Part 7

"Guillaume de Coray," he muttered, "he was my master, I, his slave, body and soul, mistress--body and soul. Ah! I could tell you stories, but there is not time, suffice to say that he was the tool--the thing--of the tailor of Vitre[#]--and I--well, no matter, the past is dead, but there is still revenge..... It was the battle of St Aubin--the son of de Mereac was there--his heir--my master was the next in succession..... He slew young Yvon, as he thought, in the wood there .... by treachery, and came to Mereac to be welcomed as the heir, and to marry the sister of the slain youth. Is it not so, mademoiselle? Ah! I read it in your eyes that the bridegroom was not to your pleasing, for your eyes are true and his .... Well, Guillaume de Coray rode to Mereac, but before he did so, it chanced that he had found that he had no more occasion for my services, therefore he had bidden another to hasten my departure to another land, from whence no tales return to inconvenience monsieur; but he who was so clever made a mistake..... The man was my friend..... He told me his mission..... We drank to each other's health and the confusion of our master. So it came to pass that when he fled from that wood at St Aubin with a murderer's fear in his heart, I sought the body of Yvon de Mereac. He was not dead .... nay, he was not dead. Merciful God! why then does he haunt me with those eyes? Nay .... was it not I who saved him, and tended him for months?--aye years?--for, for long the blow on his head had rendered him little better than a fool. Then, when understanding returned, he demanded many things...... Ah! but he was proud and impatient .... that youth .... perchance I pleased him not for a guardian..... He commanded to be set free .... he raved at times .... foolish one .... saying that I kept him prisoner to murder him .... I, who but bided my time till the fruit was ripe for the picking..... But he escaped from my safe shelter. I was angry .... I followed him quickly. What, mademoiselle, after these years was I to be robbed of my reward? Grand Dieu! not so, I arrived whilst he still wandered in the forest, so far still distraught that he had lost his way. I found him .... but ere I did so was myself seen by ill fate by my enemy, Guillaume de Coray. It became impossible that I should escape too hastily with my friend, therefore we concealed ourselves .... de Coray and his devil's imp seeking us all the time..... To-night"--the blood in his throat well-nigh choked him as he spoke--"to-night--we--we...."

[#] The nickname of Pierre Laudais, the hated and infamous minister of Francois II., Duke of Brittany. The angry nobles at last took justice into their own hands, and hanged the miscreant who had ruined their country.

He stared vaguely up at the moon--already the finger of death was resting on his shoulder.

"But my brother--Yvon--he lives? Oh, where--where is he?" cried Gwennola, whose emotions had scarcely been controlled during the gasping confession which seemed to foreshadow forth so grim a tragedy. "Speak!"

But already death had sealed those lips with his cold kiss, only with a convulsive effort the man raised his arm and pointed towards one of the heaps of piled stones which gleamed white in the moonlight halfway up the opposite slope. Then a spasm seized him, and he lay in the last dread struggle, with his black eyes fixed upwards in horror, as if around him he saw crowding the reproachful victims of a sinful life, gathering about to arraign him before the dread Judge Who awaited him beyond the veil.

Falling on her knees, Gwennola whispered a prayer into the dying ears, till, with one last gasping groan, the jaws relaxed, the dark eyes, still terror-haunted, became fixed, and a soul fled forth in shame and awe into the silence of eternity.

With a sob--the outcome of overwrought nerves--the young girl rose to her feet, and stood looking from the dead man at her feet towards the rude cairn which seemed to form so poor a clue to her search. And yet her heart beat rapidly as she thought of what that search might mean, and recalled that not only a brother's but a lover's life lay as a guerdon for success. Then with a low breathed prayer she hastened to turn and scramble up the slope towards the spot indicated by the dead man's finger.

