I paused not to shout, but gathered together all my powers, and let out with my oars until I thought they would crack. For half-an-hour I could not say whether I was gaining on her, or my waterman on me. At length I resolved to risk the short delay of a signal. So I stood in my boat waving the cloak over my head and shouting "Halloo!" with all the breath in my body. I durst not wait more than a moment to watch for a reply. None came, but instead, the yards bellied with the wind. I flung myself with a groan on my seat, and took back my oars. Already the waterman was within shouting distance, and his comrades not far behind. But I heeded not their cries, and plunged my oars once again in bitter chase. It was long before I durst look round. Then, to my surprise, I saw her standing away in to the Essex shore with all her sails full of wind.

Then all seemed lost, till I reflected that she must come back for another tack before she could clear the bend. If so, I was safe. So I kept steadily on, scarcely holding my own with my pursuers, until at length, to my joy, I saw her put about and bear down full upon me. It was an anxious time as she came up. No one on board, it was clear, guessed who I might be; nor, I think, did any one perceive me as I lay there, except the man at the prow, who, seeing me resolved to be run down, left me to take my will. By this time my pursuer was a hundred yards away, thinking himself sure of me at last, and saving his breath. It was a race whether he or the Misericorde would be upon me the sooner, but I settled that. For, as the ship came up, slowing towards the end of her tack, I took a few strokes out to meet her, and then turning my boats' head quickly slipped close under. I had already marked a rope that hung from the poop within reach, and on this, when the moment came, I ventured my all. Taking the cloak over my shoulder, and casting away my oars, I sprang to my feet, and gave one leap which sent my empty boat staggering back into her owner's hands, while it left me hanging 'twixt heaven and earth.

To haul myself aboard was the work of a minute; even as I did so, I could see out of the corner of my eye my pursuer staring round at me, amazed, while he reached out to secure his truant craft. But that was all I saw of him, for next moment I stood on deck half-fainting, face to face with Ludar and the maiden and a stranger.



CHAPTER TEN.

HOW WE SAILED WITH A POET OF THE FIRST WATER.

Ludar told me, when presently I had revived enough to hear his story, that when the tide turned and I did not appear, the Frenchman laughed and bade them haul the anchor and thank Heaven they were rid of a thief. "Whereat," said Ludar, "we came to words, and the maiden took your part and besought the fellow to wait a half-hour. But he would hear none of it. He said he was master here, and, if we liked not the ship, we might go out of it. Indeed," added he, "he had a mind, he said, to put us all out and be rid of so ill a company. Then there was nothing left but to let him have his will, and we sailed. Yet I was not surprised to see you back."

"And she—she did not deem me a traitor?" I asked.

"That maiden," said Ludar, gravely, "knows not what traitor means."

Whereat I felt partly humbled, partly comforted.

"Yes," said Ludar, "I am glad to have you back, Humphrey, for this voyage bodes uneasily."

"How do you mean?" I asked.

"Our messmates," said he (and then I noticed that he wore a sailor's jacket), "are a scurvy crew, as you will presently discover. The captain already repents that he has taken us. The old nurse is hard to please." Here he sighed. "The serving man is a fool. And the stranger—"

"Ay, what of him? Who is he?"

"He is a half-witted spark, a fugitive from justice, and, to boot, an impudent coxcomb whom I have had ten minds already to pitch over the ship's side. He was hidden here on board before we came, having killed a man at Court, he brags, and seeking shelter in Scotland till the storm be past. But here he is."

The stranger was a slim, well-shaped youth, with a simpering lip, and dainty ringlets descending to his shoulders. He was dressed extravagantly even for the land, and for the sea ridiculously. His doublet was of satin, bravely slashed and laced, and puffed to the size of a globe on either thigh. His hose were of crimson silk, gaily tied with points and knots. His shirt was of the same hue, with a short taffeta cloak over, bound at the neck by a monstrous ruff, out of which his face looked like a calf's head from a dish of trimmings. To crown all, a white plume waved in his hat, while the rapier at his waist was caught up jauntily behind him, so that the point and the hilt lay on a level at either hip. His face was both cheerful and weak; and, as he strutted up to where Ludar and I stood, his gait reminded me much of a chanticleer amidst his spouses.

He was delivering himself of some poetic rapture, addressed, as it seemed, to the mud banks of the Essex shore, and feigned to perceive neither Ludar nor me till he came upon us.

"So," said he then, eyeing me, "here is our Flying Dutchman, our bolt out of the blue, our dragon's tooth turned to man. And, by my sword, a pretty fellow too. Count me as thy patron, my Hollander, and if, as I judge by thy face, thou hast a tooth for the honey of Parnassus his garden, and the dainty apples of the Muses' orchard, thou shalt not starve verily. To be brief, I favour thee therefore, thy fortune is made."

I was bewildered enough by this speech, not a tithe of which could I understand. I took it ill to be called Dutchman, and dragon's tooth; nor, albeit I was a printer's 'prentice, did I know what he meant by Parnassus. Still, as he seemed friendly disposed, I answered:

"I thank you."

"Thank not me," said he, raising his hand. "Let not the groping man thank the lamp, nor the briar the brook. Thank the sun whence the lamp hath his light, and the ocean to whom the brook oweth his waters. Thank that incomparable paragon, that consummate swan, that pearl of all perfection, my mistress, of whose brightness I am but the mirror and medium."

"Pardon me, sir," said I, feeling very foolish to comprehend not a word of his fine talk, "if you have anything to tell me, pray, say so; but, for the life of me, I cannot discover what you mean by all this."

"I mean," said he, "that she, my lady, the Aphrodite who rules these waves, the star who guides our course, the nymph who suns her locks on this poor ship, the same condescends to call you her servant; wherefore, owe it to her, that thou mayest also call me thy master."

I began to weary of this jargon. Moreover, the fellow now seemed to be talking about matters which he had better leave to Ludar and me. So I said:

"You are none of my master. I have a better."

He looked a little hurt at this, I thought, and said:

"Can an ass call the horse its master when a man claimeth both? Who is this mortal, sirrah, that I may scorn him?"

"This gentleman is my master," said I, growing very hot, and laying my hand on Ludar's arm.

The gallant laughed.

"Pretty, on my life! The dog hath its parasites, the scullion his menial, the earthen pot his mug, and each puffeth himself into a gentleman thereby. And who may you be, forsooth?"

"Ludar McSomhairle Buidhe McDonnell of the Glyns," said Ludar, solemnly.

The fellow laughed outright.

"I do remember," said he, "a pretty jest of Dan Aesopus about a jackdaw who thought himself a peacock because he had a monstrous long feather to his tail. Prithee, thou silly son of Neptune, knowest thou not that if I did bid thee carry me my box from the fore-deck there to the poop, thou must crawl with it like my jack-porter? And, by my soul, I have named the very service that brought me hither. Therefore, my lord Sir Ludar McSorley Boy McNeptune McMalapert McDonnell of the Glyns, fetch my box below. And should the burden be too heavy for thy dainty fingers, pray thy serving gentleman here to lend thee a hand."

Ludar, who was leaning against the mast, yawned; whereat, the gallant dropping his fine speeches, turned as red as a lobster, and with a loud French oath, drew out his rapier and flourished it.

Ludar watched him contemptuously for a while, until the blade, getting courage at every pass, ventured a modest prick. Then he leapt out like a cat on a mouse, and caught the silly fellow such a grip of the wrist as sent his sword spinning on the deck. Picking it up, he quietly broke it over his knee into three pieces, which he pitched one after the other overboard.

"Now, master jackanapes," said he, returning to his adversary, and catching him by his starched ruff. "You shall follow your sword."

Then the poor fellow, scared out of his wits, let go a string of oaths, and vowed to heaven he did but jest, and loved us both like his own brothers, and, would Ludar but unhand him, he might count on him as a friend for life, and so forth. Even Ludar could not help laughing at the figure he made; and having lifted him a little on to the gunwale, let him down again with a "get you gone then."

'Twas wonderful how the gallant's courage came back as soon as he stood free.

"By my soul," said he, with a gay laugh, "thou'rt a brave lad, and I like thee for 't. A jest is like marrow in a dog's bone, and life without sport is a camel's track. Come, thou and I shall be friends, I see; and crack more jokes than one ere this voyage be over. And, in sooth, Achilles doth well to make proof now and again of the strength of Hercules. Why, my Hercules, I warrant thou couldest lift that box of mine with thy finger and thumb. I pray thee, for my admiration, see if thou couldest so carry it from where it now lies to my cabin in the poop; and our flying Dutchman here shall be judge that the feat be fairly done."

Ludar, with a grim smile, owned that he had the worst of this encounter, and made the fellow happy by carrying his box in one hand; although he alarmed him not a little by offering to carry him in the other.

When this little jest was over, the captain came to us with orders to join the crew in making all things ready for presently meeting the sea breezes at the river's mouth; so we had no more time just then to think of Master Coxcomb.

It moved my admiration to see with what a will Ludar worked at his task. He made no question of the Frenchman's right to order his services; and methought, as he hauled away cheerily among his ill-favoured messmates, he looked as noble as had he been marching at the head of an army. The ship's crew was, to tell the truth, a scurvy company. Not counting us, there were but eleven of them, mostly French, who talked and cursed while they worked and three English, who sulked and grumbled. They stared in no friendly way at Ludar and me when we joined them; nor did they like us the better that, without much knowledge or seamanship, we yet put our backs into what we did, and bade them do the same. Ludar, indeed, born to command, was not sparing in his abuse of their laziness; and it vexed me a little to see how he thereby made himself an enemy of every man among them.

Towards nightfall we were all ship-shape, and the watch being set—of which Ludar was one—I had leisure to go below to seek the sleep I sorely needed. I would fain, before doing so, have visited the maiden to satisfy myself that all went well with her. But I durst hardly venture so far without her bidding. I sought my berth below, therefore—and a vile, foul corner of the hold it was—and laid myself down, wondering what would be the end of all this journeying.

There was a sailor—one of the Frenchmen—down beside me, who, when he saw who I was, sat up and began to talk. In a foolish moment I betrayed that I understood some of his French lingo, whereat he—being more than half drunken—waxed civil, and his tongue loosed itself still more.

"Who is she?" he whispered presently, in his foreign tongue.

