DAVID BALFOUR.

Press, Volume L, Issue 8583, 9 September 1893, Page 2

DAVID BALFOUR.

.*- a sequel to "kidnapped." By Boberx Louis Stevenson. Part ll.—Father and DAUGHrEB. {Continued from last Saturday.) CHAPTER XXX.—The Letter fbom this Ship. Daylight showed us how solitary the inn stood. It was plainly bard upon the sea, yet out of all view-of it, and beset on every ,eide with scabbifc hills. There was, indeed, ouly one thing in the nature of a prospect;, where there stood out oveE a brae tbe two sails of a "Windnoifi, like an ass's ears, but with tbe ass quite hidden. It wai strange (after the wind rose, for at first it was dead calm) to see the turning aud following of each other of these great sails behind 1 the hillock. Scarce any road came by there; but a number of footways travelled among the bents in all direction* up to Mr Bazlu's door. The truth is, he was a man of many trades, not any one of them honest, and the position of his inn was the best of his livelihood. Smugglers frequented it; political agents and forfeited persons bound across the water came there to await their passages; and I daresay there was worse behind, for a whole family might have been butchered in that house and nobody the wiser. I slept little aud ill.. Long ere it was day, I had slipped from beside my bedfellow, and" was warming myself at the* fire or walking to and fro before the door. Dawn broke mighty sullen, but a little after sprang up a wind oufc of the west, which burst the clouds, let through the sun, and set the mill to the turning. There was something of spring in the sunshine, or else it was in my heart, and the appear ing of the great sails one after another from behind the bill diverted mc extremely. At times I could hear a creak of the machinery, and half-past eight of the day Catriona began to sing in the house. At this, I would have cast my hac in the air; and I thought this dreary, desert place was like a paradise. For all which, as the day drew on and nobody came near, I began to be aware of an uneasiness that I could scarce explain. It seemed that there was trouble afoot; the sails of the windmill, as they came up and went down over the hill, were like persons spying; and outside of all fancy, it was surely a strange neighbourhood and house for a young lady to be brought to dwell iv. At breakfast, which "we took late, It was manifest that James More was in some danger or perplexity; manifest that Alan was alive to tbe same, and watched him close; and this appearance of duplicity upon the one side and vigilance upon the other, held mc on live coals. The meal was no sooner over than James seemed to come to a resolve, and began to make apologies. Mc had an appointment of a private nature in the town (it waa v?itfi the French nobleman, he told mc), and we would please excuse him till about noon. Meanwhile, he carried his daughter aside to the. far end of the room, where he seemed to speak rather earnestly and she to listen without much inclination. . "I am caring less and less about this man James, ,, *aid Alan. *' There's something no right with the man James, and I would nae wonder but what Alan Breck would give an eye to him this day. £ would like fine to see yon French nobleman, Davie; I would maybe ken his name; and I daresay you could find an employ to youreel, and that would be to epeer at the lassie for some news of your affair. Just tell it to her plainly—tell her ye're a muckle aaa at the off-set; and then if I wejre you, and ye could do it naitural, I would just mint to her Z wu in some kind of & danger; a' weemenfolk likes that." " I cannae lee, Alan, I cannae do it naitural," saye I, mocking him. "The more fool you I" aaye he. "Then yell can tell her that I recommended it; that'll set her to the laughing; and X would nae wonder bub what that was the next best. But see to the pair of them! If I did nae feel just sure of the lassie, and that she was «wf ul pleased and chief with Aitto, I would think there-was some kind of bocus-pocu3 about you." " And is she so pleased with ye, thea, Alan?" I asked. "She thinks a heap Gf mc," says he. "And I'm no like you. I'm one that can tell. That she does—she thinks a heap of Alan. And troth, I'm thinking agpod deal of him myself, and with your permission, Shaws, I'll be getting a wee atnang the bent* so that I can see what way James goes." One after another went, till i was lefc alone beside the breakfast table ; James to Dunkirk, Alan dodging him, Catriona up the stairs to her .own chamber. I could 1 very well understand how she should avoid

