THE WOOING OF SARA LEPELL

New Zealand Times, Volume XXXVII, Issue 8612, 24 December 1913, Page 12

THE WOOING OF SARA LEPELL

Bonny Sura Lepell sat in the embrasure of tho deep oriel window of tho white panelled drawing-room she specially liked to call her own, and clasped her two hands behind her cop-per-coloured head. The window looked south over the blue strip of English Channel not half a rnilo away, and its lattices worn Hung right back —for it was a warm September, though now day was passing towards evening. Outside, Just beneath, the gardens stretched in long prim alleys, brick laid, hedged with clijiped privet; beyond, a great wilderness of fruit trees, hanging briar and honeysuckle arches, stiff row of chestnuts, and undergrowth of flowering shrubs; then the twenty-feet-high red briek walls shut in -Manor Ilouso and grounds from sight or Bound of tho outer world. And inside, Sara, with her shortsleeved white gown, amber necklace on ■whiter skin, yellow snood hr copper curls, yellow trails of sash, yellow roses tucked in just where the folds of tho muslin fichu crossed, sat swinging her feet in their yellow sdk stockings—and looked for all tho world like a bit of the gilded sunset sky. Half her attention was for her cousin Clementina, standing with a handful of different-coloured ribbons before an oval bronze framed mirror on the opposite wall, hall for the garden below. It was, indeed, time for tho lengthy after-dinner sitting to bo over, oven in that first decade of our century when people dined early in the afternoon, and sat till sundown. There was always company to dinner at the Manor House —company of tho best, though chiefly masculine. Lord Lepell would have liked to have lus bonny daughter ever and always with him, but lie know what was due to his name —and never forgot she was motherless. More often than not daughter and niece—Clementina spent a good deal of her leisure time at the Manor one way and another—were sent from table long before dinner was over, poor things; sometimes, when my Lord thought well to be particularly discreet, being ordered to take their meal in the privacy of their own rooms altogether. He had a fine sense of the proprieties, this old Whig—Tory, indeed, now tho Succession was secured, but always Hanoverian. Clementina put up with its Inconveniences Just as she put up with tho dreariness of her position as Maid of Honour at tho most sober Court of tho Third George. For tho loyalty of her branch of tho family was but some five-and-twenty years old, dating merely from the restoration of “ forfeited estates.” It had to bo emphasised somehow. So she bowed philosophically in the House of Rimmon, and cherished all tho prejudices of her Jacobito forebears, with the ■memory of Franco as tho land of their ©xilo and her birth. And meanwhile, os she bad good reason ,to know, my Lord Lepell was a. useful relation. He had never erred to need forgiveness that way. Clementina could keep watch on the garden very veil too, though standing back to it, lor the glass tilted forwards, and she had eyes for a good deal more than her own black hair, though she was utilising her ennui in trying various effects of colour beside it. The sort of roving life she had led for so manyyears of her childhood had instinctively taught how to make use of everything. She had not grown up like Sara, a princess in her own right. • “ Tho scarlet suits you best,” said Sara. “Then it is not for the benefit of those charming Hanoverians”—Clementina flung out one •bare oliveskinned arm, and lot tbe ribbon dangle through her open .lingers to the floor. “ Dear me, who can. have suggested to His Gracious Majesty tho foisting of a whole German Legion upon this unfortunate village? 1 did hope to get in the country at least a littlo peace from the jargon! Why didn’t they send us ■down a nice Scotch regiment? Think Slow fascinating to have had the bagpipes serenading us a la Queen Mary at Holy rood 1” “Tho King sends the troops he can trust most. They are a splendid set of linen! And you know ” “Oh, we poor Highlanders rave. Jearnt by now which side our bread is ■buttered. But, frankly now, wouldn't you feel much safer with—a whole regiment of Medlines, say? H’m? . . tHow her black eyes twinkled. “Ono is quite enough.” said tho little Sara coldly, and all at once she aiuiv herself very bolt upright. “To keep off tho Old Guard of France tout ensemble? Well donel May the Sausage Legion—isn't that a good name, by the way ? —find as staunch a dofendress 1 Sho won’t be me. Are you counting meanwhile on their protection supposing my Lord Napoleon trips across? I’d sooner trust tho tender mercies of his officers any day. 1 ■wonder my uncle likes to have them continually in and out hero. And as tov H.R.H. of York, if he gives me his hand again to kiss I shall bite it.” “How dare you speak like that?” cried Sara. “And under this roof?” “Go and tell him,” said Clementina, “and by Uncle that His Royalty offered to embrace mo last night—by way of a change. The Mclunes would have dirked him had it been you I’vo no doubt; I wonder ho cares to hold a commission on such a Staff.” “He is in tho service of tho King!” “So am I in the service of the Queen. And do more every day for her, bless her plain little face, than you’ve ever done in your life. Ten pins per day—and who can tell how much of her happiness depends on them? Well, we’ll see where his long lags will carry him when Boncy steps, ashore?” Sara stamped her foot on the ground, “Have you no sense of honour? . . .’’ Clementina ostentatiously shrugged her shoulders. It was a littlo French trick of hors. “I’ve live others all crying out for food. . . . What elso could you cxpeot from an orphan practically penniless, ‘attainted’ ? Tho Mclnnes. now would quite understand my posi-b tiou, I’m sure, lie only got ins family’s attainder reversed because his lato Majesty had such a loathing for tho old Laird, and thought after all tho quickest way of sending tho family to perdition would be to let them have money to ride there. And family quarrels began at once, sure enough. Oh, no offence! Of course I’m not saying for an instant that this Northern hero makes ill use of hi,- money —it’s only people like myself who have none to whom that talent clings."

