CHAPTER V

THE WOOD END


Richard Barrington knew that he had fallen into some trap, the exact nature of it and the danger he could not know. After a pause, a long pause it seemed to Jeanne St. Clair, long enough for a villain to fashion a lying tale, he turned to her.

"It seems, mademoiselle, that I have been robbed as well as deceived."

"In spite of that," she said, pointing to the iron token, "I am inclined to listen to the message."

"Mademoiselle, I regret that I ever undertook to carry it. I had other business in hand, but an oath to a dead man was binding."

"A dead man? Lucien?"

"I know nothing of Lucien. For all I know he may already be making merry at my discomfiture. The dead man was one Rouzet, or so he told me, and he called himself your servant."

"He was Lucien's servant, a faithful one," she answered.

"At least he was faithful in some one's service since he died in it, and I can honor him for that even though he deceived me."

"You have told me so much you must tell me more," she said, a persuasive tone in her voice.

She must hear the story. Whether this man were honest or not she must make him speak. Whatever plot was on foot she must know it. To some one surely Lucien had given the gold star. Much must depend on her receiving the message he had sent with it.

"You must tell me," she repeated.

"And knowing far more than I do you may laugh at me for a simple gentleman easily fooled. Still, he is something of a hero who can stand being laughed at. Many years ago I had that from a countryman of yours, the Marquis de Lafayette. I was on my way to visit him in Paris, when this mission was thrust upon me."

Concisely but in every detail Barrington told her what had happened at Trémont, and explained how he had become acquainted with Monsieur le Comte at Beauvais. He made no attempt to conceal the fact that he had come to France to place himself at the disposal of Monsieur de Lafayette. If there were any risk in telling this woman so, he was rather relieved to have real danger to face instead of lying and intrigue; the one he might meet successfully, but he was no adept in battling with the other.

"You took the star from Rouzet's coat after he was dead you say, are you sure it was a gold star you took?"

"I made certain by looking at it."

"And you can thoroughly trust your servant?"

"As myself, mademoiselle."

"You have not told me your name," she said.

"Richard Barrington," he answered, and then he laughed a little. "Why I trust you, I do not know. I may be putting it into your power to do me a great deal of harm."

"If I have the power, I shall not use it," she answered.

There was a moment coming when she would have to decide whether these words constituted a promise given without reservation, or whether the promise were contingent on his being honest, as now she believed him to be.

"For that I thank you," he returned.

"And you have my thanks for coming to Beauvais. That you have been robbed only makes it clearer how bitter Lucien's enemies are. Have you any plan, Monsieur Barrington, by which I could reach Paris in safety?"

The question set his thoughts rushing into a new channel. He felt suddenly responsible for her, knew that to prevent her going even into the shadow of harm he was prepared to face any danger. It was not her beauty which influenced him, a moment ago he had been ready to despise it if she were a deceitful woman; something more subtle than her beauty appealed to him, herself, the revelation of herself which was in her question.

"It is impossible for you to go to Paris, mademoiselle. The crowd of refugees in this château is proof enough that the danger is too great. How any man, no matter what his need may be, could ask you to put yourself in such jeopardy, I cannot understand."

"Yet you undertook to bring the message to Beauvais. Was it in your mind to advise that no notice should be taken of it?"

"Indeed, mademoiselle, I thought of little beyond fulfilling the oath I had taken, and to go my way again as quickly as possible."

"The answer to the message must rest with me, Monsieur Barrington," she said, quietly. "It was not by my own will that I left Paris. I am not afraid to return. Will you help me?"

"Mademoiselle, I——"

"Please, Monsieur Barrington. It means life or death, perchance, to the man I love."

"Curse him for asking you to face such a danger."

"Hush, you cannot understand," she said, putting her hand upon his arm. "I know Lucien. From Beauvais you will journey to Paris. Will you let me go with you?"

"No. I will not help you to your destruction. I will carry whatever message you will to this man, but I will not do more."

"Then take this message: Jeanne St. Clair is on her way to Paris; she asked my escort, but since I would not give it she has found another. Tell him that, Monsieur Barrington."

"Have you no fear, mademoiselle?"

"For myself—none."

"Very well, I will try and see you safely into Paris. You will go most easily as a woman of the people, one who has some aristocrat enemy on whom she wishes to be avenged. Do you think you can play such a part?"

"I will do as you bid me."

"Hide your hair, mademoiselle; wear some hideous cloak which may do something to spoil your beauty. If you will go, I may be a safer escort than any other. I claim friendship with Monsieur de Lafayette, so I am for the people. Even if we cause suspicion they will hardly prevent our going to Paris. Your return——"

"We need not arrange for that now, monsieur. When will you start?"

"As soon as possible."

"To-morrow at dawn," she answered. "At the foot of the road leading up to Beauvais, you will see to your left a wood which ends abruptly as it approaches the valley down which we must go to the frontier. I have papers that shall help me to pass. I have always known that I should have to return to Paris. Amongst the trees at the end of the wood I will come to you to-morrow—at dawn."

