The Span o' Life Part 37

He would serve me for Sarennes.

"Mon pere," I said, advancing, "may I beg your a.s.sistance for a wounded officer?"

"Willingly. Lead me to him. Who is he?

"M. de Sarennes."

"Ah, I know him well."

I directed him to where Sarennes lay, and then returned to Margaret.

"I must wait until I see if anything can be done here before we go. Come with me for a moment."

The priest took no notice of us as we knelt beside the dying man, and Margaret, exclaiming with pity as she saw him, lifted his head and supported it in her lap.

Sarennes opened his eyes and looked up into her face. He tried to speak, but no sound came from his moving lips.

"Requiem aeternam dona ei, Domine, Et lux perpetua luceat ei,"

prayed the priest, and even as we responded the unhappy spirit took its flight. Margaret bowed her head, and her tears fell on the dead face in her lap.

Most of us have been in circ.u.mstances where the killing of a man was a necessity, and have suffered no qualms of conscience thereat.

I certainly had no compunctions on the outcome of my meeting with M. de Sarennes, and yet, at the sight of Margaret's tears, the natural feelings triumphed over the intellectual, and I joined fervently in the prayers of the priest.

He now appeared to notice Margaret for the first time, and lifting his lanthorn, he held it so that the light shone full upon her; as she raised her head in surprise, I could see he recognised her.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Lifting his lanthorn, he held it so that the light shone full upon her."]

"Marguerite!" he cried, in a voice of reproach.

"Why do you speak to me thus, mon pere? Why do you speak thus?"

she repeated, with alarm in her accents.

"Marguerite, is it possible you do not know me?"

"Know you? Why do you ask? Why do you call me by my name? You are le pere Jean."

"I am le pere Jean--but I was Gaston de Trincardel!"

"What!" she cried, almost with terror, as she sprang to her feet.

"I am Gaston de Trincardel," he repeated, unmoved.

"Oh, why do you tell me this? At such a time..." she moaned, and I stepped to her side, for her cry went to my heart.

"I tell you this because I must try to bring you to your senses.

Why are you here in disguise? A shameful disguise," he repeated, scornfully. "Whose hand slew this man before us?"

"Mine!" I interrupted, for I could not stand by and see her meet his attack alone.

"Why are you here beside one who may be little better than a murderer?" he continued to her, without heeding me in the least.

"Sir, you are free to put any construction on my act you choose, as I cannot make you answer for your words," I interrupted again.

"One from whom I have striven with all my power as a priest to keep you?" he went on, still ignoring me. "Since that has failed, I must try and appeal to your grat.i.tude towards her who was your protector when you were but a girl. In some sense I stand as her representative, and I charge you by her memory to renounce this last folly which has led you here."

"Stop, Gaston!" she cried. "Every word you say would be an insult did it come from another. But I have too high a reverence for you as a priest, the remembrance of your unfailing charity is too strong, to answer except by an explanation. Never mind appearances!

I am here in this disguise because it afforded the only possible escape from the town, and my object is to carry word to M. de Levis that everything within the walls is in the most complete disorder, the garrison is mad with drink, and he has but to march on the town at once to effect its capture."

"Are you dreaming?--the town helpless?"

"Yes, it is his, if he can but advance without delay."

"Then, forgive me! I was wrong--a hundred times wrong!"

"Just one moment. My meeting with M. de Maxwell is as much by chance as your meeting with me," she added, with a decision which I thought perhaps unnecessary.

"Forgive me, Marguerite," he repeated, in his usual tone; "and you too, Chevalier. I wronged you both. Now to make amends. Will you lead us to the General?" he said, turning to me.

"Come," I said, and we each held out a hand to Margaret.

"Stand!" thundered a voice in English at two paces from us. "You are all covered!"

CHAPTER XXVII

I FIND A KEY TO MY DILEMMA

"We are your prisoners!" I answered, instantly, for the slightest hesitation on such occasions may lead to the most serious results.

Explanations can be made subsequently, but a bullet from an over-zealous musket can never be recalled.

In an instant they were beside us, a sergeant and six men, all Highlanders. I was about to speak again, but before I could do so Margaret stepped up to the sergeant, and taking him by the sleeve whispered a few words in his ear. He thereupon gave some instructions in Gaelic to his men, who closed round me and the priest, and, moving off a few paces with her, they spake earnestly together for a little. What she said I do not know, but in a moment he faced about, and picking up the lanthorn, examined me in turn.

"Your name and rank, sir?" he said to me.

"Hugh Maxwell, captain."

"G.o.d bless me, sir! But this is not the first time I have heard your name, nor seen you, if you'll excuse my saying it," he said, most earnestly.

"Like enough. What is your name?"

"Neil Murray, sir."

"And a very good name it is; but I cannot say I recall it."

"But you will remember the march to Derby, sir, and Lord George?"

he asked, eagerly.