*CHAPTER IX*

For a few minutes Gwennola's heart sank; in spite of a rapid but careful search, the possibility of a human presence anywhere in the neighbourhood of that rough pile of stones seemed impossible. But once again Gloire was to come to her assistance, and retrieve his lost character, which he seemed to feel instinctively had seriously suffered in the late encounter,--though why he should be reproached for thus ridding the world of one whom canine sagacity had recognised as a black-hearted villain, he could not altogether realize. Nevertheless, the sound of his mistress's reproving voice had damped poor Gloire's self-congratulations, and he had followed her with drooping tail and melancholy mien towards the reputed home of the mischievous dwarfs. Here, however, his spirit of inquiry was freshly aroused, and with a short yelp of excitement he proceeded to investigate a hole, partly concealed by gorse, partly by a slab of stone which had apparently slipped from the pile near.

Attracted by his excitement, Gwennola ran to his side, and, after some moments of desperate tugging and pulling, succeeded in rolling the stone aside.

Yes! the dead man's clue was a true one; the opening obviously led into one of those natural caves so often found in Brittany. Gloire, with cocked ears and wagging tail, stood by the side of the aperture, evidently only awaiting his mistress's bidding to continue his investigations. But Gwennola waved him back, and, bending low, looked down eagerly into the darkness.

"Yvon," she called softly, her voice trembling as she pronounced the long-unused name, "Yvon--brother--are you there?"

In the silence that followed she could hear only the panting of Gloire's breath close to her ear.

"Yvon," she cried again, "Yvon."

Then faint but clear came back the answer, in the voice of a man who answers as in a trance--

"Gwennola."

"Mother of Mercies, I thank thee!" cried the girl, tears of joy streaming down her cheeks, as without hesitation she scrambled quickly through the aperture. All was darkness within, although she gathered from the faint glimmer of moonlight at the cave's mouth that she was in a small subterranean chamber. In breathless suspense she called her brother's name again, and this time the reply came from somewhere close beside her, almost, it would seem, at her feet. But still the voice which spoke upwards through the darkness was that of a man who speaks as one who replies rather to some inward call than answering to his name from the lips of a fellow-creature.

"Where art thou, Yvon?" cried Gwennola, sinking on her knees and spreading forth her hands vaguely in the darkness. "Brother, brother, is it indeed thou?"

"Gwennola--my sister." This time the voice beside her rang with a sudden feeble exultation, as of one who, for the first time, realized that his name had verily been pronounced by a denizen of earth. "Gwennola, Gwennola! nay, it is impossible. Hence, mocking demon, and taunt me not in my last hours!"

But already, groping in the darkness, guided by the feeble voice, the girl had found the object of her search, and bent over the prostrate figure, weeping and laughing in a very paroxysm of joy.

"Yvon, Yvon!" she cried, as she clung to him, pressing her warm young lips to the damp brow. "Ah, my brother, whom for these past years we have mourned as dead, is it possible that thou livest? What mystery is here? what foul and terrible plot? But, what is this?--thou art bound and helpless? a prisoner! Oh, tell me, Yvon, tell me all! and yet no, we must not linger one instant in this terrible place, for already a still fouler wrong is being done to one altogether innocent."

"Nay," groaned Yvon de Mereac faintly, "in that thou speakest wisely, little sister, if it indeed be thou thyself, as these tears and kisses assure me, rather than one of the mocking fiends of delirium which ever haunt me, for truly the chief fiend himself will return anon, and then----"

Gwennola felt the shudder that ran through the gaunt frame, and the thought of Gloire's vengeance seemed to her less terrible than heretofore.

"He is dead!" she cried, divining swiftly of whom he spoke. "Gloire hath killed him but now, on the heath without; but ere he died methinks he repented of the ill he did thee, which the rather took the form of vengeance to another, even blacker-hearted than himself, than from hatred to thee."

"Dead?" echoed Yvon with a sob of sudden joy. "Francois Kerden dead? and thou here, little Gwennola, to save me? Nay! tell me not it is a dream, but rather free me from these bonds, and let me breathe once more the pure air of heaven."

"These bonds?" cried Gwennola in dismay, as her slender hands felt the tight thongs which bound the helpless man beside her. "Nay, but how shall I unloose them, Yvon? They are too strong for me to break, and, alas! I have no dagger."

