NANCY
NANCY
It was after eleven before Nancy rejoined Tom in the bar. She seemed more like herself as she slipped in and took her accustomed seat beside the blazing logs.
"Oh, I am all right, thank you," she insisted, declining the glass of wine that Pembroke poured out for her. "I wonder, Tom, if you killed that poor wretch on the deck?"
"Don't know," Tom answered. "I hope so. But what the deuce, Nance, has been happening? I can wait till to-morrow to hear, if you are too tired to tell me; but I do want awfully to know."
"I am not tired," Nancy replied, "and I shan't sleep a wink anyway. If I close my eyes I'll feel that hand on my shoulder and hear the thud of that man's fall on the deck. I can't bear to think that this miserable business will bring bloodshed."
"But tell me, Nance, who is the Marquis—what happened—how did they get you away?"
"Ah! the Marquis," exclaimed Nancy with a shudder. "I am glad you have him locked up. I can't bear to think of him, but I'll tell you what I know. You remember, Tom, he tried to be friends with me from the first; and he seemed to fascinate me in some unaccountable way. Then he questioned me about my identity, and began to drop hints that he knew more than he cared to let appear to the others, and my curiosity was excited. I have always known of course that there was some mystery about my being left to Mrs. Frost's care. She has been kind, good, all that she should be; but she wasn't my mother. Well, the Marquis stirred all the old wonder that I had as a child, and before long quite won my confidence. He told me after a time that I was the daughter of his elder brother, the Marquis François de Boisdhyver, who in 1814 stayed here at the Inn at the Red Oak under the name of General Pointelle. I was not altogether surprised, for I have always believed that I was French by birth, and his assertion that I was his niece seemed to account for his interest in me. My father, if this Marquis de Boisdhyver was my father, was one of the Emperor Napoleon's marshals and was a party to the plot to rescue the Emperor from Elba. He was obliged to return to France, and since it was impossible for him to take me with him—I was a little girl of two at the time—he left me with Mrs. Frost. Thinking of my future, he hid a large treasure in some secret chamber off the Oak Parlour."
"I know," Tom interrupted.
"What? You mean there is a treasure?"
"I think there is; but go on. I will tell you afterwards."
"Then he set sail for France, took part in the great events of the Hundred Days, and fell at Waterloo. It was on the field of Waterloo that he met his younger brother—our Marquis—and told him about the child left in America and about the treasure hidden in the Inn at the Red Oak."
"Well," Nancy continued, having answered a volley of questions from Tom, "the Marquis—I mean our old Marquis—was held for many years in a military prison in England. Upon his release he was poor and unable to come to America to seek his little niece and the fortune that he believed to be hidden in the Inn. Tom, at first I didn't believe this strange story about a treasure; but gradually I became convinced; for the Marquis believed in it thoroughly, and for proof of it he showed me a torn scrap of paper that he found in the cabinet in the Oak Parlour the day after he arrived at the Inn. It seems the old marshal had torn the paper in two and hidden the parts in different cubby-holes of that old Dorsetshire cabinet. He couldn't find an opportunity to hunt for the other half, so at last he persuaded me to help him in the search. Of course, he swore me to secrecy, and I was foolish enough to give him my promise. I got the key to the bowling alley from the ring in Dan's closet, and two or three times went with him at night after you all were asleep."
"I know you did," said Tom.
"How could you know it—has the Marquis—?"
"No, Dan and I saw you. I woke one night, happened to look out of the window and saw the Marquis going into the bowling alley. It was moonlight, you know. I woke Dan, we slipped down stairs, saw a light in the Oak Parlour, peeped through the shutters and saw you and the old Marquis at the cabinet."
"When was this?" asked Nancy.
"The night—before our walk in the woods."
"And you did not tell me! What could you think I was doing?"
"I didn't know. How could I know? It was that which first made me suspicious of the Marquis. We made up our minds to watch. But that day in the woods—well, I forgot everything in the world but just that I was in love with you."
"Ah!" exclaimed Nancy, flushing.
"But tell me," asked Tom, "What did you find in the cabinet?"
"We found nothing. I began to think that the Marquis had deceived me. I didn't know what to believe. I didn't know what to do. I threatened each day to tell Dan. And then came our walk. When we came in that night—do you recall?—we found the Marquis sitting in the bar before the fire, and I went over and spoke to him."
"Yes, I remember," Tom answered.
"I had made up my mind that I must take you all,—mother and you and Dan,—into my confidence. I told him so. He begged me to wait until the next day and promised that he would tell you then himself. I was beginning to think he might be a little crazy, that there was no hidden treasure."
"I'm sure there is," said Tom. "There was another half of that torn scrap of paper, hidden in one of the cubby-holes of the old cabinet. Dan found it. It's the directions, sure enough, for finding the treasure."