(By Violet A. Simpson.)

“Does Mr Mclnnes confide m pray?” asked Sara; and Clementina noted tho little red spot that began to -how on either cheek, and laughed gleefully buck at her own reflected ‘ ,U “i‘hear, by the way, all the barracks are taking fencing le&i ' o “ s their prisoner of war! fancy poo French marquis on parole being thd only swordsman in the place. Lren tho celebrated Laird ' “Mr Mclnnes disarmed M. du liarn easily.” , ~ ,> “Pardon me, ’twas the other nay.

“It was not.” . “Well, well, maybe. Prisoners on| parole can’t afford to bo too successful.! It, answers bettor to bo beaten sometimes., But isn’t it droll, when one thinks of it? Now you ask tho Laxia .all about it.” , “I do not take the smallest interest in the mutter” —Sara tilted up her rounded chin —“1 am absolutely indifferent.” “Well, well, don’t bo vexed. “Vexed I I am not vexed. But I; certainly am not amused to sit hero while- you defame my King, and and: my principles, and ’’ “And your friend aux Jatnbca agilesl Well, he desn’t use them to run after me, at any rate. But I told you ho hadn’t the sporting instinct strongly developed,” said Clementina, critically poising her head as she fixed in two sturdy crimping pins. “What ill-bred things you sayl And I really think you neecln’t come curling your hair in my sitting-room, anyhow.” Sara thrust her hot cheeks against the scented jasmine flapping in through tho window. “A French man indeed 1 Y'our country's enemy 1 1 wonder you have thought for suchsuch ” Clementina only began to hum. She had Just seen tho reflection of what she was waiting for, and now turned away. Sara, glancing round, thought sho had left the room, but in reality sho was close beside her, only bidden by the sweep of tho long, dark window-cur-tains, her black frock befriending her. Thero rose a sudden shadow out of the twilight, blocking tho window. “At last!” It was the form and voice Sara, too, was waiting for, so sho instantly became very frigidly reserved. “Oh, is it you? M’o didn’t expect to see you for a much longer time. Have you done all your talking? Is the Council of War ended?” “It is for mo,” said Mclnnes. “Won’t you come out in the garden?” “Too cold, too damp,” said Sara, and she shook her curls over her face. “Tho clew is falling. Besides —are not all the other officers out there? No? Surely you should be with them.” The Mclnnes was a very tall men, and the window not very high above the ground. He leant his arms on the sill, and began to smooth an end of yellow sash-ribbon round one finger. Sara—surely she seemed a little nervous—pulled aa ivy spray towards her, and slowly picked it to pieces. When sho glanced up it was to meet a pair of eyes looking so intent, and full and straight, that They were grey eyes, set far back and darkly rimmed. Tho light in them made them glow as deep water does when the sun is on it. Ho picked up the several little sprigs of ivy as they fluttered away, and laid them with much caro ono upon another in a heap on the sill. Then, Doing a. wise man, he began to talk—not, indeed, in an indifferent tone, for be took no pains to conceal its ring and undercurrent of stirred feeling; but his words were finely impersonal. “Nobody will be dat yet. Our conn, cil isn’t nearly over. H.R.H. has got the plan of entrenchments with him. There’s no one inside?” “Clementina’s gone to ” Sara nearly took her revenge by saying “to curl her hair,” but refrained; her own curled naturally—“to tie up her snood again.” Molnnes noted every shadow on the fair little face. “Has she been airing her politics again? Sho only does it to tease. After all, isn’t it a woman’s nature — conservatism ? ’ ’ (“Sensible man I” commented Clementina, and she echoed hie laugh silently behind the curtain. “And he owes mo more than he realises, did he but understand my fair cousin as I do!”) Ho know, at any rate, on whose side Clementina’s sympathies were in this ono campaign that was Just then occupying his dearest hopes, and oared not a Jot about any others she might choose to have. So ho only shifted a little nearer and deliberately took the last bit of ivy right out of Sara’s fingers. “Tell me what you’ve been talking about,” said Sara, evasively. She drew back so that he might not see tho warm colour rising. “It’s the notion of the Sluices at Ipevonsoy. We mean to sot them in 1 such a way that at any moment should the French land the Levels can be instantly flooded. Tho other plans are of tho Martcllo Towers. They say it’ll take fifty thousand bricks- to complete a single course of ono of them! The .Duke of Richmond is responsible for those, yon know. They seem good —what was that?” It was Clementina slipping unperceived out of the room, with a wicked gleam in her black eyes. “Como out Just a little way—in the garden—won’t you?” pleaded Melaties persuasively. The dining hall was all in darkness, save for the lights blazing in the big silver candelabra at one end of the long table. Thero were silver sconces with wax tapers branching out at intervals all down the walls, and standing out in sharp relief against their dark panelling—but those had not been wanted. Littlo low latticed windows, sot deep and wide, opened out. down each side to tho west and east.j At tho far end, above tho groat flrc-i piaoo, grotesque carvings of uglymonks and mediaeval fantasies surrounded tho deeply-cut lettering of: the Lepell motto and tho date 1390. Could you have pierced tho forty feet of shadow to the dome-roof you would have found the same reported on -ivory black oaken beam. Fifty peoplo you might put to dine at ono sitring, and yet leave room. Mj v Lord Lepell liked nothing better than . to prove it, And now, since tho Gorman Legion had added its quota to society in that little seaside Sussex village, when the terror of u French invasion besot the coast, and meetings and consultations;