"A lady," said I, shortly.

"So! and monstrous rich, by our lady! Comrade," said he, "I helped carry her box on board. Do you take me for a fool? There is something weighs more in that than a maiden's frocks—eh, my friend?"

"You are a fool," said I.

"A fool? Ha! ha! 'Tis well. And I am fool enough to— you be her man, they say? and an honest fellow? Ha! ha!"

"Ay, ay," said I, drowsily enough, "let me go to sleep."

"Ay, ay," said he, "even if it be silver pieces and not gold, 'twill be enough to make men of thee and me. Dost hear, sluggard? Thee and me, and no more planks and ropes, and—"

I had ceased to hear his maunderings, and was sound asleep.

When I awoke, it was to hear the thundering crash of a wave on the deck overhead, and I knew we were at last on the open sea. Alas! when I turned over to recover my sleep, I fell into so horrible a fit of shuddering and sickness that I believed the hour of my departure was come. The ship rolled heavily through the uneasy water, and at every lurch my heart sunk—I know not whither. I could hear the shuffling of steps overhead, and the dash of the waves against the ship's side, and the voice of the sailors at their posts. Little recked they of the comrade who was dying below!

Presently a call came for the new watch to turn up on deck. I was helpless to obey, and lay groaning there, not caring if the next lurch took us down to the bottom. At last, after much shouting, the captain himself came down and shook me roughly.

"Leave me," said I, "to die in peace."

"Die!" cried he, "thou sickly lubber. If you rise not in a minute's time, we will see what a rope's end can do to 'liven thee. Come, get up."

I struggled to my feet, but in that posture my sickness came back with double violence, so that I tumbled again to the floor, and vowed he might use every rope in the ship to me, but up I could not get.

I do not well recall what happened those next few days. I believe I staggered upon deck and went miserably through the form of work, jeered at by my fellow sailors, despised by my captain, and wondered at by Ludar. But when, after the sickness gave way, I one day found myself in a fever, with my strength all gone, I was let go below and lie there without more to do. I know not how it came to pass, but ill I was for a day or two; perhaps it was the vexations of the last few weeks, or the weakness left by the sickness, or a visitation of the colic from heaven; however it was, I lay there, humbled and ashamed of my weakness, and wishing myself safe back outside Temple Bar.

At these times, Ludar was a brother to me. He came often to see me, and talked so cheerily, that I almost forgot how solemn his looks used to be. More than that, he fetched me dainties to eat, without which I might have starved; for, while the fever lasted, I could not stomach the strong ship's fare. And I suspected more than once that he had secured my peace from the captain by offering himself to do a good piece of my work as well as his own.

He spoke little enough about the maiden, though I longed to hear of her. Once, when I asked him, his face grew overcast.

"That maiden," said he, "is never so merry as when the waves are breaking over the deck. Yet I see her little, for, in sooth, the old nurse has been nearer death than you, and will allow no one to go near her but her young mistress. Nor dare I offer myself where I am not bidden. Humphrey," added he, "I prefer to talk of something else."

Now, I must tell you that, to my surprise, I found I had another friend in these dark days; I mean the poet. Contemptible as was my plight, and mean as was the cabin I hid in, when he heard I was ill, he came more than once to see me. It suited him to make a mighty to do about it, as if his condescension must heal me on the spot. Yet the kindness that was in him, and the wonder he afforded me, made up for all these airs and graces.

"Alack and well a day!" exclaimed he, when he first came. "Vulcan hath fallen from the clouds and lieth halting below. The apple which was rosy is become green, and the Dutchman who of late flew is now become ship's ballast. Nay, my poor ruin, thank me not for coming; 'tis the common debt the high oweth to the low, the sound to the broken, the poem to the prose; nay, 'tis the duty a knight oweth to his lady's humblest menial."

"And how is the lady?" said I; for I wearied to hear of her, even from any lips.

"Hast thou seen the swan with wings new dressed float on the summer tide? Hast thou heard the thrush, full-throated, call his mate across the lea? Hast thou watched the moon soar up the heavens, sweeping aside the clouds, and defying the mists of earth? Hast thou marked, my Dutchman, the summer laughter on a field of golden corn? Hast thou tracked the merry breeze along the ripples of a dazzled ocean?—"

"Yes, yes," said I, "but what has that to do with the maiden we speak of?"

He smiled on me pityingly.

"Such, poor youth, is she; and such, methinks, am I become, who sit at her feet and sun myself in her light—"

"'Tis dark down here," I said, "but you seem to me neither swan, nor thrush, nor moon, nor a corn field, nor an ocean. But I thank you, even as you are, for coming."

"'Tis a sign of a sound mind," said he, "when gratitude answereth to graciousness. And now, prithee, how do you do?"

I told him I was better, and that I might not have mended so far, but for my dear master, Sir Ludar.

Then he bridled up and his cheeks coloured.

"Ah, Hercules is a good sailor, and a strong animal. 'Tis fit he should wait upon you, since you be in my present favour. Moreover, like cureth like, as it is said; therefore he is better here tending you, than casting sheep's eyes on one who is as the sun above his head. I have had a mind to admonish him to remove the offence of his visage from her purview, for I perceived, by my own mislike of it, that it was a weariness to her. The pure glass is dimmed by the breath of the beholder, and a face at the window darkeneth a chamber."

"Sir Ludar will be here soon," said I; "I pray you stay and tell him this."

"No," said he, looking, I thought, a little alarmed. "If the cloud withdraw not from the sun's path of his own motion, neither will he scatter for our bidding. Therefore, let him be. And, indeed, I stay here too long, my Dutchman. Who shall say but the dove sigheth already for her truant mate? So farewell; and count me thy patron."

He came often after this, always with the same brave talk.

One day, however, he seemed more like a plain man and said: "'Tis time thou wert up, my Hollander. There is thunder in the air, the horizon is big with clouds, the dull sea rustleth with the coming storm, and I smell the wind afar off."

"Why," said I, starting up, "Ludar told me but just now the weather was fair and settled, and that the breeze was shifting to the south."

"I spoke not of the weather," said he. "Let it be. The thunder may hide beneath a brow, the lightning may flash from out two eyelids, and the storm may break in a man's breast."

"For Heaven's sake, speak plain," said I. "What do you mean?"

"Wait and see," said he, "I like not these French dogs. Only let thy eye be keen, thy ear quick, and thy hand ready, my Hollander, and stand by me when I call on thee."

More I could not get out of him. When I spoke of it to Ludar afterwards, he said:

"Maybe the little antic is right. Yet they are too sorry a crew, and too small to do mischief. They suspect us of carrying treasure aboard, and your friend the captain, I take it, is the roundest villain of them all."

I vowed the captain was no friend of mine; yet I believed him honest. But as for the crew, it came to my mind then what the drunken fellow had blabbed out the first night; and I said it was like enough to be true.

That afternoon I rose from my sick-bed and came on deck. I remember to this hour the joy of that afternoon.

The day was bright and fair; land was nowhere to be seen; only a stretch of blue-green water through which the Misericorde spanked with a light breeze at her stern. The white sails shone out in the sunlight, and the happy gulls called to one another above our heads. As I faced round and drank in mouthful after mouthful of the fresh salt air, my life seemed to revive within me, and I felt the strength rush back into my thews. But the greatest joy of all was that the maiden, seeing me stand there, came up and bade me a joyous welcome to the upper air once more.

"Alas," said she, laughing, "it has been dull times while you have been below, Humphrey. My good old nurse has not ceased to cry out that she was dying since we took our first lurch into the free sea. Your Knight of the Rueful Countenance flies from me whenever he sees me afar; your French captain might be an Englishman, he is so sulky; and as for your English paragon there,"—and she pointed to the gallant who was strutting on the forward deck—"he frightens me with his frenzies and raptures. Do you all make love that way in England?"

"No," said I, "I think not."

"Why, Humphrey, you talk as if you knew not; I would have vowed you had a sweetheart of your own, with the rest of them."

"Maybe I have," said I.

Just then to my relief, Ludar came up.

"Sir Ludar," I said, "this lady complains that you, who are so brave, run away whenever she looks your way."

Neither the maiden nor Ludar liked my clumsy speech.

"Nay, Sir Malapert," said she, "I complain not of what contents me. Besides, Sir Ludar has been better employed in nursing you."

"If I be a coward," said Ludar, "it's because I dread a frown more than a battle-axe."

The maiden looked up at him, with the gentle light in her eyes which I had marked before now.

"If you dread frowns," said she, laughing, "never look in your mirror, Sir Ludar; for, by my faith, you glare at me now as if I were an English poet, such as now approacheth." We looked up and there was our gallant at our elbows.

"As the loadstone to his star, as the compass to the pole, as the river to the sea, so come I, fair tyrant of my heart. For thy sake, I even salute these thy satellites, O moon of my vision! who derive from thee their lustre."

"Witness Sir Ludar's countenance," said the maiden. "But now that the sun has come on the horizon, Sir Poet, shall not we lesser lights all pale? Pray, did you catch any fish to-day?"

"Nay, mistress mine, how should the silly fish, dazzled by thy heavenly brightness, see the humble bait of a mortal?"

"I know not," said the maiden, "but I saw one sailor, an hour ago, catch three."

"Is it a wonder, since you watched the quivering line? Mark you, my humble friends," said he, turning to Ludar and me. "I relieve you of your further attendance on me and this lady. I thank you, and so farewell, till we summon you further."

"Nay, Sir Poet," said the maiden, "if you must be gone, adieu. As for me, Sir Ludar is about to teach me the mystery of the angle, and Humphrey waits on Sir Ludar. Therefore, concern yourself not for me; I am well attended."

"Oh," said he, rather chapfallen, "your condescension is a lesson for angels. When the planet deigns to shine into the humble pool, shall the star not do the same? I will even abide at your side, and be gracious too."

But his brave intention was thwarted. For a call came just then from the old nurse, which carried the maiden off to her side; while Ludar and I, receiving a summons from the captain, went forward, and so left the poet to his own devices.

A sterner summons was not far off, as you shall hear.



CHAPTER ELEVEN.

HOW THE MISERICORDE CHANGED HER CREW.

