FLOWER O' THE CORN

New Zealand Herald, Volume XXXIX, Issue 11986, 7 June 1902, Page 3 (Supplement)

FLOWER O' THE CORN

[PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.]

BY S. It. CROCKETT. Author of " The Raiders," " The Grey Man," " The Black Douglas." " Lilac Sanbonuet," " Sweetheart Travellers," etc.. etc. CHAPTER (Continued.) "Yes," Yvette said, "I am sure of him. He is too much a man of action to care very long for milk-and-water!" Her father entered at this moment, sidling uncertainly towards a chair, as if he had scarce a right to a seat in his own house. ' ■ 4 "Well, Martin Foy," said his daughter, without raising her head from her work, or taking the trouble to conceal the book which lay open upon the writing-table before her. "what news to-day of the wondrous baker's boy? Hath his excellency General Jean Cavalier defeated all the. marshals of France and heated his bread-oven with their batons?" The old Camisard shook his head soberly. "Yvette, Yvette," he said, in a voice as it had been saddened with the singing of psalms, and a manner chastened by habitual self-repression before the prophets and chiefs of his faith, "when will you learn to speak well of men great and holy? When will your hard heart be touched? Only this morning Catinat the Prophet declared that the time would not be long before Shiloh would come again to make glad his folk — "Pshaw!" cried the girl, "can you not see, father, they are all mouthing fools? I am sad and angry to stand by and see you, my father, giving your hard-earned substance to such fanatics. What does Catinat know of any Shiloh? All he cares for is enough good meat to eat and wine to drink at your expense, and to lie in the shade and prate of Shiloh!" ; "I am grieved for you my daughter," said her father sadly, " for if you do these things in the green tree what will you do in the dry? Nay, I have spoken concerning you to Jean "Cavalier himself—" The girl looked up for the first time, her face flushing pomegranate-red under her dusky skin, her white teeth a mere line between her indrawn lips, her great eyes | bright *nd dry with auger. . ■- ;

. "You take too much on yon. Martin Foy," she said, sharply and bitterly. "Go keep prating rogues from making havoc of your cellar and eating meat they are commanded by the Lord not to pay for. But for the future do not mention me or my affairs to any of your canting cronies. I have nothing to do with them, mark me—not with La Fleche nor with Fiano, nor with your Prophet Catinat; no —nor with your* boasted Jean Cavalier himself, though I grant you that, in spite of his baker's oven, he is a bird of another feather!" As the words left the girl's lips a young man entered lightly, doffed his hat with a low bow to Yvette, aud stood as if he had tidings to deliver. Martin Foy leaped to his feet with a light in his dull, sad eyes. The resigned manner with which he had listened to his daughter was gone. "Cavalier." he cried, "Jean Cavalier! You do this house an honour! My daughter, rise and bid the greatest of our prophets and leaders welcome! General of the army of the Lord, the younger Gideon of our host, my daughter bids you welcome!" The girl rose with a haughty and contemptuous gesture, her eyes still flashing angry lire. She swept the young man a courtesy, to which he responded with an equal austeritynot too much and not too little, yet marking as a man of high breeding might do, his recognition of the unfriendliness of his reception and ids intention not in any way to presume. " I am no general," he said, in a voice •singularly low and pleasant, "and you named me rightly, Martin Foy, when you called me simply Jean Cavalier. As you know, there .are no titles among us, the Brethren of the Way." The girl stood still, her train circled proudly about her, her head thrown back, regarding him. But Jean Cavalier bore her scrutiny unabashed, yet with a singular sweet modesty natural to the man. i ' There was something altogether very winning about the youth. It was difficult, indeed, to reconcile the boyishness of his face, the crisp curls about his small, wellformed head, the blush that came and went upon his cheek, the slight, dark, downy moustache upon his lip, with the reputation which he already possessed- all over Europe as a veteran soldier, who had worsted great marshals, past masters of war, and who had compelled the Court, of Versailles itself to alter its methods of dealing with i-iie contemned rebel peasants of the Cevennes. In person Jean Cavalier was not particularly tall. On the contrary he was only slightly above the middle height, with a great width of shoulders, and his body singularly well formed. For all that he could easily surpass all his contemporaries at military exercises and games of skill. While still a. baker's apprentice at Geneva he had visions of how one day he would bj bad by the spirit back to his native Cevennes, and there so strengthen the bands of his fellows, so aid and establish Israel, that the Folk of the Way should he made strong upon the mountains and be able to speak with their enemies in the gate. But of all this the daughter of Martin Foy recked nothing. "Has it been a good season for visions?' saui Yvette Foy, keeping her great eyes steadfastly fixed upon the young man before her. Jean Cavalier did not blush. Neither did he seem put out even for a moment. Steadily he gave the girl back eye-volley