Chapter II (13)

Left to himself, St. Just tottered to a seat and panted audibly, for such were the strength and conflict of his emotions and the violent beating of his heart, which seemed struggling to burst from its fleshy prison, that his breath could only come in short, quick sobs. He seemed to have withered up under the fire of Napoleon's scorching words. Shame, remorse, hatred, thirst for vengeance, and a sense of utter impotence, all fought together within him, and were tearing him to pieces in the contest. Oh! that he could relive the past, blot out the present, cast in a nobler mould his future! But alas! he knew the hopelessness of his aspirations! He had the rectitude to wish aright, but not the will to do. He knew that, in Halima's hands, he would be as wax. Honor, for him, involved a life apart from her; for the Emperor, in sending him to England, was, without meaning it, sending him to dishonor.

For one mad moment, he thought of refusing to obey the Emperor's command, and submitting to the consequences. It was certain death; but what of that? It would save his honor. And the pain; that would be only momentary; he had suffered far more anguish in the battlefield; and to be shot was a fitting end to a soldier's life.

But death meant never again to set eyes on Halima. No, he could not face it. Not yet.

An hour later he had left Vincennes, and, three days afterwards, he was in London.

At once he made his way to Hartford House, his mind disturbed with mingled hopes and fears. For aught he knew, his wife no longer lived, and, if she did, it did not follow that she was even in England.

But his mind was quickly set at rest on both these points. Of the servants who came in answer to his summons he inquired whether Halima still lived there, asking for her in her mother's name, for he did not know whether she had thought fit to adopt his own.

The man replied that Madame de Moncourt still lived there and was at home. Oh! the relief at this intelligence! By his emotions at that moment, St. Just knew what would have been his feelings, had the reply been different. Yes, Halima was still all in all to him. His spirits sprang up with a bound; he had made his inquiry in a tone of mingled eagerness and dread; but now his whole mien and manner changed; a gleam of pleasure lighted up his face, and his tone was bright and cheerful.

"Will you tell Madame," he said, "that a messenger has arrived from France on business of importance, and begs the favor of an interview?"

Since the servant did not know him, he would not give his name.

The man invited him to enter, and showed him into an anteroom off the hall.

Presently he heard a step upon the staircase, that sent a thrill right through him and made the heart within him dance with joy. For the moment, all the past was blotted out; all his shame, his rage, his desire to be revenged upon Napoleon, were as though they had never been; he lived only in the present.

He had been warming his hands before the fire, but, at the opening of the door, he swung round and faced her.

She advanced into the room with a quick, gliding motion, a look of eager expectation on her face. Then, bending courteously, she said, "I bid you welcome, Sir. I understand you are direct from France, and are the bearer of important news. Does it by any chance concern--Vincennes? I am deeply interested in one--"

All the while she had fixed her eyes piercingly, inquiringly upon St. Just, scrutinizing him from head to foot. Suddenly they glowed with a brighter light, and a flash of joyous recognition was darted from their depths.

"Henri!" she cried, nay, almost shrieked; and she rushed to him and threw her arms around his neck. She drew his head down to her own and covered him with kisses. "Oh! my darling, to think that you are given back to me once more. And I had mourned you so, and had tried, oh my very hardest, for your release; and the terror I have been in lest--but there, I cannot put it into words. But it is over, and you have come back to me, my dearest. Oh! my happiness is too great."

She burst out laughing; then she began to sob hysterically, and the tears fell from her eyes in scalding drops.

St. Just laid his hand gently on her gold brown locks and stroked them fondly. "Don't weep, my own," he said; "this is no time for tears; tears are for sorrow, not for joy; and we are happy now. Ah, cherie, you don't know what it is for me to be with you again, after all that I have suffered, it is like heaven, but I will spare you the recital of what I have undergone. Our hours shall not be so misspent, and we have lost too many since first we met. So, dry your tears, my sweet, and let me see you smile."

She looked up at him, smiling lovingly through the drops that glistened, like liquid diamonds, on her cheeks. "It is joy, my Henri," she murmured sobbingly. "It has been too much for me to see you so unexpectedly; but I shall be myself again directly." Then she stroked his face again.

It was two hours later and the reunited couple were still seated together in Halima's boudoir, whither she had taken him. Of course she had coaxed out of him a full account of all that he had seen and done and suffered since their last meeting. At his relation of the Duc d'Enghien's murder, the tears rushed to her eyes; but her grief was only momentary, for it was overwhelmed in the swirl of indignation that swept over her. She sprang to her feet and began to pace rapidly about the room; the blood rushed in a torrent to her face, and there was a dangerous glitter in her eyes.

"Coward! inhuman monster!" she exclaimed. "Oh! that women can be the mothers of such men--more bloody and ruthless than any tiger. One would almost believe that, at his conception, Allah must have slept, and the enemy of mankind been thus left free to wreak his malice on humanity unchecked. Oh! cruel, cruel! But it shall be the worse for him. Of late my lust for vengeance has seemed to languish somewhat; but this cold-blooded, this perfidious murder of an innocent man has put new life in it, and it will now increase in strength so long as the breath is in me, or it finds satisfaction in the hurling of the bloody upstart into infamy. I am glad you have given me this full account for it has put the seal on my resolve."