We were, I reckon, somewhere off the Yorkshire coast; for we had been sailing a week, for the most part against foul winds. To-night, as I said, the light breeze had backed to the south and was sending us forward quietly at some six or seven knots an hour. All seemed to promise a speedy end to our voyage; and yet, as I stood there, drinking in the beauty of the evening, and rejoicing in my recovered strength, I would as soon we had been bound on a voyage ten times as long.

I was standing idly near the foremast. On the high poop behind sat the maiden, singing beside her old nurse, who, like me, was enjoying the air for the first time to-night. Ludar lolled near me, on a coil of rope, watching the sun dip as he listened to the singing, and betwixt whiles unravelling the tangles of a fishing line. On the forecastle, the French seamen sat and whispered, scowling sometimes our way, and sometimes laughing at the poet who strutted near them, intent on the sunset and big with some notable verses thereupon, which were hatching in his brain. An English fellow was at the helm, half asleep; while the captain, grumbling at the slackness of the breeze, paced to and fro, with an oath betwixt his lips and an ugly frown on his brow.

Suddenly I seemed to detect among the Frenchmen a stir, as if something had just been said or resolved upon in their whisperings. The captain at that instant was near them, turning in his walk; when, without warning, two of their number sprang out upon him. There was a shout, a struggle, the gleam of a knife, and then a dead man lay on the deck. All was so quick and sudden that the murder was done under my very eyes before I knew what was happening. Then, in a twinkling, the whole ship became the scene of a deadly fight. Three of the traitors threw themselves on Ludar; the poet reeled in the grip of another; two others made for me.

"Back, back!" shouted Ludar, in a voice of thunder, as he began his struggle.

'Twas well I obeyed him; for the two who had made an end of the captain were already rushing in the direction of the women, and had I reached the ladder a moment later, all might have been lost.

The men, I think, in laying their wicked plan, had scarcely taken me (who late was so weak), into account as a fighting man. They had reckoned to carry the poop, where lay the supposed treasure and the arms, without a blow; and once there, the ship would be theirs. It staggered them, therefore, to find me standing in the way and laying about me. The two women, as I said, were on the upper deck which formed the roof of the poop house. To that there was no access save by the small ladder, which I accordingly wrenched from its place and swung round with all my might at my assailants. The blow knocked over two of them; and before they could regain their feet, I had struck another a blow with my fist, which needed no second. The fourth varlet did not wait for me, but closed on me with his knife. Luckily the blade missed its mark, grazing only my ribs, and before he could strike again I had him by the wrist, and the blow he meant for me went home in his own neck. After that, 'twas easy work to hold off the other two, one of whom was the drunken fool who had blabbed his secret days ago, had I only heeded it, in my sick cabin. Finding me stubborn, and further passage barred, they sheered off with a curse and hastened forward. I durst not follow them; for it might be a feint to decoy me from my post. So, with all the haste I could, I threw up an out-work of lumber, sails, spars, and boxes across the deck some distance in front of the poop, and, relieving my two fallen assailants of their knives, I stood ready for whatever next might betide.

"Humphrey," called the maiden from above, "put up the ladder quickly and let me down."

"Nay," said I, "'tis no place for you, maiden. You are safe there. Stay."

"Obey me, Humphrey," said she in so commanding a voice that I fetched the ladder at once.

She looked pale and stern; but otherwise was cool and collected as she descended.

"Now," said she, as she stood beside me, "go and bring down my nurse. Give me that knife; I will mount guard here till you are done."

I durst not waste time by arguing; she took the knife from me and motioned me to my task. The poor old lady, more dead than alive, was hard to move; nor was it till I wickedly threatened to cast her overboard, that she consented to come at all. As I was catching her in my arms, the man at the helm, whom I had all this time clean forgotten, sprang suddenly on me from behind with a pole which, had it been better aimed, would have ended my troubles then and there. As it was, the timber fell on my shoulder, almost cracking the blade. But I was in with him in a twinkling, and had him by the throat before he could strike again. Next moment, the wretch (woe to us that he was an Englishman!) was over the board, and the Lord have mercy on his soul!

The delay was pitiable for the old woman, whom, when I came to her again, I found to have swooned away. It was all I could do with my bruised arm to lift her and bring her to the ladder. How I got her down and into her cabin I know not; but when I came out again to my lady's side, the ship seemed to swim before my eyes. I remember a vision of Ludar, bloody and gasping, reeling across the deck towards us, fighting his way, foot by foot, with four or five savage devils who followed yelling at his back.

Then for a time all seemed dim and horrible. I knew that we were fighting desperately for our lives; that men fell heavily and with a groan on to the deck; that the maiden stood by us, undaunted; that presently there was a report of a pistol, followed by a hideous shouting and shrieking. After that, all seemed to grow still of a sudden, and Ludar shouted, "Look to Humphrey."

When I came to, we were still on the deck. The maiden was bathing my brow with water. Ludar, pale and blood-stained, stood gloomily by. Of the enemy not a man stirred. My swoon could not have lasted long, for the hues of the sunset lingered yet in the sky. I tried to gather myself together, but the maiden gently restrained me. "No, Humphrey," said she, "lie still. There is no more work to be done. Thank God you are safe, as we are."

'Twas sorely tempting to lie thus, so sweetly tended; but the sight of Ludar shamed me into energy. I struggled to my feet. My arm hung limp at my side and my head throbbed; but for that, I was sound and able to stand upright.

Ludar, when I came to look at him, was in a worse plight than I. He was bleeding from a gash on his face, and another on his leg; while the jacket he wore was torn in shreds on his back. He came and took my arm, and then motioned with his head to the ghastly heap of dead men on the deck.

"Take her within," said he, "and then come and help me."

"Maiden," said I, "thank Heaven you are safe, and that we are alive to guard you. Your old nurse I fear is more in need of help than we. I left her senseless. Will you not go to her?"

I think she guessed what we meant; for she said nothing, but went quickly within.

Then Ludar and I went out to our task. Of the seven Frenchmen who had set on us, not one lived. Beside these lay the captain, the maiden's waiting man (who, Ludar said, had taken side with the traitors), and one other of the English sailors who had fought for us.

"What of the poet?" said I, when after much labour the ship had been lightened of all that was not living.

"He is safe at the mast-head," said Ludar.

There, sure enough, when I looked up, clung the poor gallant; peering down at us with pasty face, and hugging the mast with arms and legs.

"Let him bide there a while," said Ludar. "He is safe and out of the way. He skipped up at the first assault, and wisely cut the rope ladder behind him, so that no man could pursue him. But tell me, how do you fare?"

"I am less hurt than you," said I. "Only my arm is numbed by the whack the English knave gave me; while you, Ludar, are bleeding, head and foot."

"I was scratched," said he. "The villains who set on me were too quick, as you saw, and had me down before I could shut my fist. Why they did not despatch me then and there I know not; but in seizing me they carried their blades in their teeth, the better to use their hands, so that I was able to snatch one for my own use as I fell. It served only to rid me of one of the company. Yet I got my feet again under me, when the other two made at me, as well as the two who had fled from you. Among them all I got these scratches. When the fifth came, who had seen the poet aloft, I knew I could hold ground no longer; so I gave way, as you saw, and made for your barrier. After that you know, and how the maiden stood by us all through, and in the end fetched the pistol which finished the business. Had these villains but been armed, it is they who would have buried us. But come in now, Humphrey, and take counsel."

'Twas a strange ship's company that met that evening in the dead captain's cabin. The maiden, Ludar, I, and one of the English fellows, who had been sleeping below and knew naught of the fight till all was over. As for the poet, Ludar still refused to have him down till our conference was over.

Of all our party the maiden was, I think, the most hopeful. "God and His saints," said she, "have ordered this to try us, and see of what mettle we be. Shall we despair, Sir Ludar, when He has proved His goodness to us? The past is done, the future is all before us. You are our captain now, and Humphrey and I and this brave sailor here, ay and our poor poet aloft there, are your crew to follow where you lead. I can man a gun and haul a rope, as you shall see. Come, Humphrey, what say you?"

"I have vowed," said I, "to follow my master to the death. Nor can I think heaven will desert us while you who belong there, are aboard."

She blushed at this and turned it off.

"Nay, my friend, it depends on how we do the duty that lies to our hand whether we belong there or not."

Here Ludar broke in abruptly.

"Seaman, where be we now?"

The sailor got up and went out to ascertain our bearings.

"Maiden," said Ludar, then, more grave than I had ever seen him, "I can make no fine speeches, such as Humphrey here or yonder monkey at the mast-head; but I accept you as one of this crew with a prouder heart than if I were offered my father's castle."

Then he held out his great hand, and she lay her little hand in it, and her true eyes flashed up to meet his. And I who stood by knew that the compact I witnessed then was for a longer voyage than from here to Leith.

I was glad when presently the man came in and reported.

"By your leave, captain, we be eight leagues east of Flamboro' with a southerly breeze falling fast. The ship lies in the wind and the tiller is swinging."

"Take the helm, master, and keep her head straight. Humphrey, fetch down the poet. He and I will mount the first watch to-night. Maiden, do you get what rest you may, ere your turn comes in the morning."

"Ay, ay, my captain," said she cheerily, and went.

"Humphrey," said Ludar, calling me back, when she had gone, "do you wonder that I love that maiden?"

"I do not," said I.

"Is she you love as fair, as brave, as noble?"

"She is," I answered, "every whit as fair, every whit as brave, every whit as noble."

"Then why," he asked, looking hard at me, "are you sad when you speak of her?"

"Alas," said I, "she loves me not. Ludar, talk not to me of her; I will go fetch the poet."

The poor fellow was by this time well-nigh at the end of his patience. For, though he had fixed himself cunningly in the rigging of the foremast, seating himself on the royal yard, and hugging the mast lovingly with his arms and legs, he found himself unable to budge, or even see what was going on below, by reason of the dizziness which afflicted him. How he had got up so far, and managed to cut the ropes behind him, he never could explain. But a man will do desperate feats for his life's sake.

It was no light task to dislodge him. With my maimed arm I could not haul myself up the rigging even to the lower top-yard, much less carry up to him his dangling ladder. All I could do was to hail him and bid him be of good cheer till we had him down.

"Cheer," he cried, "cometh not in a voice from the void, neither is there help in empty breath. Come up, for I am weary of my perch; and verily, if the mountain come not to Mahomet, the prophet must abase himself to the mountain. In short, my man, I am near tumbling."