"Ah! but what has it all to do with me?"
"I don't know; something I fancy, or the Marquis would not have told you as much as he did. But here is the other half. You can tell whether it is part of the paper he showed you."
He drew from his pocket the yellowed bit of paper and spread it on the table before them. Nance bent over and examined it closely.
"I believe it is the other half. See, it is signed ...'ançois de Boisdhyver'. I remember perfectly that the signature of the other was missing, except for the letters 'F-r-' It is, it must be, François de Boisdhyver, who, the Marquis says, was my father. Then look! here are the words 'trésor', 'bijoux et monaie'. I remember in the other there were phrases that seemed to go with these—'trésor caché' 'lingots d'or'. Ah! do you suppose there really is a fortune hidden away in the Inn all these years?"
"Yes, I think so," said Tom. "And I feel certain you have some claim to it, or they wouldn't have made such an effort to involve you in their plot. But, please, Nance, tell me the rest. You got to the night of your disappearance."
"It was a horror—that night!" exclaimed Nancy. "It must have been about twelve that the Marquis came and tapped at my door. For some reason I was restless and had not gone to bed. I slipped out into the hall with him and we came in here to talk. He begged me to make one more expedition with him to the Oak Parlour. But I refused—I insisted that I must tell Dan. Suddenly, Tom, without the slightest warning, I felt my arms pinioned from behind, and before I could scream, the Marquis himself had thrust a handkerchief in my mouth, and I was gagged and bound. Everything was done so quickly, so noiselessly, that not a soul in the house could have heard. They carried me out of the Inn and into the avenue of maples. From there on I was forced to walk. We went to the beach. I was put into a small boat and rowed out to the schooner, and there they locked me up in the little cabin in which you found me."
"What time did you say it was?" asked Tom.
"About twelve—after midnight, perhaps; I don't know for sure. The Marquis went to the beach with us and pretended to assure me that I was in no danger; that I would be released in good time, and that he would see me again. As a matter of fact for three days I have seen no one but Captain Bonhomme. He brought my meals, and was inclined to talk about anything that come into his head. Last night he told me that Dan was also a prisoner on theSouthern Cross, if that would be of any consolation to me. Then he said he had to go ashore and locked me up. Several times I was taken on deck for exercise, but the captain kept close by my side."
"And you haven't seen or heard from the Marquis again?"
"No! nor do I want to see him. But, Tom, what is the meaning of it all? How are we going to rescue Dan? What are we going to do? We can't keep the Marquis a prisoner indefinitely."
Tom gave her his own version of the last few days. He told her of what he and Dan had suspected, of Dan's proposal to visit the House on the Dunes and his disappearance, of his own investigations there, and his determination to play the same game with the Marquis as hostage.
"But what to do next, I confess I don't know," he continued. "At present it seems to be stale mate. For to-night, any way, we are safe, I think, for I shall take turns in keeping guard with Jesse and Ezra. I have the idea that to-morrow, when they realize something has happened to the Marquis we shall hear from Madame de la Fontaine or from the schooner. In the morning I am going to take you and Mrs. Frost to the Red Farm for safety. I intend to fight this thing out with that gang, whatever happens. If there is treasure, according to their own story, it belongs to you. If I don't get a proposal from them, I shall make the offer, through Madame de la Fontaine, of exchanging the Marquis for Dan.... But I must go now, Nance, and relieve one of the men. We must all get some sleep to-night, and it's already after twelve. Go to bed, sweetheart, and try to get some rest. One of us will be within call all night, watching right there in the hall; so don't be afraid."
"It was my wretched curiosity that got us into all this trouble."
"Not a bit of it! The trouble was all arranged by the Marquis; he was simply waiting for the schooner. Now that I have you back again, my heart is fairly light. We shall get Dan to-morrow, I am sure."
MADAME AT THE INN
MADAME AT THE INN
In the morning the fog lifted, a bright sun shone from a cloudless sky, the marshes sparkled with pools of melted snow and the long-promised thaw seemed definitely to have set in. Soon after breakfast Tom sent Jesse to the Red Farm with directions for the people there to make preparations for Mrs. Frost and Nancy, whom he proposed to drive over himself in the course of the afternoon.
About the middle of the morning as Tom and Nancy stood on the gallery discussing the situation, Tom drew her attention to a small boat putting off fromThe Southern Cross. They examined it through the glass, and Nancy recognized the figure of Captain Bonhomme sitting amongst the stern-sheets.
"You may depend upon it," said Tom, "he is going to the House on the Dunes to report your disappearance to Madame de la Fontaine. The most curious thing about this whole business to me is the mixing-up in it of such a woman as Dan described Madame de la Fontaine to be."
