Master Roger; the hint may set his
 
 THE HOUSE OF KINSFOLK. 99 
 
 honest, but somewhat heavy, wit a-working. And 
 now, my child, I must return by the circuit by 
 which I came, for it would go ill with thee and with 
 me if Luigi di Gadola guessed that I but played a 
 part with him." 
 
 Bending forward, he kissed Denise on the fore- 
 head and gravely marked her with the sign of the 
 cross, but as he turned away she caught him by 
 the arm. 
 
 " And are you too in danger, and for me ! My 
 lord, my lord, all these years I never dreamed that 
 you loved me." 
 
 " Chut, chut ! " and he patted her hand gently. 
 " No more of that. Are we not Lhoeac and 
 Lhoeac ? " 
 
 But when Roger Patcham heard of it he only 
 said with a grudging admiration 
 
 " Plague take his priestcraft ! The malice of 
 Luigi di Gadola is too soon for him by a full year. 
 There are sixteen thousand crowns to be won or 
 lost. And the winning of them is much for the 
 good of his health ! " 
 
 Yet, for all his cynicism, he was too astute to 
 despise the warning, and that night he held close 
 counsel with Denise's ma tnit Maman counsel 
 from which she went away weeping, and with a 
 sorrow on her face to which it had been a stranger 
 for full nine years.
 
 ioo THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 IV. 
 
 The cool and grateful freshness of the night had 
 not been fully dried out of the next morning when 
 Luigi di Gadola sent for his military governor. 
 His justice-room was what he loved to call that 
 square south chamber on the ground floor, nor in 
 doing so was he even dimly conscious of the cynical 
 perversion of the truth. Little of justice and much 
 of the law of the strong arm and the hard heart had 
 been dealt out there, and many had been the vil- 
 lainies planned across the wine-stained table that 
 filled the centre of the floor. 
 
 A bachelor's room it was from corner to corner. 
 Here was a trophy of arms, rust-eaten and neg- 
 lected ; the blades dim, damp-worn and hung away, 
 broken spider threads floating from their points. 
 There a buffet of strong waters and wines of many 
 growths, its polished boards a puddle of spilt dregs 
 from an overturned beaker that lay tilted, bottom 
 uppermost, on the wreck of a glass goblet. In the 
 corners the litter of a week's occupancy crusts of 
 bread, torn fragments of papers, flagon stoppers 
 all swept carelessly aside ; the hangings in tags and 
 tatters, the curtains to the sides of the lowest 
 windows frayed and unlooped, and on the wall a 
 picture or two, which for vile frankness would have 
 stained the Grand Turk. 
 
 In their six months' intercourse Messire Carlo 
 Perego had learned to know the moods of his 
 worthy patron, and therefore at first sight of Luigi
 
 THE HOUSE OF KINSFOLK. 101 
 
 di Gadola's face he braced himself as he had done 
 of old when he looked above his own sword's point 
 at three naked blades and knew there was a blind 
 wall barring his retreat five paces behind him. 
 That snarling smile catching up one corner of the 
 evil mouth, that shifty restlessness in the half-closed 
 eyes that after the first quick upward glance roamed 
 everywhere but into the face of the man he spoke 
 to, that gnawing of the thumb-nail, that incessant 
 beat of the foot, boded ill for somebody, and at the 
 risk of Messire Carlo Perego ! The monkey was 
 eager for a fresh batch of chestnuts, and the cat 
 must risk its paws in the clawing of them from the 
 fire! 
 
 " There is a service, my friend, that I must seek 
 from thee and to-day," began di Gadola softly, 
 drumming his finger-tips on the table as he spoke; 
 "a service, but not of danger. One rather that 
 proves how high a store I set upon thy wit. Tis a 
 thing that most men do but once and then do for 
 themselves, but with me there are reasons which 
 which prevent, as thou wilt see. 'Tis a subtle 
 
 thing I seek done, subtle and strange ; for " 
 
 and he broke off with a forced laugh, " it is nothing 
 less than the winning of a maid. I am about to 
 marry, Messire Perego." 
 
 " A maid ! " cried Perego, aghast " a maid, and I 
 to win her? What moonstruck madness is this, 
 Messire ? " 
 
 " Sober truth," and Luigi di Gadola shrugged his 
 shoulders with affected carelessness. " Sooner or
 
 102 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 later a man such as I am must play the fool and 
 bring home a wife. These, of course, must come 
 from the walls, and for a time we shall change our 
 ways, but not for long. No, by the Mass, a man 
 cannot shed his habits as a snake his skin, unless, 
 indeed, he outgrows them a rare thing after two- 
 score. For a month or two we must play the 
 anchorite, and then, my friend, hey for the old days 
 and the old ways again ! After all, women love a 
 wild rake. The greater pride theirs, d'ye see, that 
 they have tamed him." 
 
 " Yes, yes," answered Perego, " but what has all 
 this to do with me ? " 
 
 " Why this " and the patron's manner grew more 
 assured ; the ice was broken, and all that remained 
 was for the other to take the plunge with the best 
 grace he could " the girl, being young, is wild 
 and foolish. Shy, too, or cunning, by the Mass ! 
 It is hard to tell which, for she plays Will-o'-the- 
 wisp and dances for ever just out of reach. A 
 pretty game enough for a man to join in when his 
 blood is hot, but one that hardly matches the 
 dignity of the Sieur de Foscotti. 'Twill be your 
 part, my friend, to bring the play to an end, and so 
 earn both our thanks." 
 
 " My part ? Little as I know of women's ways 
 a man should have his pocket well lined before he 
 thinks twice of them this much I am sure, a man 
 had best do his own wooing, or not do it at all, 
 which at times is better than the best. Where does 
 my part come in ?"
 
 THE HOUSE OF KINSFOLK. 103 
 
 "Did I say woo? Win, man, win; not woo. 
 I myself can see to that later. As to thy part, it is 
 to take Sandro and Flemish Hans with you and 
 bring her here." 
 
 " What ? Whether she will or no ? " 
 
 " Chut ! A hand across the mouth, an arm 
 round the waist, a heave to thy saddle-peak, and 
 thou hast enough of her will for thy purpose. 
 Besides, there is no need to go to Meluzza, and if 
 the thing miscarries Mademoiselle de Lhoeac knows 
 neither one nor other of you. I took care of 
 that!" 
 
 " Mademoiselle de Lhoeac I Then it is flat 
 abduction. I will have nought to do with it, 
 Messire di Gadola." 
 
 " Mademoiselle de Lhoeac it is, and whether flat 
 abduction or no thou shalt have to do with it, thou 
 and no other. What, man ! have I paid thee forty 
 crowns a month these eight months for dear love of 
 thee? A pretty fool I should be! Forty crowns a 
 month, when I could hire a hundred as needy 
 rufflers as Carlo Perego for as much a year ! " 
 
 " Hire them, then, and let them do your rogues' 
 work. I wash my hands of it and Casa Foscotti." 
 
 " By the Mass, that thou dost not ! Why, 'tis 
 but four days since thou drewest pay, and now thou 
 wilt wash thy hands of Casa Foscotti and call it 
 quits! Am I a fool, Master Perego? Bluntly, 
 man, thy word is pledged ; the pay has passed and 
 I hold thee to thy bargain." 
 
 " But my honour "
 
 104 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 " But thy word ! Is there no honour in thy 
 word! Can broken honour patch up honour? 
 Was thy word pledged or no, Messire Perego ? 
 Remember the Silver Pigeon and answer me that." 
 
 "Aye, but I should have a free hand." 
 
 " Except in what touched myself. What ? Is 
 that not so ? Was I not honest with thee, scrupu- 
 lously frank and honest ? Besides, what harm can 
 take the girl ? Is not her most reverend uncle here 
 at Casa Foscotti ? " 
 
 " But," objected Perego slowly, for he felt the 
 net closing round him and knew not how to escape, 
 " I have never so much as seen Mademoiselle de 
 Lhoeac." 
 
 " Nay," and Luigi di Gadola chuckled gleefully ; 
 " I took care of that ! Should she slip thy fingers, 
 dead or alive, none can ever say, ' Casa Foscotti ' ! 
 Yet that thou dost not know her makes no odds. 
 She is a tall rush of a girl, pale and frightened, and 
 thou wilt find her within an hour in the booth on 
 the slope beyond Meluzza. Let there be no parley- 
 ings, Messire Perego, for once a woman gets talking 
 a man may look to himself. Do as I said at the 
 first slip a hand across the mouth and an arm 
 round the waist, and the thing is done. After that, 
 if " 
 
 He paused in his voluble talk, and, looking aslant 
 at the other, stood tapping his teeth with his finger- 
 nails irresolutely. 
 
 "If?" 
 
 " If thy dagger was loose in its sheath it would be
 
 THE HOUSE OF KINSFOLK. 105 
 
 no great harm. No, stay ; that would be too plain 
 a tale, and so raise a hue and cry. Let me think, 
 let me think. If she slipped off thy beast's haunches 
 crossing the ford aye, that is better ; there is a 
 broad pool but twenty paces " 
 
 " Man, man," broke out Perego, " is it plain 
 murder you hint at ? " 
 
 " Murder ! " echoed the Sieur. " Chut, chut ! who 
 talks of murder ? Hast thou never seen a man 
 drown? 'Tis the simplest thing in the world. 
 There are five hundred crowns 
 
 " To the devil with you and your five hundred 
 crowns. You have netted me in your web, Messire 
 di Gadola, bought me body and soul. But under- 
 stand this : when I have kept my pledge and 
 handed Mademoiselle de Lhoeac to the safe keeping 
 of my Lord Bishop of Saint-Seurin, I am done 
 with Casa Foscotti, and will go " 
 
 " Back to the kennel I plucked thee from ! Go 
 and welcome, dog. but do my bidding first. As to 
 my Lord Bishop, why, I shall have a word to say to 
 Hans the Fleming about that. Begone about my 
 business, Messire Perego, and lag not by the way. 
 Thou hast two hours in which to earn thy month's 
 wages ! " 
 
 Dog, Luigi di Gadola had called him, and currish 
 enough Carlo Perego felt himself as he crossed from 
 the shelter of the hillside, and rode towards the 
 slope whereon was the arbour of Mcluzza. A 
 dozen times in his half-hour's ride he had it in his 
 mind to put spurs to his horse and leave the Sieur
 
 io6 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 de Foscotti to do his own evil work, but two things 
 restrained him. One, the power of his pledged 
 word ; he had known that his patron was no better 
 than scum of the camp, and so sold himself with 
 his eyes open. Now that the thing had come to 
 pass which in his heart he had known from the first 
 must needs come sooner or later, and for the doing 
 of which he had taken pay, could he with any con- 
 science shirk doing his part ? 
 
 But his second reason was even stronger, and 
 doublefold. Let him have what qualms he might, 
 Flemish Hans and Sandro the Pisan, who rode so 
 closely behind him, would have none. Better in 
 every way that Denise de Lhoeac should fall into his 
 hands than into theirs. So with a bitter heart and a 
 troubled, scheming brain, he let his beast pick his 
 way along the bridle-path that wound across the 
 face of the slope, comforting himself with the hope 
 that, after all, it might be a barren quest. 
 
 Scant and short-lived comfort it was, for within 
 the booth there was the flutter of a white dress, and 
 just such a woman as di Gadolahad described stood 
 in the furthest corner tall and slender, pale of face, 
 and frightened enough in all conscience. 
 
 The sight of her terror and weak helplessness 
 smote him like a whip-stroke, and but for the two 
 who for the moment held their place discreetly out 
 of view, he would have swung himself back into the 
 saddle and taken himself and his shame elsewhere. 
 As it was he slowly hitched his beast's reins round 
 one of the latticed bars of the booth, and called
 
 THE HOUSE OF KINSFOLK. 107 
 
 roughly to his two followers to dismount but bide 
 where they were. 
 
 " Your uncle, Mademoiselle," he began, bowing 
 with a stiff ceremony very unlike the accustomed 
 gaiety of Carlo Perego, " has sent me to " 
 
 "My uncle, Monsieur?" 
 
 " Aye, my Lord Bishop of Saint-Seurin." 
 
 " Ah ! " and a light flashed into the girl's eyes ; 
 " true, I had forgotten that he also is at Casa Fos- 
 cotti. Yes, Monsieur, what of him ?" 
 
 " He stand back there, fellows, as I bade you. 
 What ! must I speak twice ? Stand back, I say 
 further, further ! " 
 
 "What, Monsieur? You have men there! " 
 
 " No more than two, Mademoiselle, and I pledge 
 my word you need have no fear of them." 
 
 "Why should I, Monsieur? Or of you either. 
 Are you not my uncle's friend ? You were saying 
 that Monseigneur de Saint-Seurin " 
 
 Carlo Perego bit his lip in silence. Minute by 
 minute his self-contempt grew keener, and in his 
 memory he cursed the two cut-throat louts that they 
 had not held their ground when they pushed for- 
 ward and thus given him cause to turn upon them, 
 and slash a way back to honour out of the toils that 
 held him. But they had gone to heel like dogs, 
 and so left him no excuse. Needs must that he go 
 through with the evil business, but how to play the 
 ruffian with that pale face and sweet, pathetic fear- 
 fulness plagued him sorely. Best be blunt. 
 
 " I find it hard to lie, Mademoiselle de Lhoeac,"
 
 io8 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 he began, speaking bareheaded, and with his feath* 
 ered cap held to his breast. 
 
 There he stopped. Bluntness was not so easy 
 while troubled eyes were turned full upon him. 
 
 "That I am sure," she answered as he paused; 
 " I do not think, Monsieur, that you have a face 
 that lies. You are sent to take me to Casa Fos- 
 cotti, and what you do, you do under compulsion ; 
 is it not so ? " 
 
 "To my shame it is." 
 
 " Then let us go, Monsieur; only, I pray you, let 
 not one of those you have outside there touch me. 
 I should be shamed for ever." 
 
 " I would to the Lord they would but try," an- 
 swered Carlo Perego between his shut teeth. " I 
 say again, have no fear for them." 
 
 Loosening his reins, he mounted and held out his 
 hand. 
 
 "Your foot in the stirrup there, Mademoiselle." 
 
 " What, Monsieur ! Am I to ride en croupe f 
 Man Dieu ! I shall tumble off." 
 
 " Nay, have no fear. Hold my belt, Made- 
 moiselle. Further forward on the right ; aye, so. 
 Now on the left, still forward, still forward. There, 
 that is safe. Do your hands touch, Mademoiselle ? " 
 
 And a small voice from behind said, "Yes, 
 Monsieur." 
 
 " Now, men, forward ! Return as we came, but 
 do you lead. Halt, halt, halt ! Not so fast over 
 this rough ground. Are you at ease, Mademoi- 
 selle ? "
 
 THE HOUSE OF KINSFOLK. 109 
 
 " Not at heart, Monsieur." 
 
 Carlo Perego groaned. In the frank readiness 
 with which she had aided him he had half-forgotten 
 what lay before her at Casa Foscotti. His plan had 
 been to give di Gadola the go-by, and invoke for the 
 girl the protection of Henri de Lhoeac ; but now 
 the conviction came sharply home to him that his 
 patron was no man to respect Henri de Lhoeac 
 whether as guest or priest-bishop. Truly, she had 
 good cause to be troubled at heart, better cause 
 than she knew, and as he felt her grip tighter at the 
 swaying of his beast, and the stir of her breath 
 upon his hair, his self-abasement was abysmal. 
 
 " Monsieur," whispered a voice in his ear. They 
 were following the trend of the hill eastward, a 
 hundred yards or so from the crest of the ridge, and 
 the walls and turrets of Meluzza showed clearly at 
 times through the gap of the wood. " Monsieur." 
 
 "Mademoiselle?" 
 
 "As God shall be your judge, answer me truly. 
 Can Monseigneur de Saint-Seurin save me ? I am 
 but a girl not a brave man like you ; and so and 
 so " there was a catch in the breath " and so it 
 takes a little courage to face death." 
 
 " Death ! " he echoed, checking his beast with a 
 jerk ; " not that, my God, not that ! He spoke of 
 marriage." 
 
 " Marriage with Luigi di Gadola ! Tis one and 
 the same. It is Meluzza he wants, not Denise de 
 Lhoeac, and so, marriage or no marriage, it is death. 
 What of Monseigneur de Saint-Seurin ? Ah ! I
 
 no THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 understand, Monsieur, I understand ; your silence 
 is enough. May God show you mercy in that you 
 have not cheated me with lies. Your face told me 
 you were true at heart, though your errand gives it 
 the lie." 
 
 Again there came the catch in the breath, and as 
 he felt the quiet spasm of her sobs, no outcry but a 
 silent weeping born out of the weakness of nature 
 whether she would or no, Carlo Perego groaned 
 afresh and cursed himself softly. 
 
 " An hour ago I thought I could brave it out," 
 she said presently as her sobs quieted, " but with 
 the life so full, and the world so good, it is it 
 
 is " and again her breath went from her with a 
 
 gasp. 
 
 " My God, my God ! " cried Perego between his 
 shut teeth, " have you no curse for me, Mademoi- 
 selle ? " 
 
 "Why should I have?" answered she simply. 
 " If this must needs come, then rather you than 
 another. From my heart I thank you for your 
 gentle courtesy. But see, Monsieur, your friends 
 are impatient. We lag behind and go too slowly 
 for them." 
 
 Perego's horse had fallen to a walk, and from time 
 to time the Fleming and the fellow-rogue halted 
 and looked back, as if in wrath at the delay. They 
 were beyond Meluzza now, and were turning down 
 the hill to cross the river to the valley lands of Casa 
 Foscotti. Once there it was level ground and a 
 short trot home.
 
 THE HOUSE OF KINSFOLK. in 
 
 " Friends ! " he echoed, waving his hand to them 
 to ride on. " That scum ? Yet you are right, 
 Mademoiselle. To you we are but birds of a feather. 
 Cursed be the hour that ever I passed my word 
 to Luigi di Gadola ! " 
 
 " A pledge to do evil ? That is to set man's law 
 above God's, Monsieur; and yet," she went on after 
 a pause, " I am but a girl, and a man must do that 
 which his honour and conscience bid him." 
 
 " Aye ! " and Carlo Perego smote his clenched 
 fist on his saddle-peak, " and God helping me so I 
 will. My faith is yours, Mademoiselle, and before 
 the Sieur de Foscotti, or one of his scoundrels, lays 
 finger on you he must slay Carlo Perego." 
 
 " No, no, never that," she cried, her grip tighten- 
 ing pleasantly ; " promise me, Monsieur, promise me, 
 never that." 
 
 " This time the oath holds," answered he, with, 
 for the first time that day, something of the old 
 gay ring in his voice. Now that there was trouble 
 in the wind his spirits rose. " Hold tight, Mademoi- 
 selle tighter, tighter ; we must fool these rogues 
 lest they take me at a disadvantage. Thank God, 
 I am quit of di Gadola, and there is a man's work 
 to be done at last ! " 
 
 Down the hill they jolted, Carlo Perego holding 
 his beast with a tight rein as it slid and stumbled 
 down the smooth, sun-dried sod towards the river's 
 bank, win-re Foscotti's men had halted and were 
 awaiting him. 
 
 "Go on," he shouted ; "the ford is over-narrow
 
 112 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 for four, and there is no need to splash Mademoi- 
 selle." 
 
 For a moment they hesitated, speaking rapidly 
 one to the other ; then as Carlo Perego slowed down 
 his pace, the Fleming turned into the water and the 
 other followed him. 
 
 " So ! " muttered Perego, watching them keenly. 
 " More than I know the strategic value of a river 
 bank ! You have saved my life, Mademoiselle. 
 Luigi di Gadola never meant that I should reach 
 Casa Foscotti alive. He knows the truth of the 
 proverb, ' Dead men make no war.' " 
 
 By this time the two men-at-arms had climbed the 
 further bank and turned their beasts to face the ford, 
 and in such a fashion that they dominated the 
 further exit. Once opposite them, and with no 
 more than the breadth of the river between, Carlo 
 Perego reined up. 
 
 " Loose me, Mademoiselle, " he cried softly. 
 " Quick, for the Lord's sake, lest they fall upon 
 us before I am ready ! So, now grip the saddle 
 with both hands and hold fast." 
 
 Springing to the ground, he turned his horse's 
 head towards the steepest slope of the bank, where 
 the current had dug out the soft soil, leaving the top 
 an overhanging mass of matted fibres, where neither 
 man nor beast could get sure foothold. Then he 
 dealt it a sounding blow on the neck with his open 
 hand, driving it forward with a start that nearly 
 flung the girl to the ground. 
 
 " Not Caesar Borgia himself could have devised a
 
 THE HOUSE OF KINSFOLK. 113 
 
 neater defence, and Caesar himself is no mean 
 captain ! Let aught bigger than a cat try that 
 path, and my word for it the crumbling sod will 
 souse him over his ears. Now, you rascals, woman- 
 slayers and liars in wait, if you want your blood- 
 money, earn it like men ! " 
 
 Drawing his sword, he set himself squarely in the 
 narrow, worn path that led to the ford, where, if 
 Gadola's men tried to rush him, he would have the 
 advantage of the rising ground, and waited. 
 
 Not for long. They had all of a brute's courage, 
 both Fleming and Pisan, and after a brief pause of 
 astonishment at the new turn of affairs they plunged 
 again into the river, making ready for the attack as 
 they rode. The odds were still with them, though 
 they had lost the advantage both of surprise and 
 position, for Carlo Perego had read their purpose 
 aright. It was no part of the Sieur's plan that 
 cither he or the girl should gain the ear of my 
 Lord Bishop. If Denise de Lhoeac were found at 
 the bottom of a pool unwounded, and Carlo Perego 
 not far off with a sword-thrust through his ribs, who 
 would connect the two, or link the quiet of either 
 with the master of Casa Foscotti ? 
 
 Yet the sight the rogues saw as they crossed the 
 stream was not one to put heart into them. Made* 
 moiselle's low cry, more wail than words, " Oh. 
 Monsieur, Monsieur!" had but made him set his 
 teeth the harder, and confirmed his purpose to an 
 exulting desperation, for it seemed to Messire Carlo 
 Percgo that its sharpness had soincihing more in it
 
 114 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 than a girl's unreasoning terror. She was Denise de 
 Lhoeac, and he well, he was what he was, a dis- 
 credited soldier of fortune, and therefore leagues 
 removed from her. Therefore the best thing that 
 could happen would be that he should save her, 
 and perish in the saving. The dying that counted 
 for little ; the saving that was all. 
 
 So the face the two saw above the steady sword's 
 point was hard-set, resolute, almost joyous, and calm 
 with the tranquil determination of a spirit that 
 knows the worst the world holds, and has no dread 
 of it although an ugly face for men on such an 
 errand as theirs. 
 
 No duel this of nice skill and long-drawn careful- 
 ness of thrust and parry ! Once clear of the water, 
 they both rammed home their spurs, and so drove 
 at him headlong. Then, for the first time, he shifted 
 his point. To the girl who, open-eyed and open- 
 mouthed, leaned back with one hand on the horse's 
 flank the other mechanically clutching the saddle, it 
 seemed as if summer lightning had flashed in her 
 eyes so quick was the sweep of the blade meeting 
 the attack. Not at the men. This was no time 
 for courtesy, no, nor for pity to the brute beasts, 
 who were the lesser brutes of the four. Across 
 the muzzle of the one and the ears of the other 
 swept the stroke in the one curve, so that they 
 reared, whinnying, and swerved backward, one 
 stumbling and flinging Sandro the Pisan upon the 
 smooth, dry stones of the river's margin. Then 
 back came the blade to its steady poise, across 
 which the alert, hard eyes looked out unwinkingly.
 
 THE HOUSE OF KINSFOLK. 115 
 
 Not twice was Hans the Fleming to be caught 
 napping. His rasping spurs drove on his unwilling 
 beast, and this time the stroke was parried, nor, 
 thereafter, had Carlo Perego leisure for aught but the 
 blade that in its deadly quickness seemed in three 
 places at once. As for the girl, for all her watch- 
 fulness she never knew how they fought or fared. 
 It was no more than a bewilderment of shooting 
 light flung in the eyes as the sun caught one or 
 other twisting blade, or ringing clash and clatter, 
 of faces wherein the lurking devil leaped to the 
 eyes and looked out o* window, of hard-drawn 
 breath and busy, shifting feet, and now and then 
 a rough oath to underscore the hate ; all so new, 
 all so undreamed of in her innocence that she but 
 gasped and stared, past thought, past sense, past 
 even prayer, and understanding nothing as to which 
 had the advantage. 
 
 Then, as she watched, gaping, of a sudden came 
 the end. Up went Flemish Hans' left arm into the 
 air as he reeled back in his saddle, foaming redly at 
 the mouth. There he swayed for an instant, 
 groaning with a rattle in his throat that was half a 
 laugh. Then he flung himself forward on his 
 enemy's unrecovered sword, dealing Carlo Perego 
 such a thrust that the two fell together in a heap 
 upon the bank, and rolled down on to the dry 
 waterway. 
 
 Nor was she even clear as to what followed. As 
 she sat staring, her dry lips moving dumbly, she 
 saw the Pisan rise upon his knees and left hand and
 
 ii6 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 look round him confusedly. He still held his 
 sword-hilt, but the blade had been snapped off 
 short in his fall. For a moment he knelt, dazed 
 and blinking, his evil face an ugly mask of pain ; 
 then his sight cleared, and as he saw Carlo Perego 
 stretched upon his back ten feet away, and Hans 
 the Fleming by him, stone dead, he laughed aloud. 
 
 " The sure man is the safe man," she heard him 
 mutter as he shuffled forward on his knees through 
 the stones, casting aside the hilt as he went, and 
 groping for the dagger at his hip. 
 
 Down to the dry sod she slid with no certain 
 purpose in her mind, but as she moved the glint of 
 the Fleming's sword struck up from the grass where 
 it had fallen as he tumbled. Swiftly, and yet half 
 as in a dream, she caught it up, and as the Pisan 
 reared himself to give his blow the fuller weight, 
 she leaped downward, flinging herself upon him 
 with the blade at the charge. 
 
 Afterwards Roger Patcham, who found all four 
 huddled there under the bank, said that it was as 
 shrewd a stroke as it had been his luck to see, and 
 honest Roger was no mean judge. But whenever 
 Caterina recalled that day she shivered as with an 
 ague, and her face went whiter than the milk-white 
 gown she had worn.
 
 THE HOUSE OF MARRIAGE. 
 I. 
 
 OF the four he found upon the water-worn 
 stones, there were two at least with whom Roger 
 Patcham had no need to cumber himself. Hans 
 the Fleming and Sandro the Pisan had taken their 
 wages in full and left Luigi di Gadola's treasury 
 none the poorer for the payment. Carlo Perego in 
 the one case, and Caterina in the other, had dis- 
 charged the debt after a fashion that never leaves 
 the quittance in dispute, so true is the proverb that 
 " Dead men make no war." As for Carlo Perego, 
 Roger Patcham would have left him where he lay, 
 that he might follow the other two at his leisure, 
 but for the girl's outcry. 
 
 At the first dash of water in her face she had sat 
 up, dazed and staring, and then gone promptly off 
 into a second swoon at the sight of Messire Carlo, 
 who, indeed, was no pretty object for a damsel to 
 look at, with the blood-smears and grit of the river- 
 bed trailed across his face. Brought to life again, 
 she had added to Captain Patcham's perplexed 
 wonderment at women's ways by going down on 
 her knees and taking the ugly head upon her lap 
 with an utter disregard for the whiteness of her 
 robe.
 
 ii8 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 " Let the fellow bide," said he roughly. " 'Tis a 
 plain enough reading of the old adage : rogues have 
 fallen out and honest folk have come by their own." 
 
 " Is he dead ? " asked she, looking up fearfully 
 into Patcham's stern face and heeding his words 
 not at all. " Really, really dead ? " 
 
 " Dead or living, what boots it to us? 'Tis but a 
 rogue more or less. Let him bide." 
 
 " Let him bide ? " she cried, shrilly, " let him bide 
 who gave his life for me ? Shame, Captain 
 Patcham, shame ! " Then her hysteric wrath quav- 
 ered into tears. "Is he dead, Monsieur? For the 
 Lord's sake tell me the truth." 
 
 Whereat, grumbling and still much perplexed, 
 Roger Patcham went down on his knees in his turn 
 and found Carlo Perego living, but in an evil case. 
 
 " If he bides he dies," said he, shaking his head 
 and looking from the stricken man to the girl ; 
 "and being one of Casa Foscotti's men, why, it 
 were no great harm " 
 
 " If he bides I bide too," answered she, setting 
 her mouth after a fashion he had never before seen 
 in Caterina Cavallazzi ; " and, oh ! Monsieur, Mon- 
 sieur, indeed and indeed it was for me he fought, 
 and if he dies it will be for me for me." Out 
 across the smeared face, with its staring, unseeing 
 eyes, she leaned and caught Roger Patcham by the 
 arm. " For the Lord's sake be merciful and save 
 him. Oh ! I think you men have hearts like stones. 
 Had your mother no pity in her that you are so 
 cruel hard ? "
 
 THE HOUSE OF MARRIAGE. 119 
 
 " Let my mother be, Mademoiselle Catherine," 
 he answered gruffly. " Here, two of you, leave off 
 staring and hoist him up in front of Pierre. Gently, 
 fools this is no charcoal sack you are handling. 
 So ; now his head in the hollow of your arm. 
 Good, you have the trick of it, and when the time 
 comes will nurse a babe bravely ! Forward, but not 
 over-fast : the world to come is no more than a 
 jolt's length from him. Mademoiselle, behind me. 
 There, there, let thanks be : mayhap I was a trifle 
 rough. You still will talk ? By Saint George ! one 
 would think it was your lover that aye, I thought 
 that would stop your clacking. You women push 
 a man too hard at times. Faith ! I can feel the 
 blush through the broad of my back ! " 
 
 But Roger Patcham was not done with women's 
 tongues for that day. Madame Catherine and he 
 were scarcely settled in the former's day-room, with 
 its pleasant outlook down the sun-steeped length of 
 the valley, when Denise broke in upon them, her 
 eyes ablaze with wrath in the true Lhoeac fashion. 
 Whatever of gentle sweetness she might have drawn 
 from her Italian mother, much of the long line of 
 French Seigneurs had also gone to her making, and 
 at sight of her Roger whistled and set himself to 
 meekness as he would have done in the long-past 
 years with old Guy, her grandsire. 
 
 " What wicked trick is this you have played upon 
 me, you two ? Nay, rather you, Captain Patcham ; 
 for the sending that lamb to the slaughter was no 
 mother's doing but like a man's cold cunning. Am
 
 120 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 I a weakling babe to be thus petted and kept in the 
 dark while another risks her life for my sake ? I 
 who a year hence will have all Lhoeac at my back 
 for the mere raising of a finger? I will brook no 
 such conspiracies against my honour, Messire." 
 
 " You have that now, Mademoiselle," began Roger 
 ignoring with much discretion the matter at issue. 
 " I believe from my soul there is not a scamp of 
 them all but would follow " 
 
 " Ta, ta, ta ! " she broke in, with a stamp of her 
 foot. " Let Lhoeac be, Captain Patcham. The 
 question is, why I am fooled and hoodwinked, 
 cozened like a child with sugar-plums, while Caterina 
 ah ! ma mie Maman ! Now I understand thy red 
 eyes, these many weepings when thou thoughtest 
 no one saw thee, and why for four-and-twenty hours 
 thou who art so gentle have been doubly gentle ; 
 and here am I scolding and berating thy love like 
 the graceless vixen I am. But, Father Roger, tell 
 me this : by what right " 
 
 " The right of the least danger," answered Roger 
 Patcham gravely. " The girl had but to say I am 
 not Denise de Lhoeac, and " 
 
 " And that villain would have killed her without 
 mercy to heal his vexation and keep her tongue 
 quiet. And had he not, what manner of man is 
 that vicious sot, my half-uncle, that thou shouldst 
 trust him with our Caterina ? I know. Oh yes, I 
 know. It was for love of me thou didst it ; but yet, 
 had it gone ill with Caterina " 
 
 " But it has not gone ill. Let the past rest,
 
 THE HOUSE OF MARRIAGE. 121 
 
 Mademoiselle." Roger Patcham, being uneasy in 
 his conscience, was growing restless. 
 
 " Not gone ill ? That is what a man says, and all 
 because her life is whole in her ; as if life was all ! 
 Were you a woman and saw her white face you 
 would not say that. And yet," and Denise broke 
 into a laugh, her eyes sparkling with a new thought, 
 " and yet it may be that you are right. A week 
 hence I will tell you, and then, to punish you both, 
 will claim a whim from you whether you will or no." 
 
 " As to whims," said Roger ruefully, " I think 
 that in the granting of whims we mostly have no 
 choice." 
 
 " Then I shall have two ! " cried she, still laugh- 
 ing, " the one to make the other good ! And take 
 this to your heart, I will have no ' nay ' to either of 
 them, Father Roger. No, not though your face 
 grow as long as your sword-hilt at the bare thought 
 of them. But what," she continued, harking back 
 to her first thought, " was the sense in flinging 
 Caterina at Monsieur de Gadola's head ? " 
 
 ' To force his hand and let him know that there- 
 after Meluzza was on the watch." 
 
 "Aye, but why have risked her? Why not have 
 let him found the arbour empty, and Meluzza been 
 on the watch all the while ? " 
 
 " Because needs must that there be a rupture, and 
 a rupture beyond patching, lest he play the friend 
 and fool us under our noses. Oh ! it was not for 
 nought we baited the trap. Thank the Lord his 
 Messire Perego played the true man at the last."
 
 122 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 " And a true man I take him to be," returned 
 Denise, nodding her head with the mature wisdom 
 of nineteen and all its sere knowledge of the world. 
 " Remember 'tis your own word, Father Roger, a 
 true man, and give my whim the week to ripen ;" 
 and she left the room with the laughter still playing 
 round the corners of her mouth. 
 
 " A heart of gold," said Roger Patcham, looking 
 after her, " a heart of gold, and as wilful as a witch 
 withal. I wonder, now, what new whimsie she has 
 tucked away in her brain. Something mad, I'll 
 wager, and yet with a salting of wit to season it." 
 
 Roger Patcham had no need to nurse his curiosity 
 for the full week. There were still two days of the 
 time to run when Denise came to him as he was 
 going his rounds. He was in the men's day-room 
 handling one by one, as was his wont, the pikes 
 that stood in sockets along the wall, their heads 
 swung in leather loops nailed to the wooden cornice. 
 This he did at uncertain intervals, and woe to him 
 whose weapon showed lack of care. In Captain 
 Patcham's eyes peace was no excuse to the sloven. 
 It was a place to which Denise went but seldom, 
 and as she entered the loud buzz of gossip ceased, 
 cards, dice, and what not were pushed aside, and all 
 rose to their feet in silence. 
 
 A mixed crew they were, and a strange babble of 
 many jargons they made when their tongues were 
 in full swing French, Flemings, Walloons, English, 
 Swiss, Italians ; many races, but all picked men who 
 had eaten Lhoeac's bread for years, and who, every
 
 THE HOUSE OF MARRIAGE. 123 
 
 soul of them, would have tramped down the valley 
 of the shadow with no more than a second thought 
 rather than that the beginnings of its chill should 
 fall upon their young mistress. 
 
 " Come out into the sunshine, Father Roger," 
 said Denise, with a nod and a smile round the 
 room. " What ? Thou art on duty ? Why, so am 
 I, and mine takes precedence. Fie ! to say no to a 
 woman ! Thou saidst nothing! What have I eyes 
 for if not to read looks? Come, man ami, that 
 whim of mine is ripe, and thou must aid in its 
 harvesting." 
 
 Linking her arm in his, she drew him, half-pleased, 
 half-reluctant, out upon the terrace to the shady 
 side of the Chateau, and there, still leaning upon 
 him, she marched him twice up and down in silence. 
 
 "Art thou going to be good to me, Father 
 Roger? " she said at last, pressing his elbow to her 
 side, and looking up at him playfully. "Yes, I 
 know thou art. Thy moustache hath an upward 
 curl ! Didst thou know that was a sign of benevo- 
 lence ? When it turns down, so, we poor women 
 go softly and pray for quietness." 
 
 " I know you are a wilful maid, Mademoiselle, 
 and that I am an old fool when you so choose, but 
 I do not know what lies behind all this talk." 
 