She seated herself again upon the couch, with a sudden movement threw one leg over the other, and swung her foot restlessly to and fro. Her bosom was heaving with agitation, and her nostrils quivered with violence of her passion. All her husband's efforts to compose her were unavailing; for the time, her passion for him seemed to have spent itself. He now sat mutely watching her. Presently she spoke again.

"And the French people have made this fiend their Emperor! Poor deluded fools! And he boasts that he will bring all Europe to his feet. And I think he will. So be it; the higher the eagle soars, the more crushing will be his fall when wounded. Ha! ha! So far my incantations have revealed the truth; I doubt not now they will be fulfilled in their entirety. I shall live to see his downfall and disgrace; then I will mock at him in his despair."

She turned her face towards the fire and gazed absently at the glowing embers; for the moment so lost in her reflection that she forgot that she was not alone.

With a start, she roused herself and faced St. Just, then laid her hand lightly on his arm.

"So he has entrusted you with papers for his agent." She spoke in her natural tone, without excitement; but, though the outward expression of her hatred was for the present satisfied, her longing for revenge was as intense as ever, and her determination.

St. Just assented. "That is so."

"And where are these papers?"

"In the lining of my cloak."

"And what do you intend to do with them?"

"Deliver them to the man, Perry, of course."

"Do you know their contents?"

"No."

"Do you mean to examine them?"

"I should not dream of it. I should not dare. I should be a traitor."

"And you would act as the instrument of this perfidious despot, our bitter enemy, in the advancement of his nefarious designs to keep the rightful King of France in exile, and its people holden in his iron grip! You would miss this opportunity of discovering his intentions and informing his opponents of them! Why, those papers may contain intelligence that may make, or mar him. It may be vital to our cause!" She bounded from the couch and faced him. Then she went on disdainfully. "And you would not dream of it; you would not dare; you would be a traitor! Oh! you craven, you poor-hearted creature! Is it blood that flows along your veins, or is it milk. Oh! to think that I should have given my heart to such a man!" Her voice was rising rapidly with her temper, and her face flushed red. "But I should dream of it; I should dare; and I should be no traitor; and I will see those papers!" Her words seemed to tumble over one another as she rushed them out, and the last ended almost in a shriek.

St. Just turned pale and shivered at her violence. He thought he had already plumbed the strength and depth of her emotions, but found them still unfathomable. Again he felt that he was helpless in her hands. Only personal violence would restrain her, and that he would not dream of.

"My dearest, what you ask for is impossible," he remonstrated, but his accents lagged behind his words.

"Impossible," she cried, "No, but certain; and I mean to have them."

And, before St. Just could say another word, she had seized his cloak, which had been flung across a chair hard by the door, and had darted from the room. Pursuit was useless, for she was fleet of foot and could easily out-run him. Almost before he knew that she was gone, he heard the key turned in the door outside, and her footsteps vanishing in the distance. He was a prisoner, until it should please her to release him.

His heart went down within him. What would be the upshot of what had just occurred? Would she restore the papers to him when she had mastered what was in them--perhaps made a copy of them? A grim smile came over him at the thought that this would be playing off on him the very trick that he himself had played upon Sir Henry Emerson.

Fool that he had been! Why could he not have delivered his papers to the hosier, Perry, before going to see his wife? Then this awful predicament would have been avoided. Again his insensate passion for this Delilah had made him betray his trust. And he had meant to be true this time--certainly so far as the delivery of this despatch. He cursed himself for not having foreseen that, when once Halima had discovered the object of his journey, she would do her best to make it futile, when, by so doing, she would baffle Buonaparte.

And now what could he do? Nothing against her will; she had him, so to speak, bound and gagged.

In a fit of desperation, he rushed to the bell and pulled it frantically; so violently, indeed, that he quickly broke it. But no one came in answer to his summons. Halima had given orders to the contrary. Also she had placed a strong man-servant at the door, with instructions to stop St. Just should he burst it open. He did try, but his efforts were in vain. Again and again he threw himself against it, but the door was strong and resisted every impulse.

Then he began to shout with all his strength, now employing threats and now entreaties. But still no one came to him. At last, he was compelled to cease for want of breath. Patience only seemed left to him, but how could he be patient?

He threw himself into a chair, worn out with his exertions, and abandoned himself to the bitterness of his thoughts. So bitter indeed were they, and so plunged in misery was he and so unhinged, that he could not have been safely entrusted with a lethal weapon; for probably that evening would have been his last. It was fortunate that Halima had removed his traveling cloak, for it contained a brace of loaded pistols.

The twilight deepened and glided into night, and then, wearied out, he fell asleep. Hour succeeded hour, until the night was nearly spent and dawn approached.

He did not hear a carriage pull up before the house, but, almost immediately afterwards, he felt himself roughly shaken. Opening his eyes, he saw a servant standing over him with a candle in his hand.

Without speaking, the man put into his hand a note, which ran as follows:

"Accompany the bearers whither they take you, without fear. Halima."

"Where is Madame?" he asked the servant.