"It is strange," Nancy agreed, "but from the bits of talk I've overheard, I should say that she was the prime mover in it all."
"In a way I am rather glad of that," said Tom, "for with a woman at the head of things there is less chance of their resorting to force to gain their ends. But the stake they are playing for must be a big one, and already they have done enough to make me sure that we should be prepared for anything. I shall be surprised if we don't get some communication from them to-day. The old Marquis counts on it, or he would not keep so still. At any cost, we must get Dan back."
They talked for some time longer and were about to go in, when Nancy pointed to a horse and rider coming down the avenue of Maples. A glance sufficed to show that the rider was a woman. Nancy slipped inside to escape observation, while Tom waited on the gallery to receive the visitor.
As the lady drew rein under the Red Oak, he ran down the steps, and helped her to dismount. Her grace, her beauty, her manner as of the great world, made him sure that he was in the presence of Madame de la Fontaine.
"Good morning, sir," said the lady, with a charming smile, "if I mistake not, I have the pleasure of addressing Mr. Pembroke?"
"Yes, madam,—at you service," replied Tom.
"I am come on a strange errand, monsieur; as an ambassadress, so to say, of those whom I fear you take to be your enemies."
"You are frank, madam. I believe that I am speaking with—?"
"Madame de la Fontaine," the lady instantly supplied. "Events have so precipitated themselves, monsieur, that pretense and conventionality were an affectation. I am informed, you understand, of your brilliant rescue of Mademoiselle Eloise de Boisdhyver."
"If you mean Nancy Frost by Mademoiselle Eloise de Boisdhyver, madam, your information is correct. I gathered that you had been told of this, when I saw Captain Bonhomme make his way to the House on the Dunes this morning."
"Ah! What eyes, monsieur!" exclaimed the lady. "But I have grown accustomed to having my privacy examined over-curiously during the few days I have spent on your hospitable shores.Mais pardon—my purpose in coming to the Inn at the Red Oak this morning was but to request that my name be conveyed to Monsieur the Marquis de Boisdhyver."
"You mean, madam, that you wish to see the Marquis?"
"Yes, monsieur, if you will be so good as to allow me to do so."
"I am sorry," Tom rejoined, "that I must disappoint you. Circumstances over which the Marquis has no control will deprive him of the pleasure of seeing you this morning."
"Ah!" exclaimed Madame de la Fontaine, "I was right then. Monsieur le Marquis is, shall we say, in confinement?"
"As you please, madam; as safe, for the time, as is my friend Dan Frost."
"Eh bien, monsieur! It is that you have—do you not say?—turned the tables upon us?"
"Precisely, madam," assented Tom.
"And you will not permit me even a word—ever so little a word—with my poor friend?" murmured Madame de la Fontaine plaintively.
"Again I am sorry to refuse you, madam; but—not even a little word."
"So!Mais oui, I am not greatly surprised. I was assured last night...."
"When you did not see the signals?" suggested Tom quickly.
"When I did not see the signals," repeated the lady, with a glance of the briefest enquiry, "I was assured that something had befallen Monsieur le Marquis.Mais vraiment, monsieur, you do us much dishonour in assuming a wicked conspiracy on our parts. The Marquis is my friend; he is also the friend of the charming Mademoiselle. All that we wish, all that we would do is as much in her interest as in his own. But it is impossible that my old friend shall remain in confinement. On what condition, monsieur, will you release the Marquis de Boisdhyver?"
"On the condition, naturally, that my friend Dan Frost is released from theSouthern Cross."
"Ah! Is it that you are quite sure that Monsieur Frost is confined on the ship?"
"Quite sure, Madame de la Fontaine. I was on boardThe Southern Crosslast night."
"Yes, I know it; and I congratulate you upon your extraordinary success. Very well, then, I accept your condition. Monsieur Dan Frost returns; Monsieur le Marquis is released. And now you will perhaps have the kindness—"
"No, madame; in this affair the Marquis and his friends have been the aggressors. I cannot consent that you should hold any communication with the Marquis till Dan returns free and unharmed to the Inn."
"And what assurance then shall I have that the Marquis will be released?"
"None, madame, but my word of honour."
"Pardon, monsieur. I accept your terms. Monsieur Frost shall return. The instant he enters the Inn at the Red Oak, you promise that the Marquis de Boisdhyver be released and that he be given this note from me?"
"Certainly, madam."
The lady took a sealed note from the pocket of her habit and handed it to Tom. "There remains, monsieur," she murmured, "but to bid you good-day. If you will be so kind—"
She ran lightly down the steps, and held up her foot for Tom to assist her into the saddle.
"Your friend will returntout de suite, monsieur," she cried gayly, as she drew in the rein.
"And we shall have the pleasure of seeing you again?" asked Tom.
