Part 9

"Quick, Ralph!" she said, "arise and clothe yourself. Hasten for your life. My lord's enemies have fallen upon him and wounded him grievously, even if they have not slain him, and have carried him away. They would have slain me also had they not thought I was already dead. Arise and mount, summon everyone still alive in the village, and follow these murderers. I will pull the alarm-bell of the castle."

Ralph sprang from his bed as Edith left. He had heard the sound of many footsteps in the knight's apartments, but had deemed them those of the priest come to administer the last rites of the church to his dying mistress. Rage and anxiety for his master gave strength to his limbs. He threw on a few clothes and rushed down to the stables, where the horses stood with great piles of forage and pails of water before them, placed there two days before by Walter when their last attendant died. Without waiting to saddle it Ralph sprang upon the back of one of the animals, and taking the halters of four others started at a gallop down to the village.

THE BLACK DEATH.--IV.

His news spread like wildfire; for the ringing of the alarm-bell of the castle had drawn all to their doors and prepared them for something strange. Some of the men had already taken their arms and were making their way up to the castle when they met Ralph. There were but five men in the village who had altogether escaped the pestilence; others had survived its attacks, but were still weak. Horses there were in plenty. The five men mounted at once, with three others who, though still weak, were still able to ride.

So great was the excitement that seven women, who had escaped the disease, armed themselves with their husbands' swords and leaped on horseback, declaring that, women though they were, they would strike a blow for their beloved lord, who had been as an angel in the village during the plague.

Thus it was scarcely more than ten minutes after the marauders had left the castle before a motley band, fifteen strong, headed by Ralph, rode off in pursuit, while some of the women of the village hurried up to the castle to comfort Edith with the tidings that the pursuit had already commenced. Fortunately a lad in the fields had noticed the five men ride away from the castle, and was able to point out the direction they had taken.

At a furious gallop Ralph and his companions tore across the country. Mile after mile was passed. Once or twice they gained news from labourers in the field of the passage of those before them, and knew that they were on the right track.

They had now entered a wild and sparsely inhabited country. It was broken and rolling, so that although they knew that the men they were pursuing were but a short distance ahead they had not yet caught sight of them. They hoped that, having no reason to dread any immediate pursuit, these would soon slacken their pace. This expectation was realized, for on coming over a brow they saw the party halted at a turf-burner's cottage in the hollow below.

Three of the men had dismounted; two of them were examining the hoof of one of the horses, which had apparently cast a shoe or trodden upon a stone. Ralph had warned his party to make no sound when they came upon the fugitives. The sound of the horses' hoofs was deadened by the turf, and they were within a hundred yards of the marauders before they were perceived; then Ralph uttered a shout, and brandishing their swords the party rode down at a headlong gallop.

The dismounted men leaped to their saddles and galloped off at full speed, but their pursuers were now close upon them. Ralph and two of his companions, who were mounted upon Walter's best horses, gained upon them at every stride. Two of them were overtaken and run through.

The man who bore Walter before him, finding himself being rapidly overtaken, threw his burden on to the ground just as the leader of the party had checked his horse and was about to deliver a sweeping blow at the insensible body.

With a curse at his follower for ridding himself of it, he again galloped on. The man's act was unavailing to save himself, for he was overtaken and cut down before he had ridden many strides; then Ralph and his party instantly reined up to examine the state of Walter, who was found to be still breathing, and the two survivors of the band of murderers continued their flight unmolested.

*THE WHITE SHIP.*

*FROM "THE REIGN OF TERROR"*

[Harry Sandwith was acting as companion to the sons of a great French noble when the Revolution broke out. The marquis and his wife were massacred by the mob. Their sons, in trying to make their escape from the country, were seized and put to death. Harry Sandwith found himself left in charge of the two daughters, who, accompanied by an old nurse, travelled with him in disguise to Nantes. Here they lived in seclusion for a time, Harry trying to obtain a passage for them in a smuggling craft.

Nantes is in the hands of the Revolutionists, who, under the direction of the infamous Carrier, the Commissioner from Paris, are massacring wholesale all suspected of hostility. There is much illness and distress in the town, and the ladies by their kindness to the sick win the hearts of some of the sailors, so that, finally, arrangements for escape are made.

Before they can be carried out, however, the girls are seized and thrown into prison. The ordinary modes of execution being found too slow to clear the prisons of the numbers of those brought in daily under the charge of being aristocrats, Carrier organized what are known in history as the Noyades. He procured a number of boats, and had them moored in the middle of the stream. The prisoners--men, women, and children--were placed on board. Holes were cut in the bottom to cause the craft to sink, while troops lined the river and fired with artillery and musketry at those who endeavoured to swim to shore.

