CHAPTER I: The
Return of a Prodigal.

CHAPTER II: The
Jacobite Agent.

CHAPTER III: Free.

CHAPTER IV: In
France.

CHAPTER V:
Dettingen.

CHAPTER VI:
The Convent of Our Lady.

CHAPTER VII: Mother!

CHAPTER VIII: Hidden
Foes.

CHAPTER IX:
Fontenoy.

CHAPTER X: A
Perilous Journey.

CHAPTER XI: Free.

CHAPTER XII:
The End of the Quarrel.

CHAPTER XIII: Prince
Charles.

CHAPTER XIV:
Prestonpans.

CHAPTER XV: A
Mission.

CHAPTER XVI: The
March to Derby.

CHAPTER XVII: A
Baffled Plot.

CHAPTER XVIII:
Culloden.

CHAPTER XIX:
Fugitives.

CHAPTER XX: Happy
Days.

CHAPTER I: The Return
of a Prodigal.

It was a dull evening in the month of September, 1728. The
apprentices had closed and barred the shutters and the day's work
was over. Supper was laid in the long room over the shop, the
viands were on the table, and round it were standing Bailie
Anderson and his wife, his foreman John Gillespie, and his two
apprentices. The latter were furtively eying the eatables, and
wondering how much longer the grace which their master was
delivering would be. Suddenly there was a knock at the door
below. No one stirred until the bailie had finished his grace,
before which time the knock had been twice repeated.

"Elspeth, woman," the bailie said when he had brought the
grace to an end, "go down below and see who knocks so
impatiently; look through the grille before you open the door;
these are nor times when one opens to the first stranger who
knocks."

The old servant, who had been standing behind her mistress,
went downstairs. The door was opened, and they heard an
exclamation of surprise at the answer to her question, "Who is it
that's knocking as if the house belonged to him?"

Those gathered up stairs heard the bolts withdrawn. There was
a confused sound of talking and then a heavy step was heard
ascending the stairs, and without introduction a tall man,
wrapped in a cloak and carrying a child of some two years old,
strode into the room. He threw his hat on to a settle and
advanced straight towards the bailie, who looked in surprise at
this unceremonious entry.

"Don't you know me, Andrew?"

"Heaven preserve us," the bailie exclaimed, "why it's
Malcolm!"

"Malcolm himself," the visitor repeated, "sound in wind and
limb."

"The Lord be praised!" the bailie exclaimed as he grasped the
other's hand and wrung it warmly. "I had thought you dead years
and years ago. Janet, this is my brother Malcolm of whom you have
often heard me speak."

"And of whom you can have heard little good, mistress, if my
brother has spoken the truth concerning me. I was ever a ne'er do
well, while Andrew struck hard and fast to our father's
trade."

"My husband has ever spoken with affection of you," Janet
Anderson said. "The bailie is not given to speak ill of any, much
less of his own flesh and blood."

"And now sit down, Malcolm. Supper is waiting, and you are, I
doubt not, ready for it. It is ill talking to a fasting man. When
you have done you shall tell me what you have been doing for the
last fifteen years, and how it comes that you thus suddenly come
back among us with your boy."

"He is no boy of mine," Malcolm said; "but I will tell you all
about it presently. First let me lay him down on that settle, for
the poor little chap is fast asleep and dead tired out. Elspeth,
roll up my cloak and make a pillow for him. That's right, he will
do nicely now. You are changed less than any of us, Elspeth. Just
as hard to look at, and, I doubt not, just as soft at heart as
you used to be when you tried to shield me when I got into
scrapes. And now to supper."

Little was said during the meal; fortunately the table was
bounteously spread, for the newcomer's appetite was prodigious;
but at last he was satisfied, and after a long drink at the horn
beside him, which Elspeth had kept filled with ale, he said:

"There's nothing like a Scottish meal after all, Andrew.
French living is well enough for a time, but one tires of it; and
many a time when I have been lying down supperless on the sod,
after marching and fighting the whole day, I have longed for a
bowl of porridge and a platter well filled with oatmeal
cakes."

Supper over, John and the apprentices retired. Elspeth went
off to prepare the guest's chamber and to make up a little bed
for the child.

"Now, brother, let us hear your story; but, first of all,
perhaps you want to light your pipe?"

"That do I," Malcolm replied, "if Mistress Janet has no
objection thereto."

"She is accustomed to it," the bailie said, answering for her.
"I smoke myself; I deem that tobacco, like other things, was
given for our use, and methinks that with a pipe between the lips
men's brains work more easily and that it leadeth to pleasant
converse."

Janet went to a cupboard, brought out two long pipes and a jar
of tobacco, placed two tumblers, a flat bottle, and a jug of
water on the table.

"That is right," the bailie said. "I do not often touch strong
waters. The habit, as I see too plainly, is a harmful one, and in
this good city of Glasgow there are many, even of those so placed
that they should be an example to their fellows, who are given
nightly to drink more than is good for them; but on an occasion
like the present I deem it no harm to take a glass."

"I should think not," Malcolm said heartily; "it is long since
I tasted a glass of real Scotch spirit, and I never need an
excuse for taking a glass of whatever it be that comes in my way.
Not, Mistress Janet, that I am a toper. I don't say that at the
sack of a town, or at times when liquor is running, so to speak,
to waste, I am more backward than the rest; but my hand wouldn't
be as steady as it is if I had been one of those who are never so
happy as when they are filling themselves with liquor. And now,
Andrew, to my story. You know that when I saw you last--just
when the troubles in '15 began--in spite of all your warnings
to the contrary, I must needs throw myself into the thick of
them. You, like a wise man, stuck to your shop, and here you are
now a bailie of Glasgow; while I, who have been wandering over
the face of the earth fighting for the cause of France and
risking my life a thousand times in a matter which concerned me
in no way, have returned just as penniless as I set out."

"It is said, brother Malcolm," Janet said mildly, "that a
rolling stone gathers no moss."

"That is true enough," Malcolm assented; "and yet do you know
there are few rolling stones who, if their time were to come over
again, would remain fixed in their bed. Of course we have not the
pleasures of home, of wives and children; but the life of
adventure has its own joys, which I, for one, would not change
for the others. However, brother, as you know, I threw myself
heart and soul into that business.

"The last time I saw you was just as I was starting with a
score of others to make our way to join the Earl of Mar's army at
Perth. I have seen many an army since, but never did I see
sixteen thousand finer fighting men than were there assembled.
The Laird of Mackintosh brought five hundred clansmen from
Inverness shire, the Marquis of Huntly had five hundred horse and
two thousand foot, and the Earl Marischal had a thousand men. The
Laird of Glenlyon brought five hundred Campbells, and the Marquis
of Tullibardine fourteen hundred, and a score of other chiefs of
less power were there with their clansmen. There were enough men
there to have done anything had they been properly armed and led;
but though arms and ammunition had been promised from France,
none came, and the Earl of Mar had so little decision that he
would have wrecked the finest army that ever marched.

"The army lay doing nothing for weeks, and just before we were
expecting a movement, the company I belonged to was sent with a
force of Highlanders under Mackintosh to join the army under the
Lords Derwentwater, Kenmure, and Nithsdale. Lord Derwentwater had
risen with a number of other gentlemen, and with their attendants
and friends had marched against Newcastle. They had done nothing
there but remained idle near Hexham till, joined by a force
raised in the Lowlands of Scotland by the Earls of Nithsdale,
Carnwath, and Wintoun, the united army marched north again to
Kelso, where we joined them.

"We Scots soon saw that we had gained nothing by the change of
commanders. Lord Derwentwater was ignorant of military affairs,
and he was greatly swayed by a Mr. Forster, who was somehow at
the head of the business, and who was not only incompetent, but
proved to be a coward, if not, as most folks believed, a traitor.
So dissension soon broke out, and four hundred Highlanders
marched away north. After a long delay it was resolved to move
south, where, it was said, we should be joined by great numbers
in Lancashire; but by this time all had greatly lost spirit and
hope in the enterprise. We crossed the border and marched down
through Penrith, Appleby, and Kendal to Lancaster, and then on to
Preston.

"I was little more than a lad, Andrew, but even to me it
seemed madness thus to march into England with only two thousand
men. Of these twelve hundred were foot, commanded by Brigadier
Mackintosh; the others were horse. There were two troops of
Stanhope's dragoons quartered in Preston, but these retired when
we neared the town, and we entered without opposition. Next day,
which was, I remember, the 10th of November, the Chevalier was
proclaimed king, and some country gentlemen with their tenants
came in and joined us.

"I suppose it would have come to the same thing in the end,
but never were things so badly managed as they were by Mr.
Forster.

"Preston was a strong natural position; an enemy coming from
the south could only reach it by crossing a narrow bridge over
the river Ribble a mile and a half away, and this could have been
held by a company against an army. From the bridge to the town
the road was so narrow that in several places two men could not
ride abreast. It ran between two high and steep banks, and it was
here that Cromwell was nearly killed when he attacked Charles's
troops.

"Well, all these places, where we might certainly have
defended ourselves, were neglected, and we were all kept in the
town, where we formed four main posts. One was in the churchyard,
and this was commanded by Brigadier Mackintosh. In support of
this was the volunteer horse under Derwentwater and the three
other lords. Lord Charles Murray was in command at a barricade at
a little distance from the churchyard. Colonel Mackintosh had
charge of a post at a windmill; and the fourth was in the centre
of the town.

"Lord Derwentwater was a poor general, but he was a brave man.
He and his two brothers, the Ratcliffs, rode about everywhere,
setting an example of coolness, animating the soldiers, and
seeing to the work on the barriers. Two days after we reached the
town we heard that General Wilde was approaching. Colonel
Farquharson was sent forward with a portion of Mackintosh's
battalion to hold the bridge and the pass; but Mr. Forster, who
went out on horseback, no sooner saw the enemy approaching than
he gave orders to Farquharson and his men to retreat to the town.
If I had been in Farquharson's place I would have put a bullet
through the coward's head, and would have defended the bridge
till the last.

"After that everything was confusion; the Highlanders came
back into the town furious and disheartened. The garrison
prepared to receive the enemy. Mr. Forster was seen no more, and
in fact he went straight back to the house where he was lodging
and took his bed, where he remained till all was over. The enemy
came on slowly. They could not understand why strong posts should
be left undefended, and feared falling in an ambuscade. I was at
the post commanded by Brigadier Mackintosh. I had joined a
company commanded by Leslie of Glenlyon, who had brought with him
some twenty men, and had made up his company with men who, like
myself, came up without a leader. His company was attached to
Mackintosh's regiment.

"Presently the English came in sight, and as soon as they
ascertained that we were still there, which they had begun to
doubt, they attacked us. We beat them back handsomely, and
Derwentwater with his cavalry charged their dragoons so fiercely
that he drove them out of the town. It was late in the afternoon
when the fight began, and all night the struggle went on. At each
of our posts we beat them back over and over again. The town was
on fire in half a dozen places, but luckily the night was still
and the flames did not spread. We knew that it was a hopeless
fight we were making; for, from some prisoners, we learned that
three regiments of dragoons were also coming up against us, and
had already arrived at Clitheroe. From some inhabitants, I
suppose, the enemy learned that the street leading to Wigan had
nor been barricaded, and Lord Forrester brought up Preston's
regiment by this way, and suddenly fell on the flank of our
barrier. It was a tough fight, but we held our own till the news
came that Forster had agreed to capitulate.

"I don't say that our case wasn't hopeless. We were
outnumbered and had no leader; sooner or later we must have been
overpowered. Still, no capitulation should have been made except
on the terms of mercy to all concerned. But Forster no doubt felt
safe about himself, and that was all he cared for; and the end
showed that he knew what he was about, for while all the brave
young noblemen, and numbers of others, were either executed or
punished in other ways, Forster, who had been the leading spirit
who had persuaded them to rise, and led them into this strait,
was after a short imprisonment suffered to go free. I tell you,
brother Andrew, if I were to meet him now, even if it were in a
church, I would drive my dagger into his heart.

"However, there we were. So furious were we that it was with
difficulty the officers could prevent us from sallying out sword
in hand and trying to cut our way through the enemy. As to
Forster, if he had appeared in the streets he would have been
hewn to pieces. However, it was useless to resist now; the
English troops marched in and we laid down our arms, and our
battalions marched into a church and were guarded as prisoners.
It was not a great army they had taken, for there were but one
thousand four hundred and ninety captured, including noblemen,
gentlemen, and officers.

"Many of us were wounded more or less. I had got a slice on
the shoulder from a dragoon's sword. This I gained when rushing
out to rescue Leslie, who had been knocked down, and would have
been slain by three dragoons had I not stood over him till some
of our men rushed out and carried him in. He was not badly hurt,
the sword having turned as it cut through his bonnet. My action
won his regard, and from that time until a month since we have
never been separated. Under a strong escort of soldiers we were
marched south. In most places the country people mocked us as we
passed; but here and there we saw among the crowds who gathered
in the streets of the towns through which we passed, faces which
we passed, faces which expressed pity and sympathy

"We were not badly treated on the march by our guard, and had
little to complain of. When we reached Barnet we fell out as
usual when the march was over, and I went up to the door of a
house and asked a woman, who looked pityingly at us, for a drink
of water. She brought me some, and while I drank she said:

"'We are Catholics and well wishers of the Chevalier; if you
can manage to slip in here after it is dark we will furnish you
with a disguise, and will direct you to friends who will pass you
on until you can escape.

"'Can you give me disguises for two?' I asked. 'I will not go
without my captain.'

"'Yes,' she said, 'for two, but no more.'

"'I will steal away after dark,' I said as I gave her back the
jug.

"I told Leslie what had happened, and he agreed to join me in
time to escape, for there was no saying what fate might befall us
in London; and, indeed, the very next morning severities
commenced, the whole of the troops being obliged to suffer the
indignity of having their arms tied behind them, and so being
marched into London.

"After it was dark Leslie and I managed to steal away from our
guards, who were not very watchful, for our uniform would at once
have betrayed us, and the country people would have seized and
handed us over. The woman was on the watch, and as soon as we
neared the door she opened it. Her husband was with her and
received us kindly. He at once furnished us with the attire of
two countrymen, and, letting us out by a back way, started with
us across the country.

"After walking twenty miles he brought us to the house of
another adherent of the Chevalier, where we remained all day. So
we were passed on until we reached the coast, where we lay hid
for some days until an arrangement was made with the captain of a
fishing boat to take us to sea, and either to land us at Calais
or to put us on board a French fishing boat. So we got over
without trouble.

"Long before that, as you know, the business had virtually
come to an end here. The Earl of Mar's army lay week after week
at Perth, till at last it met the enemy under Argyle at
Sheriffmuir.

"You know how that went. The Highland clans in the right and
centre carried all before them, and drove the enemy from the
field, but on the left they beat us badly. So both parties
claimed the victory. But, victory or defeat, it was fatal to the
cause of the Chevalier. Half the Highland clans went off to their
homes that night, and Mar had to fall back to Perth.

"Well, that was really the end of it. The Chevalier landed,
and for a while our hopes rose. He did nothing, and our hopes
fell. At last he took ship and went away, and the affair was
over, except for the hangings and slaughterings.

"Leslie, like most of the Scottish gentlemen who succeeded in
reaching France, took service with the French king, and, of
course, I did the same. It would have done your heart good to see
how the Scottish regiments fought on many a field; the very best
troops of France were never before us, and many a tough field was
decided by our charge. Leslie was a cornet. He was about my age;
and you know I was but twenty when Sheriffmuir was fought. He
rose to be a colonel, and would have given me a pair of colours
over and over again if I would have taken them; but I felt more
comfortable among our troopers than I should have done among the
officers, who were almost all men of good Highland family; so I
remained Leslie's right hand.

"A braver soldier never swung a leg over saddle; but he was
always in some love affair or another. Why he didn't marry I
couldn't make out. I suppose he could never stick long enough to
one woman. However, some four years ago he got into an affair
more serious than any he had been in before, and this time he
stuck to it in right earnest. Of course she was precisely one of
the women he oughtn't to have fallen in love with, though I for
one couldn't blame him, for a prettier creature wasn't to be
found in France. Unfortunately she was the only daughter of the
Marquis de Recambours, one of the wealthiest and most powerful of
French nobles, and there was no more chance of his giving his
consent to her throwing herself away upon a Scottish soldier of
fortune than to her going into a nunnery; less, in fact. However,
she was as much in love with Leslie as he was with her, and so
they got secretly married. Two years ago this child was born, but
she managed somehow to keep it from her father, who was all this
time urging her to marry the Duke de Chateaurouge.

"At last, as ill luck would have it, he shut her up in a
convent just a week before she had arranged to fly with Leslie to
Germany, where he intended to take service until her father came
round. Leslie would have got her out somehow; but his regiment
was ordered to the frontier, and it was eighteen months before we
returned to Paris, where the child had been in keeping with some
people with whom he had placed it. The very evening of his return
I was cleaning his arms when he rushed into the room.

"'All is discovered,' he said; 'here is my signet ring, go at
once and get the child, and make your way with it to Scotland;
take all the money in the escritoire, quick!'

"I heard feet approaching, and dashed to the bureau, and
transferred the bag of louis there to my pocket. An official with
two followers entered.

"'Colonel Leslie,' he said, 'it is my duty to arrest you by
order of his gracious majesty;' and he held out an order signed
by the king.

"'I am unconscious of having done any wrong, sir, to his
majesty, whom I have served for the last sixteen years. However,
it is not for me to dispute his orders;' thereupon he unbuckled
his sword and handed it to the officers. 'You will look after the
things till I return, Malcolm. As I am sure I can clear myself of
any charge that may be brought against me, I trust to be speedily
back again.

"'Your trooper need not trouble himself,' the officer said;
'the official with me will take charge of everything, and will at
once affix my seal to all your effects.'

"I went down stairs and saw the colonel enter a carriage with
the two officials, then I went straight to the major. 'Colonel
Leslie has been arrested, sir, on what charge I know not. He has
intrusted a commission to me. Therefore, if you find I am absent
from parade in the morning you will understand I am carrying out
his orders.'

"The major was thunderstruck at the news, but told me to do as
the colonel had ordered me, whatever it might be. I mounted the
colonel's horse at once and rode to the house where the child was
in keeping. The people knew me well, as I had often been there
with messages from the colonel. When I showed them the signet
ring, and told them that I had orders to take the child to his
father, they made no opposition. I said I would return for him as
soon as it was dusk. I then went and purchased a suit of civilian
clothes, and returning to the house attired myself in these, and
taking the child on the saddle before me, rode for the
frontier.

"Following unfrequented roads, travelling only at night, and
passing a day in a wood, I passed the frontier unmolested, and
made my way to Ostend, where I sold the horse and took passage in
the first ship sailing for Leith. I arrived there two days ago,
and have walked here, with an occasional lift in a cart; and here
I am, brother Andrew, to ask you for hospitality for a while for
myself and Leslie's boy. I have a hundred louis, but these, of
course, belong to the child. As for myself, I confess I have
nothing; saving has never been in my line."

"You are heartily welcome, Malcolm, as long as you choose to
stop; but I trust that ere long you will hear of Colonel
Leslie."

"I trust so," Malcolm said; "but if you knew the court of
France as well as I do you would not feel very sanguine about it.
It is easier to get into a prison than out of one."

"But the colonel has committed no crime!" the bailie said.

"His chance would be a great deal better if he had," Malcolm
laughed. "A colonel of one of his majesty's Scottish regiments
can do a good deal in the way of crime without much harm
befalling him; but when it comes to marrying the daughter of a
nobleman who is a great personage at court, without his consent,
it is a different affair altogether, I can tell you. Leslie has
powerful friends, and his brother officers will do what they can
for him; but I can tell you services at the court of France go
for very little. Influence is everything, and as the nobleman the
marquis intended to be the husband of his daughter is also a
great personage at court and a friend of Louis's, there is no
saying how serious a matter they may make of it. Men have been
kept prisoners for life for a far less serious business than
this."

"But supposing he is released, does he know where to
communicate with you?"

"I am afraid he doesn't," Malcolm said ruefully. "He knows
that I come from Glasgow, but that is all. Still, when he is
freed, no doubt he will come over himself to look for his son,
and I am sure to hear of his being here."

"You might do, and you might not," the bailie said. "Still, we
must hope for the best, Malcolm. At any rate I am in no haste for
the colonel to come. Now I have got you home again after all
these years, I do not wish to lose you again in a hurry."

Malcolm only remained for a few weeks at his brother's house.
The restraint of life at the bailie's was too much for him.
Andrew's was a well ordered household. The bailie was methodical
and regular, a leading figure in the kirk, far stricter than were
most men of his time as to undue consumption of liquor, strong in
exhortation in season and out of season. His wife was kindly but
precise, and as outspoken as Andrew himself. For the first day or
two the real affection which Andrew had for his younger brother,
and the pleasure he felt at his return, shielded Malcolm from
comment or rebuke; but after the very first day the bailie's wife
had declared to herself that it was impossible that Malcolm could
long remain an inmate of the house. She was not inhospitable, and
would have made great sacrifices in some directions for the long
missing brother of her husband; but his conduct outraged all the
best feelings of a good Scotch housewife.

Even on that first day he did not come punctually to his
meals. He was away about the town looking up old acquaintance,
came in at dinner and again at supper after the meal had already
begun, and dropped into his place and began to eat without saying
a word of grace. He stamped about the house as if he had cavalry
spurs still on his heels; talked in a voice that could be heard
from attic to basement; used French and Flemish oaths which
horrified the good lady, although she did not understand them;
smoked at all hours of the day, whereas Andrew always confined
himself to his after supper pipe, and, in spite of his assertions
on the previous evening, consumed an amount of liquor which
horrified the good woman.

At his meals he talked loudly, kept the two apprentices in a
titter with his stories of campaigning, spoke slightingly of the
city authorities, and joked the bailie with a freedom and
roughness which scandalized her. Andrew was slow to notice the
incongruity of his brother's demeanour and bearing with the
atmosphere of the house, although he soon became dimly conscious
that there was a jarring element in the air. At the end of a week
Malcolm broached the subject to him.

"Andrew," he said, "you are a good fellow, though you are a
bailie and an elder of the kirk, and I thank you for the hearty
welcome you have given me, and for your invitation to stay for a
long time with you; but it will not do. Janet is a good woman and
a kindly, but I can see that I keep her perpetually on thorns. In
good truth, fifteen years of campaigning are but an indifferent
preparation for a man as an inmate of a respectable household. I
did not quite know myself how thoroughly I had become a devil may
care trooper until I came back to my old life here. The ways of
your house would soon be as intolerable to me as my ways are to
your good wife, and therefore it is better by far that before any
words have passed between you and me, and while we are as good
friends as on the evening when I returned, I should get out of
this. I met an old friend today, one of the lads who went with me
from Glasgow to join the Earl of Mar at Perth. He is well to do
now, and trades in cattle, taking them in droves down into
England. For the sake of old times he has offered me employment,
and methinks it will suit me as well as any other."

"But you cannot surely be going as a drover, Malcolm!"

"Why not? The life is as good as any other. I would not sit
down, after these years of roving, to an indoor life. I must
either do that or cross the water again and take service abroad.
I am only six and thirty yet, and am good for another fifteen
years of soldiering, and right gladly would I go back if Leslie
were again at the head of his regiment, but I have been spoiled
by him. He ever treated me as a companion and as a friend rather
than as a trooper in his regiment, and I should miss him sorely
did I enter any other service. Then, too, I would fain be here to
be ready to join him again if he sends for me or comes, and I
should wish to keep an eye always on his boy. You will continue
to take charge of him, won't you, Andrew? He is still a little
strange, but he takes to Elspeth, and will give little trouble
when he once learns the language."

"I don't like it at all, Malcolm," the bailie said.

"No, Andrew, but you must feel it is best. I doubt not that
ere this your wife has told you her troubles concerning me."

As the bailie on the preceding night had listened to a long
string of complaints and remonstrances on the part of his wife as
to his brother's general conduct he could not deny the truth of
Malcolm's supposition.

"Just so, Andrew," Malcolm went on; "I knew that it must be
so. Mistress Janet has kept her lips closed firm to me, but I
could see how difficult it was for her sometimes to do so. It
could not be otherwise. I am as much out of place here as a wolf
in a sheepfold. As to the droving, I shall not mention to all I
meet that I am brother to one of the bailies of Glasgow. I shall
like the life. The rough pony I shall ride will differ in his
paces from my old charger, but at least it will be life in the
saddle. I shall be earning an honest living; if I take more than
is good for me I may get a broken head and none be the wiser,
whereas if I remain here and fall foul of the city watch it would
be grief and pain for you."

The bailie was silenced. He had already begun to perceive that
Malcolm's ways and manners were incompatible with the peace and
quiet of a respectable household, and that Janet's complaints
were not altogether unreasonable. He had seen many of his
acquaintances lift their eyebrows in disapprobation at the
roystering talk of his brother, and had foreseen that it was
probable trouble would come.

At the same rime he felt a repugnance to the thought that
after so many years of absence his brother should so soon quit
his house. It seemed a reflection alike on his affection and
hospitality.

"You will take charge of the child, won't you?" Malcolm
pleaded. "There is a purse of a hundred louis, which will, I
should say, pay for any expense to which he may put you for some
years."

"As if I would take the bairn's money!" Andrew exclaimed
angrily. "What do you take me for, Malcolm? Assuredly I will take
the child. Janet and I have no bairn of our own, and it's good
for a house to have a child in it. I look upon it as if it were
yours, for it is like enough you will never hear of its father
again. It will have a hearty welcome. It is a bright little
fellow, and in time I doubt not that Janet will take greatly to
it. The charge of a child is a serious matter, and we cannot hope
that we shall not have trouble with it, but there is trouble in
all things. At any rate, Malcolm, we will do our best, and if at
the end of a year I find that Janet has not taken to it we will
see about some other arrangement. And, Malcolm, I do trust that
you will stay with us for another week or two. It would seem to
me as if I had turned you out of my house were you to leave me so
soon."

So Malcolm made a three weeks' stay at his brother's, and then
started upon his new occupation of driving Highland cattle down
into Lancashire. Once every two or three months he came to
Glasgow for a week or two between his trips. In spite of Andrew's
entreaties he refused on these occasions to take up his abode
with him, but took a lodging not far off, coming in the evening
for an hour to smoke a pipe with his brother, and never failing
of a morning to come in and take the child for a long walk with
him, carrying him upon his shoulder, and keeping up a steady talk
with him in his native French, which he was anxious that the boy
should nor forget, as at some time or other he might again return
to France.

Some weeks after Malcolm's return to Scotland, he wrote to
Colonel Leslie, briefly giving his address at Glasgow; but making
no allusion to the child, as, if the colonel were still in
prison, the letter would be sure to be opened by the authorities.
He also wrote to the major, giving him his address, and begging
him to communicate it to Colonel Leslie whenever he should see
him; that done, there was nothing for it but to wait quietly. The
post was so uncertain in those days that he had but slight hope
that either of his letters would ever reach their destination. No
answer came to either of his letters.

Four years later Malcolm went over to Paris, and cautiously
made inquiries; but no one had heard anything of Colonel Leslie
from the day he had been arrested. The regiment was away fighting
in the Low Countries, and the only thing Malcolm could do was to
call upon the people who had had charge of the child, to give
them his address in case the colonel should ever appear to
inquire of them. He found, however, the house tenanted by other
people. He learned that the last occupants had left years before.
The neighbors remembered that one morning early some officers of
the law had come to the house, and the man had been seized and
carried away. He had been released some months later, only to
find that his wife had died of grief and anxiety, and he had then
sold off his goods and gone no one knew whither. Malcolm,
therefore, returned to Glasgow, with the feeling that he had
gained nothing by his journey.

CHAPTER II: The Jacobite
Agent.

So twelve years passed. Ronald Leslie grew up a sturdy lad,
full of fun and mischief in spite of the sober atmosphere of the
bailie's house; and neither flogging at school nor lecturing at
home appeared to have the slightest effect in reducing him to
that state of sober tranquillity which was in Mrs. Anderson's
eyes the thing to be most desired in boys. Andrew was less deeply
shocked than his wife at the discovery of Ronald's various
delinquencies, but his sense of order and punctuality was
constantly outraged. He was, however, really fond of the lad; and
even Mrs. Anderson, greatly as the boy's ways constantly
disturbed and ruffled her, was at heart as fond of him as was her
husband. She considered, and not altogether wrongly, that his
wilderness, as she called it, was in no slight degree due to his
association with her husband's brother.

Ronald looked forward to the periodical visits of the drover
with intense longing. He was sure of a sympathetic listener in
Malcolm, who listened with approval to the tales of the various
scrapes into which he had got since his last visit; of how,
instead of going to school, he had played truant and with another
boy his own age had embarked in a fisherman's boat and gone down
the river and had not been able to get back until next day; how
he had played tricks upon his dominie, and had conquered in
single combat the son of Councillor Duff, the butcher, who had
spoken scoffing words at the Stuarts. Malcolm was, in fact,
delighted to find, that in spite of repression and lectures his
young charge was growing up a lad of spirit. He still hoped that
some day Leslie might return, and he knew how horrified he would
be were he to find that his son was becoming a smug and well
conducted citizen. No small portion of his time on each of his
visits to Glasgow Malcolm spent in training the boy in the use of
arms.

"Your father was a gentleman," he would say to him, "and it is
fitting that you should know how to handle a gentleman's arms.
Clubs are well enough for citizens' apprentices, but I would have
you handle rapier and broadsword as well as any of the young
lairds. When you get old enough, Ronald, you and I will cross the
seas, and together we will try and get to the bottom of the
mystery of your father's fate, and if we find that the worst has
come to the worst, we will seek our your mother. She will most
likely have married again. They will be sure to have forced her
into it; but even if she dare not acknowledge you as her son, her
influence may obtain for you a commission in one of the king's
regiments, and even if they think I'm too old for a trooper I
will go as your follower. There are plenty of occasions at the
court of France when a sharp sword and a stout arm, even if it be
somewhat stiffened by age, can do good service."

The lessons began as soon as Ronald was old enough to hold a
light blade, and as between the pauses of exercise Malcolm was
always ready to tell stories of his adventures in the wars of
France, the days were full of delight to Ronald. When the latter
reached the age of fourteen Malcolm was not satisfied with the
amount of proficiency which the lad was able to gain during his
occasional visits, and therefore took him for further instruction
to a comrade who had, like himself, served in France, and had
returned and settled down in Glasgow, where he opened a fencing
school, having been a maitre d'armes among the Scotch
regiments.

The arrangement was, however, kept a profound secret from
Andrew and his wife; but on half holidays, and on any other days
when he could manage to slip away for an hour, Ronald went to his
instructor and worked hard and steadily with the rapier. Had Mrs.
Anderson had an idea of the manner in which he spent his time she
would have been horrified, and would certainly have spared her
encomiums on his improved conduct and the absence of the
unsatisfactory reports which had before been so common.

The cloud of uncertainty which hung over his father's fate
could not but have an influence upon the boy's character, and the
happy carelessness and gaiety which were its natural
characteristics were modified by the thought that his father
might be languishing in a dungeon. Sometimes he would refuse to
accompany his school fellows on their rambles or fishing
expeditions, and would sit for hours thinking over all sorts of
wild plans by which he might penetrate to him and aid him to
escape. He was never tired of questioning Malcolm Anderson as to
the prisons in which, if still alive, his father would be likely
to be confined. He would ask as to their appearance, the height
of their walls, whether they were moated or not, and whether
other houses abutted closely upon them. One day Malcolm asked him
the reason of these questions, and he replied, "Of course I want
to see how it will be possible to get my father out." And
although Malcolm tried to impress upon him that it would be an
almost impossible task even to discover in which prison his
father was kept, he would not allow himself to be
discouraged.

"There must be some way of finding out, Malcolm. You tell me
that prisoners are not even known by their name to the warders,
but only under a number. Still someone must know--there must be
lists kept of those in prison, and I shall trust to my mother to
find out for me. A great lady as she is must be able to get at
people if she sets about it, and as certainly she must have loved
my father very very much, or she never would have married him
secretly, and got into such trouble for it. I am sure she will do
her best when she finds that you and I have come over to get him
out. When we know that, I think we ought to be able to manage.
You could get employment as a warder, or I could go disguised as
a woman, or as a priest, or somehow. I feel sure we shall succeed
if we do but find out that he is alive and where he is."

Malcolm knew too much about the strong and well guarded
prisons of France to share in the boy's sanguine hopes, but he
did not try to discourage him. He thought that with such an
object in life before him the boy would devote himself all the
more eagerly to exercises which would strengthen his arm,
increase his skill with weapons, and render him a brave and
gallant officer, and in this he was right. As the time went on
Ronald became more and more serious. He took no part whatever in
the school boy games and frolics in which he had been once a
leader. He worked hard at his school tasks the sooner to be done
with them, and above all devoted himself to acquiring a mastery
of the sword with a perseverance and enthusiasm which quite
surprised his instructor.