"Ah! who can tell?" She touched the horse lightly with her whip, inclined her head, and soon disappeared down the avenue of maples.
Some time later Nancy and Tom watched her cantering across the beach. She waved her handkerchief as a signal to the schooner; a small boat put ashore, and she was rowed out toThe Southern Cross.
"Once Dan is back, and we get rid of the old Marquis," said Tom, "I shall breathe considerably easier."
"I can't believe they will give the game up so easily," was Nancy's reply. "Seizing the Marquis, Tom, was a check, not a mate."
Out on the schooner in the Cove, Madame de la Fontaine and Dan Frost were once more talking together.
"Dear boy," said the lady. "I cannot do that which I promised. It is impossible that your sister shall make to you the request to give me the torn scrap of paper, for the reason that Mademoiselle Nancy has chosen to disappear. Have no fear, monsieur, for I have good reason to believe she has returned to the Inn at the Red Oak. Our schemes,mon ami, have failed. You are no longer a prisoner, you are free. And this is good-bye. I abandon our mission. I leave the House on the Dunes to-day; to-morrow I return to France."
"But, madame, you bewilder me," exclaimed Dan. "Why should you go; why should we not all join forces, hunt for the treasure together, if there is a treasure; why this division of interests?"
"C'est impossible!" she exclaimed impetuously. "Monsieur le Marquis will not consent. He is treated with intolerable rudeness by your friend Mr. Pembroke. He will not accept that which I propose. And I—vraiment, Idesire no longer to work against you. No, monsieur Dan,tout est fini, we must say good-bye."
She held out her hands and Dan impetuously seized them. Then, suddenly, she was in his arms and his lips were seeking hers.
"I cannot let you go," he cried hoarsely. "I cannot say good-bye."
For a moment he held her, but soon, almost brusquely, she repulsed him. "C'est folie, mon ami, folie! We lose our heads, we lose our hearts."
"But I love you," cried Dan. "You must believe it; will you believe it if I give you the paper?"
"No, no!—What!—you wish to give to me the secret of the Oak Parlour?—"
"Aye, to entrust to you my life, my soul, my honour."
"Ah, but you must go," she murmured tensely.
"Captain Bonhomme is returning. It is better that he knows of your release after you are gone.C'est vrai, my friend, that I risk not a little in your behalf. Go now, quickly ... No! No!" she protested, as she drew away from him. "I tell you,C'est folie,—madness and folly. You do not know me. Go now, while there is time!"
"But you will see me again?" insisted Dan. "Promise me that; or, on my honour, I refuse to leave. Do with me what you will, but—"
"Listen!" she whispered hurriedly. "I shall meet you to-night at ten o'clock, at the end of the avenue of maples near to your inn; you know the place?Bien! Bring me the paper there, to prove that you trust me. And I—mais non, I implore you—go quickly!"
Dan turned at last and opened the door. Madame de la Fontaine called sharply to the waiting Jean, and he, motioning to Dan to follow him, led the way on deck. In a moment they were in a little boat heading for the shore. The afternoon sun was bright in the western sky. TheSouthern Crossrode serenely at anchor, and from her deck, Madame de la Fontaine was waving him good-bye.
THE MARQUIS LEAVES THE INN
THE MARQUIS LEAVES THE INN
By the time Dan was put ashore on the beach of the Cove it was afternoon. During the short row from the schooner he had been unable to exchange remarks with the surly Jean, for that individual's only response to his repeated efforts, was a surly "Je ne parle pas anglais," which seemed to answer as a general formula to the conspirators. He gave up at last in disgust, and waited impatiently for the small boat to be beached, distrustful lest at the last moment some fresh trick be played upon him. Not that his ingenuous faith in the beautiful French lady failed him, but he was suspicious lest, having acted independently of the Marquis and Captain Bonhomme in releasing him, she should not have the power to make that release genuinely effective.
But his apprehensions were groundless. The seaman rowed straight for the shore, beached the boat with a last sturdy pull at the oars, and leaping out into the curling surf, held the skiff steady.
"Thank you very much," said Dan, shaking the spray from his coat.
"Eh?" grunted Jean.
"Oh!—beg pardon!—merci," he explained, exaggerating the pronunciation of the French word.
"Huh!" was the gutteral reply, as the man jumped back into the skiff, and pushed off. Dan looked once more towards the distant schooner and the slight figure in the stern. Then he started at a rapid pace for the Inn.
As he turned into the avenue of maples, he was surprised to see Jesse standing on the gallery, musket in hand, as though he were a sentinel on guard.
"Bless my soul, Mister Dan! I thought the Frenchies had made way with you. You're a blessed sight to lay eyes on. But Mister Tom was right, he said you'd be coming back this afternoon."