for eye-volley. " The. coming of the vision or the going of it," he said with dignity, " it is not mine to hasten or delay. When the Lord has work for His people He will make bare his arm!" The girl mode a quick little gesture, of infinite contempt. "Oh. do not weary me— know the jargon," she said, "the tnck of it is too easy. For . a comfortable salary I could be a prophetess mvself. A trance, a revelation, twenty texts taken at random —" "Girl!" cried Martin Foy, "do not profane the word of the Lord nor the words of them that speak by Him!" " Aye, but do they?" said the girl, defiantly. "Were there, not lying prophets of old who misled the people. Methinks I have heard of them—shepherds who caused the sheep to go astray upon the mountains That is possible, mademoiselle," said Jean Cavalier, with the most perfeji courtesy, " but I think if you will consider the deeds which God has been pleased to do by me since he brought me hither you will admit that the Spirit of the Lord hath not altogether spoken in vail!' " You have beaten General Argenton and the poor old Brigadier San Brivat," she said, bitterly, "and what of that? Is a regiment more or less aught to the master of armies? Shall Louis the King be. less the King for a score of such victories?" " Not less, but more," said Jean Cavalier, gently. " Moreover, it has been revealed to me that one day I shall stand before Louis the King and not be ashamed! The King is still the King, and we hold ourselves his subjects all the more that we resist the persecutors who have blinded his eyes and lea him astray!' "An hour or two ago," she said. "I saw a company of those loyal subjects of yours. General Cavalier, dragging a cannon into the village. Was it perchance to fire salutes in honour of His Majesty's birthday?" Jean Cavalier smiled, almost the sweet smile of a. child. " I had not thought that His Majesty had so whole-souled an advocate within these walls." he said, kindly. • "Martin Foy, we must be careful before whom we talk our secrets!" Then he turned to Yvette Foy, and walking straight up to her he laid his hand on her wrist. There was nothing of familiarity in the action, yet the girl winced, and then stood stonily still. " Listen," he said, in a low, soft, even tone, characteristic of linn. "I have a message for you also. Mistress Yvette Foy. We of the folk called Camisards are no unfriends to the King— to the priests and those, who take the name of the King's authority in vain. We will obey him, save in the matter of our consciences —save in the things wherein we have appealed to a Higher Tribunal, and. as it were, stand before. Caesar! Let- this remain in your mind ; for the present I hold no further word with you!" He removed his hand from the girl's wrist. She returned to herself with a kind of shudder, but before she could speak the young man had bowed as formally as before and betaken himself down the stairs of the inn of the Bon Chretien. Yvette stamped her foot, in hot anger. "So that is his power," she said, "and he would make me feel it—me— coil;, temn and despise all his prating crew. Well, wait—waif! There is this day and another day after this. He also is a young man. and though he is strong in Ids will-magic, I will break his will, and his magic, both of them together. He shall crawl like a worm on the ground before me or all be done." She looked in. the mirror, and the smile that the handbreadth of greenish Venetian glass reflected was nob wholly pleasant to see. "I also have a magic older and simpler than he dreams of. He can cast his glamour on those ignorant peasants, mud-stained from the furrow. He can sway the listening assembly, I have heard himbreath — breath—the power of the spoken word— the thrill of personality that passes out from a man—others do great things because he wills it, I have seen it and I know. Butjust because the power goes out from him he is left weak. All the more, that he binds thousands to his will he shall not be able to resist mine. For 1 —I— think and plot and wait! One day he shall obey me. The —the Englishman— shall have him also on my hands. I can . see that. He must not be thrown away on that chit of chits, the whey-skinned daughter of their chief psalm-singer. Him I will play daintily, as. the angle is thrown to a full-fed fish in a carp-pond. I will tickle him from the wrist. He shall be daintied and dandled to his heart's content. But Jean Cavalier!Ah, Jean Cavalierl will teach you to set your hand on the wrist of Yvette Foy. You I will take with the strong hand! And your very soul shall be mine mine—to have and to hol(L—or to throw away from me like a rotten fruit on the dust-heap of mine own vanity." She plucked at the .growing greenery of the balcony where she had sat with the young Englishman. A spray of purple creeper came away in her hand. She

