The Seats of the Mighty: Being the Memoirs of Captain Robert Stobo, Sometime an Officer in the Virginia Regiment, and Afterwards of Amherst's Regiment

VII.

I HAVE given the whole story here as though it had been thought out and written that Sunday afternoon which brought me good news of Juste Duvarney and the sweet messages from his sister. But it was not so. I did not choose to break the run of the tale to tell of other things and of the passing of time. I made the story bit by bit, and learned it as I sat upon my couch, or walked back and forth — short travel — between it and the wall, that I might not tread down the blades of corn, which were become such a comfort to me. The making took me many, many weeks, and in all that time I had seen no face but Gabord’s, and heard no voice but his, when he came twice a day to bring me bread and water, and stayed but a few moments each time. He was strangely silent, and would answer no questions at all concerning Juste Duvarney, or Voban, or Monsieur Doltaire, nor tell me anything of what was forward in the town. He had had his orders precise enough, he said, and he was set to keep to them. I would not entreat, but I approached him in many ways to win him to speak, talking of things to interest him as a soldier. I think he understood my motive, but he did not resent it, and he used to stand and watch me, with a quizzical but not ungenial glance ; never, however, rising to the bait. At the end of my hints and turnings and approaches, stretching himself up, and maybe touching the walls with his hand, or turning the corn about with his foot, but not crushing it, for he saw that I prized the poor little comrades, he would say : —

“ Snug, snug, quiet and warm ! The cosiest nest in the world. Rock-a-bye, beggar; nobody ’ll find you here — aho ! ”

There was no coaxing him ; he was inflexible when he so willed. I had not asked for paper on which to write my story, for I knew it would not be granted ; and besides, I had no light save that from my pipe, for the torch lasted only a few days, and there was nothing to burn or give light save my field of corn, and I would not have burned that for a hundred days of light. But I had my tobacco, and with its burning bowl I could light a little space about me for a moment or so, though I could not waste my good comfort by smoking it so fast. With that resolution which might have fitted some momentous enterprise, I set my mind to see in the dark, and at the end of a month I was able to note the outlines of my dungeon; nay, more, I was able to see my field of corn; and at last what joy I had when, hearing a little rustle near me, I looked closely and beheld a mouse running across the floor ! I straightway began to scatter crumbs of bread, that it might, perhaps, come near me. I could not think that it had been here ever since I came; I fancied it had come in when Gabord opened the door. And yet I could not tell then, for it might have fed — it and its kind — for a long time upon the leaves of corn. There was nothing strange in its not having nibbled my bread, for this had lain on the board covering the earthen jar, and it could not climb the smooth sides of the vessel. But now I laid a piece of bread beside the jar to tempt my shy companion. I had had nothing but bread and water since I entered the dungeon, but I had not fretted because of that, for the bread was always sweet and the water pure, and there was my tobacco for stimulant — how often I thanked Gabord for fetching it!

I have not spoken at all of my wounds, though they gave me some painful hours, and I had no attendance but my own and Gabord’s, which, I will say, was comforting and sensible. The wound in my side was long healing, for it was more easily disturbed as I turned in my sleep, while I could save my arm at all times, and it came on slowly.

I will not say that I was always cheerful as I lay there in my dark abode, for, as may be seen, I had much to try me. Then, before, even in my captivity, I had had good nourishing food and wine, and I had always been free, if not sumptuous, in my living. My wounds drew on my flesh, my blood, and my spirits, and to this was added that wearing disease inaction, that corrosion solitude, the fever of uncertainty and suspense as to Juste Duvarney and Alixe, the anxiety as to my fate, and the sorrow for our cause. There were hours when the tabernacle of flesh seemed too small for my fighting spirit, which beat and beat against it like a caged thing. I suffocated, and I felt my eyes staring wildly towards freedom, which presented itself to me always as light and sky and air and woods and streams. I have often noticed how the thing which we desire, thinking upon it much as an abstract matter, though it be concrete, by some alchemy of the mind changes its real form to the form of our imagination. Maybe it is well so, else there were no permanent charm in life. I will not call it keeping our illusions ; I will say it is throwing about the things we see the divinity of our souls, which at their worst preserve a love and desire for something: which is, therefore, imagination or sincere illusion.

I say that I felt like a caged thing. I feel now that I looked it. I have often fancied that I could, as it were, stand outside my living presence, and see and pity myself in a half-curious, unsentimental, even ironical way. I saw a pale cheek, a forehead shining with a cold sweat, and a hot eye, while my hair, almost white, waved about my head. I was perfectly visible to myself so, though, as you can see, it was but imagination.

I think I know what must have given me the idea. A year or so past, soon after Juste Duvarney came from Montreal, he brought in one day from hunting a young live hawk, and put it in a cage. When I came the next morning, Alixe met me, and asked me to see what he had brought. There, beside the kitchen door, overhung with morningglories and flanked by hollyhocks, was a large green cage, and in it the graybrown hawk. “ Poor thing, poor prisoned thing ! ” Alixe said. “ Look how strange and hunted it seems ! See, oh see how its feathers stir! And those flashing, watchful eyes, they seem to read through you, and to say, Who are you ? What do you want with me ? Your world is not my world ; your air is not my air ; your homes are holes, and mine hangs high up between you and God. Who are you ? Why do you pen me ? You have shut me in that I may not travel, not even die out in the open world. All the world is mine ; yours is only a stolen field. Who are you ? What do you want with me ? There is a fire within my head, it eats to my eyes, and I burn away. The air blows in my cage, but it does not cool me ; the moisture comes from the trees and grass, but my feathers are parched ; the noise of the stirring leaves, the branches brushing the water, the stream trickling from the rock, the creak of the locust, the high call of the bobolink, trouble me in this cage, and I have no gladness in the flying clouds nor in the warm light of my father the sun. Who are you ? What do you want with me ? ”

She did not speak these words all at once as I have written them here, but little by little, as we stood there beside the cage, talking. Yet, as she talked, her mind was on the bird, her fingers running up and down the cage bars soothingly. I was greatly charmed at her words. She ever had the beauty and the awe, ay, the sorrow of imagination, and I know full well that by it she opened up new powers of vision in my own heavier nature. She was full of fancies, and yet these had ever a deep meaning, though she did not guess their significance. And indeed, not often did I, till afterwards, sometimes long afterwards, such was the permanency of much she said.