"Hold on," cried I. "I shall fetch help and all will be safe."

"Oh, that the giants would pile Pelion on Ossa and get me out of this heaven!" I heard him say. Methought, however, the fellow could not yet be in desperate straits to talk thus.

At last the seaman scrambled up and fetched him down, not without many protestations and caveats by the way. Once down, however, he shook his fluttered plumes, and crowed like any chanticleer.

"Facilis descensus Averni, as our Maro hath it. As the muse droppeth from the heights, and the golden shower descendeth, so visit I once more the Arcadian plains. Which remindeth me, where is my Danae, and how fareth she? Apprise her, I pray you, of my return. And, by the way," added he, puffing himself valiantly, "where is the varlet that late sought my life. He and I must settle scores before this night be an hour older. Fetch him hither and by my—"

"See here, Sir Popinjay," said Ludar, coming forward impatiently, and cutting the speech in twain, "the time is gone past for this fooling. If you be a man, you may prove it now. If not, on my soul, you shall go aloft again. Come, you share this watch with me. Put some food into your body, and then keep sharp look-out ahead. You see the entire crew of this vessel, save the two women; therefore, cease to be half a man and make yourself two."

The fellow turned pale at this news, and cast a glance up and down the empty ship. Then, without a word, he took up half a loaf and a mug of beer from the cabin table and walked forward.

"Humphrey," said Ludar, "get to bed, your turn will come."

But to bed I could not go; and Ludar for once, I found, was not hard to persuade.

There was in truth much to be done before we could think of rest. Together we overhauled the ship's rations, and found what would last us for long enough yet. We examined, too, our ordnance, which was but meagre and ill-fashioned; we had three pieces on either side, besides a small swivel gun on poop and forecastle. The ammunition was sufficient for these and for the few pistols and muskets which we found in the Frenchman's cabin. Further, we looked long and hard at our charts, which seemed well marked for the passage we were bound on. The English fellow, we discovered, had been several times that way; and, though he was no pilot, he said he yet knew the Bass Rock from a mud bank, and, provided we fell in with neither pirates, tempest, nor the Spaniard, could put us into Leith Roads right side uppermost as well as any man. Whereat we felt easier in our minds than we had been.

By the time all these consultations were ended, the watch was half spent. Ludar therefore ordered me below, whether I would or no, to rest. In truth I was ready for it, and fell asleep almost before my head touched my pillow.

When I awoke, Ludar stood beside me.

"Up!" said he, "all goes well, and your watch-partner awaits you."

"Ludar," said I, springing up. "Why do you give me the partner who belongs of right to you?"

"'Tis a time for work," said he, with a smile, "not for play. Am I not captain here? To your watch, Humphrey."

I went on board. There stood she on the forecastle, looking ahead and singing softly to herself.

I left her and went aft. The sailor was still at the helm, having volunteered a double watch to see us through the night. All behind was ship-shape and trim. Ludar had been busy, clearing the decks and bringing back to order the confusion left by the late battle. There was nothing for me to do. Therefore, with beating heart I walked forward once more.

She turned at my coming and greeted me frankly.

"Welcome, messmate," said she. "Is all well?"

"All is well," said I. "The Captain has done the work of ten men, and nought is left for me and you but to look ahead."

"And he is resting?" asked she. "Think you his wounds were dressed?"

"I helped him tend them before I went below," said I. "They were but scratches."

"And your arm," said she; "it still hangs heavy. May I not bind it for you, Humphrey?"

I wished I was the heathen Briareus then, with an hundred arms. There was magic in her touch; and no charm of witch or fairy could have mended my bruised limb as did she.

After that, we sat silent awhile, looking out to sea. The soft light was spreading on the east, heralding the coming day. The slack breeze flapped lazily in the sails overhead and scarce ruffled the drowsy ocean. The stars one by one put out their little lights and vanished into the blue. There was no sound but the creaking of the yards and the gentle plash of the water on the hull; only these and the music of a maiden's song. It went hard with me, that night. For a while, as I sat there, gazing into her face and listening to her music and feeling the touch of her hand on my arm, I was fool enough to think all this—all this peace, all this beauty of the ocean dawn, all this lulling of the breeze, all this music, this gentle smile, this tender touch, spelt love; and there came a voice from the tempter that I should tell her as much then and there. What hindered me, I know not. 'Twas not alone the thought of Ludar, or the remembrance of my own honour, or the fear of her contempt. Be it what it may, I was helped by Heaven that night to be a man, and with a mighty effort to shake off the spell that was on me. So I rose to my feet and walked abaft. Many a time I paced to and fro cooling my fevered brow ere I ventured to return. But when at last I did, I was safe. She stood there motionless, radiant with the first beams of the royal sun as he leapt up from the sea.

"Look, Humphrey," she cried. "Is not that worth keeping watch for?" Then she broke again into song.

"Is that an Irish song you sing?" I asked.

"It is. How knew you that?"

"I guessed it. What does it mean?"

She blushed.

"'Tis a song the maidens sing at home—an old, old song," said she, "that I learned from my nurse."

"I pray you, sing it again," said I.

She turned her face to the rising sun, and sang, in English words, as follows:

Who cometh from the mountain like the sun for brightness? Whose voice ringeth like the wave on the shingle? Who runneth from the east like the roe? Who cometh?

Is it the wind that kisses my tresses? Or is it the harp of Innis thrilling my ear? Or is it the dawn on Ramore that dims my eyes? Who cometh?

Is he far? Is he near? Whence comes he riding? Dazzling in armour and white of brow? Is it for me that he filleth the mountains with music? Who waiteth? Who cometh?

"'Tis a wild song, full of riddles," said I. "Maybe there is a song somewhere which has the answers."

"I know it not," said she.

"Not yet," said I.

She looked up at me quickly as if she doubted my meaning. But I looked out seaward and asked:

"Where in Ireland is your home, maiden? Is it near Ludar's castle on the sea?"

"Hard by," said she. "The McDonnells and O'Neills are neighbours and foes." And her brow clouded. "My father, Humphrey, is the bravest of the O'Neills as Ludar's father is the bravest of the McDonnells."

"And does your father hold Dunluce?" asked I.

"I know not," said she. "I have never seen my father, Turlogh Luinech O'Neill, though I love him as my life. At two years I was sent away to England with my English mother, who was but a hand-fast bride to the O'Neill."

"And what may that be?" I asked.

"'Tis a custom with us," said she, "for the chiefs to take wives who are theirs only so long as a better does not present herself. My mother, Alice Syngleton, the daughter of my father's English ally and preserver, Captain Syngleton, was thus wedded, and when I was two years old—so my old nurse tells me—he married the great Lady Cantire of the Isles. Wherefore my mother was sent home to England with me, and there we lived till she died three years ago; since when I have pined in a convent, and am now, in obedience to my father's summons, on my way to my unknown home. My father, being, as I understand, allied to the English, who have dispossessed the McDonnells, I was to come over under the escort of an English officer of Sir William Carleton's choosing, who was my mother's kinsman. You know what peril that brought me to, and how, thanks to you, I am now making a safer journey, and a happier. Humphrey," said she, "till I met you and Sir Ludar, I had thought all men base; 'twas the one lesson they taught us at the convent. I have unlearned the lesson since."

"Pray Heaven you never have to relearn it," said I, groaning inwardly to think how near I had been to giving her cause.

Thus we talked that morning. At every word, what little hope I had once had of her love faded like the stars above our heads. Yet, instead of it came the promise of an almost sisterly friendship, which at the time seemed poor enough exchange, but which was yet a prize worth any man's having. She bade me tell her about myself, and heard me so gently, and concerned herself so honestly in all that touched me, and praised and chid me so prettily for what I had done well and ill, that I would my story had been twice as long and twice as pitiful. The only secret I did not tell her, you may guess. She did not. But she heard me greedily when I came to tell of my meeting with Ludar and of our adventures near Oxford; and for his sake, as much as for my own, she thought kindly of me and promised me her friendship.

Our watch was ended, and we were in the act of quitting our post, when the maiden, taking one last look seaward, cried: "Is not that a sail away there?"

Sure enough it was, sparkling on the westward horizon, some two leagues to the larboard.

"Who cometh?" said I to myself, echoing the maiden's song.



CHAPTER TWELVE.

HOW WE SAILED INTO LEITH.

A strange joy seized me as I sighted the unknown ship. For my heart told me she was no friend, and I was just in the humour for a fight. I was one too many on board the Misericorde; and a brush with the Queen's foes just now would comfort me amazingly. And yet, when I came to think of it, she lay in nearer the English coast than we, and was like enough to be no Queen's enemy after all, but a Queen's cruiser on the look-out for suspicious craft like ours. For we floated no colours aloft. After the late fight Ludar had hauled down the Frenchman's flag; but it was in vain I begged him to hoist that of her royal Majesty in its place. He would not hear of it.

"No," said he, "I sail under no false colours. This is a voyage for safety, not for glory, else I know the flag would fly there. As it is, Humphrey, 'tis best for us all to fly nothing. The masts shall go bare. The blue of a maiden's eyes is colour enough for you and me to fight under."

I could not gainsay him. We were in no trim for receiving broadsides, or grappling with sea-dogs, however merry the ports might be for a man in my plight. Our business was to bring the Misericorde safe into Leith Roads, and to that venture we stood pledged.

Ludar ordered the maiden to her quarters and me to my cabin.

"In this calm," said he, "'twill be hours before we foregather if foregather we may. So below, while the poet and I whistle for a breeze."

Towards afternoon we lay much as we were, drifting a little westward. But then came some clouds up from the south-east and with them a puff into our canvas.

"We may be glad to take in a reef on her before daybreak, Captain," said the seaman.

"Time, enough till then," said Ludar. "Take all you can now."

We had not long to wait before the Misericorde had way on once more. Then Ludar called his crew to him and said:

"To-night, be yonder stranger who she may, we run a race. Maiden, you have the keenest eyes; keep the watch forward. Humphrey, do you and the poet see to the guns and have all ready in case we need to show our teeth. Pilot, budge not one point out of the wind; but let her run. We may slip past in the dark, and then we are light-heeled enough to keep ahead. Old nurse, I warrant you have loaded a piece before now—we may need you to do it again. Meanwhile, to bed with you."