"I tell you, Malcolm, man," he said one day to his old
comrade, after Ronald had been for upwards of two years his
pupil, "if I had known, when you first asked me to teach the lad
to handle a sword, how much of my time he was going to occupy, I
should have laughed in your face, for ten times the sum you
agreed to pay me would not have been enough; but, having begun it
for your sake, I have gone on for the lad's. It has been a
pleasure to teach him, so eager was he to learn--so ready to
work heart and soul to improve. The boy's wrist is as strong as
mine and his eye as quick. I have long since taught him all I
know, and it is practice now, and not teaching, that we have
every day. I tell you I have work to hold my own with him; he
knows every trick and turn as well as I do, and is quicker with
his lunge and riposte. Were it not that I have my extra length of
arm in my favour I could not hold my own. As you know, I have
many of the officers of the garrison among my pupils, and some of
them have learned in good schools, but there is not one of them
could defend himself for a minute against that boy. If it were
not that the matter has to be kept secret I would set him in
front of some of them, and you would see what short work he would
make of them. Have you heard the rumours, Malcolm, that the young
Chevalier is likely to follow the example of his father, thirty
years back, and to make a landing in Scotland?"

"I have heard some such rumours," Malcolm replied, "though
whether there be aught in them I know not. I hope that if he does
so he will at any rate follow the example of his father no
further. As you know, I hold to the Stuarts, but I must own they
are but poor hands at fighting. Charles the First ruined his
cause; James the Second threw away the crown of Ireland by
galloping away from the battle of the Boyne; the Chevalier showed
here in '15 that he was no leader of men; and unless this lad is
made of very different stuff to his forefathers he had best stay
in France."

"But if he should come, Malcolm, I suppose you will join him?
I am afraid I shall be fool enough to do so, even with my fifty
years on my head. And you?"

"I suppose I shall be a fool too," Malcolm said. "The Stuarts
are Scotch, you see, and with all their faults I would rather a
thousand times have a Scottish king than these Germans who govern
us from London. If the English like them let them keep them, and
let us have a king of our own. However, nought may come of it; it
may be but a rumour. It is a card which Louis has threatened to
play a score of times, whenever he wishes to annoy England. It is
more than likely that it will come to nought, as it has so often
done before."

"But they tell me that there are agents travelling about among
the Highland clans, and that this time something is really to be
done."

"They have said so over and over again, and nothing has come
of it. For my part, I don't care which way it goes. After the
muddle that was made of it thirty years ago it does not seem to
me more likely that we shall get rid of the Hanoverians now.
Besides, the hangings and slaughterings then, would, I should
think, make the nobles and the heads of clans think twice ere
they risked everything again."

"That is true, but when men's blood is up they do not count
the cost; besides, the Highland clans are always ready to fight.
If Prince Charles comes you will see there will not be much
hanging back whatever the consequences may be. Well, you and I
have not much to lose, except our lives."

"That is true enough, old friend; and I would rather die that
way than any other. Still, to tell you the truth, I would rather
keep my head on my shoulders for a few years if I can."

"Well, nothing may come of it; but if it does I shall strike a
blow again for the old cause."

At home Ronald heard nothing but expressions of loyalty to the
crown. The mere fact that the Highlanders espoused the cause of
the Stuarts was sufficient in itself to make the Lowlanders take
the opposite side. The religious feeling, which had always
counted for so much in the Lowlands, and had caused Scotland to
side with the Parliament against King Charles, had not lost its
force. The leanings of the Stuarts were, it was known, still
strongly in favour of the Catholic religion, and although Prince
Charles Edward was reported to be more Protestant in feelings
than the rest of his race, this was not sufficient to
counterbalance the effect of the hereditary Catholic tendency.
Otherwise there was no feeling of active loyalty towards the
reigning king in Scotland. The first and second Georges had none
of the attributes which attract loyal affection. The first could
with difficulty speak the language of the people over whom he
ruled. Their feelings and sympathies were Hanoverian rather than
English, and all court favours were bestowed as fast as possible
upon their countrymen. They had neither the bearing nor manner
which men associate with royalty, nor the graces and power of
attraction which distinguished the Stuarts. Commonplace and
homely in manner, in figure, and in bearing, they were not men
whom their fellows could look up to or respect; their very vices
were coarse, and the Hanoverian men and women they gathered round
them were hated by the English people.

Thus neither in England nor Scotland was there any warm
feeling of loyalty for the reigning house; and though it was
possible that but few would adventure life and property in the
cause of the Stuarts, it was equally certain that outside the
army there were still fewer who would draw sword for the
Hanoverian king. Among the people of the Lowland cities of
Scotland the loyalty which existed was religious rather than
civil, and rested upon the fact that their forefathers had fought
against the Stuarts, while the Highlanders had always supported
their cause. Thus, although in the household and in kirk Ronald
had heard King George prayed for regularly, he had heard no word
concerning him calculated to waken a boyish feeling of loyalty,
still less of enthusiasm. Upon the other hand he knew that his
father had fought and suffered for the Stuarts and was an exile
in their cause, and that Hanoverians had handed over the estate
of which he himself would now be the heir to one of their
adherents.

"It is no use talking of these matters to Andrew," Malcolm
impressed upon him; "it would do no good. When he was a young man
he took the side of the Hanoverians, and he won't change now;
while, did Mistress Janet guess that your heart was with the
Stuarts, she would say that I was ruining you, and should bring
you to a gallows. She is not fond of me now, though she does her
best to be civil to her husband's brother; but did she know that
you had become a Jacobite, like enough she would move Andrew to
put a stop to your being with me, and there would be all sorts of
trouble."

"But they could nor prevent my being with you," Ronald said
indignantly. "My father gave me into your charge, not into
theirs."

"That's true enough, laddie; but it is they who have cared for
you and brought you up. When you are a man you can no doubt go
which way it pleases you; but till then you owe your duty and
respect to them, and not to me, who have done nought for you but
just carry you over here in my cloak."

"I know they have done everything for me," Ronald said
penitently. "They have been very good and kind, and I love them
both; but for all that it is only natural that my father should
be first, and that my heart should be in the cause that he fought
for."

"That is right enough, Ronald, and I would not have it
otherwise, and I have striven to do my best to make you as he
would like to see you. Did he never come back again I should be
sorry indeed to see Colonel Leslie's son growing up a Glasgow
tradesman, as my brother no doubt intends you to be, for I know
he has long since given up any thought of hearing from your
father; but in that you and I will have a say when the time
comes. Until then you must treat Andrew as your natural guardian,
and there is no need to anger him by letting him know that your
heart is with the king over the water, any more than that you can
wield a sword like a gentleman. Let us have peace as long as we
can. You are getting on for sixteen now; another two years and we
will think about going to Paris together. I am off again
tomorrow, Ronald; it will not be a long trip this time, but maybe
before I get back we shall have news from France which will set
the land on fire."

A short time after this conversation, as Ronald on his return
from college (for he was now entered at the university) passed
through the shop, the bailie was in conversation with one of the
city magistrates, and Ronald caught the words:

"He is somewhere in the city. He came down from the Highlands,
where he has been going to and fro, two days since. I have a
warrant out against him, and the constables are on the lookout. I
hope to have him in jail before tonight. These pestilent rogues
are a curse to the land, though I cannot think the clans would be
fools enough to rise again, even though Charles Stuart did
come."

Ronald went straight up to his room, and for a few minutes sat
in thought. The man of whom they spoke was doubtless an emissary
of Prince Charles, and his arrest might have serious
consequences, perhaps bring ruin on all with whom he had been in
communication. Who he was or what he was like Ronald knew not;
but he determined at any rate to endeavour to defeat the
intentions of the magistrate to lay hands on him. Accordingly a
few minutes later, while the magistrate was still talking with
Andrew, he again went out.

Ronald waited about outside the door till he left, and then
followed him at a short distance. The magistrate spoke to several
acquaintances on the way, and then went to the council chamber.
Waiting outside, Ronald saw two or three of the magistrates
enter. An hour later the magistrate he was watching came out; but
he had gone but a few paces when a man hurrying up approached
him. They talked earnestly for a minute or two. The magistrate
then re-entered the building, remained there a few minutes, and
then joined the man who was waiting outside. Ronald had stolen up
and taken his stand close by.

"It is all arranged," the magistrate said; "as soon as night
has fallen a party will go down, surround the house, and arrest
him. It is better not to do it in daylight. I shall lead the
party, which will come round to my house, so if the men you have
left on watch bring you news that he has changed his hiding
place, let me know at once.

The magistrate walked on. Ronald stood irresolute. He had
obtained no clue as to the residence of the person of whom they
were in search, and after a moment's thought he determined to
keep an eye upon the constable, who would most likely join his
comrade on the watch. This, however, he did not do immediately.
He had probably been for some time at work, and now took the
opportunity of going home for a meal, for he at once made his way
to a quiet part of the city, and entered a small house.

It was half an hour before he came out again, and Ronald
fidgeted with impatience, for it was already growing dusk. When
he issued out Ronald saw that he was armed with a heavy cudgel.
He walked quickly now, and Ronald, following at a distance,
passed nearly across the town, and down a quiet street which
terminated against the old wall running from the Castle Port to a
small tower. When he got near the bottom of the street a man came
out from an archway, and the two spoke together. From their
gestures Ronald felt sure that it was the last house on the left
hand side of the street that was being watched. He had not
ventured to follow far down the street, for as there was no
thoroughfare he would at once be regarded with suspicion. The
question now was how to warn the man of his danger. He knew
several men were on the watch, and as only one was in the street,
doubtless the others were behind the house. If anything was to be
done there was no time to be lost, for the darkness was fast
closing in.

After a minute's thought he went quickly up the street, and
then started at a run, and then came down upon a place where he
could ascend the wall, which was at many points in bad repair.
With some difficulty he climbed up, and found that he was exactly
opposite the house he wished to reach. It was dark now. Even in
the principal streets the town was only lit by oil lamps here and
there, and there was no attempt at illumination in the quiet
quarters, persons who went abroad after nightfall always carrying
a lantern with them. There was still sufficient light to show
Ronald that the house stood at a distance of some fourteen feet
from the wall. The roof sloped too steeply for him to maintain
his holding upon it; but halfway along the house was a dormer
window about three feet above the gutter. It was unglazed, and
doubtless gave light to a granary or store room.

Ronald saw that his only chance was to alight on the roof
close enough to this window to be able to grasp the woodwork. At
any other moment he would have hesitated before attempting such a
leap. The wall was only a few feet wide, and he could therefore
get but little run for a spring. His blood was, however, up, and
having taken his resolution he did not hesitate. Drawing back as
far as he could he took three steps, and then sprang for the
window. Its sill was some three feet higher than the edge of the
wall from which he sprang.

The leap was successful; his feet struck just upon the gutter,
and the impetus threw forward his body, and his hands grasped the
woodwork of the window. In a moment he had dragged himself
inside. It was quite dark within the room. He moved carefully,
for the floor was piled with disused furniture, boxes, sacking,
and rubbish. He was some time finding the door, but although he
moved as carefully as he could he knocked over a heavy chest
which was placed on a rickety chair, the two falling with a crash
on the floor. At last he found the door and opened it. As he did
so a light met his eyes, and he saw ascending the staircase a man
with a drawn sword, and a woman holding a light above her head
following closely. The man uttered an exclamation on seeing
Ronald appear.

"A thief!" he said. "Surrender, or I will run you through at
once."

"I am no thief," Ronald replied. "My name is Ronald Leslie,
and I am a student at the university. I have come here to warn
someone, whom I know not, in this house that it is watched, and
that in a few minutes at the outside a band of the city watch
will be here to capture him."

The man dropped the point of his sword, and taking the light
from the woman held it closer to Ronald's face.

"How came you here?" he asked. "How did you learn this
news?"

"The house is watched both sides below," Ronald said, "and I
leapt from the wall through the dormer window. I heard a
magistrate arranging with one of the constables for a capture,
and gathered that he of whom they were in search was a Jacobite,
and as I come of a stock which has always been faithful to the
Stuarts, I hastened to warn him."

The woman uttered a cry of alarm.

"I thank you with all my heart, young sir. I am he for whom
they are in search, and if I get free you will render a service
indeed to our cause; but there is no time to talk now, if what
you tell me be true. You say the house is watched from both
sides?"

"Yes; there are two men in the lane below, one or more, I know
not how many, behind."

"There is no escape behind," the man said; "the walls are
high, and other houses abut upon them. I will sally out and fight
through the men in front."

"I can handle the sword," Ronald put in; "and if you will
provide me with a weapon I will do my best by your side."

"You are a brave lad," the man said, "and I accept your
aid."

He led the way down stairs and entered a room, took down a
sword from over the fireplace, and gave it to Ronald.

As he took it in his hand there was a loud knocking at the
door.

"Too late!" the man exclaimed. "Quick, the light, Mary! At any
rate I must burn my papers."

He drew some letters from his pocket, lit them at the lamp,
and threw them on the hearth; then opening a cabinet he drew
forth a number of other papers and crumpling them up added them
to the blaze.

"Thank God that is safe!" he said; "the worst evil is
averted."

"Can you not escape by the way by which I came hither?" Ronald
said. "The distance is too great to leap; but if you have got a
plank, or can pull up a board from the floor, you could put it
across to the wall and make your escape that way. I will try to
hold the stairs till you are away."

"I will try at least," the man said. "Mary, bring the light,
and aid me while our brave friend does his best to give us
time."

So saying he sprang upstairs, while Ronald made his way down
to the door.

"Who is making such a noise at the door of a quiet house at
this time of night?" he shouted.

"Open in the king's name," was the reply; "we have a warrant
to arrest one who is concealed here."

"There is no one concealed here," Ronald replied, "and I doubt
that you are, as you say, officers of the peace; but if so, pass
your warrant through the grill, and if it be signed and in due
form I will open to you."

"I will show my warrant when need be," the voice answered.
"Once more, open the door or we will break it in."

"Do it at your peril," Ronald replied. "How can I tell you are
not thieves who seek to ransack the house, and that your warrant
is a pretence? I warn you that the first who enters I will run
him through the body."

The reply was a shower of blows on the door, and a similar
attack was begun by a party behind the house. The door was
strong, and after a minute or two the hammering ceased, and then
there was a creaking, straining noise, and Ronald knew they were
applying a crowbar to force it open. He retreated to a landing
halfway up the stairs, placed a lamp behind him so that it would
show its light full on the faces of those ascending the stairs,
and waited. A minute later there was a crash; the lock had
yielded, but the bar still held the door in its place. Then the
blows redoubled, mingled with the crashing of wood; then there
was the sound of a heavy fall, and a body of men burst in.

There was a rush at the stairs, but the foremost halted at the
sight of Ronald with his drawn sword.

"Keep back," he shouted, "or beware! The watch will be here in
a few minutes, and then you will all be laid by the heels."

"Fools! We are the watch," one of the men exclaimed, and,
dashing up the stairs, aimed a blow at Ronald. He guarded it and
ran the man through the shoulder. He dropped his sword and fell
back with a curse.

At this moment the woman ran down stairs from above and nodded
to Ronald to signify that the fugitive had escaped.

"You see I hold to my word," Ronald said in a loud voice. "If
ye be the watch, which I doubt, show me the warrant, or if ye
have one in authority with you let him proclaim himself."

"Here is the warrant, and here am I, James M'Whirtle, a
magistrate of this city."

"Why did you not say so before?" Ronald exclaimed, lowering
his sword. "If it be truly the worshipful Mr. M'Whirtle let him
show himself, for surely I know him well, having seen him often
in the house of my guardian, Bailie Anderson."

Mr. M'Whirtle, who had been keeping well in the rear, now came
forward.

"It is himself." Ronald said. "Why did you not say you were
here at once, Mr. M'Whirtle, instead of setting your men to break
down the door, as if they were Highland caterans on a foray?"

"We bade you open in the king's name," the magistrate said,
"and you withstood us, and it will be hanging matter for you, for
you have aided the king's enemies."

"The king's enemies!" Ronald said in a tone of surprise. "How
can there be any enemies of the king here, seeing there are only
myself and the good woman up stairs? You will find no
others."

"Search the house," the magistrate said furiously, "and take
this malapert lad into custody on the charge of assisting the
king's enemies, of impeding the course of justice, of
withstanding by force of arms the issue of a lawful writ, and
with grievously wounding one of the city watch."

Ronald laughed.

"It is a grievous list, worshipful sir; but mark you, as soon
as you showed your warrant and declared yourself I gave way to
you. I only resisted so long as it seemed to me you were
evildoers breaking into a peaceful house."

Two of the watch remained as guard over Ronald; one of the
others searched the house from top to bottom. No signs of the
fugitive were discovered.

"He must be here somewhere," the magistrate said, "since he
was seen to enter, and the house has been closely watched ever
since. See, there are a pile of ashes on the hearth as if papers
had been recently burned. Sound the floors and the walls."

The investigation was particularly sharp in the attic, for a
board was here found to be loose, and there were signs of its
being recently wrenched out of its place, but as the room below
was unceiled this discovery led to nothing. At last the
magistrate was convinced that the fugitive was not concealed in
the house, and, after placing his seals on the doors of all the
rooms and leaving four men in charge, he left the place, Ronald,
under the charge of four men, accompanying him.

On the arrival at the city Tolbooth Ronald was thrust into a
cell and there left until morning. He was then brought before Mr.
M'Whirtle and two other of the city magistrates. Andrew Anderson
was in attendance, having been notified the night before of what
had befallen Ronald. The bailie and his wife had at first been
unable to credit the news, and were convinced that some mistake
had been made. Andrew had tried to obtain his release on his
promise to bring him up in the morning, but Mr. M'Whirtle and his
colleagues, who had been hastily summoned together, would not
hear of it.

"It's a case of treason, man. Treason against his gracious
majesty; aiding and abetting one of the king's enemies, to say
nought of brawling and assaulting the city watch."

The woman found in the house had also been brought up, but no
precise charge was made against her. The court was crowded, for
Andrew, in his wrath at being unable to obtain Ronald's release,
had not been backward in publishing his grievance, and many of
his neighbours were present to hear this strange charge against
Ronald Leslie.

The wounded constable and another first gave their
evidence.

"I myself can confirm what has been said," Mr. M'Whirtle
remarked, "seeing that I was present with the watch to see the
arrest of a person against whom a warrant had been issued."

"Who is that person?" Ronald asked. "Seeing that I am charged
with aiding and abetting his escape it seems to me that I have a
right to know who he is."

The magistrates looked astounded at the effrontery of the
question, but after a moment's consultation together Mr.
M'Whirtle said that in the interest of justice it was unadvisable
at the present moment to state the name of the person
concerned.

"What have you to say, prisoner, to the charge made against
you? In consideration of our good friend Bailie Anderson, known
to be a worthy citizen and loyal subject of his majesty, we would
be glad to hear what you have to say anent this charge."

"I have nothing to say," Ronald replied quietly. "Being in the
house when it was attacked, with as much noise as if a band of
Border ruffians were at the gate, I stood on the defence. I
demanded to see what warrant they had for forcing an entry, and
as they would show me none, I did my best to protect the house;
but the moment Mr. M'Whirtle proclaimed who he was I lowered my
sword and gave them passage."

There was a smile in the court at the boy's coolness.

"But how came ye there, young sir? How came ye to be in the
house at all, if ye were there for a good motive?"

"That I decline to say," Ronald answered. "It seems to me that
any one may be in a house by the consent of its owners, without
having to give his reasons therefor."

"It will be the worse for you if you defy the court. I ask you
again how came you there?"

"I have no objection to tell you how I came there," Ronald
said. "I was walking on the old wall, which, as you know, runs
close by the house, when I saw an ill looking loon hiding himself
as if watching the house, looking behind I saw another ruffianly
looking man there." Two gasps of indignation were heard from the
porch at the back of the court. "Thinking that there was mischief
on hand I leapt from the wall to the dormer window to warn the
people of the house that there were ill doers who had designs
upon the place, and then remained to see what came of it. That is
the simple fact."

There was an exclamation of incredulity from the
magistrates.

"If you doubt me," Ronald said, "you can send a man to the
wall. I felt my feet loosen a tile and it slid down into the
gutter."

One of the magistrates gave an order, and two of the watch
left the court.

"And who did you find in the house?"

"I found this good woman, and sorely frightened she was when I
told her what kind of folk were lurking outside."

"And was there anyone else there?"

"There was a man there," Ronald said quietly, "and he seemed
alarmed too."

"What became of him?"

"I cannot say for certain," Ronald replied; "but if you ask my
opinion I should say, that having no stomach for meeting people
outside, he just went out the way I came in, especially as I
heard the worshipful magistrate say that a board in the attic had
been lifted."

The magistrates looked at each other in astonishment; the mode
of escape had not occurred to any, and the disappearance of the
fugitive was now explained.

"I never heard such a tale," one of the magistrates said after
a pause. "It passes belief that a lad, belonging to the family of
a worthy and respectable citizen, a bailie of the city and one
who stands well with his fellow townsmen, should take a desperate
leap from the wall through a window of a house where a traitor
was in hiding, warn him that the house was watched, and give him
time to escape while he defended the stairs. Such a tale, sure,
was never told in a court. What say you, bailie?"

"I can say nought," Andrew said. "The boy is a good boy and a
quiet one; given to mischief like other boys of his age,
doubtless, but always amenable. What can have possessed him to
behave in such a wild manner I cannot conceive, but it seems to
me that it was but a boy's freak."

"It was no freak when he ran his sword through Peter Muir's
shoulder," Mr. M'Whirtle said. "Ye will allow that, neighbour
Anderson."

"The man must have run against the sword," the bailie said,
"seeing the boy scarce knows one end of a weapon from
another."

"You are wrong there, bailie," one of the constables said;
"for I have seen him many a time going into the school of James
Macklewain, and I have heard a comrade say, who knows James, that
the lad can handle a sword with the best of them."

"I will admit at once," Ronald said, "that I have gone to
Macklewain's school and learned fencing of him. My father,
Colonel Leslie of Glenlyon, was a gentleman, and it was right
that I should wield a sword, and James Macklewain, who had fought
in the French wars and knew my father, was good enough to teach
me. I may say that my guardian knew nothing of this."

"No, indeed," Andrew said. "I never so much as dreamt of it.
If I had done so he and I would have talked together to a
purpose."

"Leslie of Glenlyon was concerned in the '15, was he not?" Mr.
M'Whirtle said; "and had to fly the country; and his son seems to
be treading in his steps, bailie. I doubt ye have been nourishing
a viper in your bosom."

At this moment the two constables returned, and reported that
certainly a tile was loose as the prisoner had described, and
there were scratches as if of the feet of someone entering the
window, but the leap was one that very few men would
undertake.

"Your story is so far confirmed, prisoner; but it does not
seem to us that even had you seen two men watching a house it
would be reasonable that you would risk your neck in this way
without cause. Clearly you have aided and abetted a traitor to
escape justice, and you will be remanded. I hope, before you are
brought before us again, you will make up your mind to make a
clean breast of it, and throw yourself on the king's mercy."

Ronald was accordingly led back to the cell, the bailie being
too much overwhelmed with surprise at what he had heard to utter
any remonstrance.

CHAPTER III:
Free.

After Ronald had been removed from the court the woman was
questioned. She asserted that her master was away, and was, she
believed, in France, and that in his absence she often let
lodgings to strangers. That two days before, a man whom she knew
not came and hired a room for a few days. That on the evening
before, hearing a noise in the attic, she went up with him, and
met Ronald coming down stairs. That when Ronald said there were
strange men outside the house, and when immediately afterwards
there was a great knocking at the door, the man drew his sword
and ordered her to come up stairs with him. That he then made her
assist him to pull up a plank, and thrust it from the attic to
the wall, and ordered her to replace it when he had gone. She
supposed he was a thief flying from justice, but was afraid to
refuse to do his bidding.

"And why did you not tell us all this, woman, when we came
in?" Mr. M'Whirtle asked sternly. "Had ye told us we might have
overtaken him."

"I was too much frightened," the woman answered. "There were
swords out and blood running, and men using words contrary both
to the law and Scripture. I was frighted enough before, and I
just put my apron over my head and sat down till the hubbub was
over. And then as no one asked me any questions, and I feared I
might have done wrong in aiding a thief to escape, I just held my
tongue."

No cross questioning could elicit anything further from the
woman, who indeed seemed frightened almost out of her senses, and
the magistrate at last ordered her to return to the house and
remain there under the supervision of the constable until again
sent for.

Andrew Anderson returned home sorely disturbed in his mind.
Hitherto he had told none, even of his intimates, that the boy
living in his house was the son of Colonel Leslie, but had spoken
of him as the child of an old acquaintance who had left him to
his care. The open announcement of Ronald that he was the son of
one of the leaders in the last rebellion, coming just as it did
when the air was thick with rumours of another rising, troubled
him greatly; and there was the fact that the boy had, unknown to
him, been learning fencing; and lastly this interference, which
had enabled a notorious emissary of the Pretender to escape
arrest.

"The boy's story may be true as far as it goes," he said to
his wife when relating to her the circumstances, "for I have
never known him to tell a lie; but I cannot think it was all the
truth. A boy does not take such a dreadful leap as that, and risk
breaking his neck, simply because he sees two men near the house.
He must somehow have known that man was there, and went to give
him warning. Now I think of it, he passed through the shop when
Peter M'Whirtle was talking to me about it, though, indeed, he
did not know then where the loon was in hiding. The boy went out
soon afterwards, and must somehow have learned, if indeed he did
not know before. Janet, I fear that you and I have been like two
blind owls with regard to the boy, and I dread sorely that my
brother Malcolm is at the bottom of all this mischief."

This Mrs. Anderson was ready enough to credit, but she was too
much bewildered and horrified to do more than to shake her head
and weep.

"Will they cut off his head, Andrew?" she asked at last.

"No, there's no fear of that; but they may imprison him for a
bit, and perhaps give him a good flogging--the young rascal.
But there, don't fret over it, Janet. I will do all I can for
him. And in truth I think Malcolm is more to blame than he is;
and we have been to blame too for letting the lad be so much with
him, seeing that we might be sure he would put all sorts of
notions in the boy's head."

"But what is to be done, Andrew? We cannot let the poor lad
remain in prison."

"We have no choice in the matter, Janet. In prison he is, and
in prison he has to remain until he is let out, and I see no
chance of that. If it had only been a brawl with the watch it
could have been got over easily enough; but this is an affair of
high treason--aiding and abetting the king's enemies, and the
rest of it. If it were in the old times they would put the thumb
screws on him to find out all he knew about it, for they will
never believe he risked his life in the plot; and the fact that
his father before him was in arms for the Chevalier tells that
way. I should not be surprised if an order comes for him to be
sent to London to be examined by the king's councillors; but I
will go round now and ask the justices what they think of the
matter."

His tidings when he returned were not encouraging; the general
opinion of the magistrates being that Ronald was certainly mixed
up in the Jacobite plot, that the matter was altogether too
serious to be disposed of by them, being of the nature of high
treason, and that nothing could be done until instructions were
received from London. No clue had been obtained as to the
whereabouts of the man who had escaped, and it was thought
probable that he had at once dropped beyond the walls and made
for the west.

Malcolm arrived ten days later from a journey in Lancashire,
and there was a serious quarrel between him and Andrew on his
presenting himself at the house.

"It is not only that you led the lad into mischief, Malcolm,
but that you taught him to do it behind my back."

"You may look at it in that way if you will, Andrew, and it's
natural enough from your point of view; but I take no blame to
myself. You treated the boy as if he had been your son, and I
thank you with all my heart for your kindness to him; but I could
not forget Leslie of Glenlyon, and I do not blame myself that I
have kept the same alive in his mind also. It was my duty to see
that the young eagle was not turned into a barn door fowl; but I
never thought he was going to use his beak and his claws so
soon."

"A nice thing you will have to tell his father, that owing to
your teachings his son is a prisoner in the Tower, maybe for
life. But there--there's no fear of that. You will never have
to render that account, for there's no more chance of your ever
hearing more of him than there is of my becoming king of
Scotland. It's bad enough that you have always been a ne'er do
well yourself without training that unfortunate boy to his
ruin."

"Well, well, Andrew, I will not argue with you, and I don't
blame you at being sore and angry over the matter; nor do I deny
what you have said about myself; it's true enough, and you might
say worse things against me without my quarreling with ye over
it. However, the less said the better. I will take myself off and
think over what's to be done."

"You had better come up and have your supper with us," Andrew
said, mollified by his brother's humility.

"Not for twenty golden guineas, Andrew, would I face Mistress
Janet. She has borne with me well, though I know in her heart she
disapproves of me altogether; but after this scrape into which I
have got the boy I daren't face her. She might not say much, but
to eat with her eye upon me would choke me."

Malcolm proceeded at once to the establishment of his friend
Macklewain.

"This is a nice kettle of fish, Malcolm, about young Leslie. I
have had the justices down here, asking me all sorts of
questions, and they have got into their minds that I taught him
not only swordplay but treason, and they have been threatening to
put me in the stocks as a vagabond; but I snapped my fingers in
their faces, saying I earned my money as honestly as they did,
and that I concern myself in no way in politics, but teach
English officers and the sons of Glasgow tradesmen as well as
those of Highland gentlemen. They were nicely put out, I can tell
you; but I didn't care for that, for I knew I was in the right of
it. But what on earth made the young cock meddle in this matter?
How came he to be mixed up in a Jacobite plot? Have you got your
finger in it?"

"Not I, James; and how it happens that he is concerned in it
is more than I can guess. I know, of course, his heart is with
the king over the water; but how he came to get his hand into the
pie is altogether beyond me."

"The people here are well nigh mad about it. I know not who
the gallant who has escaped is; but it is certain that his
capture was considered a very important one, and that the
justices here expected to have gained no small credit by his
arrest, whereas now they will be regarded as fools for letting
him slip through their fingers."

"I cannot for the life of me make out how he came to be mixed
up in such a matter. No one but you and I could have known that
he was a lad of mettle, who might be trusted in such a business.
It can hardly be that they would have confided any secrets to
him; still, the fact that he was in the house with the man they
are in search of, and that he drew and risked his life and
certain imprisonment to secure his escape, shows that he must
have been heart and soul in the plot."

"And what do you think of doing, Malcolm?"

"I shall get him out somehow. I can lay hands on a score or
two or more of our old comrades here in Glasgow, and I doubt not
that they will all strike a blow with me for Leslie's son, to say
nothing of his being a follower of the Stuarts."

"You are not thinking, man, of attacking the jail! That would
be a serious matter. The doors are strong, and you would have the
soldiers, to say nought of the town guard and the citizens, upon
you before you had reached him."

"No, no, James, I am thinking of no such foolishness. I guess
that they will not be trying him for withstanding the watch,
that's but a small matter; they will be sending him south for the
king's ministers to get out of him what he knows about the
Jacobite plot and the names of all concerned, and it's upon the
road that we must get him out of their hands. Like enough they
will only send four troopers with him, and we can easily master
them somewhere in the dales."

"It's more like, Malcolm, they will send him by ship. They
will know well enough that if the lad knows aught there will be
plenty whose interest it is to get him out of their hands. I
think they will take the safer way of putting him on board
ship."

"Like enough they will," Malcolm agreed, "and in that case it
will be a harder job than I deemed it. But at any rate I mean to
try. Ronald's not the lad to turn traitor; he will say nothing
whatever they do to him, you may be sure, and he may lie for
years in an English prison if we do not get him out of their
hands before he gets there. At any rate what we have got to do
now is to mark every ship in the port sailing for London, and to
find out whether passages are taken for a prisoner and his guard
in any of them. I will make that my business, and between times
get a score of trusty fellows together in readiness to start if
they should send him by land; but I doubt not that you are right,
and that he will be taken off by ship."

The days of waiting passed slowly to Ronald, and Andrew
Anderson once or twice obtained permission to see him. The bailie
wisely abstained from any reproaches, and sought only to persuade
him to make a clean breast of the business, and to tell all he
knew about a plot which could but end in failure and ruin to all
concerned. Although his belief in Ronald's truthfulness was great
he could not credit that the story which he had told contained
all the facts of the matter. To the bailie it seemed incredible
that merely from an abstract feeling in favour of the Stuarts
Ronald would have risked his life and liberty in aiding the
escape of a Jacobite agent, unless he was in some way deeply
involved in the plot; and he regarded Ronald's assurances to the
contrary as the outcome of what he considered an entirely
mistaken sense of loyalty to the Stuart cause.

"It's all very well, Ronald," he said, shaking his head sadly;
"but when they get you to London they will find means to make you
open your mouth. They have done away with the thumb screws and
the rack, but there are other ways of making a prisoner speak,
and it would be far better for you to make a clean breast of it
at once. Janet is grieving for you as if you were her own son,
and I cannot myself attend to my business. Who would have thought
that so young a lad should have got himself mixed up in such sair
trouble!"

"I have really told you all, bailie, though you will not
believe me, and I am sorry indeed for the trouble I have brought
upon you and my aunt"--for Ronald had from the first been
taught to address the bailie and his wife as if Malcolm Anderson
had been his real father; "anyhow I wish they would settle it. I
would rather know the worst than go on from day to day expecting
something that never happens."