"I do not know, Sir," the man replied respectfully, "she left home some hours ago, and has not yet returned."

Then he added, "The messengers await you, Sir, in a coach below."

Wondering, half sleepily, what would happen next, and caring little, for he had lost all hope, St. Just followed the servant to the door and stepped into the carriage, which, the rapid glance he gave it showed him, was a private one. Two Bow Street runners got in after him, and immediately the coach was driven off at a rapid trot. In a quarter of an hour, they reached the toll bar at Hyde Park Corner. The gate was opened at their approach, the coachman shouted something, and, without stopping they drove through. Ten minutes later, the carriage drew up before a house in Downing Street. St. Just was requested to get out, and his companions in his drive each thrust an arm through one of his and led him up the steps in front of the house, then up a flight of stairs and into a square room on the first floor. It was dimly lighted, for only one candle was burning on a table; so that St. Just could not see much of his surroundings; but he could distinguish folding doors on the side of the room that faced him.

The men asked him to be seated; then took their stand between him and the door. From beyond the folding doors, he could hear the hum of conversation and, amongst the voices, he fancied he could distinguish Halima's. He strained his ears and was now sure of it. Then, at any rate, no harm was meant to him.

Presently he heard the clock of the neighboring Horse Guards strike the fourth quarter, and then One, two, three, four, five, six, seven. He must have slept for many hours, then, at the house at Earl's Court.

Hardly had the last stroke died away, when the folding doors were opened, and Mr. Pitt, the Prime Minister, the Prince Regent, and, to St. Just's surprise, Halima entered the apartment. They were followed by a secretary. Plainly the Prince had not been to bed, for he was still habited in the uniform he had worn at dinner the night before; he still looked as if he had dined--or drunk "not wisely, but too well."

He ogled Halima, who gave him back a saucy glance; then he whispered something in the ear of Mr. Pitt, who told the "runners" to withdraw and wait outside the door.

Then Mr. Pitt, in a pleasant tone and courteous manner, asked St. Just to draw up to them and take a seat. The Regent seated himself on one side of a long table near the end, and Halima took a chair that faced him, the Premier placing himself at the top. The secretary took a place a little lower down, away from them.

"Mons. St. Just," said Mr. Pitt, addressing him, "your action in this matter does you credit. Madame, your wife, has informed me of your scruples in giving up the papers entrusted to you by your Government. In the circumstances they were natural; but I think you will find it to your advantage--in fact it seems to me your only course--now to follow our instructions and advice."

"Quite the only course; very much to your advantage; much obleeged to you," hiccoughed the Regent, at this point, with a hazy idea that he was forwarding the proceedings.

Mr. Pitt glanced at him contemptuously and went on: "The letters you sent us by Madame," and he pointed to a packet on the table, "have been copied. They will be duly delivered at their destination--Mr. Perry's--by Madame's servant"--he meant Mahmoud--"whom, we understand, Mr. Perry knows; therefore no suspicion will be aroused. The copies that have been made of them you will deliver in person to our Admiral, Lord Nelson. With that object you will be shipped on board H.M.S. La France"--seeing the look of surprise on St. Just's face--"a French vessel recently captured in the channel. You will have to run the gauntlet of whatever French ships may be found between here and Gibraltar, not far from which, I fancy, Lord Nelson will be met with. You may wonder why you have been selected for this mission, so I will satisfy you. We believe the despatches you brought from Paris to be genuine, to mean what they say. But, sometimes, such documents are penned and despatched in order that they may be seized by the enemy and so mislead him--to lead him into a trap. It, therefore, seems desirable to make you the messenger to Lord Nelson. If the information given here"--and he tapped the packet with his finger--"should be false, the Admiral will know how to deal with you."

This was pleasant hearing for St. Just. It seemed possible that he had escaped being shot as a traitor by French bullets, only to swing from a British yard-arm as a spy. But, for the moment, he said nothing; Mr. Pitt proceeded, "To be frank with you, you will be a hostage for the genuineness of your despatch. Now that you realize the position, perhaps you would like to express your opinion of the reliability of these documents. It might save us anxiety and yourself this voyage--and, perhaps--your neck, for the Admiral is a strict disciplinarian."

St. Just did realize the position; it was as clear as daylight.

"I can only say in reply to that," rejoined St. Just, "that I have not an idea what the despatch contains, nor whether it was written to mislead, or not. For the last eighteen months I have been imprisoned at Vincennes, and not a word of what took place in Europe during the whole time reached my ears. Three days ago I was released and sent here with these papers, and ordered to remain in England, awaiting fresh instructions. I know no more."

"I thoroughly believe you, Mons. St. Just," replied the Premier. "For all that, we like to be on the safe side; and I fear you will have to take this voyage. The papers are ready for Mons. St. Just, Mr. Sidney?" he wound up interrogatively to the Secretary.

"They are, Sir," was the reply.

St. Just sat sad and stupefied. Once more, he had no sooner rejoined his wife than he was to be torn away from her. Fate was indeed cruel to him.