 " It is such a good thing, this thought of mine, 
 Father Roger ; and yet a girl's thoughts and a man's 
 are not alike, and of course it is always we who arc 
 astray. When a man and a maid differ it is never 
 the maid who has wisdom or so the man thinks. 
 How many crowns a year is Meluzza worth ? "
 
 124 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 " Less than it costs," answered Roger grimly, for 
 the up-keep of this Italian windfall, this far-off fief 
 of Lhoeac, was a sore point with him. " How can 
 we at Lhoeac have eyes here to watch the out- 
 goings?" 
 
 " Yes, but how much comes in ? Never heed 
 what goes out." 
 
 " A woman all the world over ! ' Never heed 
 what goes out.' But we must heed the outgoings, 
 else if the leak at the spigot washes more than 
 comes in at the bung the cask will run dry. ' Never 
 heed the outgoings,' quoth she. A woman's way, 
 that ; a woman's way that ! " 
 
 " If it were not that I have a point to gain I 
 would tell thee, Father Roger, that to give no 
 straight answer is like a man all the world over," 
 cried Denise, with a stamp of her foot. " Drop a 
 man's way and answer me. For the third time, 
 how much comes in ? " 
 
 " Seven hundred crowns, maybe ; maybe eight. 
 It should be twice, aye, even thrice as much, but 
 who is there to check waste and the master a 
 hundred and fifty leagues away ? " 
 
 " So ! As much as that ? Then Caterina can 
 grow fat at her leisure." 
 
 "Caterina?" 
 
 " Caterina, Father Roger, Caterina. Is it a man's 
 way to be deaf ? That she should have Meluzza is 
 my whim." 
 
 " And did I not say it would be some mad 
 thought?" and Roger Patcham laughed aloud.
 
 THE HOUSE OF MARRIAGE. 125 
 
 "What, Madame leave you after all these years? 
 Not for ten Meluzzas. Tis plain you know her but 
 little, Mademoiselle." 
 
 " Madame ? Who said aught of Madame ? I 
 said Caterina. Madame will bide at Lhoeac with 
 me." 
 
 " Caterina here alone ? Poor lamb ! Luigi di 
 Gadola, who has once so nearly made a meal of her, 
 would gobble both her and Meluzza in a mouthful, 
 once our backs were turned." 
 
 " Not alone," answered Denise, with a twinkle in 
 her eyes, " but with Messire Carlo Perego as shep- 
 herd ; and my word for it, not six wolves like 
 Luigi di Gadola will harm either the lamb or the 
 fold, if I know Messire Carlo as I think I do." 
 
 " Carlo Perego ! " cried Captain Patcham. " Carlo 
 Perego ! What hath he to do with Caterina? " 
 
 " Father Roger, thou art, I doubt not, very wise 
 in the ways of men, and especially when at odds 
 with them ; thou canst plot, thou canst baffle, thou 
 canst fight, thou canst trounce ; but in our ways 
 thou art an owl, a mole, a bat. Why, for five days 
 the wench hath had no life but the little left in 
 Messire Carlo Perego ; and as for him, I think his 
 one sorrow is that he did not die for her out and 
 out. Presently he, being a man, will change, and 
 his one sorrow will be his one joy, since to live for 
 a woman is better than to die for her, even though 
 there be less of nobility in it. Now, Father Roger, 
 what dost thou think of my whim ? " 
 
 " If " he began.
 
 126 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 But with a laugh Denise cut him short. 
 
 " Merci ! Monsieur," said she, dropping his arm. 
 " If your difficulty be a doubt, that settles it, since 
 there is no room for so much as the ghost of an 
 if; " and with a mock curtsey she ran singing into 
 the house. 
 
 " Heart of gold," said Roger, watching her as 
 she went. " Did I not say there would be some 
 wisdom in her madness ? A sure friend and a safe 
 retreat this side of the mountains is no bad thing, 
 lest my Lord Bishop climb so high that he over- 
 shadow Lhoeac and so chill us all in the north. 
 God grant her second whim be as wise a one." 
 
 But when, later, he questioned her, his heart 
 sank at the reply. 
 
 " It is," said she, meeting his gaze with eyes as 
 grave as his own, " that when next my uncle Henri 
 says ' come ' I shall be a loving and obedient niece, 
 and so please both him and myself. If there is a 
 truer philosophy of life, I have yet to learn it." 
 
 " Then may he never say it," answered Patcham ; 
 " and if that be philosophy, then it is not the first 
 philosophy that has had but little wisdom. As I 
 told you before, so again now, the air of Bordeaux 
 is unwholesome for Lhoeac." 
 
 Whereat Denise laughed. 
 
 " He, at least," said she, " has thriven on it ; why 
 not I ? "
 
 THE HOUSE OF MARRIAGE. 127 
 
 II. 
 
 Fourteen months in which the evil thereof is 
 sufficient for the day are ample to make a man 
 forget his fears for the time to come. Such a four- 
 teen months it was which followed on the return to 
 Lhoeac. Never before in Roger Patcham's time 
 had so much of trouble fallen upon the Seigneurie, 
 so much of anxiety beset its management. Drought 
 and flood sowed the seeds of blight, and the harvest 
 was disease and famine. Ergot spread in the corn, 
 mildew burnt and shrivelled the vines, so that the 
 ears of the one were black and blasted and the fruit 
 of the other ruined ; tempest swept the thin fields, 
 twisting and laying the weakened straw ; and upon 
 all these again came floods, rotting the poor produce 
 that remained. 
 
 Well was it then for Lhoeac that a thrifty hand 
 had laid by in store against the evil day. Had the 
 old order lingered on as it lingered at La Crete or 
 Terre-Seche, the order of a stern and callous 
 gathering on the one hand, and a reckless, arrogant 
 scattering on the other, the order of the upper and 
 the nether millstone, Lhoeac's vassals must have 
 starved as theirs starved. But the years of peace 
 and carefulness had brought their accumulations 
 whether of money or of money's worth to the vaults 
 and granaries of the Chateau, and with all his love 
 for Denisc de Lhoeac, Roger Patcham was no man 
 to sec her peasants die by their empty hearths that 
 she might one day fill her lap with wealth. As well 
 fill it with the blood of men.
 
 128 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 Therefore through the desperate hardness of the 
 flooded spring, when every low-lying field, whether 
 vineyard, corn, or pasture, was no better than a 
 morass; when the brimming rivers overlapped their 
 banks and set the very villages a-wash ; on through 
 the sudden scorching heat of early summer, when 
 the tardy growth, already stunted and starved with 
 cold, crisped and withered in the hot glare or grew 
 into a premature and meagre ripeness ; and with 
 that most terrible time of all when the little of hope 
 that remained perished in disease, blight, and the 
 outpouring of the vials of the skies, Roger Patcham 
 drew with a careful but no niggard hand on what 
 was to have been the wealth of Lhoeac's mistress. 
 For months he fed, doled, nursed, and then the 
 crisis passed. The Seigneurie had its life whole 
 within it, but the Chateau was swept bare both in 
 coffer and storehouse. 
 
 " A cheap purchase," said Roger Patcham, looking 
 with a clear eye to the future; "a very cheap 
 purchase. If but the love of the people be bought 
 as well as their lives, Mademoiselle Denise can fill 
 her barns at her leisure and none will grumble. At 
 last I think we have peace," and even as he said it 
 the messenger of my Lord Bishop of Saint-Seurin 
 was knocking at the great gate. He bore two letters, 
 one to his well-beloved niece, suave and tender 
 nay, almost more than paternally warm ; the other 
 to Master Roger Patcham, curtly courteous as 
 become his great station and the other's obscurity, 
 but pithy and to the point. My Lord Bishop was
 
 THE HOUSE OF MARRIAGE. 129 
 
 no man to lavish words when there was nought to 
 gain thereby, or indeed to lavish anything on such 
 terms. With him a groat that failed to earn a crown 
 was at poor usury. Of the two, the latter first, and 
 it was none the less like Henri de Lhoeac that in its 
 tone of familiar condescension it savoured more of 
 Louis the Twelfth than of a provincial bishop. 
 
 " To MASTER ROGER PATCHAM : Greeting. 
 
 " We have heard, even in Bordeaux, how nobly 
 thou hast played the Seigneur this year past. Truly 
 we and Lhoeac are in thy debt even beyond the 
 sixteen thousand crowns which now come to me 
 out of the loving thought of my dear lord and 
 brother. Alas ! that the property of the church, and 
 the crying needs of the poor, compel us to require 
 that our brother's bounty be now forthcoming. 
 " Thy friend, 
 
 " HENRI DE LIBOURNE ET DE SAINT-SEURIN. 
 
 "If thou wouldst cut the chain in half, see that 
 Mademoiselle, my niece, says yes to the thing I seek. 
 Have no fear for her well-being." 
 
 At the first spelling over Henri de Lhoeac wrote 
 no clerkly hand, and for this letter he was his own 
 secretary Roger Patcham took in little more than 
 the words, but as the sense came home to him at 
 the second reading he sat back in his chair with a 
 troubled face. 
 
 " Sixteen thousand crowns ! Aye, that was true,
 
 130 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 and yet in his absorbed thought for Lhoeac it had 
 been clean forgotten. Sixteen thousand crowns J 
 Where was he to find sixteen thousand crowns for 
 my Lord Bishop or my Lord Bishop's poor? 
 though the two, no doubt, were one. Not from the 
 Seigneurie. When life and bone are alone left it is 
 a fool's hunt to look for flesh and blood. Not from 
 Lhoeac. Its coffers had little in them but dust and 
 the echo of vanished wealth. A half he might raise 
 by pinching and scraping ; a bare half, but no more 
 no, not by a denier. Where, then, get the rest ? 
 Not from the Jews. That was to give Lhoeac up to 
 be sucked dry year by year, and the bare husk 
 filched at the last. He had played the Seigneur 
 nobly, had he ? Honey with a sting left in it ! 
 That was my Lord Bishop's biting sarcasm. Better 
 he had played it with a closer fist, and as the old 
 lords would have played it, for now Lhoeac was like 
 to pay high for the saving of Lhoeac. A benefit 
 may be bought too dear ! " 
 
 " It is like this," said Roger Patcham, sitting 
 bunched in his chair with knitted brows, thinking 
 aloud as some men do in their harassment, " I can 
 pay him half, and for want of the whole he will set 
 himself here and lord it as he will, and who can say 
 him nay ? The work of twenty years gone in a 
 finger-snap. And for what ? That a score or two 
 of peasants may live a score or two of years. Saints ! 
 but it's a dear purchase when one reckons in Henri 
 de Lhoeac ! Fool that I was to have forgotten 
 Henri de Lhoeac. Twenty years he has waited,
 
 THE HOUSE OF MARRIAGE. 131 
 
 and now when the pear is ripe he shakes the tree 
 
 and ! But what of this? Cut the claim in 
 
 half? Peste ! How well my Lord Bishop knows 
 the affairs of Lhoeac ! Truly he is well served, 
 though if I but knew who is traitor Monseigneur de 
 Saint-Seurin would have prompt need of a new 
 tool. The Seigneur would be played right nobly 
 once more, and the fellow should hang! A shrewd, 
 priestly stroke that ! Cut the claim in half ! " and 
 the Englishman smiled grimly. " 'Tis a bribe 
 plainly enough, but a bribe that soils no palm in 
 the taking, since Lhoeac would be the gainer. He 
 knew better than to say, ' Roger Patcham, put eight 
 thousand crowns in thy pouch ; ' and aye, here 
 comes Mademoiselle. With her there is little 
 beating about the bush, and five minutes will make 
 it aye or nay. I pray to the Lord the thing he seeks 
 can be done with some kind of conscience." 
 
 At the sound of the quick rush of feet down the 
 corridor Roger Patcham pushed the letter out of 
 sight. That the politic prelate would say nought 
 about it in his epistle to her he was sure, and for all 
 his own blunders he was man enough to wish to do 
 with a seeming grace that which, perchance, he 
 needs must do, though he had no grace at all. 
 
 " My whim, Father Roger ! " cried Denise, flinging 
 the curtains aside with one hand while the other 
 waved a paper in the air. " You have thought, it may 
 be, that a woman's memory and a woman's will 
 would not last a twelvemonth, but it is as I told you. 
 My uncle says ' come ' and and we shall go, shall
 
 132 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 we not, Father Roger? Tis my whim, you know, 
 and you were warned." 
 
 After all, she was no more than a child, this 
 Denise of twenty years. Over more than four 
 hundred square miles her word was law ; and ready 
 to her hand fifty men drew pay to back her will, 
 without troubling their conscience as to the right or 
 the wrong. Within the four lines of Lhoeac no 
 soul owned stick or stone, hoof or feather, wife or 
 child : nay, not even himself except at her plea- 
 sure. High and low justice to all their cruellest 
 and mo.'.t arbitrary extremes were hers of heredi- 
 tary right, woman as she was, for no Salic law 
 touched Lhoeac ; and save for the rights of the 
 King she was as unquestioned within her Seigneurie 
 as Anne of Brittany in her Duchy. Let a peasant 
 thieve, she could hang him ; let him kill her deer, 
 she could maim at the wrist ; let him curse her for 
 her misused power, and she could leave him to rot 
 in prison and fling wife and child out upon the road 
 to starve. She could slay, torture, tax, crush, and 
 no law would interpose a finger to stop her. All 
 that she knew, for Roger Patcham was an upright 
 man and had schooled her well, both in her powers 
 and the duties which sprang from them ; and yet, 
 knowing that she had but to say "I will" and so 
 make an end, she linked her arm in that of the 
 grizzled Captain and begged of his love that which 
 she could have commanded. As for Messire Roger, 
 the pressure of her arm made my Lord Bishop's 
 letter creak under his doublet, and with two such 
 voices pleading, what could he do but consent.
 
 THE HOUSE OF MARRIAGE. 133 
 
 " Wilt thou read it ? " said Denise when she had 
 thanked him as honestly as if her pleasuring had 
 been his thought and not his necessity ; " it is the 
 prettiest letter that ever came to Lhoeac. Thou art 
 to come, and ma mie Maman, so that I may not fret ; 
 and I shall be guest or play at mistress as it pleases 
 me. It will be the first, I think ; it would daunt 
 me to rule my lord's great household. Yet there is 
 a touch of sorrow through its prettiness. ' Are we 
 not the last of our race, we two,' saith he, ' and he 
 far gone in years ? ' I had not thought a man could 
 write so tenderly. He must have a noble heart, 
 this little-known uncle of mine ; and such a great 
 life is his to live for the Lord Christ. And, oh, 
 thou art to bring any half-dozen of our men thou 
 wilt: ' Needs must,' saith he again, 'that Denise de 
 Lhoeac have her train of honour ! ' Hark to that, 
 Father Roger ! Fancy clattering through the streets 
 of Bordeaux with half a dozen hammering at our 
 heels. ' Room, there, room for Queen Denise the 
 First ! ' ' With as grave a face as her dancing eyes 
 would permit, she swept Captain Patcham such a 
 curtsey that would have passed muster with Anne 
 of France herself. 
 
 " Read it at thy leisure," she went on, dropping 
 the paper on to his knees, " and see if it is not as 
 sweet a letter as thou hast ever read. Now I will 
 go and frighten ma mie Maman. Chere Maman, 
 how she will hate Bordeaux, and how I shall love 
 it ! Pausing at the doorway, Denise looked back 
 across her shoulder. " Meluzza freed her from one
 
 134 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 plague ; who knows what blessing Bordeaux may 
 have in store for her ? " 
 
 Dropping the curtain with a laugh that ended in 
 a snatch of song, she left Roger Patcham to his re- 
 flections. Nor, for all the sharp edge of his suspi- 
 cion, could he find fault with Monseigneur's letter. 
 It was all it ought to be, and no more ; frank, affec- 
 tionate, playful, and yet as Denise had said, with a 
 touch of pathos that was not unnatural from the 
 aged, unknown uncle to the young girl last of his 
 blood a pathos that did as much honour to his 
 heart as the letter to Roger Patcham did to his head. 
 An ideal letter, the Englishman would have thought, 
 but for the shadows which the past cast upon its 
 lines. 
 
 " Trust Henri de Lhoeac no further than the 
 length of your little finger," the old Seigneur had 
 said to him. But was it really trusting? Was there 
 any venture of faith at all in this visit ? And strain- 
 ing of caution ? Six men and himself, Madame 
 Catherine and the girl's own women all about her 
 with these at her right hand and at her left there 
 was little of trust needed. 
 
 "And," said he, stretching himself, " 'tis the girl's 
 whim, and for good or bad there's an end of it." 
 
 But for all her eagerness it was three weeks be- 
 fore Denise saw the greatest sight of her twenty 
 years of life. Madame Catherine was feminine to 
 her finger-nails, and so not to be hurried over such 
 grave matters as the plenishing of wardrobes. 
 There would be gaieties at the palace of my Lord
 
 THE HOUSE OF MARRIAGE. 135 
 
 Bishop, and the heiress of Lhoeac must needs make 
 a brave show, to say nought of Mademoiselle's cha- 
 peron. Nor, upon his part, could Messire Patcham 
 scrape together eight thousand crowns at a day's 
 warning ; so between the two the girl was at her 
 wits' end with impatience. 
 
 " What matters a dress or a cloak or a laced 
 petticoat more or less ? " she said petulantly to 
 Captain Roger. " Tis myself my uncle wants, and 
 not a milliner's block." 
 
 But with his own ends in view Roger shook his 
 head. 
 
 " Bide a while, my bird, and you will sing another 
 tune. A pretty woman is like a fine picture, all 
 the better for being well framed. It's little thanks 
 you would give Madame Catherine if she saved you 
 a week's fret now at the cost of a month's heart- 
 burning later on. A month's? Nay, a whole life- 
 time's ? To be the grey mouse at Lhoeac, where 
 all are mice and all are grey, is well enough, but I'll 
 warrant you will change your mind when the sharp- 
 clawed lady cats of Saint-Seurin get hunting you." 
 
 Which shows that in spite of his bewilderment at 
 times Roger Patcham had at least taken his first 
 lesson in the ways of women. But the sorrows of 
 the three weeks could at worst make them no longer 
 than three weeks, and once fairly upon the road 
 they were forgotten. 
 
 "Truly a great city is the most wonderful thing 
 in the world!" said Denise, as with flushed face 
 and restless eyes she rode along the quays of Bor-
 
 136 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 deaux, and turned in at the Porte des Salinieres. 
 " Mon Dieu! What walls! How dared the 
 English so much as come within sight of them ! 
 One, two, three, four towers from that angle, then 
 this great gate, and, oh ! oh ! oh ! the turrets beyond 
 are past counting ! What a famished nation yours 
 must be, Father Roger, when nothing less than this 
 would stay its hunger! " 
 
 " Sharp teeth and a strong stomach go far," 
 answered Roger, swelling his leanness with pride 
 and satisfaction, " and it took more than Bordeaux, 
 aye, more than Guienne itself, to take the whet off 
 the appetite. But that is dead and gone. Let it 
 rest, Mademoiselle, lest some hot-headed fool pay 
 off a nation's debt on the body of one man and 
 leave Lhoeac and me alike the poorer by a life a 
 thing mighty inconvenient for either of us to spare 
 just now !" 
 
 That Denise should cry out was no marvel, since it 
 was her first sight of a great city. Hitherto Assier, 
 Saint Agnes, or Puyrac, the villages of the Seigneu- 
 rie, one double tortuous row of houses with three 
 or four sprawling lanes to the side, had been her 
 largest knowledge of life in the bunch, except per- 
 haps a petty town on the way to or from Meluzza. 
 Riding to Italy, Roger Patcham had kept to the 
 by-ways, giving Toulouse, Nimes, Avignon, and the 
 like a wide berth. 
 
 Bordeaux, therefore, with its great turreted walls, 
 its castles, towers, markets, palaces, churches, its 
 shipping along the thronged quay-side, its tramp
 
 THE HOUSE OF MARRIAGE. 137 
 
 and stir and rollicking hum of life, its wilderness of 
 streets, its ebb and flow of varied interests ; its 
 wealth and magnificence, poverty and meanness, all 
 crowding, jostling, shouldering one another, were a 
 revelation. The shipping alone was a nine-days' 
 astonishment to one who knew no larger craft than 
 a toy boat on a brook or a walnut-shell set adrift on 
 a pond, and thrice as she rode past the four turrets 
 on her left Denise had hindered the traffic that she 
 might closer watch the gay flags, the flapping sails, 
 the sailors shouting and singing as they leaned 
 across the yards at what seemed the peril of their 
 lives or busied themselves with the maze of cordage. 
 " See," said Roger Patcham, his eyes kindling 
 with a fire as bright as her own. " There and there 
 and there, aye, and half a dozen times more, the 
 bonny red cross of Saint George. 'Tis another set 
 of teeth wherewith England gobbles Bordeaux 
 nowadays, but, my faith, it fills the stomach all the 
 same, and the feast leaves less of an ache behind it ! 
 God be praised that I have seen the brave flag once 
 again. The sight of it makes my heart leap and 
 my blood hot, and if there were kin of mine left 
 behind the white cliffs I think yon fluttering 
 patches would woo me home. Yon blue and white 
 is a Portingal ; nearer by two is the Spanish rag, 
 yellow and red in a kind of jaundiced rage. 
 Further, by the stairway is a lumbering Fleming, 
 with bows like a butter-boat, but yet a lad that 
 chains his end with not overmuch of a 'by your 
 leave.' Of the rest, two or three arc Rochelluis,
 
 138 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 and the balance, flag or no flag, are English. That 
 they show no colour is their affair, and nine times 
 out of ten, whether by sea or by land, with prince, 
 priest, or peasant, there is no wisdom like caution. 
 Come, Mademoiselle, let us make forward. We 
 have blocked the current till there is a back-wash 
 behind us like that of a choked stream. Look to 
 yourselves there in front, look to yourselves. Pull 
 back thy barrow a foot or two, my friend, lest you 
 gall the beast and suffer for it ; and thou, keep thy 
 vile hides more to the lee. Whew ! they stink like 
 
 Beware of yon cask, Mademoiselle ! The fellow 
 
 must be as full as his own staves to trundle it so 
 wildly, clean under the beast's feet. My word, but 
 four legs is the nobler animal of the two ! This 
 way, this way ; " and turning to the left, Roger 
 Patcham rode under the grey gateway with his 
 troop straggling a furlong b'ehind him. But once 
 within the narrow street beyond the gate, he bade 
 the escort close up. 
 
 " Ride smarter, men," he cried sharply, " and 
 more like men than meal-bags. Would you have 
 all Bordeaux on the giggle at us for greenhorn 
 bumpkins ? Now forward, and at a trot." 
 
 From the throat of the narrow street, cunningly 
 contracted so that it might the better dominate the 
 approach to the gate, they passed on to the broader 
 road which had at one time been the fosse of the 
 ancient city, but from which there now sprang a 
 teeming network of busy streets and evil-smelling 
 laneways. To the right were the old walls that had
 
 THE HOUSE OF MARRIAGE. 139 
 
 stood since the days of Saint Louis, the great gate 
 leading to the market rising at the centre in a series 
 of turrets. Past these they rode, Saint Eloi's spire 
 on the left ; past the great marble cross that split 
 the traffic at the upper end of the street ; then, still 
 skirting the old town, to the right under the shadow 
 of the Chateau du Ha, built by Charles the Seventh 
 to overawe his trusty and well-beloved lieges, 
 through an antique gateway, black with time and 
 worn with war ; obliquely, still to the right, past 
 the Cathedral of Saint Andre" and so out to the 
 western fosse. Thence, leaving the ruins of the 
 Palais de Tutelle on the right, it was no more than 
 a three minutes' trot to the Rue Saint Germain. 
 
 Once there, Roger Patcham checked his horse to 
 a walk. 
 
 " Yonder," said he, pointing ahead, " is the pal- 
 ace of my Lord Bishop." 
 
 " And thou, in thy cleverness, hast brought us 
 straight as a homing pigeon," cried Denise. 
 
 "Cleverness?" he answered sourly. "As to 
 cleverness, the less said of that the better. I have 
 ever heard that to get into a web was a simpler 
 matter than to get out again, and here we are ! " 
 
 III. 
 
 For thirteen days Denise has queened it in the 
 hotel of Monseigneur de Saint-Seuiin. Mistress 
 and guest in one, as he had promised, she had in 
 these thirteen days seen much of that which is ac- 
 counted the greatness of this world as well as the
 
 140 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 glory of the service of the next, but always, as he 
 was careful to contrive with my Lord Bishop, the 
 centre of the greatness and the glory. 
 
 Was it some solemn ecclesiastical ceremony in 
 the collegiate church of Saint-Seurin beyond the 
 walls a ceremony in which the solemnity revealed 
 rather than obscured the pomp and grandeur of the 
 sacerdotal functions? Then of natural course the 
 noble and commanding personality of Monseigneur 
 was the focus of observation. Gorgeous in his 
 symbolic vestments, gracious in his grave dignity, 
 unctuous, benign, reverent, he was the thrice bright 
 sun round which all revolved, and to Denise the 
 worship and the purpose of the whole were lost in 
 a growing awe of the individual greatness of this 
 new-found uncle an effect which might have been 
 not foreign to his purpose and not uncalculated 
 upon. If it was life in its gayer mood and who in 
 all Bordeaux knew as did Monseigneur the value of 
 both worlds ? it was to her but another revelation 
 of perfection. Thrice in these thirteen days had he 
 held receptions in the palace, to her honour and his 
 own glorification, and thrice in all the thronging 
 crowds of notables, peers, prelates, and politicals, 
 there was none who outshone him, and Bordeaux, 
 with its separate parliament and half-independent 
 government had held itself in wit, wealth, and 
 culture to be but little short of the glory of Paris. 
 Then it was indeed a good Bordelaise would have 
 reversed the precedence without a questioning 
 qualm. Dressed almost with a severe plainness,
 
 THE HOUSE OF MARRIAGE. 141 
 
 wearing neither jewel nor ornament save the cross 
 upon his breast, and never, as was the common 
 custom of the day, secularising the priest by drag- 
 ging down the eternal world to the pettiness of the 
 temporal, that Monseigneur was still the centre of at- 
 traction and a marvel to more than Roger Patcham. 
 
 To the first of these receptions Captain Roger 
 had gone with his tongue in his cheek. 
 
 " Now," said he to himself, " comes Made- 
 moiselle's disillusion, and not a day too soon. Let 
 my Lord Bishop forget his years and calling as 
 men say he does and, my word for it, Mademoiselle 
 Denise will close his open mouth with a snap. Let 
 him shock her reverence for religion, and that for 
 which religion stands, and his day is done. For 
 such an offence not even the last of the Lhoeacs 
 could earn forgiveness ! " 
 
 But the expected did not happen, and Roger 
 Patcham went to his bed that night a troubled 
 and a thoughtful man. The waters over which 
 they sailed were deeper than he fathomed, and 
 Henri de Lhoeac must indeed have a heavy issue 
 at stake when he so suddenly and completely gave 
 his past the lie. Nor was that all. Thenceforward, 
 both within the palace and without, Monseigneur 
 saw to it that the Englishman's bewilderment and 
 alarm had good cause for growth. Abroad and at 
 home he was the same grave, benign, and reverend 
 prelate, and day by day Denise de Lhoeac fell more 
 fully under the spell of a life which, without 
 austerity or ostentation, revealed a spirit that in
 
 142 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 wisdom, power, and rectitude was on a plane apart 
 from all her knowledge of life. Had he dared, 
 Roger Patcham would have hinted a warning, but 
 in her then mood a warning would have been a 
 slander, and so have set a yet keener edge upon 
 her admiration. Few things quicken reverence like 
 the defending of the thing revered against an un- 
 justified attack. 
 
 Almost daily he had sought to rid himself of 
 old Guy de Lhoeac's legacy, but invariably had 
 been put aside with an evasion. Monseigneur was 
 at his devotions ; Monseigneur was in conference 
 with the Duke of This, or the Lord of That ; 
 Monseigneur's almoner was elsewhere ; until at last, 
 meeting Monseigneur in the central courtyard, 
 Roger Patcham bluntly said that it had been no 
 easy matter to gather in eight thousand crowns, 
 and now it seemed as hard to be quit of them. 
 Whereupon Monsieur de Saint-Seurin turned upon 
 him smartly. 
 
 " Eight thousand crowns ? So thou art at last 
 wise in this generation, Master Patcham ? Well, 
 the paying of them can wait the issue of thy good- 
 will. That, thou wilt remember, was the essence 
 of the bargain," and rounded on his heel as if the 
 last word was said. 
 
 But Bishop or no Bishop, Roger, being deadly in 
 earnest, caught him by the sleeve. 
 
 " And why wait, my lord ? " he cried. " Is my 
 good-will not proved? The thing you desired is 
 done, and Mademoiselle is here in Bordeaux."
 
 THE HOUSE OF MARRIAGE. 143 
 
 "Bordeaux?" echoed Monseigneur, wrenching 
 himself free and going on his way unconcernedly. 
 " Who said aught of Bordeaux ? " 
 
 All of which, and remembering my Lord Bishop's 
 growing power with Denise, made Captain Roger 
 tremble for Lhoeac. 
 
 The Hotel de Saint-Seurin was a huge block with 
 a depth equal to its frontage ; that is to say, it stood 
 about square upon its foundations. A broad door- 
 way, within which was a porter's lodge, opened 
 upon the street-level, and gave access to a sidelong 
 flight of stone steps. At the head of these was a 
 second door of immense strength, its five inches 
 of oak planks being ribbed and studded with iron. 
 This, in turn, gave upon the hall, which at the 
 further side opened upon a square courtyard five 
 stories deep, and bordered by tier on tier of pillared 
 galleries, the cloister walks of my Lord Bishop in 
 his new-born moods of holy meditation. On the 
 fourth storey, opening off the gallery and remote 
 from the turmoil of the world, as was fitting for 
 such a place, was Monseigneur's study. 
 
 Of all the rooms in the palace which Denise had 
 visited and being free of the house there were 
 few places where her curiosity had not carried 
 her this one alone struck her with a chill. In 
 spite of the littered table which filled its centre, 
 the manuscripts, the parchments, the duodecimo 
 classics of Aldo Manuzio, upon the shelves on two 
 sides of the room, the upright writing-desk placed 
 in true student fashion where the light came in
 
 144 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 softly from the left, it lacked for her that strange 
 and subtle life-likeness to its master which is the 
 inalienable heritage of all much-used and well- 
 beloved four walls. Let the room be in a palace 
 or a hovel, let it be a prison cell or an open booth 
 on the wind-swept brow of a hill, and so sure as 
 the space has walls it will in time absorb in some 
 measure his personality. In Monseigneur's study 
 the shell was there, but the hundred accretions of a 
 score of years were absent. 
 
 That much was dimly in her mind as, on the 
 thirteenth day of her stay in Bordeaux, she sat by 
 the end of the disordered table while Henri de 
 Lhoeac, his hands clasped behind his back, paced 
 the dingy room in an interval of silence. 
 
 " It is seventy years, my daughter," he said at last, 
 picking up the broken thread of his monologue, 
 " seventy years since a maid of France saved 
 France, and lost herself in the saving. Surely, 
 surely, to every true soul a beggarly loss for so 
 great a gain. The pity of it is that the glory comes 
 so rarely and to so few. But it does come, it does 
 come, for now, how can I tell you in few and 
 fitting words that Christendom stands in as 
 urgent need of salvation as France did then, and 
 that a maid of France can be the power under 
 heaven to turn the destinies of this world, and 
 out of evil bring righteousness, a greater glory, a 
 greater greatness by so much as Christendom sur- 
 passes France? " 
 
 He ceased his walk as he commenced speaking,
 
 THE MOUSE OF MARRIAGE. 145 
 
 and kneeling one knee upon the chair drawn before 
 the table by which she sat, he bent towards her, his 
 brows down drawn and his face full of a solemn 
 gravity. 
 
 " Christendom ! " he went on, with an upward 
 gesture in the air, a note of pain breaking sharply 
 through the measured deliberation of his speech. 
 " Is not the word almost now a mockery? A Borgia 
 throned in the sacred chair of Peter and yet it is still 
 Christendom; the abomination of desolation standing 
 where it ought not to stand, a service of devils 
 profaning the holy things of the church, offences 
 unnatural and unnamable flaunted unblushingly 
 in the face of an outraged world ! The shame 
 of it ; oh ! the shame of it ! and if the fountain- 
 head be evil, what shall the waters be but polluted 
 and accursed even to their furthest limits? Not 
 Guienne, not Francealone, but all of God Almighty's 
 world, groans under the tyranny of wrong ; and 
 from the Head of the Church upon earth to the 
 meanest monk living and thieving to glut his 
 appetite, the flock of Christ is ravaged by those 
 who are its shepherds. Oh ! the shame of it, the 
 bitter shame of it ! I say again ; the torture, the 
 anguish, to stand by and see this illimitable power 
 of evil sweep these million souls to an eternal 
 perdition. To see it, to know it, to suffer for it, 
 and yet to be impotent ! Ah ! my God, yes, yes ; 
 here lies the sting ; to be impotent ! " 
 
 As he spoke his voice quickened and took fire, 
 his eyes glowed, he braced and stretched himself
 
 146 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 as a man does who faces danger, conscious but 
 unafraid ; and to the rapt gaze of Denise it seemed 
 as if the solemn face turned down to hers was swept 
 with a sorrow that passed beyond the common 
 agonies of earth. But at the last the lids closed 
 over the eager eyes, and his voice broke and died 
 away. Courage, righteous wrath, enthusiasm, were 
 overborne with hopelessness ; the devil upon earth 
 was too strong for the powers that faced him. But 
 the dejection was not for long. Suddenly he woke 
 into new life, passed his hand across his forehead 
 with a quick gesture, and drawing himself erect, 
 threw off his weakness. 
 
 " Illimitable ? Impotent ? " he went on, his voice 
 ringing clear and full. " Nay, nay, that were un- 
 faith ; that were sacrilege ; that were to doubt God. 
 Even as He raised up a maid to save France so will 
 He raise up a maid to save His holy church ; and 
 thou, Denise, art she." 
 
 " I, my father, I ? " 
 
 Denise had sat with her hands folded in her lap, 
 listening intently to his every word, her face reflect- 
 ing his moods as a pool the blue and the cloud of 
 the sky above it ; now, grasping the sides of the 
 chair, she thrust herself forward as if to follow him 
 as he drew back. 
 
 " How can this thing be?" 
 
 " Thus. Do as has been done. Follow Joan of 
 Arc, who gave herself and counted the cost but 
 light." 
 
 " Myself? But how, but how ? Can I take
 
 THE HOUSE OF MARRIAGE. 147 
 
 sword in hand against so great an evil ? But that 
 is foolishness, for this this is " 
 
 " No, daughter, no. This warfare is not against 
 flesh and blood. Nevertheless victory cometh 
 through the gift of thyself." 
 
 " To death ? " 
 
 " Not so ; to life, rather; to that which is the 
 natural course for Denise de Lhoeac. To marriage." 
 
 " Marriage, my lord ? " and her face flushed. 
 " You speak mysteries." 
 
 " Listen, and let us reason this calmly. From 
 whence must regeneration come from above or 
 from below ? from the brain or from the feet ? 
 from that which guides or from that which is led? 
 from the chair of Saint Peter or from that which, 
 after all, is that upon which the church stands 
 the ignorant mass of the people? Is there room 
 for question? Truly, no. Regeneration must come 
 from above ; he who seeks to regenerate from below 
 fails, for it is not a new birth, but revolution. 
 Follow me now. The world is weary of the 
 enormity of this Borgia and groans for deliverance. 
 His cup of iniquity is full to overrunning. Long, 
 long has God stood waiting in the shadows until 
 the times were ripe and of late His arm hath moved. 
 I think I think I see the sword of Justice poised to 
 strike. A year may pass, two years even, since God's 
 mercy is long-suffering, then the sword shall fall. 
 Borgia must go to his own place. What then? 
 This. Let there be set in the vacant chair a man 
 whose life shall be an atonement for the present
 
 148 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 pollution of holy things, a man of piety, foresight, 
 wisdom, prudence, and indomitable will ; a man 
 who will count no abnegation, no sacrifice, no 
 labour too great if but the church be purified and 
 set anew upon its divine mission of peace upon 
 earth and the bringing near to man of the glory 
 of God. Let such a one be set there, I say ; and 
 could there be a more fitting end for the last of the 
 line of Lhoeac ? " 
 
 " Thou, thou, thou ? " 
 
 " I, daughter, I. God works through men, and 
 happy is he who seeks to fit himself to the hand of 
 the worker. Nay, more than that ; woe, woe, bitter, 
 eternal, unutterable woe to him who shrinks from 
 the appointed service." 
 