to be alone with mc; yet was none the better pleased with it for all that, and bent my mind to entrap her to an interview btfore the men returned. Upon the whole the beat appeared to mc to do like Alan. If I was oat of view among the sand hi'ds, the flue morning would decoy her out, and once I had her in the open, I could please myself. No sooner said than done; nor was I long under the bieid of a hillock before she appeared at the inn door, looked here and there, and (seeing nobody) set out by a path that led directly seaward and by which I followed her. Bwae in no haste to make my presence known ; the further she went I made sure of the longer hearing to my euic, and the ground being all sandy it was easy to follow her unheard. The path rose and came at last to the head of a knowe. Thence I had a picture for the first time of what a desolate wilderness that inn Etood hidden in, where was no man to be seen nor any house of man, except just Bazin's and the windmillOnly a little further on, the sea appeared and two or three ships npon Ifc, pretty as a drawing. One of these was extremely close in to be so great a vessel: and T was aware of a shock of new suspicion when I recoirnised the trim of the Seahorse. What should an English ship be doing so near in to France ? Why was Alan brought into her neighbourhood, and that in a place so far from any hope of rescue? and was it by accident, or by design, that the daughter of James More should walk that day to the seaside ? Presently I came forth behind her in the front of the sand hills and above the beach. It was here long and solitary; with a man-'o-war's boat drawn up about the middle of the prospect, and an officer in charge and pacing the sands like one who waited. I sat immediately down where the rough grass a good deal covered mc, and looked for what should follow. Catriona went straight to the boat; the officer met her with civilities; they had ten words together. I saw a letter changing hands; and there was Catriona returning. At; the same time as if this were all her business on the Continent the boat shoved off, and was headed for the Seahorse. But I observed that the officer remained behind and disappeared inland behind the beats. I liked the business little, and the more I considered of it, liked ib less. Was it Alan the officer was seeking? or Catriona? She drew near with her head down, looking constantly on the sand, and made so tender a picture that I could not bear to doubt her innocency. The next, she ! raised her face and recognised mc, seemed i to hesitate, and then came on again, but more slowly, and, I thought, with a changed colour. And at that thought, all else that was upon my bosom—fears, suspicions, the core of my friend's life—was clean swallowed up, and I roee to my feet; and stood waiting her in a drunkenness of hope. I gave her " good-morning" as she came up, which she returned with a good deal of composure. " Will you forgive my having followed you ? " said I. i <r I know you are always Lieariinkindly," she replied; and then, with a little outburst, " bat why will you be sending money to that man? It must not be." "I never sent it .for him," said I, "but for you, as you know well. " And you have no right to be sending ifc to either of us," said she. *' David, it is not right." • " It is not, it i 3 all wrong," said I: " and I pray God he will help this dull fellow (if it be at all possible) fco make ib better. Catriona, this is no kind of iife for you to lead; aiid I ask your pardon for the word, J but yon man is no fit.fatb.er to take care of you." \ " Do not be s , epcakiog of him, even J' was her cry. ; '-' "And!need speak of him no more, it is not of him that I am thinking. Oh, be sure of that," says I. " I think of the one thing. I have" been aloae now this long time in Leyden; and when I waa.by -way at. my studied, still I was thinking of that. Next, Alan came, and I went among Ro'.dier-men to their big dinners ; and still I had the same thought. And it was the same before, when..l hud her there beside mc. Catriona, do you see this napkin at my throat? You cut a corner from it once and then casfc it from you. They're your colours now; I wear them in my heart. My dear, I cannot want you. Oh, try to put, up with mc." I stepped before her so as: to intercept her walking on. , "Try to put up with mc," I was saying, " try and bear with mc a little." i Still she had never the word, and a iear began to rise In mc like a fear of death. . " Catriona." I cried, easing on her hand, " is ifc a mistake again ? Am I quite lost ?■' She raised her face to mc, breathless. _ "Do you want mc. Davit, truly ?" said she, and I scarce could hear her say ifc. "I do that," said I. "Oh, aure you know it—l do that." "I have nothing left to give or to keep back," said she. " I was all yours from the lirst day, if you would have had a gift of mc," she said. This was on the summit of a brae ; the place was windy and conspicuous, we were to be seen there even from the English ship; bub I kneeled down before her in the saud, and embraced her knees, and burst into that storm of weeping that I thought it must have broken mc. All thought was wholly beaten from my mind by the veheraencj of my discomposure. I knew not where I was, I had forgot why I was happy: only 1 knew she stooped, and I felt her cherish mc to her face and bosom and heard her words out or a whirl. " Davie," she was saying, " Oh Davie, is this what you think of pie? Is it so that you were caring for poor mc 2 Oh, Davie, vDavier With what she wept also, and onr tears were commingled in a perfect gladness. The sun was at the top of noon when I came to a clear sense of whafra mercy had befallen mc; and sitting over against her, with her hands Ib mine, gaaed in her face, and laughed out loud for pleasure .like a child and called her foolish and kind names. I have never seen the place look so pretty ac these bents by Dunkirk ; and the windmill sails, as they bobbed over the knowe, were like a tune of music; I know not hoxv much longer we might have continued to forget; all else besides ourselves, had I not chanced upon a reference to her father, which brought us to reality. ' "My little friend, I was calling her again and again, rejoicing fco summon up the pa3t by the sound of it, and to gaze across on her and to be a little distant; " my little friend, now you are mine altogether ; mine for good, my little friend, and that man's no longer at all." There came a sudden whiteness iv her face ; she plucked her hands from mine. ** Davie, take mc away from him!" she cried, " There's something wrong: he's not trne. There will be something wrong; I have a dreadful terror here at my heart. What will he be wanting, at all events, with that King's ship? What will this word be saying?" and she held the letter forth. " My mind misgives mc; it will be some ill to Alan. Opsn it, Davie, open it and see." I took it and looked at it, and shook my bead. "No," said I, "it goes against mc; I cannot open a man's letter." "Not to save your friend? ' she cried. "I c*nnae tell,' , said L " I think not. If I was only sure. ,, " And yon have bat to break the seal 1" said she. " I know it," said I; " but the thing goes Against mc." "Give ie here," said she, "and I will open it myself." ;" '•Nor you neither, ,, said I. " You least of all. It concerns yoar father, and bis honour, dear, wbicn we are both misdoubting. Mo question but the place is dangerous like, and the English ship being here, and yoar father having word from it; and yon officer that stayed ashore. He would not be alone either; there must be more along with him; I daresay we are spied upon this minute. Aye, no doubt the letter should be opened; but somehow, not by yon nor mc." I w»s about ibis far with it, and my spirit very much overcome with a sense of danger and bidden enemies, when X spied Alan, come back again from following James and walking by himself among the sand hills. He was in his soldier's coat, of course, and mighty fine; but I could not avoid to shudder when I thought how little that jacket would avail him, if he were once caught and flung in » skiff, and