Then the race began. The wind behind us freshened fast, so that in an hour's time our timbers were creaking under stress of canvas. Before that, the stranger ship, though still a league and a half to larboard, had caught the breeze and was going too, canvas crowded, with her nose a point out of the wind into our course. For a long while it seemed as if we were never to come nearer, so anxious was she to give us no more advantage than she could help. But towards sundown we may have been a league asunder running neck and neck.

"She's an English cruiser, Captain," cried the helmsman, "and takes us for a Spaniard—that's flat."

"Then run as if we were so," said Ludar. "Budge not an inch from your course even if we scrape her bows as we pass."

So we held on straight down the wind, while the Englishman, closing in at every mile, held on too; and no one was to say which of us gained an inch on the other.

The sun tumbled into the sea and the brief twilight grew deeper, while behind us the wind gathered itself into a squall. Just before daylight failed, we could perceive the cruiser, not two miles away, leaning forward on her course, with the Queen's flag on her poop, and a row of portholes gaping our way. Then we lost her in the dusk.

The poet, who stood near me at the gun, said:

"Night is as a cave of which none seeth the end from the beginning; and a man hooded feeleth what he before saw. My Hollander, I bargained not for this when I took passage here. I wish it were to-morrow. Why do we not, under cover of night, change our course?"

"Because, since that is what our pursuers will expect of us, it will delude them the more if we keep straight on."

"O truth, many are thy arts!" said he. "But if, my Soothsayer, the wolf's cunning be a match for that of the lamb? What then?"

"Then you may want your match, and your knife too," said I.

He shivered a little.

"My Hollander," said he, "if I fall, say to my lady 'twas for her; and I pray you give her the gem in my bonnet. Say to her its brightness was dimmer than the remembrance of her eyes; and its price meaner than the dewdrop on her lip. Bring her to see me where I lie; and compose my face to greet her. Tell me, my Dutchman, doth a cannon ball give short shrift, or were it easier to die by the steel?"

"A peace to your nonsense," said I. "You have more sonnets to write before we need think of laying you out."

He was comforted at this, and we resumed our watch in silence.

The night grew very dark, and at every gust our masts stooped further before the wind. The Misericorde hissed her way through the water, and still our pilot turned not his helm an inch right or left.

Presently, Ludar came up to where we stood. I could see his eyes flash even in the dark.

"Go forward now," said he to me. "Should we both be running as we were, and as I think we are our courses ought to meet not far hence. Send the maiden to me—I need her to take the helm while we three stand to the guns. Pray Heaven we win clear; if not, it will go hard with you, friend, in the prow. Let go your pistol at first sight of them, and, if you can, come abaft to join us before we strike."

I could tell by the tone in which he spoke that he took in every inch of our peril, and trembled, not for himself, but for some one else.

The maiden was loth to quit her post; for she, too, knew the risk of it and claimed it as her right. But when I told her the Captain had so ordered, and required her at the helm, she obeyed without another word.

Then followed a quarter of an hour that seemed like a lifetime. As I stood craning my neck forward, gazing under my hands seaward, there crowded into my memory visions of all my past life. I seemed to see the home of my boyhood, and looked again into my mother's face. And I stood once more before my case in the shop outside Temple Bar, and listened to Peter Stoupe humming his psalm-tune, and heard my types click into the stick. I marched once more at the head of my clubs to Finsbury Fields, and there I saw Captain Merriman—drat him!—with his vile lips at a maiden's ear. And I passed, too, along the village street at Kingston where met me my mistress and her sweet daughter; and as I looked back, Jeannette turned too and—

What was that? Surely in the darkness I saw something! No. All was pitch black. The wind roared through the rigging, and the water seethed up at the plunging prow. But though I saw nothing, I felt the pursuer near; so near, I wondered not to hear the swish of her keel through the waves. On we went and nearer and nearer we seemed together. Oh for one sign of them, were it even a gun across our path! But sign there came none. The darkness seemed blacker than ever and—

All of a sudden I seemed to detect something—a spark, or a glow, or the luminous break of a wave. So swiftly it came and went, that it was gone before I could look. A trick of my vision, thought I. No! there it was again, this time nothing but a spark, close by, on a level, perhaps, with our mizzen. So near was it, I wondered whether it might not be the lighting of a match at our own guns. It went again: and as it did so, my finger, almost without my knowing it, tightened on the trigger of my pistol and it went off.

At the same moment, there was a blaze, a roar, a crash, and a shout. For an instant the Misericorde reeled in her course and quivered from stern to stern. Then, another shout and a wild irregular roar astern. Then our good ship gathered herself together and leapt forward once more into the darkness, and the peril was passed.

All was over so suddenly that the pistol was still smoking in my hand as I leapt from the forecastle and rushed aft.

"Is all well?" I shouted.

"All well," said Ludar, quietly. "She grazed our poop and no more."

"And the maiden?" said I.

"All well," cried she, cheerily from the helm, "and fair in the wind."

"Stand at your posts still," cried Ludar.

So for another half-hour yet we stood at our posts, just as we had stood before the crisis came; and not a word said any one.

Then in the stormy east came a faint flush of dawn, and we knew that this perilous night was over.

"Seaman," said Ludar, "relieve the maiden at the helm, and bid her come hither."

She came, radiant and triumphant.

"Sir Ludar," she said, "I thank you for letting me hold the helm this night. You gave it me as the place of safety; but I had my revenge, since it proved the post of honour."

"It was indeed the post of danger," said Ludar. "Had you swerved and not held straight on, we might not have been here to honour you for it. But say, did none of the Englishman's shot reach the poop?"

"Some of it. Witness the sail there and the rail and the stern windows; but it spared me."

"I think," said Ludar, "we maimed them in one of their masts in passing, and their bowsprit broke short when it touched our stern. I doubt if we shall find them following us."

"As for our Hollander," said the poet, who had been wondrous silent thus far, "he hath this night proved himself twice a prophet. He said we should win this race; he said, moreover, I should live to write another ode. And lo! he spoke true. By your leave, Captain, I will go celebrate this notable occasion in a strain worthy of it and to the glory of my fair Amazon who—"

"Go below and cook this company some pottage," said Ludar, "and see you be not long over it."

Whereat the poet, with the muse taken out of him, departed. We stood watching the dawn till there was light enough to look back on our night's work. There was the Englishman with her main-mast gone, and draggled about the bows, beating up under reefed sails for the coast. It was plain to see, although we were two long leagues away, that she had had enough for one night and was going to leave us in peace. For myself, as I looked, I could not wholly glory in having thus flouted her Majesty's flag; but I considered that we had run that night for our lives, so I hoped the sin would be forgiven me.

And now, when we come to look round us, we found the wind still running high, and shifting a point or so to the eastward, promising a stormy day. So Ludar bade us shorten our canvas and put out our ship's head a bit, so as to give the coast a wide berth.

And, in truth, as the day wore on, the wind freshened into a gale, and the gale into a tempest, so that if we had promised ourselves relief after the perils of last night, our hopes were dashed. The sea, which so far had been easy, ran now high, and washed over our prow as we stood across the wind, and it was plain we were going to find out before long of what mettle our brave timbers were.

'Twas no light thing to face a night like this, even with a good crew— how much less with but four men and a maid? Yet I never saw Ludar more at his ease. In the danger of last night his face had been troubled and his manner excited. Now he gave his orders as if this were a pleasure trip on a quiet lake.

"What is there to mind," said he, "in a capful of wind? 'Tis sent to help us on our way; whereas, had we been taken last night where should we be now? Come, my men, help me shorten sail, for a little will go a long way a night like this. Maiden, to you I trust the helm with a light heart. 'Twill tax your strength more to keep her head thus than to run, as you did last night, clean before the wind; but you are strong and brave, and teach us to be the same."

The subtlest courtier's speech could not have won her as did these blunt words. She said no more than "I go, my Captain." But the look of her eyes as they met his spoke volumes of joy and gratitude, a tithe of which would have gladdened me for a lifetime.

Then we fell to shortening our canvas—a perilous task. When that was done, leaving only the topsails spread, Ludar bade us make good the hatches, and fall to and eat. Which we did, all but the poet, who, being either big with his ode, or misliking the wildness of the night, sat idle.

"Come, Sir Popinjay," said Ludar. "Eat, for no man can work on an empty stomach, and even poetry will not help haul a rope."

"We avoid Scylla, my Captain, only to fall into Charybdis. Methinks Scylla were the better fate. At least I might have passed this night recumbent. The eagle, at the day's end, flieth to his nest, and the lion hath his den; to all toil cometh an evensong, save to the shuttlecocks of Aeolus."

"Nay, Sir Poet, you did bravely last night. Fall to and eat now, and we shall see you do more bravely to-night."

"Orpheus, his weapon, is a harp, not a gun. Nevertheless, I am one of five, and shall yield me to a man's bidding for the sake of her, my mistress, to whose glory I have this day indited my ode, and into whose sweet ear I will even now go recite it."

"No, no," said Ludar, "stay here and eat, and then go make a better one on the starboard bow, with your hand on the forestays, and your eye seaward."

He obeyed at length and swallowed his supper. Then, lamenting the maiden's fate at being deprived of his ode, he went gallantly forward.

"There goes a brave man in the garb of a fool," said Ludar. "Humphrey, in this wind, the maiden will be hard put to it to keep her post on the poop. 'Twould help her to lash her to her helm. Will you go and do it?"

"That task belongs to the Captain," said I. "She will suffer it from you." He smiled at me grimly and went astern. And, as I said, the maiden let him have his way; and there she stood, as night closed, erect and steadfast, with her hands on the tiller and her brave face set seaward.

'Twas a fearful night of shrieking wind and thundering wave. Often and often as the brave Misericorde reared and hung suspended on a wave's crest, we knew none of us if she would ever reach the next. Lucky for us we were a flush-decked ship and our hatches sound, for the seas that poured over us would have filled us to the brim in an hour. Lucky, too, the Frenchman's cargo had been snugly stowed, or we should have been on our beam-ends before midnight. Half-way through the night, there was a loud crack and over went our main top-mast with her sails in ribbons. We had scarce time, at great peril, to cut her away, when another burst snapped our mizzen almost at the deck.