"You have to wait, Ronald, till word comes from London. If
they write from there that your case can be dealt with merely for
the assault upon the watch I can promise you that a few weeks in
jail are all that you are like to have; but I fear that there is
little chance of that. They are sure to send for you to London,
and whether you will ever come back alive the gude Lord only
knows. We know what came of treason thirty years ago, and like
enough they will be even more severe now, seeing that they will
hold that folks have all the less right to try and disturb
matters so long settled."

"Have you seen Malcolm?" Ronald asked, to change the
conversation.

"Ay, lad, I have seen him, and the meeting was not altogether
a pleasant one for either of us."

"I hope you have not quarrelled with him on my account!"
Ronald said eagerly.

"We have not exactly quarrelled, but we have had words. I
could not but tell him my opinion as to his learning you to take
such courses, but we parted friends; but I doubt it will be long
before Janet can see him with patience."

The jailer, who was present at the interview, here notified
that the bailie's time was up.

"I shall see you again, Ronald, before they take you south. I
would that I could do more to help you besides just coming to see
you."

"I know you cannot, uncle. I have got into the scrape and must
take the consequences; but if I were placed in the same position
I should do it again."

A few days afterwards, as he was eating his ration of prison
bread, Ronald found in it a small pellet of paper, and on opening
it read the words: "Keep up your courage, friends are at work for
you. You will hear more yet of M. A."

Ronald was glad to know that his old friend was thinking of
him, but, knowing how strong was the prison, he had little hopes
that Malcolm would be able to effect anything to help him. Still
the note gave him comfort.

Three days later Andrew called again to bid him goodbye,
telling him that orders had been received from London that he was
to be sent thither by ship.

"I should like to have seen Malcolm before I went, if I
could," Ronald said.

"I have not seen him for several days," the bailie said. "I
have sent down several times to the house where he lodges, but he
is always away; but, whether or no, there would be no chance of
your seeing him. I myself had difficulty in getting leave to see
you, though a bailie and known to be a loyal citizen. But Malcolm
knows that there would be no chance of one with such a character
as his getting to see you, and that it would draw attention to
him even to ask such a thing, which, if he has a hand in this mad
brain plot, he would not wish."

"Malcolm would not mind a straw whether they kept a watch on
him or not," Ronald said. "Will you tell him, when you see him
next, that I got his message?"

"What message? I have given you no message that I know
of."

"He will know what I mean. Tell him, whether aught comes of it
or not I thank him, and for all his kindness to me, as I do you
and Aunt Janet."

At the same time with the order that Ronald should be sent to
London the authorities of Glasgow received an intimation that the
ministers felt great surprise at the lukewarmness which had been
shown in allowing so notorious and important an enemy of his
majesty to escape, and that the king himself had expressed marked
displeasure at the conduct of the city authorities in the matter.
Greatly mortified at the upshot of an affair from which they had
hoped to obtain much credit from government, and believing it
certain that there were many greatly interested in getting Ronald
out of the hands of his captors, the authorities took every
precaution to prevent it. He was taken down to the river side
under a strong escort, and in addition to the four warders who
were to be in charge of the prisoner as far as London, they put
on board twelve men of the city guard. These were to remain with
the ship until she was well out at sea, and then to return in a
boat which the vessel was to tow behind her.

Ronald could not but smile when he saw all these formidable
preparations for his safety. At the same time he felt that any
hope he had entertained that Malcolm might, as the message
hinted, make an attempt at rescue were blighted. The vessel
dropped down with the tide. The orders of the justices had been
so strict and urgent that the whole of the men placed on board
kept a vigilant watch.

Just as they were abreast of Dumbarton the sound of oars was
heard, and presently a boat was seen approaching. As it got
nearer two men were seen to be rowing, and two others seated in
the stern; but as the craft was a large one there was room for
others to be lying in the bottom. The constable in charge shouted
to the boat to keep them off.

"Stop rowing," he cried, "and come no nearer. If you do we
fire, and as I don't want to shed your blood I warn you that I
have sixteen armed men here."

As his words were emphasized by the row of men, who with
levelled muskets ranged themselves along at the side of the ship,
the boat ceased rowing.

"What are you afraid of?" one of the men in the stern shouted.
"Cannot a fisherman's boat row out without being threatened with
shooting? What are you and your sixteen armed men doing on board?
Are you expecting a French fleet off the coast? And do you think
you will beat them off if they board you? How long have the
Glasgow traders taken to man their ships with fighting men?"

Ronald was in the cabin under the poop; it opened on to the
waist, and received its light from an opening in the door, at
which two armed men had stationed themselves when the boat was
heard approaching. Had the cabin possessed a porthole through
which he could have squeezed himself he would long before have
jumped overboard and tried to make his escape by swimming under
cover of the darkness. He now strove to force the door open, for
he recognized Malcolm's voice, and doubted not that his friend
had spoken in order to let him know that he was there, that he
might if possible leap over and swim to the boat; but it was
fastened strongly without, and the guards outside shouted that
they would fire unless he remained quiet.

No reply was made to the taunts of the man in the boat, and
slowly, for the wind was but just filling her sails, the vessel
dropped down the river, and the boat was presently lost sight
of.

In the morning the breeze freshened. It was not till the ship
was eight miles beyond the mouth of the river that the boat was
pulled up alongside, and the guard, taking their places on board,
hoisted sail and started on their return to Glasgow.

Once fairly at sea Ronald was allowed to leave his cabin. Now
that he was enjoying the fresh air his spirits soon recovered the
tone which they had lost somewhat during his three weeks'
confinement in prison, and he thoroughly enjoyed his voyage. The
man who was in charge of the guard had at first wished to place
some restriction on his going about on board as he chose; but the
crew sided with the young prisoner, and threw such ridicule on
the idea that four warders and a head constable were afraid, even
for a moment, to lose sight of a boy on board a ship at sea, that
he gave way, and allowed Ronald free liberty of action, although
he warned his subordinates that they must nor relax their caution
for a moment.

"The crew are all with him. They think it a shame that a lad
like this should be hauled to London as a prisoner charged with
treasonable practices; and sailors, when they once get an idea
into their head, are as obstinate as Highland cattle. I have told
them that he drew a sword and held the staircase against us all
while a noted traitor made his escape, and that he ran one of us
through the shoulder, and they only shouted with laughter, and
said he was a brave young cock. Like as not, if they had a
chance, these men would aid him to escape, and then we should
have to answer for it, and heavily too; loss of place and
imprisonment would be the least of what we might expect; so
though, while at sea and in full daylight he can do as he
pleases, we must be doubly vigilant at night, or in port if the
vessel should have to put in."

Accordingly, to the great disgust of the sailors the watch by
turns stood sentry outside Ronald's door at night, thereby
defeating a plan which the sailors had formed of lowering a boat
the first night they passed near land, and letting Ronald make
his escape to shore.

The wind was favourable until the vessel rounded the Land's
End. After that it became baffling and fickle, and it was more
than three weeks after the date of her sailing from Glasgow that
the vessel entered the mouth of the Thames. By this time Ronald's
boyish spirits had allayed all suspicion on the part of his
guards. He joked with the sailors, climbed about the rigging like
a cat, and was so little affected by his position that the guards
were convinced that he was free from the burden of any state
secret, and that no apprehension of any serious consequence to
himself was weighing upon him.

"Poor lad!" the head warder said; "he will need all his
spirits. He will have hard work to make the king's council
believe that he interfered in such a matter as this from pure
love of adventure. He will have many a weary month to pass in
prison before they free him, I reckon. It goes against my heart
to hand over such a mere laddie as a prisoner; still it is no
matter of mine. I have my duty to do, and it's not for me to
question the orders I have received, or to argue whether a
prisoner is innocent or guilty."

As the vessel anchored off Gravesend to wait for the turn of
the tide to take her up, a boat rowed by a waterman, and with a
man sitting in the stern, passed close by the ship. The head
warder had now redoubled his vigilance, and one of the guards
with loaded musket was standing on the deck not far from Ronald,
who was standing on the taffrail. As the boat passed some twenty
yards astern of the ship the man who was not rowing turned round
for a moment and looked up at Ronald. It was but a momentary
glance that the lad caught of his face, and he suppressed with
difficulty a cry of surprise, for he recognized Malcolm Anderson.
The rower continued steadily to ply his oars, and continued his
course towards another ship anchored lower down the river. Ronald
stood watching the boat, and saw that after making a wide sweep
it was rowed back again to Gravesend.

Ronald had no doubt that Malcolm had come south in hopes of
effecting his escape, and guessed that he had taken up his post
at Gravesend with the intention of examining every ship as she
passed up until the one in which he knew he had sailed made its
appearance. What his next step would be he could not tell; but he
determined to keep a vigilant lookout, and to avail himself
instantly of any opportunity which might offer.

As the captain did nor care about proceeding up the river
after dark it was not until the tide turned, just as morning
broke, that the anchor was weighed. There was a light breeze
which just sufficed to give the vessel steerage way, and a mist
hung on the water. Ronald took his favourite seat on the
taffrail, and kept a vigilant watch upon every craft which seemed
likely to come near the vessel.

Greenwich was passed, and the vessel presently approached the
crowded part of the Pool. It was near high tide now, and the
captain was congratulating himself that he should just reach a
berth opposite the Tower before it turned. Presently a boat with
two rowers shot out from behind a tier of vessels and passed
close under the stern of the Glasgow Lass. A man was steering
whom Ronald instantly recognized.

"Jump!" he cried, and Ronald without a moment's hesitation
leaped from the taffrail.

He came up close to the boat, and was instantly hauled on
board by Malcolm. Just at that moment the guard, who had stood
stupefied by Ronald's sudden action, gave a shout of alarm and
discharged his piece. The ball struck the boat close to Ronald.
It was already in motion; the men bent to their oars, and the
boat glided towards the Surrey side of the river. Loud shouts
arose from on board the vessel, and four bullets cut the water
round the boat; but before the muskets could be reloaded Malcolm
had steered the boat through a tier of vessels, whose crews,
attracted by the firing, cheered the fugitives lustily.

A minute later they had reached some landing steps. Malcolm
tossed some money to the rowers, and then sprang ashore with
Ronald, and handed the latter a long coat which would reach to
his heels and conceal the drenched state of his clothing from
notice.

"We have tricked them nicely, dear boy," he said; "we are safe
now. Long before they can lower a boat and get here we shall be
safe in shelter, and our five Glasgow bodies will have something
to do to look for us here."

Moderating his pace so as to avoid attracting attention,
Malcolm proceeded along several streets and lanes, and presently
stopped at the door of a little shop.

"I am lodging here," he said, "and have told the people of the
house that I am expecting a nephew back from a cruise in the
Mediterranean."

As he passed through the shop he said to the woman behind the
counter:

"Here he is safe and sound. He's been some days longer than I
expected, but I was nor so very far wrong in my calculations. The
young scamp has had enough of the sea, and has agreed to go back
again with me to his own people."

"That's right," the woman said. "My own boy ran away two years
ago, and I hope he will have come to his senses by the time he
gets back again."

When they were together in their room up stairs Malcolm threw
his arms round Ronald's neck.

"Thank God, my dear boy, I have got you out of the clutches of
the law! You do not know how I have been fretting since I heard
you were caught, and thought that if ill came to you it would be
all my fault. And now tell me how you got into this scrape, for
it has been puzzling me ever since I heard it. Surely when I saw
you last you knew nothing about any Jacobite goings on?"

Ronald related the whole particulars of his adventure, and
said that even now he was absolutely ignorant who was the man
whom he had aided to escape.

"I know no more than you do, Ronald, but they must have
thought his capture an important one by the fuss they made over
his escape. And now, to think that you have slipped out of their
hands too!" and Malcolm broke into a loud laugh. "I would give a
month's earnings to see the faces of the guard as they make their
report that they have arrived empty handed. I was right glad when
I saw you. I was afraid you might have given them the slip on the
way, and then there would have been no saying when we might have
found each other again."

"The sailors would have lowered a boat at night and let me
make for the land," Ronald said, "but there was a good guard kept
over me. The door was locked and a sentry always on watch, and I
had quite given up all hope until I saw you at Gravesend. And
now, what do you intend to do? Make our way back to
Scotland?"

"No, no, lad, that would never do. There will be a hue and cry
after you, and all the northern routes will be watched. No, I
shall make a bargain with some Dutch skipper to take us across
the water, and then we will make our way to Paris."

"But have you got money, Malcolm?"

"I have got your purse, lad. I went to Andrew and said that I
wanted it for you, but that he was to ask no questions, so that
whatever came of it he could say that he knew nothing. He gave it
me at once, saying only:

"'Remember, Malcolm, you have done the boy some harm already
with your teaching, see that you do him no further harm. I guess
you are bent on some hare brained plan, but whatever it be I wish
you success.'"

CHAPTER
IV: In France.

The next day Malcolm went out alone, and on his return told
Ronald that there were placards on the walls offering a reward of
a hundred pounds for his apprehension.

"You don't think the people below have any suspicion,
Malcolm?"

"Not they," Malcolm replied. "I was telling them last night
after you had gone to bed all about the places you have been
voyaging to, and how anxious your father, a snug farmer near
Newcastle, was to have you back again. I had spoken to them
before so as to prepare them for your coming, and the old woman
takes quite an interest in you, because her son at sea is a lad
just about your age. I have brought you in a suit of sailor
clothes; we will go down and have a chat with them after the shop
is closed of a night. You will remember Newcastle and the farm,
and can tell them of your escape from Greek pirates, and how
nearly you were taken by a French frigate near the straits."

The consternation of the watch at Ronald's escape was extreme.
The shot which the man on guard had fired was their first
intimation of the event, and seizing their muskets they had
hastily discharged them in the direction of the fugitive, and had
then shouted for a boat to be lowered. But never was a boat
longer getting into the water than was that of the Glasgow Lass
upon this occasion. The captain gave his orders in a leisurely
way, and the crew were even slower in executing them. Then
somehow the fall stuck and the boat wouldn't lower. When at last
she was in the water it was found that the thole pins were
missing; these being found she was rowed across the river, the
five constables undergoing a running fire of jokes and hilarity
from the sailors of the ships they passed near. In answer to
their inquiries where the fugitives landed, some of the sailors
shouted that she had pulled up the river behind the tier of
vessels, others insisted that she had sunk with all hands close
by.

Completely bewildered, the chief of the party told the sailors
to put them ashore at the first landing. When the party gained
the streets they inquired eagerly of all they met whether they
had seen aught of the fugitives. Few of those they questioned
understood the broad Scotch in which the question was asked,
others laughed in their faces and asked how they were to know the
man and boy they wanted from any others; and after vainly looking
about for some time they returned to the stairs, only to find
that the boat had returned to the ship.

A waterman's boat was now hired, and the rower, who had heard
what had happened, demanded a sum for putting them on board which
horrified them; but at last, after much bargaining, they were
conveyed back to the ship. An hour later the chief of the party
went ashore, and repairing to the Tower, where he had been
ordered to conduct the prisoner, reported his escape. He was at
once taken into custody on the charge of permitting the escape of
his prisoner, and it was not until three days later, upon the
evidence of his men and of the captain and officers of the ship,
that he was released.

His four men were put on board a ship returning to Glasgow
next day, while he himself was kept to identify the fugitive
should he be caught.

A week later Malcolm told Ronald that he had made arrangements
with the captain of a Dutch vessel to take them over to
Holland.

"We are to go on board at Gravesend," he said, "for they are
searching all ships bound for foreign ports. It is not for you
especially, but there are supposed to be many Jacobites going to
and fro, and they will lay hands on anyone who cannot give a
satisfactory account of himself. So it is just as well for us to
avoid questioning."

Accordingly the next day they walked down to Gravesend, and
taking boat there boarded the Dutch vessel when she came along on
the following day. The Dutch captain received them civilly; he
had been told by Malcolm that they wished to leave the country
privately, and guessed that they were in some way fugitives from
the law, but as he was to be well paid this gave him no concern.
There were no other passengers, and a roomy cabin was placed at
their disposal. They passed down the river without impediment,
and anchored that night off Sheerness.

"These Dutch traders are but slow craft," Malcolm said as he
walked impatiently up and down the deck next morning, watching
the slow progress which they made past the shore. "I wish we
could have got a passage direct to France, but of course that is
impossible now the two nations are at war."

"What is the war about, Malcolm? I heard at home that they
were fighting, but yet that somehow the two countries were not at
war."

"No, I don't know how that comes about," Malcolm said.
"England has a minister still at Paris; but for all that King
George is at the head of a number of British troops in Germany
fighting against the French there."

"But what is it about, Malcolm?"

"Well, it is a matter which concerns Hanover more than
England; in fact England has no interest in the matter at all as
far as I can see, except that as France takes one side she takes
the other, because she is afraid of France getting too strong.
However, it is a German business, and England is mixed up in it
only because her present king is a Hanoverian and not an
Englishman. This is the matter as far as I can make it out.
Charles VI., Emperor of Germany, died in October, 1740. It had
been arranged by a sort of general agreement called the Pragmatic
Sanction--"

"What an extraordinary name, Malcolm! What does it mean?"

"I have not the least idea in the world, lad. However, that is
what it is called. It was signed by a lot of powers, of whom
England was one, and by it all parties agreed that Charles's
daughter Maria Theresa was to become Empress of Austria. However,
when the emperor was dead the Elector of Bavaria claimed to be
emperor, and he was supported by France, by Spain, and by
Frederick of Prussia, and they marched to Vienna, enthroned the
elector as Duke of Austria, and drove Maria Theresa to take
refuge in Hungary, where she was warmly supported.

"The English parliament voted a large sum to enable the
empress to carry on the war, and last year sixteen thousand men
under the Earl of Stair crossed the seas to cooperate with the
Dutch, who were warm supporters of the empress, and were joined
by six thousand Hessians and sixteen thousand Hanoverians in
British pay; but after all nothing was done last year, for as in
the last war the Dutch were not ready to begin, and the English
army were in consequence kept idle."

"Then it seems that everyone was against the empress except
England and these three little states."

"That is pretty nearly so," Malcolm said; "but at present the
empress has bought off the Prussians, whose king joined in the
affair solely for his own advantage, by giving him the province
of Silesia, so that in fact at present it is England and Hanover,
which is all the same thing, with the Dutch and Hessians, against
France and Bavaria, for I don't think that at present Spain has
sent any troops."

"Well, it seems to me a downright shame," Ronald said
indignantly; "and though I have no great love for the English,
and hate their Hanoverian George and his people, I shouldn't like
to fight with one of the Scotch regiments in the French service
in such a quarrel."

Malcolm laughed.

"My dear lad, if every soldier were to discuss the merits of
the quarrel in which he is ordered to fight there would be an end
of all discipline."

"Yes, I see that," Ronald agreed; "if one is once a soldier he
has only to obey orders. But one need not become a soldier just
at the time when he would be called upon to fight for a cause
which he considers unjust."

"That is so, Ronald, and it's fortunate, if your feelings are
in favour of Maria Theresa, that we are not thinking of enlisting
just at present, for you would be puzzled which side to take. If
you fought for her you would have to fight under the Hanoverian;
if you fight against the Hanoverian you are fighting against
Maria Theresa."

"Well, we don't want to fight at all," Ronald said. "What we
want to do is to find out something about my father. I wish the
voyage was at an end, and that we had our faces towards
Paris."

"It will not be so easy to cross from Holland into France,"
Malcolm said. "I wish our voyage was at an end for another
reason, for unless I mistake there is a storm brewing up."

Malcolm's prediction as to the weather was speedily verified.
The wind rose rapidly, ragged clouds hurried across the sky, and
the waves got up fast, and by nightfall the sea had become really
heavy, dashing in sheets high in the air every time the bluff
bowed craft plunged into it. Long before this Ronald had gone
below prostrate with seasickness.

"It's just like the obstinacy of these Dutchmen," Malcolm
muttered to himself as he held on by a shroud and watched the
labouring ship. "It must have been clear to anyone before we were
well out of the river that we were going to have a gale, and as
the wind then was nearly due south, we could have run back again
and anchored in shelter till it was over. Now it has backed round
nearly into our teeth, with every sign of its getting into the
north, and then we shall have the French coast on our lee. It's
not very serious yet, but if the wind goes on rising as it has
done for the last four or five hours we shall have a gale to
remember before the morning."

Before the daylight, indeed, a tremendous sea was running, and
the wind was blowing with terrible force from the north. Although
under but a rag of canvas the brig was pressed down gunwale deep,
and each wave as it struck her broadside seemed to heave her
bodily to leeward. Malcolm on coming on deck made his way aft and
glanced at the compass, and then took a long look over the
foaming water towards where he knew the French coast must lie.
The wind was two or three points east of north, and as the clumsy
craft would not sail within several points of the wind she was
heading nearly east.

"She is making a foot to leeward for every one she forges
ahead," he said to himself. "If she has been at this work all
night we cannot be far from the coast."

So the Dutch skipper appeared to think, for a few minutes
afterwards he gave orders to bring her about on the other tack.
Three times they tried and failed; each time the vessel slowly
came up into the wind, but the heavy waves forced her head off
again before the headsails filled. Then the skipper gave orders
to wear her. Her head payed off to the wind until she was nearly
before it. Two or three great seas struck her stern and buried
her head deeply, but at last the boom swung over and her head
came up on the other tack. During the course of these manoeuvres
she had made fully two miles leeway, and when she was fairly
under sail with her head to the west Malcolm took another long
look towards the south.

"Just as I thought," he said. "There is white water there and
a dark line behind it. That is the French coast, sure
enough."

It would have been useless to speak, but he touched the arm of
the skipper and pointed to leeward. The skipper looked in this
direction for a minute and then gave the order for more sail to
be put on the ship, to endeavour to beat out in the teeth of the
gale. But even when pressed to the utmost it was evident to
Malcolm that the force of the waves was driving her faster
towards the coast than she could make off it, and he went below
and told Ronald to come on deck.

"I would rather lie here," Ronald said.

"Nonsense, lad! The wind and spray will soon knock the
sickness out of you; and you will want all your wits about you,
for it won't be many hours before we are bumping on the sands,
and stoutly built as the craft is she won't hold together long in
such a sea as this."

"Do you really mean it, Malcolm, or are you only trying to get
me on deck?"

"I mean it, lad. We are drifting fast upon the French coast,
and there is no hope of her clawing off in the teeth of such a
gale as this."

The news aroused Ronald effectually. He had not suffered at
all on the voyage down from Glasgow, and he was already beginning
to feel better when Malcolm went down to call him. He was soon on
deck holding on by the bulwark.

"There it is, that long low black line; it looks a long way
off because the air is full of spray and the coast is low, but
it's not more than three or four miles; look at that broad belt
of foam."

For some hours the Dutch skipper did his best to beat to
windward, but in vain, the vessel drove nearer and nearer towards
the shore; the anchors were got in readiness, and when within a
quarter of a mile of the line of breakers the vessel's head was
brought up into the wind, and the lashings of the two anchors cut
simultaneously.

"Will they hold her, do you think?" Ronald asked.

"Not a chance of it, Ronald. Of course the captain is right to
try; but no cables were ever made would hold such a bluff bowed
craft as this in the teeth of such a wind and sea."

The cables ran out to the bitts. Just as they tightened a
great sea rolled in on the bow. Two dull reports were heard, and
then her head payed off. The jib was run up instantly to help her
round, and under this sail the brig was headed directly towards
the shore. The sea was breaking round them now; but the brig was
almost flat bottomed and drew but little water. All on board hung
on to the shrouds and bulwarks, momentarily expecting a crash,
but she drove on through the surf until within a hundred yards of
the shore. Then as she went down in the trough of a wave there
was a mighty crash. The next wave swept her forward her own
length.

Then there was another crash even more tremendous than the
first, and her masts simultaneously went over the side. The next
wave moved her but a few feet; the one which followed, finding
her immovable, piled itself higher over her, and swept in a
cataract down her sloping deck. Her stern had swung round after
the first shot, and she now lay broadside to the waves. The Dutch
skipper and his crew behaved with the greatest calmness; the ship
lay over at such an angle that it was impossible to stand on the
deck; but the captain managed to get on the upper rail, and
although frequently almost washed off by the seas, contrived to
cut the shrouds and ropes that still attached the masts to the
ship there. Then he joined the crew, who were standing breast
high in the water on the lee side, the floating masts were pulled
in until within a few yards of the vessel, and such of the crew
as could swim made towards them.

The skipper cut the last rope that bound them, and then
plunged in and joined his men. The distance was little over fifty
yards to the shore, and the wreck formed a partial shelter. A
crowd of people were assembled at the edge of the beach with
ropes in readiness to give any assistance in their power. Malcolm
and Ronald were among those who had swum to the masts, but when
within a short distance of the shore the former shouted in the
latter's ear:

"Swim off, lad, the masts might crush us."

As soon as they neared the shore a number of ropes were
thrown. Most of the sailors, seeing the danger of being crushed,
followed the example of Malcolm, and left the masts. Malcolm and
Ronald swam just outside the point where the waves broke until a
line fell in the water close to them. They grasped it at
once.

"Give it a twist round your arm," Malcolm shouted, "or the
backwash will tear you from it."

The sailors on shore watched their opportunity, and the
instant a wave passed beneath the two swimmers ran up the beach
at full speed with the rope. There was a crash. Ronald felt
himself shot forward with great rapidity, then as he touched the
ground with his feet they were swept from under him, and so great
was the strain that he felt as if his arm was being pulled from
the socket. A few seconds later he was lying at full length upon
the sands, and before the next wave reached him a dozen men had
rushed down and seized him and Malcolm, and carried them beyond
its influence. For a minute or two Ronald felt too bruised and
out of breath to move. Then he heard Malcolm's voice:

"Are you hurt, Ronald?"

"No; I think not, Malcolm," he replied, making an effort to
sit up. "Are you?"

"No, lad; bruised a bit, but no worse."

One by one the sailors were brought ashore, one with both legs
broken from the force with which he was dashed down by the surf,
and one man who stuck to the mast was crushed to death as it was
rolled over and over on to the beach. The captain and three
sailors were, like Malcolm and Ronald, unhurt. There still
remained four men on the wreck. Fortunately she had struck just
at high tide, and so stoutly was she built that she held together
in spite of the tremendous seas, and in an hour the four sailors
were able to wade breast high to the shore.

They found that the spot where the vessel had struck was half
a mile west of Gravelines. They were taken to the town, and were
hospitably entertained. A small body of soldiers were quartered
there, and the officer in command told the Dutch skipper, that as
the two nations were at war he and his crew must be detained
until he received orders respecting them. On learning from
Malcolm that he and Ronald were passengers, and were Scotsmen
making their way from England to escape imprisonment as friends
of the Stuarts, and that he had for twelve years served in one of
the Scotch regiments of Louis, and was now bound for Paris, the
officer said that they were free to continue their journey at
once.

It was two or three days before they started, for they found
the next morning that they were both too severely bruised to set
out at once on the journey. As Malcolm had taken care to keep the
purse containing Ronald's money securely fastened to a belt under
his clothes they had no lack of funds; but as time was no object
they started for Paris on foot. Ronald greatly enjoyed the
journey. Bright weather had set in after the storm. It was now
the middle of May, all nature was bright and cheerful, the
dresses of the peasantry, the style of architecture so different
to that to which he was accustomed in Scotland, and everything
else were new and strange to him. Malcolm spoke French as
fluently as his own language, and they had therefore no
difficulty or trouble on the way.

They arrived at Paris without any adventure. Malcolm went to a
cabaret which had at the time when he was in the French service
been much frequented by Scotch soldiers, being kept by a
countryman of their own, an ex-sergeant in one of the Scottish
regiments.

"Ah! Sandy Macgregor," Malcolm exclaimed as the proprietor of
the place approached to take their order. "So you are still in
the flesh, man! Right glad am I to see you again.

"I know your face," Sandy replied; "but I canna just say what
your name might be."

"Malcolm Anderson, of Leslie's Scotch regiment. It's fourteen
years since I left them now; but I was here again four years
later, if you can remember, when I came over to try and find out
if aught had been heard of the colonel."

"Ay, ay," Sandy said, grasping Malcolm's outstretched hand
warmly. "It all comes back to me now. Right glad am I to see you.
And who is the lad ye have brought with you? A Scot by his face
and bearing, I will be bound, but young yet for the service if
that be what he is thinking of."

"He is the colonel's son, Sandy. You will remember I told you
I had carried him back to Scotland with me; but I need not tell
ye that this is betwixt ourselves, for those who have so badly
treated his father might well have a grudge against the son, and
all the more that he is the rightful heir to many a broad acre
here in France."

"I give you a hearty welcome, young sir," Sandy said. "Many a
time I have seen your brave father riding at the head of his
regiment, and have spoken to him too, for he and his officers
would drop in here and crack a cup together in a room I keep
upstairs for the quality. Well, well, and to think that you are
his son! But what Malcolm said is true, and it were best that
none knew who ye are, for they have an unco quick way here of
putting inconvenient people out of the way."

"Have you ever heard aught of my father since?" Ronald asked
eagerly.

"Not a word," Sandy replied. "I have heard it talked over
scores of times by men who were in the regiment that was once
his, and none doubted that if he were still alive he was lying in
the Bastille, or Vincennes, or one of the other cages where they
keep those whose presence the king or his favourites find
inconvenient. It's just a stroke of the pen, without question or
trial, and they are gone, and even their best friends darena ask
a question concerning them. In most cases none know why they have
been put away; but there is no doubt why Leslie was seized. Three
or four of his fellow officers were in the secret of his
marriage, and when he had disappeared these talked loudly about
it, and there was sair grief and anger among the Scottish
regiment at Leslie's seizure. But what was to be done? It was
just the king's pleasure, and that is enough in France. Leslie
had committed the grave offence of thwarting the wishes of two of
the king's favourites, great nobles, too, with broad lands and
grand connections. What were the likings of a Scottish soldier of
fortune and a headstrong girl in comparison! In Scotland in the
old times a gallant who had carried off a daughter of a Douglas
or one of our powerful nobles would have made his wife a widow
ere many weeks were over, and it is the same thing here now. It
wouldna have been an easy thing for his enemies to kill Leslie
with his regiment at his back, and so they got an order from the
king, and as surely got rid of him as if they had taken his
life."

"You have never heard whether my mother has married again?"
Ronald asked.

"I have never heard her name mentioned. Her father is still at
court, but his daughter has never been seen since, or I should
have heard of it; but more than that I cannot say."

"That gives me hopes that my father is still alive," Ronald
said. "Had he been dead they might have forced her into some
other marriage."

"They might so; but she was plainly a lassie who had a will of
her own and may have held out."

"But why did they not kill him instead of putting him in
prison if he was in their way?"

"They might, as I said, have done it at once; but once in
prison he was beyond their reach. The king may grant a lettre de
cachet, as these orders are called, to a favourite; but even in
France men are not put to death without some sort of trial, and
even Chateaurouge and De Recambours could not ask Louis to have a
man murdered in prison to gratify their private spite, especially
when that man was a brave Scottish officer whose fate had already
excited much discontent among his compatriots in the king's
service. Then again much would depend upon who was the governor
of the prison. These men differ like others. Some of them are
honourable gentlemen, to whom even Louis himself would not
venture to hint that he wanted a prisoner put out of the way; but
there are others who, to gratify a powerful nobleman, would think
nothing of telling a jailer to forget a fortnight to give food to
a prisoner. So you see we cannot judge from this. And now what
are you thinking of doing, Malcolm, and why are you over
here?"

"In the first place we are over here because young Leslie took
after his father and aided a Jacobite, whom George's men were in
search of, to escape, and drew his sword on a worshipful justice
of Glasgow and the city watch."

"He has begun early," Sandy said, laughing; "and how did he
get away?"

"They brought him down a prisoner to London, to interrogate
him as to the plot. I had a boat in the Thames and he jumped over
and swam for it; so here we are. There are rumours in Scotland
that King Louis is helping Prince Charlie, and that an army is
soon going to sail for Scotland."

"It is talked of here, but so far nothing is settled; but as
King George is interfering in Louis's affairs, and is fighting
him in Germany, I think it more than likely that King Louis is
going to stir up a coil in Scotland to give George something to
do at home."

"Then if there's nothing to be done here I shall find out the
old regiment. There will be many officers in it still who have
fought under Leslie, and some of them may know more about him
than you do, and will surely be able to tell me what has become
of the lad's mither."

"That may well be so; but keep a quiet tongue, Malcolm, as to
Leslie's son, save to those on whose discretion you can rely. I
tell you, if it were known that he is alive and in France his
life would not be worth a week's purchase. They would not take
the trouble to get a lettre de cachet for him as they did for his
father; it would be just a pistol bullet or a stab on a dark
night or in a lonely place. There would be no question asked
about the fate of an unknown Scotch laddie."

"I will be careful, Sandy, and silent. The first thing is to
find out where the old regiment is lying."

"That I can tell you at once. It is on the frontier with the
Duc de Noailles, and they say that there is like to be a great
battle with English George and his army."

"Well, as we have nothing else to do we will set out and find
them," Malcolm said; "but as time is not pressing we will stop a
few days here in Paris and I will show the lad the sights. I
suppose you can put us up."