of military authorities and oouutryj gentlemen were the order of the day, ■ the Manor House bad its echoes sha■ken out night after night. Not often ini senseless revelry either —the air vas too full of what the dark future night hold. Those were times when lieu waked to action first, and then drank—to victory, or oblivion of disaster ! This night there had been some serious work under discussion —a new development in fortifications, a now scheme of cqast defence. Round the Table at the far end some dozen men nvere still gathered. Tho polished mahogany was cleared of glasses and decanters, except where they wore utilised to hold down tho curling edges of an outspread parchment chart. At the head eat my Lord Lepell. On his right hand tho Cmmnandor-in-Ohief, 11.R.H. the Duke of York. Somo of his Staff —Graeme Mclnnes was one, but ho had slipped away—had ridden over from Brighton with Elm. The Duke of Richmond sat over against him; gathered round there Wore the senior officers of tho famous Gorman Legion. Clementina counted them all as she stood pressed close up against tho window nearest to the little oasis of light. Thero was a , black lace shawl over 1 head and face and neck—nothing but the brightness of her twinkling eyes ‘to distinguish her from tho shadows all round. And all they said sho heard. There came a stir, and Mclnnes's name was mentioned. One of the officers of tho Staff got up and came swinging out through the hall into tho ante-worn which led to the gardens. Ho hummed aloud as he sauntered down the brick-laid path, his spurred riding boots clanging noisly as he wont, and looked nonchalantly away across tho privet hedges as though he had no idea ho were anywhere near either drawing-rooms or boudoirs. And long betoro he/had reached them, Mclnnes came sauntering down to meet him with equanimity quite as oblivious ■ —only leaving two small hands glowing with tho pressure of his lips. “Beautiful night.” yawned the Aide-de-camp. “The Commandcr-in-Ohief wants your ideas on Marsh Drainage, Mclnnes; I hope he’ll release us soon. What’s that star over the chimneystacks, I wonder? I used’to know ’em all once. Camping out in trenches teaches one sonictfriig after all.” Ho laughed easily. Neither noticed the slim, black figure crouching behind a syringa bush before she skirted the square and skimmed away down a side alloy. But Sara, from her post of vantage, looking down through tho gathering dusk, did. And tho impulse seized her to go out, too, into the fresh, cool night air; tho room within seemed suddenly blank and desolate. Sho found her way out down through a side door, catchiflg up a cloak aa die passed along. If was ono of Clementina’s, she noticed, as she hung it round her and pulled the hood over iher head—much too big and long and loose. However,’.the extra folds were all the Warmer. Her cousin was not in sight, but Sara walked quietly on, half as it were, in dream, her mind running back through tho past, and then leaping forwards to th© future —a future whoso ixmtomplation even in thought sent the blood to her cheeks and a glint to her ©yet 1 . . . But it was not in dream that all at onco there seemed to flash that curious medley of twinkling lights out of tho far darkness! . . . And Sara awoke —startled. What, could it be ? She put her hand up to her eyes and stared hard through tho night. All was still and,sombre. Suddenly, again, a triangle—three stars hung low down, very low down in the pky, as it were; no mistaking this time. Two seconds—out they went. Bara waited no longer, she picked up her voluminous folds and sot off running down the path. What tricks was that wild Clementina up to now? The privet alleys came to an end; the path led on through the shrubberies. Unco more, Just straight in front, the throe sparkling pin-points flashed out. Sara began to laugh. She felt like a child playing with a will-o’-the-wisp And then—why, here was tho high, straight brick wall of tho garden fronting her. She had com© right down to th© very end. But where was Clementina? She recognised her exact whereabouts by catching sight in dim outline of a certain little tumbledown summer-house, built up against tho garden wall, open on the other thre© sides. She waited a moment, and then turned and slowly ascended its shaky wooden stops —perhaps hex cousin was in hiding here. There was a rough-hewn oak-branch table screwed down in tho middle and a ,couplo of rustic benches. Within and without, ivy and Virginian creeper ; iaado a hanging tapestry from roof to jfloor, and the stars shon© fitfully through tho leaves, though there was jno moon. Sara paused and stood drumming her fingers doubtfully on the rough edge of the table. The night was wonderfully still; she could hear the plash of the first incoming wave of the flowing tide as it broke on tho shore. Sho was soothed into roverio again with the soft, familiar murmur, and did not hear tho slight rustling sound close beside her which presently stirred the silence. Tho green tapestry parted, and two figures stood at her side. One laid his hand on her arm. “Que vous etes tard, Mademoiselle Lepell,” murmured a voice softly. Then, indeed, but not before, she turned sharply, terrified, but in another moment, before she had time to think, speak, or escape, the speakei ■had quickly—though quit© gently—drawn her after him. Ho pushed aside the ivy : it concealed an opening in the wall. As they stepped within, it fell again close and thick behind them, and Sara felt herself making a hurried descent down a succession of steps. It was perfectly dark; the air smelt damp and close. “Prenez garde. Mademoiselle Clementina, je vous on prie.” He had not loosed her arm, and now tightened his hold to keep her from falling. Sara had opened her mouth to scream; she shut it resolutely as he spoke the name. Hair that curls, and has a copper hue, is generally associated with a quick intuition and a capacity for instantaneous action. This, then, was meant for Clementina. It was possible much underlay it. For Clementina’s sake secrecy was perhaps necessary. Clementina she would bo for the nonce. Her thoughts flew swiftly over possible contingencies. Intrigue? or mere escapade? Folly, a trick ... a love affair, or .. . what else? Still they went on descending swiftly and relentlessly, tho soft French accents at her ear going on. too, in a kind of reassuring undercurrent. Sara heard to understand but half. She felt, bewildered, confused ; the long folds of her cloak kept tripping her up.