"That lightens us still more," said Ludar. "Let go all the forward canvas, and cut away. We must put her into the wind and let her drive under bare poles."

With that he went to the helm, where indeed the maiden must have needed succour. And there he stayed beside her till the night passed.

Afterwards he told me that he found her there, half stunned by the wind, but never flinching, or yielding a point out of the course. "I know not if she was pleased to see me there," said he. "She said little enough, and hardly surrendered me the tiller. But when we put the ship into the wind, there was little to do, save to stand and watch the sea, and shield ourselves as best we might from the force of the waves that leapt over the poop."

And fierce enough they were, in truth. But what was worse was that our course now lay due west, bringing us every league nearer the coast. Should the tempest last much longer we might have a sterner peril to face on the iron Northumbrian shore than ever we had escaped in the open sea.

The night passed and morning saw us driving headlong, with but one mast standing and not a sail to bless it. The maiden who had stood at her post since sundown yielded at last and came down, pale and drenched, to her quarters. The poet too, who had clung all night to the halyards, looking faithfully ahead and polishing his ode inwardly at the same time, also crawled abaft, half frozen and stupid with drowsiness. Indeed, there was little any of us could do, and one by one Ludar ordered us to rest, while he, whom no labour seemed to daunt, clung doggedly to the helm.

Thus half that day the wind flung us forward, till presently, far on the horizon, we could discern the sullen outline of a cliff.

"We are lost!" said I.

"Humphrey, you are a fool," said Ludar. "See you not the wind is backing fast?"

So it was, and as we drove on, ever nearer the fatal coast, it swung round again to the southerly, and the sun above us blazed out fitfully from among the breaking clouds.

"Heaven fights for us," said Ludar. "Quick, rig up a sail forward and fly a yard; and do you, seaman, look to your charts and say where we are."

"That I have done long since," said the sailor. "We are scarce a league from the Holy Island, and 'tis full time we put her head out, sir."

"Come and take the helm then."

For a while it seemed as if we were to expect as wild a tempest from the south as ever we had met from the east. But towards evening, the wind slackened a bit, and, veering south-east, enabled us to stand clear of the coast, and make, battered and ill canvassed as we were, straight for the Scotch Forth.

The maiden slept all through that night, and when at dawn she came on deck, fresh and singing, we were tumbling merrily through a slackening sea, with the Bass Rock looming on the horizon.

"Methinks the jaded Greek felt not otherwise when, leaving behind him the blood-stained plains of Troy, he espied the cloud-topped mountains of Hellas," said the poet, who joined us as we stood.

"Which means," said the maiden, "you are glad?"

"Shall Pyramus rejoice to see the wall that hides him from his Thisbe? or Hector leap at the trumpet which parts him from his Andromache? Mistress mine, in yonder rock shall I read my doom?"

"Rather read us your ode, Sir Poet," said she. "It has had a stormy hatching, and should be a tempestuous outburst."

"As indeed you shall find it, if I have your leave to rehearse it," said he.

"I beg no greater favour," said she.

Then the poet poured out this brave sonnet:—

"Go, grievous gales, your heads that heave, Ye foam-flaked furies of the wasty deep. Ye loud-tongued Tritons, wind and wave. Go fan my love where she doth sleep, And tell her, tell her in her ear Her Corydon sits sighing here.

"The tempest stalks the stormy sea, The lightning leaps with lurid light, The glad gull calls from lea to lea, The whistling whirlwind fills the night; Bears each a message to my love, Whose stony heart I faint to move."

"'Tis too short," said the maiden, "we shall be friends, I hope, long enough to hear more of it."

"Meanwhile, Sir Poet," said Ludar, who chafed at these civilities, "go forward again, and keep the watch. Call if you spy aught, and keep your eyes well open."

Fortune favoured us that day, as she had handled us roughly in the days before. The wind held good, and filled our slender canvas. The pilot's charts deceived not; nor did friend or enemy stand across our path. Before night we had swept round the rock and found the channel of the Forth, up which, on a favouring tide, we dropped quietly that evening; and at nightfall let go our anchor with grateful hearts, albeit weary bodies, in Leith Roads, where for a season the Misericorde and we had rest from our labours.



CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

HOW WE BROUGHT THE MAIDEN TO HER FATHER'S HOUSE.

A month later, Ludar and the maiden and I stood on a cliff in Cantire which overlooks the Irish coast. The September sun was dipping wrathfully on the distant Donegal heights, kindling, as he did so, the headlands of Antrim with a crimson glow. Below us, the Atlantic surged heavily and impatiently round the rugged Mull. Opposite—so near, it seemed we might almost shout across—loomed out, sheer from the sea, the huge cliff of Benmore, dwarfing the forelands on either hand, and looking, as we saw it then, anything but the Fair Head which people call it. Scarcely further, on our right, lapped in the lurid water, lay the sweet Isle of Raughlin, ablaze with heather, and resounding with its chorus of sea-birds. A finer scene you could scarce desire. A scene which one day, when the sun is high and the calm water blue, may glisten before you like a vision of heaven; or, on a wild black day of storm, may frown over at you like a prison wall of lost souls; or (as it seemed to-night), like the strange battlements of a wizard's castle, which, while you dread, you yet long to enter.

We looked across the narrow channel in silence. I could mark Ludar's eyes flash and his great chest heave, and knew that he thought of his exiled father and his ravished castle. The maiden at his side, as she turned her fair face to the setting sun, half hopefully, half doubtfully, thought perhaps of her unknown home and her unremembered father. As for me, my mind was charged with wonder at a scene so strange and beautiful, and yet with loneliness as I recalled that for me, at least, there waited no home over there.

"The sun has gone," said the maiden presently, laying her hand on Ludar's arm.

He said nothing; but took the little hand captive in his, and stood there, watching the fading glow.

Then she began to sing softly; and I, knowing they needed not my help, left them.

I remember, as I made my way, stumbling through the thick heather, towards the little village, feeling that this trouble of mine would be less could I tell it to some one; and then, I know not how, I fancied myself telling it to sweet Jeannette; and how prettily she heard me, with her bright eyes glistening for my sake, and her hand on my arm, just as a minute ago I had seen that maiden's hand on Ludar's. Heigho! I who called myself a man was becoming a girl! Happily the heather was thick and the path steep, so that I presently had some other care for my head to busy itself with.

So I came down to the little bay, and set the boat in readiness for to- morrow's voyage, and then, having nought else to do (for the old nurse was abed already), I curled myself up in my corner and fell asleep, dreaming of I know not what.

Now, you are not to suppose that from the time we dropped anchor in Leith Roads till now our travels had been easy. On the contrary, the perils we had met by sea had been nothing to those we encountered by land. Well for us, in parting company with the Misericorde (which we left in the hands of the honest pilot to render up to the Frenchman's agents in Scotland), we had taken each our pistol and sword. For scarce had we set foot in Edinburgh, but we were called to use them. Sometimes it was to protect the maiden from the gallants of the Court, who deemed each pretty face their private game, and were amazed to find Ludar and me dispute their title. Sometimes it was to defend ourselves from the hungry redshanks who itched to dig their daggers into some body, little matter whose. Sometimes it was from rogues and vagabonds whose mouths watered at the sight of the box. Sometimes it was from the officers, who took us one day for English spies, and the next for lords in disguise. As for the poet, the day of our landing he had fled for his life from the terrors of the place, and so we lost him.

I cannot tell what battles we fought, what knocks we got, or what we gave in return; how night by night we slept, sword in hand, at the maiden's door; how day by day we sought to escape from the city and could not; how at length, under cover of a notable fray in the streets, we fled back to Leith, where we found a boat and so reached Falkirk. From there, how like so many gipsies we wandered over the hills and among the deep valleys till we came to Lennox, and so once more met the sea on the other side. Then, by what perils of storm and current, in a small row-boat, we crossed to the wild Isle of Arran, on which we were well-nigh starved with hunger and drowned with the rains. And at last, how, using a fine day, we made across to Cantire, where, so soon as Ludar declared his name, we were hospitably received by the McDonnells there, and promised a safe conduct over to Ireland.

From the wild men here—half soldiers, half mariners—we heard—not that I could understand a word of their tongue, but Ludar and the old nurse could—that Sorley Boy, Ludar's father, was already across, hiding in the Antrim Glynns, where, joined by many a friendly clan, he was waiting his chance to swoop down on the English and recapture his ancient fortress. Turlogh Luinech O'Neill, the maiden's father, we heard, was still lending himself to the invaders, and in return for the Queen's favour, holding aloof, if not getting ready to fall upon the McDonnells when the time came. Of these last, Alexander, Ludar's brother, first and favourite son of the great Sorley Boy (for Donnell, the eldest of all, had been slain in battle), was reputed, next to his father, the bravest; he was also in the Glynns; but James and Randal, his other brothers, were in the Isles, raising the Scots there, and waiting the signal to descend with their gallow-glasses on the coveted coast.

Ludar, had he been alone, would have stayed, I think, to join them. But, with the maiden there, he could think of naught until he had rendered her up safely to her father, foeman though he might be. So to- morrow we were to sail for Castleroe, Turlogh's fort on the western bank of the River Bann, whence, having left our charge, we would repair, Ludar said, sword in hand to his father's camp.

At daybreak we quitted the McDonnells' hut in which we had sheltered and went down to the little harbour in the bay. The long Atlantic waves thundered in from the west as if they would bar our passage, and I wondered much at the peril of crossing that angry channel in so frail a craft.

But Ludar laughed when I questioned him.

"These galleys," said he, "have carried my fathers on stormier seas than this—ay, and the maiden's fathers too; therefore they may be trusted to carry you now, Humphrey."

"I care naught for myself," said I, "and you know it. Nay, Ludar, if it comes to that, I had as soon be under those waves as upon them."

He looked at me in his strange solemn way.

"Friend," he said, "you are unhappy. Was it always so, or is it because I, with a great happiness in me, see more than I once did? Humphrey," added he, "that maiden has said to me that she loves me. Can you credit it?"

I locked his hand in mine. Would that I could show him to you as he stood there; his face ablaze with triumph, yet almost humbled with his good fortune. Then, as he looked on me, the blaze softened into a look of pity.