"That can I. Times are dull at present. After '15 Paris
swarmed with Scotsmen who had fled to save their heads; but of
late years but few have come over, and the Scotch regiments have
difficulty in keeping up their numbers. Since the last of them
marched for the frontier I have been looking after empty benches,
and it will be good news for me when I hear that the war is over
and they are on their way back."

For some days Malcolm and Ronald wandered about the narrow
streets of Paris. Ronald was somewhat disappointed in the city of
which he had heard so much. The streets were ill paved and worse
lighted, and were narrow and winding. In the neighbourhood of the
Louvre there were signs of wealth and opulence. The rich dresses
of the nobles contrasted strongly indeed with the sombre attire
of the Glasgow citizens, and the appearance and uniform of the
royal guards filled him with admiration; but beyond the
fashionable quarter it did not appear to him that Paris possessed
many advantages over Glasgow, and the poorer class were squalid
and poverty stricken to a far greater degree than anything he had
seen in Scotland. But the chief points of attraction to him were
the prisons. The Bastille, the Chatelet, and the Temple were
points to which he was continually turning; the two former
especially, since, if he were in Paris, it was in one of these
that his father was most probably lying.

The various plans he had so often thought over, by which, in
some way or other, he might communicate with his father and aid
his escape, were roughly shattered at the sight of these
buildings. He had reckoned on their resembling in some respect
the prison in Glasgow, and at the sight of these formidable
fortresses with their lofty walls and flanking towers, their
moats and vigilant sentries, his hopes fell to zero. It would, he
saw at once, be absolutely impossible to open communication with
a prisoner of whose whereabouts he was wholly ignorant and of
whose very existence he was doubtful. The narrow slits which
lighted the cell in which he was confined might look into an
inner court, or the cell itself might be below the surface of the
soil. The legend of the troubadour who discovered King Richard of
England's place of captivity by singing without the walls had
always been present in his mind, but no such plan would be
practicable here. He knew no song which his father, and his
father only, would recognize; and even did he know such a song,
the appearance of anyone loitering in the open space outside the
moat round the Bastille singing at intervals at different points
would have instantly attracted the attention of the sentries on
the walls. Nor, even did he discover that his father was lying a
prisoner in one of the cells facing outwards in the fortress, did
he see any possibility of compassing his escape. The slits were
wide enough only for the passage of a ray of light or the flight
of an arrow. No human being could squeeze himself through them,
and even if he could do so he would need a long rope to descend
into the moat.

One day Ronald talked over his ideas with Malcolm, who
declared at once that they were impossible of execution.

"There is scarcely a case on record," he said, "of an escape
from either the Bastille or the Chatelet, and yet there have been
scores of prisoners confined in them with friends of great
influence and abundant means. If these have been unable, by
bribing jailers or by other strategy, to free their friends, how
could a stranger, without either connection, influence, or
wealth, hope to effect the escape of a captive were he certain
that he was within the walls. Do not waste your thought on such
fancies, Ronald. If your father is still in prison it is by
influence only, and influence exerted upon the king and exceeding
that of your father's enemies, that his release can be
obtained.

"Such influence there is no possibility of our exerting. Your
father's comrades and countrymen, his position and services,
availed nothing when he was first imprisoned; and in the time
which has elapsed the number of those who know him and would
venture to risk the king's displeasure by pleading his cause must
have lessened considerably. The only possibility, mind I say
possibility, of success lies in your mother.

"So far it is clear that she has been powerless; but we know
not under what circumstances she has been placed. She may all
this time have been shut up a prisoner in a convent; she may be
dead; but it is possible that, if she is free, she may have
powerful connections on her mother's side, who might be induced
to take up her cause and to plead with the king for your father's
liberty. She may have been told that your father is dead. She is,
no doubt, in ignorance of what has become of you, or whether you
are still alive. If she believes you are both dead she would have
had no motive for exerting any family influence she may have, and
may be living a broken hearted woman, firm only in the resolution
to accept no other husband."

"Yes, that is possible," Ronald agreed. "At any rate, Malcolm,
let us lose no further time, but set out tomorrow for the
frontier and try to find out from my father's old comrades what
has become of my mother."

CHAPTER V:
Dettingen.

After walking two or three miles Malcolm and Ronald came upon
the rear of a train of waggons which had set out from Paris an
hour earlier. Entering into conversation with one of the drivers
they found that the convoy was bound for the frontier with
ammunition and supplies for the army.

"This is fortunate," Malcolm said; "for to tell you the truth,
Ronald, I have looked forward to our meeting with a good many
difficulties by the way. We have no passes or permits to travel,
and should be suspected of being either deserters or thieves. We
came down from the north easy enough; but there they are more
accustomed to the passage of travellers to or from the coast.
Going east our appearance if alone would be sure to incite
comment and suspicion. It is hard if among the soldiers with the
convoy I do not know someone who has friends in the old regiment.
At any rate we can offer to make ourselves useful in case of any
of the drivers falling ill or deserting by the way."

As they walked along towards the head of the long line of
waggons Malcolm closely scrutinized the troopers who formed the
escort, but most of them were young soldiers, and he therefore
went on without accosting them until he reached the head of the
column. Here two officers were riding together, a captain and a
young lieutenant. Malcolm saluted the former.

"I am an old soldier of the 2d Regiment of Scottish Calvary,
and am going with my young friend here, who has relations in the
regiment, to join them. Will you permit us, sir, to journey with
your convoy? We are ready, if needs be, to make ourselves useful
in case any of your drivers are missing, no uncommon thing, as I
know, on a long journey."

The officer asked a few questions about his services, and
said: "What have you been doing since you left, as you say,
fourteen years ago?"

"I have been in Scotland, sir. I took this lad, who was then
an infant, home to my people, having had enough of soldiering,
while my brother, his father, remained with the regiment. We do
not know whether he is alive or dead, but if the former the lad
wants to join as a trumpeter, and when old enough to fight in the
ranks."

"Very well," the officer said. "You can march along with us,
and if any of these fellows desert you shall take their places,
and of course draw their pay."

It was a short time indeed before Malcolm's services were
called into requisition, for the very first night several of the
drivers, who had been pressed into the service, managed to elude
the vigilance of the guard and slipped away.

The next morning Malcolm, with Ronald as his assistant, took
charge of one of the heavy waggons, loaded with ammunition, and
drawn by twelve horses.

"This is better than walking after all, Ronald. In the first
place it saves the legs, and in the second one is partly out of
the dust."

"But I think we should get on faster walking, Malcolm."

"Yes, if we had no stoppages. But then, you see, as we have no
papers we might be detained for weeks by some pig headed official
in a little country town; besides, we are sure to push on as fast
as we can, for they will want the ammunition before a battle is
fought. And after all a few days won't make much difference to
us; the weather is fine, and the journey will not be
unpleasant."

In fact Ronald enjoyed the next three weeks greatly as the
train of waggons made its way across the plains of Champagne, and
then on through the valleys of Lorraine and Alsace until it
reached Strasbourg. Malcolm had speedily made friends with some
of the soldiers of the escort, and of an evening when the day's
work was over he and Ronald sat with them by the fires they made
by the roadside, and Malcolm told tales of the campaigns in which
he had been engaged, and the soldiers sang songs and chatted over
the probabilities of the events of the war. None of them had
served before, having been but a few months taken from their
homes in various parts of France. But although, doubtless, many
had at first regretted bitterly being dragged away to the wars,
they were now all reconciled to their lot, and looked forward
eagerly to joining their regiment, which was at the front, when
the duty of looking after the convoy would be at an end.

Little was known in Paris as to the position of the contending
armies beyond the fact that Lord Stair, who commanded the English
army, sixteen thousand strong, which had for the last year been
lying inactive in Flanders, had marched down with his Hanoverian
allies towards the Maine, and that the Duc de Noailles with sixty
thousand men was lying beyond the Rhine. But at Strasbourg they
learned that the French army had marched north to give battle to
Lord Stair, who had at present with him but twenty-eight thousand
men, and was waiting to be joined by twelve thousand Hanoverians
and Hessians who were on their way.

The convoy continued its journey, pushing forward with all
speed, and on the 26th of July joined the army of De Noailles.
The French were on the south side of the river, but having
arrived on its banks before the English they had possession of
the bridges. As soon as the waggons had joined the army, Malcolm
obtained from the officer commanding the escort a discharge,
saying that he and Ronald had fulfilled their engagement as
drivers with the waggons to the front, and were now at liberty to
return to France.

"Now we are our own masters again, Ronald," Malcolm said. "I
have taken part in a good many battles, but have never yet had
the opportunity of looking on at one comfortably. De Noailles
should lose no time in attacking, so as to destroy the English
before they receive their reinforcements. As he holds the bridges
he can bring on the battle when he likes, and I think that
tomorrow or next day the fight will take place."

It was known in the camp that evening that the English had
established their chief magazines at Hanau, and were marching up
the river towards Aschaffenburg. In the early morning a portion
of the French troops crossed the river at that town, and took up
a strong position there. Ronald and Malcolm climbed a hill
looking down upon the river from the south side, and thence
commanded the view of the ground across which the English were
marching. On the eastern side of the river spurs of the Spessart
Mountains came down close to its bank, inclosing a narrow flat
between Aschaffenburg and Dettingen. At the latter place the
heights approached so closely to the river as to render it
difficult for an army to pass between them. While posting a
strong force at Aschaffenburg to hold the passage across a stream
running into the Maine there, De Noailles marched his main force
down the river; these movements were hidden by the nature of the
ground from the English, who were advancing unconscious of their
danger towards Dettingen.

"De Noailles will have them in a trap," Malcolm said, for from
their position on the hill they could see the whole ground on the
further bank, Hanau lying some seven miles beyond Dettingen,
which was itself less than seven miles from Aschaffenburg.

"I am afraid so," Ronald said.

"Afraid!" Malcolm repeated. "Why, you should rejoice,
Ronald."

"I can't do that," Ronald replied. "I should like to see the
Stuarts instead of the Hanoverians reigning over us; but after
all, Malcolm, England and Scotland are one nation."

"But there are Scotch regiments with the French army, and a
brigade of Irish."

"That may be," Ronald said. "Scotchmen who have got into
political trouble at home may enter the service of France, and
may fight heartily against the Germans or the Flemings, or other
enemies of France; but I know that I should feel very reluctant
to fight against the English army, except, of course, at home for
the Stuarts."

"It will benefit the Stuarts' cause if the English are
defeated here," Malcolm said.

"That may be or it may not," Ronald replied. "You yourself
told me that Louis cared nothing for the Stuarts, and would only
aid them in order to cripple the English strength at home.
Therefore, if he destroys the English army here he will have less
cause to fear England and so less motive for helping the
Chevalier."

"That is true enough," Malcolm agreed. "You are fast becoming
a politician, Ronald. Well, I will look on as a neutral then,
because, although the English are certainly more nearly my
countrymen than are the French, you must remember that for twelve
years I fought under the French flag. However, there can be no
doubt what is going to take place. See, the dark mass of the
English army are passing through the defile of Dettingen, and the
French have begun to cross at Seligenstadt in their rear. See,
they are throwing three or four bridges across the river
there."

In utter ignorance of their danger the English marched on
along the narrow plain by the river bank towards
Aschaffenburg.

"Look at their cavalry scouting ahead of them," Malcolm said.
"There, the French are opening fire!" And as he spoke puffs of
musketry rose up from the line of the stream held by the
French.

The English cavalry galloped back, but the columns of infantry
still advanced until within half a mile of the French position,
and were there halted, while some guns from the French lines
opened fire. The bridges at Seligenstadt were now completed, and
masses of troops could be seen pouring over. King George and the
Duke of Cumberland had joined the Earl of Stair just as the army
passed through Dettingen, and were riding at the head of the
column when the French fire opened. A short time was spent in
reconnoitring the position of the enemy in front. The English
believed that the entire French army was there opposed to them,
and that the advance of the army into Franconia, which was its
main objective was therefore barred. After a short consultation
it was resolved to fall back at once upon the magazines at Hanau,
which, from their ignorance of the near proximity of the French,
had been left but weakly guarded. Believing that as they fell
back they would be hotly pursued by the French army, the king
took the command of the rear as the post of danger, and the
columns, facing about, marched towards Dettingen.

But the French had been beforehand with them. De Noailles had
sent 23,000 men under his nephew the Duke de Grammont across the
river to occupy Dettingen. He himself with his main army remained
on the south side, with his artillery placed so as to fire across
the river upon the flank of the English as they approached
Dettingen; while he could march up and cross at Aschaffenburg
should the English, after being beaten back at Dettingen, try to
retreat up the river.

De Grammont's position was a very strong one behind a swamp
and a deep ravine hollowed out by a stream from the hill. There
seemed no possibility of escape for the English army, who were as
yet absolutely in ignorance of the position of the French. As the
head of the column approached Dettingen, Grammont's artillery
opened upon them in front, while that of De Noailles smote them
in flank. As soon as the king found that his retreat was cut off
he galloped from the rear of the column to its head. His horse,
alarmed by the fire of the artillery and whistling of balls, ran
away with him, and was with difficulty stopped just as he reached
the head of the column. He at once dismounted and announced his
intention of leading his troops on foot.

There was a hasty council held between him, Lord Stair, and
the Duke of Cumberland, and it was agreed that the only escape
from entire destruction was by fighting their way through the
force now in front of them. This would indeed have been
impossible had De Grammont held his position; but when that
officer saw the English troops halt he believed he had only the
advanced guard in front of him, and resolving to overwhelm these
before their main body arrived, he abandoned his strong position,
led the troops across the swamp, and charged the English in
front.

De Noailles, from the opposite bank, seeing the error his
nephew had made, hurried his troops towards the bridges in order
to cross the river and render him assistance; but it was too
late.

The English infantry, headed by the king in person, hurled
themselves upon the troops of De Grammont.

Every man felt that the only hope of escape from this trap
into which they had fallen lay in cutting their way through the
enemy, and so furiously did they fight that De Grammont's troops
were utterly overthrown, and were soon in full flight towards the
bridges in the rear, hotly pursued by the English. Before they
could reach the bridges they left behind them on the field six
thousand killed and wounded. King George, satisfied with his
success, and knowing that the French army was still greatly
superior to his own, wisely determined to get out of his
dangerous position as soon as possible, and pushed on that night
to Hanau.

Although Malcolm and Ronald were too far off to witness the
incidents of the battle, they made out the tide of war rolling
away from them, and saw the black masses of troops pressing on
through Dettingen in spite of the French artillery which
thundered from the opposite bank of the river.

"They have won!" Ronald said, throwing up his cap. "Hurrah,
Malcolm! Where is the utter destruction of the English now? See,
the plain beyond Dettingen is covered by a confused mass of
flying men. The English have broken out of the trap, and instead
of being crushed have won a great victory."

"It looks like it certainly," Malcolm said. "I would not have
believed it if I had not seen it; their destruction seemed
certain. And now let us go round to the camp again."

On their way down Malcolm said:

"I think, on the whole, Ronald, that you are perhaps right,
and the French defeat will do good rather than harm to the Stuart
cause. Had they conquered, Louis would have been too intent on
pushing forward his own schemes to care much for the Stuarts. He
has no real interest in them, and only uses them as cat's paws to
injure England. If he had beaten the English and Hanoverians he
would not have needed their aid. As it is, it seems likely enough
that he will try to create a diversion, and keep the English busy
at home by aiding the Stuarts with men and money to make a
landing in Scotland."

"In that case, Malcolm, we need not grieve over the defeat
today. You know my sympathies are with the brave Empress of
Austria rather than with her enemies, and this defeat should go
far towards seating her securely on the throne. Now, what will
you do, Malcolm? Shall we try and find my father's friends at
once?"

"Nor for another few days," Malcolm said. "Just after a defeat
men are not in the best mood to discuss bygone matters. Let us
wait and see what is done next."

The next morning a portion of the French army which had not
been engaged crossed the river and collected the French and
English wounded, for the latter had also been left behind. They
were treated by the French with the same care and kindness that
was bestowed upon their own wounded. De Noailles was about to
advance against the English at Hanau, when he received the news
that the French army in Bavaria had been beaten back by Prince
Charles, and had crossed the Rhine into Alsace. As he would now
be exposed to the whole brunt of the attack of the allies he
decided to retreat at once.

The next day the retreat recommenced. Many of the drivers had
fled at the first news of the defeat, and Malcolm without
question assumed the post of driver of one of the abandoned
teams. For another week the army retired, and then crossing the
Rhine near Worms were safe from pursuit.

"Now, Ronald, I will look up the old regiment, and we will see
what is to be done."

The 2d Scotch Dragoons were posted in a little village a mile
distant from the main camp which had now been formed. Malcolm did
nor make any formal transfer of the waggon to the authorities,
thinking it by no means improbable that they would insist upon
his continuing his self adopted avocation as driver; but after
seeing to the horses, which were picketed with a long line of
transport animals, he and Ronald walked quietly away without any
ceremony of adieu.

"We must not come back again here," he said, "for some of the
teamsters would recognize me as having been driving lately, and I
should have hard work to prove that I was not a deserter; we must
take to the old regiment now as long as we are here."

On reaching the village they found the street full of
troopers, who were busy engaged in cleaning their arms, grooming
their horses, and removing all signs of weather and battle.
Ronald felt a thrill of pleasure at hearing his native language
spoken. He had now so far improved the knowledge of French as to
be able to converse without difficulty, for Malcolm had from his
childhood tried to keep up his French, and had lately always
spoken in that language to him, unless it was necessary to speak
in English in order to make him understand.

These occasions had become more and more rare, and two months
of constant conversation with Malcolm and others had enabled
Ronald by this time to speak with some fluency in the French
tongue. None of the soldiers paid any attention to the newcomers,
whose dress differed in no way from that of Frenchmen, as after
the shipwreck they had, of course, been obliged to rig themselves
out afresh. Malcolm stopped before an old sergeant who was
diligently polishing his sword hilt.

"And how fares it with you all these years, Angus Graeme?"

The sergeant almost dropped his sword in his surprise at being
so addressed in his own tongue by one whose appearance betokened
him a Frenchman.

"You don't know me, Angus," Malcolm went on with a smile; "and
yet you ought to, for if it hadn't been for me the sword of the
German hussar who carved that ugly scar across your cheek would
have followed it up by putting an end to your soldiering
altogether."

"Heart alive, but it's Malcolm Anderson! Eh, man, but I am
glad to see you! I thought you were dead years ago, for I have
heard nae mair of you since the day when you disappeared from
among us like a spook, the same day that puir Colonel Leslie was
hauled off to the Bastille. A sair day was that for us a'! And
where ha' ye been all the time?"

"Back at home, Angus, at least in body, for my heart's been
with the old regiment. And who, think you, is this? But you must
keep a close mouth, man, for it must nor be talked of. This is
Leslie's son. By his father's last order I took him off to
Scotland with me to be out of reach of his foes, and now I have
brought him back again to try if between us we can gain any news
of his father."

"You don't say so, Malcolm! I never as much heard that the
colonel had a son, though there was some talk in the regiment
that he had married a great lady, and that it was for that that
he had been hid away in prison. And this is Leslie's boy! Only to
think, now! Well, young sir, there isn't a man in the regiment
but wad do his best for your father's son, for those who have
joined us since, and in truth that's the great part of us, have
heard many a tale of Colonel Leslie, though they may not have
served under him, and not a tale but was to his honour, for a
braver officer nor a kinder one never stepped the earth. But come
inside, Malcolm. I have got a room to myself and a stoup of good
wine; let's talk over things fair and gentle, and when I know
what it is that you want you may be sure that I will do all I
can, for the sake baith of the colonel and of you, auld
comrade."

The trio were soon seated in the cottage, and Malcolm then
gave a short sketch of all that had taken place since he had left
the regiment.

"Well, well!" the sergeant said when he had ended; "and so the
lad, young as he is, has already drawn his sword for the Stuarts,
and takes after his father in loyalty as well as in looks, for
now that I know who he is I can see his father's face in his
plain enough; and now for your plans, Malcolm."

"Our plans must be left to chance, Angus. We came hither to
see whether any of the colonel's friends are still in the
regiment, and to learn from them whether they have any news
whatever of him; and secondly, whether they can tell us aught of
his mother."

"Ay, there are six or eight officers still in the regiment who
served with him. Hume is our colonel now; you will remember him,
Malcolm, well, for he was captain of our troop; and Major
Macpherson was a captain too. Then there are Oliphant, and
Munroe, and Campbell, and Graham, all of whom were young
lieutenants in your time, and are now old captains of
troops."

"I will see the colonel and Macpherson," Malcolm said; "if
they do not know, the younger men are not likely to. Will you go
along with us, Angus, and introduce me, though Hume is like
enough to remember me, seeing that I was so much with
Leslie?"

"They will be dining in half an hour," the sergeant said;
"we'll go after they have done the meal. It's always a good time
to talk with men when they are full, and the colonel will have no
business to disturb him then. Our own dinner will be ready
directly; I can smell a goose that I picked up, as it might be by
accident, at the place where we halted last night. There are four
or five of us old soldiers who always mess together when we are
not on duty with our troops, and if I mistake not, you will know
every one of them, and right glad they will be to see you; but of
course I shall say no word as to who the lad is, save that he is
a friend of yours."

A few minutes later four other sergeants dropped in, and there
was a joyful greeting between them and Malcolm as soon as they
recognized his identity. The meal was a jovial one, as old jokes
and old reminiscences were recalled. After an hour's sitting
Angus said:

"Pass round the wine, lads, till we come back again. I am
taking Anderson to the colonel, who was captain of his troop. We
are not likely to be long, and when we come back we will make a
night of it in honour of old times, or I am mistaken."

On leaving the cottage they waited for a while until they saw
the colonel and major rise from beside the fire round which, with
the other officers, they had been taking their meal, and walk to
the cottage which they shared between them. Angus went up and
saluted.

"What is it, Graeme?" the colonel asked.

"There's one here who would fain have a talk with you. It is
Malcolm Anderson, whom you may remember as puir Colonel Leslie's
servant, and as being in your own troop, and he has brought one
with him concerning whom he will speak to you himself."

"Of course I remember Anderson," the colonel said. "He was
devoted to Leslie. Bring him in at once. What can have brought
him out here again after so many years? Been getting into some
trouble at home, I suppose? He was always in some scrape or other
when he was in the regiment, for, though he was a good soldier,
he was as wild and reckless a blade as any in the regiment. You
remember him, Macpherson?"

"Yes, I remember him well," the major said. "The colonel was
very fond of him, and regarded him almost as a brother."

A minute later Angus ushered Malcolm and Ronald into the
presence of the two officers, who had now taken seats in the room
which served as kitchen and sitting room to the cottage, which
was much the largest in the village.

"Well, Anderson, I am glad to see you again," Colonel Hume
said, rising and holding out his hand. "We have often spoken of
you since the day you disappeared, saying that you were going on
a mission for the colonel, and have wondered what the mission
was, and how it was that we never heard of you again."

"I came over to Paris four years later, colonel, but the
regiment was away in Flanders, and as I found out from others
what I had come to learn, there was no use in my following you.
As to the colonel's mission, it was this;" and he put his hand on
Ronald's shoulder.

"What do you mean, Anderson?" the colonel asked in
surprise.

"This is Colonel Leslie's son, sir. He bade me fetch him
straight away from the folk with whom he was living and take him
off to Scotland so as to be out of reach of his foes, who would
doubtless have made even shorter work with him than they did with
the colonel."

"Good heavens!" the colonel exclaimed; "this is news indeed.
So poor Leslie left a child and this is he! My lad," he said,
taking Ronald's hand, "believe me that anything that I can do for
you, whatever it be, shall be done, for the sake of your dear
father, whom I loved as an elder brother."

"And I too," the major said. "There was not one of us but
would have fought to the death for Leslie. And now sit down, my
lad, while Anderson tells us your story."

Malcolm began at the account of the charge which Colonel
Leslie had committed to him, and the manner in which he had
fulfilled it. He told them how he had placed the child in the
care of his brother, he himself having no fixed home of his own,
and how the lad had received a solid education, while he had seen
to his learning the use of his sword, so that he might be able to
follow his father's career. He then told them the episode of the
Jacobite agent, and the escape which had been effected in the
Thames.

"You have done well, Anderson," the colonel said when he had
concluded; "and if ever Leslie should come to see his son he will
have cause to thank you, indeed, for the way in which you have
carried out the charge he committed to you, and he may well be
pleased at seeing him grown up such a manly young fellow. As to
Leslie himself, we know not whether he be alive or dead. Every
interest was made at the time to assuage his majesty's hostility,
but the influence of the Marquis of Recambours was too strong,
and the king at last peremptorily forbade Leslie's name being
mentioned before him. You see, although the girl's father was, of
course, at liberty to bestow her hand on whomsoever he pleased,
he had, with the toadyism of a courtier, asked the king's
approval of the match with Chateaurouge, which, as a matter of
course, he received. His majesty, therefore, chose to consider it
as a personal offence against himself that this Scottish soldier
of fortune should carry off one of the richest heiresses of
France, whose hand he had himself granted to one of his peers. At
the same rime I cannot but think that Leslie still lives, for had
he been dead we should assuredly have heard of the marriage of
his widow with some one else. The duke has, of course, long since
married, and report says that the pair are ill-matched; but
another husband would speedily have been found for the
widow."

"Since the duke has married," Ronald said, "he should no
longer be so bitter against my father, and perhaps after so long
an imprisonment the king might be moved to grant his
release."

"As the duke's marriage is an unhappy one, I fear that you
cannot count upon his hostility to your father being in any way
lessened, as he would all the more regret the interference with
his former plans."

"Have you any idea where my mother is, sir?"

"None," the colonel said. "But that I might find out for you.
I will give you a letter to the Count de Noyes, who is on
intimate terms with the Archbishop of Paris, who would, no doubt,
be able to tell him in which convent the lady is residing. You
must not be too sanguine, my poor boy, of seeing her, for it is
possible that she has already taken the veil. Indeed, if your
father has died, and she has still refused to accept any suitor
whom the marquis may have found for her, you may be sure that she
has been compelled to take the veil, as her estates would then
revert to the nearest kinsman. This may, for aught we know, have
happened years ago, without a word of it being bruited abroad,
and the affair only known to those most concerned. However, we
must look at the best side. We shall be able, doubtless, to learn
through the archbishop whether she is still merely detained in
the convent or has taken the veil, and you can then judge
accordingly whether your father is likely to be alive or dead.
But as to your obtaining an interview with your mother, I regard
it as impossible in the one case as the other.

"At any rate it is of the highest importance that it should
not be known that you are in France. If it is proved that your
father is dead and your mother is secluded for life, we must then
introduce you to her family, and try and get them to bring all
their influence to bear to have you acknowledged openly as the
legitimate heir of the marquis, and to obtain for you the
succession to at least a portion of his estates--say to that of
those which she brought him as her dowry. In this you may be sure
that I and every Scottish gentleman in the army will give you all
the aid and influence we can bring to bear."

Ronald warmly thanked Colonel Hume for his kindness, and the
next day, having received the letter to the Count de Noyes, set
out for Paris with Malcolm. On his arrival there he lost no time
in calling upon the count, and presenting his letter of
introduction.

The count read it through twice without speaking.

"My friend Colonel Hume," he said at last, "tells me that you
are the son, born in lawful wedlock, of Colonel Leslie and Amelie
de Recambours. I am aware of the circumstances of the case, being
distantly related to the lady's family, and will do that which
Colonel Hume asks me, namely, discover the convent in which she
is living. But I warn you, young man, that your position here is
a dangerous one, and that were it known that Colonel Leslie's son
is alive and in France, I consider your life would not be worth a
day's purchase. When powerful people are interested in the
removal of anyone not favoured with powerful protection the
matter is easily arranged. There are hundreds of knives in Paris
whose use can be purchased for a few crowns, of if seclusion be
deemed better than removal, a king's favourite can always obtain
a lettre-de-cachet, and a man may linger a lifetime in prison
without a soul outside the walls knowing of his existence
there.

"You are an obstacle to the plans of a great noble, and that
is in France a fatal offence. Your wisest course, young man,
would be to efface yourself, to get your friend Colonel Hume to
obtain for you a commission in his regiment, and to forget for
ever that you are the son of Colonel Leslie and Amelie de
Recambours. However, in that you will doubtless choose for
yourself; but believe me my advice is good. At any rate I will do
what my friend Colonel Hume asks me, and will obtain for you the
name of the convent where your mother is living. I do not see
that you will be any the better off when you have it, for
assuredly you will nor be able to obtain permission to see her.
However, that again is your affair. If you will give me the
address where you are staying in Paris I will write to you as
soon as I obtain the information. Do not be impatient, the
archbishop himself may be in ignorance on the point; but I doubt
not, that to oblige me, he will obtain the information from the
right quarter.

A week later, Ronald, on returning one day to Le Soldat
Ecossais, found a note awaiting him. It contained only the
words:

"She has not taken the veil; she is at the convent of Our Lady
at Tours."

The next morning Ronald and Malcolm set out on their journey
to Tours.

CHAPTER VI: The Convent
of Our Lady.

Arrived at Tours, Malcolm took a quiet lodging in a retired
street. Colonel Hume had furnished him with a regular discharge,
testifying that the bearer, Malcolm Anderson, had served his time
in the 2d Scotch Dragoons, and was now discharged as being past
service, and that he recommended him as a steady man for any
employment for which he might be suited. Malcolm showed this
document to his landlord in order that the latter might, as
required by law, duly give notice to the police of the name and
occupation of his lodger, and at the same time mentioned that the
relations of his wife lived near Tours, and that he hoped through
them to be able to obtain some sort of employment.

As soon as they were settled in their lodgings they went out,
and after a few inquiries found themselves in front of the
convent of Our Lady. It was a massive building, in a narrow
street near the river, to which its grounds, surrounded by a high
wall, extended. None of the windows of the building looked
towards the street, upon which the massive gate, with a small
wicket entrance, opened.

"What building is this?" Malcolm, in a careless tone, asked a
woman who was sitting knitting at her door nearly opposite the
entrance. "I am a stranger in Tours."

"That needs no telling," the woman replied, "or you would have
known that that is the convent of Our Lady, one of the richest in
Touraine, and they say in all France. Though what they do with
their riches is more than I can tell, seeing that the rules are
of the strictest, and that no one ever comes beyond the gates.
They have their own grounds down to the river, and there is a
walk along the wall there where they take the air of an evening
when the weather is fine. Poor things, I pity them from my
soul."

"But I suppose they all came willingly," Malcolm said; "so
there is no need for pity."

"I don't know about willingly," the woman said. "I expect most
of them took the veil rather than marry the men their fathers
provided for them, or because they were in the way of someone who
wanted their lands, or because their lovers had been killed in
the war, just as if grief for a lover was going to last one's
life. Besides, they are not all sisters. They say there's many a
lady of good family shut up there till she will do her father's
will. 'Well, well,' I often says to myself, 'they may have all
the riches of France inside those walls, but I would rather sit
knitting at my door here than have a share of them.'"

"You are a wise woman," Malcolm said. "There is nothing like
freedom. Give me a crust, and a sod for my pillow, rather than
gold plates inside a prison. I have been a soldier all my life,
and have had my share of hard knocks; but I never grumbled so
long as I was on a campaign, though I often found it dull work
enough when in garrison."

"Oh, you have been a soldier! I have a brother in the regiment
of Touraine. Perhaps you know him?"

"I know the regiment of Touraine," Malcolm said; "and there
are no braver set of men in the king's service. What is his
name?"

"Pierre Pitou. I have not heard of him for the last two years.
He is a tall man, and broad, with a scar over the left eye."

"To be sure, to be sure!" Malcolm said. "Of course, Pierre
Pitou is one of my best friends; and now I think of it, madam, I
ought to know without asking, so great is his resemblance to you.
Why, his last words to me were, 'If you go to Tours, seek out my
sister, who lives in a house nearly opposite the entrance to the
convent of Our Lady;' and to think I should have forgotten all
about it till I saw you!"

Malcolm remained for a quarter of an hour chatting with the
woman about her brother, and then, promising to call again the
next day in the evening to be introduced to her husband, he
rejoined Ronald, who had been waiting at the corner of the lane,
and had been fidgeting with impatience at the long interview
between Malcolm and the woman.

"What have you been talking about all this time, Malcolm, and
what could you have to say to a stranger?"

"I have been telling her all about her brother, Pierre Pitou
of the Touraine regiment, and how he distinguished himself at
Dettingen, and will surely be made a sergeant, with a hope some
day of getting to be a captain. I have quite won her heart."

"But who is Pierre Pitou, and when did you know him?" Ronald
asked surprised.

"He is a tall man with broad shoulders and a scar over his
left eye," Malcolm said laughing, and he then related the whole
conversation.

"But why did you pretend to this poor woman that you knew her
brother?"

"Because she may be very useful to us, Ronald; and if you
can't find a friend in court, it's just as well to have one near
court. She is a gossiping woman, and like enough she may know
some of the lay sisters, who are, in fact, the servants of the
convent, and come out to buy supplies of food and other things,
and who distribute the alms among the poor. I don't know what
advantage will come of it yet, Ronald; but I can see I have done
a great stroke of business, and feel quite an affection for my
friend Pierre Pitou."

