where the common prison lay, and beyond he found a stair, stumbled up and hit a door with his face. At last he hit upon the key. As the door swung groaning a faint glimmer of light shot out across the darkness. On the dirty uncovered wooden table one candle flared and sputtered and smoked and stank. From the bed Silas Dane raised himself and peered with bloodshot eyes at the visitor. His face was haggard and yellow.

"Father!" M. de Beaujeu cried, springing to him and grasping his hand. "Father! Silas Dane rose and moved unsteadily to the light. He held it aloft in the foul thick air and his hand shook.

"You? You?" he said quietly.

Yes, sir, I thank God, in time. Let us go hastily.

"Go?"

"I have the gaoler bound and gagged and a horse for you at the gate. Each minute is perilous." his father to the door, but stood him.

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Come, sir, quickly. He tried to drag the old man with

"I thank you, I thank you. it duty I doubt not." "Ay, sir.

دو

Come quickly.

tarry. The old man smiled.

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You did esteem

We dare not

Nay, go you. I am earnest in prayer to thank my God that I am here."

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Here, sir? To die on the morrow? Dear sir, 'tis madness this! Pray you, come."

"Boy, I would not ask for mercy. Am I like to flee the penalty?"

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My God, must I force you?" cried Beaujeu. The old man drew himself up.

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Dare you?" he cried.

"Father, can I let you die?" Beaujeu groaned.

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"Ay, boy, ay, for the cause of our God. Not without blood will the deliverance come. My heart rejoices that I am of the elect. The blood of the martyrs shall cry from the ground for vengeance on James Stuart and wake the dead spirit of this people. To them that suffer, a crown in the city of God." His eyes gleamed strangely. "Worthy, worthy is the Lamb. I do choose the better part. His voice was high and clear, and he smiled. Beaujeu stood staring, dazed. Boy, boy, shall a man fear to follow in the path that women have trod? Nay, go you. You are young. For you God keeps other work. shall be zealous in prayer for you this last night. Farewell."

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I

"Father, for God's sake-—” Beaujeu flung out his hands in despair.

"For God's sake I stay. May He have you in His keeping." And Beaujeu fell on his knees, muttering:

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"Father-father-" The old man raised him. Nay, rejoice rather even as I rejoice. What better end for worn-out body than to die in the cause of God?"

"Then I stay. I stay," said Beaujeu, through

his teeth.

"Nay, not that. Not that." Beaujeu faced him stubbornly. "I bid you go, boy."

"God! Do not make me a coward, sir!" "Coward?" the old man laughed. "Would a coward be here? Nay, go you. Still the Beast is with power. There needs who shall fight him. Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight! Go, boy. And now farewell-I thank you, I thank you. Go. You are truly-mine own son." With gentle force he drew Beaujeu to the door, who caught his hand and kissed it and groaned. His father shut him out in the dark.

Beaujeu stumbled on through the darkness, falling, rising again, careless as a madman. Speedily he came upon Mr Healy, and Mr Healy, amazed at his reeling gait, his wild eyes, caught his arm, and muttered:

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Man, where is he?"

"He would stay," said Beaujeu.

"To be hanged. Sure, 'tis an original taste," says Mr Healy. Beaujeu broke away from him and staggered on. Mr Healy jumped to the gaoler, whose eyes were now like to come out of his head. "Now, my dear, consider," says Mr Healy, wagging a finger at him. "There is no poor soul that we will be taking from you. We have done, do you see, just nothing at all. In two minutes you shall, if you please, be raising alarms, but we will be gone, and you would but tell your friends that you have let yourself be bubbled. Do you perceive? If you do, wink for me, my dear. The gaoler laboriously winked. "Sure, 'tis worth a guinea to see your agility," says Mr Healy, put a guinea on the table, stooped and sliced the bonds on master gaoler's ankles and lifted him. “On "On your left

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front-march! "Twill be healing to your stiffness. Oh, sure, you will see your guests to the door as the gaoler resisted, Mr Healy wrapped him in a mighty arm and bore him along. Sure, 'tis narrow for two. I'm grazing you? Begad, I am flaying myself." They came to the open door, the keys were still in the lock, Beaujeu was in the saddle waiting. Mr Healy cut free the arms of the gaoler, who jerked the gag from his mouth at once and fell a-coughing.

"No thanks now, my dear," says Mr Healy, pushing him in: "'tis polite, but superfluous," and he shut the door and sprang to his saddle. "And where is it now, Beaujeu ?

"Back to the inn," Beaujeu muttered. Back they went and roused the landlord, to whom, since amazement loomed behind his politeness, Mr Healy courteously explained that M. de Beaujeu had had a fall, and was too shaken to go further on his journey. The landlord bustled monsieur to his bedroom, and there commiserated him at length, while Beaujeu stared through him with wide unanswering eyes. When at last the two were left alone:

"Sure, Beaujeu, 'tis all very dramatic, but a trifle confusing to me,' says Mr Healy. Beaujeu laughed.

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"Ay," he said, "ay," and laughed again. Mr Healy resigned the riddle and went philosophically to bed. And Beaujeu sat all night wide-eyed, torturing himself with imaginings of the morrow.

CHAPTER VIII

A FAMILY AFFAIR

M. DE BEAUJEU, haggard, dull-eyed, made a breakfast of ale, and the landlord counselled

him a surgeon.

"I shall find my own cure," said Beaujeu. The landlord hoped indeed that mossoo would do so, and was surprised by a laugh.

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Beaujeu went to the window, and stood looking out on the steep street, while Mr Healy ate heartily. He was biting his nails when Mr Healy joined him. Begad, is it a holiday?" cried Mr Healy amazed, for there were scores of people hurrying up the hill, a throng wondrous in a tiny town, strapping lasses and lads sun-burnt and ruddy, in rough grey frieze, and their clogs clattered for their haste, and all were mightily gay with knots of red ribands and shrill in laugh and chatter. "Is it a holiday, my lass?" says Mr Healy to the waiting maid.

"Aw no, sir, 'tis a hanging." Mr Healy took out his pipe.

"The devil!" said he.

"And you would

be giving your eyes to see it, eh?"

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Aw, sir, I be going, I be going," she cried, and scurried off. Beaujeu's eyes gleamed as he watched.

"Well, will you follow the lady?" says Healy, with a chuckle and a wave of his pipe.