 " But, my lord, a moment since you spoke of me. 
 My mind is in a maze. How can I ? " 
 
 "Thus. Will the College of Cardinals God 
 works through men, I said will it know anything 
 of the obscure Bishop of Saint-Seurin ? Truly, no. 
 A man must have his stand near the steps of a 
 throne before one will lift him into the seat. Let 
 the Bishop of Saint-Seurin but be named one of 
 the Sacred College, and oh, aye, I know there are 
 those already who turn their eyes to France and 
 whisper that George of Amboise is the ideal Pope. 
 Well, I quarrel with no man's opinions in such a 
 matter, but let Henri of Lhoeac but fairly measure 
 himself with George of Amboise, and by the Lord 
 God ! I have no fear for the issue. Saint-Seurin 
 will overshadow Rouen. Here comes in your part."
 
 THE HOUSE OF MARRIAGE. 149 
 
 The voluble rush of words slackened. My Lord 
 Bishop had reached a point in his argument 
 when it behoved him to pick his way with circum- 
 spection. Bombast, a flood of vague assertions, a 
 torrent of generalities no longer served his purpose, 
 and for a moment he paused, dropping his lids so 
 that his eyes were no wider than the rim of a franc- 
 piece. 
 
 " La Clazonne the lord that is will do that for 
 a kinsman which he will not do for a stranger ; and 
 through La Clazonne Alexander the Sixth will do 
 that not knowing what he does which makes 
 Henri de Lhoeac his successor." 
 
 " I do not understand." 
 
 " It is like this." 
 
 From the table by which he stood de Lhoeac 
 lifted a roll of parchment, one of a pile that might 
 have been laid there for the purpose, and set it on 
 end. Six inches away he set another, and yet 
 another, each a half-inch longer than that which 
 preceded it, until he had five stretching in a line 
 across the table. Then he flipped the one nearest 
 him with his forefinger, tilting it against its neigh- 
 bour, which it overthrew, flinging it against the 
 next, until the last was toppled over. 
 
 " Now is it clear? What I mean is this. La 
 Clazonne can move Peter of Gie, who can move 
 La Tremoille, who can move Csesar Borgia, who 
 can move the Pope. For the Bishop of Saint- 
 Seurin La Clazonne will stir no finger. Why 
 should he ? There are a hundred bishops in
 
 ISO THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 France. But for the man who, through his son, 
 Giles La Clazonne, is kinsman to his house he will 
 move Gie, since thenceforward Lhoeac and La 
 Clazonne will be one. Our ends are different, but 
 we must use men as we find them. For him it is 
 the glory of Lhoeac reflected on La Clazonne ; for 
 us it is the regeneration of the world, the purification 
 of Christendom, the bringing near of God's mercy 
 to men. Daughter, the time is short, and such 
 things are not done in a day." 
 
 "But" and the face that looked up to his was 
 a very troubled face ; she yearned to do the right 
 if ever a soul did, but what was right was not clear 
 " I am but a girl, and ignorant. Let me have time 
 to think." 
 
 " He who setteth his hand to the plough and 
 turneth back is not worthy of Me. He who loveth 
 houses and lands more than Me is not worthy of 
 Me. Seek ye first the kingdom of God and His 
 righteousness, for what profiteth the world if the 
 soul be a castaway ? " 
 
 " No, no," she cried, laying her hand suddenly 
 upon his sleeve. " Let him have Lhoeac and be 
 
 content. It is You spoke of marriage, my 
 
 lord ; and to me marriage without love is sacrilege." 
 
 "And so the service of God Almighty is to be 
 left undone because His ways are not ours! Are 
 you so steeped in provincialism that you do not 
 know what befits the honour of a gentleman ? La 
 Clazonne will befriend a kinsman but do nought for 
 a bribe. There is no other course, daughter."
 
 THE HOUSE OF MARRIAGE. 151 
 
 " Let me think, let me think give me to-night. 
 Twelve hours twelve hours out of a lifetime are not 
 much. Oh ! it is not right to put so cruel a choice 
 before a girl and leave her no time for thought." 
 
 " Therefore do I choose for you, I who under- 
 stand. And have I not thought saints ! have I 
 not thought ? Aye, through the vigil of a hundred 
 nights' praying, fasting, weeping ! See, daughter : 
 this Giles la Clazonne is a soldier wedded to camps. 
 I will vouch for it that he seeks no more from you 
 than a marriage in name." 
 
 " Will he set his oath to that, my lord ? and is he 
 a man who, having sworn, will keep his plight? " 
 
 " He will swear, have no fear for that. No, nor 
 for his faith. What ? Would I sacrifice you to a 
 wastrel ? I, your uncle and God's minister. La 
 Clazonne is as proper a man in mind, spirit, and 
 body as there is in all Guienne." 
 
 " What ? " answered Denise, with a sneer ; " and 
 yet he can stoop to such a bargain as this ! " 
 
 " A man's ways are not a girl's ways ; but what 
 he swears to he will hold to. As for thee, daughter, 
 how many thousand holy nuns are there in this 
 France of ours, and what will this life of thine be 
 worse than theirs ? Nay, it will be wider, fuller, 
 nobler; unfettered, uncramped, in the world and 
 yet not of the world ; mistress of Lhoeac " 
 
 " Aye," she broke in with a start, " what of 
 Lhoeac? It may be I can do what I will with 
 myself, but Lhoeac must not suffer. That were 
 treason."
 
 152 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 " Nor shall it. Lhoeac, rather, is the gainer, and 
 had Lhoeac a voice, Lhoeac would bid you do as I 
 bid you ; nay, as the truth bids you. Sooner or 
 later thou wouldst marry some lord of Brittany, 
 Artois, Picardy, or the like, who, howsoever he 
 loved thee, had no love for Lhoeac, since north 
 is north and south is south, and the two are no 
 more one than the bitter of an orange-rind and 
 the sweet of its juice. Now Lhoeac is bound up 
 in the same bundle as La Clazonne. The boun- 
 daries that before met will now merge, and so 
 through union Lhoeac will be the stronger. A 
 blessed strength and a needful, believe me ; for I 
 foresee that in the time to come the King from 
 above will draw towards the people from beneath, 
 and whatsoever of weakness lies between will be 
 ground to powder. The feeble lordships will go, 
 but have no fear for Lhoeac if it is once linked with 
 Clazonne." 
 
 " Every way I am answered, and yet for all the 
 answering it is abhorrent. When must this thing 
 be?" 
 
 " Giles La Clazonne is in Bordeaux, and the 
 time is short, too short if God's justice is not held 
 back." 
 
 " But," said Denise, clasping and unclasping her 
 hands in her uncertainty and distress, a movement 
 that was a trick of hers. " There are conditions." 
 
 " Make them, my daughter." 
 
 " It must be secret." 
 
 " La Clazonn accepts the condition."
 
 THE HOUSE OF MARRIAGE. 153 
 
 " He must be bound as you yourself have said." 
 
 " He shall be bound." 
 
 " Lhoeac shall be mine in fact as well as name, 
 so long at least as the old lord lives." 
 
 " La Clazonne agrees." 
 
 "If this this Giles La Clazonne dies before 
 his father, Lhoeac shall be mine, as it is now, mine 
 without question or quibble." 
 
 " That he may object to." 
 
 " Monseigneur, I must protect my people as best 
 I can. While I live no stranger shall be set over 
 them. As I said, it would be treason." 
 
 " Well, be it so ; I will see to it that he accepts that 
 condition also. Are these all ? To-night, then, and 
 I shall provide safe witnesses." 
 
 " To-night ? " she cried, aghast ; " but I must 
 have time to prepare." 
 
 " What ? Preparations, and the thing a secret ? 
 To-night, Denise, to-night ; there is neither need 
 nor room for delay." 
 
 " Oh ! " she answered, rising from her chair, 
 glamoured by these thirteen days of strange life, 
 mystified, swept off her mind's balance by his 
 vehemence and ready flood of words. " Truly 
 either God is with you in this thing, or He has let 
 loose the powers of evil, for you meet me at every 
 point." 
 
 At the door she turned. 
 
 " One more condition. I will not see his face 
 nor shall he see mine. For all my consent, I am 
 ashamed. Tell him that, Monseigneur."
 
 154 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 " That, too, shall be as you will ; but I take it 
 that your word is pledged ? " 
 
 " Yes," answered she, slowly, " it is pledged." 
 
 " And freely ? " 
 
 " It is pledged ; let that suffice." 
 
 Left to himself, Henri de Lhoeac drew a long 
 breath. 
 
 " I think," said he, drawing his chair up to the 
 writing-table and leaning his head upon a crook'd 
 elbow, " that we two, dear brother Guy, are quits 
 at last. I was as good as dead, I had no part or 
 lot in Lhoeac ; nay, I was an outcast from its 
 borders, and kept beyond its bounds by a penalty. 
 Well, there is no pear so slow of ripening but it falls 
 at the last. By the Mass ! but it was harder to win 
 the jade than I had dreamed, yet won she is, and 
 who knows but I have told her no lie. Let George 
 of Amboise see to himself ! "
 
 THE HOUSE OF DEATH. 
 I. 
 
 IT was a strange ceremony and such a one as had 
 not often been seen in Bordeaux, the marriage of 
 Denise de Lhoeac in Monseigneur's private chapel 
 that October night. The celebrant was my Lord 
 Bishop himself, clad in all the magnificence of his 
 official vestments, but for once he served the altar 
 without an acolyte. His word was pledged for 
 secrecy, and save for the presence of three witnesses, 
 tried friends and followers, only those concerned 
 were within the consecrated walls. Therefore, in 
 the unwonted emptiness of the church, and the 
 small stir of life about the altar, the scene was 
 strange. 
 
 Strange, too, in its dimness. At such times not 
 alone the church, but the altar itself, was commonly 
 a blaze of light, its every candle lit, its every lamp 
 flaming at its highest. So was it not now, but 
 rather as if Monseigneur served the awful office of 
 the Tenebrae. From the middle of the groined 
 roof, there being indeed one feeble spark, another 
 glimmered through crimson glass before the high 
 altar, and at either end of the holy table there 
 winked and guttered a solitary candle. These four 
 lights there were, these and no more, and through
 
 156 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 the darkness they revealed the white Madonna 
 throned above the altar looking glimmering down. 
 Scarcely visible, as if that which is highest in 
 human love had but small part in that strange 
 union. But strangest of all in those who through 
 the shadows played their parts, themselves no more 
 than shadows. So dim and uncertain were they 
 priest, bridegroom, bride, and witnesses that it 
 seemed as if the dead forerunners of my Lord Bishop, 
 whose generations slept beneath the heavy flags of 
 the nave, had for one brief hour returned to their 
 ancient ministry. Save for the one monotonous, 
 low murmuring voice the silence was that of the 
 grave, nor was there life or motion except when the 
 priest moved here and there in the exercise of his 
 office, or as the two masked figures before the altar 
 obeyed his whispered orders. At last even the 
 priest fell silent, kneeling in his place with bowed 
 head ; and all movement stayed. The ceremony 
 was ended. In the sight of God and the church 
 Denise de Lhoeac was Denise La Clazonne. 
 
 She it was who broke the hush. Rising to her 
 feet, she crossed the open space to the altar-rails, 
 and paused on the uppermost of the three steps lead- 
 ing down to the body of the church, her pale dress 
 showing like a faint grey blue against the black 
 hollow of the nave. 
 
 " I have kept my word, Monseigneur," said she, 
 turning towards the two still kneeling figures as she 
 spoke. " Kept it, Lhoeac fashion, because I 
 pledged it, rashly as it now seems to me in my cooler
 
 THE HOUSE OF DEATH. 157 
 
 blood, and because the strait you set me in was too 
 hard forme." 
 
 De Lhoeac and the newly-made bridegroom had 
 risen while she spoke, and now the former answered 
 her from where he stood, his back to the dim 
 Madonna and his hand still leaning on the holy 
 table. 
 
 " Is the truth less the truth because your blood is 
 cold ? Is that which you have done " 
 
 But she raised a hand and waved him into 
 silence. 
 
 " Was it the truth ? Hot blood proves it no more 
 than cold blood gives it the lie. Was it the truth ? 
 That is the question that was too hard for me to 
 answer. If yes, who was I to fight against God, and 
 what am I or what my life that I should refuse it ? 
 But if no if no oh ! even then I had pledged my 
 word, and and the strait was too hard for me. 
 There was none to guide me. There are times when 
 the mother of God is far off, and the mother of life 
 would have been so near." 
 
 " But " and Monseigneur's voice took on a 
 sterner ring; the scene was not to his liking and 
 must be stopped, the more so that in his wise 
 knowledge of human nature he had not told La 
 Clazonne all the truth "am I not your spiritual 
 father and your near kinsman ? Oh ! daughter, 
 daughter, these doubts shame both yourself and 
 me." 
 
 " God forgive me if they are wrong, and you if 
 they are right," said she, and her voice was well-
 
 158 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 nigh as st&rn as his own ; " but that I doubt is true, 
 and for the very reason that doubt should be impos- 
 sible. Within these last hours Roger Patcham has 
 told me that which it had been better he had told 
 me earlier, or not at all; since next to death a 
 broken faith is the worst sorrow of life." 
 
 " Roger Patcham ! " Truly Monseigneur was an 
 artist. From sorrow he had turned to righteous 
 anger and rebuke, now these were buried beneath 
 contempt and a cold scorn ; nor in any shift of 
 mood or temper was the light needful. Even 
 through the heavy gloom his voice told all. " Roger 
 Patcham ! And would you set such a one as Roger 
 Patcham up as a witness against such a one as I ! 
 A hireling bully ; a roystering, swearing, pinch- 
 pursed braggart ; a needy, hungry adventurer whose 
 enmity I earned a dozen years past by warning him 
 that he who robbed Lhoeac would have more than 
 a weak girl to deal with. Roger Patcham ! a churl, 
 a stranger, and an alien ! Shame, Denise ! shame ! I 
 say again." 
 
 But neither rebuke nor contempt could cow the 
 girl or turn her from her purpose. 
 
 " Roger Patcham was but the mouthpiece of the 
 dead," she answered without a break in her level 
 tones, though those who watched her saw her hands 
 meet in a hard grip across her breast. "The mes- 
 sage was the message of my grandsire. Nay, it 
 seemed but in Captain Patcham was not clear 
 as if some power higher and beyond this world had 
 spoken."
 
 THE HOUSE OF DEATH. 159 
 
 " Aye, aye ; and what was this message ? " 
 
 "The sum of it was this 
 
 When priest or kin hath aught to win. 
 Then trust thou least both kin and priest ; 
 
 and that " 
 
 " And for that jingle," broke in my Lord Bishop 
 harshly, squaring his still broad shoulders and 
 striding a pace or two forward as he spoke ; " a 
 jingle told you by such a man as this Patcham, you 
 would discredit Henri de Lhoeac, you would brand 
 him as liar, cheat, cozener, false servant of the altar 
 by which he stands, and for his own ends deceiving 
 of God and man alike ! By the Mass ! the old 
 enmity of my brother Guy was but hidden skin- 
 deep, and a pin-prick brings it to the surface. He 
 ever hated me, did Guy, and swore that even from 
 the grave he would strike me. But this is that 
 wastrel Patcham's doing, not yours, and so I pardon 
 you." 
 
 "Stranger and alien he is, though no churl," 
 answered Denise, taking a step forward in her turn. 
 "If every Frenchman were as true a man as Roger 
 Patcham, then might France in her self-reliance face 
 Spain, England, and the Emperor with a quiet heart. 
 More than that : this hireling bully and needy 
 adventurer, this roystering pinch-pursed braggart, 
 is so nice a gentleman that even in his hate, if hate 
 there is, he has never slandered his enemy. Not 
 even to-night did he do more than bid me think 
 twice before I stretched my handout further than I 
 could draw it back ; and when I asked him why, he
 
 160 'THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 stammered, gnawed his lip, and at the last quoted 
 the rhyme I tell you. But not from himself. ' 'Twas 
 one,' he said, ' wrote it for the old Seigneur on a tag 
 of parchment twenty years ago and before even I 
 knewLhoeac!' A bully ? A wastrel? May God 
 in His grace ever send for the safe keeping of Lhoeac 
 such a hireling rogue as Roger Patcham." 
 
 Do what she would, and it was clear she set a curb 
 upon herself, the level voice was vibrating with 
 passion before she ended. Her own fears and 
 doubts she could hold in check, but to hear the man 
 belittled who had nourished both her and Lhoeac 
 was more than she could abide in patience. For all 
 his knowledge of men and women Monseigneur had 
 not calculated well when he derided Roger Patcham 
 to Denise de Lhoeac. 
 
 " All this," she went on, with a gesture towards 
 that other and hitherto silent shadow who made the 
 third upon the raised level of the altar steps, "has 
 a meaning for you, Monsieur La Clazonne, as it has 
 for my Lord Bishop. If I have been cajoled oh, 
 your pardon, Monseigneur, your pardon, I say no 
 more than if, and by Saint Agnes of Lhoeac, the 
 power of that if grows with the moments whether 
 I will or no if I have been cajoled, let no man try 
 a second lure, or seek to break by a hairs-breadth 
 the conditions I have made. If I have kept my 
 word and have I not kept it? you, Monsieur, 
 must keep yours. Never, come what may, can you 
 expect more than I have vowed. Nay, my very 
 vow comes between."
 
 THE HOUSE OF DEATH 161 
 
 " Madame," and even with all her preoccupation 
 Denise could not but note that Giles La Clazonne 
 had a pleasant voice, " in these few minutes I have 
 learned more than I was meant to learn, and it is 
 borne in upon me that in this thing there has been 
 more than one cat's paw. My Lord Bishop is a 
 bold player. It is a month since Monsieur de Saint- 
 Seurin broached this alliance, and half that time 
 since he bade me to come to Bordeaux for its 
 further consideration and final adjustment. Once 
 here " 
 
 " Chut, chut ! " broke in Monseigneur im- 
 patiently ; " the thing is done, and all this talk is 
 so much wind, for is there one of us all would wish 
 it undone ? " 
 
 " A month since? " answered Denise, not heeding 
 the interruption, but speaking rather as if she and 
 Giles La Clazonne were alone in the dim church. 
 " I see, I see : that was when I consented to join 
 him here. Yes, Monsieur?" 
 
 " Once here, Madame, and we had met," and 
 through the gloom she could see La Clazonne bow ; 
 " the importunity was on my side, and not on 
 his." 
 
 "Ah? so we have met, Monsieur?" 
 
 " Five times, Madame, and each time you did me 
 the honour to be well enough content." 
 
 "I, Monsieur? I? By Our Lady above us there, 
 it is simple truth that I never so much as saw you. 
 Though by that I mean you no discourtesy." 
 
 "That was my folly, Madame, and finely it has
 
 162 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 been punished. I should have known I was no 
 match for such as you. But what would you have ? 
 Youth is vain and foolish ; besides, he was your 
 uncle and God's priest. Besides again, it is easy to 
 believe that which we desire to believe." 
 
 "Yes, Monsieur." Her voice was softer now, 
 softer than it had been since she had halted at the 
 altar-stairs and turned upon them both. " What 
 next ? " 
 
 " You had your whim, Madame, but no more than 
 was your right as the most beautiful woman in all 
 Bordeaux, and the sweetest. The foolishness was 
 mine not to recognise they were a travesty and a 
 lie. ' She is country-bred and shy,' said Mon- 
 seigneur. ' She likes you well enough, better than 
 you suppose, but will have no closer acquaintance 
 lest gossips talk. They are unaccustomed to lovers 
 on the slopes of Lhoeac. Wait, better things will 
 come presently.' And I waited, Madame : I would 
 have waited seven years. This came this afternoon. 
 ' Who would have thought the wench was so 
 romantic ? ' said Monseigneur. ' It must be the 
 Italian blood in her ; we Lhoeacs are more prosaic. 
 She wants this, she wants that, she wants the other, 
 but she will marry you all the same! and I oh, 
 Madame, I dared to hope that these were no more 
 than girlish trials of my love whims borne of some 
 romance of ancient chivalry ; and that, having 
 proved me knightly " 
 
 " I will tell you God's truth. I never so much 
 as heard your name until to-day, Monsieur la
 
 THE HOUSE OF DEATH. 163 
 
 Clazonne, except as a neighbour of Lhoeac, and 
 then only as one might talk of a cattle-herder or a 
 burner of charcoal ; therefore spare me your pro- 
 testations. My conditions stand." 
 
 " Have I sought to shift them, Madame? Have 
 I by a hairs-breadth crossed the lines that you your- 
 self laid down? Let your conditions stand. I 
 am content to wait. At least you cannot take hope 
 from me." 
 
 " No, Monsieur, nor give you hope. Hope ? " 
 she went on bitterly; "Monsieur de Lhoeac has 
 murdered hope, and it is God's mercy if faith has 
 not gone shipwreck too. Oh ! you men you ruth- 
 less, callous, calculating men, who care not what 
 you trample under foot if but your goals are reached 
 have you no fear of God ? " 
 
 " Madame, believe me " 
 
 " Monsieur, have done with Madames ; they are 
 an offence to me they suggest a claim which I re- 
 fuse to honour, and will refuse. Saving for the 
 ring that plighted troth the ring that went from 
 Lhoeac in disaster and came back by chance, and 
 has now gone in what I pray God is not worse 
 disaster I am Mademoiselle de Lhoeac, and never 
 can or will be more. My conditions stand." 
 
 But not knowing her man, and full only of her 
 own resentment, she had pricked La Clazonne in 
 temper and pride alike. 
 
 " What ? " cried he, striding forward and facing 
 her with his hands upon his hips, a broad pillar of 
 blackness in the flickering candle-light ; " is all the
 
 164 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 wrong one way ? Fair and sweet you are, God 
 knows. God knows, too, that I loved you for your 
 gracious womanliness without so much as speech 
 passing between us, which perhaps argues me 
 something of the fool but nothing of the villain ; 
 but that Giles laClazonnk should give Mademoiselle 
 de Lhoeac the right to be called Madame is not a 
 thing for scorn or contempt even though his love 
 came unwished for. That you hold Lhoeac sacred 
 is well, but have I no pride in Clazonn ? For more 
 generations than I have fingers we have dwelt there, 
 and I am the last of my race. Is it no grief to see 
 the old line end in me, and all for a priest's lies ? 
 Let your conditions stand. Who sought to break 
 them ? Not I, Madame ; not I. Is it your folly to 
 think that a man, because he is a man, can respect 
 neither himself nor his word? Oh, we are not all 
 Henri de Lhoeacs nor brute beasts ! See," and he 
 turned towards the altar. " There, through the 
 gloom, the calm, pitying Christ looks down upon 
 this troubled world. Darkness is about Him, and 
 faith alone it is that clearly knows Him there. 
 Madame, by that sorrowful Christ I swear that my 
 will and oath are as strong and pure as yours. 
 Until the day breaks for us as break it shall and 
 dimness and distrust are done with, I hold to your 
 conditions. God send the day ! even as He sends 
 the dawn to show the pity, love, and blessing of 
 that face full in the smile of the world." 
 
 That ended it. Round swept Denise, awestruck 
 in spite of herself and not a little shamed, and
 
 THE HOUSE OF DEATH. 165 
 
 through the darkness they could hear the click of 
 her heels and the swish of her trailing draperies 
 upon the flagging. Then came the soft clap of a 
 padded door shutting to its spring at the further 
 end of the church. By the same road, when an 
 interval had elapsed, went La Clazonne. As for 
 Monseigneur, he passed behind the altar, through 
 the choir, and out into his sanctity's disrobing- 
 room. Thence there was a private passage to his 
 own apartments, and there he sat for a full hour 
 staring, chin on breast, into the warm-ashes of the 
 dead fire. At last he rose, and the sum of his 
 thoughts was this : there was never a bird yet but 
 had to chip its shell before it could sing. For his 
 old sake and the glory of the kinship old La Cla- 
 zonne will keep to his pact. The rest is my affair : 
 Lhoeac is lost, but its losing makes me Cardinal. 
 
 The day that followed saw Roger Patcham's 
 puzzlement as to women's ways grow deeper than 
 ever. For no reason, hinted, spoken, or shadowed, 
 and with not so much as four-and-twenty hours' 
 delay, Denise would have it that she must return to 
 Lhoeac; but it was at least comforting that eight 
 thousand crowns contented Monseigneur. After 
 all, though it was not every one who found it out, 
 my Lord Bishop has something of a conscience. 
 
 II. 
 
 Neither then nor after could Roger Patcham 
 fathom how two weeks had worked such a change 
 in Denise. The day she first rode under the broad
 
 166 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 gateway of the Salinieres she was no more than a 
 child for all her grown womanhood and twenty 
 years of life a child in her frank irresponsibility, 
 her ready, careless sunshine, her unwearied and 
 cheery optimism. For surely the stamp of a child, 
 let its age be what it may, is that it Lives in and for 
 the day, sucking its blessing as a bee does honey, 
 and leaves the morrow to take care of the things of 
 itself. No more than fourteen days passed before 
 she again rode through the time-worn arch, and yet 
 the child had become a grave and sweet-faced 
 woman, deep-eyed, serious, and with laughter rarely 
 on her lips ; silent, too, beyond common ; and in 
 the trouble of his heart Roger marvelled at the 
 change, nor could the memory of the eight thou- 
 sand crowns saved to Lhoeac wholly comfort him. 
 
 For the most part it was a dull ride south. The 
 quips and jests, the light talk of a strange, new 
 world that danced the long day through, and half 
 the night, on tip-toe ; of lovers to be schooled and 
 scorned ; of worldly wit and saintly wisdom ; talk 
 part earnest and part pure gaiety of youth ; and 
 which had been the girl's chatter as she rode north, 
 was at an end. All that was done with quips, 
 jests, and talk were as dead as the last year's small 
 ale. Twice honest Roger trailed a hook, but no 
 fish bit, nor even rippled the surface with a passing 
 snap at the bait. 
 
 " That second gathering at my Lord Bishop's," 
 said he, with a shake of the head and watching her 
 out of the tail of his eyes. " Its music, satins, silks,
 
 THE HOUSE OF DEATH. 167 
 
 its wondrous play of colour, the babble and the 
 laughter, the warm air blown with perfume and 
 alive with wit truly, Mademoiselle, that was a 
 sight and a hearing to stick in a man's memory." 
 
 "Aye," answered she, "a pretty sight enough. 
 We dine at Bazas, do we not ? " 
 
 Nor did his second cast of the line fare better. 
 
 41 Some men love Paris," said he, speaking 
 abruptly out of an awkward, long-drawn silence, as 
 shy men will, and not always please themselves or 
 their hearers; " but give me Bordeaux. The long, 
 grey walls, the busy quays, and that broad 
 stretch of shining river make a bonny picture." 
 
 44 Bordeaux ! " and her mouth hardened. 44 Lhoeac 
 is worth ten Bordeauxs. See, they have halted 
 there behind us. I think, Father Roger, that Ma- 
 dame Catherine is in trouble with her stirrup-shoe." 
 
 Once she reached Lhoeac, it was soon clear to 
 more than Captain Roger that a new order of 
 things had begun. Not again would it be in the 
 power of Monsieur de Saint-Seurin to throw in his 
 face the sarcasm that he had played the Seigneur 
 nobly ! Thenceforward Denise de Lhoeac was 
 Suzeraine and she alone. Not that she meddled 
 with the guards, or the keeping of the peace within 
 her borders that was man's work ; and in her 
 twenty years of child's life her ears and eyes had 
 been open for all her careless ways, and she had 
 sucked in the wisdom of leaving every tool to do 
 its fitting labour. But little by little the reins of 
 control were gathered into her fingers, and inside
 
 168 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 of six months there was not throughout the Seig- 
 neurie a barn burnt, a thief hung, a beggar set in 
 the stocks but Denise de Lhoeac knew the reason 
 why ; little by little, firmly and yet by such gentle, 
 slow degrees, that neither Roger Patcham, Madame 
 Catherine, nor any one in authority was grudgingly 
 conscious of the loss of power. 
 
 For Roger Patcham, and in all things that 
 touched the vassals of Lhoeac their needs, their 
 troubles, their shiftless, turbulent ways she was 
 the master, ignorant, but shrewd and grave-minded, 
 reckoning the spirit of an act to be more than the 
 act itself, and mending her ignorance fast. With 
 Madame Catherine and her maids within doors she 
 was the gentle, tolerant, even-handed mistress: 
 wisely blind at times, but not over-blind ; and 
 within and without there were few but in the end 
 and an end not far to reach came to love and 
 trust Mamzelle Denise. Thus it was that in three 
 years she grew into the life of Lhoeac grew into 
 it so that she was the life of Lhoeac, and so could 
 the better cope with the sore trouble that presently 
 fell upon the Seigneurie. 
 
 But, woman-like, and being wrapped as she was 
 in all .that lay nearest to her, the events of the 
 wider world touched her not at all, or at best but 
 little. When news came with a bustle, as it did 
 in the early summer of the next year, that Mon- 
 seigneur was now red-hatted and " His Eminence," 
 she merely set down her work in her lap and 
 looked Patcham thoughtfully in the face.
 
 THE HOUSE OF DEATH. 169 
 
 " So he has won the next trick in the game, as 
 he said he would ! but even though he clears the 
 board, can a thistle bear figs or a thorn grapes?" 
 
 Which was as so much monkish Latin to Father 
 Roger. 
 
 Even the stir and ferment caused by the King's 
 disastrous second Italian war in no way moved 
 her, but when the rumour that Alexander Borgia 
 had drunk the bitter drink of her own brewing and 
 so fallen into the trap he had set for others grew 
 to truth, she again puzzled Captain Patcham. 
 
 "Then the sword has fallen? Truly my uncle 
 is a wise man ! If he were but as honest as he is 
 clear-sighted, he would go far. Now we shall see 
 if God has indeed pardoned the church, or if for its 
 sins He will give it over afresh to the spoiler. If 
 He does, then truly the latter end will be worse 
 than the first." 
 
 But Julian della Rovere ascended the throne of 
 Saint Peter, and in spite of all his intrigues Henri 
 de Lhoeac remained at Bordeaux. This time there 
 was no Philip the Fair to play Pope-maker. 
 
 Isolated, therefore, and world-forgetting as 
 Lhoeac was, the near trivial raised a louder buzz of 
 gossip, and stirred its interest deeper, than any re- 
 mote catastrophe ; and the return of Jean Tron to 
 Saint Agnes was a greater event to the Seigneurie 
 than the defeat of La Tremoille at the Garigliano. 
 \\liy not? A few hundred Frenchmen more or 
 less mattered nothing to Lhoeac, but every soul 
 within its four corners felt a reflected impotence
 
 i/o THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 because of Jean Tron's six months' pirating along 
 the Portuguese coast ; they were not wont to go 
 far afield, these good folks of Lhoeac, and to them 
 the sea was a fearsome thing ! 
 
 Saint Agnes, therefore, in its pride and fulness 
 of heart, welcomed its returned hero with such an 
 overflowing and liquid hospitality as stretched 
 three-fourths of its men groaning on their straw 
 for the entire of the next day. Amongst these, 
 as was natural, was Jean Tron. Had he not to 
 tell his tale a score of times, adding a larger, richer, 
 and more gaudy amplitude with each telling, and 
 was not talking drouthy work ? Was he not, too, 
 but three days from a service where none dared get 
 honestly drunk because of the unreasoning tem- 
 per of the patron ? But whereas the rest of Saint 
 Agnes came, in the accustomed course and ac- 
 cording to common and established rule, slowly 
 back to life and temporary repentance, Jean Tron 
 woke to a fever that set his tongue clacking 
 sea-tales, the lurid particularity and naked frank- 
 ness of which drove even the stolid women of the 
 village from his room, white-faced and trembling, 
 though the Guiennese of that generation were not 
 a squeamish race. 
 
 For three days he lay mumbling and tossing, 
 groaning piteously at times, now for his soul's 
 health, now for his body, and both .body and soul 
 grievously sick: his lolling tongue brown and dry, 
 his face white and red by turns, while upon his 
 lips and gums, and even teeth, there came a strange
 
 THE HOUSE OF DEATH. 171 
 
 growth, in appearance like a dark fur, a growth 
 such as not even the wisest witch-wench in all the 
 village had ever set eyes on. More than ever, 
 and none the less because of the broken tales that 
 set men nudging, Jean Tron was a marvel, and in 
 these three days there was not so much as a babe 
 in all Saint Agnes that had not stared its fill at 
 him. Then the marvel failed, though the staring 
 went on as hard as ever, for on the third day from 
 his feasting Jean Tron died. 
 
 That the traveller's return, and the story of his 
 reception with its revelry of swinish drunkenness, 
 should be reported to Roger Patcham was a thing 
 of course. Of the former he took note, intending 
 presently to send for the man and question him, 
 since of tales of adventure Roger Patcham was 
 still as greedy as a boy, but the latter he heeded 
 not at all. A merry heart pays its dues without 
 grumbling ; why should Saint Agnes not make a 
 beast of itself its own way if it chose ? Its carous- 
 ings were no affair of his. But when on the third 
 day Jean Tron died without coming again to 
 sober speech it was another matter. Strong drink 
 might give a man an aching head and a troubled 
 conscience, though more of one than the other, 
 but never yet within the memory of tradition had 
 it killed a peasant of Saint Agnes, least of all 
 could it kill such a hard-bitten fellow as this Jean 
 Tron. Doubtless the rogue's pockets were not 
 empty, and the thing must be looked to, lest there 
 had been foul play.
 
 172 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 Down the slope from the Chateau rode Captain 
 Roger with three of Lhoeac's men behind him, 
 down the slope, under the edge of the wood, round 
 by the Rocks of the Bears, across the river, and 
 in between the straggling rows of huddled houses. 
 It was early June ; the three days' wonder was 
 dead, and work was plenty in the fields. The 
 village, therefore, was empty except for its stray 
 dogs and litter of brawling children. Death was 
 no such strange thing in Saint Agnes that any 
 should go softly, or abate a jot of the joys of life 
 because of it. 
 
 At the widow Tron's door Patcham dismounted, 
 and bidding one of his men follow him, he left their 
 horses in the care of the other two. Here, again, 
 there was no need for ceremony. Death was so 
 frank a visitor that punctilio was uncalled for, and 
 besides, it would have been a strange thing had 
 there been a house in all Lhoeac that, by day or by 
 night, would have kept its latch clicked against 
 Captain Roger. Pushing open the door, the two 
 entered the cottage, a typical narrow-windowed, 
 dingy, two-roomed hovel, reeking full with a dozen 
 evil-smelling abominations, and, guided by a mur- 
 mur of voices, turned to the left through a break 
 in the wall : inner door or dividing curtain there 
 was none. 
 
 On the straw in the corner, a coverlid of sacking 
 tucked to his chin and his living clothes propping 
 his head, lay Jean Tron staring blindly at the ribbon 
 of sky showing through the narrow slit of window
 
 THE HOUSE OF DEATH. 173 
 
 fronting him. It was as if in quitting the world he 
 looked to the last at the sunshine he had loved so 
 well, and no one had had the heart to set the ferry- 
 man's fee upon his lids to shut out the sight. Bend- 
 ing over him, chattering and full of the importance 
 of their dreary business, were three crones, the 
 village dressers of the dead. 
 
 At Roger Patcham's entrance their gossip ceased, 
 and of their presence he made short work. The 
 gropings of justice were not for the common gaze, 
 and his line of questioning would depend on what 
 he found. 
 
 " Let the man bide as he is, and get you gone 
 for to-day," he said roughly, checking one of them 
 as she stooped to draw aside the covering. " Has 
 monk or leech seen to him ?" 
 
 " Small use for a leech, Messire," answered one. 
 " Trust my word for that. Eight-and-sixty have I 
 put through my hands, old and young, and the signs 
 are clear. D'ye see the blue at the root of the 
 
 " I have eyes, woman, I have eyes ; quit chatter. 
 The question is not if the man is dead a three-year 
 child could see that but how he died. What of a 
 friar as night-watcher ? " 
 
 " The man's mother, Marie Tron, has gone to 
 Saint Joseph's, Messire, and heart-broken she is. 
 Beyond a crown he had in his pocket there is 
 nought to show for his six months' voyaging. What 
 comes by rapine goes by ruin's a true proverb. A 
 corpse in a body's house is dear bought at a crown 
 with the dues of the church to pay."
 