carried on board of the Seahorse, a deserter, a rebel, and now ft condemned murderer. . . . .*• There," said I, " there »the man that has the beat right to open it; or not, as he thinks fit.". With which I called npon his name, and we both stood up to be a mark for him. .„ "If it is so—if it be more disgrace—will yon, can you bear it?" she asked, looking upon mc with a burning eye. M I was asked something of the same question when I had seen you hue once, said I. "What do you thin fc I answered? That if I liked you as I thought I did—and oh! but I like you better—l would marry you at his gallows* foot." The blood rose in her face. She came dose up and pressed upon mc, holdina my hand; and it was so that we aw&ited Tie* came with one of his queer smiles, "What was I telling ye, David r says he. "There i* a time for all things, Ai*n, said T "and this time is serious. How hare you sped ? You can speak out plain before this friend of ours." " I have been upon a fool's errand, said e f doubt we have done better than you then " said I, " and at least, here is a great deal'of matter that you must judge of. Do you see that?" 1 went on pointing to the ship. " That is the Seahorse, Captain Palliser." . .. _ T " I should ken her, too." says Alan. I had fyke enough with her when she was stationed in the Forth. But what ails the man to come so close ? " " I will tell you why he came there first, said I. "It was to brinar this letter to James More. Why he stops here now that it's delivered, what It's likely to be about, why there's an officer hiding in the b?nts, and whether or not it's probable that he s alone—l would rather you considered for yourself." „ „_ ~ . " A letter to James More ? said he. " The same," said I. „ " Well, and I can tell ye more than that, said Alan. "For last night, when you were fast asleep, I heard the man collogu ing with someone of the French, and then the door of that ion to be opened and shut. "Alan?" cried I, "you slept all night, and I am here to prove it." "Ay but I would never trust Alan whether he was asleep or waking?" says he. "but the business looks B bao. Lets see the letter." I cave it him. " Catriona," said he, "ye 11 have to excuse mc, my dear; but there s notulng less than my poor bones upon the cast of it, and I'll have to break this seal. "■ It is my wish/* said Catriona. He opened it, danced it through, and flung hia hand in the air. "The stinking brook! says he, and crammed the paper in hia pocket. " Here, is fair death to mc." And he began to walk toward the inn. It was Catriona that spoke the first. He has «old you ? " she asked. " Sold mc, my dear," said Alan. Bα thauks to you and Davie, I'll can jink him yet. Just let mc get upon my horse ? he added. " C&triona must come with as, said I " She can have no more traffic with that man. She and I are to be married." At which she pressed my hand to her dear aide. . , " A re ye thnre with it I" says Alan, looking back. " The best day's work that ever either of ye did yet! And I'm bound to say my "dawtie, ye make a real bonny couple-." (To be concluded next week.)