At last I asked her, “ Shall I set it free ? ”

She turned upon me and replied, “Ah, monsieur, I hoped you would — without my asking. You are a prisoner too,” she added ; “ one captive should feel for another.”

“ And the freeman for both,” I answered meaningly, as I softly opened the cage.

I think that was the first day that ever I touched upon this chord even faintly, which waking, and singing ever so little, sends the girl into the wide halcyon garden where are the bowers of which she never even dreamed. When that knowledge comes, it does so suddenly, and it is at once a revelation and a pain ; for the joy of understanding, the sight of the new world, brings sweet apprehensions. Rough soldier as I am, and little like to be versed in knowledge of women, I know I am not speaking wildly when I say that most women can point to the very day when a new world opened up to them, flushing their cheeks, putting a flying glory in their eyes, making happy weather about them, wherein they basked and trembled too.

When I spoke as I did, she did not drop her eyes, but raised them shining honestly to mine, and said, “ I wished you to think that.”

But when she had said it, something in my look, as I held open the door of the cage, caused her to turn her head away; and that moment the larger dream of life came to her: not from me, not through me, but from Life itself, which had been waiting for the moment when a sudden word should touch the hidden spring of womanhood, and let the tide in along the courses of her understanding.

I did not look again lest she should be confused, but stood apart, and, opening the cage door wide, called the little captive to freedom. But while we stood close by it would not stir, and the look in its eyes became wilder. I moved away, and Alixe followed me. Standing beside an old well, we waited and watched. Presently the hawk dropped from the perch, hopped to the door, then with a wild spring was gone, up, up, up, and was away over the maple woods beyond, lost in the sun and the good air.

I know not quite why I dwell on this scene, save that it throws some little light upon her nature, and shows how simple, and yet deep, she was in soul, and what was the fashion of our friendship. It was such things as this, such scenes coming out of memory to my thoughts again, revealing and charming, that made me dote upon her long before that day when, in the very thick of trouble, and facing peril to my life and fame, we spoke words which bound us close through many and sore trials. But I can perhaps give a deeper insight of her character if I here set down the substance (I omit some trifling matters) of a letter which she wrote about that time. It was her custom to write her letters first in a book, and then copy them for posting. This she did that they might be an impulse to her friendships and a record of her feelings. This letter was written the year that Juste came home from Montreal. The words would have touched me, if I had seen them in those dark days of mine ; they touch me now, for I see that warm, living face bend over the paper, and the bright eyes that flashed wit into the written words, the dear fingers that traced the small, firm writing. It all speaks to me out of her youth — and mine. Dangers passed, honors won, many fightings over, large duties of longyears accomplished, with blood as warm as then, but less of it in my veins — one of those days out of her excellent youth is worth a thousand others in my memory. Pass on, pass on, industrious and venturesome years, fightings and vexings and hopings and losings and desirings and attainings; leave me alone with the gallant. - hearted maid who gave a tempered glory to my life from the splendor of her own. But then I forget: this record is for the world to read when I am gone, and few will be patient with the flickering reveries of a vain old man, though even yet his arm is strong and his heart light.

But here is her letter: —

ALIXE DUVARNEY TO LUCIE LOTBINIÈRE.

QUEBEC CITY, the 10th of May, 1756.

MY DEAR LUCIE, — I wish I knew how to tell you all I have been thinking since we parted at the door of the Ursulines, a year ago. Then we were going to meet again in a few weeks, and now twelve months have gone. How have I spent them ? Not wickedly, I hope, and yet sometimes I wonder if Mère St. George would quite approve of me : for I have such wild spirits now and then, and I shout and sing in the woods and along the river as if I were a mad youngster home from school. But indeed, that is the way I feel at times, though again I am so quiet that I am frightened of myself, and shrink when I look in the glass. I am a hawk to-day and a dove to-morrow, and I am fond of pleasure all the time. Ah, what good days I have had with Juste ! You remember him before he went to Montreal ? He is gay, full of fancies, as brave as can be, and plays and sings well, but he is very hotheaded, and likes to be the tyrant. I will not let him be so, it is not good for him or me either, and so we have some bad quarter-hours now and then. But we love each other better for it; he respects me, and he does not get spoiled, as you will see when you come to us — and you are coming, are you not ?

I have had no society yet. My mother thinks sixteen years too few to warrant my going into the gay world. I wonder will my wings be any stronger, will there be less danger of scorching them, at twenty-six ? Years do not make us wise ; one may be as wise at twenty as at fifty. And they do not save us from the scorching. I know more than they guess how cruel the world may be to the innocent as to the other. One cannot live within sight of the Intendant’s palace and the Château St. Louis without learning many things ; and, for myself, though I hunger for all the joys of life, I do not fret because my mother holds me back from the gay doings in the town. I have my long walks, my fishing and rowing, and sometimes hunting, with Juste and my sweet sister Georgette, my drawing, painting, music, and needlework; and, more, I have my housework. My mother insists that I must know all things to be done in a house, though I may never have to do tilings in my own — if I ever have one, which I do not expect. Yes, dear, I mean that, though I would not have you think me silly in saying so. But I enjoy nearly all that I do. You should see me hunting with Juste. I can bring down a pigeon or a duck; I can land a bass of four pounds — and a bass is a strong fighter ; and my apple jelly, my corn cakes, and my toasted chicken, even Juste says, are full of relish.

Yet I do not know quite why, but I am not entirely happy. Do you ever feel as if there were some sorrow far back in you, which now and then rushed in and flooded your spirits, and then drew back, and you could not give it a name ? Well, that is the way with me. Yesterday, as I stood in the kitchen beside our old cook Joyce, she said a kind word to me, and my eyes filled, and I ran up to my room, and burst into tears as I lay upon my bed. I could not help it. I thought at first it was because of the poor hawk that Captain Stobo and I set free yesterday morning ; but it could not have been that, for it was free when I cried. You know how kind and brave a gentleman Captain Stobo is, — you have seen him; well, it seemed to me he never showed better than when he pitied the poor hawk and set it free. It was a little thing, but big things may come from the head, while little ones come from the heart. You know, of course, that he saved my father’s life, some years ago ? That is one reason why he has been used so well in Quebec, for otherwise no one would have lessened the rigors of his captivity. But there are tales that he is too curious about our government and state, and so he may be kept close jailed, though he only came here as a hostage. He is much at our home, and sometimes walks with Juste and me and Georgette, and accompanies my mother in the streets. All this is not to the liking of the notorious Intendant, who loves not my father, because he is such a friend of our cousin the Governor, who, as you know, opposes the Intendant often; and, if their lives and characters be anything to the point, the Governor must be right.