 174 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 " What ? No more than that ? " cried Roger, all 
 his suspicions roused afresh. 
 
 " Not a denier more, Messire." 
 
 " Well, begone. Now, Martin," he went on as 
 the women shuffled out, grumbling amongst them- 
 selves. " Fling the sacking off him and have him 
 nearer to the light, that we may see what manner 
 of tale his body hath to tell. So ; sideways a little : 
 
 now lift his left arm lest there was a Saints in 
 
 heaven ! Drop him, man ! drop him and stand 
 back ! Back I say, back, further, further ! Lord 
 God ! what evil has Lhoeac done that this should 
 come upon us." 
 
 For all the crone's handling of eight-and-sixty 
 poor shells of outworn humanity, Roger Patcham's 
 experience was as wide as hers. Death by adven- 
 ture and misadventure disease, accident, and the 
 long course of nature, by flood, by field, and by fire- 
 side was familiar to him. He had, therefore, 
 lounged against the wall with his hands lapped 
 carelessly behind his back while the man-at-arms 
 went about his gruesome work, following his instruc- 
 tions methodically and without a qualm. But as 
 the daylight struck into the armpit Patcham started 
 and bent forward, his easy-going, half-negligent 
 watchfulness banished on the instant, and with it 
 the healthy freshness from his face. Then, as the 
 other, startled and confused by the sudden out- 
 burst and sharp insistence, drew back, dropping the 
 arm with a thud upon the floor, the Englishman 
 clapped his hand over mouth and nostrils and bent
 
 THE HOUSE OF DEATH. 175 
 
 Icnver, warily inching forward a foot or two. What 
 he saw was enough, and past argument. The 
 plague was in Lhoeac, and all Saint Agnes had as 
 good as taken it to its arms. 
 
 Drawing back to the wall again, he stood staring 
 at Jean Tron, silent and puzzled. To do him jus- 
 tice, after the first involuntary repulsion, he gave 
 but little thought to his own risks, but how to act 
 for the good of Lhoeac and the protection of Mam- 
 zelle Denise troubled him sorely. There seemed 
 but two courses possible, and scant time to choose 
 between them. Any fool could cry, " Plague, 
 plague ! " and so drive other fools to their death in 
 hot haste, since blind terror is the plague's surest 
 seed-bed. But, on the other hand, let him hold his 
 peace and leave that ghastly thing staring at him 
 from the floor to all the frank and callous horrors 
 of a peasant lying in state, that one period of a 
 man's supreme importance, for then, and then only 
 in all his toilsome years, is he the one centre of 
 interest, and the contagion would spread like a May 
 mildew among vines. In the end he did what half 
 the world does in a crisis he compromised. 
 
 Turning abruptly, he motioned to the man-at-arms 
 to precede him from the house. Once out in the 
 sunshine, he drew the door after him, closing it with 
 a crash that in its brutal carelessness was just a 
 thought over-acted, and walked leisurely down the 
 short distance separating the cottage from the road- 
 way, and climbed up into his saddle with what he 
 was conscious was ostentatious deliberation.
 
 176 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 " Do you," said he to the other two who had 
 waited without, " keep watch here and see that no 
 one enters. When the widow Tron returns bid her 
 lock the door and give you the key. She must sleep 
 elsewhere to-night. The monk can asperge the 
 corpse and say his orisons to-morrow. The key 
 you will bring to the Chateau. And, mark this, 
 when I say no one, I mean no one. Is that clear? 
 The main point is that Jean Tron bides alone until 
 to-morrow." 
 
 " Then perhaps it were better that we kept watch, 
 one here and one behind ? " 
 
 " And spoil all by having fifty fools agape ? No, 
 do as you are bid, neither more nor less, and 
 remember that a silent tongue breaks no teeth. 
 Martin, do you ride with me." 
 
 Very slowly they jogged homewards through the 
 afternoon heat, and presently though Roger 
 Patcham was a very burr at times for roughness 
 Martin's teeth of curiosity grew intolerable. 
 
 " D'ye think," said he, ranging up alongside his 
 captain, "that the poor wretch had foul play?" 
 
 " That," answered Roger, with a sober shake of his 
 head, " we shall see for ourselves to-morrow. Till 
 then there is good reason to walk softly and say 
 little." 
 
 But on the morrow Jean Tron told no tales, 
 neither of plague nor of foul play, nor were ever 
 orisons said by his bier. In the small hours of the 
 morning how, none knew, unless it were the devil 
 had come for his own the hovel, a crazy thing of
 
 THE HOUSE OF DEATH. 177 
 
 tinder-dry thatch or rotten wood, went up in fire ; 
 and though Roger Patcham was on the scene before 
 even Saint Agnes was well awake, there was not so 
 much as the great pot saved from the ruin. 
 
 III. 
 
 But to go back a few hours. Captain Patcham 
 did not dismount at the great door as was his wont, 
 but rode round to a small postern that admitted 
 directly to the stabling. There he threw Martin the 
 reins, and, bidding him spread no rumours lest they 
 should prove a lie, betook himself secretly to his own 
 quarters, where by change of clothing and such like 
 precautions he got rid of contagion as best he could. 
 Martin and his fellows might take their chance he 
 had Mamzelle Denise to see to, and could afford no 
 risks. 
 
 To his mind her course was plain. She must quit 
 Lhoeac, and at once. Now was the time to claim 
 from Madame Carlo Perego some return for having 
 so frankly helped her to a husband, and that Caterina 
 would give Denise an asylum for as long as she 
 chose to seek it he made no doubt. That Denise 
 must be told the why and wherefore of the sudden 
 shift was a thing of course ; she was no longer a 
 puppet to dance to another's finger-strings without 
 a reason. So, having lured her away from where 
 she sat a housewife amongst her maids, he told her 
 shortly all that it behoved her to know of the tale of 
 Jean Tron. 
 
 That her face paled as she listened was no shame
 
 178 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 to her. The scar left on France by the plague-spot, 
 when as many as forty thousand died in Paris alone, 
 was no more than healed ; and as the tale went on 
 her breath came in deep chest-draughts, and Roger 
 could see her hands clench till the nails must have 
 almost bitten through the skin of the palms. 
 
 " And so," he ended, " the seed is sown, and God 
 alone knows what the harvest shall be. That Saint 
 Agnes is ripe for the reaping is past crying over, and 
 is true of all Guienne, or of all France for the matter 
 of that ; but if every house is like Marie Tron's, the 
 pest will run through the poor souls like rot through 
 sheep. There is no time to be lost, Mademoiselle ; 
 by this hour to-morrow you must be ten leagues 
 away, nor need you think to see Lhoeac again until 
 after the frosts." 
 
 " But," after the first sound and she had to stop 
 speech to control the quivering of her lips before she 
 could complete her words, " is the thing certain ? 
 Think, Roger, think ; is there no hope ? May it not 
 be a a mistake?" 
 
 " Neither mistake nor hope," he answered bluntly 
 and with emphasis, since the truth was not alone 
 kindest, but safest. " Put all thought of both from 
 you. God forbid that I should tell you all I saw 
 and the rotting horror of it. The plague's in Lhoeac 
 as sure as Jean Tron's dead." 
 
 " My people, Roger, my people. Oh God ! have 
 mercy on my people ! " 
 
 " Your people must fend for themselves, Made- 
 moiselle, and I think that when once the terror grips
 
 THE HOUSE OF DEATH. 179 
 
 them the end won't be long, and grip them it will. 
 That is the curse of your peasant ; he has no more 
 spirit than a sick cat. Perhaps it is better so ; it 
 will be the sooner over, but while it lasts Lhoeac 
 will be a but that's not the point. The point is 
 that you and Madame Catherine must make haste 
 and begone." 
 
 "Yes," said she, with her eyes on his face, and 
 speaking slowly as one whose thought was busy, 
 " yes, ma mie Maman must go. And you, Father 
 Roger? " 
 
 " Oh, I ? Michel Roux can be trusted to see you 
 safe. There are men enough for a guard. My work 
 lies here." 
 
 "And tell me this, Father Roger," said she softly, 
 " where does my work lie ? " 
 
 Roger Patcham drew himself up with a start. 
 That there could be two sides to his proposition had 
 never struck him, and for the moment his jaw fell. 
 
 "Not here, Mademoiselle; in God's name, not 
 here!" 
 
 "In His name, where, if not with my people? 
 Speak truth, old friend." 
 
 " There are peasants to spare, but only one Denise 
 de Lhoeac." 
 
 " And being Denise de Lhoeac shall I turn coward, 
 the one coward of us all? " 
 
 " Mademoiselle, Mademoiselle," and in his agita- 
 tion Roger Patcham seized Denise by the hands, 
 and holding her at arms-length gripped her harder 
 than he knew. " This is no question of courage.
 
 i8o THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 Go, for Lhoeac's sake. This thing will pass, and if 
 in passing it leaves Lhoeac bereft, what will become 
 of those who remain ? " 
 
 " The thing is right, Father Roger ; and, being 
 right, let God take care of the if's. To Him I trust 
 them." 
 
 " But what gain is there that you should keep 
 yourself pent up ? Nay, there is rather loss. How 
 can we come and go, since we risk you at every 
 coming?" 
 
 " Who said pent up ? " 
 
 " What ! " cried Roger Patcham, staring in blank 
 horror, " you would never go to Saint Agnes with 
 this let loose ? That is no dainty woman's busi- 
 ness." 
 
 " Leave the dainty aside. Sick folk make 
 woman's work, and what another woman can do I 
 can do. We are all one at bottom when the need 
 comes, whether wench of the hut or dame of the 
 castle." 
 
 " But the sights, the sights ; the sickening, filthy 
 horror of it all! " 
 
 " Aye, I know, I know," and for the first time her 
 voice broke, since the nature that can face danger 
 may yet shrink from dirt ;" hearten me, Father 
 Roger, lest the spirit and the flesh fall out and I be 
 lost between them." 
 
 " And will nothing move you ? " 
 
 " Dear friend, be honest with me. In my place 
 wouldst thou be moved ? " 
 
 " Then God bless and keep you ; there is hope for
 
 THE HOUSE OF DEATH. 181 
 
 Saint Agnes yet. Oh ! these swine, these swine, I 
 would to the Lord " 
 
 But Denise put her hand upon his mouth. 
 
 " Let the poor souls be," she said ; " and you know 
 this well enough, Father Roger, that for all your 
 rough ways and hard speech you would take your 
 life loose in your hand for these very same swine, 
 nor count it any great thing to do." 
 
 Which, being a truth there was no gainsaying, 
 ended the argument. As for Madame Catherine, 
 she was of a different clay, and so went sick with 
 terror, and yet clung to Denise as if life had lain 
 that way and not death ; so that when Roger 
 Patcham took to reckoning up afresh the incompre- 
 hensibilities of woman he had to add this marvel, as 
 old as the world and as enduring neither fear nor 
 death can turn back love. 
 
 For three days there was no strange stir in the 
 village. The mystery and amazement of Jean 
 Tron's death and funeral pyre had worn off, and 
 Saint Agnes was as Saint Agnes had ever been 
 dull, sleepy, and with no interest beyond the clod- 
 dish gossip of its one wine-shop. Then, almost in 
 the one hour, to five out of its eighty hovels there 
 came the notoriety of sudden sickness, and as the 
 news drifted up to Lhoeac, Denise felt that grip 
 seize upon her heart which was not to slacken for 
 many sorrowful weeks. The first seeds of Jean 
 Tron's sowing had sprouted, but they were to the 
 full braiding what the herald droppings of a storm 
 are to the vicious lash of the final cloud-burst. The
 
 182 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 five grew to ten, the ten to twenty, then at a leap 
 the twenty were a hundred ; death's hand went 
 busily here and there, and with his fingers fumbling 
 at its throat, Saint Agnes went fair mad. 
 
 But before that came to pass Denise had taken 
 action. In warfare there are two methods of fight- 
 ing an entrenched enemy, assault and siege, and of 
 these she chose the second. To pity Saint Agnes 
 was good, and the poor souls had fair need for all 
 that pity could give them, but her care, thought, 
 and vigilance were for Lhoeac at large, and for all 
 her pity she had no right to sacrifice the whole to 
 the part. Therefore round Saint Agnes she threw 
 a cordon of Lhoeac's men, changing them once in 
 three days, and through which no man might pass 
 out, let his plea be never so plausible, his tale never 
 so piteous, nor in without her permission. 
 
 " Let the monks come," said she when Roger 
 posed her with the difficulty, half because she was 
 mistress, and half in annoyed vexation at her self- 
 will ; " but once here let them bide here. A friar's 
 frock can carry contagion as well as a peasant's rags, 
 and he who does God's work must wait the issue, 
 even to death itself, and never look back." 
 
 Then, leaving Madame Catherine a limp figure 
 of tearful protestations to play mistress at the 
 Chateau, she rode down to Saint Agnes, and, with 
 Roger Patcham as captain of her troop, camped in 
 the pasture a short furlong back from the village. 
 
 That had been on the day when the ten became 
 twenty and death's fingers nipped for the second
 
 THE HOUSE OF DEATH. 183 
 
 time, and it may be that the sight of the circle of 
 armed men holding them pent, and their Suzeraine 
 within the circle, helped to drive Saint Agnes mad. 
 For the first time they were shaken out of their 
 stolid acceptance of the existent as the inevitable, 
 and the very presence of their mistress was enough 
 to flutter them abroad like pigeons from a raided 
 cote. The aged, the sick, the dying, the dead, were 
 alike forgotten, and in its terror Saint Agnes made 
 a burst for it, knew not and cared not where, if it 
 were but anywhere out of Saint Agnes. But the 
 cordon drew in. In every direction the straggling 
 flight was turned back, and that night was to 
 Denise de Lhoeac the most terrible of her life. 
 
 Terror broke through the formal crust of rever- 
 ence and awe that shut the peasant from his lord ; 
 the thin veneer of the church's overlaying was torn 
 aside, the unquestioning obedience born of many 
 generations' service was flung to the winds, and un- 
 der the spur of abject dread of it knew not what 
 the sleeping devil in Saint Agnes awoke. Fire, 
 sword, and spoliation they could endure : were not 
 these and the death that hung upon their skirts, 
 sooner or later the almost inevitable lot of the 
 peasant, the accustomed pricks against which none 
 kicked ; but this creeping horror that killed them 
 stealthily in corners and with so gross a loathsome- 
 ness, they would not tamely suffer. A motley, ill- 
 favoured crowd it was that clamoured round the 
 tent before which stood Denise de Lhoeac women 
 with wailing, starving children hugged in their arms
 
 184 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 or clinging to their draggled skirts, men bearing 
 their poor wealth of household goods upon their 
 shoulders, and careless who they flung aside in the 
 brutality of the despair that possessed them ; the 
 aged and infirm hobbling on sticks or crutches, 
 their very frailty forgotten in the frantic rush 
 thrusting its way to the front ; all weeping, railing, 
 cursing, threatening, as the mood moved them, and 
 only held impotent to murder by the girdle of 
 Lhoeac's men drawn betwixt them and the object of 
 their wrath. The very sick had crawled from their 
 straw, and in the forefront of the circle added their 
 execrations to the tumult, and there, as they cursed, 
 the scourge found them, for two staggered, swayed 
 upon their knees, and died ; and round about them, 
 and over them, the clamour drew in, unheeding. 
 
 Thrice Denise sought to speak, and thrice the 
 seething crowd roared her down, pelting her with 
 threats and vile epithets till, though she still faced 
 it, her lips went as white as her face. For the most 
 part the outcry came from the men, the aged, and 
 the sick ; and Roger Patcham noticed with a kind 
 of wonder that the stronger or the weaker the life 
 the greater the clamour. The women, except for a 
 few gross termagants, were silent or only wept softly. 
 
 " Let them be," he said to Denise under his 
 breath as her hand went down after her third 
 failure. " They will tire presently, and if I know 
 aught of the plague you will be well avenged on 
 the dogs for this night's outburst. Let their rage 
 calm and then your turn will come."
 
 THE HOUSE OF DEATH. 185 
 
 " Avenged ? " answered she, with a sob in her 
 throat. " God knows they might have me in pieces 
 this very hour if it would but save them." 
 
 " You, you ? " he cried, stamping his foot as he 
 looked round the tenfold circle of passionate faces 
 lit for all their hot anger into a cold ghastliness by 
 the full of the moon ; " before a hair of your head 
 fell I would see not alone Saint Agnes, but every 
 coward and brute beast in Lhoeac laid in the ashes 
 with Jean Tron ; and yet from my heart I cannot 
 but say you are right to be here, for all their curs- 
 ing. Poor souls ! " he went on, with contemptuous 
 toleration, but still watching them narrowly, " how 
 can they understand ? and being ignorant, why 
 should they not curse ? It were beyond nature that 
 they should not." 
 
 In both his prophecies Roger Patcham was right. 
 The anger that is born of terror soon tires, lacking 
 fresh fuel. Little by little the storm subsided. 
 Its very passion tore its persistence to tatters, and it 
 was still three hours before dawn when Denise went 
 in peace to seek such rest as was possible. Not to 
 sleep overstrained nature forbade sleep but at 
 least to tranquillity and the grateful calm coolness 
 of the night, to prayer, to pity, and to planning. 
 Saint Agnes must not be let suffer for the senseless 
 folly of Saint Agnes ! Then, when the day had 
 dawned broadly, the second forecast came true. 
 Through the low hours of the early morning the 
 plague fearfully avenged the overnight madness, for 
 the folk went down like murrained sheep.
 
 186 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 Then it was that the twenty leaped to a hundred, 
 and then it was, too, that the terrifying impish 
 tricks of the pest showed themselves. A veritable 
 monarch amongst scourges is the plague, choosing 
 whosoever he will with a royal prerogative that dis- 
 dains reasons. Le roy le veu/t, that is enough. In 
 this house three lay groaning, in that four; then 
 with the regal caprice of King Death he leaped 
 four hovels even filthier than the rest and in the 
 next drew two into his arms. From thence he 
 skipped the street at a bound, and like a runner 
 upon stepping-stones left the impress of his foot 
 upon a long line without a pause or break. Impar- 
 tial as God's justice, he showed no natural selection. 
 The gaffer crawling on two sticks, the babe at the 
 mother's breast, the girl fresh from her first com- 
 munion, the burly, weather-tanned bread-winner as 
 hard-bitten and firm of muscle as one of his own 
 oxen, all were gathered alike to his Catholic bosom ; 
 and neither age, youth, nor strength could say him 
 nay, nor " I am exempt ! " Only, to some the end 
 came swiftly, while with others he played and toyed, 
 till between hope and fear they knew not whether 
 to praise God or curse their torment. 
 
 That day Denise won her victory. With the poor 
 souls of Saint Agnes reaction had set in. The 
 fierce denunciations of the night were replaced by 
 sullen indifference, and in the room of wild rage 
 was a callous and deadly fatalism. They were to 
 die, then let them die. Left to themselves, their 
 logic would have gone a step further ; they were to.
 
 THE HOUSE OF DEATH. 187 
 
 die, then let them die at once, and in their despair- 
 ing dash for the outer world the ring of guards 
 would have cut them down and so made an end. 
 All that Denise stopped. 
 
 Dressed in pure white, and as sad-faced as the 
 Madonna from their own church, a true mother of 
 many sorrows not of her own making, she went 
 from stricken house to stricken house, Roger 
 Patcham and two grave-eyed brothers of Saint 
 Joseph following after her; and if these last 
 trembled, they trembled behind the set masks of 
 their solemn faces and gave no sign. The sick she 
 cheered, the despairing she roused, the dead she 
 mourned, the living she comforted ; and as wives, 
 mothers, husbands, children, saw the sweet and 
 gentle woman, who was to their awed reverence as 
 far removed from them as the King himself, share 
 their dangers, bearing with them the burden of 
 their grief and loss, they took to themselves both 
 shame and courage. The sullen waters were broken 
 up, life took fresh strength unto itself, and the 
 newly-stirred dignity of duty overcame despair. 
 
 Not all at once, for if the night had been terrible 
 what was the day ! The plague apart, Saint Agnes 
 in its frank nakedness was a revelation to its mis- 
 tress. In spite of the narrow windows the pitiless 
 June sun searched out the hideous misery of the 
 hovels, laying bare the unimagined wretchedness 
 which lurked behind the sometimes bright ex- 
 teriors. The filth, the noisomeness, the teeming 
 life packed in the cramped restriction of the space,
 
 188 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 the generations of broken age and budding youth 
 herded together within the narrow compass of a 
 single room, the outrage of all modesty, where 
 parents, children, grandsire burrowed in the same 
 scanty litter of tossed straw, appalled her. The 
 beasts of Lhoeac were the chosen of the earth 
 compared with Christians of Saint Agnes, and a 
 sense of her own guilt smote her with sudden 
 sharpness. To leave an evil uncured was to be 
 partaker in the evil, and before God such ignorance 
 as she could plead was no palliation of guilt. It 
 was her business to know her duty of life, and she 
 had not known : therefore she was guilty. 
 
 But add the plague to all this: the living and the 
 dead huddled in the one heap ; the groans, the 
 prayers, the curses of the untended sick, some 
 already parched with the death-thirst and left 
 untended to go their own solitary way to the dark 
 valley. If the unstricken had ceased to care even 
 for their own lives, what thought would they give 
 to those already in handigrips with the destroyer? 
 None ; and so Saint Agnes gave them no thought. 
 That was the work and victory of Denise de Lhoeac. 
 Through these desparing houses of death she moved 
 like an angel of life and mercy, fearless, tranquil, 
 pitying, authoritative, and none but herself know- 
 ing how she sickened, staggering in spirit under 
 the burden she bore for others. But as she passed 
 eyes brightened, crushed souls rose to fresh vigour, 
 and a growing wholesomeness of mind supplanted 
 the callous and inert fatalism. Weary alike in
 
 THE HOUSE OF DEATH. 189 
 
 body and mind, when the night fell she could take 
 to her comfort that Roger Patcham was right when 
 he said 
 
 " It is not Saint Agnes alone, Mamzelle Denise : 
 no, nor even Lhoeac, though I grant that with me 
 these count for most ; but this day you have saved 
 God knows how much of Guienne, aye, or of France 
 itself." 
 
 The struggle with Saint Agnes might be no more 
 than a struggle of a day's duration, followed by a 
 slowly ripening victory ; but the fight with the 
 plague was long-drawn and full of fierce vicissi- 
 tudes. July halted miserably after June, and August 
 trod slowly on the heels of July before the rout was 
 complete, and within these weeks in the midst of the 
 stress and strain of the battle there came into the 
 life of Denise de Lhoeac that which never left it 
 while life lasted. Of these vicissitudes there is no 
 need to say much. They were no more than the 
 common, gradual subsidence of the pestilence, and 
 its sudden recrudescences consequent upon head- 
 strong folly. Once it was pure bravado, once it 
 was a drunken orgy, and once it was a cause which 
 later on must be detailed more particularly, that 
 gave the pest new life. But all these outbreaks, no 
 matter what their origin, had to be met, stayed, and 
 throttled, and well it was for Denise de Lhoeac that 
 an ally came to her aid about the end of the sixth 
 week of the struggle. 
 
 Never was excommunicated city cut off from 
 human sympathy more fully than was Saint Agnes
 
 190 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 cut off from the outer world except through two 
 channels. Though Denise never allowed her to 
 break the protective cordon, ma mie Maman up at 
 Chateau Lhoeac did all for the stricken town that a 
 woman's love could do in bringing to the edge of 
 the neutral zone such comforts and aids to nursing 
 as the forlorn wretches had never dreamed of in 
 their wealthiest hours. These were for the life that 
 passeth, and counted for much, for many a life 
 passed the gentler because of them ; but for the life 
 that is eternal there was thought and service of 
 another kind, and the Carmelite Fathers of Saint 
 Joseph spent themselves ungrudgingly. 
 
 The two who had followed Denise that first 
 terrible day speedily became nine ; within eight days 
 the nine were levelled down to six ; and thence- 
 forward until the end of the battle not a week 
 passed but one or more of these white-frocked 
 warriors of the Lord, uncomplaining, diligent, 
 heroic souls, true soldiers of their Master, laid down 
 life without a murmur, and ever into the gapped 
 ranks there stepped another unconscious hero, as 
 devoted as he was simple-hearted. 
 
 But towards the close of July, as Denise was 
 crossing the one roadway of Saint Agnes, an 
 unaccustomed sound made her turn sharply. It 
 was the ring of horse-hoofs on the smooth cobbles, 
 and of horses there should be none in Saint Agnes, 
 since what use were they to men who were pent in 
 hold and could neither go out nor come in? Being 
 turned, she saw Captain Patcham walking by the
 
 THE HOUSE OF DEATH. 191 
 
 stirrup of a stranger, and for all her astonishment 
 she had time, as the sun shone full upon both their 
 faces, to note with a sudden pain at her heart how 
 sorrowfully worn and aged Father Roger had grown. 
 His grizzled hair was frank grey, his face shrunken 
 and furrowed, his beard gone white, his shoulders 
 stooped. The hill of life had been crossed at a 
 stride, and already he was half-way down the 
 further side. The weeks of trouble and anxious 
 thought had bitten deep. Then, with a sigh that 
 the cost must be paid by others as well as by 
 herself, she went forward to meet the two. 
 
 " It is not my fault, Mademoiselle," began Roger, 
 with an upward gesture; "and indeed we can do 
 with another man who has no fear and can use 
 authority. Give Saint Agnes courage and you give 
 it health. Monsieur, here " 
 
 But it seemed that it was not Monsieur's habit 
 to let another speak for him. 
 
 " Let me telLmy own story," said he, and Denise, 
 as she watched him sitting there bareheaded in 
 the sunshine, thought him as goodly a man as 
 had crossed Lhoeac these many months; broad- 
 shouldered, big-limbed, muscular, as to frame ; 
 bright, frank, and sunny of face : and bearing, as a 
 man should, his eight-and-twenty years as if he were 
 unconscious of them. " Yet there are so many tags 
 to the talk that where to begin is a puzzle. There 
 is the coward's terror that watches beyond your 
 border, for, on my faith, they are in a fine pucker 
 at Clazonn ; there is the whispering of devotion
 
 I 9 2 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 and self-sacrifice that half-shames even the terror ; 
 there is my unworthy self these and other matters, 
 all differing and yet all bound up into one like the 
 strands of a rope." 
 
 " Begin with yourself, Monsieur. We have terror 
 enough in Saint Agnes, and the less said of of 
 the other the better." 
 
 " Then of these presently. Mademoiselle, I am 
 from Italy, where I have served France, and yet, I 
 pray God, done no despite to the cause of our Holy 
 Father. Nay and I do not say it to boast, but 
 that you may know who and what I am no more 
 than three months back his Holiness named me 
 Lord of Casera ; I have as yet no patrimony of my 
 own. That it was honourably won, my friend," 
 and he turned to Roger with a nod, " I have that 
 upon my breast to show, and told in a language 
 you have known this many a year. Again I say, 
 this is not to boast ; in these bustling, troubled 
 times scars are common enough, God knows more 
 common a thousand times than a woman's brave 
 self-forgetfulness and abnegation ; but coming as I 
 do I must needs be. my own herald, and it is for the 
 good of all that you receive me frankly from the 
 first. To sum it up, I am a gentleman and a soldier ; 
 am neither rich nor poor, and hold that Christian 
 faith which fears God, honours the King, and loves 
 one woman, who, by your leave, shall be nameless. 
 Is that enough of myself, Mademoiselle, and you, 
 my friend ?" 
 
 " I am content, Monsieur," answered Denise, 
 with a glance at Roger, who replied bluntly
 
 THE HOUSE OF DEATH. 193 
 
 " I also, and the more so that what is done can't 
 be mended. You have stretched out an arm further 
 than you can draw it back, young gentleman, which 
 my grey hair tells me is a fool's deed in a man." 
 
 " Who seeks to draw it back ? And when my 
 folly is clear I will admit it. But that brings me to 
 the terror beyond Lhoeac," answered the other, 
 dismounting as he spoke and slipping the bridle 
 into the crook of his arm. " That you have cowards 
 enough here is plain to be seen," and he nodded 
 towards a group or two of haggard folk loitering 
 upon the roadway and eyeing the newcomer 
 curiously ; " but the cowards beyond Lhoeac are 
 still more plentiful, and with less excuses. At 
 Clazonne, there, where they housed me for a night, 
 every soul, from my lord to my lord's scullion, goes 
 softly for fear of Saint Agnes, and yet every man- 
 jack would cheerily face three in the field and think 
 nought of it. Now if a man but sneezes he is 
 driven to the beasts for his fellowship, and not a 
 roysterer of them all dare drink himself drunk lest 
 he hiccup himself to a sudden end for the health of 
 the rest. That the folk here do not thank you for 
 your cordon, Mademoiselle, I can well believe : 
 yet and I say it in bitter shame for our humanity 
 had you not penned them here more had perished 
 by violence than have died of the plague. Small 
 mercy would they have found from their fellows. 
 So much for the second tag to my tale ; now for 
 the third." 
 
 While he was speaking they had moved slowly
 
 194 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 forward, and for a dozen paces there was silence. 
 Thus far his tongue had run freely enough, but 
 Monsieur de Casera plainly found it hard to put the 
 rest of his story into words. 
 
 " We from Italy," he said at last, with a swift 
 glance at Denise that for all its keenness was frankly 
 friendly and no more, " have, I think, this saving 
 grace, that we honour womanhood beyond the rest 
 of the nations. It may be that our art taught us. 
 Mademoiselle, when I heard at Clazonne how that 
 you " 
 
 "Oh, Monsieur, Monsieur !" cried Denise, stop- 
 ping him short with a gesture, " are we women 
 smaller souled than man, less pitiful, less tender, 
 less moved by sorrow and suffering, that in one of 
 us you make so much of that which in a man were 
 pure duty and a thing of common course ? Or is it 
 that in Italy you have learned the trick of gallantry, 
 and think that to please us you must needs tickle 
 our senses through our ears? If the one, then you 
 pay us a poor compliment and I can give you no 
 thanks ; if the other, alas ! that St. Agnes is no 
 place for gallant speeches and smooth words. 
 When life is grim earnest, Monsieur, these courtly 
 niceties count for nought. Nay, they are like a jest 
 by a graveside." 
 
 " Mademoiselle," answered de Casera eagerly, 
 " believe me I am no fop to mock you with empty 
 phrases. What I heard at Clazonne stirred me to 
 the very soul, and I thanked God the world held 
 one woman great enough to point men the way they
 
 THE HOUSE OF DEATH. 195 
 
 should go. Great, I say, great ; for belittle it as 
 you may, this that you have done is no small thing, 
 and it shames the men of Guienne." 
 
 " Hush, Monsieur, hush ! you slander the dead," 
 cried she, flushing at the sharp vehemence of his 
 speech. " Wait until I show you the nine graves 
 where lie the monks who prove the manhood of 
 Guienne." 
 
 " Oh, the monks ! the monks ! " said he contemp- 
 tuously. " God's sheep without a will of their own. 
 They do that which they must do and fight with 
 their backs to a wall. I give no man credit for the 
 courage that has no hope." 
 
 " Wait and see," answered Denise softly, the 
 tears rising to her eyes. " God's sheep you call 
 them, and your sneer hits the truth. I pray the 
 day may come when I shall be of the same fold." 
 
 " To that prayer, Mademoiselle," replied de 
 Casera, looking her boldly in the face, " I have no 
 amen to add, if the fold be one upon earth." 
 
 A cry from a house near by set a stay on any 
 answer Denise might have made, and when they 
 met again as they did within the hour they met 
 as comrades and fellow-labourers rather than as 
 strangers, but with hands over-full for much talk. 
 
 Nor was Denise long in finding that she had 
 gained both a brain and a right arm, the one clear 
 and the other strong. It was not de Casera's first 
 wrestle with the pestilence, and with his fewer years 
 he brought to the struggle a nimbler wit and more 
 kindly temper than did Roger Patcham. What the
 
 196 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 Englishman effected by blunt authority, herding the 
 folk like so much cattle, brainless, and only to be 
 driven, de Casera won by sheer good-will and a 
 tactful tongue. No task daunted him, no labour 
 deterred him, no danger gave him pause ; let the 
 evil be what it might, his cheer and his courage 
 were alike unappalled. 
 
 With him, too, came new methods. He it was 
 who hacked the narrow windows into thrice their 
 size, letting into the hot, foul hovels both light and 
 air, who closed the church and the markets that 
 there might be no close huddling of the folk, who 
 built airy sheds for the sick folk, who set the men 
 and women to labour, the children to play, bidding 
 those laugh and sing who could, and so, little by 
 little, won the people back to their common whole- 
 some round of life. With the women he had his 
 quip and his jest, florid enough, perhaps, to set them 
 giggling, but he knew his folk ; with the men there 
 were tales of the wars, so full of the rust of life that 
 even their stolidity gaped ; with the children he had 
 his games of strange lands. Nought came amiss to 
 him. His humour matched the needs he met with, 
 so that within an hour Denise had seen him wipe 
 the death-sweat from the face of Marie Tron and 
 romp madly with a two-year bairn as if there were 
 nothing in the broad world but laughter. 
 
 As to Denise herself, he vexed her with no second 
 praise, but day by day, unknown to herself, she 
 grew to lean upon his broad sympathies, trust to 
 his quick judgment, and appeal to his unfailing re- 
 source. Day by day, too, though this, too, she
 
 THE HOUSE OF DEATH. 197 
 
 hardly knew, the burden of, as it were, personal 
 responsibility slipped from her shoulders to his. 
 Her eyes lightened, the careworn tension that had 
 lined her face relaxed, and more than once the 
 laughter that was hers by right of youth came back 
 to her, and she caught herself singing, all uncon- 
 sciously, snatches of Olivier Basselin's songs, as she 
 had sung them twenty years before to soothe the 
 outworn, weary age of old Guy de Lhoeac. That a 
 new order of things had come to her as well as to 
 Saint Agnes she knew, but that it had its root in 
 more than frank friendship she did not know until 
 Father Roger opened her eyes. 
 
 It was no more than the third week of de Casera's 
 coming to Saint Agnes, but in such times when 
 every flaw in a man is sought out by a thousand 
 worries, as a smith tries armour with his hammer, 
 weeks stand for years. 
 
 " God send such a master to Lhoeac," said Captain 
 Patcham, as he finished telling Denise of some new 
 labour the Italian had invented for the heartening of 
 the men. " Womenfolk are beyond me, but it is my 
 business to know men. God grant, Mademoiselle, 
 that I may see children playing about the old halls 
 before I die." 
 
 But instead of the blood to the cheeks that Roger 
 looked for, Denise paled and her face grew hard. 
 
 " Its mistress must be its master," she answered 
 curtly, and turned into her tent. 
 
 But as the flap of its curtain fell, her heart was 
 very bitter against that earnest ecclesiastic, Mon- 
 seigneur the Cardinal of Saint-Seurin.
 
 THE HOUSE OF RELIGION. 
 I. 
 
 THAT night Denise slept but little. Subtle 
 powers were at war within her, and through their 
 sharp antagonism her peace of mind was rent to 
 tatters. Some men, and not a few women, would 
 have confused the issue knit between herself and 
 her conscience, but not so Denise. That my Lord 
 Bishop had trapped her into marriage for his own 
 purposes, playing upon her as Pan upon his pipes 
 and caring nothing for the pain of the reed if but 
 the music pleased himself, she now believed. But 
 though she had been caught by a flat lie, brazened 
 out and sworn to in the very face of heaven, it had 
 been none the less a marriage ; nor was she the less 
 a wife ; and that Denise la Clazonne should think 
 twice of a man not her husband was an abashment 
 and a disgrace. Nay, it was a blank surprise. She 
 had not so much as dreamed that such a thing was 
 possible. 
 
 She was a wife, she told herself a wife, a wife ; 
 and if she had allowed herself to forget, she must 
 forget no longer. 
 