shredded the petals one from the other and dropped them over the iron barn. "So— will I do with the soul of Jean Cavalier, because he hath'!tried to humble me; according. to the power that is given to me I will cause his prophecies to cease. I will shut his soul to the Invisible. 1 will make him even as other men—he, who calls himself the leader of mauy. And at the last I will give him ashes in his mouth— apples of Sodomexceeding bitter fruit!" As she spoke she broke into a trill of laughter, that rang through the mid-noon like the clang of alarm-bella, far heard across the champaign. "I declare," she said, "I have quite caught the twang. I am preaching without knowing it." And without, upon the irregular pavement of the little street, two mien met and greeted each other. They were Maurice Raith, still in his waggoner's blouse, who uncovered and stood humbly before Jean Cavalier, who nodded slightly in acknowledgment of the salutation. "When shall we go over he papers together?" said one. "There is the rendezvous near Cette to arrange iSor, and the time is short?" It was the waggoner who spoke, humbly, as if he pled some favour of quarters or victual. . "To-morrow night!" said the other, looking carelessly into the distance. " Bring your servant with you to my rooms. i think he speaks no French. We shall arrange all then. And he will keep the door. He can be trusted?" | "That I warrant!" said Pierre the Waggoner, grimly. " God pity the man that runs up against Billy with a sword in his hand and a door to keep!" 0". And above them, out of the high balcony of the ancient Templar's House, the dark eyes of Yvette Foy looked after them. " Men are such self-important ninnies," so she summed up her experiences. " Their bubbles are blown so thin that they need no pricking! They burst of themselves. As if everyone with brains did not know that these two were arranging a rendezvous! -And at His Excellency General Cavalier's quarters, doubtless. They would not dare to come here. No," she laughed aloud, "not here!" She stepped back quickly as Jean Cavalier, as if drawn by the power of her eyes, turned suddenly and looked back towards the window. From the shelter of the creeper-hidden porch she kissed her hand towards the retreating pair. "An revoir, my brave conspirators!" she said, smiling with a large contempt, "' an' I be not of you I shall be with you ere long,' as the spamowhawk cried in at the door of the poultry-pen!" And like a modest maiden she gathered her work together amd withdrew to her chamber. CHAPTER XI. THE JUDAS TREK LKT.S FALL A BLOSSOM. During these days at La Cavalerie Flower o' the Com. went about with a sweet, smiling graciousness which won all hearts— that is, or nearly all. Her father's lodgings were, .as we know, in one of the old towers which overlooked the Templar Gates. Opposite to them, in the corresponding tower which completes the other wall, lived , Jean Cavalier, all alone, as a prophet should. But for all that there was much coming and going between the two towers of the gateway; for Patrick Wellwood, though making no professions to be a prophet, was rapidly obtaining a spiritual influence over the Camisards of the Causses, second only to that of Jem Cavalier himself. His simple faith, his trained methods of studying and expounding the Scripture, his clear perception of the needs of a simple people warring for religious liberty, added to the remembrance of the day's, not so long gone by, when bis own folk of the South of Scotland, and he himself, were hunted like the partridge upon the mountains, even the quaint flavour of his foreign tongue, won them over to a great love for the late chaplain of Ardmiilan's regiment. Nor did his glaring squint do him any harm. It was taken rather as a sign of his power and abstraction from the concerns of the world, and repentant Camisards, cowering in some dark corner from the whirlwind of denunciation from the pulpit, were terror-stricken by the infallibility with which the wandering right orb sought them out and fixed in their hearts with personal applications the rebukings of the preacher. ( Meanwhile Flower o' the Corn went her ways from door to door, not as a duty but because she genuinely loved all people of every rank, and was interested in their affairs. It was thus that she had entered the household of oiu Joseph Moreau (an old soldier like Foy. the inkeeper, and a, former companion of his in the regiment of grenadiers). Like Foy this man had been touched with the strong teaching of obedience to impulse contained in the teaching of the Camisards. But, unlike Foy. he had come to the village of La Cavalerie to marry, and had there espoused a young girl still in her "teens." The little whitewrapped figure was their first child, born but a day or two before, and already wafted from their sight, as if after a trial it had found the great world some deal too rough. Frances Wellwood's pity for the forlorn child-mother showed readily in her eyes. It was that more than the net of carrying the babe to the tomb that lound these two to her. Beauty is never so beautiful as when it shows itself in the pit)fulness of loving acts, and in this Yvette Foy, with all her cleverness, made a mistake when she despised her innocent rival. These two women had i.ever met till the morning after the day of Maurice's arrival in the camp. The' little town of La Cavalerie was not at that time so closely shut up as to prevent a daily market being still held in the little square. It was there, after the daily service, among the white-capped vendors of fowls and vegetables, that Yvette Foy for the first time encountered Frances Wellwood face to face and held speech with her. It was not often that Yvette betook herself thither, either to kirk or market. For the most part she left the provendering of the Bon Chretien to her father and the kitchen servants. But on this occasion she had deigned to accompany her father to the church for an early service, in