"I am selfish," said he, "while you are far away from her you love. Yet I could not help telling it, Humphrey. Heaven give you the same secret one day to tell me! But here she comes. Take her beside you at the helm. As for me, the light is too strong in my eyes for me to steer. I must be alone here in the prow, till the world take shape again."

The galley was a long open boat with a single square sail, and thwarts for twelve rowers. To-day six sturdy Scots took the oars, all McDonnells, who wondered much that Ludar should lie forward, leaving the fair maid and me at the helm. As for the old nurse, whose courage revived as the opposite headlands rose up to view, she ensconced herself amidships, and crooned in her native tongue with the rowers. We needed to row many a mile, round the island, before we could hope to hoist our sail. Yet, I could not help marvelling at the vigour of the oarsmen, and at the speed and steadiness of our boat over the billows.

The maiden, who by her blushes when we first met that morning had confirmed Ludar's story, was content enough to sit in the stern with me, while he courted solitude in the prow. She sat a long while silent, looking seaward, and, I think, with the self-same light in her eyes which dimmed those of Ludar. Presently, however, she turned her face to me and said, almost suddenly:

"Humphrey, tell me more of that maiden you spoke about. Why does she not love you?"

I knew not what to say, the question was so unlooked for. I tried to laugh it off.

"Ask her that," said I. "Why should she? I am not Sir Ludar."

"No," said she gently, and then her face blushed once more, and she dropped silent, looking away seaward.

I was sorry for my churlish speech, and feared it had given her offence. But here I was wrong, for presently she said again:

"Is she the little maid who talks to you at home in French, and whom you carried in your arms. Tell me more of her, Humphrey."

To please her I obeyed. And somehow, as I recalled all the gentle ways of my sweet little mistress, and the quaint words she had spoken, and, in fancy, saw once again her bright face, and remembered how she had always taken my part and chased away the clouds from my brow—somehow I knew not how, the memory seemed very pleasant to me; and I called to mind more yet, and wondered with myself how little I had had her in my thoughts since last we parted that cruel day in Kingston street.

As I talked, the maiden listened, her eyes stealing now and again to where Ludar lay wrestling with his mighty happiness in the prow, and then returning, half frightened, half pitying, to encourage me to tell her more. Which I did. And then, when all was said, she asked again:

"And why does she not love you?"

"Indeed," replied I, "I never asked her. Nor do I know if I love her myself."

She smiled at that.

"May I answer for you? No? At least I love her, Humphrey, and for her sake and yours she shall be a sister to me and—"

"And Ludar," said I, as she stopped short.

"Yes, to me and Ludar."

Then we fell to talk about Ludar, and so the day wore on, till, as the sun stood over our heads, we breasted the fair Island of Raughlin.

Here Ludar, with gloomy face, came astern to tell a story.

'Twas neither brief nor merry; but, as he told it with flashing eyes and voice which rose and fell with the dashing waves, we listened with heaving bosoms. 'Twas of a boy, who once played with his comrades on that self-same Island of Raughlin. How in the pleasant summer time he had learned from his noble brothers to draw the bow, and, child as he was, to brandish the spear. How maidens were there, some of whom he called his sisters; and how they sang the wild legends of the coast and told him tales of lovers and fairies and heroes. And how, now and again a white boat came over from the mainland, and on it a noble warrior, gigantic in form, with his yellow locks streaming in the breeze, and the sun flashing on his gilded collar and naked sword. That noble man was the boy's father, and the scarcely less noble form at his side, less by a head than his sire, yet taller by a head than most of his clansmen, was the boy's elder brother. And how the boy followed these two wherever they went, and begged them to take him to the wars on the mainland; and they smiled and bade him wait ten years. So he was left with the women and children on the island, while the men went off in galleys to fight the invader. Then one fatal day, how they woke to see white-sailed ships in the offing and boats of armed men landing on the shore, and how in doubt and terror women and children and old men hastened to yonder castle on the hill, and begged the few armed men there stand to their guard.

"Then," said Ludar, with thunder in his face, "the strangers spread like flies over the fair island and surrounded the castle. To resist was useless. The armed men offered to yield if the women and children and old men were spared. 'Yield, then,' said the captain, and the gate was opened. Then the false villains shouted with laughter, and slew the armed men before the eyes of the helpless captives. 'Bring a torch!' shouted some. 'Drive them back into their kennel!' shouted others. Then a cry went up, so terrible that on the light summer breeze it floated to the mainland, to where on the headland the noble father of that boy stood, like a statue of horror, as the flames shot up. The wretched captives fought among themselves who should reach the door and die on the sword of the enemy rather than by the fire. That boy saw his playmates tossed in sport on the swords of their murderers, and heard his sisters shriek to him—boy as he was—to slay them before a worse death befel. Then he forgot all, except that when, days after, he awoke, he was in the heart of a deep cave into which the sea surged, carrying with it corpses. For a week he stayed there, tended by a rough shepherd, living on seaweed and fish, and well-nigh mad with thirst. At last came a boat; and when that boy woke once more he was in the castle of his noble father, whose face was like the midnight, and whose once yellow hair was as white as the snow."

"That is the story," said Ludar. "I was that boy."

"And the murderers," said I, falteringly, for I guessed the answer.

"The murderers, Humphrey," said he, "were of the same race as your worst enemy and mine."

This gloomy story cast a cloud over our voyage; until, after long silence, during which we sat and watched the rocky coast of the ill- omened Island, the maiden said:

"Sir Ludar, there are older stories of Raughlin than yours. Listen while I sing you of the wedding of Taise Taobhgheal, which befel there when yonder hill was crowned by a beautiful white city, with houses of glass, and when warriors shone in golden armour."

Then she sang a brave martial ballad of a famous battle, which was fought on those coasts for the hand of the beautiful Taise Taobhgheal. And the clear music of her voice, to which the rowers lent a chorus, helped charm away the sadness of Ludar's tale, and while away the time till, having rounded the island, we hoisted our brown sail and flew upon the waves past the great organ-shaped cliffs of the mainland.

The sun had long set behind the western foreland ere we caught ahead of us the roar of the surf on the bar which lay across the river's mouth. Our rowers had passed that way many a time before, and plunged us headlong into the mighty battle of the waters where river and sea met. For a short minute it seemed as if no boat could live in such a whirl; but, before we well knew the danger, we were in calm water within the bar, sailing gaily down the broad, moonlit river.

Then Ludar and the maiden grew sad at the parting which was to come; and I, being weary of the helm, left them and went forward.

Beautiful the river was in the moonlight, with the woods crowding down to its margin, broken now and again by rugged knolls or smooth shining meadows. To me it was strange to be in Ireland and yet have all remind me of my own Thames, all except the wild chant of the foreign rowers.

Many a mile we rowed then, or rather glided. For Ludar bade the men slacken speed and let the night spend itself before we presented ourselves at Castleroe. Therefore we took in the oars after a while and floated idly on the tide.

The old nurse came forward to where I sat, very dismal and complaining.

"Ochone!" said she. "This has been a sore journey, Master Humphrey. My bones ache and my spirits are clean gone. Musha! it's myself would fain be back in London town after all. There'll be none to know Judy O'Cahan here; and I've nigh forgotten the speech and manners of the place mysel'. And my heart sinks for the sweet maiden."

"Why, what ails her?" I asked. "Has she not come to her father's house?"

"Ay, ay, so it's called, so it's called. 'Tis Turlogh owns Castleroe, but 'tis my Lady of Cantire owns Turlogh. He durst not bless himself if she forbid. She wants no English step-daughters, I warrant ye; or if she do, 'twill be to buy and sell with, and further her own greedy plans. I know my Lady; and I know how it will fare with my sweet maid. I tell thee, Master Humphrey, Turlogh, brave lad as he was, must now do as his grand Lady bids, and 'twere better far the maiden had stayed in her nunnery school."

"Why, Judy," said I, "you forget he sent to England for her; and that now, since this voyage began, she has found a protector who will ease both the lord and lady of Castleroe of her charge."

She laughed.

"Little you know, master 'prentice. But there comes the dawn."

Sure enough, in the east, the grey crept up the sky; and at the same time the banks on either side of us rose steeply, while the roar of a cataract ahead warned us that our journey's end was come.

We waited yet another hour, moored under the bank till the sun lifted his forehead above the hill. Then the note of a bugle close at hand startled us, and Ludar bade us disembark.

Castleroe was a house perched strongly on the western bank of the river, with a moat round, and a drawbridge separating the outer courtyard from the house itself.

As we approached we were loudly challenged by a sentry who called to us in broad English.

"Who goes there? Halt! or by my life you shall have a taste of my musket if you advance further."

My heart leapt to my mouth. 'Twas not at hearing the English speech once more, but because the fellow's voice itself was familiar to me. And when a moment later its owner came in view, I saw the man I had met once on the road to Oxford, the same Tom Price who had gone near hanging me for a Jesuit, and afterwards had tempted me to take service in the troop of his master, Captain Merriman, for these Irish wars.

Was it much wonder I gasped aloud, as I saw him?

"Tell Turlogh Luinech O'Neill," said Ludar, advancing, "that his daughter is come from England, with her ancient nurse. And take us to him, that we may deliver our charge safely into his hands."

"Ludar," cried I, taking him by the arm. "Halt, for Heaven's sake! This is one of Captain Merriman's men!"

The soldier looked round as I spoke, and recognised me in a trice.

"Hillo!" cried he; "what have we here? My little Jesuit, Lord Mayor of London, as I'm a sinner! And in what brave company! Sure, they told me my lady expected visitors; and here he is with his sweetheart, and old mother, and private chaplain. Woe's me, the flag is not aloft! So, lad, thou'rt come to join our wars after all, and tell the captain about that duck-weed? And thou shalt, my little Humphrey—you see I even remember your name."

"One word, Tom Price," said I, breathlessly, "as you are an honest man. Is the captain here?"

"Here! He is my lady's honoured guest this three weeks, since he arrived here in a temper enough to sour the countryside. Why, hadst thou run away with his own sweetheart, thou couldst not—"

"Is my father, is Turlogh Luinech O'Neill here, then?" asked the maiden, coming up.

"Thy father!" said the soldier gasping. "Why I took thee for— And art thou, then," said he, pulling off his cap, "art thou—"

"Yes, yes," said she, "I am Rose O'Neill. Pray say, is my father here?"