 That way lay duty, that way lay religion. Of all 
 God's unhappy creatures there was none she scorned 
 like the woman who could put off her honour like
 
 THE HOUSE OF RELIGION. 199 
 
 a loose glove and think no shame of the nakedness ; 
 and to her overwrought emotion it seemed as if she 
 had rubbed skirts with such a one. Then into the 
 lists of battle love leaped, all nature in his train, and 
 crying out against the barren desolation of the time 
 to come. In an instant Denise was in an agony of 
 revolt. Was a monk's chicane to rob her of the best 
 of life ? to send her out into the world to feed upon 
 the husks, bound, but not by cords of love ; a wife 
 and yet no wife ? But that brought the circle 
 round again, and for the first time realising to the 
 full of what she had been cozened; she turned upon 
 her pillow and wept. Hitherto she had known so 
 little of love, and that she might have known so 
 much she now knew from a score of trifles to which 
 her eyes had been shut. Let a man be an Arthur, a 
 Roland, a Bayard, aye, or even a Galahad, and 
 there will ever be a subtle difference between his 
 chivalry and his love, let the love be never so silent, 
 never so repressed ; and who so keen to note such 
 subtleties as a woman ? and of all women the one 
 to whom these subtleties go out ! 
 
 She had been cheated, wronged. Therefore 
 Denise took no shame that she had . unwittingly 
 given what was unsought in words. The giving 
 was nature's, not hers. Her shame was rather 
 partly this, that she had won what she could not 
 openly return ; and now to her own pain was to be 
 added the greater sorrow of paining the man who 
 had so suddenly and so fully grown into her life. 
 That she who had sinned should suffer was no more
 
 200 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 than bitter justice, and in her moments of repro- 
 bation she held her sin to be great, but that the 
 innocent should suffer with her set an edge upon 
 her distress, nor could the universality of the law 
 comfort her. In the end, true woman-like, she lost 
 sight of her own grief and loss in seeking how she 
 might best spare him. 
 
 That, more than the revolt of nature within 
 herself, was the cause of her white night. After the 
 first hot upheaval of impotent bitterness against 
 Henri de Lhoeac, after the fierce impulse to seize 
 the present blessing she hungered after, to cry 
 " Evil, be thou my good," and let the future care 
 for itself, there arose her true self, that, grappling 
 with the lower forces within her, threw them and 
 held them under. There had been the storm, there 
 had been the fire almost consuming, and now there 
 came the still, small voice. The good of the man 
 she loved was her greatest good, and to the shaping 
 of that she bent her thought. 
 
 Shrewd and cool-witted now that she was mistress 
 of herself, Denise knew no easy task was set her to 
 do. This Francois de Casera and even as she 
 plotted how to put him from her she almost 
 triumphed in the difficulty since it exalted the man 
 she loved was no weak-willed lad to be turned 
 from his purpose by a cold whim. Let her belie 
 her nature as she might by word or act, he would 
 never believe the fraud against herself. No, she had 
 tried him, and he was too true a man for that. 
 What man worth a woman's love, and who had
 
 THE HOUSE OF RELIGION. 201 
 
 plumbed and measured mind and spirit as de 
 Casera had plumbed and measured hers, would 
 accept her at the valuation of a coquette even upon 
 her own showing? Besides, to play such a part 
 was to sin against womanhood, and it was no part 
 of her creed that a sin should cure a sin. So, while 
 the mellow night drew to its coolest, on through the 
 silent hours of the greatest darkness, when even old 
 Mother E'arth herself appears to sleep, so tre- 
 mendous are her silences, past the first slow paling 
 of the stars and their sudden, swift extinguishment 
 as the broadening dawn led on the day, she lay 
 thinking, thinking, and in the end turned upon her 
 pillow and prayed God of His mercy to be gracious 
 to Francois de Casera, and so left it. Then at last 
 she fell asleep, and slept late. When she came out 
 into the life of the new day, it was to find that the 
 problem which distressed her was, if not solved, at 
 least so far set aside that she need give it no further 
 immediate thought. At the door of the tent Father 
 Roger waited her, and his wrinkled face was full of 
 anxious trouble. 
 
 "The fat's in the fire again," said he, " and if it 
 were not that 'tis a priest who has spilled it I 
 would think the devil himself had been at work. 
 Here were we with this accursed pestilence stamped 
 out, or at least held in check and cramped within 
 bounds so that the end was a matter of days, and 
 now it's running afresh through the town like a 
 fire through a pine-wood. Visitation of God? 
 Visitation of all the fiends of hell, say I,"
 
 202 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 " What ? " cried Denise, putting her hand to her 
 head like one dazed. " Again ? again ? And how 
 have the poor Carmelites sent it going? " 
 
 "Who said the Carmelites? I said a priest. 
 The Carmelites are kindly folk enough, and preach 
 the love of God rather than hell-fire, as the Church 
 should. But this fellow, one would think him filled 
 with brimstone to the throat to hear him talk, and 
 he has Saint Agnes mad with terror. If it were 
 not for his black frock, and that the ninnies of 
 women hold him for a prophet and so would raise 
 a riot, I would pitch him neck and crop outside the 
 lines and bid our men run him through if he 
 doubled back. But he's a priest, d'ye see, Mam- 
 zelle, and what's a priest but God's woman ? 
 He's no man, that's certain, or at least you cannot 
 trounce him like a man. Oh, these wenches ! these 
 fools of wenches ! there is not one of them all but 
 a priest can turn aye, I know, I know, my tongue 
 runs away with me, but as to Saint Agnes, what I 
 say is not far from the truth." 
 
 At his last words, Denise, pale from her sleep- 
 less night and pitifully hollow-eyed, had flushed 
 to the temples. Father Roger spoke more truth 
 than he guessed, and as her thoughts flew back to 
 Bordeaux his random bolt went home and she 
 winced. But she had no mind at that time, and 
 indeed little reason, to defend the women of Saint 
 Agnes, so she let his tirade pass unchallenged. 
 
 " Begin at the beginning, for to me it is all a con- 
 fusion," she said gently, " Who is this priest you
 
 THE HOUSE OF RELIGION. 203 
 
 speak of? and what has he done to set you rag- 
 ing ? " But Roger Patcham had at last seen how 
 sadly the Denise of the morning differed from the 
 Denise of overnight, and in his fear for her his 
 wrathful and unwonted wordiness was checked. 
 Compared with his darling's well-being it was a 
 small matter that Saint Agnes should sup its own 
 bitter broth. 
 
 " Is there aught amiss ? " said he anxiously and 
 trying hard to cover his fear with a brave face; 
 41 you have no sickness, now ? No swimming in 
 the head? No catch in the breath as if a knife 
 pricked you? No no good Lord, Mademoiselle, 
 
 it's not it's not " And then, rough soldier of 
 
 fortune though he was, and camp-hardened against 
 emotion, his voice broke and he stood before 
 her stammering. 
 
 44 No, old friend, no ; have no fear for me," an- 
 swered Denise quickly, a sudden flush of comfort 
 warming her heart. Here was love at her very 
 door, and if not the love she had determined to 
 put from her, still love that was very tender, very 
 honest, and very true. 4< I have had bad dreams, 
 that is all ; and now that I am awake and in the 
 sunshine again they will be no more than dreams." 
 
 44 You are sure?" he persisted, 4< you are sure? 
 Remember, Mademoiselle, in half an hour we can 
 have you at the Chateau." 
 
 44 What ? and break the cordon ? What would 
 become of Lhoeac?" 
 
 41 Cordon ! Lhoeac! " he echoed contemptuously.
 
 204 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 " What are fifty cordons aye, and fifty Lhoeacs to 
 boot if you were in question ? Saint Agnes is well 
 enough for these swine, but for Denise de Lhoeac 
 in her hour of need ! By the saints, but that were 
 a fool's trick! " 
 
 " Then it is well for Lhoeac," said she, smiling at 
 his vehemence, " that it is no more than a night's 
 shadows which have already half-lifted. In my 
 dream I was between two worlds, and the abyss 
 on either side frightened me. Now what of this 
 priest? Who is he? What does he seek? Whence 
 came he ? Ah ! " and she broke off suddenly as 
 if a new thought had struck her " you remember 
 Brother Martin, do you not?" 
 
 "Yes," answered Patcham, wondering at this 
 fresh twist in her talk, and not a little troubled by 
 the irrelevance ; " though it is strange that you 
 should. Why, it is twenty years " 
 
 " Nevertheless I remember. He was a Domini- 
 can ; is this monk, by chance, a Dominican also ? ' 
 
 " It is strange, I say again, that you should speak 
 of Brother Martin in the same breath with this fel- 
 low, seeing that he is Martin's very twin ; big-boned, 
 slender, lean-chapped, and with eyes that flame 
 and dull like smouldering dead-wood. But he is 
 no Dominican ; a Cordelier, I think, but of one or 
 other of the Franciscan branches, and so a sturdy 
 hater of Saint Dominic. Trust a daw to peck 
 at a daw. But what matters which he is? He 
 is here, and if he were a Dominican he could be 
 no worse than he is."
 
 THE HOUSE OF RELIGION. 205 
 
 "Because Martin was of my uncle's sending," 
 said Denise slowly, " and I thought, perhaps " 
 
 " No fear, Mademoiselle, no fear ; this fellow 
 came in by way of the south, and Monsieur de 
 Lhoeac'scardinalate lies to the north." 
 
 " And the longest way round is the shortest way 
 there, says the proverb. He came by way of the 
 south? What then?" 
 
 "Our people, like the fools they are, let him 
 through because of his skirt and cord. By my 
 faith, if I had once seen his face he would never 
 have set foot in Saint Agnes ; a proper faggot he 
 is! But for their poor soul's sake they must needs 
 keep on the sunny side of the church, and so passed 
 him in without a question ; and there he is, preach- 
 ing and cursing on the church steps, and crying out 
 on us all for infidels because the door is locked." 
 
 " That was Monsieur de Casera's doing, and I will 
 not have it undone," said Denise sharply. "The 
 sense of it is plain, though we ourselves did not see 
 it ; the people crowding together for worship spreads 
 the taint." 
 
 " I agree, Mademoiselle, I agree ; but there is the 
 closed door with, as he says, God shut from the 
 people (as if an inch plank could keep the Almighty 
 out or in), and on the step is this firebrand in a black 
 frock calling down judgment on us all because of the 
 unserved altar. Twice I have told him the reason, 
 and for answer he flings ' Atheist ! ' in my face, and 
 says what matters the body if the soul be saved, 
 which is all very well, but when the Lord God gave
 
 206 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 us bodies He meant us to take care of them ! Then 
 he turns to the people, and " 
 
 " Where is Monsieur de Casera ? " 
 
 " There on the steps with him, and if it were not 
 that the poor fools who are gaping below would 
 suffer for it I would ask nothing better than to hear 
 the layman teach the priest God's way of life. My 
 faith ! but it would do the church good to hear the 
 truth at times, and this Franciscan, who has no 
 more wit than he was born with, would hear some- 
 what ! A shrewd tongue has Monsieur de Casera." 
 
 " And what of the people ? " 
 
 Roger Patcham paused before answering. In his 
 perplexity up went a lean hand to his beard, comb- 
 ing it with diligence, and he shifted his feet uneasily 
 on the crisped grass. 
 
 "Oh ! the people?" he said cautiously, and keep- 
 ing watchful eyes upon Denise. " What are they 
 better than stubble waiting for the first spark, and 
 so are soon alight ; but, by the Lord, let them blaze 
 beyond reason, and I shall see to it that they are as 
 soon stamped back into stubble again, and if there 
 be some that are burnt, why, 'tis their own fault." 
 
 " Do you mean," cried Denise, starting forward 
 and catching him by the sleeve, " that they might 
 turn upon Monsieur de Casera because of this monk ? 
 Be plain. Captain Patcham, be plain." For answer, 
 Father Roger turned sharply, his hollowed hand to 
 his ear. 
 
 " They have done it," said he, shooting one quick 
 glance at Denise. " Hark at that ! The spark has
 
 THE HOUSE OF RELIGION. 207 
 
 caught and the blaze is roaring already. Bide here, 
 Mademoiselle, bide here. The stamping out may 
 come less easy than the words." 
 
 Catching up his dangling scabbard, he tucked it 
 under his left arm and ran stiffly across the grass, 
 calling loudly as he went upon Lhoeac's men for 
 succour. But above the shout Denise heard the 
 rough rumble of many voices, an incoherent strife 
 of tongues swelling to a hoarse and vicious roar, 
 and gathering together her cumbersome, loose skirts 
 she followed Roger Patcham, running her hardest. 
 The problem of the night was in a fair way to a 
 settlement from which there could be no appeal, no 
 turning back. 
 
 II. 
 
 Two-thirds along the sinuous line of roadway 
 that made up the bulk of Saint Agnes the street 
 broadened into the market-place, an insignificant 
 cobble-paved square into which faced the squat, 
 ugly, and no less insignificant village church dedi- 
 cated to the patron Saint of Lhoeac. Raised about 
 fifteen feet above the level of the road, it was 
 approached by a flight of twenty narrow steps, 
 rough-hewn and worn by the drift of time and 
 weather rather than by the pious diligence of 
 worshippers ; Saint Agnes was as slumbrous and 
 placid in its devotions as in all else that pertained 
 to life. Simple and unpretentious even to unsight- 
 lincss, the end abutting upon the street was broken
 
 208 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 in but two places, a heavily-moulded rose-window 
 placed high in the whitewashed wall, and the great 
 door which, until the coming of the pestilence, had 
 never within the memory of man been closed from 
 dawn to sunset. If Saint Agnes was not addicted to 
 much prayer, it was not for want of the opportunity 
 to pray. 
 
 But if Saint Agnes in the days of its ease had 
 been remiss in its devotions, the weight of its 
 punishment had surely wrought repentance. The 
 market square now teemed with life that fought 
 and struggled and changed itself from humanity to 
 the brute in its passionate endeavour to draw near 
 to the house of God. Not a face in all the crowd 
 but was turned to the church steps, and in their 
 zeal men and women strove and jostled, trampling 
 the weaker under foot. Truly the friar of Saint 
 Francis had reason to be proud at having worked so 
 speedy a reformation, for never had a miracle 
 mystery, no, nor Pere Guignol himself, thus stirred 
 Saint Agnes. 
 
 An ominous reformation and a portentous stir- 
 ring at any time, but chiefly so when self-control 
 was worn thin. There was not a soul in all the 
 crowd upon whom the past weeks had not left their 
 seal. The already old had grown ancient, the 
 middle-aged old, the very lads and maidens had lost 
 the first freshness of their youth and taken on that 
 sombre, weary resignation which is so early the 
 heritage of the peasant. Across every face there 
 had crept a little of the solemnity of the eternal
 
 THE HOUSE OF RELIGION. 209 
 
 world, softening its hard coarseness, and refining 
 the blunt grossness that is first-born child to un- 
 thinking ignorance. Labouring day by day with 
 the brutes in the field, and with little thought be- 
 yond a brute's, they had grown up from childhood 
 stolid and boorish. Then this sudden and over- 
 whelming anguish had come upon them, teaching 
 them thought and sympathy, and the spirit within 
 them, stretching itself stiffly as it were, had shaken 
 off its accustomed sloth. 
 
 All this Denise had seen, and seeing it had taken 
 comfort and courage. A bitter root may bear fruit 
 whereby a man may live, and therefore from the 
 grave of so many of its children it was possible that 
 Saint Agnes might be quickened to a new man- 
 hood. But as she turned out of the narrow, rutted 
 by-path which led between the houses to the dusty 
 and no less rutted street, her courage failed and 
 for a moment she stopped short, gasping. But 
 only for a moment. By a paradox the very sight 
 that staggered her gave her strength. In place of 
 the courage of consolation there came the greater 
 courage of love, and setting both hands to her pant- 
 ing sides, she again ran on, outstripping Roger 
 Patchanvin what she deemed a race for a life. 
 
 What had happened was this : going his morning 
 rounds amongst the sick folk, the unwonted stir in 
 the market-place, and the way in which, like wasps 
 to honey, the idlers were drawn there, roused de 
 Casera's curiosity; and he, too, made his way along 
 the street. On the eastern side of the square was
 
 210 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 the church of Saint Agnes, and midway up the 
 steps stood a tall, gaunt figure, clad in a loose 
 black robe from the lean throat to the sandalled 
 feet, and bound round the waist by a rusty swing- 
 ing cord a nervously energetic figure, for its arms 
 swayed like flails in threshing time, and the dusty 
 feet were never still for an instant. 
 
 That in spite of the cordon there should be a 
 stranger in Saint Agnes was surprise enough to set 
 de Casera staring, but the monk's words were a 
 still greater amazement ; and as the broken phrases 
 came home to him, and as he noted how already 
 the priest swayed his hearers, Messire Francois 
 grew hard of face. The Cordelier was in a fair way 
 to wreck utterly a three weeks' reputation for even 
 temper ! Shouldering his way through the crowd 
 which now clustered five deep along the roadway, 
 and overflowed up the lower steps, de Casera un- 
 ceremoniously laid his hand on the monk's collar. 
 
 " Hulloa, friend ! " he cried, " what Bishop gave 
 thee license to preach in Saint Agnes ? and a creed, 
 too, that is as black as thy frock ! " 
 
 With a wrench of his thin shoulders the friar 
 shook himself free, and rounded on his assailant. 
 
 " 'Tis all of a piece ! " he thundered, shifting his 
 anathema in general to de Casera in particular; 
 " God's house shut against the people and God's 
 messenger mishandled before them. Small wonder 
 that the curse has fallen. What saith the Word ? 
 Repent quickly, or I will come and take thy 
 candlestick from its place. Already I see "
 
 THE HOUSE OF RELIGION. 211 
 
 "Softly, man, softly," said de Casera. "We 
 know our own sorrows better than thou canst tell 
 them to us. If thou art here to bless and comfort 
 the poor folk, good and well, bide here and do your 
 Master's vrork ; but if thou art here to curse and 
 add evil to evil, why, the devil's in it, but we cannot 
 send thee packing, so must close thy mouth. No 
 ranting, priest, no ranting ; the people are like tow, 
 and we dare risk no sparks." 
 
 He might as well have spoken to the barred door- 
 way. Like many another of his cloth, the Francis- 
 can had a larger notion of his mission upon earth. 
 Round he swung to the growing crowd, and for a 
 moment there was silence. Then, shaking back his 
 cowl, he flung out his arms and stood staring down 
 at the mob, like a death's-head set on a black cross. 
 
 " Hear him ! " he cried, " hear him, ye mis- 
 shepherded sheep. Speak comfort, saith he ! Who 
 can dare speak comfort till your sin be cleansed ? 
 Not I, who am the messenger and the servant of the 
 truth. These be your guides, these be your teachers ; 
 a spawn of Satan that would close the mouths of 
 God's anointed priest as they have closed His 
 house. Your altars are dark, the perpetual sacrifice 
 unoffered, the incense of your prayers no more 
 ascends from the holy place unto the Lord, and ye 
 are accursed, accursed. Your dead lie in swathes 
 to the reaper because of your offences, and ye go 
 down to the pit unhouseled, unassoiled. Hark ! 
 hark ! " Outward he flung an open hand, setting 
 the other behind his ear, while his eyes glowed in
 
 212 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 their caverns. "Alas ! for you ! ye brands of the 
 burning; I can hear the very roar of hell." 
 
 The five deep had grown to triple five, and on 
 either side the flanks of the crowd had drawn 
 round de Casera and the monk, so that they stood 
 in the centre of a much curved crescent and yet 
 with a clear space surrounding them. Lashed from 
 its ingrained stolidity by the monk's denunciations, 
 murmurs and groans rose from the throng in in- 
 creasing volume as the quick infectious sympathy 
 of numbers asserted itself, murmurs against de 
 Casera and all he stood for, groans that were inar- 
 ticulate prayer and inarticulate confession of sin in 
 one. Women whose faces were already white with 
 sorrowful vigils grew yet more ghastly as the new 
 terrors of perdition seized upon them ; men, con- 
 science-stricken and vaguely fearful of they knew 
 not what, hid their alarm in a half-simulated wrath 
 that was presently to slip into an unreasoning lust 
 for blood. The very uncomprehending children 
 caught the contagion, and shrieked and wept as 
 they clung to their mothers' gowns. The beast 
 that for ever bides in the French peasant was 
 awake and making ready for a spring, and was the 
 more dangerous because fear was the goad rather 
 than wrath. The Seigneurs had reason to know 
 him well ! Let him once wet his chaps with blood, 
 let the madness of slaughter once fully possess him, 
 and neither love, nor loyalty, nor tradition, nor 
 authority would hold him back, nor innocent 
 womanhood be spared. Denise de Lhoeac would
 
 THE HOUSE OF RELIGION. 213 
 
 go down with the rest, her service and her degree 
 alike forgotten. All this de Casera knew well, and 
 as the turmoil round him swelled in volume he 
 groaned aloud in his impotence and despair. 
 
 Meanwhile the Franciscan had pushed forward 
 his advantage. In impassioned speech, indignant, 
 wrathful, pleading, and afire with glowing rhetoric 
 such as might have fallen from Peter the Hermit 
 preaching the Crusade, he appealed to every senti- 
 ment in turn faith toward God, obedience to the 
 church, loyalty to religion, divine anger and judg- 
 ment to come, the terrors of hell, death present and 
 death eternal, shame, penitence, damnation ; and 
 as he thundered forth his denunciations and anathe- 
 mas he beat upon his breast, frothing at the mouth 
 in the frenzy of his wild outburst. 
 
 A born orator, his voice followed the swiftly 
 changing tenor of each thought, and to every shift 
 of mood he swayed the people so that they rang 
 responsive as harp-strings to the trembling of the 
 wind. He had Saint Agnes in a leash, and where- 
 soever he hulload there they would go. They 
 roared, they sobbed, they surged, they shook, they 
 groaned, they wept, they cursed, according as it 
 pleased him ; and in the end those upon the higher 
 steps fell upon their knees, mumbling. There it 
 was that instinctively the orator became the actor, 
 shifting from the one art unconsciously to the other. 
 The emotion of the audience recoiled upon the 
 speaker. Stopping abruptly in a half-said sentence, 
 he stared down at the convulsed women kneel-
 
 214 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 ing at his feet, then cried out with a shaking 
 voice 
 
 " Right, my children, right ; let us pray that if 
 possible this sin may be forgiven." 
 
 Turning, he ran, two stairs at a stride, up the 
 steps, crossed the open space at the top that led to 
 the church, and flung himself down on his knees at 
 the shut door, his head thrown back and his hands 
 raised in an agony of intercession. Behind him 
 there was the flawless silence which follows the 
 elevation of the host, and of the entire throng de 
 Casera alone stood upright, disconcerted and un- 
 determined how to act. 
 
 He was in the cleft of a stick, and the pinch 
 upon him was a sore one. That the mad blasphemy, 
 for blasphemy he held it to be, would at the last 
 end in murder and outrage for the love of God he 
 made no doubt, even as he knew that the man who 
 thought to stay them would, at the first, at least 
 draw the rage down upon his own head. But as he 
 watched the strained excitement of the mob, and 
 saw how the terrors of religion and an inconsequent 
 remorse jointly possessed it, the danger of leaving 
 the fanatic to complete his work seemed the greater. 
 The fuel would blaze, that was plain, but that the 
 fuel grew drier with every lurid sentence was also 
 plain. If there must be outrage, it was better that 
 it should have a clear purpose, and perhaps the 
 slaying of the one would save the many, though to 
 Francois de Casera the many stood for Denise de 
 Lhoeac and no more.
 
 THE HOUSE OF RELIGION. 215 
 
 Wheeling in his turn, he followed the monk up 
 the stairway, and, even while he knelt, caught him 
 for the second time roughly by the collar. 
 
 "Whom dost thou serve? " he cried, wrenching 
 him round so that he faced the crowd across his 
 shoulder, " Satan, or the God of peace, that thou 
 drivest these to madness with thy intolerance?" 
 
 " Peace ! " echoed the other, staring him back, no 
 whit afraid. " What hast thou to do with peace ? 
 There is no peace to the wicked, saith my God. 
 What ! you have barred the door of peace against 
 the people, and when they make its threshold a 
 sanctuary you would dare to profane even this poor 
 shadow of holy things ? The abomination of 
 desolation standeth where it ought not to stand, 
 and if the Lord had not sent me to these people 
 they would have been even as Sodom and as 
 Gomorrah." 
 
 Up again went the trembling hands that knew no 
 tremor of fear, and the sonorous voice broke out 
 afresh, so ringing clear that every syllable rolled 
 unslurred to the furthest corner of the square 
 
 44 Judgment, oh Lord God, judgment upon these 
 who would impiously thrust themselves betwixt 
 Thee and Thy penitent people. Shoot out Thy 
 arrows, oh God, and destroy them ; cast forth Thy 
 lightning and scatter them ; send Thy strength 
 from above and deliver me from the hand of strange 
 children, whose right hand is a right hand of false- 
 hood." 
 
 " Be silent, fool ! " cried de Casera between his
 
 216 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 clenched teeth, and shaking the monk with such a 
 good will that force compelled what command had 
 failed to bring about, and for very chattering of 
 teeth the wild, imprecatory prayer was cut short. 
 " And you, fools like himself, to be moved by his 
 madness, stand back, lest between you ye force me 
 to give him a cause for cursing. Stand back, I say. 
 What ! ye will not ? Then, in God's name come 
 on, and let this scoundrel monk have the murder on 
 his soul he so hungers after." 
 
 As de Casera seized the monk for the second 
 time the ejaculations and muttered groans of the 
 crowd swelled into a noisy clamour. Single voices 
 took form and called out menaces' across the babel, 
 and with every minute the uproar grew in vol- 
 ume. Then it was that Denise had followed Roger 
 Patcham in his flight across the grass. But as the 
 monk's trumpet-tones cut through the hubbub the 
 inertness of the mob woke to action, and the packed 
 throng swayed forward and upward with the one im- 
 pulse. It was as if the lever of some vast machine 
 which filled the square from limit to limit had been 
 touched, forcing the whole mass into sudden 
 activity. Up the line swept, beating down in its 
 advance the weak and those who had fallen upon 
 their knees, passing over them as a river that has 
 burst its banks sweeps across and covers the stones 
 that lie in its line of progress, upward to the level 
 space at the top of the stairway, and there the tide 
 stayed, its line heaving and undulating with the 
 pressure from behind. De Casera's sword was out,
 
 THE HOUSE OF RELIGION. 217 
 
 and for all its madness Saint Agnes was not of the 
 stuff that makes martyrs. 
 
 It was while he thus kept the crowd at bay, his 
 left hand still grasping the collar of the monk's 
 cassock, that Denise, panting with haste and an 
 anxious dread of evil, reached the fringe of the 
 throng in the road below. 
 
 " Make way," she cried sharply, laying a firm 
 hand on the nearest shoulder. " What ! is the 
 pestilence not enough that you must needs add 
 murder to it ? Shame upon you, men ! Is this 
 your thanks to the man who risked his life for you ? 
 Shame on you, too, wives and mothers ! Where 
 is your womanhood that you can thus egg these 
 cowards on to murder? Are you all alike turned 
 to brute beasts ? Make way for Denise de Lhoeac." 
 
 " For God's sake, turn back, Mademoiselle," cried 
 de Casera through the partial silence that followed 
 her words. Saint Agnes had not as yet flung off 
 the spell of old authority, nor had its stolid wits 
 quite conceived that its mistress shared the mal- 
 edictions levelled at the stranger. "The folk are 
 mad with this fool's girding at them, and will do 
 you a hurt." 
 
 " By God's grace," answered she, looking swiftly 
 up at him, and then as swiftly back over the expec- 
 tant sea of faces, " I am here to cure their madness. 
 As to hurt, there was never yet a time when a 
 Lhoeac feared Saint Agnes. Is it not so, my 
 children ? " And, indeed, she was right, though 
 not altogether in the sense the people understood.
 
 218 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 It took more than even a word-drunken Saint 
 Agnes to frighten a Lhoeac. 
 
 III. 
 
 For a moment there was a pause. De Casera 
 was right, and the madness was there, though force 
 of custom held it in check. Then a woman's voice 
 said 
 
 " Let her pass, an' God bless her ! She nursed 
 my Jean to life when every soul turned from him. 
 The saints keep you safe, Mamzelle." 
 
 " And so they will," answered Denise. " Make 
 way, my children, make way." 
 
 To right and left, with much struggle and stress 
 because of the thronging, the crowd parted, leaving 
 a narrow laneway clear to the open space at the 
 steps' head. Up this Denise passed erect and 
 stern of face, and with a faint flush colouring the 
 overnight pallor of her cheeks. That de Casera 
 was still unharmed she saw and thanked God, but 
 she was under no illusions. The true trial of 
 strength was yet to come, and if victory lay with 
 the Cordelier, or even the appearance of victory, 
 the problem that had held her sleepless would 
 have a swift solution. Then the crowd closed in 
 again, compact as before, and shutting out Captain 
 Roger Patcham ; nor, in the then temper of the 
 people, did the Englishman dare seek to force a 
 passage. For the time the cue lay with another. 
 
 For all that Denise was a woman and a lover of 
 peace, the instinct born of many generations of
 
 THE HOUSE OF RELIGION. 219 
 
 men of war taught her boldness and the worth of 
 the first stroke. A crowd loves success, and its 
 sympathies follow victory. On the topmost step 
 she halted and faced the mob, now hushed except 
 for that indefinable rustle inseparable from packed 
 humanity upon its feet. 
 
 " Back, back ! " she cried motioning with an 
 open hand as she spoke. " We have need of greater 
 room. Let no man come within three steps of the 
 terrace. And you, Monsieur de Casera, put up 
 your sword. We are here in Saint Agnes to save 
 life, and not to take it. Also, loose the monk ; if he 
 has done wrong he must abide by wrong, but the 
 punishment is my affair, not yours. We admit no 
 right of justice in Lhoeac save those of the King 
 and Denise de Lhoeac : is that not so, my children ? " 
 But abstract authority was nothing to Saint Agnes, 
 and the crowd answered her never a word. 
 
 " Now, Master Monk," she went on, her clear 
 voice growing sterner, " what brawl is this thou 
 hast raised ? God grant thou and thy hot head's 
 folly have not brought a grievous wrong on my 
 people." 
 
 Released by de Casera, the Franciscan had risen, 
 and now, his nervous fingers twisting the cords of 
 his disordered robe, he faced Denise. A dramatic 
 picture they made, these three on the clear sweep 
 of the terrace, with the flat, unsightly, weather- 
 stained wall of the church as a background to throw 
 them into relief a picture in sober tones and yet 
 with its artistic contrasts, the pure white of the
 
 220 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 woman's garments finding a sharp foil in the gaunt 
 friar's black frock. As to de Casera, he had drawn 
 to one side with undisguised reluctance, and stood 
 watching the monk sharply, his scabbard caught 
 up in his left hand so that the hilt lay frankly 
 ready to his right. For the moment Denise was 
 mistress, but let affairs take a threatening twist, 
 and he would play the master, if it were but for 
 three strokes. 
 
 " The wrong was here before me," answered the 
 monk harshly, smiting the church door with the 
 flat of his hand as he spoke, so that the emptiness 
 within rang with a hollow boom. " The wrong lies 
 there in shutting out God from the people." 
 
 " Neither I, nor you, Priest, can do that," replied 
 Denise : " no, nor yet your church, bishops, car- 
 dinals, and Ah ! I had forgotten. What is the 
 
 message from the Cardinal de Saint-Seurin ? Thou 
 art here from him ? Eh, is it not so ? Come, Monk, 
 the truth, the truth. What saith his Eminence ?" 
 
 " I am no man's messenger, and know nought of 
 him of whom you speak. As to the truth, that you 
 shall have, and bitter you shall find it." 
 
 " Presently, presently. Swear to me first that 
 thou hast had no dealings with Henri de Lhoeac, 
 Bishop of Libourne and Cardinal of Saint-Seurin, 
 that thou art not here at his instance, nor for his 
 purposes covert or open. Mark now, there is no 
 room there for a quibble." 
 
 " I am here upon my Master's business, at his 
 instance and for his purposes. Bishops? cardinals?
 
 THE HOUSE OF RELIGION. 221 
 
 What are they ! Again I say I know nothing of him 
 of whom you speak." 
 
 " Swear, man, swear." 
 
 " A Christian man's word is his oath, but since 
 you will have it so, I swear it." 
 
 Lifting the bronze cross that hung upon his breast, 
 he kissed it, going down reverently on his knees as 
 he did so. 
 
 " That you are honest makes for peace for us all, 
 since your bite is without venom," said Denise. 
 " Let us cry back. Briefly, now, how canst thou, a 
 man of God, justify this brawl? " 
 
 " Because I am what I am." Rising to his feet, 
 he faced her as he had faced Saint Agnes at the 
 first, and Denise was conscious that a sound like the 
 sighing of the wind passed across the silent crowd. 
 It was the people drawing in their breath to listen. 
 " What ? In the time of His affliction you put a 
 slight on the mercy of God, you shut Him out from 
 part or lot in the healing of Saint Agnes, and when 
 I, His " 
 
 " For shame, Monk ! for shame ! Can bars and 
 bolts shut out God? I tell thee, man, He has been 
 present here in Saint Agnes these last weeks as He 
 never was behind that shut door since the wall went 
 up. Oh, you stare, you stare, but it may well be 
 that you have so long worshipped the God of 
 Judgment that you have forgotten the God of Love 
 and Mercy, and so know little of His ways for all 
 your friar's frock. Nay, nay, nay, it is not always 
 the priest's turn to preach. To hearken to you one
 
 222 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 would think that the laying on of hands gave 
 the gift of tongues, and so, by my faith, it would 
 seem to do for wordiness, though not always for 
 sound sense. This is my turn, or rather," and a 
 half-smile flickered into the gravity of her face, 
 shone in her eyes an instant and then died out, 
 leaving it as intent, stern, and sorrowful as before, 
 " I shall let the people judge. For the most part, 
 poor souls, they have to listen whether they choose 
 or not, while your high holinesses in the pulpit 
 pound and pelt them at your long liking. Which 
 shall speak, my children, Denise de Lhoeac or this 
 black monk of the sour face, who cometh from we 
 know not where ? Denise de Lhoeac ? Thou art 
 answered, Master Monk, though I little thought the 
 day would come when I should preach to the 
 church ! " 
 
 Twice the Franciscan had sought to break in 
 upon her, but Denise was in no common mood, 
 and, man and priest though he was, she talked him 
 down. None knew better than she that she was 
 fighting for the life of the man she loved ; for, 
 though the people were quiet beyond her expecta- 
 tion, the ominous indrawn breath as the monk had 
 answered was both a threat and a warning. In 
 such a case, and for such a stake, it would take 
 more than one man to silence a woman's tongue, 
 and the man with the robe had been beaten with his 
 own weapons. But once Saint Agnes had declared 
 for her, she paused for breath, half hoping the 
 monk would persist. She knew the people to their
 
 THE HOUSE OF RELIGION. 223 
 
 furthest hair's breadth, and from defence would 
 have turned to attack, confident they would follow 
 her as blindly as a bare half-hour before they had 
 followed the stranger. But the monk was either 
 too astute or too honest to take advantage of her 
 silence, for, though his mobile face showed the heat 
 of his impatience, he held his peace. 
 
 " If thou art without sin," she began slowly, and 
 looking the Cordelier full in the face the while, 
 " then fling thy stone at us. If not, who gave thee 
 leave to judge? What dost thou, in thy brief hour 
 here, know of the sorrows of St. Agnes? Of its 
 dangers thou knowest somewhat I grant, and know- 
 ing them, thou art a brave man to be here at all ; 
 but of its sorrows, its bitterness of heart, its mourn- 
 ing, its burden of death and loss, the humbleness of 
 its heart before its God, thou knowest nothing 
 nothing. Are we sinners above all the sinners in 
 France because this has fallen upon us? Then we 
 were sinners with our altars lit, and in their dark- 
 ness we have repented. More than that, Monk ; 
 our repentance has been accepted. The plague was 
 stayed, and if it come upon us again it will be thy 
 doing, with thy black creed of terror and judgment 
 scaring these poor sheep until they were ready to 
 turn upon the hand that tended them. Thy blame, 
 I say, thy doing, and may God forgive thee, Monk, 
 for it will go hard with me that I should." Round 
 she turned to the mob, now a packed slope of faces 
 that curved in a great bow across the level of the 
 square. " And you, my children, how have we
 
 224 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 failed you in your hour of trial that you should 
 fail us at the first cry of a stranger ? Even a dog 
 has more faithfulness than that. Is it priestliness 
 that sways you ! What then of the eleven that died 
 for Saint Agnes noble souls who for your sakes 
 took no account of themselves, and stand this day 
 before the eternal throne, faithful witnesses alike 
 in life and death ? Were they not priests of God ? 
 Aye, by my faith, were they, and nearer to His heart 
 than this black Franciscan with his loveless creed of 
 terror and merciless damnation. Was it his words 
 swayed you? What? For a fanatic's outburst 
 could you so soon forget the dark days and darker 
 nights of death and sorrow through which we 
 watched and toiled together, striving with the 
 destroyer, wrestling with him even to the very 
 edge of the grave if so be that we could snatch 
 even one from his hand ? I say it not to boast, 
 but to shame you ; is there a childless mother here 
 we have not comforted, a stricken husband, a 
 widowed wife, a lonely grandsire ? Even when 
 terror snapped the ties of years, and love itself 
 grew fearful, were we afraid ? When the parched 
 throat called and love and kin had fled, who 
 answered ! Who spoke God's peace to the trem- 
 bling soul and by God's grace brought the blessed 
 life itself to the very closing gates of death ? Who 
 healed the broken-hearted, soothed the sorrowing, 
 shared the grievous burden of the heavy-laden ? 
 Did one mourn and we not also mourn? Did one 
 suffer and we not share the pain ? Did one die
 
 THE HOUSE OF RELIGION. 225 
 
 and we not weep ? Oh, my children, my children, 
 have I taken you to my heart to be thrust from you 
 for the first weaver of windy words that comes your 
 way ? I have loved you, I have striven for you ; 
 God knows how I have striven. If I have failed to 
 win you, if all I dare love turns from me, then, 
 Monk, have your way, and let there be an end to 
 Denise de Lhoeac." 
 