Harry, hearing of this infamous design, and learning which craft the girls were to be placed on, determines to effect their rescue. He is taken on board the boat at night, and with the assistance of the sailors prepares the hatchway of the cabin as a means of escape. The sailors then row off, and leave him to himself.]

When left alone Harry blew out the other candles, but left that in the lantern burning, and threw himself down on the locker and thought over every detail of the work for the next day. As he had said, the great danger was of Virginie struggling and being too frightened to follow his instructions. Certainly he could fasten a rope round her, but even then it might be difficult to manage her. The next danger was, that other persons might cling to the hatchway. Harry felt the long knife which was concealed in his breast.

"God grant I may not have to use it!" he said; "but, if it must be, I shall not hesitate. They would simply destroy us without saving themselves, that is certain. Therefore I am justified in defending the girls, as I would against any other enemy."

He knelt down and prayed for some time. Then he replaced the piece they had cut out from the hatch, fixed the beams beneath it, and lay down again. He was worn out by the excitement of the day, and in spite of his anxiety about the morrow he presently fell off to sleep.

It was long before he woke. When he did so, he looked through one of the auger-holes into the hold and saw the light streaming down the open hatchway, and could tell that the sun was already up.

He ate the food which Marthe had put into his pocket just as he was starting; saw that the bundles of corks were ready at hand, and the ropes attached to them so placed that they could be fastened on in an instant. Then there was nothing to do but to wait.

The time passed slowly. Presently he heard the sound of drums and bugles, and knew that the troops were taking up their positions on the quays. At last--it seemed many hours to him--he heard the splash of oars, and presently felt a slight shock as a boat ran alongside the lugger. Then there were voices, and the sound of feet above as persons mounted on to the deck. There was a scraping noise by the lugger's side, and immediately afterwards another bump as the second boat took the place of the first.

This, as far as Harry could hear, did not leave the lugger. There was a great hum of talking on deck, principally in women's voices, and persons so often stepped on the hatch, that Harry was glad the beams gave a solid support to it.

THE WHITE SHIP.--II.

Half an hour passed, as well as Harry could judge; then the boom of a cannon was heard, and immediately two men leapt down into the hold, knocked the six plugs out of their place, and climbed up on deck again. There was again the scraping noise, and Harry knew the boat had pushed off this time for good. He watched the six jets of water for a minute or two. Then saying to himself, "It is time," he knocked the beams from their ledges, allowed the square of wood to fall, lifted the hatch, and pushed it off its combing, and clambered on to the deck with the corks and ropes.

There were some fifty persons on board, for the most part women and children, but with two or three men among them. They were gathered near the stern, and were apparently watching the scene ashore with astonishment. He hurried aft, having no fear that at this distance from the shore his figure would be recognized from the rest, and if it were it mattered not. Two or three turned round as the supposed sailor came aft, exclaiming:

"What does this mean? Why are we put here on board these white ships? What are they going to do with us?"

"Alas, ladies!" he said, "they have put you here to die; they have bored holes in the ships' bottoms, and in a few minutes they will sink. It is a wholesale execution."

As he began to speak one of the ladies in the stern pushed her way through the rest.

"Oh, Harry, is it you!" she exclaimed as he finished. "Is it true, are we to die together?"

"We are in God's hands, Jeanne, but there is hope yet. Bring Virginie forward with me."

At Harry's first words a panic had seized all around; one or two ran to the hatchway and looked down into the hold, and screamed out that the water was rushing in; then some cried to the distant crowd to send to save them; others ran up and down as if demented; while some threw themselves on their knees.

But the panic soon passed away. All had for weeks looked death in the face; and though the unexpected form in which it appeared had for the moment shaken them, they soon recovered. Mothers clasped their daughters to their breasts for a last farewell, and then all with bowed heads kneeled and listened in silence to an old man who began to pray aloud.

Jeanne, without another word, had taken Virginie's hands and accompanied Harry forward to the fore part of the deck.

"Jeanne, I am going to try to save you and Virginie, but everything depends upon your being cool and brave. I need not urge you, because I am sure of you. Virginie, will you try to be cool for Jeanne's sake and your own? If you do not we must all die together."

"What are we to do, Harry?" Jeanne said steadily; while Virginie clung to her sister, sobbing bitterly.

"Fasten this bundle of corks between Virginie's shoulders, high up--yes, there."

THE WHITE SHIP.--III.

While Jeanne was doing this, Harry fastened a rope to a ring in the side of the hatch; then he tied the corks on to Jeanne's shoulders, and adjusted the third bundle to his own.

"Now, Jeanne," he said, "I will tell you what we are to do. You see this hatch; when the vessel sinks it will float, and we must float on our backs with our faces underneath it, so that it will hide us from the sight of the wretches on shore. Even if they put out in boats to kill any who may be swimming or clinging to spars, they will not suspect that there is anyone under this. We may not succeed; an accident may betray us, but there is a possibility. At any rate, dear, we shall live or die together."