In truth, things are in a sad way here, for there is robbery on every hand, and who can tell what the end may be ? Perhaps that we go to the English, after all. Monsieur Doltaire — you do not know him, I think — says, “ If the English eat us. as they swear they will, they ’ll die of megrims, our affairs are so indigestible.” At another time he said, “ Better to be English than to bedamned.” And when some one asked him what he meant, he said, “ Is it not read from the altar, ‘ Cursed is he that putteth his trust in man ’ ? The English trust nobody, and we trust the English.” That was aimed at Captain Stobo, who was present, and I felt it a cruel thing for him to say ; but Captain Stobo, smiling at the ladies, said, “ Better to be French and damned than not to be French at all.” And this pleased Monsieur Doltaire, who does not love him. I know not why, but there are vague whispers that he is acting against the Englishman for causes best known at Versailles, which have nothing to do with our affairs here. I do believe that Monsieur Doltaire would rather hear a clever thing than get ten thousand francs. His face lights up, he is at once on his mettle, his eyes look almost fiendishly beautiful. He is a handsome man, but he is wicked, and I do not think he has one little sense of morals. I do not suppose he would stab a man in the back, or remove his neighbor’s landmark in the night, though he ’d rob him of it in open daylight, and call it “ enterprise,” a usual word with him.

He is a favorite with Madame Cournal, who influences Bigot most, and one day we may see the boon companions at each other’s throats ; and if either falls, I hope it may be Bigot, for Monsieur Doltaire is, at least, no robber. Indeed, we all know that he is kind to the poor in a disdainful sort of way. He gives to them and scoffs at them at the same moment; a bad man, with just enough natural kindness to make him dangerous. I have not seen much of the world, but some things we know by instinct; we feel them ; and I often wonder if that is not the way we know everything in the end. Sometimes when I take my long walks, and maybe go and sit beside the Falls of Montmorenci, looking out to the great city on the great Heights, to dear Orleans, where we have our pretty villa (we are to go there next week for three months — happy summer months), up at the blue sky and into the deep woods, I have strange feelings, which afterwards become thoughts ; and sometimes they fly away like butterflies, but oftener they stay with me, and I give them a little garden to roam in — you can guess where. Now and then I call them out of the garden and make them speak, and then I set down what they say in my journal; but I think they like their garden best. You remember the song we used to sing at school ?

You may not care to read these lines again, but it helps to show what I mean : that everything is in the heart, and that nothing is at all if we do not feel it. Sometimes I have spoken of these things to my mother, but she does not see as I do. I dare not tell my father all I think, and Juste is so much a creature of moods that I am never sure whether he will be sensible and kind, or scoff. One cannot bear to be laughed at. And as for my sister, she never thinks ; she only lives ; and she looks it — looks beautiful. Have you not noticed that people who think much never have good complexions? If they have beauty, it comes from other things. But there, dear Lucie, I must not tire you with my childish philosophy, though I feel no longer a child. You would not know your friend. I cannot tell what has come over me. Voilà !

To-morrow we go to visit General Montcalm, who has just arrived in the colony. Bigot and his gay set are not likely to be there. My mother insists that I shall never darken the doors of his palace. Both on the public and on the private side of his character he is impossible, my mother says ; for she is always thinking of that cheating King’s magazine which the people call La Friponne, and of some homes here which will never be happy again because of him.

Do you still hold to your former purpose of keeping a daily journal ? If so. I beg you to copy into it this epistle and your answer; and when I go up to your dear turreted manor house at Portneuf next summer, we will read over our letters and other things set down, and gossip of the changes come since we met last. I long to meet you by the gay Chandière among the noble elms. Do sketch the old place for me (as will I our new villa on dear Isle Orleans), and make interest with the good cure to bring it to me with your letter, since there are no posts, no postmen, yet between here and Portneuf. The curd most kindly bears this to you, and says he will gladly be our messenger. Yesterday he said to me, shaking his head in a whimsical way, “ But no treason, mademoiselle, and no heresy or schism.” I am not quite sure what he meant. I dare hardly think he had Captain Stobo in his mind. I would not for the world so lessen my good opinion of him as to think him suspicious of me when no other dare; and so I put his words down to chance hitting, to a humorous fancy.

Be sure, dear Lucie, I shall not love you less for giving me a prompt answer. Tell me of what you are thinking and what doing. If Juste can be spared from the Governor’s establishment, may I bring him with me next summer ? He is a difficult, sparkling sort of fellow, but you are so steady-tempered, so full of tact, getting your own way so quietly and cleverly, that I am sure I should find plenty of straw for the bricks of my house of hope, my castle in Spain.

Do not give too much of my share of thy heart elsewhere, and continue to think me, my dear Lucie, thy friend, loyal and loving,

ALIXE DUVARNEY.

P. S. Since the above was written we have been to the General’s. Both Monsieur Doltaire and Captain Stobo were there, but neither took much note of me, — Monsieur Doltaire not at all. Those two either hate each other lovingly, or love hatefully, I know not which, they are so biting, yet so friendly to each other’s cleverness, though their style of wordplay is so different: Monsieur Doltaire’s like a bodkin-point, Captain Stobo’s like a musket-stock a-clubbing, but not wanting for all that. Be not surprised to see the British at our gates any day. Though we shall beat them back, I shall feel no less easy because I have a friend in the enemy’s camp. You may guess who. Do not smile. He is old enough to be my father. He said so himself six months ago.

ALIXE.

VIII.

Gabord, coming in to me one day after I had lain down to sleep, said, “ See, m’sieu’ the dormouse, ’t is holiday-eve ; the King’s sport comes to-morrow.”

I sat up in bed with a start, for I knew not but that my death had been decided on without trial ; and yet on second thought I was sure this could not be, for every rule of military conduct was against it. Besides, it would not be like my jailer to use such brutal words if death were intended, for he had a human heart, and also, I think, a feeling of kindness for me.

“ Whose holiday?” asked I after a moment ; “ and what is King’s sport? ”

He laughed. “ Holiday for the dormouse, which is sport for the King — aho ! ” answered he.

I knew that I must let him take his own time.

“ ’T is snug and tight here, too,” he added, looking round. “ Dry, dry as a bone. Why should dickey-bird wing away ? ”

“ ’T was dormouse a minute ago,” said I complacently.