 Slowly the stolid curiosity of the crowd had worn 
 off. Murmurs and sibilant whispers eddied here 
 and there, at first subdued but minute by minute 
 growing in strength and fervour, until at the last the 
 mob swayed to her words as a ripe cornfield sways 
 to the wind ; the pinched and careworn faces gloom- 
 ing or brightening as the varying purposes of her 
 words were driven home. At the last there was an 
 instant's pause, a long indrawing of breath, and the 
 beginning of a surging rush for the topmost step. 
 
 But the monk was quicker than they. He had 
 stood with arms folded, staring at her from under 
 bent brows, a statue of rebuke, lifeless except for 
 the twitching of the thin lips and the flush deepening 
 to an angry red on the sallow, high-boned cheeks. 
 Now the statue awoke. 
 
 " Words, words, words ! " he cried, striding for- 
 ward to the very lip of the uppermost step and 
 flinging out his open hands as if to thrust back the 
 throng. " Now hearken unto me, ye stiffnecked and 
 rebellious, ye who worship the creature rather than 
 the Creator. Whilst ye were blind and silly sheep, 
 having your understanding darkened, and ignorantly
 
 226 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 following false shepherds, I spared you. Upon them 
 was my curse, on them alone ; and yet not mine, but 
 the curse of Him that sent me to preach the truth. 
 But now that ye are partakers in their wickedness, 
 now that ye call evil good and good evil, now that 
 ye strengthen them in their sin and say, ' So would 
 we have it,' I turn the curse upon you. Hearken, 
 everyone of you. Thus saith the Lord, 'The heart 
 of this people is made fat, their ears heavy, and they 
 have shut their eyes ; lest they should see with their 
 eyes, and hear with their ears, and understand with 
 their heart, and I should heal them. Therefore this 
 plague shall not pass from you until the cities be 
 wasted without inhabitant, and the houses without 
 man, and the land be utterly desolate.' Upon your 
 young men and your maidens, upon your children, 
 upon your very babes and sucklings, have ye drawn 
 down " 
 
 Denise heard no more. With every nerve a-tingle 
 with wrath and indignation she was already half-way 
 across the space separating her from the Franciscan, 
 when a hand caught her by the arm, and Roger 
 Patcham's voice whispered excitedly in her ear 
 
 " See, see, see ! Did I not say it would come ? If 
 that be a type of the rest, then God have mercy on 
 Saint Agnes, for the bigot's prophecy is like to come 
 true. Look; watch Jeanne la Blanche, three steps 
 down in the crowd. I have seen many a one 
 smitten these two months past, but never one like 
 that ! Poor soul ! poor soul ! May God pity 
 her!"
 
 THE HOUSE OF RELIGION. 227 
 
 The monk's sudden stride forward had stayed the 
 advance of the human machine, and he was in a 
 fair way to twist the vacillation how he chose, when 
 there came such an interruption as cut short even 
 his fiery declamation a woman's scream, shrill, 
 high-pitched, and tremulous with pain. Nor was it 
 one cry only, but cry on cry as fast as the gaping 
 breath could let loose the sound, and broken only 
 by the hoarse filling of the lungs ; piercing, acute, 
 mortal fear and mortal agony in one. For a moment 
 the throng stood, tiptoed and staring ; then, as if to 
 avoid a thunderbolt, it split apart, fighting, tearing, 
 struggling in a bestial terror, heedless who suffered 
 in the desperate backward rush if only a yard of 
 space could be set between them and the screaming 
 wretch that staggered foaming in the wedge-like 
 opening. Round she spun, groping and pawing at 
 the air like a shot wolf, round and round, the breath 
 coming harder and harsher with every turn ; then, of 
 a sudden, her knees gave way and she fell in aheap 
 upon the steps, moaning. 
 
 Flinging off Roger Patcham, Denise laid a shaking 
 hand upon the monk's shoulder. 
 
 ' Thy doing," she cried, pointing downwards, 
 " thy doing; thou hast smitten the body, and now, 
 if thou art God's servant, heal the spirit if thou canst 
 ere it be too late. She has ten minutes more of this 
 world; ten minutes, Monk, ten minutes and no 
 more. Take me away, Father Roger, for I am sick, 
 sick and weary of my life." 
 
 " Come, my lamb, come," and he took her in his
 
 228 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 arms as a father might a child. " Plague take him for 
 a meddling priest! Did I not say evil would come 
 of all this ? Monsieur de Casera, clear a way for us ; 
 Mademoiselle is out-worn, and no marvel." 
 
 And as Denise turned to leave the terrace she saw 
 the Franciscan, crucifix in hand, stooping over the 
 dying woman, her head resting on his knees and his 
 mouth, regardless of contagion, bent to within an 
 inch of her ear to whisper such comfort as he might. 
 That he had the courage of two worlds was clear, 
 and at the sight of his eager, earnest face the woman 
 in her heart half-forgave him. 
 
 That day and night Saint Agnes had to fight its 
 battle without aid from its Suzeraine, and it was a 
 battle to the death. Unstrung in nerve, and wearied 
 alike in body and mind, Denise passed the hours in 
 the shade of her tent, an easy prey to a bitter spirit 
 of resentment and unrest. That the world of love 
 was awry she had known. Henri de Lhoeac had 
 left her no straight path, and hers was not the nature 
 to be content with crooked ways let their windings 
 be never so smooth and flowery ; but that lower 
 love of the people, that love which is part obedience, 
 part loyalty, part trust, which is love and yet not 
 love that she had thought she held sure and beyond 
 all theft. But now even that was gone, and for 
 all the humming life that was round about her she 
 was conscious of a dreary loneliness, an isolation to 
 which no love came nor could come, and all that 
 the world held was a sternness of duty and self- 
 sacrifice. A bitter thought that, for let moralists
 
 THE HOUSE OF RELIGION 229 
 
 preach the greatness of the high, dry levels of life as 
 they may, and let their maxims be as truthful as 
 they are admirable, duty is cold food for a human 
 soul to feed upon. 
 
 But as the day drew to night, and the twilight 
 brought its blessings of coolness to the parched earth, 
 the vigour of life and youth within her asserted itself. 
 Blessed recreative power of youth ! Broken hopes 
 are pieced together again, tarnished ideals polished 
 to a fresh refulgence, snapping cords knotted anew, 
 and the piecing, the polishing, the knotting, is 
 viewed as complacently as if there had been neither 
 stain nor snap. Out of the shattered wreckage of 
 the day Denise set herself to build afresh her scheme 
 of life, and in the midst of her building Mother 
 Nature came to her aid, and that night she slept as a 
 child sleeps. 
 
 It was a new world into which she stepped next 
 morning, so swiftly had the alchemy of rest 
 wrought upon her wholesome nature a world not 
 without shadows but with the sun still high in the 
 heavens and a warmth that penetrated even to the 
 shade. The sorrows of Saint Agnes were no less, 
 but her strength was greater, and so the burden to 
 be borne failed to crush as it had crushed in the 
 hour of her depression. Now that she was mistress 
 of herself she had no fear of Francois de Casera. 
 His secret she knew, hers he should never know ; 
 and being a woman, she could trust herself to hide 
 th.it which he, being a man, failed to conceal. 
 They are consummate hypocrites at times, these
 
 230 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 gentle best of woman, and can play a part with such 
 fidelity as to deceive even themselves. She had 
 wrestled and overcome, she told herself that which 
 she had thrown she would keep under ; and in her 
 belief she was strong. 
 
 De Casera she met with a firm clasp of the hand 
 and a frank unconscious smile that quickly passed 
 into a grave concern. "Tell me the worst," she 
 said. " By your eyes I see it has been a nuit 
 blanche for Saint Agnes, and yet, in face of the 
 danger, there did I play traitor and desert my post. 
 Oh, Monsieur de Casera, I am ashamed." 
 
 " It was not you who played traitor, but nature 
 who cried for quarter," he answered, with a poor 
 attempt at lightness. " Not the least of the night's 
 trials has been the fear that the bravest soul of us 
 all had dared overmuch and suffered for her daring. 
 Believe me, Mademoiselle, there is such a thing as 
 too great courage." 
 
 " Alas ! that so much good sympathy was 
 thrown away," replied she, the smile struggling 
 back to her eyes an instant and her face flushing. 
 Let her determination be as stern as it might, his 
 solicitude was very sweet. " It was sheer waste, 
 Monsieur, sheer waste. I am ashamed of my 
 weakness, and so the less said of last night the 
 better except what touches Saint Agnes. What of 
 my people ? " 
 
 " You asked the worst, and no words can soften 
 it. Lhoeac is the poorer by five, and there remain 
 nineteen smitten."
 
 THE HOUSE OK RELIGION. 231 
 
 " Five dead ! " she wailed, wincing back as if 
 from a blow ; " five ? five ? and I sleeping, uncar- 
 ing. Oh ! my people, my people ! " 
 
 " Five," he answered, setting his teeth and hold- 
 ing himself as with a leash lest he play the fool and 
 take her in his arms to comfort her. Little wish 
 had she for his comforting he thought bitterly, and 
 it would be the act of a rascal to do aught that 
 would add to her troubles while, will-ye nill-ye, 
 they were pent together without hope of freedom. 
 " 'Twas the fight killed them. I think the devil 
 was in that monk ; and yet, to be honest, not one 
 of us all, not brave-hearted Father Roger himself, 
 has played the man as the monk did this night past. 
 First he said he must go to that shepherd's hut 
 that lies out two furlongs into the fields, an empty 
 one-roomed shell. There was a comrade sick, he 
 said, and he must bring him food for the night, 
 a brother Franciscan but not of his own order, 
 and who was too weak to face the pestilence. It 
 was beyond the cordon, but I let him go, he swear- 
 ing that this other would not quit the hut while the 
 plague raged. For that I gave him an hour, and 
 he took but forty minutes. Then he did the work 
 of ten. His great bony hands are as supple and 
 gentle of touch as a woman's, and no nursing 
 mother ever took her babe to her arms more ten- 
 derly than he the perishing wretches. His very 
 voice grew soft, and from every point he played 
 his part so well that I, who had it in my heart to 
 wring his neck for his mischief-making, have per-
 
 232 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 force taken to belauding him. A fearless, kindly, 
 unselfish, tender spirit, only I pray God no more 
 of his like come to Saint Agnes." 
 
 While he was speaking Denise recovered herself. 
 After all, the tally of loss, long as it was, was no 
 greater than she had looked for. When corn is 
 over-ripe it needs no great strength of wind to shed 
 it, and this storm had been a sudden blast of a 
 hurricane. 
 
 " Nineteen? Then there is work for us all. Go 
 you and rest, Monsieur de Casera. The pinch may 
 come again to-night, and then we shall need you, 
 as we have so sorely of late. May God bless you 
 for all your unselfish devotion to my stricken people. 
 That a man should play the man in slaying man 
 seems common and easy enough, and not a thing 
 for much thanks. Too common, God wot, and too 
 easy, but when it comes to saving men, that is 
 mostly left to priests and women. From my heart, 
 Monsieur, I thank you." 
 
 To a man in love good resolves are for the most 
 part so much arid stubble ; dry, cold, and stiffly 
 upright, let the wind be rough as it may until the 
 spark falls? So was it now with Francois de 
 Casera. Gratitude set him ablaze. It was at once 
 too much and yet not enough. The spark was set 
 flying, and his self-restraint went from him in a 
 whirl of passion. 
 
 " Devotion ! Thanks ! " he cried. " Where is 
 there room for words like these between us two ? 
 Or yes, devotion if you will ; love, devotion, adora-
 
 THE HOUSE OF RELIGION. 233 
 
 tion heart and soul. Because of your coldness, and 
 lest by offence I should ruin all, I strove hard to 
 keep these under, but you have seen them, have you 
 not ? Ah ! you must have. Love has something 
 of God in it, and cannot be hid. But let me be 
 honest. Your people owe me nothing ; but for you 
 I had played coward like any other man, but you 
 drew me and held me here. You are my Saint, my 
 Madonna, my Lady of Succour. Surely the time 
 has come when I may say this ? From the first 
 hour I have loved you ; have I not waited long 
 enough ? Oh, I know I am unworthy, unworthy ; 
 but, Denise, can you not absolve and stoop to me ? 
 I had no thought of speaking yet, but that bare 
 thanks should pass between us thanks, and no 
 more stung me ; and surely surely the time has 
 come when I may speak and be forgiven for speak- 
 ing. I love you, Denise, love you ; can you not 
 
 say " 
 
 Startled by his outburst, Denise had shrunk back, 
 and as his words came clearly home to her she grew 
 white and fell to trembling as if with fright. 
 Indeed, a kind of fear did possess her a fear in 
 part of herself and in part of him. To her almost 
 cloistered quietness of life this vehemence was a 
 revelation, and that it stirred such an answer in 
 herself shamed her, startled her, and lest it carry 
 her away whether she would or no, she broke in 
 upon him, silencing him with an imperious gesture. 
 " The time can never come, never, never ! And, 
 oh, Monsieur, what you say is little better than
 
 234 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 blasphemy ; I am but a woman, and weaker than 
 you dream." 
 
 "Never?" he echoed, " never ? I will take no 
 ' never ' from you. Nor is it blasphemy to say you 
 are the sweetest woman on God's earth and the 
 noblest, and yet a saint." 
 
 " But it is never," answered she ; " there is no 
 other word possible. Understand that, Monsieur." 
 
 " What ? Has love no claim ? Nay, have I no 
 claim even apart from love ? " 
 
 " Oh, Monsieur, you are not generous to press 
 such a point. No, in such a thing as this I can 
 admit no claim." 
 
 " But, Denise " 
 
 " Monsieur, I am Mademoiselle de Lhoeac, and I 
 pray you to remember it." 
 
 " Mademoiselle de Lhoeac ? Always Mademoi- 
 selle de Lhoeac to me? For God's sake, Denise, 
 think what hangs on the answer communion, love, 
 happiness, the joy and blessing of life. Think, 
 Denise, think ! " 
 
 "Always, Monsieur, always," and for all her 
 assuredness her voice broke in the saying it. 
 " Religion a vow forbids it should be other- 
 wise. What more can I say ? Nay, even that is 
 too much. Oh ! you are cruel, you are cruel ! " 
 
 " Religion ! " he echoed bitterly. " Do you call 
 the meddling of a monk religion because of his 
 priest's frock ? My ideal strikes higher than that. 
 He has wronged us both. Ah, Denise, Denise, let 
 the wrong be forgotten ; " he caught her hands as
 
 THE HOUSE OF RELIGION. 235 
 
 she held them clasping and unclasping them before 
 her. " Is it for ever ? Oh, my love, is it for ever, 
 for ever ? " 
 
 But his touch braced her slackened nerves, and 
 she drew herself rigidly back. 
 
 " It is both never and for ever, Monsieur," she 
 answered, looking him straight in the eyes. 
 
 Afterwards one thing came back to her as strange. 
 He had spoken of a priest's meddling, but though 
 the black friar had wrought much evil to Saint 
 Agnes, she could not see how he had wronged them. 
 The blame lay, rather, at the door of Henri de 
 Lhoeac.
 
 THE HOUSE OF HONOUR. 
 I. 
 
 EVEN if Denise had wished it, de Casera gave 
 her no opportunity for enlightenment. He was 
 still her loyal helper, still her right hand and her 
 forethought ; still ready to set his shoulder to the 
 burden that she might be spared its weight, but 
 the frank camaraderie which had so eased the 
 troubles of the first weeks of the pestilence was 
 gone. The union of labour remained, but the 
 communion of sympathy which had made the 
 labour tolerable and even sweet at times was lost. 
 
 These were the days of the parching, merciless 
 August heat, and when the spirit walks in a thirsty 
 land the blight within and the blight without tell 
 upon the frame with more than double force. Days 
 they were of glare and dust, of cracked earth and 
 breathless stagnant air, of flagging weariness when 
 not even the quiet of night brought blessing, so 
 dewless was it and so sullenly hot. Through these 
 days of trial to flesh and spirit Denise grew pitifully 
 wan and worn of face. Only the steady slackening 
 of the anxious strain saved her from prostration, 
 and that the strain slackened as it did was in great 
 measure due to the Franciscan. Two whites can- 
 not make a black better than grey, but if he had
 
 THE HOUSE OF HONOUR. 237 
 
 done mischief there was this to his credit, that he 
 played a large part in the undoing of it and with 
 no thought of himself. 
 
 "A man cannot but admire and yet pity the 
 creature," said Roger on the fourteenth day after 
 the recrudescence of the scourge, and speaking with 
 a kind of compelled and niggard appreciation. " If 
 he sleeps at all it must be on his feet and working 
 the while; or maybe at his prayers, which are 
 gentler, I doubt not, than they were a while back. 
 From his first day he was as lean as a half-filled 
 bran-bag, but now he has so fallen away that his 
 cassock hangs limply on him like a dragoon's coat 
 on a scarecrow. One would swear the fellow is 
 five places at once so busy is he, and day by day 
 his lantern face grows more lantern-like than ever, 
 but in a new sense. There is a light, a glow, in his 
 eyes I do not like. It is as if the soul of the man 
 was edging outwards ready for a flight, and the 
 sight of it gives me the shivers. Life I can stand, 
 death I can stand, but a naked soul 'twixt the one 
 and the other is a terrible thing. I would we had 
 both you and him, Mademoiselle, safe out of Saint 
 Agnes." 
 
 " The day for that cannot be far off, Father 
 Roger. There has been no new outbreak for this 
 week past, and if another seven days go by I think 
 we may call the siege raised." 
 
 " So I tell the Franciscan Father Luke he calls 
 himself but he only shakes his head with an un- 
 canny smile on those thin chaps of his, and says
 
 238 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 that sin must first be punished. As if," added 
 Roger passionately, " we had not suffered enough 
 already for Jean Tron's ill-doing! " 
 
 "What! I thought he had grown kindlier? 
 Does he still fling that at the poor souls? " 
 
 " No, Mademoiselle, no ; to them he talks as if 
 the debt was paid and the plague stayed. Tis only 
 to me he croaks, and how so vilely honest a man 
 can reconcile the two to his conscience passes my 
 understanding. Father Luke the Cordelier, I sup- 
 pose, gives Father Luke the Franciscan absolution." 
 
 " Then in a week, Father Roger? " 
 
 " If, Mademoiselle, if ! Remember there is that 
 plaguey 'if.' ' 
 
 " If the ' if ' becomes * aye ' it will break my 
 heart, for," and her voice shook a little in spite of 
 her effort at control, " I have grown coward of late, 
 coward and weary, very weary. Oh ! Father Roger, 
 thou canst not think how weary." 
 
 "Aye," answered Roger compassionately, his 
 honest lean face growing troubled, " that's plain 
 to be seen without the telling, so plain that even 
 these swine here have seen it and so grow less 
 swinish. Truly, I think there is something like a 
 soul astir in them. Now that their fears give them 
 leisure to think if they ever think ! they under- 
 stand dimly what it is you have done for them. 
 Oh, I see it dawning slowly, slowly, for that's 
 natural. Saving by a miracle, the new spirit is 
 not born to a man in an hour. In the core of 
 winter the day comes at a snail's crawl, and what
 
 THE HOUSE OF HONOUR. 239 
 
 are they but in winter the whole year round ? in 
 brain and spirit, I mean. But the life is stirring. 
 There are shame-faced mutterings, tags of prayers 
 not for themselves, broken blessings, a flicker of 
 light in the eyes not much, I grant, but from such 
 clods the little is greater than it seems and means 
 much. Besides, what there is rings true, which is 
 more than can sometimes be said of your fine 
 monsieurs and madames. Three months ago I 
 would as soon have thought to rouse a tree-stump 
 as a dolt peasant, and yet there they are astir with 
 a new life, and of your making. By the week's 
 end if it be no longer than a week you will have 
 them slavering where not so long ago they would 
 have bitten." 
 
 " Rest in a week ! " said Denise, her eyes brighten- 
 ing and a smile stirring the corners of he.r mouth. 
 " That means " 
 
 " Lhoeac and Madame Catherine." It was 
 characteristic of Roger Patcham that he put Lhoeac 
 first. To him it was as much a personality as the 
 other, and it loomed largest. " I warrant both will 
 give you such a welcome as has not been seen in 
 Guienne since du Guesclin made his progress a 
 hundred and forty years back, and with reason." 
 
 " Nay," said Denise, shaking her head, while the 
 moisture gathered in her eyes, " nay, not Lhoeac 
 c-xccpt for a farewell. Then to Our Lady's house 
 of Saint Marzier. There is no rest for me at 
 Lhoeac." 
 
 " Saint Marzier? Our Lady's house ?" Roger
 
 240 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 Patcham stared bewildered. To set anything, any- 
 where, for any purpose, before Lhoeac was treason. 
 " Is it the convent of the Poor Clares, Mademoiselle ? 
 Oh, you mean for a thanksgiving?" 
 
 " I mean for rest, rest. I can thank God any- 
 where. It is rest I seek, rest for spirit and life. 
 Oh ! if you but knew how weary I am in both, 
 and how small and poor the world has grown in 
 these last weeks." 
 
 " By my faith, it is bigger than the four walls of 
 a nunnery and richer than any Grey Sisterhood. 
 But I see how it is, Mademoiselle, you are out- 
 worn." 
 
 "Not in will, my friend, understand that. These 
 weeks have taught me much. Henceforth I shall 
 live for the world to come, in the faith that 
 
 "Then our love goes for nought? This new life 
 that is come to Saint Agnes may die still-born, and 
 the swine that are groping after manhood go back 
 to their straw and sty ? We may perish while you 
 live in the faith that we live ! and so comfort your 
 own soul at the cost of a thousand souls ! Yourself 
 first and alone ? By Saint George ! that was never 
 Lhoeac's way, and I'll not believe it." 
 
 As he spoke Roger Patcham's face grew stern, 
 sterner than Denise had seen it in all her years of 
 life, and even when he ended his grizzled beard 
 wagged with the hardly checked emotion that 
 moved him. She had outraged not simply his love 
 for herself, but his reverence for Lhoeac, whose hope 
 she was, and so truly he did well to be angry. For
 
 THE HOUSE OF HONOUR. 241 
 
 the moment not even the sight of her white misery 
 could move him. So for a brief space the two 
 stood silent, bitter-hearted with one another, as love 
 is wont to be when at odds, more bitter than frank 
 indifference : he bolt upright and staring harshly at 
 her from under his bent brows ; she half-turned 
 from him, broken-nerved and biting her lip in her 
 distress and incertitude. In the end it was he who 
 broke the silence, and the coldness which underlay 
 the careful restraint of his harsh voice was so like 
 the ruthless flicking of a bared nerve that she 
 gasped, wincing as at physical pain: 
 
 " I crave your pardon, Mademoiselle. I broke in 
 upon you unmannerly. You were saying you will 
 live in the faith that that ?" 
 
 " Old friend, old friend, is this kind ? Is this your 
 twenty years of love ? " 
 
 " If twenty years of love have been forgotten, 
 Mademoiselle, if twenty years of love are flung 
 aside at the first whim like a tattered glove, why, so 
 much the worse for twenty years of love, and small 
 wonder if I, too, forget ; " but the hard voice shook 
 and the lips that lay so tight across the teeth 
 twitched under the bristling grey moustache. Deny 
 love as he might in his temper, it was no easy 
 matter, even in his temper, for Father Roger to be 
 austere to his darling. 
 
 " Have I forgotten? Ah, my God ! no, no, no, 
 never that, never that ! And how can I make you 
 understand ? " 
 
 Well, but "
 
 242 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 "Let me find peace, Father Roger; if thou 
 lovest me let me find peace." 
 
 " Peace ? and at Saint Marzier ? With you inside 
 and the work of your life without ? Poor lamb ! 
 hast thou not learned that peace is a bird that never 
 nests from home ? If thou bringest no peace with 
 thee thou wilt find little at Saint Marzier, grey frock 
 or white frock." 
 
 Then a new thought struck him. His face lit up, 
 and reaching forward, he laid his hand lightly on 
 her sleeve. 
 
 " Father Roger thou callest me ; that, I know, is 
 a relic of the child's days when scores of times I 
 have nursed you as little more than a tottering 
 babe ; but let the name stand so that I may truly 
 play the father for once and without offence. Tell 
 me, my heart, has Monsieur de Casera aught to say 
 to " 
 
 " Monsieur de Casera ? " The white face was 
 flushed enough now, and the wail that had shaken 
 her voice was lost in hardness almost as cold as his 
 own had been ; only a hand flew up to her breast, 
 and he could see the slim fingers playing nervously 
 with the silk kerchief at the throat. " A week 
 hence I hope Monsieur de Casera will ride where- 
 soever he lists and Lhoeac see him no more. Let 
 him go back to the world as he came. I pray you, 
 Father Roger, to leave Monsieur de Casera aside." 
 
 " Poor thanks that, Mademoiselle, to a man who, 
 all unasked, has risked his life for our sakes a 
 mighty proper man too, and a gentleman to boot."
 
 THE HOUSE OF HONOUR. 243 
 
 " Aye, all unasked ; there you have it. There 
 need be small thanks for that which was never 
 sought." 
 
 " By your leave, that is no answer. Saint Agnes 
 might say the same to you, to me, aye, and to the 
 very monks who died to succour her, martyrs to 
 their religion and humanity and yet martyrs 
 unasked. Who bid them die ? Not Saint Agnes, 
 faith ! Saint Agnes would sooner have slovened it 
 on in her filth ; and yet I have heard you rail and 
 rate because the folks were cloddish and gave so 
 little thanks." 
 
 " Thou art right, old friend, quite right, and I 
 quite wrong. But thou seest," and a pitiful smile 
 lit up her troubled face an instant, a smile that was 
 mirthless and fuller of sorrow than laughter, " what 
 sore need this evil spirit of mine has of the sister's 
 teaching. Do thou thank Monsieur de Casera for 
 me ; thank him as he should be thanked. From a 
 woman to a man there is the risk that thanks may 
 mean too much or too little. For the rest, we shall 
 wait our week, and and thou art not angry with 
 me, Father Roger?" 
 
 The hand she held out to him was very cold for 
 all the heavy August heat, and as Roger Patcham 
 took it in both his and kissed it he vowed in his 
 heart that Fran9ois de Casera should be more than 
 thanked. In his astuteness he guessed there had 
 been some lovers' quarrel, and if plain speech would 
 bring the colour back to Mademoiselle's cheeks, and 
 the light to her eyes, then plain speech there would
 
 244 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 be, even though an abatement of dignity went 
 with it. 
 
 " I angry with thee ? "The Lord forbid. A man 
 might as well be wrath with his heart's desire. But 
 as thou lovest me, and as thou lovest Lhoeac, let 
 there be no more talk of Saint Marzier. Dost thou 
 want to break all our hearts ? " 
 
 From Denise he went straight to de Casera, and 
 found him busily doing that which of late he had 
 had little leisure to do, namely, polishing up his 
 beast's cheek-chains, and the steel buckles of its har- 
 nessing. These were hanging from a stout peg 
 driven into the trunk of a great oak that grew to 
 the south of the village, and to judge by his extreme 
 diligence Messire de Casera had no thought in the 
 world but to be well rid of so much ill-gotten rust. 
 
 "A prophecy without words, Monsieur," said 
 Roger Patcham, with a gesture towards the trap- 
 pings as the other turned from his work with a nod. 
 "You smell liberty, and indeed I think it is in the 
 air and not a week away. Do you ride with us to 
 Lhoeac when the time comes to quit Saint Agnes? 
 Surely no man could ever be more welcome." 
 
 " Do you say that of yourself, friend Patcham, or 
 on another's behalf? Ah! I see. As I might 
 have guessed, it was friend Patcham's courtesy and 
 no more. When I quit Saint Agnes I ride to Italy, 
 Messire. France is too much cursed with a plague 
 to suit my health." 
 
 " But the plague is done with, and for that the 
 largest thanks in the world are due to you."
 
 THE HOUSE OF HONOUR. 245 
 
 " Again I ask, do you say that of yourself or for 
 another? Oh! fie! an old soldier should keep his 
 countenance better than that ! I mean no offence, 
 but who are you to give me thanks in the name of 
 Lhoeac, Captain Patcham ? As to plagues, there are 
 more in the world than one, and not all lightly 
 cured. For the present, then, to me Italy is more 
 wholesome than Guienne ; " and back he went to 
 his chain-cleaning. 
 
 Father Roger scratched his beard in perplexity 
 as he stood watching de Casera's busy fingers doing 
 their work as deftly as if their owner had served a 
 camp apprenticeship to the sternest martinet that 
 ever swore an oath. The truth was he was sorely 
 puzzled, and it dawned upon him that the handful 
 he had gripped was too big for his fist. A little 
 while back it had seemed an easy thing to cunningly 
 sound this Francois de Casera, to grope his secrets 
 as a boy tickling trout under a stone flings his victim 
 gasping on the bank before it even takes fright at 
 danger. So long as it was a mere vague thing to be 
 done, and with the hand of his mistress trembling 
 in his, it had been simple enough. To his mind's 
 forecast, that de Casera would give a direct answer 
 to a few seeming careless words was a thing of 
 course. But face to face with this six feet of stolid 
 manhood the thing took on another complexion, 
 and the careless words, which were to come so pat 
 and to do so much, failed him utterly. Who was 
 he to fling his mistress at the head of a stranger, 
 and what thanks would either of them give him for
 
 246 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 the flinging ? In the end he did what nineteen out 
 of every twenty men would have done he gave 
 policy the go-by and went bluntly to the heart of 
 the matter. 
 
 " Tell me, Monsieur de Casera, why does Made- 
 moiselle throw herself into the arms of Our Lady of 
 Consolation at Saint Marzier, and all in such a 
 hurry ? " 
 
 If it had been Roger Patcham's object to compel 
 the other's attention, there was no doubt of his 
 success. De Casera's hand still moved up and 
 down the steels, but his diligence had suddenly 
 gone from him like the tension from a pricked 
 bladder, and from the blankness of his look it was 
 clear he had learned news. 
 
 "Saint Marzier?" 
 
 " Ay, Saint Marzier ; the nun's house of the Poor 
 Clares." 
 
 "That must not be, Master Patcham." 
 
 " With all my heart, Messire de Casera ; but no 
 man, save one, dare say ' must ' to Denise de 
 Lhoeac." 
 
 " The King ? " 
 
 " The King ! " and Roger Patcham laughed. 
 " Little we've cared for the King all these years. 
 A fig for the King; the man she loves, and no 
 other." 
 
 The muscles of Fra^ois de Casera's face stiffened, 
 but, unless a hard stare was an answer, he made 
 no retort. Then Roger Patcham, having gone too 
 far to recede, took his courage in both hands.
 
 THE HOUSE OF HONOUR. 247 
 
 " Do you stop her folly, Messire," he said 
 softly. " I think she would heed you." 
 
 II. 
 
 This time de Casera abandoned even the poor 
 pretence of continued work. Chains, buckles, and 
 straps slipped from his fingers, and swung with a 
 clash against the tree-trunk as he turned to Roger 
 Patcham. 
 
 "Heed me?" he cried, doubling his knuckles 
 into his hips, while a little sour smile puckered his 
 mouth. " Bah ! I will be blunt with you, though 
 in a sense it is no affair of yours." And then it 
 was that Master Patcham heard the same truth 
 that Denise had told him under the blue skies at 
 Meluzza and in much the same words. " You know 
 men, my friend, as a man knows his sword-handle ; 
 
 that is your business. But of women ! " The 
 
 sour smile broadened to a mirthless laugh, full of a 
 vexed contempt for more than the man he gibed 
 "of women you do not know even the very begin- 
 ning. To be frank for love is like this world's 
 goods and a man who is clean stark beggared has 
 no shame in his beggary. 'Tis only he with a shred 
 of hope that needs must play a part and blind the 
 world, making the little seem the much. Now, I 
 am fair bankrupt, and so can brazen out the truth. 
 I pled with her for an hour, and she would none of 
 me, would not even give me as much as a ' Merci, 
 Monsieur,' and now you say But there, for a
 
 248 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 shrewd man you talk strange folly at times, Captain 
 Patcham." 
 
 " I may not know women," answered Father 
 Roger slowly, " and I take no shame that I don't ; 
 a man might as well hope to know what flash will 
 next come from a diamond red, blue, white, or 
 what you will as seek to know even one of them 
 out and out, to say nought of knowing them all. 
 But I know this much of one woman at least, that 
 she is troubled to the very bottom of her soul, and 
 that her trouble is new-born. A straight answer, 
 now nay, I need not say that to you, and crave 
 your pardon. But tell me, is it because of you, 
 Monsieur de Casera, that Mademoiselle goes to 
 Saint Marzier? " 
 
 For a moment Francois de Casera stood gnawing 
 his lip in his perplexity ; then he answered 
 
 " On my faith as a gentleman, I fear it is, and 
 yet, on the same faith, I cannot see that it need 
 be." 
 
 " Am I then such a fool as I seemed ? " cried 
 Patcham, the beginning of a smile twinkling in his 
 eyes. But there he stopped dead, and a rare scowl 
 chased away the laughter. " So ? 'Tis your fault ? " 
 he went on harshly. " In God's name, Monsieur, 
 have you dared play fast and loose with Denise de 
 Lhoeac? But, there, you are no man to be 
 threatened, nor I a man to threaten. We leave 
 that to canaille and bullies. If needs must, we can 
 both act, and say nothing." 
 
 " Fast and loose ? " echoed de Casera, with a hard
 
 THE HOUSE OF HONOUR. 249 
 
 laugh that slipped into a groan before it was clear 
 of his throat; " fast bound, and no loosing for me 
 in this world. Man, man, are you so blind that you 
 cannot see that I honour and reverence your mis- 
 tress as I do my mother's memory ? and can a man 
 say more ? By my faith ! I trow not, though he 
 protested for a week. Fast and loose, fast and 
 loose ! I play fast and loose with Denise de 
 Lhoeac ? Oh, my friend, God grant you wisdom 
 to mend your folly, for you have sore need of it." 
 
 " My folly knows this much for truth," answered 
 Roger Patcham : " honour and reverence are well 
 enough, but yet a poor exchange for a woman's 
 love. As well say, ' Here are so much snow and ice 
 to warm your fire ! ' Or, 'You're hungry ; feed, then, 
 on husks and be happy ! ' But then, I do not know 
 women." 
 
 " Chut ! " and de Casera stamped his foot im- 
 patiently ; " did I not tell you that she would have 
 none of me ? " 
 
 >t upon these terms; what woman would? 
 Honour, reverence, are these enough? Was there 
 no love with them ? My faith, but you are cold, 
 Monsieur, you are cold." 
 
 " Cold ? I cold ? What does a withered stock 
 like you know of a man's love ? I pled, prayed* 
 urged, stripped my very heart bare before her, 
 abased myself as I nevc % r yet have done saving to 
 Almighty God ; and yet you fling my coldness in 
 my face because, being a man, I cannot lightly tell 
 a man such things, but wrap them round with
 
 250 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 reverent, careful words. Love ? Trust me, Denise 
 de Lhoeac knows I love her as a woman loves to be 
 loved." 
 