"I and my servant will await you there, mademoiselle. At least two men shall do their utmost to protect you."

He picked up her mask which had fallen to the floor.

"Will you fasten it for me?" she said.

It was rather clumsily done. His fingers trembled a little as they touched her hair. He was very close to her; her personality, the faint perfume about her, took fast hold of him. What manner of man could this Lucien be who had won the love of such a woman as this?

He put on his own mask, and then taking up the lantern followed her back along the narrow stone passage. As she came to the corridor she stopped.

"Let me go alone," she said. "To-night we will not meet again. To-morrow at dawn."

Barrington did not return to the ballroom, but after lingering in the great hall for a few minutes with a view of deceiving any one who might be watching his movements, he left the château. So far he had fulfilled his oath, but he had discharged it only to accept a much greater responsibility. To-morrow he would be riding towards Paris, the cavalier of a beautiful aristocrat. The position must be full of danger for him; truly it was thrust upon him against his will, yet there was an elasticity in his step as he went back to his lodgings which suggested compensations in the position. By a strange chain of circumstances, Jeanne St. Clair had come into his life; there was something added to the mere fact of living, whether of joy or pain he could not determine, but he was very sure that his outlook upon life could never be quite the same again. For good or ill this woman must influence him to some extent, she could never pass out of his life again, leaving him as he was before. There was a fresh wind blowing across the square of Beauvais, yet it was powerless to disperse the subtle perfume which lingered about him, which was an enfolding atmosphere, which must remain with him always. He told his tale to Seth in a short, direct manner, emphasizing no single point in it. The star had been stolen, when or how he did not attempt to guess. Monsieur le Comte had grossly deceived them, his purpose time would show. The woman was as far removed from his description as pole is from pole. He had delivered his message, but circumstances decreed that they could not return alone.

Seth listened to his young master, and made no comment until the tale was ended.

"She is a beautiful woman, then."

"Yes, I think that would be the world's opinion. It is not her beauty which has influenced me."

"Still, the future might have had less difficulty in it if a man had quarrelled with you to-night instead of a woman pleaded," Seth answered.

"True enough, but one cannot choose the difficulties he will face. We must take them as they come, and console ourselves with the reflection that there is a good purpose somewhere behind them."

"For all that, Master Richard, there are some who overburden themselves with difficulties which do not concern them. It will be pleasant traveling with a pretty woman, but I fancy trouble is likely to ride in our company, too. They mostly go together, women and trouble; and the prettier the women are, the greater the trouble, that's my experience. There's just one question in my mind: on which side are we ranged—with the people or with the aristocrats?"

"With the people. Once this woman is in Paris, I——"

Seth looked at him, waiting for the completion of the sentence. It remained unfinished.

"A wise pause, Master Richard. Who can tell what may happen in Paris? Indeed, we may never reach Paris. At dawn, you said. That gives little time for rest. In these hills the sun gets up early."

Dim twilight was on all the plain, darkness in the wood, when Richard Barrington and Seth tied their horses to a tree and awaited the coming of Jeanne St. Clair at the wood end. Ever the first to catch the fire from the upcoming day, the summits of the great double mountain which dominated the country blushed a faint rose color which each instant glowed brighter and clearer, and then peak after peak was caught by the same rose flush, and light, like a gracious benediction, fell slowly into valley and gorge, while myriad shades of color pulsated into new life in earth and sky. The two men watched this magic beauty of the dawn in silence. So wondrous was it, so majestic, so far beyond the schemes and thoughts of insignificant man, that it was almost impossible not to see in it some portent, something of promise or warning. Even Seth, practical and farseeing as he was, forgot the actualities of life for a little space, while Richard's dreams took flight into that upper world of rosy flame and forgot the deep valleys, dark with difficulty and danger. This new day which was being born was perfect, with a beauty his eyes had never seen before; the woman he waited for was perfect, too, a revelation. She and the dawn filled his soul. They were more real than anything past, present, or to come, and his being sang a Te Deum of thanksgiving.

"She should be here," he said, turning to Seth and speaking in a hushed voice without knowing that he did so.

Seth laid his hand sharply upon his arm, and pointed through the trees to the road which came down to the plain from Beauvais. Four men were approaching, walking quickly and talking together. They came straight towards the end of the wood as men having a purpose.

"Quick! The horses!" said Barrington. "Draw back farther into the wood and let them pass."

Holding their horses, and hidden among the trees, they watched the men come to the spot where they had been a moment or two before. Here they stopped, looked round on every side and listened.

"They are looking for us," Seth whispered. "It may be the lady cannot come and has sent them to tell us so."

"Four of them!" Barrington said.

He did not move. These men were not lackeys, they were gentlemen. Barrington wondered whether they had chosen this secluded spot to settle some private quarrel of last night's making.

"Scented danger and gone," said one.