"I am content," Jeanne said quietly.

"You know, Jeanne," Harry said, putting his hands on the girl's shoulders, "that I love you. I should never have told you so until we had got home if it hadn't been for this; but though I have never said it, you know I love you."

"I know, Harry; and I love you too with all my heart--so much, that I can feel almost happy that we are to die together."

As Jeanne finished speaking, there was a sudden crash. Impatient at the length of time the vessels were in sinking, those ashore had opened fire with cannons upon them, and the shot had struck the lugger just above the water.

With a little cry Virginie fell senseless on the deck.

"That's the best thing that could have happened," Harry said as Jeanne stooped over her sister. "Lie down on the deck, dear, or you may be struck; they are firing with muskets now. I am going to lie down too," he said in answer to her look, "but I shall first twist this cord round Virginie so as to keep her arms by her side, otherwise when the water touches her she may come to her senses and struggle. That's all right."

Then he lay down on the deck between the girls, with his head against the hatch and holding the rope.

"Put your head on my shoulder, Jeanne, and I will put my arm round you. I will hold Virginie the same way the other side. Hold tight by me for a moment as we sink. I may have to use my arms to get the hatch over our faces. Do not breathe while you are under the water, for we shall, no doubt, go down with the lugger, although I shall try to keep you afloat. When you are under the hatch you will find you will float with your mouth well out of water, and will be able to breathe; the corks will keep you up."

"I understand, Harry; now let us pray until the time comes."

Shot after shot struck the lugger, then Harry felt her give a sudden lurch. There was a wild cry, and the next moment she went down stern first. She was so nearly even with the water when she sank that there was less downward suck than Harry had expected, and striking out with his feet his head was soon above the surface.

The cord had kept the hatch within a couple of feet of him, and with some difficulty, owing to the buoyancy of the corks, he thrust himself and the girls under it. The tarpaulin was old and rotten, and the light penetrated in several places, and Harry could see that, in the position in which they were lying, the faces of both girls were above the water.

It was useless to speak, for their ears were submerged; but a slight motion from Jeanne responded to a pressure of his arm, and he knew that she was sensible, although she had not made the slightest motion from the moment the vessel sank.

THE WHITE SHIP.--IV.

Virginie had not, as he feared would be the case, recovered her senses with the shock of the immersion, but lay insensible on his shoulder. He could see by the movement of Jeanne's lips that she was praying, and he too thanked God that He had given success to the plan so far, and prayed for protection to the end.

With every minute that passed his hopes rose; everything had answered beyond his expectation. The other victims had apparently not even noticed what he was doing, and therefore had not, as he feared might be the case, interfered with his preparations, nor had any of them striven to gain a hold on the hatchway.

The sinking of the vessel, and the tearing up of the water by the shot, would render the surface disturbed and broken, and decrease the chances of the floating hatch attracting attention. After ten minutes had passed he felt certain that they must be below the point where the troops were assembled.

The tide was running out strong, for the time for the massacre had been fixed at an hour which would ensure the bodies being swept down to the sea. Half an hour would, he thought, take them past the bend, where their friends would be waiting for them.

The time seemed endless, for although Harry felt the coldness of the water but little for himself, he knew that it must be trying indeed for Jeanne. As far as he could see her face it was as white as her sister's; but he had hold of one of her hands now, and knew that she was still conscious.

At last he heard the sound of oars. It might not be one of the friendly boats; but the probability was that it was one or other of them. Had they seen any other fisherman's boat near the point, they would have rowed high up so as to intercept the hatch before it reached the stranger. Harry could not hear voices; for although the water had conveyed the sound of the oars a considerable distance, he could hear no sound in the air.

The oars came nearer and nearer, and by the quickness with which the strokes followed each other he knew that two boats were at hand. Then the hatch was suddenly lifted, and as Harry raised his head above water there was a loud cheer, and he saw Adolphe and Pierre, one on each side, stretch out their arms to him.

The girls were first lifted into Pierre's boat, for Jeanne was as unable to move as her sister; then Harry was dragged in, the rough sailors shaking his hand and patting him on the shoulder, while the tears ran down their cheeks.

As soon as Jeanne was able to sit up she began to chafe one of Virginie's hands, while Harry took the other.

"Take off her shoes, Pierre, and soak a cloth with the hot water and put it to her feet."

But with all these efforts it was not until they were close to Pierre's village that Virginie opened her eyes. When they arrived at the little causeway the two girls were wrapped up in the peasants' cloaks which Pierre had brought with him. Jeanne took Harry's arm, while Adolphe lifted Virginie and carried her up. Henriette was standing at the door as Jeanne staggered in with Harry.