Yvon groaned. "Can naught be done?" he sighed. "I faint for very longing of the cool night breezes; for days have I lain here, little sister, waiting for death, but he delayed; yon fiend suffered me not to die, though he kept me looking ever down into the abyss, and now----" His voice quivered, as with the feeble insistence of a child he repeated his plea to be liberated.

"Ay, verily," cried Gwennola joyfully, a sudden inspiration coming to her, "and so thou shalt, my Yvon; tarry but one instant, and I wot well I shall find what we seek."

"Ah, go not," cried her brother in despair, "lest thou return not, but instead that evil one with his cruel eyes and sharp dagger."

"Nay," laughed the girl, stooping once more to smooth and kiss the clammy brow, "'tis indeed his dagger which lieth yonder on the hillside that I go to seek. Peace, brother, have no fear; he will return no more to fright thee, and speedily shall thy cruel bonds be cut and we will return home."

He echoed the last word softly, as one whose brain is too weary to take in its full meaning, but he did not again seek to detain her as she groped her way towards the glimmer of light which was already growing fainter as the moonlight faded. To her surprise, Gloire stood not at the cave's mouth as she emerged, and for a moment she looked round her with a thrill of fear, wondering what new foes might not have arisen to fight against. But Gloire's absence was not far to seek, seeing that the wolves from the forest had already scented their human feast, and had crept stealthily forth to rend it, and as Gwennola stood there in the dim light, she perceived two gaunt forms flit in swift pursuit of one another across the hill towards the shadow of the trees, and shuddered, well guessing what they meant.

Daggers there were in plenty in the dead man's leathern belt, and Gwennola hastened to draw a small keen weapon forth and hurry back, for it was ill work to bend so over a dead man's body, and feel the close stare of sightless eyes. But Gwennola's nerves were re-strung now to meet the desperate necessity of her case, for well she knew that the moments fled swiftly and already the sands of an innocent man's life were running low, and not only of one innocent of crime, but her own true lover, without whom life must be as dark and gloomy as yon forest from whence came the yelping howls of beasts of prey, kept back by fear, for the nonce, from their evening feast.

One by one the tight leathern thongs were severed, and Yvon with a cry of thankfulness rose slowly to his knees, though so cramped were his limbs that even after the space of some minutes he could but crawl to the entrance of his prison on hands and knees. But the cool night air revived him, like a draught of wine, as he sank down on the heath without. Gwennola could ill repress a cry of dismay as the feeble moonlight revealed a face which, but for the eyes, it were difficult to recognise as that of the handsome boy who, but three short years ago, had left the chateau in all the pride and glory of youth and noble manhood. The rosy cheeks were sunken, and so emaciated that the skin seemed but drawn over the high cheek-bones; the smooth chin was covered with a short, unkempt beard; and the fair golden curls were long, matted, and discoloured; but the eyes, blue as Gwennola's own, were the same as they looked up into hers, and yet, with a sob in her throat, she realized they were not the same, for the glad, merry light with which youth faces life had gone, and instead there seemed to lurk within them an almost vacant look of terror, such as one sees in a frightened child. It was a face which told its own tragedy without need of words, and with a shudder of pity his sister bent, raising him tenderly as he struggled vainly to his feet, passing a strong, protecting young arm around him, and softly bidding him lean on her.

He gazed round vaguely, shivering as his glance fell on the forest.

"It was there I wandered," he said faintly. "I could not remember the way, but I had found it at last, and had stood already in sight of the chateau itself, when I saw him creeping upon me; then, like a mad fool, I fled once more into the forest, instead of crying for help from the soldier who stood sentry near the gateway."

"And who took thee for a spirit of the dead," smiled Gwennola, remembering Job Alloadec's terror, "and small blame, I trow; but dwell not on past years, my brother; yonder lies the miscreant dead, in just reward for the evil he did, and we may not delay seeing what passeth at the chateau."

The poor girl was indeed a prey to feverish emotion, the thought of what injustice might even now be doing weighing like lead upon her heart, and yet she might not speed on her way as she desired, seeing that salvation to the man she loved came only with halting and painful steps, stopping from time to time for very faintness and weakness. And not only was their progress slow, but dangerous, as Gwennola knew well, for the yelping howls from the forest grew ever more importunate. Did the wolves escape Gloire's vigilance and break in a pack into the open, death awaited them both, for Gloire, gallant hound as he was, could be no match against numbers on that bare heath side, whilst within the forest he could dodge and worry his enemies, thus keeping many times his number at bay.