"Well, here I am, Jesse," Dan replied grasping his hand, "as large as life and twice as natural, I guess. I feel as if I'd been away for a year and a day. But tell me, what's the news? Where is Tom? Has Nancy come back? How is Mother? Have you been having trouble, that you are guarding the door like a soldier on duty?"
"Well, now, Mister Dan, one at a time,ifyou please. Can't say exactly as we've been havin' trouble; but we've sort of been lookin' for it. And Mister Tom—"
"Where is Tom? I must see him at once.'
"He ain't here, sir; he left about an hour ago, driving the old Miss and Miss Nancy to the Red Farm, sir; so as to be out of harm's way. He'll be back before night, sir."
"Ah, good! Then Nance is back? When did she come?"
"She come back last night, sir; leastways Mister Tom brought her back. Mister Tom, he got the idea that they'd cooped Miss Nance up on that there schooner laying in the Cove, and sure enough, he found her there and got her off somehows last night."
"Good for Tom! How did he work it?"
"I ain't heard no particulars, Mister Dan. We've been too busy watching things to talk much. We got Ezra Manners out from the Port to help do guard duty."
"Guard?—what?"
"Why, the Inn, sir. Mister Tom he's been sort of expectin' some kind of attack. That's the reason he took the women folks over to the Red Farm."
"I see—and where's the old Marquis?"
Jesse chuckled. "The old Marquis's where he hasn't been doin' any harm for the last twenty-four hours, sir. Mister Tom he locked him up last night in one of the south bedrooms. That reminds me, I was to let him out just as soon as you come back."
"Why lock him up, and then let him out? Things have been moving at the Inn, Jess, since I've been gone!"
"Moving—yes, sir. But them's my orders—first thing I was to do soon as you come back was to let the old Frenchy out and do as he pleased. Mister Tom was to arrange everything else with you, sir."
"Seems as if Tom had a whole campaign planned out. All right—we'll obey orders, Jess. Let the Marquis out, and tell him he can find me in the bar if he wants to see me. What time will Tom be back?"
"Before dark, sir, I'm sure. He's been gone over an hour."
Dan ran up to his bedroom, made a quick toilet, took the torn scrap of paper from his strong-box, and put it in his wallet. Then he went down stairs into the bar. The Marquis, released from his confinement, was awaiting him.
"Ah, Monsieur Frost!" the old gentleman exclaimed, coming forward with outstretched hands, "I rejoice at your return. Now this so horrible nightmare will end... Ah!" This last exclamation was uttered in a tone of surprise and indignation, for Dan faced him with folded arms, deliberately refusing the handclasp.
"Yes, Marquis," he said, "I have returned; but I cannot say that I am particularly pleased to see you."
"Monsieur,te me comprends pas; this abuse, this insult—it is impossible that I understand."
"Pray, Monsieur de Boisdhyver," replied Dan, with dignity, "Let us have done with make-believe and sham. For two days I have been in prison on that confounded ship yonder, whose villainous crew are in your pay."
"You in prison—the ship—the villainous crew!" repeated the Marquis. "What is it that you say?"
"Come, Marquis, your protests are useless," Dan interrupted. "I know of the conspiracy in which you are engaged, of your deceit and trickery here, of your part in my poor sister's disappearance. You know that Madame de la Fontaine has told me much. Do you expect me to meet you as though nothing had happened?"
"But,mon cher, monsieur," continued the Marquis, "if it is that you have been told anything by Madame de la Fontaine, my so good friend, the bright angel of an old age too-cruelly shattered by misfortune, you well know how innocent are my designs, how sincere my efforts for your foster-sister, for her who is my niece."
"Marquis, I do not understand all that has taken place. I may say further that I do not care to discuss the situation with you until I have talked with my sister and Mr. Pembroke."
"Ah! then Eloise—then Mademoiselle Nancy, is returned?" exclaimed the old gentleman.
"I believe so. But I have not seen her. I must decline, Marquis, to continue this conversation. I must first learn what has taken place in my absence. When Tom returns—he is out just now—I am perfectly willing to talk matters over with you and him together."
The Marquis's eyes flashed. "But, Monsieur," he protested, "you must understand that I cannot submit to meet with Monsieur Pembroke again. A Marquis de Boisdhyver does not twice put himself in the position to be insulted with impunity."
"I should hardly imagine," Dan replied, "that it would be more difficult for you to meet Pembroke again than it has been difficult for me to meet you."
"How—me?—je ne comprends pas. But I have been insulted, imprisoned, I have suffered much that is terrible."
"I found myself in an identical situation," said Dan.
"But, monsieur,un moment" protested the old gentleman, as Dan made as if to leave the room, "give me the time to explain to you this misunderstanding.—"
"No, Marquis. I will not talk until I have seen Tom."