Malcolm followed up the acquaintance he had made, and soon
established himself as a friend of the family. Ronald did not
accompany him on any of his visits, for as the plan of proceeding
was still undecided, he and Malcolm agreed that it was better
that he should not show himself until some favourable opportunity
offered.

Sometimes towards evening he and Malcolm would take a boat and
float down the stream past the convent walls, and Ronald would
wonder which of the figures whose heads he could perceive as they
walked upon the terrace, was that of his mother. It was not until
Malcolm had become quite at home with Madame Vipon that he again
turned the conversation towards the convent. He learned that she
had often been inside the walls, for before her marriage she had
worked at a farm whence the convent drew a portion of its
supplies; milk, butter, and eggs, and she had often carried
baskets to the convent.

"Of course I never went beyond the outer court," she said;
"but Farmer Miron's daughter--it was he owned the farm--is a
lay sister there. She was crossed in love, poor girl. She liked
Andre, the son of a neighbouring farmer, but it was but a small
place by the side of that of Miron, and her father would not hear
of it, but wanted her to marry Jacques Dubois, the rich miller,
who was old enough to be her father. Andre went to the wars and
was killed; and instead of changing when the news came, as her
father expected, and taking up with the miller, she hated him
worse than ever, and said that he was the cause of Andre's death;
so the long and short of it was, she came as a lay sister to the
convent here. Of course she never thought of taking the vows, for
to do that here one must be noble and be able to pay a heavy
dowry to the convent.

"So she is just a lay sister, a sort of servant, you know, but
she is a favourite and often goes to market for them, and when
she does she generally drops in here for a few minutes for a
talk; for though she was only a child when I was at the farm we
were great friends, and she hears from me how all the people she
used to know are getting on."

"I suppose she knows all the ladies who reside in the convent
as well as the sisters?"

"Oh, yes, and much better than the sisters! It is on them she
waits. She does not see much of the sisters, who keep to their
own side of the house, and have very little to do with the
visitors, or as one might call them the prisoners, for that is
what most of them really are."

"Now I think of it," Malcolm said, "one of the officers I
served under had a relation, a lady, whom I have heard him say,
when he was talking to another officer, is shut up here, either
because she wouldn't marry some one her father didn't want her
to, I forget exactly what it was now. Let me see, what was her
name. Elise--no, that wasn't it. Amelie--Amelie de Recambours--yes,
that was it."

"Oh, yes, I know the name! I have heard Jeanne speak of her.
Jeanne said it was whispered among them that she had really
married somebody against her father's will. At any rate she has
been there ever so many years, and they have not made her take
the veil, as they do most of them if they are obstinate and won't
give way. Poor thing! Jeanne says she is very pretty still,
though she must be nearly forty now."

"That is very interesting," Malcolm said; "and if you will not
mind, Madam Vipon, I will write to the officer of whom I spoke
and tell him his cousin is alive and well. I was his servant in
the regiment, and I know, from what I have heard him say, he was
very much attached to her. There can be no harm in that, you
know," he said, as Madam Vipon looked doubtful; "but if you would
prefer it, of course I will not say how I have heard."

"Yes, that will be better," she agreed. "There is never any
saying how things come round; and though there's no harm in what
I have told you, still it's ill gossiping about what takes place
inside convent walls."

"I quite agree with you, my dear Madam Vipon, and admire your
discretion. It is singular how you take after your brother.
Pierre Pitou had the reputation of being the most discreet man in
the regiment of Touraine."

Ronald was very excited when he heard from Malcolm that he had
actually obtained news at second hand as to his mother, and it
was with difficulty that his friend persuaded him to allow
matters to go on as he proposed.

"It will never do to hurry things now, Ronald; everything is
turning out beyond our expectations. A fortnight ago it seemed
absolutely hopeless that you should communicate with your mother;
now things are in a good train for it."

Accordingly Malcolm made no further allusion to the subject to
Madame Vipon until a fortnight had passed; then he said, on
calling on her one day:

"Do you know, my dear Madam Vipon, I have had a letter from
the gentleman of whom I was speaking to you. He is full of
gratitude at the news I sent him. I did not tell him from whom I
had heard the news, save that it was from one of the kindest of
women, the sister of an old comrade of mine. He has sent me this"--and
he took out a small box which he opened, and showed a
pretty gold broach, with earrings to match--"and bid me to give
it in his name to the person who had sent him this good
news."

"That is beautiful," Madam Vipon said, clapping her hands;
"and I have so often wished for a real gold broach! Won't my
husband open his eyes when he sees them!"

"I think, if I might advise, my dear madam," Malcolm said, "I
should not give him the exact history of them. He might take it
into his head that you had been gossiping, although there is no
woman in the world less given to gossiping than you are. Still,
you know what husbands are. Therefore, if I were you I would tell
him that your brother Pierre had sent them to you through me,
knowing, you see, that you could not have read a letter even if
he could have written one."

"Yes, perhaps that would be the best," Madam Vipon said; "but
you had better write to Pierre and tell him. Otherwise when he
comes home, and my husband thanks him for them, he might say he
had never sent them, and there would be a nice affair."

"I will do so," Malcolm said; "but in any case I am sure your
wit would have come to the rescue, and you would have said that
you had in fact bought them from your savings; but that thinking
your husband might grumble at your little economies you had
thought it best to say that they came from your brother."

"Oh, fie, monsieur; I am afraid you are teaching me to tell
stories."

"That is a very hard word, my dear madam. You know as well as
I do that without a little management on both sides husbands and
wives would never get on well together; but now I want to tell
you more. Not only does my old master write to say how glad he is
to hear of his cousin's welfare, but he has told me a great deal
more about the poor lady, and knowing your kindness of heart I do
not hesitate to communicate the contents of his letter to you.
The Countess Amelie de Recambours was secretly married to a young
officer, a great friend of my late master, and her father did not
discover it until after the birth of a child--a boy. Then she
was shut up here. The father got the boy safely away to Scotland,
but he has now come back to France. I do not suppose the poor
lady has ever heard of her little son since, and it would be an
act of kindness and mercy to let her know that he is alive and
well."

"Yes, indeed, poor creature," Madame Vipon said
sympathetically. "Only to think of being separated from your
husband, and never hearing of your child for all these
years!"

"I knew your tender heart would sympathize with her," Malcolm
said; "she is indeed to be pitied."

"And what became of her husband?"

"I fancy he died years ago; but my master says nothing about
him. He only writes of the boy, who it seems is so delighted with
the news about his mother that he is coming here to see if it is
possible to have an interview with her."

"But it is not possible," Madam Vipon exclaimed. "How can he
see her, shut up as she is in that convent?"

"Yes, it is difficult," Malcolm agreed; "but nothing is
impossible, my dear madam, when a woman of heart like yourself
takes a matter in hand; and I rely, I can tell you, greatly on
your counsel; as to your goodwill, I am assured of that
beforehand."

"But it is quite, quite, quite impossible, I assure you, my
good Monsieur Anderson."

"Well, let us see. Now I know that you would suggest that the
first measure to be taken is to open communication between mother
and son, and there I heartily agree with you."

"That would be the first thing of course, monsieur; but how is
that to be done?"

"Now that is where I look to you, madam. Your friend Jeanne
waits upon her, you see, and I know your quick wit will already
have perceived that Jeanne might deliver a message. I am sure
that she would never be your friend had she not a warm heart like
your own, and it will need very little persuasion on your part,
when you have told her this sad story, to induce her to bring
gladness to this unfortunate lady."

"Yes; but think of the consequences, Monsieur Anderson: think
what would happen if it were found out."

"Yes, if there were any talk of the countess running away from
the convent I would not on any condition ask you to assist in
such a matter; but what is this--merely to give a message, a
few harmless words."

"But you said an interview, Monsieur Anderson."

"An interview only if it is possible, my dear madam, that is
quite another matter, and you know you said that it was quite
impossible. All that we want now is just a little message, a
message by word of mouth which not even the keenest eye can
discover or prevent; there can be no harm in that."

"No, I don't think there can be much harm in that," Madam
Vipon agreed; "at any rate I will talk to Jeanne. It will be her
day for going to market tomorrow; I will tell her the story of
the poor lady, and I think I can answer beforehand that she will
do everything she can."

The following afternoon Malcolm again saw Madam Vipon, who
told him that although she had not actually promised she had no
doubt Jeanne would deliver the message.

"She will be out again on Saturday, monsieur, at nine in the
morning, and if you will be here with the boy, if he has arrived
by that time, you shall speak to her."

At the time appointed Malcolm, with Ronald, attired now as a
young French gentleman, arrived at the house of Madam Vipon, who
was warmly thanked by Ronald for the interest she had taken in
him.

"My friend here has spoken to me in the highest terms of you,
Madam Vipon, and I am sure that all that he has said is no more
than the truth."

"I am sure I will do all I can," replied Madam Vipon, who was
greatly taken by Ronald's appearance and manner; "it's a cruel
thing separating a mother from a son so many years, and after all
what I am doing is no hanging matter anyway."

A few minutes later Jeanne entered; she was a pleasant looking
woman of five or six and twenty, and even her sombre attire as a
lay sister failed to give a formal look to her merry face.

"So these are the gentlemen who want me to become a
conspirator," she said, "and to run the risk of all sorts of
punishment and penalties for meddling in their business?"

"Not so much my business as the business of my mother," Ronald
said. "You who have such true heart of your own, for madam has
told us something of your story, will, I am sure, feel for that
poor lady shut up for fifteen years, and knowing not whether her
child is dead or alive. If we could but see each other for five
minutes, think what joy it would be to her, what courage her poor
heart would take."

"See each other!" Jeanne repeated surprised. "You said nothing
about that, Francoise; you only said take a message. How can they
possibly see each other? That's a different thing
altogether."

"I want you to take a message first," Ronald said. "If nothing
more can be done that will be very much; but I cannot think but
that you and my mother between you will be able to hit upon some
plan by which we might meet."

"But how," Jeanne asked in perplexity, "how could it possibly
be?"

"For example," Ronald suggested; "could I not come in as a lay
sister? I am not much taller than you, and could pass very well
as a girl."

Jeanne burst our laughing.

"You do not know what you are saying, monsieur; it would be
altogether impossible. People do not get taken on as lay sisters
in the convent of Our Lady unless they are known; besides, in
other ways it would be altogether impossible, and even if it were
not it might be years before you could get to speak to the
countess, for there are only two or three of us who ever enter
the visitors' rooms; and lastly, if you were found out I don't
know what would be done to both of us. No, that would never do at
all."

"Well, in the next place, I could climb on to the river
terrace at night, and perhaps she could come and speak to me
there."

"That is more possible," Jeanne said thoughtfully; "but all
the doors are locked up at night."

"But she might get out of a window," Ronald urged; "with a
rope ladder she could get down, and then return again, and none
be the wiser."

Jeanne sat silent for a minute, and then she asked
suddenly:

"Are you telling me all, monsieur, or are you intending that
the countess shall escape with you?"

"No, indeed, on my honour!" Ronald exclaimed. "I have nowhere
where I could take my mother. She would be pursued and brought
back, and her position would be far worse than it is now. No; I
swear to you that I only want to see her and to speak to her, and
I have nothing else whatever in my mind."

"I believe you, monsieur," Jeanne said gravely. "Had it been
otherwise I dare not have helped, for my punishment if I was
discovered to have aided in an escape from the convent would be
terrible--terrible!" she repeated with a shudder. "As to the
other, I will risk it; for a gentler and kinder lady I have never
met. And yet I am sure she must be very, very brave to have
remained firm for so many years. At any rate I will give her your
message."

Ronald took from a small leather bag, which he wore round his
neck, a tiny gold chain with a little cross.

"I had this round my neck when I was taken away as a child to
Scotland. No doubt she put it there, and will recognize it. Say
to her only: 'He whom you have not seen since he was an infant is
in Tours, longing above all things to speak to you;' that is all
my message. Afterwards, if you will, you can tell her what we
have said, and how I long to see her. How high is her room from
the ground? Because if it is high it will be better that I should
climb to her window, than that she should descend and ascend
again."

Jeanne shook her head.

"That could not be," she said. "The visitors have all separate
cells, but the partitions do not go up to the ceiling; and even
if you entered, not a word could be spoken without being
overheard. But fortunately she is on the first floor, and I am
sure she is not one to shrink from so little a matter as the
descent of a ladder in order to have an interview with her
son."

That same afternoon as Amelie de Recambours was proceeding
from the refectory to her cell, following several of her fellow
captives, her attendant Jeanne came out from one of the cells.
Glancing behind to see that no one was following, she put her
finger on her lips and then whispered: "Make some excuse not to
go into the garden with the others this evening. It is most
important." Then she glided back into the room from which she had
come.

The countess followed the others in a state of almost
bewilderment. For sixteen years nothing had occurred to break the
monotony of her existence. At first occasional angry messages
reached her from her father, with orders to join an application
to the pope for a divorce; but when it had been found impossible
to overcome her steady refusals the messages had at last ceased,
and for years no word from the outer world had reached her,
although she had learned from those who from time to time came to
share her captivity what was passing outside. Whether her husband
was alive or dead she knew not. They had told her over and over
again that he was dead; but the fact that she had never had the
option given her of accepting another husband or taking the final
vows kept hope alive. For she was convinced that if he was really
dead, efforts would be made to compel her to marry again.

What, then, she wondered to herself, could this communication
so secretly given mean? She regarded the lay sister who attended
upon her as a happy looking young woman whose face was in strong
contrast to most of those within the walls of the convent; but
she had exchanged but few words with her, knowing that she would
be but a short time about her. For the policy of the abbess was
to change the attendants upon the ladies in their charge
frequently, in order to prevent them from being tampered with, or
persuaded into conveying communications without the walls.

"You look pale, Amelie," one of the other ladies said as they
gathered in a group for a moment before proceeding to their
respective apartments, where they were supposed to pass the
afternoon in working, reading, and meditation.

"It is the heat," the countess said. "I have a headache."

"You look it," the latter said. "It is not often that you have
anything the matter with you. You know we all say that you must
have a constitution of iron and the courage of a Roland to be
sixteen years here and yet to have no wrinkle on your forehead,
no marks of weeping round your eyes."

The countess smiled sadly.

"I wept the first six months almost without ceasing, and then
I told myself that if I would be strong and resist I must weep no
more. If a bird in a cage once takes to pining he is sure not to
live long. There are few of us here the news of whose death would
not give pleasure to those who shut us up, and I for one resolved
that I would live in spite of all."

"Well, you must not get ill now, Amelie. We should miss you
terribly in the one hour of the day when we really live, the hour
when we walk and talk, and laugh if we can, on the river
terrace.

"I don't think I shall be able to come this evening," the
countess said. "I shall lie down and keep myself quiet. Tomorrow
I hope to be myself again. It is a mere passing
indisposition."

The hours passed slowly as Amelie lay on her couch and
wondered over the coming interview. There were so many things
which she might hear--that her father was dead; that her family
had hopes at last of obtaining her restoration to the world. That
it could be a message from her husband she had no hope, for so
long as her father lived she was sure that his release would
never be granted. As to the child, she scarce gave it a thought.
That it had somehow been removed and had escaped the search that
had been made for it she was aware; for attempts had been made to
obtain from her some clue as to where it would most likely have
been taken. She was convinced that it had never been found, for
if it had she would have heard of it. It would have been used as
a lever to work upon her.

At last the hour when she was accustomed to go into the garden
arrived, and as the convent bell struck seven she heard the doors
of the other cells open, the sound of feet in the corridor, and
then all became still. In a few minutes a step approached, and
one of the sisters entered to inquire why she was not in the
garden with the others.

She repeated that her head ached.

"You look pale," the sister said, "and your hand is hot and
feverish. I will send you up some tisane. It is the heat, no
doubt. I think that we are going to have thunder."

In a few minutes a step was again heard approaching, and
Jeanne entered with the medicament. As she closed the door the
countess started into a sitting position.

"What is it, Jeanne? What is it that you have to say to
me?"

"Calm yourself, I pray you, countess," Jeanne said. "For both
our sakes I pray you to hear what I have to say calmly. I expect
Sister Felicia will be here directly. When she heard you were
unwell she said she would come up and see what you needed. And
now, I will begin my message. In the first place I was to hand
you this." And she placed in Amelie's hand the little necklet and
cross.

For a moment the countess looked at them wonderingly, and then
there flashed across her memory a sturdy child in its nurse's
arms, and a tall man looking on with a loving smile as she
fastened a tiny gold chain round the child's neck. A low cry
burst from her lips as she started to her feet.

"Hush, lady, hush!" Jeanne exclaimed. "This is my message: 'He
whom you have not seen since he was an infant is in Tours,
longing above all things to speak to you.'"

"My child! my child!" the countess cried. "Alive and here! My
God, I thank thee that thou hast remembered a friendless mother
at last. Have you seen him, Jeanne? What is he like? Oh, tell me
everything!"

"He is a right proper young gentleman, madam. Straight and
comely and tall, with brown waving hair and a bright pleasant
face. A son such as any mother might be proud of."

The countess suddenly threw her arms around Jeanne's neck and
burst into tears.

"You have made me so happy, Jeanne; happy as I never thought
to be again. How can I thank you?"

"The best way at present, madam," Jeanne said with a smile,
"will be by drinking up that tisane, and lying down quietly.
Sister Felicia moves about as noiselessly as a cat, and she may
pop in at any moment. Do you lie down again, and I will stand a
little way off talking. Then if she comes upon us suddenly she
will suspect nothing."

The countess seized the bowl of tisane and drank it off, and
then threw herself on the couch.

"Go on, Jeanne, go on. Have pity on my impatience. Think how I
am longing to hear of him. Did the message say he was longing to
see me? But that is not possible."

"It is not quite impossible, madam; though it would be
dangerous, very dangerous. Still it is not quite impossible."

"How then could it be done, Jeanne? You know what our life is
here. How can I possibly see my boy?"

"What he proposes, madam, is this: that he should some night
scale the river wall, and await you on the terrace, and that you
should descend from your window by a rope ladder, and so return
after seeing him."

"Oh, yes, that is possible!" the countess exclaimed; "I could
knot my bed clothes and slide down. It matters not about getting
back again, since we have no ladder."

"I can manage to bring in two light ropes," Jeanne said. "It
would not do for you to be found in the garden, for it would
excite suspicion, and you would never have a chance of doing it
again. But it is not an easy thing to climb up a rope ladder with
no one to help you, and you know I shall be at the other end of
the house."

"That is nothing," the countess said. "Had I to climb ten
times the height, do you think I should hesitate for a moment
when it was to see my son? Oh, Jeanne, how good you are! And when
will it be?"

"I will bring in the ropes next time I go out. Mind and place
them in your bed. You will know that that night at eleven o'clock
your son will be on the terrace awaiting you.

As Jeanne finished speaking she placed her finger on her lips,
for she thought she heard a slight noise without. The countess
closed her eyes and then lay down on her pillow, while Jeanne
stood as if watching her. The next instant the door opened
noiselessly and Sister Felicia entered. She moved with a
noiseless step up to Jeanne.

"Is she asleep?" she whispered.

"Oh no!" Jeanne answered in a louder voice, guessing that the
sister would have heard the murmur of voices. "She has only just
closed her eyes."

The countess looked up.

"Ah! is it you, sister? I have taken the tisane Sister Angela
sent up, but my hands are burning and my head aches. The heat in
chapel was so great I thought I should have fainted."

"Your hands are indeed burning," the sister said, convinced,
as soon as she touched them, that the countess was really
indisposed. "Yes; and your pulse is beating quicker than I can
count. Yes, you have a touch of fever. I will mix you a draught
and bring it up to you at once. Hark! that is the first peal of
thunder; we are going to have a storm. It will clear the air, and
do you even more good than my medicine. I will leave you here for
tonight; if you are not better tomorrow we will move you into the
infirmary."

The next morning Sister Felicia found her patient much better,
though she still seemed languid and weak, and was ordered to
remain quietly in her apartment for a day or so, which was just
what she desired, for she was so filled with her new born
happiness that she feared that if she went about her daily tasks
as usual she should not be able to conceal from the sharp eyes of
the sisters the joyousness which was brimming over in her, while
had she laughed she would have astonished the inmates of the
gloomy convent.

CHAPTER VII:
Mother!

When Jeanne, after accomplishing her errands the next time she
went out, entered Madam Vipon's, she found Ronald and Malcolm
awaiting her.

"You have told my mother?" the former asked eagerly as she
entered.

"Yes, I have told her, and if I had been an angel from heaven,
with a special message to her, the poor lady could not have
looked more happy."

"And you have been like an angel to us!" Ronald exclaimed,
taking her hand. "How can I thank you for your goodness?"

"For shame, sir!" Jeanne said, smiling and colouring as
Ronald, in his delight, threw his arms round her and kissed her.
"Remember I am a lay sister."

"I could not have helped it," Ronald said, "if you had been
the lady superior. And now," he went on eagerly, "is all
arranged? See, I have brought a ladder of silk rope, light and
thin, but quite strong enough to bear her."

"You take all for granted then, sir. You know I said I would
take your message, but that I would not engage to meddle further
in it."

"I know you said so; but I was sure that having gone so far
you would do the rest. You will, won't you, Jeanne?"

"I suppose I must," Jeanne said; "for what with the countess
on one side and you on the other, I should get no peace if I said
no. Well, then, it is all arranged. At eleven o'clock tonight you
are to be on the terrace, and you can expect her there. If she
does not come you will know that something has occurred to
prevent her, and she will come the following night at the same
hour."

Jeanne took the silken cords and wound them round her, under
her lay sister's robe, and then, with a kindly nod at Ronald, and
an injunction to be as noiseless as a mouse in climbing up the
terrace, and above all not to raise his voice in speaking to his
mother, she tripped away across the street to the convent.

Malcolm and Ronald sallied out from Tours before the city
gates were closed at sunset, and sat down on the slope which
rises from the other side of the river and waited till it was
time to carry the plan into operation. Gradually the lights
disappeared from the various windows and the sounds which came
across the water ceased, and by ten o'clock everything was
profoundly still. They had, in the course of the afternoon, hired
a boat, saying they were going out for a night's fishing. This
they had moored a short distance below the town, on the side of
the river where they now were. They now made their way to it and
rowed quietly across the stream; then they left it and waded
through the water, which flowed knee deep at the foot of the
walls.

Although Tours was still a walled town the habit of keeping
sentry in time of peace had long since died out, and they had no
fear, at that hour, of discovery. There was no moon, but the
night was bright and clear, and they had no difficulty in finding
that part of the wall which now formed the terrace of the
convent.

They were provided with a rope knotted at every foot, and with
a grapnel attached to one end. At the second attempt this caught
on the parapet of the wall, and Ronald at once climbed it and
stood on the terrace, where, a minute later, he was joined by
Malcolm. The convent itself could not be seen, for a screen of
trees at the foot of the wall shut it off from the view of people
on the opposite bank of the river. They waited quietly until a
sudden peal of the bells of the numerous churches announced that
it was the hour. Then they moved towards the steps leading down
into the garden. A minute later a figure was seen approaching.
Malcolm fell back, and Ronald advanced towards it. As the
countess approached she held our her arms, exclaiming:

"My boy, my boy!" and with a cry of "Mother!" Ronald sprang
forward into her embrace.

For a short time not a word was spoken, and then the countess
murmured:

"My God, I thank thee for this great happiness. And now, my
son," she said, recovering herself, "tell me everything. First,
have you news of your father?"

"Alas, no!" Ronald said. "Nothing has been heard of him since
the fatal day when he was seized; but I am convinced that he is
still alive, and since I have found you, surely I shall be able
to find him."

"Who is that with you, Ronald?"

"That is Malcolm Anderson; it is to him I owe everything. He
carried me off and took me away with him to Scotland the day my
father was arrested. He has been my best friend ever since, and
it is he who brought me here to you."

The countess advanced to Malcolm.

"My son has told me that we owe everything to you, my brave
Malcolm!" she said, holding out her hand. "I guessed that it was
to you that my husband had confided the care of the child when I
learned that it had disappeared. I remember what confidence he
had in your devotion, and how he confided everything to you."

"He was like a brother to me, madam," Malcolm replied; "and
glad indeed am I that I have been able to befriend his son and to
bring him back to you a gentleman who will be an honour even to
his father's name and yours."

"And now let us sit down here," the countess said, taking a
seat upon a bench. "It gets light very early, and you must not
stay after two o'clock, and there is so much for me to hear."

For the next two hours Ronald sat holding his mother's hand,
while he told her the story of his life. "And now, mother," he
said, when he had concluded, "we have but an hour left, for it
has just struck one, and we have not said a word yet about the
principal thing of all. How are we to obtain your freedom? Cannot
you arrange to escape with us? I do not, of course, mean tonight,
for we have nothing prepared, and, moreover, I promised Jeanne
that there should be no attempt at escape; but we can come again
when everything is ready. We shall, of course, need a disguise
for you, for there will be a hot pursuit when your escape is
known. But we might manage to reach the coast and cross over to
England, and so make our way north."

"No, my son," the countess said. "I have thought it over in
every way since I knew you were here, and I am resolved to remain
here. Were I to fly, the last hope that your father might be
freed would be lost. My father would be more than ever incensed
against him and me; and, moreover, although that is but a minor
consideration, there would be no hope whatever of your ever
recovering the rank and estate to which you are entitled. No, I
am resolved to wait here, at any rate so long as my father lives.
At his death doubtless there will be some change, for as heiress
to his estates my existence must be in some way recognized, and
my family may be enabled to obtain my release when his powerful
opposition is removed; if not, it will be time to take the idea
of flight into consideration; till then I remain here. Now that I
have seen you, now that I know you as you are, for I can just
make out your face by the light of the stars, I shall be as near
contentment and happiness as I can be till I meet your father
again. In the meantime your good friend here can advise you far
better than I can as to what your course had better be. If you
can obtain any high influence, use it for obtaining your father's
release. If it be accompanied by a sentence of exile from France
it matters not, so that he is freed. You can then return here,
and I will gladly fly with you to join him in Scotland."

Malcolm now rose from his seat and left mother and son half an
hour together. When two o'clock struck he returned to them.

"There is the signal," the countess said, rising, "and now we
must part." She had already refused to accede to Ronald's
entreaty that she would meet him there again.

"No, my son, we have been permitted to meet this once, but we
must not tempt fortune again. Sooner or later something would be
sure to occur which would lead to discovery, and bring ruin upon
all our plans. It is hard to say no, and to refuse the chance of
seeing you again now that we have come together, but I am fully
resolved that I will not risk it."

"We will see you safe up the ladder, mother," Ronald said. "It
is no easy matter to climb up a rope ladder swinging
loosely."

"No, I discovered that in descending," the countess said; "but
if you come with me you must take off your boots--the print of
a man's footstep in the garden would ruin us all; and mind, not a
word must be spoken when we have once left the terrace."

Taking off their boots they accompanied her through the
garden. There was a last passionate embrace at the foot of the
ladder, then the countess mounted it while they held it steady.
Directly she entered the window she undid the fastening of the
rope inside and let the ladder drop down to them. Five minutes
later Ronald descended the rope into the river. Malcolm shifted
the grapnel so that it caught only on the edge of the parapet and
could be shaken off from below when the strain on the rope was
removed, then he slid down to Ronald's side. A sharp jerk brought
down the grapnel, and they returned along the edge of the river
as they had come, crossed in the boat, and waited for
morning.

They waited two days longer in Tours in order that they might
receive, through Jeanne from the countess, a list of the noble
families to which she was related, with notes as to those persons
of whom she had seen most before her marriage, and who she
believed would be most disposed to exert their influence on her
behalf.

"Jeanne," Ronald said, "I am troubled that I do not know what
I can do to show you how grateful I am. I should so like to give
you some souvenir, but what can I do--you could not wear
brooches, or earrings, or trinkets."

"That I could not, monsieur," Jeanne broke in with a smile;
"and if I could I would not accept them from you. I have done
what I have done because I pitied your mother and you, and I am
content that if I have broken the rules I have done it with a
good purpose."

"Well, Jeanne," Ronald said, "you may not be a lay sister all
your life; you have taken no vows that will bind you for ever,
and I have no doubt that the lady superior can absolve you from
your engagements should you at any time wish to go back to the
world; if so, and if I am still in France, I will come to dance
at your wedding, and will promise you as pretty a necklace and
earrings as are to be found in Touraine."

"Very well, that is a bargain," Jeanne said laughing; "and it
is not impossible, young sir, that some day I may hold you to
your promise, for only last market day I met my father, and he
spoke more kindly to me than he used to, and even said that he
missed me; and I hear that the miller has found someone who will
put up with him for the sake of his money. I shouldn't be
surprised if, when that comes off, father wants me home again;
but I sha'n't go directly he asks me, you may be sure, but shall
bargain that if there be again any question of a husband it will
be for me to decide and not him."

The next day Ronald and his companion started for Paris. They
were highly gratified with the success which had attended them,
and Ronald felt his whole life brightened now that he had found
the mother who had been so long lost to him. On arriving at Paris
they found that Colonel Hume's regiment had returned to the
capital. It was not expected that there would at present be any
further fighting on the frontier, and two or three of the Scotch
regiments had been brought back. Ronald at once called on Colonel
Hume and related to him the success which had attended the first
portion of his undertaking.

"I congratulate you indeed," Colonel Hume said. "I own that I
thought your enterprise was a hopeless one, for it seemed to me
impossible that you should be able to obtain an interview with a
lady closely imprisoned in a convent. Why, Anderson, it is plain
now that your talents have been lost, and that you ought to have
been a diplomatist instead of wasting your time as a soldier. The
way you carried out your plan was indeed admirable, and I shall
really begin to think that Ronald will yet succeed; and now, my
young friend, what do you mean to do next?"

"Would it be possible, sir, to ascertain where my father is
confined?"

"I think not, my lad," the colonel said gravely. "In addition
to the four or five prisons in Paris there are a score of others
in different parts of France. The names of the prisoners in each
are known only to the governors; to all others within the walls
they exist as numbers only. The governors themselves are sworn to
secrecy, and even if we could get at one or two of them, which
would be difficult enough, we could hope for no more. Nor would
it be much satisfaction to you merely to know in which prison
your father is lying, for it is a very different matter to
communicate with a prisoner in one of the royal fortresses to
passing a message to a lady detained in a convent. I can see
nothing for you but to follow the example of your mother and to
practise patience, so conducting yourself as to gain friends and
make a name and influence, so that at your grandfather's death we
may bring as strong a pressure as possible to bear upon the
king."

"How old is my grandfather?" Ronald asked.

"He is a man about sixty."

"Why, he may live twenty years yet!" Ronald exclaimed
bitterly.

"Do not look at the worst side of the question," Colonel Hume
replied with a smile. "But he may live some years," he went on
more gravely, "and in the meantime you must think what you had
better do. I will tell you as a great secret, that it has been
finally resolved that an expedition shall sail this winter for
Scotland, and fifteen thousand troops will assemble at Dunkirk
under Marshal Saxe. Nothing could be more opportune. We are to
form part of the expedition, with several other Scottish
regiments. You are too young as yet for me to ask for a
commission for you, but if you like I will enroll you as a
gentleman volunteer; in this way you may have an opportunity of
distinguishing yourself. I will introduce you to the Chevalier,
and it may be that if he succeeds in gaining the crown of
Scotland, if not of England, he will himself ask King Louis as a
personal favour to release and restore to him Colonel Leslie of
Glenlyon, who fought bravely with him in '15. If the expedition
fails, and we get back alive to France, I will then obtain for
you a commission in the regiment, and we can carry out our plan
as we arranged. What do you say to that?"

"I thank you greatly, sir, and accept your offer most
gratefully. I see that I am powerless to do anything for my
father now, and your plan gives at least a prospect of success.
In any case nothing will give me so much delight as to serve with
the regiment he formerly commanded, and under so kind a friend as
yourself."

"That is settled then," Colonel Hume said; "and now about
outfit. A gentleman volunteer wears the uniform of the officers
of the regiment, and indeed is one in all respects except that he
draws no pay. My purse will be at your disposal. Do not show any
false modesty, my lad, about accepting help from me. Your father
would have shared his last penny with me had I needed it."

"I thank you heartily, colonel, for your offer, and should it
be necessary I will avail myself of it, but at present I have
ample funds. Malcolm carried off with me a bag with a hundred
louis, and up to the day when I landed in France these had never
been touched. I have eighty of them still remaining, which will
provide my outfit and my maintenance for a long time to
come."

"There is another advantage in your being a volunteer, rather
than on the list of officers, Ronald; in that if it is necessary
at any time, you can, after a word with me, lay aside your
uniform and go about your affairs as long as you choose without
question, which would be hard to do if you belonged regularly to
the regiment."

At the end of a week Ronald had procured his uniform, and was
presented by the colonel to the officers of the regiment as
Ronald Leslie, the son of an old friend of his, who was joining
the regiment as a gentleman volunteer. Malcolm joined only in the
capacity of Ronald's servant. It was painful to the lad that his
old friend and protector should assume such a relation towards
him, but Malcolm laughed at his scruples.