Yvon was walking more steadily as they came at length to the outskirts of the trees; his limbs were less cramped, his brain clearer, as the shadow of death, which had haunted him for so long, was dispelled by Gwennola's bright voice and tender care. Still, even so, he seemed little to realize their present danger, which grew ever more terrible.

Already Gwennola could see through the nearly total darkness the gleam of cruel eyes shining on them from out of the thicket, and once a dark, wolfish form leapt out on to the very path before them, only to be driven back by the faithful Gloire, who, bleeding but undaunted, kept gallant guard around them. Many of the beasts had gone unrestrainedly now to fight for the meal awaiting them on the heath, but with appetites whetted they would return anon, and then----

"Canst walk but a little faster, Yvon?" whispered Gwennola with a gasp, as the howls and yelps grew nearer and more insistent on every side. But Yvon shook his head; indeed, in the very attempt to obey her petition he nearly stumbled, and would have fallen, had it not been for her arm. "Alas!" she cried, with a sob of terror, "Yvon, we are lost--the wolves----"

A short bark of anger from Gloire changed suddenly into a glad yelp of welcome, and Gwennola echoed it with a little cry of surprise as a man bearing aloft a flaming torch came hurrying towards them, stopping indeed to echo her cry as he perceived the two figures standing before him.

"Job--ah! my good Jobik," cried Gwennola joyfully. "See, Yvon, we are saved--we are saved!"

"Yvon--Monsieur Yvon!" stammered Job, his eyes fixed in wonder, not unmixed with horror, on his young master's face. "Monsieur Yvon! Mother of Heaven! it is impossible!" And so violent was the fear that overcame the honest fellow, that he nearly let fall the torch, and with it their safety, for the wolves, scared, as they ever are, by the light, had fled, howling with disappointment, back into the forest.

"Nay," said Yvon, smiling faintly, "'tis I myself, good Job, though more in the bone than the flesh, I warrant me."

"Monsieur Yvon," still repeated Job, with undiminished wonder in his eyes--"Monsieur Yvon." Then, as he realized that in some miraculous way it was indeed his beloved master who stood before him, he fell a-weeping for very joy, repeating the name over and over again, as though to convince himself of what was apparently beyond reason or understanding.

"Nay, foolish fellow," cried Gwennola sharply, being in no mood just then, with nerves stretched to breaking, for idle tears. "Cease such maundering, or wait till fitter time and place to give vent to thy joy. Wouldst have tears verily to take the place of laughter by delaying, when--when----" She broke off abruptly, adding in a lower key, "And Monsieur d'Estrailles?--the French knight--what of him? Nay, stand not gaping, there, as if thou awaitest the moon to swallow thee up, as she did poor Pierre Laroc, but take the arm of Monsieur Yvon, who is weak, as thou seest. There, support him well, good Job, and let us hasten onwards whilst thou tellest me."

Her heart beat fast as she waited, all eagerly, for the answer which she so dreaded to know that she was fain to stop her ears or fly from hearing into the forest. But Job's wits were still astray for very joy and wonder, as he felt Yvon's gaunt form lean against his stout arm, and read recognition in the great blue eyes, which had stared so despairingly into his, scarce a week back, from the forest shade.

It was not till Gwennola had impatiently repeated her question that the former events of that strange night came back to his slowly revolving brain.

"The French knight?" he repeated. "Ah, yes, mademoiselle, it was Marie herself who sent me in search of you, because, forsooth! it would seem you had gone to bid farewell to one in the forest who came instead, but sorely against his will, to the chateau to bid farewell to life."

"How chanced it? How came he thither? Who discovered his hiding-place? Nay, thou shalt not tell me he is already sped," cried Gwennola passionately.