Now Halima had so represented matters as to make it appear that he had betrayed his trust and voluntarily handed over the papers to the English Government; but with a show of opposition to protect himself from Napoleon's vengeance, should it come to his ears, and he, St. Just, fall into the Emperor's hands. But he had no mind to lie under such an imputation, and was on the point of making a vehement protest, and explaining that he was no party to Mr. Pitt's being in possession of the papers; that he had been robbed of them; when Halima, reading his intention in his face, first silenced him with a look, and, then getting up, went round to him. "Henri!" she murmured cooingly. Her accents brought back to him the memory of days of love and dalliance spent together in the luxurious house at Cairo; of nights out in the desert under the starlit sky; of moments when they had been in peril of their lives, and they two had been all in all to one another. His name, now uttered by her in her softest tones, that breathed of love, thrilled him from head to foot, and sent the blood leaping through his veins. The words he had meant to utter remained unspoken.

"Henri," she laid her hand gently on his arm, "be silent, if you love me. I read your thoughts. You would tell them how the papers reached their hands; that you had no part in the transaction. If you value your liberty, your life--and mine, for your death would be also mine--say nothing. It will not alter their resolve to send you. At present, they have trust in you; do nothing to destroy that trust. Even as it is, they have some little doubt, though I have worked hard for you.

"I pray that Buonaparte, in making you the bearer of despatches to his agents, has not played you false; for if aught is wrong, and they are a mere ruse, the English will shoot you like a dog. So be warned by me, cheri, for my sake, if you care not for yourself; for I cannot lose you. But there is no time for more. Farewell, my dearest. May Allah bring you safely to me again."

During this short murmured conversation, the others had withdrawn somewhat from St. Just and Halima, and were discussing something in low tones together, and signing papers. Halima glanced at them, and, seeing that she was unobserved, bent forward swiftly, and kissed him lightly and noiselessly on the cheek; then slid back rapidly to her seat.

St. Just sat motionless. He felt like one suddenly launched into the middle of a dream, in which all sorts of impossibilities and incongruities and anachronisms are jumbled up together, and yet, to the dreamer, have the semblance of reality and rationality. His brain was in a whirl. All the resolutions and fidelity to Napoleon, formulated in his cell at Vincennes, had taken wing, at the touch of a woman's hand, at the music of a woman's voice, at the imprint of a woman's lips. He scarcely knew what was going on about him.

He was roused from his reverie by the opening of one of the folding doors and the entrance of a young officer in the uniform of a Hussar. The young man bowed respectfully, but without servility, to the company; then, bringing his spurred heels sharply to attention, he stood erect awaiting orders. The Prime Minister addressed him in a clear, incisive tone, "Captain Anson, you will convey this gentleman," indicating St. Just, "and the papers with which you will be entrusted to Commander Fergusson of H.M.S. La France, now lying off Shoreham. You will travel as fast as your escort can cover the ground, for it is imperative that you reach the ship before twelve o'clock, at which hour she is to sail. It is vital that Mons. St. Just shall embark in her. You will, therefore, guard him carefully and hand him over with these papers to Captain Fergusson."

The officer bowed, and Mr. Pitt went on:--"The Regent has placed at your disposal one of his private traveling carriages. You will show this," handing him a paper, which he and the Regent had signed and stamped with the Royal Arms, "to all postmasters and others, so that you may take precedence of every one in the choice of horses.

"What escort did you bring?"

"Twenty men, Sir, in accordance with the instructions in your letter to the Colonel. I received his orders soon after six this morning, and I left Hounslow almost immediately."

"Egad, Sir, that is not bad work," put in the Regent, who, all this time, had been whispering to Halima.

"Take every care of Mons. St. Just," resumed the Premier. "Treat him with all courtesy and instruct Captain Fergusson to do the same. You will ride in the carriage with him, and will not permit him, on any pretext, to communicate with any one on the way. I have nothing more to add."

He bowed to Captain Anson; then leaned back in his chair.

The Regent pulled out his watch. "Damnation!" he exclaimed, "it's close on eight o'clock. Ah! I thought so." At that moment the Horse Guards clock began to strike that hour. "You must ride hard, gentlemen. You've sixty-two miles to cover in four hours. Come, I've done Brighton in the time; and you won't be stopped--except by highwaymen; but those gentlemen mostly work by night."

He laughed, and, leaning forward, began to recount an adventure of his own, in which a highwayman had figured, when he had been stopped upon the Brighton Road. But, while he was talking, the Hussar, bowing comprehensively all round, had led his prisoner from the room; the last thing they heard, as they paced the corridor, being the coarse laugh of the Regent and the words, "Damnation, impudent, eh, Pitt? Truth, upon honor; egad what impudent----"

The words died away, and, in a few seconds, St. Just found himself in the traveling carriage--a royal one. It was beautifully padded and with springs so carefully adjusted that, even on the roughest road, the jolting was almost imperceptible. Four horses were harnessed to it.

The royal-liveried postilions glanced curiously at their unusual "fares," the door was banged to, the escort surrounded the carriage, and then, at a word from the grizzled sergeant in command, the cavalcade set out.

*CHAPTER II.*

Headed by a portion of their escort, they started at a rapid trot, wheeled round the corner of Downing Street, then past the Houses of Parliament and across Westminster Bridge, and on to where the Brighton Road begins.