"My dear Ronald," he said, "I was your father's servant, and
yet his friend. Why should I not act in the same capacity to you?
As to the duties, they are so light that, now I do not belong to
the regiment, my only difficulty will be to kill time. There is
nothing to do save to polish up your arms and your equipment.
Your horse will be looked after by a trooper so long as you are
with the regiment. I shall call you in the morning, get your cup
of chocolate, and prepare your dinner when you do not dine
abroad, carry your messages when you have any messages to send,
and escort you when you go about any business in which it is
possible that a second sword would be of use to you. As I have
said, the only trouble will be to know what to do with myself
when you do not want me."

It was now the end of August, and for the next four months
Ronald worked hard at drill. He soon became a general favourite
with the officers. The fact that his name was Leslie, and that he
was accompanied by Malcolm, who was known to many of the old
soldiers as being devoted to their former colonel and as having
in some strange way disappeared from the regiment at the same
time, gave ground to a general surmise that Leslie was the
colonel's son.

Malcolm himself, when questioned, neither denied nor
acknowledged the fact, but turned it off with a joke and a laugh.
He was soon as much at home in his old regiment as if he formed a
part in it, and when not required by Ronald passed the greater
part of his time with his former comrades. As was natural, the
opinion entertained by the men as to Leslie's identity was shared
by the officers. The avoidance by Ronald of any allusion to his
family, his declining when he first came among them to say to
which branch of the Leslies he belonged, and the decided manner
in which Colonel Hume, the first time the question was broached
in his hearing in Ronald's absence, said that he begged no
inquiries would be made on that score; all he could assure them
was that Leslie's father was a gentleman of good family, and a
personal friend of his own--put a stop to all further
questioning, but strengthened the idea that had got abroad that
the young volunteer was the son of Colonel Leslie.

Early in January the 2d Scottish Dragoons marched for Dunkirk,
where twenty thousand men assembled, while a large number of men
of war and transports were gathered in the port. One day, when
Ronald was walking in the street with Malcolm at his heels, the
latter stepped up to him and touched him.

"Do you see that officer in the uniform of a colonel of the
Black Musketeers, in that group at the opposite corner; look at
him well, for he is your father's greatest enemy, and would be
yours if he knew who you are; that is the Duke de
Chateaurouge."

Ronald gazed at the man who had exercised so evil an influence
upon the fate of his parents. He was a tall dark man with a
pointed moustache, and of from forty to forty-five years of age.
His features were regular and handsome; but in his thin straight
eyebrows, the curl of his lips, and a certain supercilious
drooping of the eyelids, Ronald read the evil passions which
rendered him so dangerous and implacable an enemy.

"So that is the duke!" Ronald said when he had passed on. "I
did not know he was a soldier."

"He is an honorary colonel of the regiment, and only does duty
when it is called on active service; but he served in it for some
years as a young man, and had the reputation of being a good
soldier, though I know that he was considered a harsh and
unfeeling officer by the men who served under him. That is the
man, Ronald, and if you could get six inches of your sword
between his ribs it would go a good long way towards obtaining
your father's release; but I warn you he is said to be one of the
best swordsmen in France."

"I care not how good a swordsmen he is," Ronald said hotly,
"if I do but get a fair chance."

"Don't do anything rash, Ronald; I have no fear about your
swordsmanship, for I know in the last four months you have
practised hard, and that Francois says that young as you are you
could give a point to any officer in the regiment. But at present
it were madness to quarrel with the duke; you have everything to
lose and nothing to gain. If he killed you there would be an end
of you and your plans; if you killed him you would have to fly
the country, for a court favourite is not to be slain with as
much impunity as a bourgeois, and equally would there be an end
of all hope of obtaining your father's release.

"No, for the present you must be content to bide your time.
Still it is as well for you to know your foe when you see him,
and in the meantime go on frequenting the various schools of arms
and learn every trick of the sword that is to be taught. Look!"
he went on, as a group of mounted officers rode down the street;
"that is Marshal Saxe, one of the best soldiers in France, if not
the best, and just as wild and reckless in private life as he is
calm and prudent as a general."

Ronald looked with some surprise at the great general. He had
expected to see a dashing soldier. He saw a man who looked worn
and bent with disease, and as if scarce strong enough to sit on
his horse; but there was still a fire in his eye, and as he
uttered a joke to an officer riding next to him and joined
merrily in the laugh, it was evident that his spirit was
untouched by the disease which had made a wreck of his body.

A few days later a messenger arrived with the news that the
French fleet from Brest had sailed, and had met the English fleet
which had gone off in pursuit of it, and the coast of Kent was in
consequence unguarded. Orders were instantly given that the
troops should embark on board the transports, and as fast as
these were filled they set sail. The embarkation of the cavalry
naturally took longer time than that of the infantry, and before
the Scottish Dragoons had got their horses on board a portion of
the fleet was already out of sight.

"Was there ever such luck!" Malcolm exclaimed, after assisting
in getting the horses on board, a by no means easy task, as the
vessel was rolling heavily at her mooring. "The wind is rising
every moment, and blowing straight into the harbour; unless I
mistake not, there will be no sailing tonight."

This was soon evident to all. Signals were made from ship to
ship, fresh anchors were let down, and the topmast housed. By
midnight it was blowing a tremendous gale, which continued for
three days. Several of the transports dragged their anchors and
were washed ashore, and messages arrived from different parts of
the coast telling of the wreck of many of those which had sailed
before the storm set in.

The portion of the fleet which had sailed had indeed been
utterly dispersed by the gale. Many ships were lost, and the
rest, shattered and dismantled, arrived at intervals at the
various French ports. The blow was too heavy to be repaired. The
English fleet had again returned to the coast, and were on the
lookout to intercept the expedition, and as this was now reduced
to a little more than half of its original strength no surprise
was felt when the plan was abandoned altogether.

Marshal Saxe with a portion of the troops marched to join the
army in Flanders, and the Scotch Dragoons were ordered to return
to Paris for the present.

For a year Ronald remained with the regiment in Paris. He had
during that time been introduced by Colonel Hume to several
members of his mother's family. By some of these who had known
her before her marriage he was kindly received; but all told him
that it would be hopeless to make any efforts for the release of
his father as long as the Marquis de Recambours remained alive
and high in favour at court, and that any movement in that
direction would be likely to do harm rather than good. Some of
the others clearly intimated to him that they considered that the
countess had, by making a secret marriage and defying her
father's authority, forfeited all right to the assistance or
sympathy of her mother's family.

Twice Ronald travelled to Tours and sent messages to his
mother through Jeanne, and received answers from the countess.
She had, however, refused to meet him again on the terrace,
saying that in spite of the love she had for him, and her desire
to see him again, she was firmly resolved not to run the risk of
danger to him and the failure of all their hopes, by any rash
step.

At the end of the summer campaign in Flanders Marshal Saxe
returned to Paris, and Colonel Hume one day took Ronald and
introduced him to him, having previously interested the marshal
by relating his history to him. The marshal asked Ronald many
questions, and was much pleased with his frank manner and
bearing.

"You shall have any protection I can give you," the marshal
said. "No man has loved adventures more than I, nor had a fairer
share of them, and my sympathies are altogether with you;
besides, I remember your father well, and many a carouse have we
had together in Flanders. But I am a soldier, you know, and
though the king is glad enough to employ our swords in fighting
his enemies, we have but little influence at court. I promise
you, however, that after the first great victory I win I will ask
the release of your father as a personal favour from the king, on
the ground that he was an old comrade of mine. I can only hope,
for your sake, that the marquis, your grandfather, may have
departed this world before that takes place, for he is one of the
king's prime favourites, and even the request of a victorious
general would go for little as opposed to his influence the other
way. And now, if you like, I will give you a commission in
Colonel Hume's regiment. You have served for a year as a
volunteer now, and younger men than you have received
commissions."

Ronald thanked the marshal most heartily for his kind promise,
but said that at present he would rather remain as a volunteer,
because it gave him greater freedom of action.

"Perhaps you are right," the marshal said. "But at any rate
you had better abstain from attempting any steps such as Colonel
Hume tells me you once thought of for obtaining the release of
your father. Success will be all but impossible, and a failure
would destroy altogether any hopes you may have of obtaining his
release from the king."

It seemed that some of his mother's family with whom he had
communicated must have desired to gain the favour of the
favourite of the king by relating the circumstances to him, for a
short time after Ronald's interview with the marshal the marquis
came up to Colonel Hume when he was on duty in the king's
antechamber, and, in the presence of a number of courtiers, said
to him:

"So, Colonel Hume, I find that I have to thank you for
harbouring in your regiment an imposter, who claims to be my
grandson. I shall know, sir, how to repay the obligation."

"The gentleman in question is no imposter, marquis, as I have
taken the pains to inform myself. And I am not aware of any
reason why I should not admit the son of a Scottish gentleman
into my regiment, even though he happen to be a grandson of
yours. As to your threat, sir, as long as I do my duty to his
majesty I fear the displeasure of no man."

Two nights later, as Ronald was returning from dining with
Colonel Hume and some of his officers, he was suddenly attacked
in a narrow street by six men. Malcolm was with him, for Colonel
Hume had at once related to him the conversation he had had with
the marquis, and had warned him to take the greatest
precautions.

"He is perfectly capable of having you suddenly put out of his
way by a stab in the back, Ronald. And if there were anywhere for
you to go I should advise you to leave Paris at once; but nowhere
in France would you be safe from him, and it would upset all your
plans to return to Scotland at present. However, you cannot be
too careful."

Ronald had related what had passed to Malcolm, who determined
to watch more carefully than ever over his safety, and never left
his side when he was outside the barracks.

The instant the six men rushed out from a lane, at whose
entrance a lantern was dimly burning, Malcolm's sword was out,
and before the assailants had time to strike a blow he had run
the foremost through the body.

Ronald instantly recovered from his surprise and also drew. He
was now nearly eighteen, and although he had not yet gained his
full height he was a match for most men in strength, while his
constant exercise in the school of arms had strengthened the
muscle of his sword arm, until in strength as well as in skill he
could hold his own against the best swordsman in the regiment.
The men were for a moment checked by the fall of their leader;
but then seeing that they had opposed to them only one man, and
another whom they regarded as a lad, scarcely to be taken into
consideration, they rushed upon them. They were quickly
undeceived. Ronald parried the first blow aimed at him, and with
his riposte stretched his opponent on the pavement, and then
springing forward, after a few rapid thrusts and parries ran the
next through the shoulder almost at the same moment that Malcolm
stretched another opponent on the ground.

Terrified at the downfall of three of their number, while a
fourth leaned against a door post disabled, the two remaining
ruffians took to their heels and fled at the top of their speed,
the whole affair having lasted scarce a minute.

"Tell your employer," Ronald said to the wounded man, "that I
am not to be disposed of so easily as he imagined. I should be
only giving you what you deserve if I were to pass my sword
through your body; but I disdain to kill such pitiful assassins
except in self defence."

The next morning Ronald communicated to Colonel Hume what had
happened.

"It's just as well, my young friend, that you are going to
leave Paris. I received orders half an hour ago for the regiment
to march to the frontier at once. That is the marquis's doing, no
doubt. He thought to get rid of you last night and to punish me
this morning; but he has failed both ways. You have defeated his
cutthroats; I shall be heartily glad to be at the front again,
for I am sick of this idle life in Paris."

CHAPTER VIII: Hidden Foes.

"I am heartily glad to be out of Paris," Ronald said to
Malcolm on their first halt after leaving the capital. "It is not
pleasant to regard every man one meets after dark as a possible
enemy, and although I escaped scot free from the gang who
attacked us the other night, one cannot always expect such good
fortune as that. It was a constant weight on one's mind, and I
feel like a new man now that we are beyond the city walls."

"Nevertheless, Ronald, we must not omit any precautions. Your
enemy has a long purse, and can reach right across France. That
last affair is proof of his bitterness against you, and it would
be rash indeed were we to act as if, having made one attempt and
failed, he would abandon his plans altogether. He is clearly a
man who nourishes a grudge for years, and his first failure is
only likely to add to his vindictive feeling. I do not say that
your danger is as great as it was in Paris, but that is simply
because the opportunities of attacking you are fewer. I should
advise you to be as careful as before, and to be on your guard
against ambushes and surprises."

"Well, it may be so, Malcolm, and of course I will be careful;
but till I have proof to the contrary I shall prefer to think
that the marquis will trust to my being knocked on the head
during the war, and will make no further move against me until
the regiment returns to Paris."

"Think what you like, lad," Malcolm said, "so that you are
cautious and guarded. I shall sleep with one eye open, I can tell
you, till we are fairly beyond the frontier."

Two days later the regiment encamped outside the town of St.
Quentin. They were usually quartered on the inhabitants; but the
town was already filled with troops, and as the weather was fine
Colonel Hume ordered his men to bivouac a short distance outside
the walls. Ronald was seeing that his troop got their breakfast
next morning, when a sergeant came up with two men with a
horse.

"This is Monsieur Leslie," he said to them. "These men were
asking for you, sir."

"What do you want with me?" Ronald said surprised.

"We heard, sir," one of the peasants said, "that you wanted to
buy a horse. We have a fine animal here, and cheap."

"But I do not want to buy one," Ronald replied. "I am very
well supplied with horses. What made you think I wanted one?"

"We asked one of the officers, sir, if anyone in the regiment
would be likely to buy, and he said that Monsieur Leslie wanted
one, he believed."

"No," Ronald said decidedly. "Whoever told you was mistaken. I
have my full complement, and though your horse looks a nice
animal I could not take him if you offered him to me for nothing.
I don't think you will get anyone to buy him in the regiment. I
believe that every officer has his full complement of
chargers."

In the evening Ronald happened to mention to Malcolm the offer
he had had in the morning.

"It was a nice looking beast," he said, "and I had half a mind
to ask them what they would take to exchange him with my roan,
but I did not want to dip further into my purse."

"I wish I had been beside you at the time," Malcolm said
earnestly; "those two fellows wouldn't have gone out of the camp
so easily."

"Why, what do you mean, Malcolm?"

"Mean!" Malcolm repeated in a vexed tone. "This is what comes
of your being watchful and cautious, Ronald. Why, the matter is
clear enough. The marquis has set men on your track, but of
course they could do nothing until some of them knew you by
sight, so two of them are sent into camp with this cock and bull
story about a horse, and they come and have a good look at you
and go quietly off. It is too provoking. Had I been there I would
have given them in charge of a file of men at once. Then we would
have asked every officer in the regiment if he had sent them to
you, and when we found, as we certainly should have found, that
none of them had done so, we should have marched the men off to
Colonel Hume, and I am sure, when he heard the circumstances of
the case, they would have been lashed up and flogged till he had
got the truth of the matter out of them. My great hope has been
that they could not very well attempt your life, because none of
the men who might be engaged on the job would be likely to know
your face, and they would therefore have no means of singling you
out for attack; and now two of the ruffians will be able to
follow you and watch their opportunity."

"Oh, nonsense, Malcolm, you are too suspicious altogether! I
have no doubt the affair was just as they stated it to be. What
was more natural?"

"Well, Ronald, you will meet all the other officers at supper
in half an hour. Just ask if any of them sent two men wanting to
sell a horse to you this morning; if any of them say that they
did so, I will acknowledge I am wrong.

Accordingly Ronald, at supper, put the question, but none of
the officers admitted they knew anything about the matter.

"You have two very good horses, Leslie; why should anyone
suppose that you wanted another?" the colonel asked.

"I don't know," Ronald said. "I only know that two men did
come up with a horse to me this morning, and said that one of the
officers had told them that I wanted to buy one."

"It must have been one of the men," the colonel said
carelessly, "though I don't know why anyone should suppose that
you wanted another charger. Still, someone, knowing that you are
the last joined officer, might think you had need for a second
horse."

The subject dropped, and Malcolm shook his head ominously when
Ronald acknowledged to him that his suspicions were so far right
that none of the officers had sent the men to him. The next day,
as the regiment was passing through a thick wood, and Ronald was
riding with Captain Campbell behind his troop, which happened to
be in the rear in the regiment, two shots were fired from among
the trees. The first struck Ronald's horse in the neck, causing
him to swerve sharply round, a movement which saved his rider's
life, for the second shot, which was fired almost instantly after
the first, grazed his body and passed between him and Captain
Campbell.

"Are you hit, Leslie?" the latter exclaimed, for the sudden
movement of his horse had almost unseated Ronald.

"Nothing serious, I think. The bullet has cut my coat and
grazed my skin, I think, but nothing more."

The captain shouted orders to his men, and with a score of
troopers dashed into the wood. The trees grew thickly and there
was a dense undergrowth, and they had difficulty in making their
way through them. For half an hour they continued their search
without success, and then rejoined the regiment on its march.

"This is a curious affair," Colonel Hume said when Captain
Campbell reported, at the next halt, that an attempt at
assassination had taken place.

"It looks like a premeditated attempt upon one or other of
you. You haven't been getting into any scrape, have you?" he
asked with a smile; "kissing some peasant's wife or offering to
run away with his daughter? But seriously this is a strange
affair. Why should two men lie in wait for the regiment and fire
at two of its officers? The men have been behaving well, as far
as I have heard, on the line of march, and nothing has occurred
which could explain such an outrage as this."

"It may be fancy on my part, colonel," Ronald said, "but I
cannot help thinking that it is a sequence of that affair I told
you about in Paris, just before we started. The first shot struck
my horse and the second would certainly have killed me had it not
been for the horse's sudden swerve, therefore it looks as if the
shots were aimed at me. I have some reason, too, for supposing
that I have been followed. If you remember my question last night
at supper about the men who wanted to sell me a horse. Malcolm
Anderson is convinced that the whole thing was only a ruse to
enable them to become acquainted with my face. They wanted to be
able to recognize me, and so got up this story in order to have
me pointed out to them, and to have a talk with me. None of the
officers did send them to me, as they said, and they could hardly
have hit upon a better excuse for speaking to me."

"It certainly looks like it," Colonel Hume said gravely. "I
would give a good deal if we had caught those two men in the
wood. If we had I would have given them the choice of being hung
at once or telling me what was their motive in firing at you and
who paid them to do it. This is monstrous. If we could get but a
shadow of proof against your enemies I would lay a formal
complaint before the king. Marquis or no marquis, I am not going
to have my officers assassinated with impunity. However, till we
have something definite to go upon, we can do nothing, and until
then, Leslie, you had best keep your suspicion to yourself. It
were best to say nothing of what you think; in this country it is
dangerous even to whisper against a king's favourite. Let it be
supposed that this attack in the woods was only the work of some
malicious scoundrels who must have fired out of pure hatred of
the king's troops."

Captain Campbell and Ronald quite agreed with the view taken
by the colonel, and answered all questions as to the affair, that
they had not the least idea who were the men who fired on them,
and that no one obtained as much as a glimpse of them.

With most of the officers of the regiment, indeed with all
except one, Ronald was on excellent terms. The exception was a
lieutenant named Crawford; he was first on the list of his
company, and had, indeed, been twice passed over in consequence
of his quarrelsome and domineering disposition. He was a man of
seven or eight and twenty; he stood about the same height as
Ronald and was of much the same figure, indeed the general
resemblance between them had often been remarked.

His dislike to Ronald had arisen from the fact that previous
to the latter joining the regiment Crawford had been considered
the best swordsman among the officers, and Ronald's superiority,
which had been proved over and over again in the fencing room,
had annoyed him greatly. Knowing that he would have no chance
whatever with Ronald in a duel, he had carefully abstained from
open war, showing his dislike only by sneering remarks and
sarcastic comments which frequently tried Ronald's patience to
the utmost, and more than once called down a sharp rebuke from
Colonel Hume or one or other of the majors. He did not lose the
opportunity afforded by the shots fired in the wood, and was
continually suggesting all sorts of motives which might have
inspired the would be assassins.

Ronald, who was the reverse of quarrelsome by disposition,
laughed good temperedly at the various suggestions; but one or
two of the senior officers remonstrated sharply with Crawford as
to the extent to which he carried his gibes.

"You are presuming too much on Leslie's good nature,
Crawford," Captain Campbell said one day. "If he were not one of
the best tempered young fellows going he would resent your
constant attacks upon him; and you know well that, good swordsman
as you are, you would have no chances whatever if he did so."

"I am quite capable of managing my own affairs," Crawford said
sullenly, "and I do not want any advice from you or any other
man."

"I am speaking to you as the captain of Leslie's troop,"
Captain Campbell said sharply, "and I do not mean to quarrel with
you. You have had more quarrels than enough in the regiment
already, and you know Colonel Hume said on the last occasion that
your next quarrel should be your last in the regiment. I tell you
frankly, that if you continue your course of annoyance to young
Leslie I shall report the matter to the colonel. I have noticed
that you have the good sense to abstain from your remarks when he
is present."

Three days later the regiment joined the army before
Namur.

That evening, having drunk more deeply than usual, Lieutenant
Crawford, after the colonel had retired from the circle round the
fire and to his tent, recommenced his provocation to Ronald, and
pushed matters so far that the latter felt that he could no
longer treat it as a jest.

"Mr. Crawford," he said, "I warn you that you are pushing your
remarks too far. On many previous occasions you have chosen to
make observations which I could, if I had chosen, have resented
as insulting. I did not choose, for I hate brawling, and consider
that for me, who have but lately joined the regiment, to be
engaged in a quarrel with an officer senior to myself would be in
the highest degree unbecoming; but I am sure that my fellow
officers will bear me out in saying that I have shown fully as
much patience as is becoming. I, therefore, have to tell you that
I will no longer be your butt, and that I shall treat any further
remark of the nature of those you have just made as a deliberate
insult, and shall take measures accordingly."

A murmur of approval rose among the officers sitting round,
and those sitting near Crawford endeavoured to quiet him. The
wine which he had taken had, however, excited his quarrelsome
instinct too far for either counsel or prudence to prevail.

"I shall say what I choose," he said, rising to his feet. "I
am not going to be dictated to by anyone, much less a boy who has
just joined the regiment, and who calls himself Leslie, though no
one knows whether he has any right to the name."

"Very well, sir," Leslie said in a quiet tone, which was,
however, heard distinctly throughout the circle, for at this last
outburst on the part of Crawford a dead silence had fallen on the
circle, for only one termination could follow such an insult.
"Captain Campbell will, I hope, act for me?"

"Certainly," Captain Campbell said in a loud voice; "and will
call upon any friend Lieutenant Crawford may name and make
arrangements to settle this matter in the morning."

"Macleod, will you act for me?" Crawford said to a lieutenant
sitting next to him.

"I will act," the young officer said coldly, "as your second
in the matter; but all here will understand that I do solely
because it is necessary that some one should do so, and that I
disapprove absolutely and wholly of your conduct."

"Well, make what arrangements you like," Crawford said with an
oath, and rising he left the circle and walked away.

When he had left there was an immediate discussion. Several of
the officers were of opinion that the duel should not be allowed
to proceed, but that Crawford's conduct should be reported to the
colonel.

"I am entirely in your hands, gentlemen," Ronald said. "I have
no desire whatever to fight. This affair has been forced upon me,
and I have no alternative but to take it up. I am not boasting
when I say that I am a far better swordsman than he, and I have
no need to shrink from meeting him; but I have certainly no
desire whatever to take his life. He has drunk more than he ought
to do, and if this matter can be arranged, and he can be
persuaded in the morning to express his regret for what he has
said, I shall be very glad to accept his apology. If it can be
settled in this way without either fighting or reporting his
conduct to the colonel, which would probably result in his having
to leave the regiment, I should be truly glad--What is that?"
he broke off, as a loud cry rang through the air.

The whole party sprang to their feet, and snatching up their
swords ran in the direction from which the cry had come. The
tents were at some little distance, and just as they reached them
they saw a man lying on the ground.

"Good heavens, it is Crawford!" Captain Campbell said,
stooping over him. "See, he has been stabbed in the back. It is
all over with him. Who can have done it?"

He questioned several of the soldiers, who had now gathered
round, attracted like the officers by the cry. None of them had
seen the act or had noticed anyone running away; but in so large
a camp there were so many people about that an assassin could
well have walked quietly away without attracting any
attention.

The colonel was speedily on the spot, and instituted a rigid
inquiry, but entirely without success. The attack had evidently
been sudden and entirely unsuspected, for Crawford had not drawn
his sword.

"It is singular," he said, as with the officers he walked
slowly back to the fire. "Crawford was not a popular man, but I
cannot guess at any reason for this murder. Strange that this
should be the second attack made on my officers since we left
Paris."

Captain Campbell now related what had taken place after he had
left the circle.

"The matter should have been reported to me at once," he said;
"although, as it has turned out, it would have made no
difference. Perhaps, after all, it is best as it is, for a duel
between two officers of the regiment would have done us no good,
and the man was no credit to the regiment. But it is a very
serious matter that we should be dogged by assassins. Leslie,
come up with me to my tent. I am not going to blame you, lad," he
said when they were together, "for you could not have acted
otherwise than you have done. Indeed, I have myself noticed
several times that Crawford's bearing towards you was the reverse
of courteous. Have you any idea as to how he came by his
death?"

"I, sir!" Ronald said in surprise. "No, I know no more than
the others."

"It strikes me, Leslie, that this is only the sequel of that
attack in the wood, and that your enemies have unwittingly done
you a service. Crawford was very much your height and build, and
might easily have been mistaken for you in the dark. I fancy that
blow was meant for you."

"It is possible, sir," Ronald said after a pause. "I had not
thought of it; but the likeness between him and myself has been
frequently noticed. It is quite possible that that blow was meant
for me."

"I have very little doubt of it, my lad. If any of these men
were hanging about and saw you as they believed coming away from
the circle alone, they may well have taken the opportunity. Let
it be a lesson to you to be careful henceforth. It is unlikely
that the attempt will be repeated at present. The men who did it
will think that they have earned their money, and by this time
are probably on the way to Paris to carry the news and claim
their reward. So that, for a time at least, it is not probable
that there will be any repetition of the attempt. After that you
will have to be on your guard night and day.

"I wish to heaven we could obtain some clue that would enable
me to take steps in the matter; but at present we have nothing
but our suspicions, and I cannot go to the king and say three
attempts have been made on the life of one of my officers, and
that I suspect his grandfather, the Marquis de Recambours, has
been the author of them."

When Malcolm heard the events of the evening his opinion was
exactly the same as that of the colonel, and he expressed himself
as convinced that Crawford had fallen by a blow intended for
Ronald. He agreed that for a while there was no fear of a renewal
of the attempt.

"The fellows will take the news straight to Paris that you
have been put out of the way, and some time will elapse before
the employers know that a mistake has been made. Then, as likely
as not, they will decide to wait until the campaign is over."

The camp before Namur was a large and brilliant one. The king
and dauphin had already arrived with the army. All the household
troops were there, and a large contingent of the nobles of the
court. The English army was known to be approaching, and was
expected to fight a battle to relieve Namur, which the French
were besieging vigorously. The French confidently hoped that in
the approaching battle they would wipe our the reverse which had
befallen them at Dettingen.

CHAPTER IX:
Fontenoy.

A fortnight after the Scottish Dragoons joined the army the
king was present at an inspection of their regiment. As the
brilliant cortege passed along the line Ronald saw among the
gaily dressed throng of officers riding behind the king and
Marshal Saxe the Marquis de Recambours and the Duke de
Chateaurouge side by side. Ronald with two other gentlemen
volunteers were in their places in the rear of the regiment. It
was drawn up in double line, and as the royal party rode along
for the second time, Ronald saw that the two noblemen were
looking scrutinizingly through the line of troopers at himself
and his two companions.

That evening Colonel Hume on his return from a visit to
Marshal Saxe told Ronald that the general had inquired after him,
and had sent him word that if he won the battle he would not
forget the promise he had made him. He had requested Colonel Hume
to place Ronald at his disposal on the day of the battle.

"'I shall want active officers to carry my messages,' he said,
'and your young friend may have a greater opportunity of
distinguishing himself than he would with the regiment. I should
in that case find it all the easier to bring his business before
the king.'

"The marshal is terribly ill," Colonel Hume said as he
reported the conversation to Ronald, "so ill that he can only
occasionally sit on his horse. Nothing but his indomitable
courage sustains him. He is drawn about in a light carriage made
of basketwork, and this serves him also for his bed."

On the 7th of May the enemy were known to be close at hand,
and the French selected the position on which they would fight.
The village of Fontenoy had already been occupied by a strong
body of troops under Marshal Noailles, and the rest of the army
now moved forward to the posts allotted to them. The English army
were close at hand, and it was certain that the battle would be
fought on the morrow. In the evening the king held a grand
reception at which all the officers of rank were present. When
Colonel Hume returned to his camp his officers were still sitting
round the fire.

"Have you any news for us, sir?"

"No; I believe everything stands as was arranged. The king is
in the highest spirits, though I must say his majesty did not
choose reminiscences of a nature to encourage those who heard
him. He remarked, for instance, that since the days of St. Louis
the French had never gained a decisive success over the English,
and a few minutes later he observed that the last time a king of
France with his son had fought at the head of the French army was
at the battle of Poictiers."

There was a general laugh.

"Certainly the king was not happy with his reminiscences,"
Major Munro remarked; "but I think this time the tables are going
to be turned. In the first place we considerably outnumbered the
enemy, even after leaving 15,000 men to continue the siege. In
the second place, the position we have chosen is almost
impregnable. The Scheldt covers our right, with the fortified
bridge securing our communication, and the village of Antoin
resting on the river. Along our front from Antoin to Fontenoy is
a narrow and difficult valley. Our left is covered by the wood of
Barre, where a strong redoubt has been constructed; and the whole
of the position is fortified with breastworks and abattis as far
as Fontenoy. Between that village and Barre the natural
difficulties are so great that field works are unnecessary. I
cannot believe myself that they will attack us in such a
position, especially as nearly half their army are Dutch, who
will count for little. The English are the only troops which we
shall find formidable."

Before daybreak the camp was astir, and the troops took the
positions assigned to them. Even now it was hardly believed that
an attack would be made by the enemy so long as the French
remained in their all but impregnable position; but presently the
columns of the enemy were seen advancing. Ronald had ridden up to
the litter on which Marshal Saxe was placed, and after saluting,
had taken up his position with a number of other officers, in
readiness to carry orders to different parts of the field.

At a short distance from the marshal the King of France with
the dauphin and the brilliant cortege of nobles had taken up his
post. From the position in which the marshal had caused himself
to be placed a complete view of the enemy's approaching ranks was
obtained. It could soon be seen that the Dutch troops, who on the
English right were advancing to the attack, were moving against
the villages of Antoin and Fontenoy. A strong force, headed, as
was known afterwards, by General Ingoldsby, moved towards the
wood of Barre; while a solid column of English and Hanoverians,
10,000 strong, marched forward to the attack across the broken
ground between Fontenoy and the wood of Barre.

It was as yet but five o'clock in the morning when the cannon
broke out into a roar on both sides. The Dutch, who were
commanded by the Prince of Waldeck, soon hesitated, and in a
short time fell back out of range of fire. On the English right
General Ingoldsby penetrated some distance into the wood of
Barre, and then fell back again as the Dutch had done. In an hour
after the fighting had commenced the right and left of the allied
army had ceased their attack. There remained only the centre, but
this was advancing.

Under the command of the Duke of Cumberland the column crossed
the ravine in front of Fontenoy. The ground was so broken that
the troops were unable to deploy, but moved forward in a solid
mass with a front of only forty men.

The French batteries from the right and left mowed them down
in lines, but as steadily as if on parade the places were filled
up, and unshaken and calm the great column moved forward. The
cannon which they dragged along by hand opened against Fontenoy
and the redoubts, and as, in spite of the hail of fire, they
pressed steadily on, the French gunners were obliged to abandon
their cannon and fly.

The regiment of French guards, officered almost entirely by
the highest nobles, met the English guards, who composed the
front lines of the column. A tremendous volley flashed along the
English line, shattering the ranks of the French guard. There was
a moment's fierce fighting, and then the English column swept
from before it the remains of the French guard, and cleared the
ravine which defended Fontenoy.

Ronald felt his heart beat with excitement and a feeling of
pride and admiration as he saw the English advancing unmoved
through the storm of fire. They advanced in the most perfect
order. The sergeants calmly raised or depressed the soldiers'
muskets to direct the fire; each vacant place was filled quietly
and regularly without hesitation or hurry; and exclamations of
surprise and admiration broke even from the French officers.

Regiment after regiment was brought up and hurled against the
head of the column, but with no more effect than waves against a
rock, each being dashed aside shattered and broken by the steady
volleys and regular lines of bayonets. Ronald and other officers
were sent off to bring up the cavalry, but in vain did these
strive to break the serried column. One regiment after another
charged down upon it, but the English, retaining their fire until
they were within a few yards of their muzzles, received them with
such tremendous volleys that they recoiled in disorder.