“ ’T will be a bear in the streets tomorrow,” he retorted ; “ we lead you by a rope, and you dance the quickstep to please our ladies.”

“A ring through the nose, too?” droned I.

“ And nuts and sugar when dancing ’s done,” answered he in good humor, slapping his leg.

“ Is that all ? ” asked I. “No more sport for the King ! ”

“ That’s the procession ! ” he roared ; “ the play comes on at the Château. They bring the bear to the drumhead.”

“ Who sits behind the drum? ” questioned I.

“ The Marquis de Vaudreuil,” he replied, “ the Intendant, and the little masters.” By these last he meant officers of the marines, the colonial soldiery.

So then, at last I was to be tried, to be dealt with definitely on the abominable charge. I should at least again see light and breathe fresh air, and feel about me the stir of the world. For a long year I had heard no voice but my own and Gabord’s, had had no friends but my pale blades of corn and a timid mouse, day after day no light at all; and now winter was at hand again, and without fire and with poor food my body was chilled and starved. I had had no news of the world, nor of her who was dear to me, nor of Juste Duvarney save that he lived, nor of our cause. But succeeding the thrill of delight I had at thought of seeing the open world again there came a feeling of lassitude, of indifference ; I shrank from the jar of activity. I had been sunk so long in akind of stupor of body that action now brought with it a sort of timorousness. I felt all this while Gabord stood there waiting for me to speak. How insidious is disease ! The mind and body fade, and we do not know it till we are called upon in some exigeant moment, and where the robust picture stood there is only a pale image. But I think that through it all I had kept a cheerful spirit and manner, and had never shown to my rough jailer a shaking courage.

So now I got upon my feet, and with a little air of drollery straightened out my clothes and flicked a handkerchief across my gaiters. Then I twisted my head over my shoulder as if I were noting the shape of my back and the set of my clothes in a mirror, and thrust a leg out in the manner of an exquisite. I had need to do some mocking thing at the moment, or I should have given way to tears like a woman, so suddenly weak had I become.

Gabord burst out laughing. “ Dickeybird dusts his down, but feathers are few in his tail.”

An idea came to me. “ I must be fine to-morrow,” was my remark. “ I must not shame my jailer.” At that I rubbed my beard. I had none when I came into this dungeon first.

“ Aho ! ” said he, his eyes wheeling. “ Aho ! ”

I knew he understood me. I did not speak, but went on running my fingers through my beard.

“ As vain as Absalom,” he added. “ Do you think they ’ll hang you by the hair ? ”

“ I ’d have it off,” said I, “ to be clean for the sacrifice.”

“ Voban ? ” asked he.

“ Voban,” answered I, “ if I may.”

“ You had Voban before,” he rejoined; “ we know what happened, — a dainty bit of a letter all rose-lily scented, and comfits for the soldier. The pretty wren perches now in the Governor’s house — a-cousining, a-cousining. Think you it is that she may get a glimpse of m’sieu’ the dormouse as he comes to trial ? No, oh no ! But ’t is no business o’ mine; and if I bring my prisoner up when called for, there ’s duty done ! ”

I saw the friendly spirit in the words. I guessed that Alixe had been with him lately, had influenced him, and I felt that he would not divulge this thing — which was for her good as my own. I even dared hope that he had a message for me, and I waited, but he said nothing. Then again light dawned on me. Perhaps they would let him fetch Voban to me, and in that case Voban might secretly give me the message which he himself would not. So I essayed that point.

“ Voban,” asked I, “ may come to me ? ”

“ The Intendant said no, but the Governor yes,” was the reply ; “ and that Monsieur Doltaire is not yet come from Montreal, so he had no voice. They look for him here to-morrow.”

“ What is he doing in Montreal ? ”

Gabord shrugged his shoulders.

Then a thought came to me. He was there to work upon ray fellow-hostage, Van Braam ; perhaps to bribe him to go to Williamsburg and steal ray papers, freedom and money his reward. That thought came to me with great force, and it proved right, as afterwards I knew. But Van Braam was loyal, and no thief.

I guessed again I had to thank Alixe for this matter of Voban : she had suggested it to Gabord, and he had brought it before the Governor and Bigot as if it were his own thought. I am glad that never for a moment had I doubted her constancy and love. She was working, and, as I came to know later, with so great skill and carefulness that no one ever guessed her real interest in me, — she blinded even Doltaire, — but rather loved to scoff at my condition, and to laugh at my English roughness, though she confessed that, for her father’s sake, she had treated me with gay courtesy always because I had some humor. I say no one suspected; but there were three, Gabord, Voban, and Mathilde. Yet each of these could be trusted ; they were all under the spell that charmed me.

“ Voban may come ? I asked again.

“ At daybreak,” answered Gabord. “ There ’s milk and honey to-morrow,” he added, and then, without a word, he drew forth from his coat, and hurriedly thrust into my hands, a piece of meat and a small flask of wine, and, swinging round like a schoolboy afraid of being caught in a misdemeanor, he passed through the door with a double aho, and the bolts clanged after him. As if forgetfully, he had left the torch behind him, stuck in the cleft of the wall.

I sat down on my couch, and for a moment almost vacantly gazed at the meat and wine in my hands. I had not touched either for a year, and now I could see that my fingers, as they closed on the food nervously, were thin and bloodless, and it came home to me that ray clothes hung loose upon my person. Here were light, meat, and wine, and there was a piece of bread on the board covering my water-jar. Luxury was spread before me, but although I had eaten little all day I was not hungry. Presently, however, I took the knife which I had hidden a year before, and cut pieces of the meat and laid them by the bread. Then I drew the cork from the bottle of wine, and, lifting it towards that face which was always visible to ray soul, I drank — drank — drank ! Never shall I forget how that rich liquor swam through ray veins like glorious fire. It wakened my brain and nerved my body. The old spring of life came back ; I had not only courage, I had nerve and strength. I knew it then : this wine had come from the hands of Alixe, — from the Governor’s store, maybe ; for never could Gabord have got such stuff. I ate heartily of the rich beef and bread, ate it all with a new-made appetite, and drank the rest of the wine. It should be a feast. I would not think of to-morrow ; this would give me sleep, and some little strength and vigor for my trial. So, when I had eaten and drunk the last, I sat and looked at the glowing torch, and felt a sort of comfort creep through me. Then there came a delightful thought. Months ago I had put away one last pipeful of tobacco, to save it till some day when I should need it most. I got it, and no man can guess how lovingly I held it to a flying flame of the torch, saw it light, and blew out the first whiff of smoke into the sombre air ; for November was piercing this underground house of mine, winter was at hand. I sat and smoked, and — can you not guess my thoughts ? For have you not the same heart, being British born and bred ? When I had taken the last whiff, I wrapped myself in my cloak and went to sleep. But twice or thrice during the night I waked to see the torch still shining, and caught the fragrant smell of burning pine, and minded not at all the smoke the burning made.