order. as she said, to hear whether this new preacher from Geneva had more . to say for himself than their own prophets who rambled among the texts of Scriptures like Unbroken colts.in a field of clover. But Yvette Foy's chief desire in visiting the church at an hour so unusual was to lake up a position in the vicinity of Flower o' the Com and study her rival as attentively as might be without drawing attention upon herself. This she managed to carry out without difficulty. The Camisard church of La Cavalerie was a plain, oblong building, dating from the old wars of religion in the middle of the sixteenth century. There was then no reserving of places. ' Each brought his own folding chair or, in most cases, knelt upon the cold floor in lime of prayer and stood like soldiers at attention during sermon. A .few carried their wife's prayer-stool, but this was accounted a badge of servitude. Some few. like Yvette Foy, had made an arrangement with the wife of the caretaker to store their chairs and Bibles for them. So upon Yvette entering the old woman hastened towards her with her folding stool. N The congregation was standing at the singing of one of the long psalms, which in general were sung through from beginning to end without a halt, the rumble of the bass voices of the men mingling with the sweet treble of the women in a minor harmony infinitely plaint and memorable. At the first glance Yvette had noted where Flower o' the Corn had placed herself, which, as was usual with her, was immediately beneath her father; for the old man, wrapt in some great meditation of his own, occasionally needed to be reminded where he was and what was expected of him. On more than one occasion he had given out his text, and then, standing a moment to collect his thoughts, had gradually become so entranced by the noble thoughts which the words of Scripture suggested to him that he had forthwith shut the Book and descended the pulpit stairs without giving utterance to a single word. All which, among a people so superstitious as the Camisards, ha.d added greatly to his reputation, as a man who had deal-

ings directly and by word of mouth with the Spirit of God. ; Patrick Wellwood stood in the pulpit when Yvette entered. He had been educated at Geneva, having chosen that seminary in preference to Leyden or Croningen because of its greater theologies freedom. For as a young man Patrick Weilwood had not belonged to the stricter sect of the Pharisees. Here lie had learned French of that notable fluency and vigour which can only be attained in youth. Besides which he had spent by far the greater part of his life abroad, and so it was that he could speak to the Camisards of the Ceveunes in their own language with all the vigour and point with which he addressed the Presbyterian veterans of Ardmiilan's regiment. Flower o' the Coin's eyes were fixed upon her father. She did not even observe that Jean Cavalier had placed himself directly at right angles to her, side by side with Roland and Catinat. in a place which had come to be reserved for the elder* and prophets of the Camisard people. She had only thought of the Uammander-iu-Chief of the Camisard forces as a young man who had shown himself willing to be kind and helpful to her father upon more than one occasion. .And this counted for much with Flower o' the torn. So much so, indeed, that she gave the young man a grateful nod and smile when he returned from conducting the old man to the pulpit, which he did with a sweet and humble dignity that became him no little. It chanced that Yvette Foy arrived in the church just in time to intercept the glance and to watch the blood spring hot and responsive to the • young soldier's cheek. There was another who had observed the -play a dark-skinned youth in a wide blouse, who stood near a pillar at the door. To him Yvette Foy turned with a bitter smile upon her lips, lint he did not even observe her. His eyes were elsewhere, even upon the fair face of Frances Wellwood, now uplifted, like a flower turns to the sun, when her father began to speak. "People of the mount." he said, and the ring of his great voice immediately dominated the place and the hearts of all the men and women therein, "ye have a tight, to fight, eye to eye and foot to foot. Ye think your striving is with the soldiers of Louis, but I tell you no. The enemy is within your own gates —at the lintels of your doors, by your own firesides. Repair the breaches of Zion an' ye will. The work is good. Make her bulwarks strong. But first of all be sure that there is not a traitor close to you as the beating of your hearts. I say look well!" ■• And to Yvette Foy entering it seemed for a moment that he spoke of Jier. The wild, wandering eye seemed somehow to search her out —the reverberant, tremendous utterance to take hold of her. She shivered where she stood. But the next moment the. preacher-.had taken a lower, intenser tone. He turned towards the seats of the elders and prophets. "Ye have done well, folk of the Cevennes," he cried, "better than well eye-service, hand-service, lip-service, lifeservice. Yet many serve with all these when the heart is far from Him! So let it not be. with you. Ye have tasted of the hitter cup, ye say. and truly have grown your wine mingled with —vinegar upon a spray of hyssop. But be sure that ye have also the heart clean and new-made —the heart of a little