 " And she ? What answer, Monsieur ? " 
 
 " Answer ? " cried de Casera bitterly ; " no answer 
 pleasant to remember. She shrunk and trembled 
 as if I preached sacrilege ; thrust me back with 
 hands that never touched me, so abhorrent were 
 they. Not that I sought to importune her ; their 
 trembling was enough. * A vow,' she said, ' comes 
 between us ' " 
 
 " A vow ? " cried Father Roger, breaking in. 
 " What vow ? " 
 
 " Why, how should I know ? " answered de 
 Casera, cooling suddenly and laying, as it were, a 
 fresh hold upon himself. " She talked of the 
 church, stammered and shrunk still further back. 
 And I well, to be frank, my temper was worn to a 
 thin edge, and I cursed the church since what has 
 the church to do with the love of a man for a 
 maid ? and with that we parted. There's the 
 blunt truth," added he, with rueful scorn ; " and 
 yet you say I can keep her out of Saint Marzier if 
 I will." 
 
 For a moment the two stood silent, each coursing 
 his own thought and finding the sport cold com- 
 fort. At last de Casera went on, dropping his 
 words slowly and speaking to himself rather than 
 to the other: "Why, yes, yes, so perhaps I may 
 before all's done, but that could only be the last 
 card in the game, for though it may gain the trick,
 
 THE HOUSE OF HONOUR. 251 
 
 it wins hate and not love." Then he again fell 
 silent, and stood gnawing his lip, a veritable pillar 
 of dejection. Indeed, so wrapped in his thought was 
 he that he gave no more than a dull heed to Roger 
 Patcham's sudden illumination as he brought his 
 closed hand down with a clash upon his stretched 
 palm, and cried 
 
 " A vow ? Aye, aye ; I see it now : some self- 
 devotion for the salvation of Saint Agnes from its 
 strait. ' Save these sheep, oh Lord, and do as Thou 
 wilt with me.' Aye, that would be like her, for 
 with her it has ever been her folk first and herself 
 last. Much thanks her folk gave her, and now the 
 vow pinches ; for d'ye see, Messire, you have come 
 between her and her conscience. Oh, yes, faith, the 
 thing is clear enough, and for such vows I would 
 not give a fig when once her nerve is back ; they 
 are the vows of a sick heart and not a sound mind. 
 What? Am I not right ?" 
 
 But de Casera was not so easily comforted. 
 
 " No," said he souYly, " thou art not right ; thou 
 art as far from it as to-day from last week, and with 
 many a soul that's the difference of life and death." 
 
 " Wait," answered Roger, still jubilant, " wait, 
 and before our seven days are up you will see that 
 my folly has its salting of wit. Father Roger is a 
 fool, and knows nothing ! Wait, Messire ; wait, I 
 say." 
 
 Yet Roger Patcham's optimism was sorely tried 
 as the days crept on. The brooding fear of a re- 
 newed outbreak, and the claims upon flesh and
 
 252 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 spirit, alike slackened almost hourly, but the lighter 
 labour brought no comfort in its ease. Rather it 
 widened the cleavage between these two. There 
 was less association, less of the sympathy of a joint 
 task, and as the burden of toil and danger lifted the 
 two fell further apart. Nor was Saint Agnes much 
 happier. The first wildfire news of its coming 
 freedom had been followed by a half-maddened 
 relapse into the brute, the forerunner of a drunken 
 debauch that would have plunged Lhoeacback into 
 its terrors had not Roger Patcham, backed by the 
 powers of the church in Father Luke, sternly re- 
 pressed the insanity. That night his men kept such 
 watch as they would have kept had Spain been on 
 the move, and with more need. But the watch was 
 effectual. Sorely against its will, Saint Agnes 
 went to its straw sober, and awoke to the new day 
 chastened and in its right mind. 
 
 That had been the day of Roger Patcham's un- 
 successful effort in diplomacy, and with it came a 
 consciousness that the gain of the coming freedom 
 would be matched by a loss that Saint Agnes laid 
 bitterly to its soul. Denise, half-unknown to them, 
 had grown deep into their sluggish love, and the 
 dull hearts of the peasant folk felt the shadows of a 
 coming bereavement. As the half-witted child is 
 slow to weep, slow to laugh, slow to love, slow to 
 hate, but keen to hold fast that which at last its 
 dim sense understands, so Saint Agnes, stolid, 
 callous, resentful, uncomprehending, had in these 
 later days felt its stubborn spirit stir within it.
 
 THE HOUSE OF HONOUR. 253 
 
 Something of the lavished love, something of the 
 sacrifice, something of the abnegation became clear, 
 and though she knew it not, there grew up to the 
 mistress of Lhoeac a devotion that was as blind in 
 its whole-heartedness as had been the hate, coldness, 
 and distrust, a devotion that bound her people to 
 her by bonds which were not those of vassal and 
 Suzeraine. 
 
 That she went her way amongst them undream- 
 ing of this was no marvel. They were unemotional, 
 these folk, too hard-pressed in the sharp struggle 
 for bare life to stop to consider principles or pas- 
 sions. When, with all their labour, the belly was 
 but two-thirds filled, there was scant time to think 
 of heart or spirit. Death, pain, and poverty were 
 their daily brethren, and even of these they took 
 little thought ; they were too common. It followed, 
 therefore, that it was hard for a new thought to 
 take root in such stony soil, but it equally followed 
 that once rooted it would bide rooted until the 
 trump of the last angel sounded. It is the heritage 
 of the peasant that a virtue can hold him as securely 
 as can a vice. To Denise, then, the days were as 
 they had ever been, dull and thankless; nor, but 
 for a chance meeting with Father Luke when pro- 
 bation had still four days to run, would she have 
 guessed, even dimly, of the new life that had come 
 to Saint Agnes. 
 
 Crossing the highway that cut the town in halves, 
 she saw in the shade, hard by the broad scar left by 
 the burning of Jean Tron's hut, a huddled and
 
 254 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 hunched figure sitting, legs doubled under- 
 neath, elbows on knees, and a cowled head sunk 
 wearily forward. The rusty black of the soiled and 
 patched cassock it had seen as rough wear as its 
 owner these last weeks left no doubt as to who 
 crouched there in so forlorn a fashion, for in all 
 Saint Agnes there was but one Franciscan frock. 
 For a moment she paused, thinking the man asleep ; 
 taking, as it were, a dog's rest between tasks the 
 only rest he had allowed himself since his folly had 
 wrought such sore evil ; but presently he stirred, 
 twisting his meagre shoulders under the slack of his 
 gown as if in pain, and groaning dismally. 
 
 "Father Luke?" she cried sharply, but still 
 irresolute, for while it moved pity, the figure in its 
 filth and threadbare sordidness repelled her; 
 "Father Luke ? " 
 
 The groaning ceased, the uneasy heave of the 
 body was stayed, and out of the depths of his hood 
 the monk looked at her over his crossed wrists. 
 From the dullness of his peering eyes it was plain 
 he did not recognise her for all the flooded bright- 
 ness of the sun, but as she moved forward know- 
 ledge dawned upon him, and of a sudden he woke 
 to life. 
 
 " Keep back," he cried, stretching out a lean 
 hand eagerly. " For the love of Mary, keep back ! 
 Would you put fresh sin on my soul, and the judg- 
 ment so near ? The Lord only knows if it is not 
 past cleansing already." 
 
 Slowly, and like a man crippled with pain, he
 
 THE HOUSE OF HONOUR. 255 
 
 stumbled to his feet, the lean hand still thrust out, 
 bony and sinister as the finger-post of death. 
 
 " Sin ? " said she, never halting now that the 
 sight of his gaunt face had given pity the upper 
 hand. " Why, how could that be ? How could 
 I Then she paused, and flushing suddenly 
 
 shrunk back. 
 
 " Never that," answered the monk, with swift 
 comprehension of her thought. " Mortal sin," and 
 he groaned anew, " mortal sin ; but the Lord be 
 thanked, never that. The death of the folk lies 
 heavy on me. My doing! ah, my God, my doing! 
 Murder, body and soul : for some were sorely 
 unready, and some died unconfessed. My doing! 
 How shall I answer God Almighty ? Nay, stand 
 back, stand back, for I would not have another " 
 
 He checked himself suddenly, as if his tongue 
 ran ahead of his will, and for a moment the two 
 stood silent with half the blinding white of the 
 roadway between them. 
 
 "The death of the folk was the will of God," 
 began Denise slowly, but got no further, for he 
 broke in sharply 
 
 " The death of the folk came of man's pride. 
 Let there be no mistake about that, Mademoiselle. 
 The horror of it has cursed me all these days, for 
 who knows the terrors of the pit as I do ? You 
 heard me by the church door that day ? God knows 
 I thought myself His messenger; God knows that 
 though I lied to the truth I gave my soul no lie. 
 What I said I held by. If my light was darkness,
 
 256 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 God knows I thought my darkness light, and so 
 preached it. Was I wrong ? All men do not find 
 
 heaven by the same road. Then came But 
 
 you know the rest, and oh, my God ! have I not 
 toiled, have I not prayed, have I not repented ? 
 and all through the toil, all through the bitterness 
 of repentance and the still greater bitterness of 
 self-reproach, the heavy hand of the Lord was upon 
 me and I knew that sin must be wiped out in sacri- 
 fice. Is it not His law ? " 
 
 He had spoken slowly, as a man tormented by 
 some gnawing, grinding agony picks his words and 
 mouths them carefully lest the torment cripple his 
 coherence. Twice he had staggered, groping at the 
 air for support ; and thrice had gripped the bosom 
 of his frock with both hands, shrinking and writhing 
 as if in pitiless distress. 
 
 " Surely," said Denise as the monotonous voice 
 ceased dropping its quiet words, " surely repentance 
 brings forgiveness. Is that not also His law?" 
 
 " Ah ! God ! " he cried, with a rising shrillness in 
 his harsh voice, " will that give heaven to those who 
 died in sin ? and if by my fault they be shut out, 
 where is there peace for me ? Can a man forget 
 these things simply because he dies? It is for that 
 I am here. Through these days I have watched 
 you, through these days my humbled soul has halted 
 after yours as even in their thick darkness blind 
 eyes feel the light and turn to it. Pray thou forme 
 that my sin may be forgiven, pray thou that those 
 who died in sin because of me may be assoilzied." 

 
 THE HOUSE OF HONOUR. 257 
 
 He had swayed to his knees, possibly uncon- 
 sciously, and now, with clasped hands raised level 
 with his chin, rocked himself to and fro as if in an 
 agony before the altar. 
 
 " I pray ? I ? Father, in this you mock more 
 than me." 
 
 " No mockery. Ah ! no, no ; prayers are like 
 God's sunbeams, and every one brings blessing 
 howsoever thankless the clod may be; therefore, 
 Mademoiselle, I beseech you pray for me night and 
 day that the punishment may fall in this world 
 only." 
 
 " I will pray," answered she softly, " and not I 
 alone, but the good sisters of Saint Marzier with 
 me. As you have given your life to God's service, 
 so will I." 
 
 Again stumbling to his feet, he stood staring at 
 her. His cowl had been shaken back upon his 
 shoulders, and in the brightness of the sunshine his 
 pinched face showed the angles of the bones in 
 knots and ribs through the hard-drawn sallow skin. 
 The fire which lit his eyes the day he had harangued 
 the mob had smouldered down, ashed over as it 
 were by weariness and agony of mind, but now it 
 leaped into a sudden flame, and the gaunt face 
 grew almost life-like in its new interest. 
 
 " Give not as I gave," he cried vehemently. 
 " Words, words, words, so much empty wind ; no 
 more. I know now that that way lies the soul's 
 starvation. In the Lord's name I charge you, give 
 works. Saint Marzier ? What have you to do
 
 258 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 with Saint Marzier ? Let the houseless and the 
 homeless and the hopeless fill Saint Marzier. For 
 you God's house is here, here where we stand. 
 What ? You have nursed a soul into the beast and 
 would leave it to go back to the beast? Then 
 would your sin be worse than mine, and mine ah ! 
 my God," and the weak, hoarse voice broke into a 
 wail, " mine is the groping in eternal darkness. 
 The faith I held has gone frpm me, and in its place 
 is the judgment that I preached. Hold to your 
 folk's love, Denise de Lhoeac, and out of love build 
 men, and men's salvation. Let love and labour be 
 your prayer." 
 
 " Love ? " answered Denise bitterly, letting his 
 fervency go by her for the time. " Their love ! 
 What hold have I upon their love? They do not 
 want me. See how they turned from me at the 
 first beck." 
 
 " Aye, but they turned back." 
 
 " To turn away again for the next comer ! 
 Weathercocks to every wind. No, they have no 
 need of me." 
 
 "Yes, the greater need," and in his earnestness 
 Friar Luke forgot his own injunction and strode 
 forward, only to reel back, staggering, and with 
 both hands gripping afresh at his breast. " It is 
 the judgment of God; keep back, keep back from 
 me," he groaned as Denise, with instinctive pity, 
 followed him. 
 
 " But you are ill, suffering ; let me " 
 
 But Friar Luke had recovered himself. "That
 
 THE HOUSE OF HONOUR. 259 
 
 counts for nought. I would thank God if there 
 was nothing worse behind it : let it pass. As for 
 your people, listen, Mademoiselle : they are but 
 children, and who can dare to say that a child has 
 no love because its ignorant petulance cries out 
 against its nurse ? And and but who am I that 
 I should preach to you? I, who have learnt so 
 much and have still such need to be taught ! Still, 
 remember there is always this truth, the nobility of 
 life lies in doing the right for the right's sake, let 
 the people want, or not want, what they may. 
 Saint Marzier? Nay, not Saint Marzier, but Saint 
 Agnes, say I." 
 
 Then, as she watched him, troubled rather that 
 three such widely different men should all so patly 
 hold the one opinion, his face grew ghostly in its 
 pain and pallor, and without even a gesture of fare- 
 well he turned and ran until he disappeared behind 
 the line of houses ran blindly and in short zigzag, 
 as a deer does that has received its death-hurt but 
 still struggles on, seeking some solitude where it 
 may lie down and die in quiet. 
 
 That was the last Saint Agnes knew of the Fran- 
 ciscan friar and also the final scene of all that long 
 companionship of life and death that stuck in 
 Denise's memory, save only the riding home to 
 Lhoeac which came three days later. Of all who 
 had borne men's parts in common with him, who 
 had struggled, endured, suffered, despaired, con- 
 quered, Roger Patcham alone was to meet him face 
 to face in this world. May it be that at the last his
 
 260 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 soul had something of that peace he could not give 
 it in the days of his strength, and that the burden 
 which so sorely oppressed him was uplifted. Why 
 not ? For his sin he gave repentance, for his fault 
 amendment, for the need of others unstinted service 
 and self-sacrifice without fee or reward, and what 
 can man do more ? The rest is God's. From that 
 hour he was missed from Saint Agnes. As he came 
 unasked so he went unsped, nor, in its divided heart 
 of joy at being quit of its plague and sorrow at los- 
 ing its mistress, did Saint Agnes give him a second 
 thought. To his lot fell the common thanks of the 
 world. His work for good or evil was alike for- 
 gotten with the passing of four-and-twenty hours. 
 
 When at last the day came when, out of their 
 joint wisdom, Roger Patcham and Francois de 
 Casera pronounced the plague stayed, Denise, had 
 she had her way, would have mounted her horse 
 and ridden home to Lhoeac as if she had been no 
 more than out for an hour's hawking. But Captain 
 Roger, with his own objects in view, would hear of 
 no such commonplace departure. 
 
 " By your leave, Mademoiselle," said he, " \ve 
 shall go out as victors, as becomes us, and not 
 sneak home like shamed curs. That is, we shall go 
 as it were with drums beating and colours flying, 
 lest the fools and venomous of this world say we 
 left in secret with our work half-done." 
 
 The beat of drums, or the parade which stood for 
 it, was the very thing Denise sought to avoid ; but 
 Roger Patcham's latter reason touched her. It was
 
 THE HOUSE OF HONOUR. 261 
 
 well that Lhoeac should know, and the world be- 
 yond Lhoeac, that the embargo was lifted and that, 
 save for stricken homes and sore hearts, which were 
 for time's curing, all was as it had been before Jean 
 Tron's home-coming, and of these neither Lhoeac 
 nor the outer world would care a fig. She gave 
 way, therefore, and took her place in the procession 
 without remonstrance. Besides, it was Father 
 Roger's whim, and to Father Roger she owed much 
 more than love. 
 
 Nor was Captain Patcham minded to botch his 
 trivial pageant. Not Saint Denis of France himself 
 could have better used the available scant material, 
 and as they swept round by the lower end of the 
 village, to curve back again into its roadway, Denise 
 smiled to herself to think that so stern and practical 
 a man could be drawn to such childish display. 
 But as they came in view of the central square the 
 smile died away, her eyes kindled, and her heart 
 leaped within her as she had never thought to feel 
 it leap again. 
 
 All Saint Agnes was gathered there even as it 
 had been gathered at the coming of the Black 
 Friar, but with a difference. This time a narrow 
 pathway cleft the crowd asunder, and for three 
 ranks deep on either side all knelt, save where the 
 aged priest of Saint Agnes stood in the forefront, 
 his acolytes by him ; nor, from end to end was there 
 a covered head all were unbonneted as if in an 
 Easter reverence before the altar. All, too, were 
 silent. For that one moment the only sound was
 
 262 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 the ring of the horses' shoes on the rounded stones 
 as the single file of riders passed slowly onwards. 
 In this also it was like the act of worship, so like 
 that a sense of profanation struck Denise, and as 
 she drew near the place where the priest stood 
 amidst his flock she halted full of stern rebuke. 
 But in his fifty years' service of God, Father Mar- 
 cel had grown wise in men and divined her thought. 
 " Not to you," he said, his voice tremulous with 
 more than age, " but to the Lord God who out of 
 His mercies gave you to us in our need. To Him 
 be glory, praise, and honour. But what can we say 
 to you, daughter? Our poverty can add nothing 
 to your riches, our weakness nothing to your 
 strength ; but if riches fled to-night and strength 
 decayed, believe this : neither time nor loss could 
 take our love and gratitude from you. May the 
 blessing of the poor and sore at heart rest upon 
 you, Denise de Lhoeac, blessing and honour from 
 those who have nought else to give ; and may God's 
 mercies be as ever present in your need as yours 
 were in ours. To His blessing, His comfort, and 
 His keeping I commit you, now and henceforward 
 to the ages of the ages. Amen." 
 
 And all the people echoed, "Amen, and amen." 
 Not at first did the meaning of all come home to 
 the weary, white-faced woman who, frail and worn, 
 was so sorrowfully unlike the Denise of the early 
 summer, but as the sense of it grew into her mind 
 her eyes brightened, then grew dim, and before Fra 
 Marcel had ended the tears were running down her
 
 THE HOUSE OF HONOUR. 263 
 
 cheeks, nor had she so much as a thought to dry 
 them. 
 
 " Is it true, my children, is it true ? " she began 
 between her sobs ; " and yet, what have I done ? 
 It was not I ; it was " 
 
 " It was God's angel," broke in a man's hard 
 voice from the packed corner of the square. " It 
 was Saint Denise of Lhoeac no less. Who is this 
 Saint Agnes of ours? And what has she done for 
 us in our need? Nought, nought. Let there be 
 no more a Saint Agnes, but let it be Saint Denise. 
 Her we know, and her we can trust. God bless 
 and keep Saint Denise of Lhoeac." 
 
 And again all the people answered, " Amen." 
 
 That ended the scene. Silently, and with still 
 streaming cheeks, Denise rode up the narrow lane- 
 way, her chin sunk upon her breast and her wet 
 eyes blind to the kindly, weeping faces that turned 
 their gaze to follow her on her way. Not even the 
 voices of benediction and farewell reached her. For 
 the moment the exterior world was blotted out, and 
 she lived apart with this new-found revelation. Into 
 her poverty of life there had come riches, and the 
 magnitude dazed her. 
 
 Once clear of the village, and headed towards the 
 Rocks of the Bears, Roger Patcham roused her. 
 
 " They mean well, the folk," said he, riding noisily 
 up to her side and speaking with hard bluntness. 
 " For the moment, too, they seem in earnest. No 
 doubt they may remember for a year, or, say, until 
 the next mildew. There is nought like a mildew to 
 stir a fool peasant."
 
 264 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 Round upon him turned Denise, a hot spot burn- 
 ing on each cheek. 
 
 " Shame, Captain Patcham, shame on your sneer- 
 ing tongue! Not even you shall so belittle my 
 folk." 
 
 " What, Mademoiselle ? Did they seem to you 
 in earnest ? " 
 
 " Aye, and I thank God for it. I never dreamed 
 they loved me so." 
 
 " But once you are in Saint Marzier, Mademoiselle, 
 I fear " 
 
 " Oh ! " and the cheeks that had grown white 
 again flushed anew, but not this time in anger ; " I 
 pray of you, Father Roger, let there be no more 
 talk of Saint Marzier." 
 
 Too old a soldier to triumph in his victory, 
 Captain Patcham reined back to de Casera's bridle 
 hand. 
 
 " She has changed her mind in one thing, 
 Messire," said he, with a chuckle, " and so may 
 well change it in another. All this is very pretty, 
 but I know these cattle, and a time will come when 
 Lhoeac will need a man's hand. For all its soft 
 heart of day, a peasant's memory is no longer than 
 the rest of the world's. You said a while back that 
 the air of Guienne was unwholesome. Since you 
 will not ride to the Castle, take an old fool's advice 
 and try the air of Meluzza. I'll warrant that Carlo 
 Perego and young Madame Catherine will vouch 
 that it is the finest air in the world for such a plague 
 as yours. It cured them for life, and inside of a
 
 THE HOUSE OF HONOUR. 265 
 
 month. Thank the saints, there is no more thought 
 of Saint Marzier." 
 
 Nor, in any case could there have been at that 
 time. For, once within her own familiar walls, 
 nature gave way, and the vintage was over before 
 Denise could so much as bear the sweet freshness 
 of the late autumn sunshine. Then, because firstly 
 it was Roger Patcham's whim, because secondly 
 Madame Catherine had a grandson to spoil, and 
 thirdly it was sound sense, they moved south again 
 but so slowly that it was mid-December before they 
 reached Meluzza.
 
 THE HOUSE OF FRIENDS AND 
 ENEMIES. 
 
 I. 
 
 BUT first Captain Patcham had his own private 
 curiosity to gratify, and being a man of prompt 
 action, he lost no time in its indulgence. A score 
 of times while shut up in Saint Agnes he had 
 troubled his mind as to what took the Franciscan 
 so often to the hind's hut beyond the cordon. A 
 brother friar, sick and in terror for his life, was the 
 tale, and a tale probable enough. There are some 
 men to whom not even the frock gives courage. 
 But the veriest coward must surely show himself at 
 times, and never once had Roger Patcham seen so 
 much as the flutter of a second cassock. This un- 
 invited brother of Saint Francis lay close as a hare, 
 and the closer he lay the keener grew Captain 
 Patcham's curiosity. 
 
 Probe the mystery from Saint Agnes he would 
 not and for several reasons, any one of which was 
 of itself sufficient. The hut was beyond the cordon, 
 and therefore out of bounds, nor did it consort with 
 the dignity of Lhoeac that he, its chief captain, 
 should spy on a wandering friar But once the 
 embargo was lifted, and Denise delivered over to 
 Madame Catherine's anxious and tender keeping, 
 he easily persuaded himself that it was his plain
 
 HOUSE OF FRIENDS AND ENEMIES. 267 
 
 duty to ascertain the whereabouts of Father Luke, 
 if only to give him thanks for his unsparing de- 
 votion. 
 
 Service is like alms, and a duty, to be well done, 
 should be done promptly, so the forenoon of the 
 day after his return to the Chateau found Roger 
 Patcham riding slowly down the slope in the too 
 familiar direction of Saint Agnes. But while still 
 short of the village he drew to the right, skirted 
 round it, and so approached the hut from the 
 further side. It was little better than a summer 
 booth. The overlapping planks that formed the 
 walls were of the roughest, knotted and warped. 
 A narrow slit in the side opposite the crazy, ill- 
 hung door had served as a window until the gap had 
 been stopped by thrusting into the space a ragged, 
 twisted sack. Upon the roof, to dull the fierceness 
 of the sun's heat, was a foot's thickness of parched 
 earth. Altogether it was a wretched hovel, and not 
 even the swine of Lhoeac were as ill-housed. 
 
 Tieing his beast to a hook driven into the wall, 
 Roger Patcham drew down the hanging latch, and 
 pushed at the door without the ceremony of knock- 
 ing, but it was fastened inside. 
 
 " Open, within there ! " he cried, shaking the 
 door impatiently, for the check annoyed him. He 
 was not accustomed to shot bolts within the four 
 corners of the Suzerainty. " It is I, Father Luke : 
 Captain Patcham ; open, man, open ! " 
 
 Then with head aside he stood listening, but 
 there was neither answer nor stir of life.
 
 268 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 " Plague take the monk," he muttered, talking to 
 himself as a man will when worried, and with no 
 heed to the sinister appositeness of the ejaculation. 
 " If he be within, why not answer ? and if he has 
 quitted the place, then how upon earth is the door 
 bolted on the inside ? It smells of Sathanas. Open, 
 you fools, open, and quickly ! " 
 
 But the second call was as barren as the first. He 
 must bide without or find his own way of entrance. 
 Never the first. Losing the little patience he had 
 left, Roger Patcham lifted a heavy stone and flung 
 it against the frail barrier, splitting it into two 
 leaves, which swung inwards with a crash. The 
 sharp contrast between the clear sunshine and the 
 blackness of the interior for a moment blinded 
 him ; then swiftly the inner walls grew to shape 
 and substance. 
 
 The within was as wretched as the without, but 
 if the hut contained little, that little was enough, 
 and more than he looked to find. Halting midway 
 across the threshold, Roger Patcham stood and 
 stared. There, near the right-hand further angle, 
 propped up on the floor, was a rude cross ; no 
 crucifix, not even planed wood, nothing but a 
 rough upright, as rough as it came from the wood- 
 man's axe, and with as rough a transverse piece 
 bound across it by a strand of willow-bark. At its 
 foot was a confused mass of rusty clothing that in 
 its dingy blackness blent itself, and merged into the 
 dusk of the hovel, but as Patcham's sight cleared 
 the confusion took form. It was Friar Luke upon
 
 HOUSE OF FRIENDS AND ENEMIES. 269 
 
 his knees, his bent head and shoulders fallen against 
 the wall, and one lean hand flung back towards the 
 middle of the floor. But there was no need of the 
 arm's uncouth twist to make known the truth, for 
 every helpless, pathetic curve in the sunken body 
 told its tale. 
 
 " Dead ! " said Patcham, startled into speech, and 
 his nerve shaken by the suddenness of the thing. 
 Then, baring his head, involuntarily he stepped 
 forward on tiptoe and laid his head on the monk's 
 shoulder. " The plague ! By all the saints, the 
 plague ! " he cried, starting back ; " now I know 
 why he fled the place in secret and without a fare- 
 well. May God have mercy on him for a martyr. 
 He came to die here in his loneliness lest the folk 
 
 yonder should Aye, but what of his fellow? 
 
 Has the coward left him to die untended in this 
 kennel like a dog? " 
 
 Straightening himself, Roger Patcham looked 
 round the mean hut. Filthy, squalid, sordid, the 
 blackness of its solitude must have made it a terrify- 
 ing and a sorrowful death-chamber. Remote from 
 the voice and touch of his kind the Franciscan in 
 the last and awful abnegation of repentance had 
 given himself to God upon his knees, unafraid for 
 all his sense of sin. Ah ! there was a man ! To die 
 in a crowd, in the heat and struggle of battle, full 
 in the approving eye of the world, striking blow for 
 blow for life and staking your skill and strength 
 against another's, is, to many a man, to most men, 
 Roger Patcham told himself, not so hard. The
 
 2;o THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 emulation, the passion in the blood, a man's faith 
 in his own star, all make for daring and courage. 
 But to be stricken with a mortal and loathsome 
 sickness and efface one's self ; to walk solitary into 
 the gathered shadows of the dark valley ; to face 
 God alone, uncomforted by human thought or care, 
 and all for the blessing and safeguarding of another 
 who knows nothing of the sacrifice, is the labour of 
 a hero ten times told. 
 
 Alone ? Stay, what was that yonder ? Roger 
 Patcham was surely unstrung that day, for of a 
 sudden he started and drew back a step, groping 
 behind him till his fingers touched the rude and 
 splintered roughness of the lapped boards. Along 
 the opposite wall of the cabin and three feet from 
 its floor a shelf-like bed was fixed, coffin-shaped, 
 and no more than a couple of narrow planks with 
 one broader plank turned edge up to form the side. 
 In the shadow cast by the broken door it had 
 remained hidden until now, but a blur in the dark- 
 ness had grown from grey to dull parchment-yellow, 
 and all at once Patcham was aware of two eyes 
 watching him fixedly across the ledge eyes that 
 never shifted their unwinking stare ; an evil face, 
 thin for all its breadth of bone, and with the one 
 cheek that was visible covered by a five days' 
 bristle, stiff, grizzled, and thick-set. 
 
 " Hulloa! Master Monk ; so you are there ? and 
 playing fox after the manner of your kind. Shame 
 upon you to leave the man who tended you in your 
 sickness to die in a corner while you lay there at
 
 HOUSE OF FRIENDS AND ENEMIES. 271 
 
 your ease ! What ? You are sullen, are you ? " 
 he went on, as the steadfast gaze neither shrunk 
 nor wavered. " By the faith of Roger Patcham, if 
 thou wilt not rouse for the sake of the dead thou 
 wilt for the strength of the living ! Out of that 
 thou shalt come, my friend, though a cardinal's 
 
 scarlet covered you in place of a beggarly Saints ! 
 
 who are you, man ? Where have I seen My 
 
 God ! it is Monseigneur himself, and and as cold 
 clay as the other." 
 
 " You see," he said to Madame Catherine when, 
 having shifted his tainted clothes and thrust them 
 well into the heart of a roaring fire, he unfolded 
 the news ; " the poor monk served us better than 
 he knew. God forbid that I should wrong the 
 dead, but if Henri de Lhoeac was not in that hut 
 for an evil end why was he there at all ? To bring 
 us his blessing and his prayers ? He could have 
 prayed and blessed from Bordeaux to as good 
 purpose. No, little of praying and blessing, saving, 
 as they say, the devil does both backwards, so 
 what I ask myself is this : had Saint-Seurin and 
 Libourne failed to fill his purse as fast as he emptied 
 it, and so he turned anew to Lhoeac, using that 
 honest, crack-brained stray enthusiast to work his 
 ends ? A shrewd man was Monseigneur, and no 
 one could better light a fire to warm himself with- 
 out setting his own hand to the torch. I grant you 
 that of the closed chapel he knew nothing, but he 
 knew the stuff the people were made of, and how, 
 in the time of their terror, religion runs mad, and
 
 272 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 so they might be swayed by just such a one as 
 Friar Luke. D'you think, now, it was he suggested 
 the wrath of God that so filled the poor monk? 
 Well, the curse went home to roost, for the man 
 died of the plague, and died alone, fearful of his end 
 and staring at that pitiful rubble of humanity in 
 the corner. I could wish him no worse." 
 
 "Poor soul! poor soul! Alone, and at such a 
 time." 
 
 " Poor soul ? What was the poor soul doing 
 there? Tell me? If he came for good, why not 
 have come to the Chateau ? I think you women 
 would pity the very devil if he were but sick 
 enough." 
 
 " And and what next, Captain Patcham ? Re- 
 member that after all he was a Lhoeac." 
 
 " Never fear but he shall have a noble funeral," 
 answered Roger, rising as he spoke, for he had no 
 mind to be further questioned. " But of him and 
 of Father Luke say nothing, lest the folk take 
 fright and lose heart afresh. A Lhoeac ? Yes, but 
 Mademoiselle Denise has one bitter foe the less, 
 and as I said at the first the monk served us better 
 than he knew." 
 
 But of Captain Patcham's discovery in the shep- 
 herd's cabin, and of the going up of that cabin in 
 fire the same night, to the great bewilderment of 
 Saint Agnes, Denise knew nothing until the visit to 
 Meluzza had come and gone. And then, though 
 awed and struck with womanly pity at the miser- 
 able end of the man who was the last Lhoeac in
 
 HOUSE OF FRIENDS AND ENEMIES. 273 
 
 direct descent, too much of gladness had come into 
 her life to leave room for sorrow. Nor, by reason 
 of this same gladness, could she withhold forgive- 
 ness from Henri de Lhoeac, much as he had sinned 
 against her. Present blessing wipes out past pain, 
 and the evil he had wrought for his selfish ends 
 was forgotten for the good he at the same time so 
 unwittingly and unexpectedly worked out. 
 
 Had Madame Catherine had her way the story 
 would have been fully told the first day the shadow 
 of death passed from the face of Denise. A timor- 
 ous woman, the secret weighed upon her, for while 
 it was reasonable that the end of Father Luke one 
 amongst thousands should be lost in indifference, 
 it seemed little less than sacrilege that the fate of 
 such a noble churchman as his Eminence should re- 
 main hidden. But Roger Patcham would none of it. 
 " No, no, no ; Mademoiselle is more to us than 
 the whole College of Cardinals, living or dead. 
 She has had fret enough in her life of late, and 
 from all that went on in Bordeaux she will take 
 Monseigneur's death hard, though, for that matter, 
 what passed in Bordeaux was a bigger handful than 
 I could grasp. Wait, Madame, till she has Caterina 
 for comfort, and the prattle of the little one about 
 her. Love and a child will cure a sore heart sooner 
 than aught else in the world." 
 
 But even in Meluzza the telling was put off from 
 day to day, until presently the shadow of Made- 
 moiselle's living kindred loomed larger and nearer 
 than that of the dead.
 
 274 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 II. 
 
 Some men while young are like certain vintages, 
 rough, coarse, heady, difficult ; they only mellow 
 and grow fit for men's using after many years ; but 
 let them ripen, let them translate exuberance to 
 power, and they are the very strength and glory of 
 their times. Such was not Luigi di Gadola. The 
 lees of his hot and evil youth stirred in him even in 
 his middle age, and all the mellowness the years had 
 brought was that of selfish, cruel cunning and a 
 wider appetite for whatsoever pleasured him. 
 
 If not a great man, he had at least one strong 
 attribute of greatness : he could bide his time. 
 When, therefore, his attempt upon Meluzza failed, 
 as has been told, he merely cursed more heartily 
 than was his wont, and hung the project up until a 
 more convenient season. 
 
 The coming of his opportunity had been put off 
 a little longer than he had reckoned, but by neither 
 fault nor neglect of his. Calmly certain that sooner 
 or later the pear would drop into his hand, he could 
 afford to turn his thoughts abroad for that aggran- 
 disement denied him for the moment at home. 
 Besides, the stable government of Caesar Borgia in 
 the Romagna had its effect even in Northern Italy, 
 so that for a very brief space it became the fashion 
 to look askance at violence when the crime was not 
 in the direct interest of a sovereign prince. 
 
 When it can be enforced it is a wise rule that that 
 which creates a wrong should remedy the wrong,
 
 HOUSE OF FRIENDS AND ENEMIES. 275 
 
 and Luigi di Gadola being thus injured by this 
 fatherly government, determined that Caesar Borgia 
 should repay his loss. To him, therefore, he at- 
 tached himself, prospering with him until the day 
 that Julius the Second arose and Caesar's dream of 
 a united Italy swayed by a long line of Borgias 
 went the way of all dreams ; but being an astute 
 man, Luigi di Gadola escaped his patron's ruin, 
 tolerably well content to have lost no more in the 
 end than he had gained in the beginning. Then 
 came his leisure to think once more of Meluzza, and 
 with his leisure came his tools and his opportunity. 
 The one he found ready to his hand, the other, 
 like a diligent and watchful man, he made for him- 
 self out of the material chance provided. Indeed, 
 tools there were in plenty, for masterless men. 
 plundering reivers, rogues in grain stripped of all 
 virtues save the one of courage, were never more 
 rife than in that winter which found Denise at 
 Meluzza for the second time. Be sure that with 
 Carlo Perego in his mind Messire di Gadola made 
 no second mistake in his choice of chief rascal. Not 
 even his own disappointment at the former failure 
 rankled as did the knowledge that the man he had 
 raised from the gutters of Turin lorded it in the 
 house he had been hired to win for his patron. It 
 says much for di Gadola's self-restraint that he had 
 given Master Perego such long license, but then the 
 Seigneur of Casa Foscotti was in many respects 
 quite a superior scoundrel, and, after all, the man 
 who can hang up his hat in his private closet until
 
 276 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 it suits him best to wear it is the man to be truly 
 dreaded. But a second Carlo Perego ! No, no, 
 with Tito Zucchi he would run no risks of failure 
 from unimagined scruples. 
 