IX.

I was wakened at last completely by the shooting of bolts. With the opening of the door I saw two figures, Gabord and Voban. My friend the mouse saw them also, and scampered from the bread it bad been eating, away among the corn, through which my footsteps had now made two rectangular paths, not disregarded by Gabord, who pulled Voban into the narrow track, with the words, “ ’Ware ! ’T is harvest, barber ; we fling the flail to-day.”

I rose, showed no particular delight at seeing Voban, but greeted him easily, — though my heart was bursting to ask him of Alixe, — and arranged my clothes. Presently Gabord said, “ You ’ll need stools, barber,” and, wheeling, he left the dungeon. He was gone but an instant, and I suppose I never shall know whether his going was of purpose, — that is, to give me one minute alone with Voban, — but it was long enough for Voban to thrust a letter into my hand, which I ran into the lining of my waistcoat as I whispered, Her brother — he is well ? ”

“ Well, and he have go to France,” he answered. “ She make me say, look to the round window in the Château front.”

We spoke in English — which, as I have said, Voban understood imperfectly — that Gabord might not know if he should chance to hear. There was nothing more said, and if Gabord, when he returned, suspected, he showed no sign, but put down two stools, seating himself on one, as I seated myself on the other for Voban’s handiwork. It proceeded silently for a time, but at last I said to Gabord, “ At what hour do I go forth, monsieur ? ”

“ At ten o’clock ; and after you ’ve danced in the streets, the Château St. Louis at eleven,” answered he.

“ From now till ten I sit adorned and wait ? ” asked I.

“ From barber-time to ten you breakfast,” said he.

There was to-day more elasticity in the orders given him, and I was to breakfast, which I had not done for a year. I conjured up a score of delicacies, and already, in anticipation, I sniffed a cup of hot coffee. Even as I thought it there were footsteps without, and a soldier appeared with a cup of coffee on a tray. Gabord rose, took it from him, waved him away, and handed it to me. Never did coffee taste so sweet, and I sipped and sipped till Voban had ended his work with me. I drained the last drop and stood up. He handed me a mirror, and Gabord, fetching a fine white handkerchief from his pocket, said, “ Here’s for your tears, when they drum you to heaven.”

Good soldier, how I thanked him in my heart, though I said little then ! He had ever done what he could to ease my miserable state, and it was long afterwards I knew that through him, and through him only, was it I had not been loaded down with irons, though, as I said, he would have killed me instantly if I had tried to evade his vigilance.

But when I saw my face in the mirror, I confess I was startled. My hair, which had been black, was plentifully sprinkled with white, my face was intensely pale and thin, and the eyes were sunk in dark hollows, but I do not think they looked hunted or afraid. I should not have recognized myself. But I laughed as I handed back the glass, and said, “ All flesh is grass, but a dungeon’s no good meadow.”

“ ’T is for the reaped corn,” Gabord answered, “’t is for the dry chaff, not young grass — aho ! ”

With that he rose and made ready to leave, Voban with him. “ The commissariat camps here in an hour or so,” he said, with a ripe chuckle.

It was clear the new state of affairs was more to his mind than the last year’s rigor and silence. It seemed to me strange then, and it has seemed so ever since, that during all that time I never was visited by Doltaire but once, and of that event I am going to write here briefly.

He came in with Gabord about two months before this particular morning, and greeted me courteously enough, and Gabord left us alone. He leaned against the wall, near the torch, and I sat down on my couch.

“ Close quarters here.” said he, looking round as if the place were new to him. He was smiling to himself as he spoke.

“ Not so close as we all come to one day,” said I.

“ Dismal comparison ! ” he rejoined. “ You ’ve lost your spirits.”

“ Not so,” I retorted ; “ nothing but my liberty.”

“ You know the way to find it quickly,” he suggested.

“ The letters for La Pompadour ? ” I asked.

“ A dead man’s waste papers,” he responded : “ of no use to him, or you, or any one save the Grande Marquise.”

“ Valuable to me,” said I.

“ Not so ; none but the Grande Marquise and the writer would give you a penny for them.”

“ Why should I not be my own merchant ? ”

“You can — to me. If not to me, to no one. You had your chance long ago, and you refused it. You must admit I dealt fairly with you. I did not move till you had set your own trap and fallen into it. Now, if you do not give me the letters — well, you will give them to no one else in this world. It has been a fair game, and I am winning now. I’ve only used means which one gentleman might use with another. Had you been a lesser man, I would have had you spitted long ago. You understand ? ”

“ Perfectly. But since we have played so long, do you think I ’ll give you the stakes now — before the end ? ”

“ It would be wiser,” he answered thoughtfully.

“ I have a nation behind me,” urged I.

“ It has left you in a hole here to rot.”

“ It will take over your citadel and dig me out some day,” I retorted hotly.

“ What good that ? Your life is more to you than Quebec to England.”

“ No, no,” said I quickly ; “ I would give my life a hundred times to see your flag hauled down ! ”

“ A freakish ambition,” he replied, “ mere infatuation.”

“ You do not understand it, Monsieur Doltaire,” I remarked ironically.

“ I love not endless puzzles. There is no sport in following a maze that leads to nowhere save the grave.” He yawned. “This air is heavy,” he added; “you must find it trying.”

“ Never as trying as at this moment,” I retorted.

“ Come, am I so malarious ? ”

“You are a trickster,” said I coldly.

“ Ah, you mean that night at Bigot’s ? ” He smiled. “ No, no, you were to blame — so green. You might have known we were for having you between the stones.”

“ But it did not come out as you wished?” hinted I.

“ It served my turn,” he responded; and he gave me such a smiling, malicious look that I knew he was thinking of Alixe, that he sought to convey he had his way with her; and though I felt that she was true to me, that she had thrown him off the scent so that he had no thought of the real nature of things between us, his cool presumption so stirred me I could have struck him in the face. I got angrily to my feet. As I did so I shrank a little, for at times the wound in my side, not yet entirely healed, hurt me.