child!" And." Yvette Foy, no longer concerned as to any personal application and the thrill of a first awe having passed away, looked about her curiously and saw the face of Flower o' the Corn upraised, the child looking out of her turquoise eyes ami the innocence of a heart at ease speaking for her in that sole glance. And Yvette smiled a tolerant smile as she looked. , "Was it possible," she thought, "that she should have feared to take count and reckoning with such a babe?" Then, with her deep fold of lace drawn closely about her shapely head, and recrossed over her bosom she turned her head and neck this way and that, thinking no more of the sonorous words of the preacher than she would of the roar of the wind in the limestone caves of Mont • Ventour, or the surge of a breaking sea upon a distant shore. About her head she wound a thin veil of finest lace which contained and conditioned, though it did not conceal, her Jiaughtily splendid hair. She knew that her forehead was bright and broad beneath it, her lips marvellously red. There was no one like her in all the hills of Cevenne from Mende to Hezier.'t. Oh, yesthe red-and-white stranger girl she had seenshe knew this Frances Wellwood. She would go and wait for her in the market-place. The damask rose is 'not afraid of the scentless immortelle. So she rose unceremoniously in the midst of the sermon, laid her stool against a pillar, and with the air and carriage of a queen, passed serenely out into the hot sudden caressing of the sunlight, venting a great sigh of relief as the fresh warmth of the forenoon breathed upon her face. The true spirit of Yvette Foy returned to her as soon as she had left the dark morning heaviness of the little church behind her. Glooms and fervours of the spiritual sort she had none about her, and, indeed, she recognised such in others only as useful factors in the game she loved to play. With all her bright cleverness, with her knowledge of men, books, and women, in spite of the glimpses she had had of another life,- the base of her nature was essentially a. desire for the physical well-being of an animal. Herein lay the difference between*the two girls. .Flower o' the Com loved everything in Nature. It was all fair and sweet to herthe green waving fodder grass with the wind passing over it ■ in swirls and waves of colour changeful as the sheen on shot silk—the keen verditer of the bitter artemisia, the barbaric brilliance of pomegranate blossom splashed scarlet against a turquoise sky. These seemed part of herself. They made her life vivid. That she lived on plain camp fare—that she had done so all her days aud never expected to do otherwise, detracted nothing from the pleasure she felt in being with her .father, in making him happy, and in gladdening with ready graciousness. all whose lives came across hers. Every blown blade of grass on the meaclowleas, every head of sorrel sowing its plain long russet seeds, eveiy ascendent gossamer with its little air-borne traveller was part of the eternal gladness of life to Flower o' the Corn. They were what she encountered as she went out and in. She saluted them as if they had been sentries, and they made her heart sing within her. These things were as parts of her deepest religion, and she prattled of them gaily to her father, Mho did not even shake his head. A very wise man. this Patrick Wellwood! For his time, and upbringing iidinitely so. Yet it may be doubted whether he would have, treated others after this fashion should any have dared speak to his thus reverently of the wind among the white-aproned poplar, or bring him shreds of bramble leaves frost-bitten to a colour redder than red, and more brilliant than orange, with awestricken faces as of those who have seen the back parts of God. On the other hand lie did not talk to Frances, his daughter, of Inward Grace or its Outward Signs. He knew (this good minister) that none needed to look deeper than those sky-steeped eyes to know that the graces of sweet purity, of untouched innocence had their abiding place there. So though to the grave, grimfaced men of Ardmillan regiment who came to his quarters of a night he discoursed as one having authority concerning the " flinty heart within them," "the. resistance of the natural man to the work of grace," " the call effectual and the ineffectual,'' to his own daughter he declared no word of these things. " If I preach overly long at any time." he had said when she was a little girl, "know that the word is riot for thee, beloved, but l>e>oause these expect it so to be. Open thy Book and read there- of Ruth or of the anointing oil poured out on little David, of the children who strewed palm branches for His feetor what you will! God, who made the Book, will guide the reader. So do, and let not the long preachings turn your heart from the assembling of vourself together as the manner of too many is!" Now, though Yvette, the daughter of Martin Foy the Camisard, loved some of these natural things also, she loved them otherwise. She rejoiced in the sunshine because in it her being expanded. The.very tissues of her body changed with a sense of physical enlargement and well-being. She hated the winter, but when at last the spring came and the life-juice made the world new Yvette had strange thrilliugs and impulses through her body, as if she, too, were kin to all that bourgeoning greenery and pinkblossoming orchards.