Soon they had passed the outskirts of the metropolis and were in the open country. Then they put on a spanking pace, over hill and down dale, the horses galloping on every level stretch of road and down all safe descents, and even up gentle rises. The carriage oscillated from side to side, with the speed at which they were traveling, but there was little jolting, for in those days the Brighton Road was famous for its high condition, and was as smooth almost as a billiard table.

Their first halting place was the White Hart at Reigate, where they stopped for a change of horses. Here Captain Anson left the carriage and, after placing a soldier at each door with orders to prevent St. Just from leaving the carriage or speaking to any one, returned almost immediately, followed by the obsequious landlord with a basket, a welcome sight to the prisoner in the carriage, who was famishing.

The escort were, after resting their horses, to return to their barracks at Hounslow, for it would have been impossible for the men, without remounts, to accompany the carriage all the way. Captain Anson ordered two of the troopers to mount to the box; then, all being ready, they rattled off again with their fresh team.

There was a bottle of wine in the basket, and certain appetizing viands, and, under their influence, the tongues of both the occupants of the carriage became unloosed; for, up to this time, there had been little conversation. But now Captain Anson, in particular, became quite talkative, relating many amusing anecdotes and giving St. Just an insight into fashionable life in London in the Regency. Thus the time occupied between Reigate and Crawley sped by without their noticing it, so that they reached the latter village when they thought that they had but just cleared the outskirts of Red Hill.

When they drew up before the George, the officer frowned, for, just in front of them, was another post-chaise; while, from the inn yard, some fresh horses were being led out.

Then St. Just heard the sound of angry voices in altercation. "Ah!" thought he, "a dispute about the horses, no doubt;" and in this he was correct. Next, some one tried to approach the carriage, but this the two troopers placed on guard prevented. The fresh team was quickly harnessed, and the carriage moved on again. In passing the inn door, St. Just noticed on the doorstep a swearing, gesticulating figure he well knew. It was Perry, the hosier of the Strand. For the first time since the commencement of his journey St. Just was glad to get away, for he had no wish to be recognized by his London friend; the circumstance would certainly have been communicated to Paris.

"Poor old chap," laughed Anson, while they were making the steep ascent leading to Hand Cross village, "I'm afraid we've upset him vastly, in borrowing his horses. He made no end of a hubbub and swore I should not have them, without your personal command."

"Mine?" asked the other in surprise; "What did he know about me?"

"Why?" laughed Captain Anson; "seeing the Royal carriage and liveries he thought the Regent was inside; the more so when I showed him my authority. It was all I could do to keep him from coming to the carriage to pay his respects to the Prince, whom, he said, he knew. I had to tell him that his Royal Highness was asleep, and that I would not permit him to be disturbed. I don't know who the fellow is, but he said he had important business with one Stephen Dumbell at Bolney, and that he must see him before noon; that all sorts of awful things would happen, if he didn't. I'm afraid Stephen Dumbell will have to possess his soul in patience, until his friend procures another team."

St. Just laughed too, but only in a half-hearted way, for Perry's appearance had filled him with uneasy thoughts. Again it came to him what an egregious act of folly it had been, his not having delivered his despatch before seeing Halima. Then all that had since happened, and his present predicament would have been avoided. It was possible, nay probable, that his dereliction of duty would have wide-spreading consequences; might even change the whole current of affairs in Europe. And why should Perry be leaving England so suddenly, for that he, like them, was making his way to Shoreham, St. Just felt certain.

He was glad to learn that Perry was unknown to Captain Anson, and he kept his own knowledge of him to himself.

Meanwhile the carriage rattled on; now descending at a breakneck pace the long decline that led to the pretty little hamlet of Bolney; then on past the Cross Roads, leaving on the right the road to sleepy Cowfold and the more active and larger, but hardly less old-fashioned Horsham.

On they dashed, past the grand old mansion of Hickstead, at that time approached, as was that of Cuckfield, by a fine avenue of trees, most of which have long disappeared, together with the monks who planted them.

On, on, on, and now it was in verity a race with time. Captain Anson thrust his head out of the carriage window. "Faster, faster!" he cried to the postillions. "A guinea each, if we arrive in time."

And, in answer to his appeal, the men plied vigorously whip and spur to the panting, sweating horses; and soon they were tearing long as fast as they could gallop over the bridge that spans the river Arun hard by Lancing. On, on, they sped and, at last, Shoreham loomed in view.

Then, when their goal was all but reached and Captain Anson, after consulting his watch, had fallen back to his corner with a sigh of relief and a smile of satisfaction, for he saw that he would be in time; a serious mishap occurred. With a sudden jerk, the carriage came to a stop, and the occupants found themselves violently thrown forward and involuntarily jostling one another. In an instant, Anson was on his feet and shouting to the postilions from the window. But a glance sufficed to show him what had happened; the two leaders were down; they had fallen from sheer exhaustion--galloped to a standstill. The two that remained upon their legs were trembling in every limb, and so bathed in sweat that they might have been swimming a river.