"Madam," said he, "he left us a week ago for his Castle at Toome. Howbeit my lady—"

"Ludar," said the maiden, "back to the boat, quick! I will not go in here."

"Nay, fair angel," said a voice at our side, "now we have found our truant bird, we must cage her."

It was Captain Merriman himself, smirking, hat in hand.

Before he could well speak the words, Ludar had sprung at his throat, and hurled him to the ground.

Then ensued a pitiful uproar. The guard, in a moment, turned out upon us. It was useless for two men to stand against twenty; our McDonnells at the boat were beyond call. We fought as long as we could; nor was it till Ludar received a gun shot in his arm, and I a slash that laid bare my cheek-bone, that we knew the game was up. The maiden had been carried off into the house; the old nurse lay in a swoon; three men, besides the captain, were disabled. As for us, we could but stagger to the gateway more dead than alive. Once outside, the gate was closed. The guard from within sent a few flying shots after us, one of which lightened me of my little finger, and another missed Ludar's knee. Then, seeing us gone and hearing the shouts of our McDonnells, who, at the noise of the shots, had come up to help us, they forbore to follow further and let us get clear.

And it was in this manner we brought Rose O'Neill safely to her father's house at Castleroe.



CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

HOW LUDAR FIRED THE BEACON ON KNOCKLAY.

I think, had it not been that Ludar immediately fell into a swoon with the wound in his arm, we should never have got him back to the boat. For such was his wrath and despair that he would have turned and invaded the castle single-handed, preferring to meet his death thus to leaving the maiden in so dire an extremity. As for me, 'twas well I had this new care thrust upon me, or I too might have fallen into a despair scarce less than his.

I guessed, so soon as the panic was over and Captain Merriman brought round, that order would be given to follow and capture us at all hazard. Therefore, so soon as our McDonnells arrived, we bore Ludar among us to the boat, and cast loose without delay. In this we were none too soon, for we had not been long rowing ere a noise of bugles and shouting at the castle gave us to know that the pursuit was begun. Lucky for us, the woods on either bank were too dense to allow them to get within shot of us. Nor, after we had got safely past the town of Coleraine, was there much fear that they (being unprovided with boats), could get at close quarters with us.

Once clear, we looked to my comrade's wounds. The bullet which had gashed his arm had happily not lodged there; but it had lost him so much blood that, although we bound it up and stanched the flow, it was yet a long while before he recovered life enough to open his eyes. Then he said:

"Whither are we going?"

"Seaward," said I.

"Leaving her amid wolves," said he, bitterly.

"'Twould do her no good if we returned," said I, "to be slain before her eyes. So long as she knows we are safe, there will be hope for her; and she is brave enough to defend herself till we come again."

Ludar smiled bitterly. He knew, as I did, there was nothing in the words.

"My men," said he presently to the Scots, "wherever Sorley Boy, my father, is, take me."

"Sorley Boy is a fox that leaves no tracks," said one of the men, "but we last heard of him at Bonandonnye."

"Sail thither," said Ludar, and fell into silence.

'Twas a strange return voyage that, down that broad river, on the ebb of the self-same tide which had carried us up. Neither of us spoke a word, but as we watched the banks and one another, we wondered if this could be the same world and the same men as a few hours ago. It was a relief presently to meet the salt sea air on our faces, and to hear ahead once more the angry roar of the waves at the river's mouth.

Just as we reached the place where the channel, narrowing suddenly, tears its way through the sand into the ocean, a posse of horsemen dashed down on the western shore and shouted to us. So near were they, that I could see Tom Price among them, and beside him, that rascally Captain Laker, whom I had seen, or heard, last in Sir William Carleton's garden at Richmond.

One of the rowers pulled me down to the bottom of the boat just as a volley of shot whizzed over our heads.

"Up now, and row like fiends," cried our men when it had passed.

"Give me my pistol," said Ludar, "I have at least one arm."

So we tore through the water, letting fly at them as best we could while they stood reloading.

Ludar's aim missed, for he had only his left hand. Mine was more lucky, since it knocked over the villain Laker just as he raised his gun for a second shot.

This saved us; for it gave us time to pull further beyond reach. So that when the next volley came, it pattered harmlessly in the waves around us.

This time we could not duck our heads, for our boat was already in the hurly-burly of the surf, and needed all our skill and all our strength to get her over that angry bar. More than once we were glad to fall back right side uppermost, and more than once we looked to see every timber we had fly asunder. But at last, between two lesser waves, we slipped over, taking in half a boat of water as we did so, but winning clear of the peril; and leaving our pursuers, who had waited to see us perish, to turn back sullenly to report their ill success to their master.

'Twas a far cry to Bonandonnye, which lay behind the Eastern headlands, some four leagues beyond Benmore. Nor durst we approach it the shortest way, because our men had heard that the coast was closely guarded by the English, who made short work of all suspected craft. So we were fain to hoist our sail and stand out to sea, rounding Raughlin on the far side, and running back on Cantire.

There, for a week and more, Ludar lay in a fever, shouting to be taken to his father, yet too weak to turn in his bed. Tenderly his clansmen nursed him (and me, for the matter of that, for I had wounds too), until at least we were both in better trim.

Meanwhile, one of the men had rowed across to the mainland, and come back with the news that Sorley Boy was deep in the woods of Glenshesk, behind the great mountain of Knocklayd, where he was rapidly bringing his forces to a head for a swoop on Dunluce. This news decided Ludar to tarry not a day longer. That very night, as the sun set, we embarked on our boat. It was the time of the autumn gales, and hard enough were we put to it to get safely across. For that very reason, perhaps, we were able to land unobserved by the careless watchmen on the coast, who never dreamed to look for a boat on such a night. Whereas, had they known more of the McDonnell oarsmen, they would have doubled their guard instead of going asleep.

I was glad to find that Ludar, having resolved on the journey, had strength enough to go through with it. Indeed, his step grew firmer every pace we took, and although his brow remained black, and he would, I think, have felled me to the ground had I mentioned the maiden's name in his ear, yet on other matters his spirits revived.

'Twas a difficult journey from the little bay where we landed to Glenshesk; nor dare we make it in broad daylight. We took care to clad ourselves like herdsmen; yet even so, it would have been a risk to accost a stranger or enter a hut for shelter. For the O'Neills and the English among them had overawed the peasants; and although it was commonly believed the Turlogh would hold aloof in this quarrel, yet he had his own grudge against the McDonnells, and was not lightly to be run against. So we lay hid all day in the thick heather, and at night crossed rapidly at the back of Benmore, and plunged into the woods on the slopes of the dome-like Knocklayd. Ludar seemed to know his way by instinct. The McDonnell had told us where we should meet with a friendly clansman, who would take us to the chief, and had warned us what paths specially to avoid in crossing the mountain. His instructions served us well; and at daybreak we came upon the friendly hut just where we had expected, a little below the summit on the seaward side of the hill.

The man would by no means let us lie in his hut for fear of being seen, but showed us a deep cave in the hill-side, where we (and a score of men beside, had it been needful), might hide.

As we lay there, waiting for night, Ludar, for the first time, referred to what had befallen at Castleroe.

"Humphrey," said he, "I am torn in two. How can I go out to take a castle, while she lies in the wolf's clutches yonder? Yet how may I, a loyal man, pursue my private quarrel while my brave father demands my service for the clan in this great enterprise?"

"Maybe," said I, "in doing the latter you will achieve both ends. For, assuredly, so soon as an alarm is raised for the safety of Dunluce, this Merriman and every trooper he has must come thither; so, the maiden will be left free of him. Besides," said I, "if what the old nurse says is true, my Lady Cantire is not the woman lightly to abandon her rights in the maiden. She is more likely to hold her as a bait to trap the Captain into some benefit to herself, and to that end she will at least keep her safe out of his clutches for a while."

Ludar groaned.

"Humphrey," said he, "you are a glib comforter. Tell me," he added, "from this height we should surely be able to see Castleroe."

"Yes," said I, "I remember seeing this round hill, as we stood parleying with the sentinel."

Ludar said no more, but sat at the mouth of the cave, looking westward, till sunset.

Then a new resolve seemed to have taken hold of him. He led me to the cairn on the mountain top, where was piled a great heap of wood and briar ready for a beacon fire.

"When shall this be lit?" he asked our guide.

"When Sorley Boy is ready. 'Tis the last signal agreed upon. When Knocklayd is fired, friend and foe, the country round, will march."

"Then," said Ludar, "pile up more fuel, and fetch a torch."

The man and I stared at him in amazement.

"Do you hear?" he thundered. "Am I McDonnell or are you?"

Then when the man, scared and terrified, went off to obey, Ludar said to me:

"I cannot help this, Humphrey. The signal must go out to-night, or all will be too late. Something tells me she is looking this way even now, praying for deliverance. Something tells me, too, that a day's more delay, and Dunluce is lost to us for ever. This shall bring all to a head, for better or worse."

"But your father," said I. "If he be not ready—"

"Sorley Boy McDonnell is always ready," said Ludar, proudly.

So we stood silent and waited till the shepherd brought the torch.

"Can we see Dunluce from here?" I asked presently.

He took my arm and pointed to where, away in the west, a gleam of moonlight struck the sea.

"There," said he.

Then, as we both strained our eyes, there arose, as it seemed from that very spot, a strange wild sound, like the rise and fall of some wailing music, which moaned in the air and died away.

"What was that?" I asked.

"Hush!" said he. "Listen."

It came again, rising almost to a shriek, and sinking again into a sigh.

Once more I looked at Ludar; and once more, with pale face, he motioned me to hold my peace and listen.

A third time the sound came, like a snatch of some mad song, ending in a sob. After it, you could almost feel the silence. We stood rooted to the spot, until presently the footsteps of the herdsman broke the spell. Then Ludar said:

"That is the Banshee. It means that in this business a McDonnell of us will fall. Heaven help us!"

Then, scornfully throwing off the fear which for a moment had seemed to overtake him, he resolutely snatched the torch from the man's hand and plunged it into the pile.

We stood and watched the fire, as first it crackled amidst the under- layer of twigs and dry heather, then caught the branches above, and finally shot up in a grand tall column of flame skyward, showering high its sparks, and casting a fierce glow far and wide over land and sea.