 Doubtless something of the sort was in his mind 
 as, in the same room and over the same table where 
 he had made Carlo Perego feel the purchasing 
 power of forty crowns a month, he mapped out the 
 coming campaign to the newest military governor 
 a campaign this time of sheer violence and brute 
 strength. But if in Tito Zucchi he had a surer 
 man to deal with, he had also one whose wit was as 
 shrewd as his own. 
 
 " This is very well, Messire," answered he, but 
 shaking his head at the same time. " The scheme 
 is as clear as daylight. ' Rake out the chestnuts 
 from the fire,' said the monkey to the cat no 
 offence, you understand ' and we'll go shares.' If 
 the hearth were cold the plan would work to ad- 
 miration, but " and he ended with another 
 
 shake of his close-cropped head that was as elo- 
 quent as the rhetoric of the whole Three Estates. 
 
 "Ah! ah! a coward ! " said di Gadola, knowing 
 very well that he lied, but not scrupling to gain 
 his end by a lie ; " and where, may I ask, have you 
 found hot chestnuts to be had without the risking 
 of scorched paws ? They never came my way at 
 Casa Foscotti." 
 
 It was characteristic of Tito Zucchi that he 
 passed by the imputation unanswered. He was no 
 man to cry out before he was hurt, and such a pin-
 
 HOUSE OF FRIENDS AND ENEMIES. 277 
 
 prick scored his hide not at all. He knew well it 
 was but a move in the game, a feint as it were, and 
 not a well-meant thrust that called for a wary parry 
 and a sharp return. If the patron believed what he 
 said he would not have had him at Casa Foscotti, 
 nor delayed the saying till then. 
 
 " Scorched paws are my trade, Signer, and the 
 hotter the fire the larger my share of chestnuts. 
 That is my rule and a thing of course. Let it blaze 
 an* welcome say I. But this is no petty stab in the 
 dark. What if the cat rakes out the chestnuts and 
 sets the house in a roar with the scattering of the 
 embers? He might be burnt hide and claws and 
 the monkey no whit the worse." 
 
 " Tut man, be plain, and leave fables to children." 
 
 " I desire nothing better, Signer. Suppose, now, 
 this raid well over. What if Messire Perego and 
 Mademoiselle de Lhoeac have friends strong 
 enough to move the Pope, or even Sforza." 
 
 " They have none, so that is settled." 
 
 " Oh ! by your leave, Signer, that is easier said 
 than known, and it is hard for a man to be wise 
 after he is hung." 
 
 " Well, suppose you are right though you are 
 wrong what then ? " 
 
 " According to your plan, Signor, you play gen- 
 eralissimo, and direct the campaign from Casa 
 Foscotti while we see the thing through at Meluzza. 
 If it were a small affair I would ask nothing better, 
 but this may m;ikc a noise." 
 
 " Come to the point, man, bluntly."
 
 278 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 " Bluntly then, Signer, you must lead in person, 
 or at least seem to do so. Then if the Pope moves, 
 or Sforza, he cannot in common justice touch poor 
 Tito Zucchi until he has dealt with the Seigneur 
 of Casa Foscotti, whereby, for the sake of the 
 noble Seigneur poor Tito may come off with a 
 whole skin. The point lies there." 
 
 " But, fool, whether I be here or there I will be 
 as deep in it as thou. The hand that holds the 
 dagger gets the blame whether blood trickles across 
 the knuckles or no. Two leaders may botch it. 
 Let it be as we planned." 
 
 " As you planned, Signer, not we, and I do not 
 ride alone. Trust me, there will be no botching." 
 
 " But why, man, why ? I have my reasons for 
 not showing in this thing." 
 
 "I do not doubt you have, Signor, and good 
 reasons," answered the other, with grim irony, 
 " but to be blunt as you bade me, it is by reason of 
 the reasons I am afraid. The hand may bear the 
 blame, but what of the tongue or the brain behind 
 the hand ? May not the one say, ' That was not by 
 my command ' ? and the other, ' That was no 
 thought of mine ' ? Plainly, supposing the Pope 
 moves and Julius has the longest arm that has 
 stretched from St. Peter's chair this many a day 
 what is to prevent Messire di Gadola from disavow- 
 ing Tito Zucchi ? Nay, in his zeal for justice and 
 anger at his sore loss, Messire di Gadola might even 
 avenge his dear kinswoman on poor Tito Zucchi ! 
 No offence, Signor, no offence, but I have learned
 
 HOUSE OF FRIENDS AND ENEMIES. 279 
 
 policy under Caesar Borgia. A charming mannered 
 man was the King of Romagna courtesy itself, 
 affable and condescending ; but if a tool were like 
 to cut his fingers then God have mercy on the tool, 
 let it have done its master what service it might." 
 
 It is to di Gadola's credit that he contested the 
 point no further, nor, in his turn, did he repel the 
 allegation. It was a thrust in reply to his feint 
 with this difference, that there was a purpose be- 
 hind it. 
 
 " The plan is settled, then, and I go in command. 
 But it seems to me you too early assume success. 
 This Perego is neither fool nor coward by the 
 Saints ! no ! the man who plays me false and scores 
 is neither one nor the other and now he has this 
 grizzled English pick-purse to back him. Never 
 trust an Englishman when he calls himself honest. 
 'Tis the devil turned sick and the more dangerous. 
 But that's by the way." 
 
 " The plan is settled, Signer, and the thing as 
 good as done. Why, in itself it is nought ; 'tis 
 what comes after a man has to look to. Thrice 
 before have I carried through just such a scheme 
 and never heard that the day after either side found 
 fault, but for different reasons. Twice it was in the 
 Abruzzi, and once to the honour and profit of no 
 less a man than no, never mind for whom. Once 
 done, these things are best forgotten. And yet 
 there is something that sticks in my mind. Ah, 
 ! \vc used fire instead of steel. It was his whim, 
 and if the blaze be but high enough up, all men
 
 280 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 shut their eyes. By Peter and Paul, how the 
 wretches howled ! " 
 
 " No pity, Messire Tito ? " 
 
 "Pity roasts no chestnuts, Signer. Well, a short 
 memory is God's blessing. Now as to our plans. 
 There are three heads : the time, the men, the 
 details ; and the first is for discussion, the second is 
 your business, and the third, Messire, by your leave 
 I shall attend to." 
 
 " The time ? " answered di Gadola, " say six days 
 hence." 
 
 " Ha ! Christmas-eve ? You have a sour wit, 
 Signer. Peace on earth and good-will to men ? 
 Agreed as to the time. The wit is as wise as it is 
 sour. ' A jesting man keep slight watch,' says the 
 proverb. Now the men ? " 
 
 " With those seven that came in a fortnight since 
 we have enough, and that I go with you in your 
 guarantee for that." 
 
 " Those seven ? De Casera and his half-dozen ? 
 Signor, I do not like this de Casera. What the 
 plague does a fellow with a de to his name want 
 with five crowns a month? " 
 
 " Let de Casera be ; I know his sort. 'Tis odd, 
 but there is no more unscrupulous rogue than your 
 broken gentleman ; as if a man who was damned for 
 this world cared little if he was damned for the 
 next too. I tell you I like him the better that he 
 flaunts his gentility. There is the more expected of 
 him, and he must live up to his profession. Now 
 what is this fellow? A man of the south, since
 
 HOUSE OF FRIENDS AND ENEMIES. 281 
 
 Casera is a Pope's fief ; therefore he knows nought 
 of Perego, who lives in the north. Next, having won 
 a something by his sword and no trifle as I think 
 he crosses to France full and comes back empty, 
 and so has no love for the French. What then ? 
 Will he scruple to plunder France because France 
 bides at Meluzza and not in Guienne ? No, by the 
 Mass, not he ! My dear kinswoman is as much his 
 foe as another. But have him in and satisfy your- 
 self." 
 
 " I would we had tried him on some smaller 
 devilment first, Signer. My gentleman's stomach 
 may turn squeamish." 
 
 " Then it would have turned any time these two 
 weeks past," answered di Gadola, with a sneer, and 
 not sorry to get a lunge home. " I do not mix with 
 it myself, but your hounds' society is none of the 
 sweetest." 
 
 "The dog follows his master, Signer," replied 
 Zucchi, giving his patron blow for blow, " but let 
 us have in this broken wastrel, this night of the 
 Defaced Scutcheon ! My word ! that our camp 
 scum should catch at five crowns a month is no 
 wonder, but that a man with a de to his name 
 should fall so " 
 
 " Five crowns are better than pride and a tight 
 belt," said di Gadola, striking as he spoke a small 
 hand gong which hung upon the wall. "Ask 
 Monsieur de Casera to join us here." 
 
 "Ask, Monseiur ! By Peter and Paul but you are 
 polite. Is the man not your hireling like the rest ? "
 
 282 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 Round upon his jackal swung di Gadola, his 
 mouth twisted into a snarl. 
 
 " My words and thoughts are my own, Master 
 Zucchi ; learn thou to keep thy place." 
 
 And though the face of the lower scoundrel 
 flushed and darkened, he answered never a word. 
 The Seigneur of Casa Foscotti paid good wages, and 
 trade was dull by reason of much competition, so 
 dull that not even an accomplished rascal like Tito 
 Zucchi could afford to quarrel with his meat lest he 
 go empty, and the silence that followed di Gadola's 
 retort remained unbroken till de Casera made a 
 third in strange company. 
 
 Even then the silence continued. To say to a 
 man, " We suspect you ; are you faithful ? " was little 
 use, since he would answer, " Yes," and leave them 
 none the wiser whether it was truth or lie ; so for a 
 time they stared at him, one across the chair-back 
 as he sat astride, the other hunched forward with 
 folded arms against the table edge. As for de 
 Casera, he bowed slightly to the patron, then waited 
 on him, alert but unconcerned, as a captain with a 
 good conscience might upon his general. Of 
 Zucchi he took no notice at all. 
 
 " Thou hast been drawing pay these fourteen 
 days," began di Gadola at last, " but the time has 
 almost come when we shall have work for thee ; a 
 small command, perhaps. Therefore, we 
 
 " The hiring suited both you and me," broke in 
 de Casera, " but there is no room in it forthee'sand 
 thou's. And who are we? Are there two masters 
 in Casa Foscotti ? "
 
 HOUSE OF FRIENDS AND ENEMIES. 283 
 
 " One lord, but two masters," said Zucchi. 
 " What ? Seigneur, am I right ? " 
 
 " No, by the Mass, no ; thou art wrong. There 
 is but one master at Casa Foscotti." 
 
 "Ah !" said de Casera, "1 understand now. 
 Monsieur di Gadola was long the friend of sovereign 
 princes, and their style is infectious." 
 
 " What ? You would gibe, you would gibe ? " 
 burst out Zucchi starting to his feet. " Signer, can 
 you endure these insults?" 
 
 " No insults to me, since more than Borgia, and 
 as high as he, have called me friend ; nor do I need 
 any man to school me in my own quarrel." 
 
 " To me, then, and for the fourth time in ten 
 days. Had we not had Meluzza in hand but 
 listen to me, my cock - " 
 
 " No brawling," broke in di Gadola authoritatively, 
 44 at least not for seven days ; after that ! " and he 
 shrugged his shoulders, " I care not a quattrino 
 what you do." 
 
 44 You spoke of some small command, Messire?" 
 
 " Aye." For a moment di Gadola sat silent, 
 gnawing his lip, then went on slowly, 44 You have 
 eaten Casa Foscotti's bread and salt?" 
 
 44 True, Messire, for hire." 
 
 44 Aye, but hire will not always buy faithfulness, 
 and when it comes to a command - " Then he 
 stopped short. 44 You understand?" he added at 
 
 From his pouch de Casera drew five silver pieces 
 and laid them on the table.
 
 284 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 " Hold these till all is over," said he, " then pay 
 me what I am worth." 
 
 " On my word you rate your faith cheaply," said 
 Zucchi settling himself back on his stool, "but 
 every man knows his own price. Five crowns ! 
 Well! I don't dispute the valuation." 
 
 " Tis the hire of a life." 
 
 " And the faith is worth no more than the life ? 
 It was not so we were taught in our school, but, as 
 I say, I grant you it is full value." 
 
 " Some schooling is soon forgot," answered de 
 Casera drily, " or it may be the memory is con- 
 venient. I go or I stay, Messire di Gadola, which 
 you will, but I tell this hectoring bully to his face 
 that I pledge myself to nothing beyond faith to 
 faithfulness." 
 
 " And who asks more?" replied di Gadola. 
 
 But it may be that their ideals of fidelity were 
 not alike, and that de Casera held that the murder- 
 ing of women and babes in the dark smacked of the 
 treacherous, for the next day Carlo Perego received 
 this message : " Keep close watch, for it will come 
 within seven days. C." 
 
 III. 
 
 To one overwrought as Denise had been the slow 
 journey from Lhoeac was a gain rather than a loss 
 for all attendant fatigues. Broken in nerve and 
 driven in upon herself, the bustle and daily variety 
 of the road acted like a cordial, and by the time 
 Caterina, with a small wide-eyed Guy clinging to
 
 HOUSE OF FRIENDS AND ENEMIES. 285 
 
 her skirts, welcomed her at the great door of 
 Meluzza, there was little outward trace of the heavy 
 strain borne by both flesh and spirit through the 
 dragging summer. 
 
 " She is graver than of old," Caterina told her 
 husband. " Denise was always deeper natured 
 than I, and the years have cleared the depths so 
 that we see them better, but had my mother not 
 told us the story of Saint Agnes I would never have 
 guessed it for myself." 
 
 " Deeper natured she may be," answered Carlo, 
 taking his wife's cheeks between his hands and 
 tilting up the chin in a fashion that bespoke practice, 
 '* but give me the shallower waters with their play 
 of life and sunshine. Let the depths be never so 
 clear there is always something hidden ; therefore," 
 and he kissed the mouth that waited for what it 
 knew was coming, " see that in the babble which 
 will come presently nothing is said of that French- 
 man. Let what will be work itself out without our 
 help, lest we blunder and get no thanks/' 
 
 Babble ! For all that he had married but one 
 wife, and seen little of women for these seven years, 
 Carlo Perego knew their ways. Grave Denise and 
 gay Caterina had long arrears of gossip to make up, 
 and their talk was pushed far into the night. Talk, 
 on the one side of Meluzza and little Guy, of Carlo, 
 and again of little Guy, of Casa Foscotti, and yet 
 again of Guy. Whatsoever the germ of talk was, 
 whether the happiness that had come to her these 
 last years, Carlo's goodness and cleverness, how he
 
 286 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 had realised Roger Patcham's prophecy and turned 
 the seven hundred crowns into five-and-twenty 
 hundred, or the shadow that Luigi di Gadola cast 
 across their peace, the fruit and full development 
 of it all was little Guy ; his laughter, his tears, his 
 strength, his weakness ; until Denise asked with a 
 smile if the love for the son had already eclipsed 
 that for the father. 
 
 "Ah! no, no, never that," and Caterina's face 
 softened and grew wistful as it had not done through 
 all her changeful chatter ; " their dearness is never 
 alike, for there is this difference : of the one it is 
 easy to talk, but the other that that ah ! that is 
 the stripping bare of the heart for the world to peep 
 at, and so a kind of profanation. Some day, dear, 
 you will understand." 
 
 But Denise, though she held her peace, thought 
 sorrowfully that she understood over-well already 
 and had little left to learn. Nay, within the very 
 hour she proved it, since when it came to gossip 
 upon her side there were more blanks in the record 
 of the years than her cousin dreamed of, for, though 
 of Lhoeac she spoke at large, of Saint Agnes she 
 said but little, and of Bordeaux nothing at all. 
 
 But the women's gossip was not the only con- 
 ference carried on in Meluzza that night. Carlo 
 Perego had much to say to Roger Patcham, to 
 whom rather than to Denise he looked to give an 
 account of his stewardship. The making of Meluzza 
 had been a man's work, and to a man only could the 
 tale be fully told, from the first curbing of riotous
 
 HOUSE OF FRIENDS AND ENEMIES. 287 
 
 waste down to the growing danger threatened from 
 Casa Foscotti. 
 
 " This time he will spoil nothing with haste, so 
 that for months I have seen the storm gathering, 
 and have had leisure on my side to prepare to meet 
 it. But now all that is done with. The coming of 
 Mademoiselle will force a crisis." 
 
 " And the advantage lies with the rogue rather 
 than with the honest man," answered Roger 
 Patcham thoughtfully. " He can strike or hold his 
 hand as he wills, and surprise is worth twenty 
 men." 
 
 " But if the surprise is no surprise ? What 
 then?" 
 
 " Oh, ho ! " and Captain Patcham roused himself. 
 It was long since the intrigue of war had warmed 
 his brain, but the significance of Perego's words 
 could not be misunderstood. " You have not told 
 me everything." 
 
 " This part of the tale goes back let me see, how 
 long ? two months or thereabouts. Aye, it was 
 mid-Octo"ber, and, as I say, I was making ready for 
 Messire di Gadola, but quietly ; picking up a man 
 here and a man there, leisurely, you understand, 
 but with that leisure that goes far in a month, and 
 amongst others there came this Guiennese. You 
 may have heard of him over there ; his name is 
 
 But Roger Patcham remembered his own advice 
 and saw daylight. De Casera, it was clear, had kept 
 his own counsel, and Father Roger had no mind to 
 be questioned lest he should compromise Denise by
 
 288 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 showing that he knew much while he said little, 
 since to a quick mind there is no innuendo so clear 
 as a halting reticence. Therefore he broke in 
 
 " How should I have heard of him? Guienne is 
 no pocket parish where each man knows his neigh- 
 bour's affairs better than his own. Can you trust 
 him ? that's the point. Good faith is better than 
 a good name." 
 
 " Trust me that I can trust him ! The odd thing 
 is that his going to Casa Foscotti is his own thought, 
 and was only broached when we knew your coming 
 was no more than a matter of days. He must be a 
 bold man, for I would not give a fig for his life if 
 Luigi di Gadola finds him out. He would hang, or 
 worse." 
 
 " A bold man," echoed Roger Patcham, remem- 
 bering Saint Agnes, and relapsing again into 
 thought. " God send him safe out of it." 
 
 " And us, too," answered Perego ; " though for all 
 my ancient patron's hatred of me I think we have 
 less need of the prayer. Di Gadola is as ruthless 
 as death." 
 
 That closed the talk for that time, and though 
 Perego's caution never slackened, there was no such 
 parade of watchfulness as would set Denise on the 
 rack. Luigi di Gadola was an ill neighbour she 
 knew of old ; that Piedmont, and indeed all Italy, 
 was in a ferment she also knew, so that the setting 
 of sentries, the going of night-rounds, the careful 
 keeping of arms in instant readiness, the huge troop 
 at their heels on every day's ride, needed no expla-
 
 HOUSE OF FRIENDS AND ENEMIES. 289 
 
 nation and called for no comment. Nor did she 
 even note the doubled vigilance after the furtive 
 message had come from Casa Foscotti. There were 
 no more ridings afield after that ; but then it was 
 hard upon Christmas, and so Caterina, the busy 
 housewife, had an excuse ready to her hand for 
 biding within doors. She was jealous of her fame, 
 and must show that Meluzza came no whit behind 
 Lhoeac at such a season ! 
 
 But when, in the midst of all the gay bustle, the 
 cheery quip and magpie chatter which attend 
 the close of a labour that sees all ended save the 
 pleasant toil of demolishing that which the labour 
 had created, there came a second warning from 
 Casa Foscotti, a warning that the blow would be 
 struck that very night, Roger Patcham no longer 
 hid the truth from his mistress. Whether at Meluzza 
 or in Guienne she was Suzeraine, and over and 
 above the consideration due to the woman was the 
 duty owed to Lhoeac. But, like a cautious man, 
 he told her no more than quieted his conscience, 
 for of the danger he at first sought to make light, 
 and of deCasera he said nothing at all until com- 
 pelled ; a crossed love affair was too delicate for 
 such handling as his. 
 
 Then followed such a conflict as had been fought 
 out over Saint Agnes, but with a different ending. 
 
 " You take your risks, and why should not I ? A 
 woman cannot do much, but surely there is some- 
 thing." 
 
 " Doubtless di Gadola and his fellows will wear
 
 290 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 more than daggers of lath," answered Roger, his 
 lean face never losing its cheerfulness ; " and so 
 there may be enough and too much, God knows, for 
 a woman to do afterwards. Bluntly, Mademoi- 
 selle," he went on hastily as he saw her mouth grow 
 set in a fashion he had learned to know, " this 
 night's midnight Mass will have no place for women, 
 and he who would eat his Christmas fare will need 
 all his wit. To guard our own lives will be task 
 enough without guarding yours too. What ? do 
 you think Messire Perego can rightly see to him- 
 self if one eye is on Madame Caterina behind the 
 curtain there ? " 
 
 " Oh ! " and the hard line of the lips broke in a 
 smile ; " Caterina is an obedient wife, and will bide 
 up the chimney if Monsieur Perego but bids her." 
 
 " And it is because you are yet no wife, that you 
 would fling away your life and ours after it? Ah, 
 Mademoiselle, if Monsieur de Casera were " 
 
 " There, there, Father Roger, that will do," she 
 cried, her cheeks growing redder than the light of 
 the lamp warranted. " I will do as thou sayest. 
 Thou knowest thou hast often told me that the first 
 lesson in command is to obey. But but," and 
 her eyes grew troubled, " if our men, poor souls, 
 have need of me, thou wilt " 
 
 " Have no fear, Mademoiselle ; to woman her 
 work ; and, by Saint George, Lhoeac knows you 
 can do it well. That it may be too heavy is my 
 one fear." 
 
 It therefore happened that when, after a batter
 
 HOUSE OF FRIENDS AND ENEMIES. 291 
 
 of hoofs on the stony causeway, de Casera was ad- 
 mitted to the great hall, the two captains alone met 
 him. The greeting without surprise but grave 
 and curt as of a man whose mind was full of anxious 
 thought which he gave Patchain confirmed Pere- 
 go's suspicions that more than pure love for 
 adventure had drawn him to Casa Foscotti, but 
 Mademoiselle's name never passed between them. 
 
 " How is this? " said Perego, waiting, on his part, 
 for no greeting, however curt. " Has the plan 
 fallen through, or has di Gadola discovered " 
 
 " Di Gadola has discovered nothing, but to play 
 spy on a traitor is one thing, to stab him in the 
 back another. I broke away in the dark, and the 
 ten men he gave me are the Lord knows where, 
 but they will never see Meluzza to-night." 
 
 "A spy?" said Roger doubtfully. The thing 
 itself had not troubled him, but the word vexed 
 him, for he was jealous of the honour of the man 
 who might one day be master of Lhoeac. " For a 
 gentleman to play spy, Monsieur, is never " 
 
 " Is never pleasant. You may spare me that. 
 But if there had been no gentleman to play spy 
 Meluzza would have followed the widow Tron's 
 hut. Would that please you better, Captain Pat- 
 chum ? What ? Is this wolfish Seigneur so nice a 
 man that you must handle him with scented gloves ? 
 Believe me I have done that these ten days past 
 
 which but for Bah ! that is past, and we have 
 
 enough on hand without adding ancient history ! 
 Is all ready? "
 
 292 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 " What ? are they hard behind you ? " 
 
 " No, no, no ; we have a full hour, or maybe 
 more." 
 
 " Then a little ancient history may do no harm," 
 said Perego. " We had your two messages ; but 
 how did you gain an entrance to the wolfs hold ? " 
 
 " By leaving Meluzza by the south and reaching 
 Casa Foscotti by the north with six as consummate 
 scoundrels as ever robbed for hire. They were my 
 vouchers, and passed me in without a question, for 
 why should the seventh not be as the six ? No 
 pigeon would mate with such kites." 
 
 " What ? " cried Roger Patcham, " you have 
 given him six that we may have one ? Strange 
 strategy that, Monsieur de Casera ! " 
 
 " Six that he would have had without me, for 
 they were drawn to Foscotti as a whirlpool draws 
 flotsam. But if I brought him six I took away ten, 
 so he owes me four, Captain Patcham." 
 
 " Ten ? How ? " 
 
 " Why, he gave me ten to But all this is 
 
 beside the mark. What of the defence ? " 
 
 "Not so beside the mark as you think. Does di 
 Gadola still look for a surprise?" 
 
 " Why not ? " 
 
 "Plague take your thick wit, Monsieur, it was 
 not thus at Saint Agnes. Or is it that when the 
 quarry is fairly afoot the old dog hunts the best ? 
 The why not is because of you and your ten men. 
 Does di Gadola suspect you ? " 
 
 " I and mine were to lie in the woods this side of
 
 HOUSE OF FRIENDS AND ENEMIES. 293 
 
 Mont Albano until midnight. But once there I 
 sent them on by the Novara road to wait my com- 
 ing at the first cross highway, and, by grace of 
 the saints, there they will bide till all is over. Di 
 Gadola can suspect nothing, since he comes by an- 
 other road." 
 
 " What is his plan ? " 
 
 "A simple one, and wise as simple to enter 
 quietly by the front door, as a gentleman should." 
 
 " If he can ! " 
 
 "If he can governs the world, Monsieur Perego, 
 since not even Don Desperando dare do more than 
 he can do ! In your place I would give him his 
 whim." 
 
 " A free entrance ? Never ! " 
 
 " Why not ? How does one catch rats? " 
 
 "Monsieur de Casera is right," said Patcham. 
 " What did I say ? a surprise is worth twenty men, 
 but it must be one of onset and not of defence. 
 Listen now ; bolt, bar, and barricade to your heart's 
 content, and what follows? Simply di Gadola loses 
 his surprise, but we gain nothing. Poor strategy 
 that, since it is nothing but strength against 
 strength, with neither wit nor subtlety in it. Now 
 what is Monsieur de Casera's plan ? Oh, say noth- 
 ing, Monsieur; I see it all as I do my ten fingers. 
 Bolt the door Christmas fashion di Gadola will ex- 
 pect it, and it is reasonable ; set your watchmen in 
 the echanguettc above the gateway, but let him be 
 asleep : tli.it is Christmas fashion too, and not' un- 
 reasonable. Here now," and Roger Patcham swept
 
 294 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 his arm round the hall, '* we have five entrances 
 two through doors to right and left ; two by pas- 
 sages there at the end, also right and left ; one down 
 the stairway between these two last ; a curving 
 spiral stairway, mark you, that leads to where we 
 lie snoring above. By Saint George! nothing could 
 well be prettier! What follows? In comes di 
 Gadola that he will pick your lock is a thing of 
 course, he has his smiths as well as his rustlers in 
 comes di Gadola and his men ; the place is blank 
 dark but for the one half-turned-down lamp hung in 
 the centre there. They come slowly and for quiet's 
 sake as near tiptoe as such cattle can walk. With 
 the doors to right and left they have nothing to do. 
 Murder is their business, and the quarry is asleep 
 upstairs ; plunder can come later. Di Gadola leads, 
 since no man knows so well the ways of the house. 
 At the first step they start to steal up the stairway, 
 panting as creeping men do in the dark and with 
 their muscles slacker than their nerves ; nothing 
 shivers a man like that groping at the edge of he 
 does not know what ! Then, out of the shadows, 
 and from five points at once, we burst upon them 
 with a shout as makes the roof ring ! It is the 
 crack of doom, no less ! and back they stagger into 
 one another, dazed and silly as sheep. My word ! 
 it is pretty, very pretty, the prettiest thing I have 
 seen in a long life. If we don't break them the 
 first charge we deserve to be whipped ! My con- 
 gratulations, Monsieur de Casera ; it was a fine 
 thought, a fine thought indeed,"
 
 HOUSE OF FRIENDS AND ENEMIES. 295 
 
 So it was settled, but as each man went about his 
 several business Carlo Perego shook his head and 
 muttered to himself 
 
 " A fine thought and a very pretty, but we have 
 to see it done yet. And why why did he call him 
 de Casera three times? " 
 
 In a man who had set wife and child, as well as 
 life itself, upon the issue a belief that all things 
 tend to the worst is not unnatural. To such a one 
 the putting all upon a cast, the fortune of an am- 
 bush and the chance of a pitched onset, was ab- 
 horrent. Let di Gadola enter softly, but let him 
 them burn and wreck from the very first, and what 
 would be the end of this mad scheme ? Why, ruin ; 
 final and complete ! 
 
 So, for an hour or thereabouts the active work 
 of trap-baiting to catch vermin being done Carlo 
 Perego gnawed his heart out waiting. Leave his 
 place by the right-hand door to turn the serious to 
 a jest for his wife's comforting he dared not, lest 
 the crisis come. No, if the plan miscarried his last 
 kiss was given ; though there was this to his grim 
 heartening : he might go first, but neither Caterina 
 nor Guy would be long behind him ! Luigi di 
 Gadola could be trusted to see to that for old time's 
 sake. So the first grate of a steel tool upon the 
 door lock was to him the lifting of the heaviest 
 burden a man can bear and live. With a sigh of 
 relief he slipped his sword from its sheath and put 
 the shadow from him. For good or for ill the issue 
 was knit.
 
 296 THE SEVEN HOUSE 
 
 But Roger Patcham was no false prophet. 
 Slowly, and without noise, the lumbering door was 
 swung open, first one leaf then the other, and out 
 of the black gap of the night the fleshy, full-lipped 
 face of Tito Zucchi looked into the shadows, with 
 the narrow, cunning eyes of the Seigneur peering 
 at his shoulder. Slowly and softly, yet with many 
 a tiny jangle of steel on the grey flags, jangles that 
 rang harsh and strident by reason of the great 
 silence, they stole across the shadows of the hall 
 themselves no denser than shadows their troop 
 following formlessly at their heels. At the stair- 
 foot they halted a brief space even as Roger 
 Patcham had foretold, and to the watchers the very 
 panting of the half-held breath was sonorous in the 
 stillness. Then they moved up the lowest arc of 
 the spiral stairway. 
 
 The time had come. Where he stood bent above 
 the first curve of the steps Roger Patcham straight- 
 ened himself and filled his lungs twice. 
 
 " Saint Denise for Lhoeac ! " he shouted at the 
 full pitch of his voice, and racing downward two 
 stairs at a stride, " Strike all, and strike home ! 
 Forward all ! " 
 
 But those below and behind had not waited for 
 the command. With the first break of the hush 
 came the swift scuffle of feet drowned in an 
 answering roar. From the right hand in turned 
 Perego, and from the left de Casera, and Patcham's 
 shout was still stirring the dust of the roof and 
 rumbling mid the ancient rafters when the groans
 
 HOUSE OF FRIENDS AND ENEMIES. 297 
 
 and cries of the smitten rose up to echo on the 
 discord. 
 
 In the astonishment of the surprise there was at 
 first no defence, and so but little rattle of steel ; the 
 tramp and rasp of feet upon the stones, the whisper 
 of clothing edged along the wall, smothered oaths, 
 unheeded orders, sudden shivering outcries, were 
 the voices of the struggle. But presently above 
 and through these came the sharper, shriller speech 
 of sword on sword, the clang, the clash, the clatter ; 
 and what at the first had been sheer slaying turned 
 to a brief disordered fight fierce with the courage 
 and terror of despair. Plan of battle there was, 
 there could be, none. The cramped space forbade 
 that cramped, that is, for the jostling numbers 
 that now thronged it, and for the business they 
 were at. 
 
 But the fire was over-hot to last. From the very 
 first all thought of attack was abandoned to the 
 one purpose of forcing a retreat, nor, in the end, so 
 wild and breathless had been the onslaught, was 
 there much heart felt to stay the flight. Di Gadola 
 and his jackal had gone down in the first onset, and 
 as for their led wolves, their power for harm was 
 lost with their leaders. 
 
 Then it was, or a little later, when the stress was 
 over, that Roger Patcham remembered his promise 
 to Denise. 
 
 " Woman's work ! " said he bitterly, and eyeing 
 the terrible picture flung into vivid clearness by the 
 light of the torches now thrust into the sconces
 
 298 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 along the wall ; " devils' work first and woman's 
 work after ! Were we and they men or beasts that 
 we so mishandled one another? The only comfort 
 is that God knows the fray was none of our seeking, 
 though that will be small comfort to Mademoiselle 
 when she hears all the truth. Bring her here we 
 cannot, for this is no sight for a woman. To bind 
 and bandage will be bad enough without seeing the 
 the rest of the victory ! Victory ! Well, God 
 be thanked it was di Gadola's doing and not ours." 
 
 A pitiful fruit it is the palm of victory sheds so 
 lavishly from its boughs. There they lay, God's 
 likeness, sprawled and hunched as they had fallen 
 away or flung themselves in the last agony ; friends 
 and enemies, their love and their enmity alike 
 quenched for ever in the sudden rising of the red 
 flood-tide which had swept them so swiftly into the 
 silence where not even the groanings of their 
 fellows could reach them. At last, Patcham roused 
 himself. 
 
 " Leave the doors open, but set a guard beyond, 
 lest these wastrels return, though I think they are 
 not such fools. Draw the curtains across this end 
 to shut out the stairway from the womenfolk, then 
 have the wounded into the guard-room those, at 
 least, who cannot keep their feet and let the 
 priests be sent for. They will have no white con- 
 fessions to hear to-night if the whole truth be told 
 them, and 'tis a terrible thing that a man should 
 wait for such an hour as this to make his peace 
 with God."
 
 HOUSE OF FRIENDS AND ENEMIES. 299 
 
 Thus it came that it was to astrange and sorrow- 
 ful Christmas gathering that Denise and Caterina 
 presently entered, to play hostess after an unwonted 
 fashion. Lamps and flambeaux lit the gaunt room 
 to its furthest limits, so that the very corners were 
 as light as by day. Ranged side by side down one 
 length of the room were the uninvited and now 
 unwilling guests, with here and there mixed through 
 them a man of Meluzza. As yet nothing was hidden 
 and the staring glare laid pitilessly bare the stark 
 horror of the night's work, a horror heightened by 
 the groans and curses which no will of manhood 
 could repress. Already at the further end there lay 
 two who in spirit had gone to join their silent 
 fellows of the hall, and by the bending of the friars 
 crucifix and holy oil in hand above two more 
 it was clear the tale was yet incomplete. Nay, it 
 might close even with them, for yet others lay as 
 calm as death itself, but with life still staggering on 
 the border-line that divides two worlds. 
 
 It was near one of these that Denise halted. He 
 lay upon his side, his face half-hidden by one arm, 
 while the other was flung out upon the floor, palm 
 down and fingers crooked so that the knuckles 
 stood out, white and bloodless. The tears had been 
 running down her cheeks from the very threshold, 
 and every time she tried to speak sobs choked her. 
 The pity of it, oh ! the pity and the anguish of it, 
 and all for one man's greed and wickedness ! But 
 now she drew in her breath with a gasp. 
 
 " Lhoeac's ring! " she cried, pointing to the hand
 
 300 THE SEVEN HOUSES. 
 
 that was already so like the hand of death. " Who 
 who is that ? " 
 
 " That ? " and Caterina looked from the woman 
 to the man and back again to the woman's face 
 while she slipped an arm round her waist and drew 
 her close to herself before answering. "That is 
 Monsieur la Clazonne, and Carlo says that by God's 
 grace and with a woman's nursing he may live." 
 
 " No, no, no, not Giles la Clazonne ; it is Francois 
 de Casera." 
 
 " Giles Francois la Clazonne, to whom the Pope 
 gave Casera in the south, though of that Carlo 
 knows nothing. Why, Denise, Denise, what is 
 this ? " For Denise had sunk down upon her knees 
 at the man's feet. 
 
 " Oh ! God ! God ! " she cried through her renewed 
 tears, " I thank Thee that it is no sin. Yes, yes, by 
 God's grace and a woman's love and care he will 
 live. Give me this, oh God, I pray Thee of Thy 
 mercy, give me this ! " 
 
 And when la Clazonne of Casera came to himself 
 it was to find his head resting on his wife's breast. 
 
 THE END.
 
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