The black eyes of Monsieur de Boisdhyver gleamed unpleasantly. "I have said to you, Monsieur Frost, that I refuse to meet Monsieur Tom Pembroke once more. It would be intolerable.Impossible, absolutment! I must insist that you will be kind enough to facilitate my departure at once."
"Certainly, as you wish, Marquis."
The old gentleman hesitated. For once indecision was shown by the agitation of his features and the shifting of his eyes, but he gave no other expression to the quandaries in his mind. After a moment's silence he drew himself up with exaggerated dignity. With one hand upon his breast and the other extended, in a fashion at once absurd and a little pathetic, he addressed Dan for the last time, as might an ambassador taking leave of a sovereign upon his declaration of war.
"Monsieur, I renew my gratitude for the hospitality of the Inn at the Red Oak, so long enjoyed, so discourteously withdrawn. I require but the presentation of my account for the time, I have trespassed upon your good will, and I request the assistance of a servant to facilitate my departure. But I do not take my farewell without protesting,avec tout mon coeur, at the misunderstanding to which I am persistently subjected. The inevitable bitterness in my soul does not prevent me even now to forget the sweet hours of rest that I have enjoyed here. The unwillingness on your part, monsieur, to comprehend my position, does not interfere to stifle in my breast the consciousness but of honourable purpose. I make my compliments to mesdames."
"Very good, marquis—and at what time shall I have a carriage ready for you?"
The Marquis glanced nonchalantly at his watch, "In fifteen minutes, monsieur."
"It will be ready, Marquis."
"Your very obedient servant; Monsieur Frost."
"Your obedient servant, Marquis de Boisdhyver."
The old gentleman bowed again with elaborate courtesy and, turning sharply on his heel, left the room.
Somewhat disturbed by the turn affairs had taken, Dan stood for a moment lost in thought. There was nothing for it, he supposed: Tom, who had been in command, had given orders, and they should be obeyed; besides there was no reason that he could see why the Marquis should be detained at the Inn if he chose to leave it. So he sat down at a table, made out the old gentleman's bill for the month, and then stepped to the door to call for Jesse.
"Take this," he said when the man appeared in response to his summons, "to the old Marquis. It is the bill for his board. If he pays you, well and good; if not—in any case, treat him courteously, and do not interfere with his movements. He is leaving the Inn for good. I want you to have the buggy ready within half-an-hour and drive him where he wishes to go. I fancy he will want his stuff put on the schooner in the Cove."
"All right, sir," replied Jesse. "Now that you and Miss Nance are back, sir, I guess the sooner we get rid of the Marquis the better."
Jesse carried the bill to the Marquis, then came down and went to the barn to harness the horse. A little later he drove round to the courtyard, hitched the horse to a ring in the Red Oak, and ran upstairs to fetch the Marquis's boxes.
Perhaps half-an-hour had passed when he returned to Dan in the Bar. "The old gentleman's gone, sir," he said.
"Gone!—where?" cried Dan.
"Don't know, sir," Jesse replied. "To the schooner, I guess. He left this money on his dressing-bureau."
Dan took the gold which Jesse held out to him. "Well, well," he murmured, "quite on his dignity, eh? All right, Jess, take his stuff to the beach and hail the schooner. He will probably have given directions. I hope we've seen the last of him."
THE ATTACK ON THE INN
THE ATTACK ON THE INN
THE AVENUE OF MAPLES
THE AVENUE OF MAPLES
The Marquis's belongings were sent after him to the schooner, where, however, it appeared that they had not been expected, for it was some time before Jesse could obtain an answer to his hail from the shore, and still longer before he could make the men on the ship understand what it was he wanted with them. Eventually Captain Bonhomme had rowed ashore, and the Marquis's bags, boxes, writing-desk, and fiddle were loaded into the small boat and taken off toThe Southern Cross.
It appeared from Jesse's report that the Captain had been sufficiently polite, and had attributed the misunderstanding of his men to their inability to speak English. They had not gotten their orders for the Marquis. He had asked no further questions about Monsieur de Boisdhyver or about his recent prisoners, but had feed Jesse liberally, and dismissed him, with his own and the Marquis's thanks.
"Well," said Tom, who had returned an hour before and had been exchanging experiences with Dan, "that seems to be the end of him for the present. I don't know that I did right in promising your French lady that I should release him, but there seemed no other way to make sure of getting you back."
"I am glad you promised," replied Dan. "It is a relief not to have him under our roof. For the last week I've felt as if the place were haunted by an evil spirit."
"So it has been, and so it still will be, I am afraid," was Tom's reply. "If there is treasure here, you may be sure that gang won't sail away without making a desperate effort to get it. I move that we beat them out by hunting for it ourselves. Why not begin to-night?"