“ You are not well,” he said, with instant show of curiosity ; “ your wounds still trouble you ? They should be healed. Gabord was told to see you cared for.”

“ Gabord has done well enough,” I answered. “ I have had wounds before, monsieur.”

He leaned against the wall and laughed. “ What braggarts you English are ! ” he said. “ A race of swashbucklers — even on bread and water ! ”

He had me at advantage, and I knew it, for he had kept his temper. I made an effort. “ Both excellent,” rejoined I, “and English too.”

He laughed again. “ Come, that is better. That ’s in your old vein. I love to see you so. But how knew you our baker was English ? — which he is, a prisoner like yourself.”

“As easily as I could tell the water was not made by Frenchmen.”

“ Now I have hope of you,” he broke out gayly. “You will yet redeem your nation.”

Just at that moment Gabord came with a message from the Governor to Doltaire, and he prepared to go.

“ You are set on sacrifice ? ” he asked. “ Think — dangling from Cape Diamond.”

“ I will think of your fate instead,” I sent back at him.

“ Think ! ” he said again, waving off my reply with his hand. “ The letters I shall no more ask for. And you will not escape death! ”

“ Never,” said I.

“So? Very good. Au plaisir, my captain. I go to dine at the Seigneur Duvarney’s.”

With that last thrust he was gone, and left me wondering if the Seigneur had ever made an effort to see me, if he had forgiven the duel with his son.

That was the incident.

When Gabord and Voban were gone, leaving the light behind, I went over to where the torch stuck in the wall, and drew Alixe’s letter from my pocket with eager fingers. It told the whole story of her heart. I do not need to turn to it to set it down. I have it as it fastened on my brain then.

CHÂTEAU ST. LOUIS, 27th November, 1757.

Though I write you these few words, dear Robert, I do not know that they will reach you, for as yet it is not certain they will let Voban visit you ; and if he does, it may be there will be no chance to pass it to you; but I pray for good success, even as I pray every day for your release. Oh, how long, how long these months have been ! A year, dear friend, and not a word from you, and not a word to you. I should have broken my heart if I had not heard how you were. Oh, Robert, and they have kept you on bread and water, and they say you are much worn in body, though you have always a cheerful air. There are stories of a visit Monsieur Doltaire paid you, and how you jested. He hates you, and yet he admires you, too, as well he might, for are you not the bravest and best of men ?

And now listen, Robert, while I tell you something; and I beg you not to be angry — oh, do not be angry, for I am all yours. But I want to tell you that I have not repulsed Monsieur Doltaire when he has spoken flatteries to me. I have not believed them, and I have kept my spirits strong against his wicked presence. I have done it for your sake, and you must not scold or grieve. I want to get you free of prison, and to that end I have to work through him with the Intendant, that he will not set the Governor more against you. With the Intendant himself I will not deal at all: is not his foulness always before me in Mathilde ? And so I use the lesser villain, and in truth the more powerful, for he stands higher at Versailles than any here. With the Governor I have influence, for he is, as you may know, a kinsman of my mother’s, and of late he has shown a fondness for me. Yet you can see that I must act most warily, that I must not seem to care for you, for that would be your complete undoing. I rather seem to scoff. (Oh, how it hurts me ! how my cheeks tingle when I think of it alone ! and how I clench my hands, hating them all so for oppressing you !)

I do not believe their slanders — that you are a spy. It is I, Robert, who have at last induced the Governor to try you. They would have put it off till next year, but I feared you would die in that awful dungeon, and I was sure that if they brought you to trial there would be a change, as there is to be for a time, at least. You are to be lodged in the common jail during the trial; and so that is one step gained. Yet, good, good friend of my soul, I had to use all manner of device to get the Governor to bring you to trial now. He is sometimes so playful with me that I can pretend to sulkiness; and so one day I said that he showed no regard for our family or for me in not bringing you, who had near killed my brother, to justice. So he consented, and being of a stubborn nature, too, when Monsieur Doltaire and the Intendant opposed the trial, he said it should come off at once. But there is one thing that grieves me so: they are to have you marched through the streets of the town like any common criminal, and I dare show no distress nor plead, nor can my father, though he wishes to move for you in this; and I dare not urge him, for then it would seem strange the daughter asked your punishment, and the father sought to lessen it.

Ah, Robert, my part is not an easy one, but I do not despair — no, not a whit; my heart is brave, for my desire for your well-being is so strong. I never cease to think of you, and to work in your behalf; and though your escape to your own country would leave me here alone, yet I work for that, though I never should see you again. If I never did, you would not forget me, would you ? I could bear separation, but not to be forgotten ; for I am a woman, — a weak girl, you will say, — and remembrance to a woman is solace for her misery and trouble.

Voban is my faithful servant—he is grateful for my care of Mathilde ; and she is better, thank God, a little better. When I think how her life has been sacrificed to the Intendant’s wickedness, I feel I could do anything to bring about his punishment. But alas ! the wicked flourish, and the good are cast down.

When you are in the common jail it will be much easier to help you. I have seen Gabord, but he is not to be bent to any purpose, though he is kind to me. I shall try once more to have him take some wine and meat to you to-night, for I would not have you seem even weak in body before your enemies to-morrow. If I fail, then I shall only pray that you may be given strength in body for your time of trouble equal to your courage. I shall see you to-morrow as you pass to trial. Think, Robert, of my sadness at that moment — I housed, comfortable, free, heaped-up favors about me, visiting in the house of your judge, who will not spare you if he can help it, yet must I remain silent, must not weep nor show distress, must seem anxious for your condemnation. Alas ! yet I had rather be thus vexed and troubled loving and serving you than to be without the sacred presence of a perilous but tried affection.

It may be I can fix upon a point where you may look to see me as you pass to-morrow to the Château. There must be a sign. If you will put your hand to your forehead — But no, they may bind you, and your hands may not be free. When you see me, pause in your step for an instant, and I shall know. I will tell Voban where you shall send your glance, if he is to be let in to you, and I hope that what I plan may not fail.

And so, Robert, adieu. Time cannot change me, and your misfortunes draw me closer to you. Only the dishonorable thing could make me close the doors of my heart, and I will not think you, whate’er they say, unworthy of my constant faith. Some day, maybe, we shall smile at, and even cherish, these sad times. Let us smile, though tears fall too. In this gay house I must be Hippant, for I am now of the foolish world ! But under all the trivial sparkle a serious heart beats. It belongs to thee, it thou wilt have it, Robert, the heart of thy

ALIXE.