The French regiment of Vaisseaux next advanced to the attack,
and fought with greater gallantry than any which had preceded it;
but at last, when almost annihilated, its survivors fell back.
And now it seemed as if this 10,000 men were to be victorious
over the whole French army. Marshal Saxe begged the king to
retire with the dauphin across the bridge of Calonne while he did
what he could to retrieve the battle, but the king refused to
leave the field. There was a hurried council held round Louis,
and it was agreed to make a great effort by calling up the whole
of the troops between Fontenoy and Antoin, as the positions they
held were no longer threatened by the Dutch.

Had the latter now advanced nothing could have saved the
French army from utter defeat; but they remained immovable at a
distance from the field of battle. The English now won the crown
of the position, had cut through the French centre, and were
moving forward towards the bridge of Calonne, when the whole of
the French artillery, which had, by the advice of the Duke of
Richelieu, been brought up, opened fire on the English column. At
the same moment the French regiments from Antoin fell upon it;
while Marshal Saxe, who had, when the danger became imminent,
mounted his horse, himself brought up the Irish Brigade, who,
with a wild yell of hatred, flung itself furiously upon the flank
of the English.

Attacked thus on all sides, mown down by a heavy fire of
artillery, unsupported amid an army of foes, the column could do
no more. Ten thousand men could not withstand fifty thousand.
Their ranks were twice broken by the Irish, but twice their
officers rallied them; until at last, when it became evident that
no more could be done, the column fell slowly back in an order as
perfect and regular as that in which it had advanced.

French historians have done ample justice to the extraordinary
valour shown by the English troops on this occasion, a valour
never surpassed in the long annals of the British army. Had they
received the slightest assistance from their cowardly allies the
victory must have been theirs. As it was, although unsuccessful,
the glory and honour of the day rested with them, rather than
with the victorious army of France. More than half the column had
fallen in the desperate engagement, but the loss of the victors
was even greater, and comprised many belonging to the noblest
families of France.

Ronald had won the warm approval of Marshal Saxe for the
manner in which he carried his orders across ground swept by a
heavy fire, and brought up the regiments to within close quarters
of the English; and after the battle was over Marshal Saxe
presented to the king several of his staff who had most
distinguished themselves, and calling up Ronald, who was standing
near, for his horse had been shot under him as he rode by the
side of the marshal with the Irish Brigade to the attack, the
marshal said:

"Allow me to present to your majesty Ronald Leslie, a young
Scottish gentleman of good family, who is a volunteer in the
Scottish Dragoons, and has rendered great service today by the
manner in which he has borne my orders through the thickest of
the fire."

"I will bear you in mind, young gentleman," the king said
graciously, "and I charge the marshal to bring your name before
me on a future day."

His duty as aide de camp over, Ronald rejoined his regiment.
They had lost nearly a third of their number in their charges
upon the English column. Major Munro had been killed, the colonel
severely wounded, and a number of officers had fallen. Ronald
went about among the men assisting to bind up wounds, and
supplying those who needed it with wine and other refreshments.
Presently he was joined by Malcolm.

"Thank God you are safe, Ronald. I tell you, you have given me
many a fright today as I watched you galloping along through the
line of the English fire."

"Where were you, Malcolm? I did not see you."

"I had nothing to do," Malcolm said, "and I climbed a tree not
fifty yards from the marshal's litter, and keeping the trunk in
front of me to protect me from a stray bullet I had a good view
of the whole proceedings. At one time I was on the point of
slipping down and making a bolt for it, for I thought it was all
over with us. How that column did fight! I have been in many a
battle, but I never saw anything like it, it was grand; and if it
hadn't been for the Irish Brigade, I think that they would have
beaten the whole French army. But if you go into a battle again I
sha'n't come to see you. I have done my share of fighting, and
can take hard knocks as well as another; but I would not go
through the anxiety I have suffered today about you on any
condition. However, this has been a great day for you."

"You mean about the marshal presenting me to the king? Yes,
that ought to help us."

"No, I didn't mean that, for I had not heard of it. I mean
about that old rascal your grandfather, the Marquis de
Recambours."

"What about him? I have not heard."

"No!" Malcolm exclaimed; "then I have good news for you. A
ball from one of the English field pieces struck him full in the
chest, and of course slew him instantly. He was not thirty yards
from the tree when I saw him knocked over. He is quite dead, I
can assure you, for when the others moved off I took the trouble
to clamber down to assure myself. So now the greatest obstacle to
the release of your father and mother is out of the way."

"Thank God for that!" Ronald said. "I have no reason for
feeling one spark of regret at what has befallen him. He was the
cruel persecutor of my parents, and did his best to get me
removed. There is but one obstacle now to obtaining my father's
release, and as he is neither a relation nor an old man I shall
be able to deal with him myself."

"Yes, but you must be careful, Ronald; remember the decree
against duelling. We must not make a false step now, when fortune
is at last favouring us. There will be no more fighting, I fancy.
The English will certainly not attack us again, and Tournay must
fall, and I don't think that on our part there will be any desire
whatever to go out of our way to seek another engagement with
them. The king is sure to go back to Paris at once, where he will
be received with enthusiasm. Marshal Saxe will probably follow as
soon as Tournay has fallen. I should advise you, therefore, to
get leave from the colonel to be absent from the regiment for a
time, and we will make our way down to Tours and let your mother
know the marquis is dead, and get her to write a memorial to the
king requesting permission to leave the convent, and then when
the marshall arrives in Paris we will get him to present it."

Ronald agreed to Malcolm's proposal, and the next morning,
having obtained leave of absence from the colonel, he and Malcolm
mounted and rode for Tours.

The message was duly conveyed to the countess by Jeanne,
together with Ronald's earnest request that his mother would
again meet him. She sent back by Jeanne the memorial he had asked
her to write to the king, begging that she might be allowed to
leave the convent; but she refused to agree to his wishes to meet
her, bidding Jeanne say that now it seemed there was really a
hope of her release shortly, she would less than ever risk any
step which if discovered might prejudice their plans.

Although disappointed, Ronald could not deny that her decision
was a wise one, and therefore contented himself by sending word
that he had obtained one very powerful friend, and that he hoped
that she would ere long receive good tidings. After a short stay
at Tours, Ronald and Malcolm returned to Paris, where a series of
brilliant fetes in honour of the victory of Fontenoy were in
preparation. Tournay had surrendered a few days after the battle,
the governor of that town having accepted a heavy bribe to open
the gates, for the place could have resisted for months, and the
allied army were ready to recommence hostilities in order to
relieve it.

After its surrender they fell back and resumed a defensive
attitude. The king therefore returned at once to Paris, and
Marshal Saxe, handing over the command of the army to Marshal de
Noailles, followed him by easy stages. Delighted above all things
at a success gained over the English, who had for centuries been
victorious in every battle in which England and France had met as
enemies, the citizens of Paris organized a succession of
brilliant fetes, which were responded to by entertainments of all
kinds at Versailles. The Scottish Dragoons were still at the
front; but Colonel Hume had been brought to Paris, as it would be
some time ere he would be able again to take the command of the
regiment. Ronald called at the house where the colonel lodged,
upon the day after his return from Tours, and found that he had
arrived upon the previous day. Ronald was at once shown up on
sending in his name. The colonel was lying on the couch when he
entered.

"How are you, colonel?"

"I am going on as well as possible, Ronald; they found the
ball and got it out the day before I left the regiment, and I
shall do well now. I have been carried on a litter all the way by
eight of our troopers, and the good fellows were as gentle with
me as if I had been a child, and I scarce felt a jar the whole
distance. What I have got to do now is to lie quiet, and the
doctor promises me that in six weeks' time I shall be fit to
mount a horse again. Marshal Saxe sent yesterday evening to
inquire after me, and I will send you to him to thank him for so
sending, and to inquire on my part how he himself is going on. My
message will be a good excuse for your presenting yourself."

Ronald found the antechamber of the marshal crowded with
nobles and officers who had come to pay their respects to the
victorious general, who was, next to the king himself, at that
moment the most popular man in France. Hitherto, as a Protestant
and a foreigner, Maurice of Saxony had been regarded by many with
jealousy and dislike; but the victory which he had won for the
French arms had for the first time obliterated every feeling save
admiration and gratitude.

Presently the marshal came out from the inner room with the
dauphin, who had called on the part of the king to inquire after
his health. He was now able to walk, the excitement of the battle
and the satisfaction of the victory having enabled him partially
to shake off the disease which afflicted him. After the dauphin
had left, the marshal made the tour of the apartment, exchanging
a few words with all present.

"Ah! you are there, my young Leslie," he said familiarly when
he came to Ronald. "Where have you been? I have not seen you
since the day when you galloped about with my messages through
the English fire as if you had a charmed life."

"Colonel Hume gave me leave, sir, to travel on private
business. I am now the bearer of a message from him, thanking you
for the kind inquiries as to his wound; he bids me say that he
trusts that your own health is rapidly recovering."

"As you see, Leslie, Fontenoy has done wonders for me as well
as for France; but wait here, I will speak with you again."

In half an hour most of the callers took their departure, then
the marshal called Ronald into an inner room.

"Tomorrow," he said, "I am going to pay my respects to the
king at Versailles. I will take you with me. Have you your
mother's memorial? That is right. As her father was killed at
Fontenoy there will, I hope, be the less difficulty over the
matter; but we must not be too sanguine, for there will be a host
of hungry competitors for the estates of the marquis, and all
these will unite against you. However, I do not think the king
will be able to refuse my first request, and when your mother is
out we must put our heads together and see about getting your
father's release."

Ronald expressed his deep gratitude at the marshal's
kindness.

"Say nothing about it, my lad. Fortunately I want nothing for
myself, and it is no use being a victorious general if one cannot
utilize it in some way; so I am quite glad to have something to
ask the king."

The next day Ronald presented himself at the hotel of Marshal
Saxe and rode by the side of his carriage out to Versailles. The
king, surrounded by a brilliant train of courtiers, received the
marshal with the greatest warmth, and after talking to him for
some time retired with him into his private closet. A few minutes
later one of the royal pages came out into the audience chamber
and said in a loud voice that the king desired the presence of
Monsieur Ronald Leslie.

Greatly embarrassed at finding himself the centre of
observation not unmingled with envy at the summons, Ronald
followed the page into the presence of the king, who was alone
with Marshal Saxe. Louis, who was in high good humour, gave
Ronald his hand to kiss, saying:

"I told the marshal to recall your name to me, and he has done
so now. He says that you have a boon to ask of me."

"Yes, sire," the marshal said; "and please consider graciously
that it is I who ask it as well as he. Your majesty has always
been gracious to me, and if you think me deserving of any mark of
your favour after this success which your majesty and I have
gained together, I would now crave that you grant it."

"It is granted before you name it, marshal," the king said. "I
give you my royal word that whatever be your boon, provided that
it be within the bounds of possibility, it is yours."

"Then, sire, I ask that an old comrade and fellow soldier of
mine, who fought bravely for your majesty, but who fell under
your majesty's displeasure many years ago on account of a
marriage which he made contrary to your pleasure, may be
released. He has now been over sixteen years in prison, and has
therefore paid dearly for thwarting your will, and his wife has
all this time been confined in a convent. They are the father and
mother of this brave lad--Colonel Leslie, who commanded your
majesty's regiment of Scotch Dragoons, and his wife, the Countess
Amelie of Recambours. I ask your majesty, as my boon, that you
will order this officer to be released and the lady to be allowed
to leave the convent."

"Peste, marshal!" the king said good temperedly; "your request
is one of which will get me into hot water with a score of
people. From the day the marquis was killed at Fontenoy I have
heard nothing but questions about his estates, and I believe that
no small portion of them have been already promised."

"I say nothing about the estates," the marshal replied; "as to
that, your majesty's sense of justice is too well known for it to
be necessary for me to say a single word. The countess has
estates of her own, which she inherited from her mother, but even
as to these I say nothing. It is her liberty and that of her
husband which I and this brave lad ask of your majesty."

"It is granted, marshal, and had your boon been a great one
instead of a small one I would have granted it as freely;" and
the king again held out his hand to Ronald, who bent on one knee
to kiss it, tears of joy flowing down his cheeks and preventing
the utterance of any audible thanks for the boon, which far
surpassed his expectations; for the marshal had said nothing as
to his intention of asking his father's freedom, which indeed he
only decided to do upon seeing in how favourable a disposition he
had found the king.

"You see, marshal," Louis went on, "marriages like this must
be sternly discouraged, or all order in our kingdom would be done
away with. Wilful girls and headstrong soldiers cannot be
permitted to arrange their affairs without reference to the plans
of their parents, and in this instance it happened that the
father's plans had received our approval. The great estates of
France cannot be handed over to the first comer, who may perhaps
be utterly unworthy of them. I do not say that in the present
case Colonel Leslie was in any way personally unworthy; but the
disposal of the hands of the great heiresses of France is in the
king's gift, and those who cross him are against his
authority."

The king touched a bell and bade the page who entered to order
his secretary to attend at once.

"Search the register of the state prisons," he said, "and tell
me where Colonel Leslie, who was arrested by our orders sixteen
years ago, is confined, and then make out an order to the
governor of his prison for his release; also draw up an order
upon the lady superior of--," and he paused.

"The convent of Our Lady at Tours," Ronald ventured to put
in.

"Oh! you have discovered that, eh?" the king said with a
smile; and then turned again to the secretary--"bidding her
suffer the Countess Amelie de Recambours to leave the convent and
to proceed where she will."

The secretary bowed and retired. Ronald, seeing that his own
presence was no longer required, said a few words of deep
gratitude to the king and retired to the audience room, where he
remained until, ten minutes later, the door of the king's closet
opened, and the king and Marshal Saxe again appeared. The
audience lasted for another half hour, and then the marshal,
accompanied by many of the nobles, made his way down to his
carriage. Ronald again mounted, and as soon as the carriage had
left the great courtyard of the palace, rode up alongside and
poured out his gratitude to the marshal.

"It has been another Fontenoy," the marshal said smiling.
"Here are the two orders, the one for Tours, the other for the
governor of the royal castle at Blois. The king made light of it;
but I know his manner so well that I could see he would rather
that I had asked for a dukedom for you. It is not often that
kings are thwarted, and he regards your parents as being rebels
against his authority. However, he was bound by his promise, and
there are the papers. Now, only one word, Leslie. Do not indulge
in any hopes that you will see your father more than a shadow of
the stalwart soldier that he was sixteen years ago. There are few
men, indeed, whose constitution enable them to live through
sixteen years' confinement in a state prison. Therefore prepare
yourself to find him a mere wreck. I trust that freedom and your
mother's care may do much for him, but don't expect too much at
first. If you take my advice you will go first and fetch your
mother, in order that she may be at hand to receive your father
when he leaves the fortress. By the way, I thought it just as
well not to produce your mother's memorial, as it seemed that we
should be able to do without it, for it might have struck the
king to ask how you obtained it, and he would probably have
considered that your communication with your mother was a fresh
act of defiance against his authority."

Malcolm was wild with joy when Ronald returned with the
account of his interview with the king and its successful result,
and had his not been a seasoned head, the number of bumpers which
he drank that night in honour of Marshal Saxe would have rendered
him unfit for travel in the morning. Ronald had, after
acquainting him with the news, gone to Colonel Hume, whose
pleasure at hearing that his former colonel and comrade was to
regain his freedom was unbounded. Every preparation was made for
an early start.

"Be sure you look well to the priming of your pistols before
you put them in your holsters tomorrow," Malcolm said.

"Do you think it will be necessary?"

"I am sure of it, Ronald. News travels fast; and you may be
sure that by this time the fact that the king has granted an
order for the release of your father and mother is known to the
Duke of Chateaurouge. If he did not hear it from the king
himself, which he would be most likely to do, as Louis would
probably lose no time in explaining to him that he had only gone
against his wishes because under the circumstances it was
impossible for him to refuse the marshal's request, the secretary
who drew out the document would, no doubt, let the duke know of
it. There are no secrets at court."

"But now that the orders for release have been granted,"
Ronald said, "the duke can have no motive in preventing them
being delivered, for fresh ones could, of course, be
obtained."

"In the first place, Ronald, the duke will be so furious at
your success that he will stick at nothing to have his revenge;
in the second place, he and the others, for there are many
interested in preventing your mother from coming into her
father's possessions, will consider that the gain of time goes
for a good deal. You are the mover in the matter. Were you out of
the way, and the documents destroyed, the matter might rest as it
is for a long time. The marshal is busy from morning till night,
and would be long before he missed you, and would naturally
suppose that you had, after obtaining the release of your
parents, retired with them to some country retreat, or even left
the kingdom.

"This would give ample time for working upon Louis. Besides,
the king might never inquire whether the prisoners had been
released. Then the marshal might die or be sent away to the
frontier. Therefore, as you see, time is everything. I tell you,
Ronald, I consider the journey you are going to undertake
tomorrow an affair of greater danger than going into a pitched
battle. You will have to doubt everyone you meet on the road, the
people at the inns you stop at--you may be attacked anywhere
and everywhere. As to our travelling by the direct road, I look
upon it as impossible. Our only chance is to throw them off the
scent, and as they know our destination that will be no easy
matter."

They were astir by daylight, and Malcolm soon brought the
horses round to the door.

"It's a comfort to know," he said, "that the horses have
passed the night in the barracks, and that therefore they have
not been tampered with. Look well to the buckles of your girths,
Ronald. See that everything is strong and in good order."

"That is not your own horse, Malcolm, is it?"

"No, it is one of the troopers'. It is one of the best in the
regiment, and I persuaded the man to change with me for a week.
No one is likely to notice the difference, as they are as nearly
as possible the same colour. Your horse is good enough for
anything; but if I could not keep up with you its speed would be
useless. Now, I think, we can keep together if we have to ride
for it.

"What have you got in that valise, Malcolm? One would think
that you were going upon a campaign."

"I have got four bottles of good wine, and bread and meat
enough to last us for two days. I do not mean, if I can help it,
to enter a shop or stop at an inn till we arrive at Tours. We can
make a shift to sleep for tonight in a wood. It would be safer a
thousand times than an inn, for I will bet fifty to one that if
we ventured to enter one we should find one or both of our horses
lame on starting again."

"Oh come, Malcolm, that's too much! The Duke of Chateaurouge
is not ubiquitous. He has not an army to scatter over all
France."

"No, he has not," Malcolm agreed; "but from what I know of him
I doubt not that he can lay his hands on a number of men who will
stick at nothing to carry out his orders and earn his money.
Paris swarms with discharged soldiers and ruffians of all kinds,
and with plenty of gold to set the machine in motion there is no
limit to the number of men who might be hired for any desperate
deed."

As they were talking they were making their way towards one of
the southern gates. They arrived there before it opened, and had
to wait a few minutes. Several other passengers on horseback and
foot were gathered there.

"I could bet a crown piece," Malcolm said, "that some one
among this crowd is on the watch for us, and that before another
half hour the Duke of Chateaurouge will know that we have
started."

CHAPTER X: A Perilous
Journey.

A number of peasants with market carts were waiting outside
the gates, and for the first few miles of their ride the road was
dotted with people making their way to the city. As they rode,
Malcolm discussed the question of the best road to be taken.
Ronald himself was still in favour of pushing straight forward,
for he was not so convinced as his follower that a serious
attempt would be made to interrupt their journey. He pointed out
that the road, as far as Orleans at least, was one of the most
frequented in France, and that in that city even the most
reckless would hardly venture to assault them.

"I agree with you, Ronald, that the road offers less
opportunities for ambushes than most others, for the country is
flat and well cultivated; but after all a dozen men with muskets
could lie in ambush in a cornfield as well as a wood, and the
fact that people are going along the road counts for little one
way or the other, for not one in fifty would venture to interfere
if they saw a fray going on. But granting that so far as Orleans
the country is open and cultivated, beyond that it is for the
most part forest; but above all--although they may regard it as
possible that we may be on our guard, and may travel by other
roads--it is upon this direct line that they are sure to make
the most preparations for us. Beyond that it can only be chance
work. We may go by one road or by another. There may be one trap
set on each road; but once past that and we are safe."

After riding for upwards of an hour they came, at the turn of
the road, upon two carts. One had apparently broken down, and the
other had stopped that those with it might give assistance in
repairing it. One cart was turned across the road, and the other
filled the rest of the space.

"Stop!" Malcolm exclaimed, checking his horse suddenly.

"What is it?" Ronald asked in surprise.

"Turn back!" Malcolm said sharply as he wheeled his horse
round.

Ronald, without a word, did the same, and they galloped a
hundred yards down the road.

"We were nearly caught there," Malcolm said.

"Why, how do you mean?"

"Never mind now, Ronald. Turn sharp to the right here, and
make a detour through the fields. You will soon see whether I was
right."

"It is a shame riding through this ripe corn," Ronald said, as
without any further comment he leaped his horse over the bank and
dashed off among the golden grain, which stretched far and wide
on both sides of the road.

They had not gone fifty yards before they heard loud shouts,
and as they came abreast of where the carts were standing several
shots were fired, and ten or twelve men were seen running through
the corn as if to cut them off. But although they heard the whiz
of the bullets they were too far off to be in much danger, and
the men on foot had no chance of cutting them off, a fact which
they speedily perceived, as one by one they halted and fired. A
few hundred yards farther the two horsemen came round into the
road again and pursued their journey.

"Well, what do you think of that, Ronald?"

"It was an ambush, no doubt, Malcolm; but what on earth made
you suspect it? I saw nothing suspicious. Merely two carts in the
road, with three or four men doing something to one of the
wheels."

"I am in a suspicious humour this morning, Ronald, and it is
lucky I am. The sight of the two carts completely blocking the
road brought me to a halt at once, and as I checked my horse I
saw a movement among the bushes on the right of the road, and
felt sure that it was an ambush. It was a well laid one, too, and
had we ridden on we should have been riddled with bullets. No
doubt there were men lying in the carts. They would have jumped
up as we came up to them, and the fellows in the bushes would
have taken us in the rear; between their two fires our chances
would have been small indeed. No doubt they had a man on watch,
and directly they saw us coming they got their carts across the
road, and took up their positions. It was a well contrived
scheme, and we have had a narrow escape."

"Thanks to your quickness and watchfulness, Malcolm, which has
saved our lives. I admit that you are right and I was wrong, for
I own that I did not share your apprehensions as to the dangers
of our journey. Henceforth I will be as much on the lookout as
you are, and will look with suspicion at every beggar woman that
may pass."

"And you will be right to do so," Malcolm said seriously; "but
for the present I think that we are safe. This, no doubt, was
their main ambush, and they may reasonably have felt certain of
success. However, we may be sure that they did not rely solely
upon it. This, no doubt, is the unmounted portion of their gang.
They were to try and put a stop to our journey at its outset; but
mounted men will have ridden on ahead, especially as they
couldn't have been sure that we should follow this road. We might
have gone out by one of the other gates at the south side of the
town, and they will have watched all the roads. Now I propose
that we take the next lane which branches off to the right, and
travel by byroads in future. Do not press your horse too fast. We
have a long journey before us, and must always have something in
hand in case it is necessary to press them to full speed."

Two miles further a road branched to the right. As they
approached it Ronald was about to touch his horse's rein, when
Malcolm said shortly, "Ride straight on."

Although surprised at this sudden change of plan, Ronald
obeyed without question.

"What was that for?" he asked when he had passed the
turning.

"Did you not see that man lying down by the heap of stones at
the corner?"

"Yes, I saw him; but what of that?"

"I have no doubt he was on the lookout for us. Yes, I thought
so," he went on, as he stood up in his stirrups and looked back;
"there, do you see that horse's head in that little thicket, just
this side of where the road separates? I expected as much. If we
had turned off, in another two minutes that fellow would have
been galloping along this road to take the news to those ahead,
and they would have ridden to cut us off further along. I have no
doubt we shall find someone on watch at every turning between
this and Orleans."

"But this is a regular campaign, Malcolm."

"It is a campaign, Ronald. The ruffians and thieves of Paris
form a sort of army. They have heads whom they implicitly obey,
and those who have money enough to set this machine in motion can
command the services of any number of men. Sharp fellows, too,
many of them are, and when they received orders to arrest our
journey to Tours at any cost, they would not omit a single
precaution which could ensure success. Their former attack upon
you, and its result, will have showed them that we are not
children, and that the enterprise was one which demanded all
their efforts."

"What is our next move now, Malcolm?"

"We will turn off before we get to the next road. They can see
a long way across these level plains; so we will dismount and
lead our horses. The corn is well nigh shoulder deep, and if we
choose a spot where the ground lies rather low, neither that
scoundrel behind nor the one at the next road is likely to see
us."

Half a mile further there was a slight dip in the ground.

"This is a good spot," Malcolm said. "This depression extends
far away on our right, and although it is very slight, and would
not conceal us if the ground were bare, it will do so now, so let
us take advantage of it."

So saying he dismounted, and leading his horse, turned into
the cornfield. Ronald followed him, and for two miles they kept
straight on through the corn; then they came upon a narrow road
connecting two villages. They mounted and turned their horses'
heads to the south.

"It is as well that none of the peasants saw us making through
their corn," Ronald said, "or we should have had them upon us
with stone and flail like a swarm of angry bees."

"It could not be helped," Malcolm replied, "and we could
easily have ridden away from them. However, it is just as well
that we have had no bother with them. Now we will quicken our
pace. We are fairly between two of the main roads south, and if
we can contrive to make our way by these village tracks we shall
at any rate for some time be free from all risk of
molestation."

"I should think we should be free altogether," Ronald said.
"When they find we do not come along the road they will suppose
we have been killed at the first ambush."

Malcolm shook his head.

"Do not build upon that, Ronald. No doubt as soon as we had
passed, some of those fellows mounted the horses we saw in the
carts, and rode off in accordance with an agreed plan to give
notice that we had passed them safely, and were proceeding by
that road. In the next place the fellow we saw on watch would
most likely after a time mount and follow us, and when he got to
the watcher at the next crossroad and found that we had not come
along there would know that we must have turned off either to the
right or left. One of them is doubtless before this on his way to
the next party with the news, while the other has set to work to
find out where we turned off, which will be easy enough to
discover. Still, we have gained something, and may fairly reckon
that if we ride briskly there is no fear of those who were posted
along the road we have left cutting us off."

They rode all day at a steady pace, stopping occasionally for
a short time to allow the horses a rest and a feed. The people in
the quiet little villages looked in surprise at the young officer
and his follower as they rode through their street or stopped for
a quarter of an hour while the horses were fed, for even Malcolm
agreed that such pauses were unattended by danger. It was rarely,
indeed, that a stranger passed along these bypaths, and the
peasants wondered among themselves what could induce them to
travel by country byways instead of following the main roads.

As they left the rich plains of the Beauce, the country was
less carefully cultivated. The fields of corn were no longer
continuous, and presently they came to tracts of uncultivated
land with patches of wood. They now left the little road they had
been following, and rode straight across country, avoiding all
villages. They crossed several hills, and late in the afternoon
drew rein in a wide spreading forest. They were, Malcolm thought,
quite as far south as Orleans, and by starting at daylight would
arrive at Tours by midday.

"Here at least we are perfectly safe," he said; "when we
approach Tours our perils will begin again. When once they find
that we have given them the slip they are not likely to try to
intercept us anywhere along the route till we near the town, for
they will know that the chances are enormous against their doing
so, and the parties along the various roads will push on so as to
meet us somewhere near that city. The river can only be crossed
at certain points, and they will feel sure we shall go by one or
other of them."

"And I suppose we shall," Ronald said.

"No, Ronald; my idea is that we turn west and ride to Le Mans,
then take a wide detour and enter Tours from the south side. It
will take us a day longer, but that is of little consequence, and
I think that we shall in that way entirely outwit them. The only
precaution we shall have to take is to cross the main road on our
right at some point remote from any town or village."

"I think that is a capital plan. I do not mind a share of fair
fighting; but to be shot down suddenly in an ambush like that of
this morning, I own I have little fancy for it."

Hobbling their horses, they turned them loose to pick up what
they could in the forest, and then sat down to enjoy a good meal
from the ample supply Malcolm had brought with him. When night
fell they unstrapped their cloaks from their saddles and rolled
themselves in them, and lay down to sleep. An hour later they
were roughly awakened, each being seized by three men, who,
before they could attempt to offer resistance, bound their arms
to their sides, and then hurried them along through the
forest.

"I have been a fool, Ronald," Malcolm said bitterly; "I ought
to have kept watch."

"It was not your fault, Malcolm. One could never have guessed
that they would have found us in this forest. Somebody must have
followed us at a distance and marked us down, and brought the
rest upon us; but even had you kept watch it would have been no
good, for they would have shot us down before we could make any
resistance."

"I wonder they didn't cut our throats at once," Malcolm said.
"I don't know what they are troubling to make us prisoners
for."

Presently they saw a light in the forest ahead of them, and
soon arrived at a spot where a number of men were sitting round a
fire.

"You had no trouble with them, Pierre, I suppose?"

"No, captain, they slept as soundly as moles. They have been
speaking some strange language as we came along."

"Thank God!" Malcolm exclaimed fervently. "I think, after all,
Ronald, we have only fallen in with a band of robbers, and not
with our enemies."

"Unbind their hands," the captain of the band said, "but first
take away their swords and pistols. Gentlemen, may I ask you to
be seated; and then, perhaps, you will inform us what you, an
officer in the Scotch dragoons, as I perceive by your uniform,
are doing here in the forest?"

Ronald, to whom the question was principally addressed,
replied frankly:

"We took to this forest, I fancy, for the same reason for
which you use it, namely, for safety. We are on our way to Tours,
and there are some people who have interest in preventing our
arriving there. They made one attempt to stop us near Paris;
fortunately that failed, or we should not be now enjoying your
society; but as it was likely that another attempt would be made
upon the road, we thought it better to leave it altogether and
take to the forest for the night."

"What interest could anyone have in preventing an officer of
the king from arriving at Tours?" the man asked doubtfully.

"It is rather a long story," Ronald said, "but if it is of
interest to you I shall be happy to relate it; and I may mention
that there are three bottles of good wine in the valise of one of
the saddles, and a story is none the worse for such an
accompaniment."

A laugh went round the circle at Ronald's coolness, and a man
stepped forward with the two saddles which he had carried from
the spot when the captives had been seized. The wine was taken
out and opened.

"Yes," the captain of the band said, after tasting it, "the
wine is good; now let us have your story."

Ronald gave them an outline of his history, told them how his
father and mother had been for many years imprisoned for marrying
contrary to the king's pleasure, and how he had at last obtained
the royal order for their release, and how the enemies of his
parents were now trying to prevent him from having those orders
carried out. "There are the orders," Ronald said as he concluded,
taking them from the inner pocket where he carried them. "You see
they are addressed to the abbess of the convent of Our Lady at
Tours, and to the governor of Blois."

"The story you tell us is a singular one," the captain
replied, "and I doubt not its truth. What was the name of your
father?"

"He was Colonel Leslie, and commanded the same regiment to
which I belong."

"I remember him," one of the band said. "Our regiments were
quartered together, nigh twenty years ago, at Flanders, and I was
in Paris at the time when he was imprisoned. We were in the next
barracks to the Scotchmen, and I remember what a stir it made.
The regiment was very nigh mutinying."

"And I remember you too, though I cannot recall your name,"
Malcolm said, rising and looking hard at the speaker; "and if I
mistake not we have cracked many a flask together, and made many
a raid on the hen roosts of the Flemish farmers. My name is
Malcolm Anderson."

"I remember you well," the other said, rising and giving him
his hand. "Of course I met you scores of times, for the regiments
were generally brigaded together."

"That confirms your story altogether, monsieur," the captain
of the band said. "From this moment do not consider yourself a
prisoner any longer. I may say that we had no expectation of
booty in your case, and you were captured rather from curiosity
than from any other reason. One of my men, this afternoon,
happened to see you ride into the wood and then dismount and make
preparations for passing the night there. He reported the matter
to me. I know that gentlemen of your cloth--I may say of mine,
for I was once an officer of his majesty, though I left the
service somewhat hastily," and he smiled, "on account of an
unfortunate deficiency in the funds of the regiment in which I
happened, at the time, to be acting as paymaster--are seldom
burdened with spare cash, but the incident seemed so strange that
I determined to capture and question you. If you happen to have
more cash on you than you care about carrying we shall be glad to
purchase a few bottles of wine equal to that which you have given
us. If not, I can assure you that I do not press the
matter.".

"I am obliged to you for your courtesy," Ronald said; "and as
at present I really happen to be somewhat flush of cash I am
happy to contribute ten louis for the laudable purpose you
mention."

So saying he took out his purse, counted out ten pieces, and
handed them to the captain.

The action was received with a round of applause, for the
robbers had not, from the first, anticipated obtaining any booty
worth speaking of, and the turn affairs had taken had altogether
driven any idea of gain from their minds.

"I thank you warmly, sir," the captain said, "and promise you
that I will tomorrow despatch a messenger to Orleans, which is
but ten miles away, and will lay out the money in liquor, with
which we will, tomorrow night, drink your health and success in
the enterprise. Nay, more, if you like, a dozen of my men shall
accompany you on your road to Tours. They have, for various
reasons, which I need not enter into, a marked objection to
passing through towns, but as far as Blois they are at your
service."

"I thank you for your offer," Ronald replied, "but will not
accept it, as we intend to ride tomorrow morning to Le Mans, and
then to enter Tours from the south side, by which we shall throw
our enemies completely off the scent."