"That is right, Mademoiselle. Thank God who has brought you safe through the danger. Now, do not stop a moment, but come in here and get into bed, it is all ready for you. The blankets have been before the fire until the moment you landed; they will soon give you warmth. And do you, Monsieur Sandwith, hurry up to the loft and get on dry clothes."

[Finally they succeeded in getting on board a smuggling lugger, and arrived safely in England.]

*THE CHILD'S RETURN.*

*FROM "WITH WOLFE IN CANADA."*

[Squire Linthorne's son had married the daughter of an ex-sergeant in the army, who kept a lodging-house at Southampton. He had married her in defiance of his father, and in spite too of the sergeant, who would not give his consent to the marriage unless the squire also gave his approval. The young couple had fallen into poverty.

The squire, who always intended finally to forgive his son, travelled on the Continent, and on his return found a letter from his dying son, dated from a place in the south of France. He travelled there post-haste, but arrived too late; his son and his young wife were both dead. A child had been born, but had been taken away by the wife's father, who had been with them at the last.

The squire had tried every means to obtain a clue to the whereabouts of his granddaughter, but had failed, and had settled down a solitary and broken-hearted man on his estate near Sidmouth. In the meantime the sergeant, who was ignorant that the squire had ever at heart forgiven his son, and who believed that he had refused to come to see him even on his death-bed, had brought up the child.

After the death of his daughter he had travelled the country with a peep-show, taking the little one with him. When she was five or six years old he had placed her with a school-mistress at Sidmouth, considering that although it would be terrible to him to part with her, it was but right that the squire should at least have the opportunity of taking his granddaughter to live with him. John Petersham, the squire's old butler, undertook to introduce the little girl to his master.]

That evening the squire was sitting by himself in the great dining-room. The curtains were drawn and the candles lighted, for it was late in September, and the evenings were closing in fast, and the squire was puzzling over John Petersham's behaviour at dinner.

Although the squire was not apt to observe closely what was passing around him, he had been struck with the old butler's manner; that something was wrong with him was clear. Usually he was the most quiet and methodical of servants, but he had blundered several times in the service. He had handed his master dishes when his plate was already supplied; he had started nervously when spoken to. Mr. Linthorne even thought that he had seen tears in his eyes; altogether he was strangely unlike himself.

Mr. Linthorne had asked him if anything was the matter, but John had with almost unnecessary earnestness declared there was nothing. Altogether the squire was puzzled.

Presently the door of the room quietly opened. The squire did not look up. It closed again as quietly, and then he glanced towards it. He could hardly believe his eyes. A child was standing there--a girl with soft smooth hair and large eyes and a sensitive mouth, with an expression fearless but appealing. Her hands were clasped before her, and she was standing, in doubt whether to advance.

There was something so strange in this apparition in the lonely room that the squire did not speak for a moment. It flashed across him vaguely that there was something familiar to him in the face and expression, something which sent a thrill through him; and at the same instant, without knowing why, he felt that there was a connection between the appearance of the child and the matter he had just been thinking of--John Petersham's strange conduct. He was still looking at her when she advanced quietly towards him.

"Grandpapa," she said, "I am Aggie Linthorne."

A low cry of astonishment broke from the squire. He pushed his chair back.

"Can it be true," he muttered, "or am I dreaming?"

"Yes, grandpapa," the child said, close beside him now, "I am Aggie Linthorne, and I have come to see you. If you don't think it's me, grampa said I was to give you this and then you would know;" and she held out a miniature on ivory of a boy some fourteen years old, and a watch and chain.

"I do not need them," the squire said in low tones, "I see it in your face. You are Herbert's child, whom I looked for so long. Oh! my child! my child! have you come at last?" and he drew her towards him and kissed her passionately, while the tears streamed down his cheeks.

THE CHILD'S RETURN.--II.

"I couldn't come before, you know," the child said, "because I didn't know about you, and grampa--that's my other grandpapa, you know--did not know you wanted me; but now he knows he sent me to you. He told me I was to come because you were lonely; but you can't be more lonely than he is," she said, with a quiver in her voice.

"Oh! he will be lonely now!"

"But where did you come from, my dear, and how did you get here, and what have you been doing all these years?"

"Grampa brought me here," the child said. "I call him grampa, you know, because I did when I was little, and I have always kept to it; but I know, of course, it ought to be grandpapa. He brought me here, and John--at least he called him John--brought me in. And I have been living for two years with Mrs. Walsham down in the town, and I used to see you in church, but I did not know that you were my grandpapa."

The squire, who was holding her close to him while she spoke, got up and rang the bell, and John opened the door with a quickness that showed that he had been standing close to it, anxiously waiting a summons.

"John Petersham," the squire said, "give me your hand; this is the happiest day of my life!"