"Not to-night," protested Dan. "I am tired to death. You can imagine that I didn't get much sleep cooped up on that confounded ship."
"No more have I, old boy. But I believe in striking while the iron is hot. Every day's delay gives them a better chance for their plans, if they mean to attack the Inn."
"I doubt if they'll do that. I don't think force is precisely their line. You know, I believe that the story Madame de la Fontaine told isn't altogether a fiction."
"Pshaw!" exclaimed Tom. "I don't believe a word of it. Naturally they wouldn't use force, if they could help it. But their plans have all been upset, and a gang like that won't stop at anything."
"But we live in a civilized community, my boy. This isn't the middle ages."
"We live in a civilized community, perhaps; but if you can find a more isolated spot, a place more remote from help, in any other part of the civilized world, I'd be glad to see it. We might as well be in the middle of the Sahara desert. Find the treasure and get it out of harm's way—that's my idea."
"All right, but to-morrow; I swear I'm not up to it to-night."
"To-morrow! Well, then to-morrow. Though for the life of me, I don't see why you want to delay things. Jesse and Ezra can keep watch tonight."
"But we must get some sleep, Tom."
"The devil with sleep! However, you're the boss now. It's your inn, your treasure, your sister, that are involved. I'll take a back seat."
"Come, come, Tom—don't let's quarrel. Give me to-night to—to get myself together, and tomorrow I'll pull the Inn down with you, if you wish."
Perhaps Dan was right, he did need rest and sleep and a few hours would restore him. They had their supper, then, apportioned the night into watches, and Dan went upstairs for his first period of sleep.
His brain was a-whirl. All through the afternoon, during his talk with the Marquis, and later during his talk with Tom, one idea had been dominating his thought, dictating his plan of action, colouring his judgment. The fascination which Madame de la Fontaine exerted over his senses was too strong for him even to contemplate resisting it. She was confessedly in league with a gang of adventurers upon a quest for treasure. She had lied to him at first about the Marquis, she had lied to him about Nancy, she had lied to him about his release; and when she had left him under the pretext of arranging his return to the Inn, she had in fact gone to Tom to bargain an exchange of him for the old Marquis. Her lies, her subterfuges, her flatteries, had been evidently designed but to get possession of the torn scrap of paper which was so necessary to their finding the hidden treasure. All this Dan told himself a hundred times, and then, quickly dispelling the witness of these cold hard facts, there would flash before him the vision of her wonderful eyes, of her strange appealing beauty, of her stirring personality; he would feel once more the touch of her cheek and her lips pressing his, intoxicating as wine; and delicious fires flamed through his veins, and set his heart to beating, and made havoc of his honour and his conscience. Whatever were the consequences, he would meet her again that night as he had promised. It was his first experience of passion and it was sweeping him off his feet.
Alone in his room Dan sat down at the table. He drew from his pocket the torn paper, and as an act of justice to the friends he felt that he was about to betray, he labourously made a copy of the difficult French handwriting. This done, he locked the copy in his strong box and put the original back in his pocket. Then, like the criminal he thought himself to be, he crept cautiously down the stairs. The door into the bar was open, and he stood for a moment, shoes in hand, peering into the dimly-lit room. Tom sat by the hearth, reading, a pipe in his mouth and a cocked pistol on the table by his side. A pang went through Dan's breast, but he checked the impulse to speak, and stole softly across the hall and into his mother's parlour. Ever so cautiously he closed the door behind him, crossed the room, and raised the sash of one of the windows.
It was dark, but starlight; the moon had not yet risen. In a moment he had slipped over the sill and stood upon the porch. Lowering the sash, he crept across the band of light that shone from the windows of the bar, and into the shadow of the Red Oak. There he buttoned his great coat tightly about him, put on his shoes, and started softly down the avenue of maples. Scarcely a sound disturbed the silence of the night, save the lazy creaking of the windmill as it turned now and then to the puff of a gentle breeze.
At every few steps, he paused to listen, fearful lest his absence had been detected and he were followed by some one from the Inn. Then he would start on again, peering eagerly into the darkness ahead for any sign of her whom he sought. At last he reached the end of the avenue. His heart was beating wildly, in a very terror that she might not come. Nothing—no catastrophe, no danger, no disgrace,—could be so terrible to him as that the woman he loved so recklessly and madly should not come. She must not fail! He looked at his watch; it was already three minutes past ten. If in five—then minutes she did not come, he would go to seek her—to the House on the Dunes, aye, if must be toThe Southern Crossitself.
Suddenly a dark figure slipped out of the gloom, and Claire de la Fontaine was in his arms. For a moment she let him clasp her, let his lips again meet hers; then quickly she disengaged herself. "Are we safe?" she asked in a whisper. "Is it that we can talk here."