An hour after getting this comforting and blessed letter, Gabord came again, and with him breakfast — a word which I had almost dropped from my language. True, it was only in a dungeon, on a pair of stools, by the light of a torch, but how I relished it! — a bottle of good wine, a piece of broiled fish, the half of a fowl, and some tender vegetables. My spirits came up, as you may see a lark, hovering and rising, rising and hovering, and singing into the sun, till it is a speck in the hollow sky. I gave myself to pleasant thoughts, not jauntily, but with some hope and many blithe conjectures as to chances of escape from the common jail. I had no hope that I should be acquitted at my trial, though I would not think they could condemn me to death; but it might be they would return me to this dungeon to die of cold and silence and lack of nourishment. Yet I did not have the less relish for food because of that. I made as hearty a meal as you can think ; and what should the end of it be but a pipeful of tobacco brought by Gabord, laid beside me with, “ M’sieu’ the lion feeds. Good-by, dormouse and dickey-bird — aho! ” and he was gone again on the instant.

So when he came, for me with two soldiers, another hour later,— I say an hour, but I only guess so, for I had no way of noting time, — I was ready for new cares, and to see the world again. Before the others Gabord was the rough, almost brutal soldier, and soon I knew that I was to be driven, bound, out upon the St. Foye Road and on into the town. My arms were well flightered down, and I was tied about till I must have looked like a bale of living goods of no great value. Indeed, my clothes were by no means handsome, and save for my well-shaven face and clean handkerchief I was an ill-favored spectacle; but I tried to bear my shoulders up as we stepped out of the dungeon, marched through dark reeking corridors, and presently came suddenly into lighted passages, and through a barred window I saw the sun.

I had to pause, for the light blinded my eyes, and they hurt me horribly, so delicate were the nerves. For some minutes I stood there, my guards stolidly waiting, Gabord muttering a little, and stamping upon the floor as in anger, though I knew he was merely playing a small part for his comrades. The pain in my eyes grew less, and, though they kept filling with moisture from the violence of the light, I soon could see without distress.

I am not able to forget the strange feeling that came when, after all these months, I saw the open world again. Stepping out of the citadel, I was led into the yard, where was drawn up a company of soldiers. Gabord bade me stand still in the centre of the yard where I was, and started towards the officers’ quarters. As he did so, I asked him if I might not walk to the ramparts and view the scene. He gruffly assented, bidding the men watch me closely, and I walked over to a point where, standing three hundred feet above the noble river, I could look out upon its sweet expanse, across to the Levis shore, with its serried legions of trees behind, and its bold settlement in front upon the Heights. There eastward lay the good Island of Orleans, glowing, as was the foliage far and near, with the exquisite coloring of the maple leaves, and over all the clear sun and sky, enlivened by a crisp and cheering air. Snow had fallen, but none now lay upon the ground, and I saw a rare and winning earth. At the moment I felt that, whatever came, I could endure it after feeling the blessed joy of this new discovery of the world. I stood absorbed. I was recalling that first day that I remember in my life, when at Balmore my grandfather made prophecies upon me, and I felt the world about me for the first time — the original discovery, held by Memory, and handed by it to me in the hours of my trial. That record I should be able now to write down in the common jail. If they granted me the privilege of lodging there, they would probably not withhold from me pens, ink, and paper.

As I stood lost to everything save the delight of the excellent world about me, I heard Doltaire’s voice behind, and presently he said over my shoulder, “ To wish Captain Stobo a good-morning were superfluous ! ”

I smiled at him : the pleasure of that scene had given me an impulse towards good nature even with my enemies.

“ The best I ever had,” I answered quietly.

“ Contrasts are life’s delights,” he said. “ You should thank us. You have your best day because of our worst dungeon.”

“ But my thanks shall not be in words ; you shall have the same courtesy at our hands one day.”

“ I had the Bastile for a year,” he rejoined, calling up a squad of men with his finger as he spoke. “ I have had my best day. Two would be monotony. You think your English will take this some time ? ” he asked, waving a finger towards the citadel. “ It will need good play to pluck that ribbon from its place.” He glanced up, as he spoke, at the white flag with its golden lilies.

“ So much the better sport,” I said. “ We will have the ribbon and its heritage.”

“ You yourself shall furnish evidence to-day. Gabord here will see you temptingly disposed — the wild bull led peaceably by the nose ! ”

” But one day I will twist your nose, Monsieur Doltaire.”

“ That is fair enough, if rude,” he responded. “ When your turn comes, you twist and I endure. You shall be nourished well like me, and I shall look a battered hulk like you. But I shall never be the fool that you are. If I had a way to slip the leash, I’d slip it. You are a dolt.” He was touching upon the letters again.

“I weigh it all,” said I. “ I am no fool — anything else you will.”

“ You ’ll be nothing soon, I fear — which is a pity.”

What more he might have said I do not know, but there now appeared in the yard a tall, reverend old gentleman, in the costume of the coureur de bois, though his belt was richly chased, and he wore an order on his breast. There was something more refined than powerful in his appearance, but he had a keen, kindly eye, and a manner unmistakably superior. His dress was a little barbarous, unlike Doltaire’s splendid white uniform, set off with violet and gold, the lace of a fine handkerchief sticking from his belt, and a gold-handled sword at his side ; but the manner of both was alike. Seeing Doltaire, he came straight to him, and they embraced. Then he turned towards me, and as they walked off a little distance I could see that the old gentleman was questioning about me. Presently he raised his hand, and, as if something had excited him, said, “ No, no, no ; hang him and have done with it, but I ’ll have nothing to do with it — not a thing. ’T is enough for me to rule at”— I could not hear the last word, but I was now sure that he was some one of note who had retired from any share in state affairs. He and Doltaire then moved on to the doors of the citadel, and, pausing there, Doltaire turned round and made a motion of his hand to Gabord. I was at once surrounded by the squad of men, and the order to march was given. A drum in front of me began to play a well-known derisive air of the French army, The Fox and the Wolf.

We came out on the St. Foye Road and down towards the Chateau St. Louis, between crowds of shouting people who heat drums, kettles, pans, and made all manner of mocking noises. It was meant not only against myself, but against the British people. The women were not behind the men in violence; from them came handfuls of gravel and dust which struck me in the face ; but Gabord put a stop to that by threatening to drive off the crowd if this were repeated. They thought his anger had come from being himself hit by a stray pebble, not for thought of me ; for, as I came to know, weird tales of his violent treatment of me while in the dungeon had been bruited, and I am inclined to think this was his device lest he should be thought using me with the least consideration.