Tho other man went stolidly, on ahead. Onco only ho turned around. "Mind l' fiintstones. Once they gets a holt an ye, yo doant easy get shut of ’em. ’Tis tarrablo nubbly for walking.” Tho steps ended, and Sara found her feet sinking softly into a yielding ground. Sho stooped and furtively .picked up a trail of her cloak; the hem 'was all damp. She put it to her lips; ■it was rough with sand and grit, and saltish. They made a sudden turning, and a sharp current of air set athwart their faces, strong, harsh, and bracken, A confused rumble of noise, growing every moment more distinct, gave her the clue. Sho stretched out her free hand and met tho resistance of a wall; it was slimy and wet, and a bit of moist seaweed came away. She began to understand now. Then all at once they stopped. Her guide loosed her arm. “Pardon, a moment,” he said, and sho hoard tho faint patter of his footsteps quick running upon the shifting sand. “Doant smell so gifty like now,” said the other man. Ho, too, seemed to have stopped, but see sho could not. “We bo araost agin t’ beach. Hark how t’ water rakes.” “Yes,” murmured Sara. ' “T’ Captain ’ll b© hero dracly minuat. He couldn’t rightly come up hisself all through along on account of t’ tide. Ho was a-feared ye’d ache waitin’. So wo corned along fust.” “Yes?” Another voice at Sara’s elbow; it made her start with a little cry. Sho had heard no ono approaching. “ ’Tis Mistress Lepell?” “Y’es,” said Sara again. This at least was truth. “I hope ye’ll pardon my ’lowin yo to coruo down so far isted of my a-ooming up, but t’tide’a on t’turn dracly, and I couldn’t rightly leave t’ boat. An’ th’ Emperor’s letter I was to give ye with my own hands. If yo send anyone else of an errand, he's purty sure t’niake a boffle of it. Will yo take her?” He appeared to be fumbling in fats pocket, and then came the sound of cautious striking of timber and flint. The light in a sudden flare-up showed Sara where he stood, a packet in his hand; he was looking as though to make sure of the address—and in that moment Sara, too, just caught tho superscription. “A I’egard de M. du Barri.” She had no time to observe more. The light was out, and the letter in her hands.