"But why do you not go to Blois first?" the man asked. "It is
on your way to Tours."

"I wish my mother to be present at the release of my father.
So long a confinement may well have broken him down. Now that I
see how obstinately bent our enemies are upon our destruction I
will take with me two or three stout fellows from Tours, to act
as an escort."

"What day will you be leaving there?" the man asked.

"Today is Tuesday," Ronald said; "on Thursday we shall be at
Tours, on Friday morning we shall leave."

"Very well," the man replied, "we will be on the road. It is
no difference to us where we are, and as well there as here. I
will have men scattered all along in the forest between Blois and
Amboise, and if I find that there are any suspicious parties
along the road we will catch them, and if you are attacked you
will find that we are close at hand to help you. You are a
generous fellow, and your story has interested me. We gentlemen
of the woods are obliged to live, whatever the law says; but if
we can do a good action to anybody it pleases us as well as
others."

"I am greatly obliged to you," Ronald said, "and can promise
you, anyhow, that your time shall be not altogether thrown
away."

Soon afterwards the whole band lay down round the fire and
were sound asleep. In the morning Malcolm saddled the two horses,
and after a hearty adieu from the captain and his followers--all
of whom were discharged soldiers who had been driven to take
up this life from an inability to support themselves in any other
way--they started for Le Mans, which town they reached late in
the afternoon, without adventure.

Deeming it in the highest degree improbable that any watch
would be set for them at a place so far from their line of
travel, they put up for the night at the principal inn. In the
morning they again started, and after riding for some distance to
the south, made a wide sweep, and crossing the river, entered
Tours from the south, late in the evening. They again put up at
the principal inn, for although they doubted not that their
arrival would be noticed by the emissaries of the enemy, they had
no fear of molestation in a town like Tours. And on the following
morning Ronald presented himself at the entrance to the
convent.

"I wish to see the lady superior," he said to the lay sister
at the wicket. "I am the bearer of a communication to her from
the king."

He was left waiting for a few minutes outside the gate, then
the wicket door opened, and the sister requested him to follow
her. Not a soul was to be seen as he traversed the gloomy courts
and passed through several corridors to the room where the abbess
was waiting him. In silence he handed to her the king's order.
The abbess opened and read it.

"His majesty's commands shall be obeyed," she said; "in an
hour the countess will be in readiness to depart."

"A carriage shall be in waiting at the gate to receive her,"
Ronald said, bowing, and then, without another word, retired.

Malcolm was awaiting him outside, and they at once went to the
officer of the royal post and engaged a carriage and post horses
to take them to Blois.

The carriage was at the door at the appointed time, and a few
minutes later the gate opened, and the countess, in travelling
attire, issued out, and in a moment was clasped in her son's
arms. He at once handed her into the carriage and took his place
beside her. Malcolm closed the door and leapt up on the box, the
postilion cracked his whip, and the carriage moved off.

"Can it be true, Ronald, or am I dreaming? It is but a week
since you were here last, and the news of my release came upon me
with such a surprise that, do you know, I fainted. Am I really
free? Is it possible that I have seen the last of those hateful
walls? It seems like a dream. Where are we going?"

"We are going to Blois."

"To a prison?" the countess exclaimed. "But no, there are no
guards or escorts. Are we going, oh, Ronald, are we going to see
my husband?"

"Yes, mother, we are going, not only to see him but to release
him. I have the king's order in my pocket."

For some time the countess was unable to speak, her joy was
too great for words. Then tears came to her relief, and she
sobbed out exclamations of joy and gratitude. Ronald said nothing
until she had somewhat recovered her calmness, and then he told
her the manner in which Marshal Saxe had obtained the two orders
of release.

"I will pray for him night and morning to the last day of my
life," the countess said. "God is indeed good to me. I had hoped,
from what you said, that my term of imprisonment was drawing to
an end; but I had looked forward to a long struggle, to endless
efforts and petitions before I could obtain your father's
release, with, perhaps, failure in the end. Not for one moment
did I dream that such happiness as this awaited me."

Ronald now thought it wise to repeat the warning which the
marshal had given him.

"Mother, dear," he said "you must be prepared to find that a
total change will have taken place in my father. His imprisonment
has been a very different one to yours. You have had companions
and a certain amount of freedom and comfort. You have had people
to speak to, and have known what is going on in the world. He has
been cut off altogether from mankind. He cannot even know whether
you are alive, or whether you may not have yielded to the
pressure that would be sure to be brought upon you, and
acquiesced in a divorce being obtained. He has, doubtless, been
kept in a narrow cell, deprived almost of the air and light of
heaven. He will be greatly changed, mother. He will not be like
you; for it does not seem to me that you have changed much from
what you were. I could not see you much that night on the
terrace; but now I see you I can hardly believe that you are my
mother, so young do you look."

"I am nearly forty," the countess said smiling. "I was past
twenty-one when I married. Had I not been of age they could have
pronounced the marriage null and void. But you are right, Ronald,
and I will prepare myself to find your father greatly changed. It
cannot be otherwise after all he has gone through; but so that I
have him again it is enough for me, no matter how great the
change that may have taken place in him. But who are these men?"
the countess exclaimed, as, a quarter of a mile outside the town,
four men on horseback took up their places, two on each side of
the carriage.

"Do not be alarmed, mother, they are our escort. Malcolm hired
them at Le Mans. They are all old soldiers, and can be relied on
in case of necessity."

"But what need can there be for them, Ronald? I have heard
that bands of discharged soldiers and others make travelling
insecure; but I had no idea that it was necessary to have an
armed escort."

"Not absolutely necessary, mother, but a useful measure of
precaution. We heard of them as we came through from Paris, and
Malcolm and I agreed, that as you would have with you any jewels
and valuables that you took to the convent, it would be just as
well to be in a position to beat off any who might be disposed to
trouble us. As you see, they have brought with them Malcolm's
horse and mine, and we shall now mount. The less weight the
horses have to draw the better. I will get in and have a talk
from time to time where the road happens to be good; but, to tell
you the truth, the jolting and shaking are neither pleasant nor
good for talking."

"You are expecting to be attacked, Ronald," the countess said.
"I am sure you would not be wanting to get out and leave me so
soon after we have met did you not anticipate some danger."

"Frankly, mother, then, I do think it is probable that an
attempt may be made to stop us, and that not by regular robbers,
but by your enemies. They did their best to prevent me from
reaching Tours, and will now most likely try to prevent our
arriving at Blois. I will tell you all about it when we get there
tonight. Here is the order for my father's release. Will you hide
it in your dress? I had rather not have it about me. And, mother,
if we should be attacked, do not be alarmed, for I have reason to
believe that if we should be outnumbered and hard pressed, help
will speedily be forthcoming."

"I am not in the least afraid for myself," the countess said;
"but be careful, Ronald. Remember I have only just found you, and
for my sake do not expose yourself unnecessarily."

"I will take care of myself, mother," he said. "You know I
have always had to do so."

Malcolm had already mounted his horse, and Ronald was really
glad when he took his place beside him a few yards ahead of the
carriage. The art both of road making and carriage building was
still in its infancy. When the weather was fine and the ground
hard a fair rate of progress could be maintained; but in wet
weather the vehicles often sank almost up to their axles in mud
holes and quagmires, and the bumping and jolting were
terrible.

"Now we take up our work of looking out for ambushes again,
Malcolm."

"It will not be quite the same thing now," Malcolm said.
"Before, two or three men with guns behind a wall might do the
business, now they will have to make a regular attack. I have no
doubt that we were watched from the time we entered the town, and
that the news that we are travelling with the countess in a
carriage, and with an escort of four armed men, has been carried
on ahead already. It is by horsemen that we shall be attacked
today if we are attacked at all, and they will probably fall upon
us in the forest beyond Amboise. They will know that with a
vehicle we must keep the road, and that as we cannot travel more
than six miles an hour at the outside, we cannot attempt to
escape by our speed."

"Do you think we had better wait at Amboise for the night and
go on to Orleans tomorrow?"

"No, I think we had better push straight on, especially as we
told our friends in the forest that we should come today, and I
feel sure they will keep their promise to be on the lookout to
aid us. If it were not for that I should have said let us stay at
Tours for the present, for we may expect to be attacked by a
force much superior to our own."

"Why, they would not have sent down more than six men to
attack us two, Malcolm?"

"No, if they had been sure which road we should travel; but as
they didn't know that, they may have had small parties at half a
dozen spots, and these will now be united. Probably there may be
a score of them. However, I rely on the robbers. The captain
meant what he said, and you won the goodwill of all the men. If
there are a dozen horsemen anywhere along the road they are sure
to know of it, and will, I have no doubt, post themselves close
at hand so as to be ready to join in the fray as soon as it
commences."

Amboise was reached without adventure. Here the horses in the
carriage were changed, and the party proceeded on their way. Four
miles further they entered a great forest. Ronald now ordered two
of the men to ride a few yards in front of the horses' heads. He
and Malcolm rode on each side of the coach, the other two
followed close behind. He ordered the driver, in case they were
attacked, to jump off instantly and run to the horses' heads, and
keep them quiet during the fray.

A vigilant lookout was kept. Suddenly, when they were in the
thickest part of the wood, a number of mounted men dashed out
from either side. In obedience to the orders Ronald had given,
the men in front and behind at once closed in, so that there were
three on either side of the carriage. The assailants fired their
pistols as they dashed down, but the bullets flew harmlessly by,
while the fire of the defenders, sitting quietly on their horses,
was more accurate, two of the assailants falling dead, while
another was severely wounded.

A moment later swords were drawn, and a furious combat ensued.
Ronald had told his men to keep close to the carriage, so that
they could not be attacked in the rear, keeping just far enough
out on either side of him to be able to use their swords. For a
short time the defenders of the coach maintained their position,
the number of their assailants giving them but slight advantage,
as they were unable to utilize their force.

Ronald ran the first man who attacked him through the body,
and laid open the face of the next with a sweeping blow from left
to right. The men they had hired fought stoutly; but they were
being pressed together as the assailants urged forward their
horses, when suddenly a volley of firearms was heard.

Several of the assailants fell dead, and with a loud shout a
number of men rushed out from the wood and fell upon them in
rear. The assailants turned to fly, and it was now the turn of
the defenders of the coach to attack, which they did
furiously.

In two or three minutes all was over. Five or six only of the
assailants cut their way through the footmen who had attacked
them in rear, while twelve lay dead or dying on the ground.
Ronald's first impulse was to ride up to the carriage to assure
his mother of his safety, his next to leap off his horse and
grasp the hand of the chief of the robbers.

"You have kept your promise nobly," he said, "and arrived at
the very nick of time. They were beginning to press us hotly; and
though I fancy we should have rendered an account of a good many
more, we must have been beaten in the end."

"I was farther behind than I intended to be," the man said;
"but we were obliged to keep in hiding some little distance
behind them. There were four parties of them. We kept them in
sight all yesterday, and last night they assembled a mile or two
away. I had men watching them all night, and this morning we
followed them here, and saw them take up their position on both
sides of the road. We crept up as closely as we dared without
being observed, but you had for a couple of minutes to bear the
brunt of it alone."

"I thank you most heartily," Ronald said. "My mother will
thank you herself." So saying, he led them to the door of the
carriage, which he opened.

"Mother, I told you that if we were attacked I relied upon
help being near at hand. We owe our lives, for I have no doubt
that yours as well as mine would have been taken, to this brave
man and his followers."

"I thank you most sincerely, sir," the countess said. "At
present I feel like one in a dream; for I have been so long out
of the world that such a scene as this has well nigh bewildered
me."

"I am only too glad to have been of service," the man said as
he stood bareheaded. "I am not a good man, madame. I am one of
those whom the necessities of the times have driven to earn their
living as they can without much regard to the law; but I trust
that I have not quite lost my instincts as a gentleman, and I am
only too glad to have been able to be of some slight assistance
to a persecuted lady; for your son, the other night, related to
us something of the treatment which you have had to endure."

With a bow he now stepped back. His followers were engaged in
searching the pockets of the fallen, and found in them a store of
money which spoke well for the liberality of their employer, and
well satisfied the robbers for the work they had undertaken.
After a few words with her son the countess opened a small bag
she carried with her, and taking from it a valuable diamond
brooch, called the leader of the band up and presented it to
him.

Ronald and his party then remounted their horses--the
robbers had already overtaken and caught those of the fallen
assailants--the driver mounted the box, and after a cordial
farewell to their rescuers the party proceeded on their way to
Blois.

CHAPTER XI:
Free.

It was late at night before Blois was reached, and having
alighted at the Aigle d'Or they engaged a private room.

"Even the Duke of Chateaurouge will be satisfied," Ronald
said, "that his schemes have failed, and that no more can be done
just at present. It will be a bitter blow to him when those
scoundrels, on their return to Paris, report their utter failure,
for he must have considered it impossible that we could escape
from the toils he had laid for us. I only wish that we had clear
evidence that he is the author of these attempts. If so, I would
go straight with Marshal Saxe and lay an accusation against him
before the king; but however certain we may feel about it, we
have really nothing to connect him with the affair, and it would
be madness to accuse a king's favourite unless one could prove
absolutely the truth of what one says. However, I hope some day
that I shall get even with him. It will not be my fault if I do
not."

That night Ronald and his mother debated what would be the
best way to proceed in the morning, and finally they agreed that
Malcolm should present himself at the prison with the order of
release, and that they should remain at the hotel, to which
Malcolm should bring Colonel Leslie, after breaking to him the
news that his wife and son were both awaiting him. The shock, in
any case, of sudden liberty, would be a severe one, and the
meeting with his attached comrade would act as a preparation for
that with his wife.

Mother and son sat hand in hand after hearing the carriage
drive off with Malcolm next morning. In the hours they had spent
together they had come to know each other, and the relationship
had become a real one. They had scarce been able to make out each
other's features at their midnight meeting on the terrace, and at
that meeting, rejoiced as they both were, there was still a
feeling of strangeness between them. Now they knew each other as
they were, and both were well satisfied. The countess was less
strange to Ronald than he was to her. Malcolm had already
described her to him as he knew her eighteen years before, and
the reality agreed closely with the ideal that Ronald had
pictured to himself, except that she was younger and brighter.
For in thinking of her he had told himself over and over again
that she would have grown much older, that her hair might have
turned gray with grief and trouble, and her spirit been
altogether broken.

She on her part had been able to form no idea as to what the
infant she had last seen would have grown up, and was not even
sure that he was in existence. She had hoped that if he had lived
he would have grown up like his father, and although she now saw
but slight resemblance between them, she was indeed well
satisfied with her son.

He was not, she thought, as handsome as his father, but he
bade fair to surpass him in strength and stature. She was
delighted with his manly bearing; and when he laughed he reminded
her of her husband, and she thought that she read in his gray eye
and firm mouth a steadfastness and depth of character equal to
his. They spoke but little now. Both were too anxious, Ronald for
his mother's sake rather than his own. He was prepared to find
this unknown father a man broken down by his years of captivity;
but although his mother said that she too was prepared for great
changes, he could not but think that the reality would be a sad
shock to her. In little over an hour the carriage drove into the
courtyard.

"Be brave, mother," Ronald said, as he felt the hand he held
in his own tremble violently. "You must be calm for his
sake."

Steps were heard approaching. The door opened, and Malcolm
entered with a man leaning on his arm. The countess with a cry of
joy sprang forward, and the next moment was clasped in her
husband's arms.

"At last, my love, at last!" she said.

Ronald drew aside to the window to leave his father and mother
to enjoy the first rapture of their meeting undisturbed, while
Malcolm slipped quietly from the room again.

"Why, Amelie," Leslie said at last, holding her at arms'
length that he might look the better at her, "you are scarce
changed. It does not seem to me that you are five years older
than when I saw you last, and yet Malcolm tells me that you too
have been a prisoner. How much my love has cost you, dear! No,
you are scarce changed, while I have become an old man--my hair
is as white as snow, and I am so crippled with rheumatism I can
scarce move my limbs."

"You are not so much changed, Angus. Your hair is white and
your face is very pale; but you are not so much changed. If I
have suffered for your love, dear, what have you suffered for
mine! I have been a prisoner in a way, but I had a certain amount
of freedom in my cage, while you--" And she stopped.

"Yes, it has been hard," he said; "but I kept up my spirits,
Amelie. I never lost the hope that some day we should be
reunited."

"And now, Angus, here is our boy, to whom we owe our liberty
and the joy of this meeting. You may well be proud of such a
son."

"I am proud," Leslie said as Ronald advanced, and he took him
in his arms. "God bless you, my boy. You have performed well nigh
a miracle. Malcolm has been telling me of you. Call him in again.
It is right that he to whom you owe so much should share in our
happiness."

Ronald at once fetched Malcolm, and until late at night they
talked of all that had happened during so many years. Colonel
Leslie had passed the first three years of his confinement in the
Chatelet. "It was well it was no longer," he said; "for even I,
hard as I was with years of soldiering, could not have stood that
much longer. My cell there was below the level of the river. The
walls were damp, and it was there I got the rheumatism which has
crippled me ever since. Then they moved me to Blois, and there my
cell was in one of the turrets, and the sun shone in through the
window slit for half an hour a day; besides for an hour once a
week I was allowed to take what they called exercise on the wall
between my turret and the next. The governor was not a bad
fellow, and did not try to pocket the best part of the money
allowed for the keep of the prisoners. Fortunately I never lost
hope. Had I done so I would have thrown myself over the parapet
and ended it at once. I felt sure that you too were shut up,
Amelie, and I pictured to myself how they would try to make you
give me up; but I never thought they would succeed, dear. I knew
you too well for that. Sometimes for months I lay as if paralysed
by rheumatism, and I think I should have died if I had not known
how my enemies would have rejoiced at the news of my death. So I
held on stoutly, and I have got my reward."

But the hardships had told their tale. Although but the same
age as Malcolm Anderson, Colonel Leslie looked fully ten years
older. His long confinement had taken every tinge of colour out
of his face, and left it almost ghastly in its whiteness. He
could with difficulty lift his hands to his head, and he walked
as stiffly as if his legs had been jointless. His voice only had
not lost the cheery ring his wife remembered.

"No, Amelie," he said when she remarked this. "I kept my
tongue in practice; it was the one member that was free. After I
had been confined a few months it struck me that I was rapidly
losing the power of speech, and I determined that if I could not
talk for want of someone to answer me, I could at least sing, and
having a good store of songs, Scottish and French, I sang for
hours together, at first somewhat to the uneasiness of the prison
authorities, who thought that I could not be so merry unless I
had some communication from without, or was planning an escape;
but at last they grew accustomed to it, and as my voice could not
travel through the thick walls of my cells, it annoyed no
one."

"And did you never think of escaping, father?"

"The first few years of my confinement I was always thinking
of it, Ronald, but nothing ever came of my thought. I had no
tools to burrow through a four foot wall, and if I could have
done so I should have tried if it had only been to give me
something to do, had it not been that I hoped some day to obtain
my release, and that any attempt at escape would, if discovered,
as it was almost certain to be, decrease my chances."

Not a word was said that evening as to their future plans, all
their thoughts being in the past; but the next morning Colonel
Leslie said at breakfast:

"And now what are we going to do next? How do we stand?"

"I know no more than you do, Angus. I do not know whether the
king has gifted my mother's estate to others, as assuredly he has
done my father's lands. If he has, I have been thinking that the
best plan will be to ask the king's permission to leave the
kingdom and return to your native Scotland."

"I am very fond of Scotland, Amelie; but I have also a
fondness for living, and how I should live in Scotland I have not
the most remote idea. My estate there was but a small one, and
was forfeited thirty years ago; so unless I become a gaberlunzie
and sit on the steps of St. Andrews asking for alms, I don't see
how we should get porridge, to say nothing of anything else. No,
Amelie, it seems to me that we must stop in France. For very
shame they cannot let the daughter of the Marquis de Recambours
starve, and they must at least restore you a corner of your
parents estates, if it be but a farm. How are we off for funds at
present?" he asked with a laugh. "I hope at least we have enough
to pay our hotel bill."

"We have forty louis in cash, father; the remains of the
hundred you committed to Malcolm with me."

"Is that so?" he exclaimed. "All I can say is that that money
has lasted longer than any that ever passed through my fingers
before."

"We have plenty of money," the countess said quietly. "I have
all the jewels which came to me from my mother, and their sale
will keep us for years, either in Scotland or France."

"That is good indeed," the colonel said cheerily.

"Yes; I took them all with me when I was sent to the convent,
and have parted with none save the diamond necklet which I gave
to the girl who brought Ronald and me together, as a parting
keepsake, and a brooch with which I rewarded the men who aided us
in the forest; but seriously, Angus, we must settle upon
something."

"I quite agree with you, Amelie; but what is that something to
be?"

"I should think, Angus, that the proper thing would be for me
to write to the king thanking him for our release, asking his
commands, and petitioning him that my mother's estates may be
restored to me. I will also ask permission to retire to some
southern town where there are waters which may do good to your
rheumatism."

Colonel Leslie frowned.

"I suppose that is the right thing to do, Amelie; though, for
my part, I cannot thank a sovereign whom I have served well after
such treatment as I have received. I would rather beg my bread
from door to door."

"No, I would not ask you, Angus, and of course you are
differently placed; but I have my rights as a peeress of France;
besides I have on my own account no complaint against the king.
It was my father who shut me up in the convent, not the
king."

"By the way, Amelie," her husband said, "you are not yet in
mourning."

"Nor do I intend to be," she said firmly; "unless I have to go
to court no thread of mourning do I put on. My father behaved
like a tyrant to me, and I will not feign a grief at an event
which has brought us happiness. Well, Ronald, what do you think
had best be done? You and Malcolm have managed so well that we
had best leave it for you to decide."

"I think what you propose, mother, is best. I think you had
better travel down to some place near where your mother's estates
lay, and then write your petition to the king. I will leave you
there and return with it to Paris, and will there consult Colonel
Hume and Marshal Saxe as to how it should be delivered to the
king."

This plan was carried out. The party journeyed together to
Poitiers, and there having seen his parents comfortably settled
in a small house near the town, and remained with them a few
days, Ronald with Malcolm returned to Paris, bearing with him his
mother's memorial to the king.

Ronald was glad to find that Colonel Hume was now recovered
from his wound. Marshal Saxe too was better; the latter at once
took charge of the petition, and said that he would hand it to
the king on the first opportunity. Ronald accompanied the marquis
several times to Versailles, but the latter had no private
audience with the king, and thought it better not to present the
memorial in public. One day, however, he was called into the
king's closet.

When he emerged with the king, Ronald thought from his
expression of countenance that things had not gone well. On
leaving the palace he mounted his horse--for he was now well
enough to ride--and as he set out he called Ronald, who with
other gentlemen had accompanied him to ride beside him.

"Things have not gone well," he said. "Your father's enemies
have evidently been at work, and have been poisoning the king's
mind. He read the memorial, and then said harshly, 'The Countess
of Recambours has forfeited all rights to her mother's estates by
marrying an alien. The lands of France are for the King of
France's subjects, not for soldiers of fortune.' This touched me,
and I said, 'Your majesty may recollect that I am an alien and a
soldier of fortune, and methinks that in time of war the swords
of our soldiers of fortune have done such things for France that
they have earned some right to gratitude. In a hundred battles
our Scottish troops have fought in the front ranks, and had it
not been for the Irish Brigade we should not have had to write
Fontenoy down among the list of French victories."

"You are bold, marshal," the king said angrily.

"I am bold, sire," I replied, "because I am in the right: and
I humbly submit that a brave soldier like Colonel Leslie deserves
better treatment than he has received at the hands of
France."

The king rose at once.

"An answer to the petition will be sent to you tomorrow,
marshal."

"I bowed, and without another word the king left his closet
and entered the room of audience. However, lad, you must not look
so downcast. We could perhaps expect no more the first time. Of
course every man who has a hope, or who has a relation who has a
hope, of obtaining the grant of your mother's estates is
interested in exciting the king's displeasure against her;
besides which there is, as you have told me, the Duc de
Chateaurouge, who may be regarded as a personal enemy of your
father, and who has the king's ear as much as anyone about him.
However, we must have courage. I consider my personal honour is
touched in the matter now, and I will not let the matter drop
till justice is done."

At the appointed time Ronald again called at Marshal Saxe's
hotel, and watched the gay crowd of officers and nobles who were
gathered in his reception rooms. An hour later a royal attendant
entered and handed a document to the marshal. The latter glanced
at it and looked around. As soon as his eye fell upon Ronald he
nodded to him.

"Here is the judgement," he said in a low tone, as he handed
him the paper. "You see it is directed to the countess, to my
care. I suppose you will start with it at once."

"Yes, marshal; the horses are saddled and we shall leave
immediately."

"Don't hurry your horses," the marshal said with a slight
smile; "from the king's manner I think that the contents are such
that a few hours' delay in the delivery will cause the countess
no pain. However, I do not anticipate anything very harsh. In the
first place, although the king is swayed by favourites who work
on his prejudices, his intention is always to be just; and in the
second place, after granting the release of your parents as a
boon to me he can scarcely annul the boon by any severe sentence.
Will you tell the countess from me that I am wholly at her
service, and that, should any opportunity offer, she may be sure
that I will do what I can to incline the king favourably towards
her. Lastly, Leslie, take care of yourself. The change in the
king's manner shows that you have powerful enemies, and now that
you have succeeded in obtaining your parents' freedom you have
become dangerous. Remember the attack that was made upon you
before, when there seemed but little chance that you would ever
succeed in obtaining their release or in seriously threatening
the interests of those who were looking forward to the reversion
of the family estates. Their enmity now, when it only needs a
change in the king's mood to do justice to your parents, will be
far greater than before.

"Bid your father, too, to have a care for himself and your
mother. Remember that violence is common enough, and there are
few inquiries made. An attack upon a lonely house and the murder
of those within it is naturally put down as the act of some party
of discharged soldiers or other ruffians. Tell him therefore he
had best get a few trusty men around him, and be on guard night
and day against a treacherous attack. Those who stand in the way
of powerful men in France seldom live long, so he cannot be too
careful."

A quarter of an hour later Ronald was on horseback. He had
already provided himself with a pass to leave the city after the
usual hour of closing the gates, and he and Malcolm were soon in
the open country. As they rode along Ronald repeated the warning
that the marshal had given him.

"He is quite right, Ronald, and you cannot be too careful. We
have against us, first, this vindictive Duc de Chateaurouge, who,
no doubt, has poisoned the king's mind. In all France there is no
one whom I would not rather have as a foe. He is powerful,
unscrupulous, and vindictive; he would hesitate at nothing to
carry out anything on which he had set his mind, and would think
no more of obtaining the removal of one whom he considered to
stand in his way than of crushing a worm. Even as a young man he
had a villainous reputation, and was regarded as one of the most
dangerous men about the court. To do him justice, he is brave and
a fine swordsman, and for choice he would rather slay with his
own hands those who offend him than by other means. Though he was
but three-and-twenty at the time I first left France he had
fought half a dozen duels and killed as many men, and several
others who were known to have offended him died suddenly. Some
were killed in street brawls, returning home at night, one or two
were suspected of having been poisoned. Altogether the man was
feared and hated in those days, although, of course, none spoke
their suspicions openly.

"From what I have heard those suspicions have stuck to him
ever since. He has not been engaged in many duels, because in the
first place edicts against duelling are very strict, and in the
second because his reputation as a swordsman is so great that few
would risk their lives against him. Still all who stood in his
way have somehow or other come to a sudden end. We must therefore
be on our guard night and day. He is, of course, your most
dangerous foe; but besides him must be numbered all those who
hope to obtain your mother's estates. The heirs of the marquis
doubtless feel perfectly safe from interference. There is no
chance whatever of the king dispossessing them in favour of a
foreigner, so we need not count them among your foes.

"It is just as well, Ronald, that we started tonight instead
of waiting till tomorrow. The duke is pretty certain to learn
that the king's answer will be sent this evening, and may
possibly have made preparations for you on the road; but he will
hardly expect that you will start before the morning. However, in
order to be on the safe side I propose that we shall presently
turn off from the main road and avoid all large towns on our way
down to Poitiers."

"Do you think the danger is as great as that, Malcolm?"

"I do not think there is much danger, Ronald, just at present,
though I do in the future."

Travelling by byways Ronald and Malcolm arrived at Poitiers
without adventure.

"I have brought you the king's answer, mother," Ronald said as
he alighted; "but before you open it I may tell you that it is
unfavourable, though I am ignorant of the precise nature of its
contents. But you must not be disappointed. Marshal Saxe bade me
tell you that he considers his honour engaged in seeing you
righted, and that whenever an opportunity occurs he will
endeavour to move the king's mind in your favour. How is my
father?"

"He suffers grievously from rheumatism, Ronald, and can scarce
move from his couch."

As soon as they joined the colonel the countess opened the
king's letter. It was brief. "The Countess Amelie de Recambours
is hereby ordered to withdraw at once to her estate of La
Grenouille and there to await the king's pleasure concerning
her."

The king's signature was affixed.

"Well, that is not so very bad," the countess said. "At any
rate my right to one of my mother's estates is recognized. La
Grenouille is the smallest of them, and contains but three or
four farms. Still that will suffice for our wants, and as it lies
but twenty miles from Bordeaux the air will be warm and soft for
you, Angus."

"Is there a chateau on it, mother?"

"Yes, there is a small chateau. I was there once as a girl. It
has never been modernized, but is still a castle such as it was
two hundred years ago."

"All the better," Ronald said; and he then gave Malcolm's
reasons for their being on the watch against any sudden
attack.

"He is quite right, Ronald," Colonel Leslie said. "The duke is
capable of anything. However, we will be on our guard, and if, as
your mother says, it is a fortified house, we need have no fear
of any sudden attack."

"I would suggest, colonel, that I should ride to Tours,"
Malcolm said, "and hire two of the men who escorted madame's
carriage. They have served in the wars and can be relied upon.
They would not need high wages, for most of the discharged
soldiers have trouble enough to keep body and soul together. With
a couple of men of this kind, and two or three of the men on the
estate, I think, colonel, you need fear no sudden attack."

The colonel approved of the suggestion, and a week later,
Malcolm having returned with the two men, a carriage was hired to
convey the colonel and his wife, and so they journeyed quietly
down to La Grenouille. On arriving there they found that they
were expected, the old steward in charge having received a letter
from the royal chancellor, saying that he was to receive the
countess as the owner of the estate.

The old man, who had known her mother well and remembered her
visits as a child, received the countess with respectful joy. The
chateau was, as Amelie had said, really a castle. It was
surrounded by a moat filled with water, from which the walls rose
abruptly, with no windows in the lower stories and only small
loopholes in those above. Although the steward was ignorant when
his mistress might be expected, he had already caused great fires
to be lighted in all the rooms and had temporarily engaged two of
the farmer's daughters to wait upon the countess, and three stout
men as servitors.

"What are the revenues of the estate?" the countess asked the
steward that evening. "My mother's other estates have not been
restored to me as yet, and I have only this to depend upon, and I
do not know what establishment I can afford to keep up."

"The revenue amounts to twelve thousand francs," he said.
"There are three large farms and four small ones. Twelve thousand
francs are not much, countess, for your mother's daughter; but
they go a long way here, where one can live for next to nothing.
We have a garden which will provide all the fruit and vegetables
you require, and your poultry will cost you nothing. The vineyard
attached to the chateau furnishes more than enough wine, and the
cellars are well filled, for every year I have put aside a few
barrels, so that in fact it will be only meat you have to
buy."

"So that you think I can keep the two men I have brought with
me and the servants you have engaged?"

"Easily, madam, and more if you wished it."

"Do you think five men will be sufficient?" the countess said.
"I ask because I have powerful enemies, and in these lawless
times an attack upon a lonely house might well be carried
out."

"With the drawbridge drawn up, madam, five men could hold the
chateau against a score, and the sound of the alarm bell would
bring all the tenants and their men down to your assistance. I
will answer for them all. There were great rejoicings last week
when I sent round the news that you were expected. The memory of
your mother, who once resided here for a year, is very dear to
all of us, and there is not a man on the estate but would take up
arms in your defence. The sound of the alarm bell would bring
thirty stout fellows, at least, to your aid."

"Then we need not trouble on that score, Amelie," the colonel
said cheerfully. "Malcolm will see to the drawbridge tomorrow;
probably it has not been raised for years."

"I have already been examining it," Malcolm--who had just
entered the room--said. "It only needs a little oil and a bolt
or two. I will have it raised tonight. Things look better than I
expected, colonel, and I shall be able to return to Paris without
having any anxiety upon your score."

"But you are not thinking of going back, Ronald?" the countess
asked anxiously. "If there is danger here for us, there must be
surely danger for you in Paris. And I want you here with us."

"I will stop for a few days, mother, and then Malcolm and I
will be off. As I have Marshal Saxe's protection I need fear no
open enmity from anyone, and as I shall be with the regiment I
shall be safe from the secret attacks; besides, my sword can
guard my head."

"You have taught him to defend himself--eh, Malcolm?"
Colonel Leslie said.