But she rejoiced in these merely as a part of the necessary well-being of the world— the warm-sired, full-blooded gusto of things of which she had her part as a creature who loved eating and drinking and lying long warm abed, even as others love truth and self-sacrifice, and the word of God. Thus it was with these two who were now to face each other in the warm coppery glow of the little market-place, across which the early morning shadows still lay long and blue. At the stalls there Mere not maiiv things to be sold-—no great choice for the good wives of La Cavalerie— lamb or two from the Gausses, long-legged and spare of rib, eggs in plenty, with fate hulls and vegetables. The women sat crouched on their heels by their baskets, or with their small .stores outspread regularly upon the ground —onions, leeks, garlic, potatoes, ranged ride by side, while a calf tied insecurely to a- cart wheel bleated for the comparative freedom of the rousrh-legged lambkin, which in reality was to die as soon as Ik-. '• Praise to the Holiest in the Height, and in the depths be praise! From the little Camisard temple came the ehatiut, weighty and solemn. The market women inclined their heads with willing reverence. They were all "of the way," and wotikl gladly have been present, but — what would you? The pot at home must be boiled, and who but they in these times could win the wherewithal'to till it. It Mas Friday every day of the week for such as they, poor folk—soupe maigre indeed they partook of. though they held not by the errors of Rome. At last the worshippers Mere coming out. Morning-song was over : the sen-ice had been of more than usual solemnity, because the Sacrament of the Lord's Supper was at hand. Moreover, the Genevan pastor had spoken at length, and as oue having authority. Martin Foy came out last of all, lingering a little mi ihe threshold for a. word with the old man, who looked not a little grey and weary alter preaching. When, however, he did issue forth of the little church Patrick Wellwood still held him by the hand, expounding the decrees of Cod us applied to the scheme genera! of events and the lives of men. Thesis which naturally took some time to develop and complete. The minister was, of course, wholly absorbed in Hie great solemnities of life. For himself he was very sure. Though, as to every other man—why, to his own master let him stand or fall.* Bui, Martin Foy. though a disciple, both Milling and attentive, lost his grip even of the divine decrees at the sight which set his eves in the warm slantwise pour of the sunlight. There, in the little Grande Place of La Cavalerie. the sun shining equally upon the sentinels on the walls, and on the market women sitting like brooding hens iu the white dust along the western wall, in the midst of a silence like that of Eden, there had happened a thing which was to affect the lives and happiness of all those with whom this history concerns itself far more than the decisions of Cabinets and the successions of great, kingdoms. Of her own account Yvette Foy had crossed the road and Mas holding out her hand to Frances Wellwood. It was near the great door of the' Bon. Chretien, and as these two stood thus band-in-hand. the Judas tree in the courtyard, windStirred, Hung down a. lust belated blossom, red as the lips which in the morning sunshine smiled their sweetest upon Flower o' the (lorn. She took Yvetie's baud and smiled also. CHAPTER XII. THE SPY HULK ON* THE STAIRWAY.' "I have heard of your so great kindness to our poor folk," said Yvette Foy, her hand still warm within her new friend's grasp, '' and my heart was touched when 1 saw you carry the poor dead babe yesterday from the house of Anna Moreau !" Flower o' the Corn blushed, and then suddenly smiled at the newcomer brightly and cordially. • •* " It was kind of them to let a stranger do so much," she said. And then changing the subject she added, "You are Mistress Foy, are you not. the daughter of the hosteller who has spoken so kindly to my father at the preachings." "I am indeed Yvette Foy," the girl answered, " and one much honoured to make your acquaintance. Why have we not ere this seen you at our poor house of the Bon Chretien?" ■ -.