“Have ye aught to go back?” ! T don’t think so,” sho faltered. “Well I doant know as it argifiea much whether I goes across to-day 01 whether I goes to-morrow if ’tis of count to ye. But a must shift off wi’ t’ tide now, or ‘ho’ll’ have me, 1 reckon 1 Yo could let me hear, and I’ll help t’ letter to Doney sure enough. Good-night to ye, Mistress. Ye’H ’scuse me. ’Danvers ’ll see ye back wi’ t’ bag.” “Good-night,” returned Sara mechanically. Again her arm was gently taken and herself guided round, and along tho passage. No ono spoke during the return Journey. Silently and swiftly they passed—so swiftly, that pool Sara was panting by the time they had climbed the shaking slippery steps. She tried to count them with a vague idea of possibly turning the knowledge to account. A moment’s pause. “There’s t 1 money-purse. Good-night t’ ye.” “Au revoir, chore Mademoiselle.” A heavy bag 'was swung into her hand. Sara turned hastily—to hear a dick She was standing alone in the middle of the summer-house. It was but for a moment, for the silence of the gardens was no longer unbroken. Voices rose and fell on tbe quiet evening air. Surely that was Mr Mclnnes just rounding the corner. “He came to look for me,” thought Sara, smiling to herself even then. Sho dared not stop. Off she set at as quick a run as she could. Bumpety bump against her heels went the heavy bag—rattle-rattle, bang-bang—heav-ens,' what a noise! It must be coin—coin, money, how awful 1 Sho looked wildly around through the darkness. A spreading guelder-rose bush brushed her face; in a sudden inspiration she heaved the whole thing with ono great effort into its midst. It sank with a final heavy clang, and on sho fled. And now aho was within sight of the house, she would soon bo in safety; the side door, with its friendly protection, stood ajar. And then all at once her foot caught, and she stumbled, and tripped over a dark heap on the ground. “Sara! Don’t scream! It’s I, Clementina. I’ve hurt my foot. Don’t speak.” Her hand was seized in a hot grip. Clementina pulled her down beside her. “I’ve hurt my foot —horribly. Don’t tell anyone, just help me in. They mustn’t find me here. Oh I where have you been all this time?” “Oh, Nina I ” Clementina took her lower lip between her teeth, and spoke stiffly, but collectedly. “Don’t make a fuss. Why, what’s the matter with you? Tell me quick. Where have you been? Where have you been?” A quick not® of terrified suspicion thrilled through the hoarso whisper. “In the shrubberies; I went to find you. I’ve been —I’vo been ” “Did you see anyone? Sayl Speak I Quick 1” “Two men—no, three. They took me for you. We went down steps and a passage —by tho summer-house.” There came a short sharp exclamation. Clementina dragged herself up. The perspiration stood in beads on her forehead; her face was wrinkled and furrowed with hardly borne pain. “Don’t say another word. Get me into tho house. Give me your arm.” She clutched Sara with a grip of desperate determination. Hor breath came hard and fast between clenched teeth; she leaned heavily, pausing every now and again to pass her hand over her lips. It seemed an endless Journey before they stood within tho house. Clementina dropped on hands and knees,, and began crawling doggedly up the stairs. “Get me somo brandy if you can. Don’t let the servants know,” she flung back just above her breath. She was on the floor of her room, with her foot plunged into a watering, when Sara returned. “Left my shoe and stocking in the garden. Treasure trove for some Parley Gorman!” scoffed Clementina with grim amusement curling hor blue lips. “Tho bone’s broken. I think. How did you get this? Dining-hall empty yet?” “No.” said Sara. “I heard talking. But Thomas had left a tray in the pantry ” “Whew! Hanoverian Dregs! Sit down. Tell me My good littlo cousin, have mercy. Tell mo quickly. Let me know the worst. I’m bettor now— Is that ice? Clever child

to think of it! Oh, that s better— • Who did you see, d’you say? You (went down the passage —well?’' “I didn’t see anyone. It was pitch dark. There were three Are they smugglers?” “Yes. It’s a secret passage. You ®iay as well know. Runs underground to the beach. You can’t get out at high tide. Clever —eh? what 4id they say?” “They gave me a bag.” “A bag. Oh! Well?” “And a letter.” “A letter ! To whom? What?” “Addressed a legard do M. du barri —” “Where? Where? Give it me—kjuick.” ‘‘“l’ve got it, somewhere I had it.” Sara began fumbling in her pocket, in tho bosom of her dress, felt all down, all over. “I—I,” she began. Clementina flung herself upon her. “You’ve lost it!” Sho was at Sara’s knees, clutching the little thing by the skirts, her face ,with its compressed lips and gleaming •eyes full of the most awful pain and (terror. Sho shook hor violently backwards and forwards. “Oh! Oh! Perhaps it was In the summer-house. There was that bag.” “Never mind that.” “But I threw it in tho guelder hush. It must have been Just by tho fountain perhaps ” “Oh, go, for mercy s sake, tor mercy’s sake! Find it! Go, only go.” _ . In another moment Sara was flying down once more between the privet hedges. Two men arm in arm came sauntering down tho path deep in talk. One was Graeme Mclnnes. Sara darted aside and flung herself face downwards on tho grass, bolding her breath Thought, feeling, and sense seemed to fail her, for Mclnnes almost brushed her as ho passed. “ 1 snail take it to the Commmder-in-Chief at once,” he was saying. ‘lt may be nothing, but, of jourse, Lu Barri isn’t in a position to be corresponding with anyone except through US He was carefully folding something within his breasLpocket. Clementina was sitting Just as Sara bad left her—her face was bent oyer to her knees; the black hair fell like n veil around it; her arms hung down straight on either side, tho hands clenching and unclenching automatically Sho raised hor head as Sara re-outer-od the room, numbly interrogative, pain hardening every feature. Sara shut to tho door, but then stopped short whore sho stood. “Mr Mclnnes has the letter. The two blanched faces fronted each other in a hard, silent stare of stricken consternation. “He is carrying it to the Duke.” , . ~ “ You must get it from him. ft ;was barely a whisper, hoarse, rough, hardly audible. Sara stood as though unheanng. There was a silently protesting note of interrogation in her attitude. “ If the Duke sees it. it means—it means not only dishonour, disgrace, for me, for us, for you—yes, for us all ” her voice began to rise shrilly. “What is that letter?” It was Sara’s voice now that had tho cold dominating ring of command. And Clementina flung back her head, and the words came hurling out as it were in defiance against tho upright, motionless little figure over against her. . . “It is from Napoleon to me. It is in acknowledgment of information I have given him. Ho has promised me the Marquis du Barri’s exchange, his liberty, at the next exchange of prisoners of war. They would not, would not ransom him, or exchange ” her voice broke in dry, harsh sobs, “ And I have bargained for him. He is mine.” “Information!” It just slipped from Sara's scarcely parted pallid lips. “And if the Duke sees it—no, you will not suffer, none of us, not even I. But they will shoot him as a spy.” She paused, gasped, and threw out her arms. She had forgotten her own hurt.