Captain Anson was terribly upset; it looked as though, just when success seemed within his reach, he was to be foiled. But he was a man of energy and not easily daunted; he would use every means to discharge his trust--so much depended on it; not only to his country, but to himself.

"Two of the horses are down," he said to his companion. "I must ask you to get out, Mons. St. Just." He had already decided what to do.

St. Just at once did as requested.

Then, issuing his orders with decision, the officer told the two soldiers on the box to descend and guard St. Just. The postilions were already on their feet. These he told to unharness the two shaft horses, and to remove the riding saddle and bridle from one of the leaders that had fallen, but were now once more on their legs, and replace them on the shaft horse that was without them. All this was done almost by the time he had given his orders. Then he carefully examined the two saddled horses to see which, in his judgment, was the stronger and swifter of the two. Indicating the other, he addressed St. Just. "Kindly mount, Mons. St. Just," he said. "We shall have to complete our journey on horseback. Excuse my want of ceremony, but time is pressing."

The Frenchman made no difficulty; he realized the futility of opposition; so he placed his foot in the stirrup with alacrity, and, the next instant, was in the saddle. Captain Anson had been watching him, and saw at a glance, that he was quite at home on horseback.

"You are used to riding, Mons. St. Just," he said pleasantly.

"I have had plenty of practice as an aide-de-camp under General Buonaparte," was the reply.

Captain Anson then rapidly gave instructions to the postilions and soldiers to follow on to Shoreham with the post-chaise so soon as the two horses should have rested sufficiently to be harnessed to it. Then he turned again to St. Just.

"Plain speaking between soldiers is the best, Monsieur," he said. "Let me call your attention, therefore, to the fact that I am better mounted than yourself and that I carry a brace of loaded pistols. Should you attempt to make your escape, I will shoot you without the least demur. I trust you will not impose so painful a duty on me."

St. Just laughed. "You will not require to use your pistol, Captain Anson. I am not absolutely devoid of sense. I am at your service."

They gave their horses rein and started at a brisk trot, but soon warmed up into a canter.

It was ten minutes to the hour when they sighted the cruiser, which was anchored just outside the harbor mouth. They were now almost alongside the harbor, and Captain Anson was looking anxiously about for a means of reaching the La France; and luck befriended him. A fishing boat, within hail, was floating lazily with the tide towards the harbor mouth.

"Boat ahoy!" cried Anson.

"Aye, aye, Sir," came the cheery answer.

"In the King's name. Five guineas, if you put us on board yonder cruiser before she sails."

"Done!" shouted the hardy fisherman, who was at the tiller, and he soon brought the little craft alongside where the two men stood, for by this time they had dismounted.

The horses were given in charge of a custom house official, with instructions to await the officer's return, and then they stepped aboard the boat.

"Look alive, man," said Captain Anson; "put in all you know; that vessel must not sail before we board her."

"Never fear, we'll do it, Sir," replied the sturdy boatman, and he and his two mates quickly put the boat about. There was a stiff nor'wester blowing, and the tide was with them, so that the clumsy craft began to make fair way; but every now and then she dipped her nose into the surf-capped rollers that marked the harbor bar, sending showers of brackish spray into the faces of the passengers, and, in fact, all over them, so that they soon were drenched to the skin. But little recked one of them of this; all that he cared for was to reach the vessel.

Nearer and nearer they approached her, and now were almost close upon her. They could hear the sharp tones of the officers shouting their commands; could hear even the creaking of the capstan, as inch by inch the anchor was being dragged up from its muddy depths; and also the voice of the musical Jack who was singing to give the men the time, which he himself took from the notes of an indifferently played fiddle.

Captain Anson placed his hands to his mouth and bawled, "Ship ahoy! Despatches!" Then suddenly he removed them. "By God, she is moving," his voice rising almost to a shriek; "she is under weigh."

And indeed she was, her sails beginning to belly out in the freshening breeze.

"Aye, aye," muttered the old boatman at the helm, quite calmly, "but she'll tack yet, to let the wind take her down channel. You'll see, Sir, we shall manage it."

He put the helm hard over, and the fishing vessel, answering, swung round and was brought up by the side almost under the cruiser's bows.

"Ship ahoy!" yelled the fisherman.

"In the King's name, despatches," shouted Anson, springing to his feet and waving the papers above his head, and almost falling overboard in his excitement.

"All right," was shouted in reply; "Come on board as sharp as you can." A tow rope was flung over the craft, and deftly caught and made fast to her by the fisherman, who then pulled her alongside the cruiser.

St. Just waited for a second or two, when the heave of the sea, that lifted him almost to the shrouds, gave him his opportunity. Quickly grabbing a second rope, he clambered up hand over hand and landed safely upon the cruiser's deck.

Not so the debonair Hussar. Unused to the position, he made his leap just a shade too late, and got drenched to his skin in consequence.

A gray-haired, bushy whiskered man of forty-five came up to him the moment that he touched the deck.

"I am Captain Fergusson," he said. "You say you have despatches for me, Sir. You were only just in time; and I must start at once, for I cannot lose the tide."