•?;• "Because——" said Frances, her face breaking into a. slow smile, "iu my country it is the custom to wait for an invitation before setting foot across one's neighbour's threshold." "But my father tells me he has often invited yours to sup with us!" persisted Yvette. Flower o' the Corn looked slightly distressed. "I had not thought," she began, and then stopped, " that is, I had not supposed you would wish to see me!" -; • " And why, pray?" There came a dark, moist, habitually covert glitter into the, eyes of Yvette Foy. "Someone has been telling tales," she thought, and waited to find out who. Hut tale-telling, even in its mildest form of telling on the tale-teller, was impossible to Flower o' the Corn. •^ "I heard," she said, artlessly, " that you were so clever!" ■ '-','" i Yvette Foy laughed aloud in her, turn. l "You will not tell me who told you." she said,, "it is you who are clever and T did not know it!" -■; ■' "Oh, I am not clever at all," returned Frances, simply. " I have only followed my father from city to city, and from camp to camp. I know only men." 1 . / . In her inner heart Yvette thought that to know men was not the least to be desired of accomplishments, but she did not, say so. She only drew her arm through her companion's with a smiling, happy air. "You know men, the wretches!" she cried. " Why, you know as much as a baby, as the babe you carried .yesterday," she was about to say, but checked herself. "Come with me, and we will enlighten each other on the iniquities and follies of men. Fori too have lived among men. and if 1 have any cleverness. '*■■ is to know them for what they are—dull-winded, hateful deceivers, or all cock-a-hoop because they have killed a sparrow with a six-pounder. ' The two girls walked apart from the crowd of the market-place smiling and conversing. Such a pair for loveliness was never seen together—fair and dark, cornflower and passion flower, pearl and black diamond. But all the same they bent prettily enough inwards, their arms about each others' waists, whispering and smiling secretin, with the adorable simplicity of fair maids who know themselves under the eyes of men. So in the little Grande Place of La Cavalerie these two talked and walked apart, such as they might have done on the. long walk at Versailles, where the greenmoulded statues are seen so shivery in the wet and bleak night. "Pitv me," said Yvette. "I have no mo-' ther--''" , : ' , "Nor I!" Frances answered with a quick sigh, instinctively drawing her new friend to her. "I knowat- times it is - hard for a girl. Do you remember her?" "Yes. truly," said Yvette, "she held my fat Iter from this folly of his while she lived. And when she died—then it was he sent me to school in Paris—to be out of his way!" "All," said Frances, reproachfully, "do not speak thus- of your father—if he is all that is left to you, as mine is! And besides, my father says he is a, good man." Yvette laughed a little laugh, very deep in her throat. "Yes," she said, scornfully, "a good man, doubtless —-that is, to be someone else's father. It is very well for you, my fair lady, who go out everywhere into the world of men with your father, seeing new lands and the faces of new folk and brave soldiers and great men—very easy for you to prate to Yvette Foy of fathers " Nay, nay," said Flower o' the Corn, blushing, " l know what you mean very well, but indeed it is not so. There is no man anywhere, in highland or lowland, mountain or isle, whose company I would prefer to that of my father!" "Then the more fool you, with such chances!" murmured Mistress Yyette, under her breath. But aloud she said, patting Flower n' the Corn's delicatelyrounded arm.' on which her bund was lying. "Ah, one day you will change— one day, my dear! There is a ship coming to'you over the sea. The sails of it are of silk, and the masts pure gold, as the old story tells, and its burden is love, love, love!" "I suppose love for a woman?" said Frances, looking at her winsomely under her eyelashes, " since you fright me such dreadful things of men!"