“ Information?” repeated Sara. She suddenly glanced involuntarily at her hands—she seemed to hear again that horrid clink of coin, to feel the weight of that heavy bag. “Shoot him! Kill him! Murder him I And he knows nothing. Is ignorant Oh, Saral” Sara pressed her hands against her eyes to shut out th© sight. “ They will shoot him ” —she dragged at her neck aa though she were choking, “Oh, Sara, you care for Graeme Mclnnes; you know, you know what it means. And 1 caro for him —I lovo him . Oh, my God, how I love himl” The words died away in a silence that seemed lifeless. Sara met her eyes for a moment, and then she wheeled abruptly: “I will get the letter.” she said—and was gone. Th© door of the dining-hall was open. Sara stood upon its threshold and paused. At the further ond, within tho circle of illumination, stood the Commander-in-Chief, H.R.H. of York with the Duke of Richmond at his elbow. The two aides-de-camp had apparently but just entered, and ail four wero deep in conversation. Mclnnes was speaking os Sara entered. There were two or three other men standing near, but they seemed insensibly to melt away os she came up tbe hall, withdrawing unostentatiously to a far window out of earshot. Lord Lepell had already gone out—Sara noted his absence with a faint access of relief. Indeed, she seemed to note everything down to the most foolish detail. Long before she had reached the little group sho had observed a white mark all along tho underside of Mclnnes’s coat sloevo. “I forgot to warn him the paint on tho sill was new,” she, thought, mechanically. All eyes were fixed on her as she stepped like a .white-robed ghost out of tho shadows that filled the lower hall into the light. The Duko howed and made a step forward to meet her. Of surprise at her appearance on such an occasion, alone, ho showed none; for the Lepells might do as they pleased, and do no wrong, where any of the royal circle wero concerned. Besides, the Duko liked pretty faces; he was always pleased to see one. And though no one of that circle had ever looked at Sara Lepell without according her that high meed of admiration which holds no qualifying element, to-night it was a Bara whose beauty came upon one and ail with a sudden sense of startling revelation. _ Tho copper curls wore si-glitter with tiny beads of iridescent deiw; her eyes shone deeip and dark, tho clear colour on lip and cheek glowed to brilliancy. But there was more. There was ihe heart and soul of a woman, fearless and unconscious of seif, look-

leg out of the childishly young and rounded face; and it was this contrast which struck these men, who had never before seen the little lighthearted, maidenly-reserved thing under the stress of any deep overmastering idea. The Duke looked, and held out his hand in kindly protection, as it wore. And His Grace of Richmond lot his lined face relax into unusual gentleness. And Mclnncs looked —and looked —and looked. The aide-de-camp beside him did not wonder either. But Sara looked at no one but the Duke—the Commander-in-Chief.