"How chanced it?" echoed Job, clinging to the first question. "Nay, mistress, that I know not. I was on guard at the outer postern when, scarce two hours agone, Marie cometh to me, weeping. 'He is taken,' she cried. 'Alas! the poor monsieur is taken, and mademoiselle will die.' Thou knowest, mademoiselle, the foolish tongue of my sister. At first I could comprehend nothing, but at last it appeared that Monsieur de Coray had learnt, by some means, of which I know naught, that the French knight lay hidden in the forest; he divined also his hiding-place, but of this no word did he say to my lord, only commanding six soldiers, as by my lord's order, to be ready shortly before midnight to accompany him secretly, and without telling their comrades one word of what they did. It would appear then that Monsieur de Coray led them to this so secret hiding-place and captured the poor knight, whom they brought back to the chateau.

"The foolish Marie was distraught with grief, and for mademoiselle's sake, I will confess, my heart was also heavy, but a soldier hath his duty, and therefore I remained where I was until a short half hour ago, when Marie returneth to me, white and weeping still more sorely. 'Alas!' she saith, 'the poor monsieur--the lover of mademoiselle--is condemned to death; only hath he been given time for the good father to shrive him of his sins, and then, alas! he will be hanged, even ere dawn.' After which the foolish one wept upon my shoulder, and I--I also wept for the sake of mademoiselle, for of the sins of this monsieur I comprehended naught, except that he was falsely accused of murdering Monsieur Yvon. But anon, Marie drieth her tears, and biddeth me light my torch speedily and go in search of you, mademoiselle, for she feared greatly for your safety, seeing that two hours had passed and you had not returned. At first I refused, for I am a soldier, mademoiselle, who must think of his post, but when Marie represented to me your danger, and promised to guard well my post till my return, I hesitated no longer, for, for myself, I also had my fears as I listened to the howlings of the wolves. And so, mademoiselle, I came, and the holy saints directed my footsteps in the way."

"And he is not dead?" whispered Gwennola, with a quick gasp for breath, as she hurried forward. "He is not dead?"

It was the only point which remained in her memory of all the honest Breton's preamble.

"Nay!" said Job slowly. "He was given time to be shriven, and Father Ambrose, being sick, had to be brought carefully from his bed, and methinks the good priest is little like to hurry over the last confessions of one who goes to death; nay, mistress, methinks he will surely yet live."

"Merciful Mother of God, grant it!" cried Gwennola in agony. "Ah, see, Yvon, we are near at last; there, yonder, is the chateau; a few minutes----"

No more was spoken as the three hurried swiftly onwards. Job almost bearing Yvon in his stalwart arms, whilst Gwennola held aloft the flaring torch. A strange trio truly the yellow light gleamed on: the sick man's thin, emaciated features and drooping form; the thickly-set, dark-browed Breton soldier with his honest, wondering eyes and bushy beard; and the slender, dark-robed figure with pale, agonized face, eager eyes, and a tumbled mass of red-gold curls, from which the hood had fallen.

No word was spoken even as they passed the outer postern, where the wondering Marie still held impatient guard, but swiftly onwards they sped through the darkness of the little chapel, till they stood at length to pause and listen in the shadow of the tapestries which hung around the great hall. The flaring light of the torches fastened in the iron cressets on the walls revealed a strange scene. By the long table sat the Sieur de Mereac, and close to his side Guillaume de Coray, the former, stern, implacable judge, the latter, mocking, triumphant accuser; in the foreground, a small group of soldiers surrounding the tall, slender figure of the condemned man, his hands bound tightly behind him, even now on his way to execution, and by his side the black-robed form of the old confessor.

Although d'Estrailles' back was towards them, those standing there in the shadows could see the proud bearing of his mien as he listened to his judges last words.

"Henri d'Estrailles," said the old man sternly, "you are found guilty and condemned to die; murderer and traitor that you are, the death of a felon is fitting ending to such a life. My son's life you spared not to take by foul and cruel means, and still more, in reward for the hospitality I all unwittingly bestowed upon you, you have robbed me of a daughter's soul. Coward and villain! have you made your peace with God?--if so, it were well, for even in death the hand of every true and upright man shall be against you."