"I am Captain Anson," replied the other, "--th Hussars." Then he continued, politely, and looking every inch a gentleman, despite his drenched appearance--the water was streaming from him, and making little pools about him--"My orders are to hand over to you, yonder gentleman"--pointing to St. Just, who was standing motionless, gazing absently at the roofs of the little town that seemed, with the motion of the vessel, to be bobbing up and down--"with instructions that he is to be guarded carefully and allowed to hold no communication with anyone but yourself; consistently with that, he is to receive every consideration. These papers will tell you all.

"This," handing the Captain a large, blue, official-looking envelope, "contains your sailing orders; and this, despatches for the Admiral." He passed the various documents to Captain Fergusson, who replied:

"I need scarcely say, Captain Anson, that the instructions here contained will be obeyed to the very letter. And now you must have a glass of Nantz, after your wetting."

"I thank you," replied Anson, "but it is impossible. I dare not detain you; and I, too, must return immediately."

He shook hands with the Captain, and then turned to St. Just, and held out his hand. "Good-bye, Mons. St. Just, and Au revoir. I wish you good luck, I trust you will forgive me for what may have appeared harshness in my manner. It was not in my heart; but merely a necessity of the performance of my duty. I hope in the future we may meet as friends in more congenial circumstances."

He smiled pleasantly, as indeed he might; so far as he was concerned, everything had turned out satisfactorily.

St. Just took the proffered hand and shook it warmly. "No excuse whatever is called for, Captain Anson," he replied; "you performed an uncongenial task with every courtesy."

Then Captain Anson swung himself overboard and lowered himself by a rope into the fishing-boat. She cast off and, at once, began tacking for the shore, St. Just watching her till she disappeared into the harbor.

Captain Fergusson glanced rapidly over his new instructions, and gave the necessary orders; and, not till the little vessel was fairly on her course, did he give his attention to St. Just.

Then he approached him. "For the time it seems I am to be your jailer, Mons. St. Just. I will make things as pleasant and comfortable as I can for you, consistent with your safe custody; but I shall have to confine you to your cabin and place an armed sentry at your door. Except for two hours' exercise daily on the poop, you will have to spend all your time there. If you care to read, I can supply you with some books."

St. Just bowed. "I am in your hands," he said. "I cannot complain; it is the fortune of war. But one thing I should like to ask; how long is my confinement likely to continue?"

"About three weeks, I fancy; but it depends upon wind and weather."

"And my destination?"

Captain Fergusson gave a peculiar laugh. "Ah! that I cannot say," he said. "Sims," to an officer standing near, "conduct this gentleman to the middle cabin on the port side of the upper deck, and place a marine at the door."

He bowed to St. Just, to signify that the interview was ended, and then walked away to his cabin to con more carefully the orders he had received. They were brief and simple, but their very brevity and simplicity gave him food for thought.

The envelope was addressed:--

"To Commander Fergusson H.M.S. La France."

The contents were as follows:--

"Sir,

"We commit to your charge a Buonapartist, Mons. St. Just, taken with the accompanying despatches from the French Government. You will deliver him and them to Admiral Lord Nelson, last heard of in Lat. ---- Long. ----.

"If the Admiral find the information in the papers trustworthy, Mons. St. Just is to be brought back to England. If not, let Lord Nelson deal with him as the bearer of false news in time of war deserves.

Signed: George, Prince Regent.
----, First Lord of the Admiralty.
W. Pitt, First Lord of the Treasury
and Prime Minister.

And this shall be your warrant for what you do."

Meanwhile St. Just had been conducted to his cabin, a narrow room about ten feet long and from six to eight in width; its furniture a bunk, a chair and a seaman's chest, empty except for washing requisites of the commonest description, the lid forming a table in the daytime. The cabin was lighted by a small port hole.

This then was to be his abode for the next three weeks--or more, and then--? The reflection made him shudder. He knew his fate depended on the truthfulness of the despatches taken from him--or rather on their result.

The hours seemed to drag on terribly. For a change, he paced about his little cabin; then he threw himself upon his bunk and tried to sleep; and, at last, succeeded.

How long he slept he did not know, but it was dark when he awoke, aroused by the opening of his door. Someone came in with a lantern, which he hung up on an iron hook in the rafters overhead. Then he laid some books upon the sea chest. It was Sims, the officer who had brought him to the cabin.

Following him was a sailor with a tray, on which were a bottle of rum and a glass, some cold pork, ship's biscuits, butter, and sundry other eatables, as well as knives and forks. He placed the tray upon the sea chest and then withdrew.

"Halloa! hors de combat?" said Sims, thinking St. Just's position due to mal de mer. "You'll get used to the sea in a day or two, and then you'll be all right."

St. Just sat up, his eyes blinking in the lamp light.

"It's not sea sickness I'm suffering from," he laughed, "but cabin sickness. The appointments here can scarcely be called luxurious, and I find my own company the reverse of cheerful."

"Anything else you want?" asked Sims who, St. Just thought, seemed a pleasant, hearty fellow.

St. Just laughed again. "Now what a question to ask a prisoner," he said.

"Well, I'd give you your liberty, old fellow, if I could; but short of that?"