She sighed. \ - ;'; 'Yet they have been very kiiKl to me— some .«: them," she said reflectively, "and •''' and I have not always been very kind to them." * ."»; "That is the safest way to bind a man to you.' said the voice of experience, "to lie at the first a little unkind! 7 '.:•:; Yvette thought a little and then added/ - ; "Afterwauis not—they tire of it sooner than lie other.'' Then, catching a little fear on (be flushing face of Frances Wf.llwond, Yvette put. her _ band tenderly about the girl's neck, "You need not fear, liit.le one, with, such a lace as yours and those great, fatal eyes—love will come to you fresh every morning across lite year*,'be you kind or be you unkind!" 'Till we are old people, ,i.. vou think?'' queried Flower <•' the Corn, who thought) of the love of out- only. Her heart beat a. little thickly, she knew not why. "Will he always love me just as muck as wheal I am young," "Doubt it not," >>iu! Yvette, subtly changing her thought, "he wilt alwavV hive you; that is. if von are wisp. Only do not lie too early in fixing on the particular 'he'—that is all the advice J have to give you iu the nutter!" A figure parsed across the Grande Place, going in the direction of the auberge of the Lou Chretien." "Win. is that'.''' said Flower o' the Corn quickly, for a certain martial swing was asserting itself even through the blue blouse, the corduroy breeches, ami hooded cape of Pierre the Waggoner. Yvette patted her cheek again. "Ah, dearest," .-he said, most caressingly, "you cannot expect your skip to come to anchor up here among these wild! hills. That is but Pierre the Waggoner. from Flanders, he whose barrels were ransacked the other night by our good honest Friends of this Protestant village—" "The same who brought the despatches and the cannon':'' said Frances, "I wis there—out on the Gausses that night. He. —he lias never thanked me for saving his life! I should like to see him again." V Yvette looked down and sketched ft triangle with her toe upon the ground. . Then- ■§ with mathematical exactness she. constructed another on the base of the first, so that \ ' ') presently she had made a diamond iu the dust.. "Better perhaps that yon .should not," said Yvette in a low tone. "And why?" cried Frances, with a kind ' ' of catch in her voice. "There are things which it is not fitting; for a girl to bear/' said Yvette, still with - her eyes upon the grouud; "remember 1 ant older than you. Mistress Wellwood!" Flower <>' the Corn turned instantly upon \vette Foy and held her tightly by the wrist, looking into hep face. . " ' "You must tell me now," she said, earnestly. " I am no child. J have heard how men speak to men. He came once and my father bade him return. He will return. Why, then, should i not speak with him?" ' The dark girl looked every wav about. ' "It is not: safe to speak out here." sh«' murmured, "come to my room and J will tell you!" Really she only meant to gain time. She must fatally prejudice the young man in the regard of Flower o' the Corn, and to this end fche had made certain arrangements. .Vow Frances, not being greatly interested in any young man, save that justice should be done the innocent., readily enough went, with Yvette Foy. " < _ There -was a, private', entrance to th« * Templar's House, by means of a low door iu a little side street, leading into a circular tower in which Mas a stair. By this the girls presently ascended to Yvetfe's own chamber, hearing beneath them the. clattering of many horses' hoofs as they moved restlessly on the irregular paving'- * stones of the stable. - ■ V At one point there was a little spy-hole., through the inner, wall, which gave immediately into the. stable. Before this Yvet.ta stopped, stood a,moment on tip-toe daintily; for though she was tall yet the spyhole had been arranged for the average height- of a man's eyes. ' -, Suddenly* she. clapped her hands lightly together. This hud fallen out beyond her expectation. Seeing and believing bebiv ' ' one there was the less need of explanatory speech. * "Look, look!" she whispered eagerly ; to Flower o' the Corn. • * , wWith, .something that made her ashamed in her heart, yet for the present with no - power to resist, Frances looked. . There, immediately beneath, were—not Pierra the Waggoner as . she had expected, but—■ v two strangers whom she had seen at the taking /of the waggons, out ou the moonlit plain— man and a woman: They were'• engaged in brushing and refolding a military ' suit of. clothes. It was to all appearance the same which Billy Marshall had saved •with■■such, jealous cure out of the sack of • the King's waggons, and the pair did their work as if well accustomed to the task. ."See," said Yvette Foy, with a deep kind of silent triumph, ■'" there all unexpectedly is the proof of what I brought you here to tell you. The man who owns that '.'<" comes amongst ,us poor Ceyennois .as a traitor!" i ; - ■■.■":: : '^. With the quick eye of one- Mho has lived all her life among soldiers Frances saw ' that the garments which were now being '■ swiftly folded and; put away, : constituted ' an officer's uniform of the Maison du R o i, or! King's Guard, of the French Army. (To lie Continued.) . . » s.--