“I have come about a letter,” she began. Ceremony was fur gotten. She 'had but the one thought possessing hor. Behind it all she know she dared not pause to think. “A letter I have dropped by mistake. And ” There went a sort of little start through the four men. Mclnnes suddenly braced himself 'up straight and (impassively erect. I The Duke involuntarily thrust his 'hand within the breast of his coat. (Sara still stood with upraised ejyes ■fixed unswervingly upon his own. “It was intrusted to me,” she said steadily, “'and 1 dropped it by mistake. I understood it had been found and brought to you.” ‘‘But, my dear Miss Lepell,” be!gan the Duke; his tone was one of (grave iparplexiity. ‘‘Are you aware ( ” He withdrew his hand. Sara saw it bald the loiter, still unopened. “Are you ilware whom this letter concerns?” “It is about M. du Barri,” said ‘Sara. “I know. But —but I lost it. :And, oh, mayn’t I have it back?” 'And she suddenly, with an unconscious I impulse, put out her two hands. The Duke was reading the superscription. He looked the letter all over —and then at Sara. The aide-de-camp discreetly dropped out of the group. “The Marquis du Barri,” began the Duke slowly, “is a prisoner of war. i'ou know that. As such, no communications of any kind may go to him except through our hands. All his correspondence is examined first. 1 need not explain to you, I know, that such a course in these times is only right. May I ask——” Sara stood as though she had not heard. “May I mot have it?” she pleaded, hardly above her breath. “The Duke glanced at her, and then back again at the letter. Goodnatured desire to humour this pretty creature, favoured daughter of a favoured host, wrestled with more dubious feelings. “Do you know who wrote this?” he ,9aid at Inst. "Yes," said Sara. But now the dark lashes fell over her steady eyes. “It is not to you?” • “No.” "But you know what it is about?” "Yes.” The Duke cleared his throat doubtfully once or twice, and then turned round and drank off the contents of a ! wineglass at his elbow. “I’m afraid it must be opened ” "Ob!” "What is it about?” There was a moment’s pause; this time the keen eyes were remorselessly fixed on her face. Upon the mirror of Sara’s mind there suddenly flashed the .vision of Clementina as she had just left her—the fever in the black eyes, the ring in the broken voice, her words, her She raised hex eyes and met the Duke’s squarely. “It is a love letter,” she said unfalteringly. Truthful and candid as a child’s indeed was her gaze. A moment before Truth, in drooping lids and quivering voice, had worn all the appearance of guilt. Now 1 He scrutinised, and believed. There was no room for distrust of a Lepell. “Oh, indeed I” A little smile, in fact, began to curve his lips. His Grace of Richmond was making no secret of his amusement. It seemed to them now to be all part of a guileless, if not ovenvise, comedy. “In that cose —1 would willingly meet your wishes, Miss Lepell; you know_it, lam sure. Perhaps a mere glance would suffice. Just for form’s sake ”

“Oil I” She strangled the cry of terror. She could only curtsey in silent acknowledgment, but \ a great tear rose and foil with a splash. “Oh, well, after all ” The kind, good-natured face looked decidedly discomposed, and then lightened, as a now idea of compromise suggested itself. “Perhaps there is no need for me to inquire into such things; though, believe me. I am roallv not without my sympathies I Suppose wo delegate Mr Molnnes here. Yours was the treasure-trove P” Well did he surmise how things stood between the “Bonny Sara” and his favourite aidede camp? Molnnes bowed. “Just glance at it, and then give it to Miss Lopcll. The merest formality,” turning again to Sara. “Military discipline I need hardy excuse to your father’s daughter.” He made her a kindly little bow. But there was nothing more to be said, and Sara knew it. Under all the good humour tho final word had been pronounced. It was a concession, but only a compromise. Molnnes took the letter, and broke the seal. Not once until now had Sara dared to look at him. Tho Duke bad turned deliberately aside, and was chatting with His Grace of Richmond. Nobody else took note. These two -were as much alone as though there were none else in the whole world beside them. Mclnnes smoothed out the sheet. Not a muscle of his impassive countenance moved, neither by word nor sign did he betray himself; while Sara, with her big eyes fixed in strained misery, followed his as they travelled over the paper. Would it never end? A great cold wave swept up and down and over her. All her being seemed concentrated in the following of the flicker of his eyelids as he traced tho zigzag lines. And then he looked up, and Sara throw back her head and fronted him. There rose up all at once within her a desperate defiance. She would dare him to betray her I Their eyes met. The pause seemed endless—Sara shivered down to hei finger-tips. He made a step forward and bowed towards the Gommander-ia chief. The Duke glanced interrogatively—caught his eye, and nodded comprehensively. “I have the honour ,” said McInness formally. The room was spinning round, and tho candles danced like wills-o’-the-wisp—-but Sara was clutching the letter to her breast with both hands. She closed her eyes. There was a confused medley, as it appeared to her. of forms, and figures, and voices. Little spectres jeering and pointing at her, the air full of scorn, and contempt, and condemnation.