It was a shameful ordeal, which might have vexed me sorely if I had not had greater trials and suspected worse. Nor had I yet lost the genial flush of spirit which this new taste of the open world gave me an hour ago. They were excited, but I was calm; raging, and I was thinking of my defense before my judges; seeing a victim, a sacrifice, a target for the arrows of their bad blood, and I was looking towards the Chateau St. Louis where was she who seemed to me the symbol of all that was rare and best in a troubled world. Now and again appeared a face I knew — some lady who turned her head away, or some gentleman who watched me curiously, but made no sign. Nearing the Château, I saw Voban standing among a knot of men, who were evidently questioning him about me, for it was known that he had tended me that morning. As we came to the Château, I looked up as if casually, and there in the little round window I saw Alixe’s face, for an instant only. I stopped in my tracks, was prodded by a soldier from behind, and I then stepped on. Glancing up again, I saw her dear face once more like a passing light, and then, with a braver heart, I came on with my guards to the doors of the Château. Entering, we were taken to the rear of the building, where, in an open courtyard, were a company of soldiers, some seats, and a table. I looked up at the Château from where I was placed, and saw another small round window above, but no face showing in it; yet I hoped that, later, I should see it. I knew that some one could be in the dark room, looking down, and yet if the face were not very near the window, it would not be seen. Again, it was possible for a watcher to be hidden in the balcony that ran the full length of the building. On my right was the St. Lawrence swelling on its course, three hundred feet beneath, little boats passing hither and thither on its flood.

We were waiting about half an hour, the noises of the clamoring crowd coming to us, as they carried me aloft in effigy, and, burning me at the cliff edge, fired guns at me and threw stones, till, rags, ashes, and flame, I tumbled into the river far beneath. At last, from the Château came the Marquis de Vaudreuil, Bigot, and a number of officers. The Governor looked gravely at me, but did not bow; Bigot gave me a sneering smile, eying me curiously the while, and, I could feel, remarking on my poor appearance to Cournal beside him — Cournal, who winked at his wife’s dishonor for the favor of her lover, who gave him means for public robbery.

Presently the Governor was seated, and he said, looking round, “ Monsieur Doltaire — he is not here ? ”

Bigot shook his head, and answered, “ No doubt he is detained at the citadel.”

“ And the Seigneur Duvarney ? ” the Governor added.

At that moment the Governor’s secretary handed him a letter. The Governor opened it. “ Listen,” said he ; and he read to the effect that the Seigneur Duvarney felt he was hardly lifted to be a just judge in this case, remembering the conflict between his son and the notorious Captain Stobo. And from another standpoint, though the prisoner merited any fate reserved for him, if he was a spy, he could not forget that his life had been saved by this British captain — an obligation that, unfortunately, he could neither repay nor wipe out. After much thought, he must disobey the Governor’s summons, and he prayed that his Excellency would grant his consideration thereupon.

I saw the Governor frown, but he made no remark, while Bigot said something in his ear which did not improve his humor, for he replied curtly, and turned to his secretary. “ We must have two more,” he said.

At that moment Doltaire entered with the old gentleman of whom I have written. The Governor instantly brightened, and gave the stranger a warm greeting, calling him his “ dear Chevalier; ” and, after a deal of urging, the Chevalier la Durante was seated as one of my judges : which did not at all displease me, for I liked his face.

I do not need to dwell upon the trial here. I have set down the facts before. I had no counsel and no witnesses. There seemed no reason why the trial should have dragged on all day, for I soon saw it was the intention on the part of all — save perhaps Doltaire and the Chevalier la Darante, and of them I was not sure — to hang me. I felt that Doltaire would rather torture me to the bitter end, in the hope of still getting the papers, than see me ended at once, as would likely be the case if I were condemned. Besides, I think he really wished the chance of killing me himself one day, when our affairs had got beyond any kind of Repair. Yet it is hard to tell why the man who hates you serves you, too, at times. To the last I never understood him, and, hating him because of all his villainies, I warmed to him, also. I was surprised to see how he brought up a point here and a question there, which served to lengthen out the trial; and all the time he sat near the Chevalier la Durante, now and again talking with him.

It was late evening before the trial came to a close. The one point to be established was that the letters taken from General Braddock were mine, and that I had made the plans while a hostage. I acknowledged nothing, and would not do so unless I was allowed to speak freely. This was not permitted until just before I was sentenced. Doltaire’s look was fixed on me, and I knew he waited to see if I would divulge the matter private between us. If I had done so, I should have died the next day. I knew this afterwards ; but I stood by my compact with him. Besides, it could not serve me to speak of it here, or use it as an argument, and it would only hasten an end which I felt he could prevent if he chose.

So when I was asked if I had aught to say, I pleaded the one thing: that they had not kept the Articles of War which provided I should be free within two months and a half ; that is, when an officer and two prisoners in our hands should be delivered up to them, as they were. They had broken their bond, though we had fulfilled ours, and I held myself justified in doing what I had done for our cause and for my own life, which they here assaulted against all honorable dealing.

I was not heard patiently, though I could see that the Governor and the Chevalier wore impressed ; but Bigot instantly urged the case hotly against me, and the end came very soon. It was now dark; a single light had been brought and placed beside the Governor, while a soldier held a torch at a distance. Suddenly there was a silence; then, in response to a signal, the sharp ringing of a hundred bayonets as they were drawn and fastened to the muskets, and I could see them gleaming in the feeble torchlight. Presently, out of the stillness that grew again, the Governor’s voice was heard condemning me to death by hanging, thirty days hence, at sunrise. A silence fell again instantly, and then a thing occurred which sent a thrill through us all. Prom somewhere came a voice, weird, high, and wailing : —

“ Guilty ! Guilty ! Guilty ! He is guilty, and shall die! François Bigot shall die! ”

I knew that the voice was Mathilde’s, and I saw Doltaire shrug a shoulder and look with malicious amusement at the Intendant Bigot himself sat pale and furious. “ Discover the intruder,” he said to Gabord, who was standing near, “ and have — him —jailed.”

But the Governor interfered. “ It is some drunken creature,” he urged quietly. “Take no account of it.”

I glanced up at the little round window at that moment, and saw dimly a face pressed against the pane. I could not see the features, but I knew who it was, and I guessed that Alixe had heard the sentence. Only for an instant did I see the face, and then it was gone.

Gilbert Parker.