"You are very good. To begin with then, what I most want is a change of clothing and a pipe."

"The last I can manage on the spot; as to the first, I'll talk to the Captain about it, and we'll see what we can do."

He put his hand into his pocket and brought out his own pipe and some tobacco, and these he handed to the captive.

St. Just's eyes glistened at the sight.

He grasped the proffered articles with avidity and thanked the donor with effusion.

After a little further talk, the young officer was obliged to leave him. Then St. Just became conscious that he was hungry; so he fell to upon the pork and biscuits. The fare was coarse, and the biscuits were desperately hard, and he had to hammer them into little pieces with the handle of his knife.

But, on the whole, he made an excellent meal, for what was wanting in the quality of the food was made up by appetite in himself. Then came the crowning luxury of the pipe. He smoked three. Then he turned into his berth, and so finished his first day on board the English cruiser, which was spinning merrily on her way towards Cadiz. She averaged ten knots an hour, for the wind was with them, and the Captain had crowded on her all the sail that she could carry.

For St. Just, one day was much like another, and he found the hours drag slowly, in spite of the companionship of his pipe. The one pleasure he looked forward to was his two hours' daily exercise on deck. The sight of the dancing waves and the blue sky overhead, and the smell of the fresh salt breeze, seemed to instill him with new life, but it made him long for his liberty all the more.

Once the La France had a narrow escape of being captured. A large French brig was sighted in the distance and, at once, gave chase; she began rapidly to overhaul them. When the Frenchman was within gunshot, Captain Fergusson was not long in knowing it; the ball struck the sea only a few yards on their starboard side. The disparity in the size of the two ships was such that the only alternatives of the English one's escaping capture were, either to be able by smarter seamanship to dodge the Frenchman, or that an English ship should come to their assistance. Captain Fergusson knew the importance of his reaching the British Admiral, and this added to his anxiety; it may even be said it was its sole cause. Eagerly he scanned the distance, the compass round, on the chance of sighting a vessel that flew the Union Jack; but not a sail of any sort could he discover, save that which was bringing the Frenchman ever nearer. St. Just was enjoying his interval of exercise while the chase proceeded, and watched with great excitement the distance between the two vessels lessening.

Gradually the brig gained on them, and ever and anon a shot ploughed up the sea all round the gallant little cruiser; but, so far, she had not been struck. Captain Fergusson, for all he knew that a contest could practically have but one result, was resolved to fight before hauling down his flag. So he had the deck cleared for action, and the cannon shotted. Then, with a look of desperate resolve, he calmly waited. Nothing it seemed could save him.

But, all at once, the tension on his face relaxed, and his eye brightened; a chance he had not reckoned in his calculations was to befriend him. Looking southward, in the opposite direction to the brig, he noticed that the air was becoming hazy. His practiced eye informed him what it was--a sea mist. If they could only hold on long enough, they would run into it, and so be lost to the view of their pursuer.

"By God!" he cried excitedly to the First Lieutenant, "if only we can get into that fog we shall give the Frenchman the slip."

At that moment a shot struck the little vessel on the taffrail, but did no serious damage, and no one on board was hit. It was the last, for, soon afterwards, the La France ran into the mist and was lost to sight.

This was the only exciting incident during St. Just's stay on the cruiser. After this, day succeeded day with unvarying monotony, until the morning of the 20th of October in this eventful year of 1805. Then Captain Fergusson sighted in the distance the English fleet. It was bearing down towards them in two lines, one led by Nelson in the Victory, the other by Collingwood in the Redoubtable.

When within signalling distance Captain Fergusson ran up the Union Jack, following it with the private signal. This having been acknowledged, the flags went up to signify that he had despatches and a prisoner.

Gradually the little vessel neared the fleet, and, when she was within hailing distance of the Victory, a voice rang out:

"Captain Fergusson to come on board with prisoner and despatches."

Forthwith he proceeded to St. Just's cabin, where the Frenchman lay asleep. "Sorry to disturb you, Mons. St. Just, but we are in the middle of the English fleet, and I have orders from the Admiral to take you on board at once; so please dress as speedily as you can."

A few minutes' rowing, and they were alongside the Victory, the eyes of every one on deck upon them; for the news had gone about that there were tidings of the allied French and Spanish fleets, and all were longing to be at them. St. Just slowly mounted the gangway. At its head stood an officer in uniform, whom Fergusson addressed as Captain Hardy. Captain Hardy took him apart and told him that he was to go with him at once to the Admiral; so, after giving orders to an officer to watch St. Just, the two proceeded to Lord Nelson's cabin.

Soon afterwards, many captains of other vessels in the fleet were signalled to come on board, and the ship was kept in a continual bustle by their arrival in quick succession. Then long and earnest deliberations went on below. Meanwhile St. Just remained standing on the poop, well guarded, and the object of great curiosity on the sailors' part. It was said that he was a spy who had been captured. He scarcely noticed the glances leveled at him, for he had plenty to occupy his mind. For aught he knew, he was within a few minutes of his death. No wonder he looked pale and anxious.

After some time, a midshipman approached, with instructions that he was to follow him. He was conducted to Lord Nelson's cabin.