Clementina's face came looming between "You care for Graeme Mc'lnnes.” Did she? And what had she done? What had she done P Ho had soiled his honour —for her. To save hers. She opened her eyes. The room was empty. She saw the last officer trailing out as he followed his superiors. Only Graemo Mclnnes was standing over against her, cold, impassive—heavens, how stern! And a dreadful, overwhelming feel-j ing of sheer physical fear came upon; her. Her heart stood still withinj her—for one awful moment life itself seemed suspended. I “How came you to know anything! about this?” . _ , Sara made no reply—in point of fact, she could not. “Who gave you the letter?” No answer. “Was it your cousin, Clementina?”' He paused. “Do you not think that owe ii to me to tell me the truth?” He did not intentionally emphasise the last word—indeed, it was really dhe struggle with innate Scotch reserve that made his voice sound so hard. But to Sara it came like a scourge. Still she said nothing— l what could she say? It seemed to her there was nothing. Out of her own mouth she stood convicted; there was nothing left to say. She merely began to feel within herself how intolerably tired she was: how numb and cold and weak. Mclnnes stood and looked down at her; without comment, he brought forward a chair and put her into it. Then, going to the table, he poured out a glass of wine and held it himself to her Ups. Sara drank obediently. When he had put the glass down; “And how was it they took you for Clementina?” ho asked abruptly. “I had on her cloak,” replied Sara unsuspectingly. A little smile of triumph crossed Mclnnes’s lips. She did not notice when he left the room, and still sat mechanically lingering the empty wineglass beside her, until presently it occurred to her that it was growing very lato and that the servants ought to be coming to clear the hall. It might provoke comment were she found thereall by herself; besides Clementina would be waiting. She got up and made her way to her own little white-panelled sitting-room; was it only—how long? An hour? Two, three,-since she had left it? She sat down on the window seat and laid her head on the sill, “just where the paint came off,” she murmured, half unconsciously to herself. “I must go and tell Clementina—when I’ve rested just a bit.” Instead of which she quietly fainted away, and when she roused it was to find her head resting against a cloth coat and Graeme Mclnnes’s voice in her ears.

“Hadn’t you better let me take care of you for the future?” he said. Sara liked the feel of that coat against her cheek: it brought her faomjohow a comforting assuiranoe or safety and protection. She nestled a little closer for all answer. The Mclnnes had found less than no difficulty in abstracting the truth from Clementina. Neither had he to go far in search of her. She had crawled out again half way down the stairs, and the first thing his eyes fell upon when he left the dining-hall was her white face gleaming as she lay huddled up in the wide recess that lighted the first shallow flight. But when she had finished, answered all his questions, and wound up with a little mocking laugh, that strangely contrasted with the drawn pallid exhaustion of her face, Mclnnes found very little to say. Argument with a woman in the last stage of acute physical suffering, and whose callous defiance is too carelessly patent for any possibility of its being assumed, is a thing in which a man finds himself at an insurmountable disadvantage. “So now you see,” she said indifferently. It was the indifference born ol despair. “You know all about it, and can do as you like. Nothing matters now. Clap me in gaol for all I care—where better men are ,” she laughed harshly. “Toll the world; tell every one. Disgrace mo wherever you please. I don’t care. I’ve lost. You’ve won—you and your King. Pahl That s all And if I’d the chance over again I should do just the same; so now you know. You needn’t think I m in the least sorry —except in being found out. Ashamed? Why, pray? I’ve never owned your soi-disant King. My King is her lip curled a moment.

She threw back her head and looked him unflinchingly in the fact. “The Marquis du Barri,” ho intuitively guessed was the ending to that sentence, and somehow the gesture reminded him of Sara. He put up one band deprecatingly. “You assure me Du Barri knew nothing of your —your design?” “I never told him,” said Clementina, with a weary petulance in her voice that convinced him of the truth of her words. Her thoughts seemed already to have flown beyond him. “Well,” she said again, “I’ve nothing more to say. Do as you like. Perhaps you’ll excuse me now. Why not go back to Sara? Poor little Sara 1 Fancy her romancing like that! And to her hero the Duke I" And she began to laugh in her old mocking way that covered so much. Mclnnes went. And exactly what he did or bow he did it neither Clementina nor Sara over wholly knew. But certain things happened in that community which bore more or less on all their fortunes before many months had passed. For the Marquis du Barri was immediately transferred to Brighton; but the next list of prisoners to bo exchanged bore his name. And Clementina, of her own accord, resigned her post at Court, but it was merely to settle down at the Manor. And the little old summer-house was pulled down; but my Lord Lepel,! never missed it, and it was Princess Sara who ordered it to be done. I think myself that the repairing of that breach in the wall was accomplished by the same local talent which had so ingeniously turned it to account; and make no doubt those masons and carpenters smiled grimly enough to themselves over the job.

But there was one penalty the Princess will always have to pay. For nest time she saw the Duke it was with Graeme Mclnnes, as her fiance, beside her. And the Duke, as she curtseyed to receive his good wishes, first kissed her gallantly on the forehead, and then looked from her to his junior aide-de-camp with a subdued twinkle in his eye. “So my Aide-de-camp is going to revise your correspondence altogether, is he, Miss Lepellf-” he said, and laughed as ho paseed on.

And Sara kn-ew xhat hor falsehood had been believed only too well, with a possible interpretation which was as gall and aloes to her prmui spirit. For it is certain that lone; as th« Duke does not know the whole truth h© will choose to believe his own vexation.