"We are perfectly safe," he answered. "Nothing can be heard from the Inn. No one is about."
"You escaped without notice? Are you certain that no one follows you?"
"Absolutely. I am sure. And you?"
"I?—Oh, no, no—. There is no one to question me. I have been at the House on the Dunes all the evening. Marie, my maid,—she thinks that I am gone to the schooner.Mon Dieu! cher ami, what terrors I have suffered for you. It had not seemed possible that Claire de la Fontaine would ride and walk two so long miles in a desolate country to meet a lover—It must be that we are gone mad."
"Madness then is the sweetest experience of life," said Dan, seizing her hand again and carrying it to his lips.
"Ahpeut-etre, mon ami. But now there are many affairs to discuss. Tell me—the Marquis, he was released, as your friend has promised me he should be?"
"Of course, didn't you know it?"
"I know nothing. Why then is it he has not left the Inn?"
"But he did leave—in the middle of the afternoon, half an hour after I returned."
"And where is it that he has gone?"
"To the schooner, I suppose. He left alone, giving directions for his things to be sent after him."
"Ah! to the schooner, you say? You are certain?"
"Yes—that is, I think he went there. Jesse took his boxes and bags down to the shore, and Captain Bonhomme received them, and thanked him in the Marquis's name,''
"Mais non! Est-ce possible?" For a moment she was silent, considering deeply. "Bien!" she exclaimed presently. "It is as you say, of course. And you, my friend?" She stopped suddenly, for they had been walking slowly forward, and withdrawing her hand from his arm, she held it out before him. "The paper?" she demanded.
"Here it is," murmured Dan, fumbling in his pocket, and pulling out the scrap of paper. She took it eagerly from his hand and held it up before her eyes as though trying to see it in the dark.
"This is it, really?" she asked.
"I swear it," he answered. "It is the piece of writing that I found in the hidden cubby-hole of the old cabinet in the Oak Parlour. It is written in French, you know."
"Yes, I know, I know," she assented absently. For a moment she was quite still, and then, with a strange exclamation, she put the paper to her lips. "Quels souvenirs, d'autrefois!" she murmured. "Ah, mon Dieu, mon Dieu!"
"Dearest, what is it?" asked Dan.
"Nothing, nothing," she replied, withdrawing a little from his touch. "I was unwell for the moment,—ce ne fait rien. No, no, you are not to kiss me, please." Again she unloosed his arm from about her neck, slipped the paper into her muff, and pressed a little forward. For a space they walked slowly, silently, toward the Inn.
"But, dearest one," murmured Dan, "this proves to you my love, doesn't it? You no longer doubt me. For your sake, I give my honour; it may be, the safety of my friends. You must see how I love you with all my heart and soul. Won't you,—"
Suddenly she stopped again quite still and faced him. "My poor boy," she said gently, "you really love me?"
"Love you! My God, have I not proved it! What more would you have me do?"
"Mais oui," she answered quickly. "You have proved it, but I have thought that it was not possible."
"And you—you do care—oh, tell me—"
"Hélas, mon paurve ami. I love as tenderly as it remains in me to love. Ah, dear, dear boy, so sincerely, that I cannot have you to sell your honour for the futile kisses of Claire de la Fontaine."
"What do you mean? Have I—"
"No, no, no! This—take the paper. You must not again give it me, I desire that you will not." She drew the paper from her muff with an impulsive movement and thrust it toward him. "Take it, I implore you."
"But why—?"
"Because that you shall not give your honour to a woman such as I am.Mai vraiment, I love you. That is why you must take back the paper."
"But you must explain—"
"Mon Dieu! is it that I have not explained? There is time for nothing more. I have fear,mon ami; a kiss, and it is necessary that I go. It is good-bye."
"But you love me, you have said so. I cannot, I will not let you go."
"Listen to me, my friend," she said, her voice rising for the moment above the whisper in which she had cautiously spoken heretofore. "From the first I have deceived you, betrayed you, played upon your affection but to betray you afresh. And now I find that I love you. I am not that which you call good, but it is impossible that I injure you. Go back to your friends."
"Never! I love you. What matters now anything that you have said or done? And you love me. Ah dearest one, what can that mean but good?"
"Bien-aimé, what will you that I say?" she interrupted speaking rapidly, "I am what you Americans call 'a bad woman',—the sort of woman that you know nothing of. I was the woman who sixteen years ago stayed at the Inn at the Red Oak with François de Boisdhyver, the woman your mother called nurse, who cared for his little daughter. And now I have told you all. Will you know from now that I am a thousand times unworthy?Pour l'amour de Dieu, give it to me to do this one act of honour and of generosity."