Another shook his head and stared into the depths of the wood before him with such a keen pair of eyes that Barrington believed he must be seen.

"Not a man to run from danger," he said, "unless mademoiselle were strangely deceived."

The remark decided Barrington's course of action. He stepped forward followed by Seth, who tied up the horses again and then took up a position behind his master.

"Are you seeking me, gentlemen?"

"If your name be Monsieur Barrington," the man with the keen eyes answered.

"It is."

The four men bowed low and Barrington did the same.

"My companion thought we were too late," said the spokesman, "but I had a different opinion. We are four gentlemen devoted to Mademoiselle St. Clair, and she has charged us with a commission."

"You are very welcome unless you bring bad news," said Barrington.

"For you it may be," was the answer with a smile. "Mademoiselle will not need you to escort her to Paris."

Barrington had not sought such an honor. Until the moment he had fastened her mask, touching her hair and touched by her personality, he would rather have been without the honor; now he was disappointed, angry. She had found another escort and despised him. She was as other women, unreliable, changeable, inconstant.

"You bring some proof that mademoiselle has entrusted you with this message."

"This," was the answer, and the man held up the little iron star.

"I am not greatly grieved to be relieved of such a responsibility, gentlemen," said Barrington, with a short laugh. "Perhaps you will tell mademoiselle so."

"Pardon, but monsieur hardly understands. For some purpose monsieur came to Beauvais with an attempt to deceive mademoiselle with this little iron trinket. It is not possible to let such a thing pass, and it is most undesirable that monsieur should be allowed to have the opportunity of again practicing such deceit. Mademoiselle listened to him, feigned to be satisfied with his explanation, in fact, met deceit with deceit. My opinion was that half a dozen lackeys should be sent to chastise monsieur, but mademoiselle decided otherwise. You were too good to die by a lackey's hand, she declared, therefore, monsieur, we are here."

"Four gentlemen for six lackeys!" laughed Barrington. "It is a strange computation of values."

"The methods are different," was the answer. "I think we do you too much honor, but mademoiselle has willed it. We have already arranged our order of precedence, and monsieur has the pleasure of first crossing swords with me. If his skill is greater than mine, then he will have the pleasure of meeting these other gentlemen. You have my word for honorable treatment, but it is necessary that the fight is to the death."

"And my servant here?"

The man shrugged his shoulders. Seth was beneath his consideration.

"There would have been fewer words with the lackeys' method, I presume," said Barrington. "I am not inclined to fight a duel."

"Monsieur is a little afraid."

"As you will."

"Afraid as well as being a liar and deceiver of women?"

"As much one as the other," Barrington answered carelessly.

"Then, monsieur, I am afraid we shall have to employ lackeys' methods."

"Now we come to level ground and understand each other," said Barrington. "There is no quarrel between us which a duel may settle. You are four men bound together to take my life if you can, but you shall not have the chance of taking it with a semblance of honesty by calling it a duel. You attack two travellers; if you can, rob them of what you will."

"That's better, Master Richard, I'm a poor hand at understanding jargon of this kind, but I have an idea of how to deal with thieves and murderers."

"Be careful, Seth," Barrington whispered.

The attack was immediate and sharp, without ceremony, and determined. Misunderstanding Barrington's attitude they were perhaps a little careless, believing him a coward at heart. Their methods, too, were rather those of the duelist than the fighter, and this gave Barrington and Seth some advantage. The keen-eyed man was as ready with his sword as with his tongue. He had been confident of saving his companions from soiling their blades had Richard consented to cross swords with him, and he advanced upon his enemy to bring the battle to a speedy conclusion. He even waved his companions aside, and it was with him Barrington had first to deal. Their blades were the first to speak, and in a moment the Frenchman knew that he had no mean swordsman to do with.

"This would have been keen pleasure had you been a gentleman," he said.

Barrington did not answer. He was armed for real warfare, his weapon was heavier than his opponent's and he took advantage of the fact. This was fighting, not dueling; and he beat the weapon down, snapping the blade near the hilt. The next moment the other Frenchman had engaged him fiercely.

With Seth there was even greater advantage. He was a servant and a lackey, and the punctilious gentlemen opposed to him were not inclined to cross swords with him. They looked to see him show fear, the very last thing in the world he was likely to do. Seth's arm was long and his method of fighting more or less his own, the most unceremonious, possibly, that these gentlemen had ever had to do with. Deeply cut in the wrist one man dropped his sword. In a moment Seth's foot was upon it, and as he turned to meet his other adversary he had taken a pistol from his pocket.

The Frenchman uttered an exclamation of surprise, and Seth laughed.

"If not the sword point, a bullet; either will serve," he said.

Then Seth was conscious of two things, one a certainty, the other imagination perhaps. Across his enemy's shoulder he caught sight of the road which led up to Beauvais, and down it came two men running towards the wood. After all, their opponents were to be six instead of four. This was certain. His master was separated from him by a few paces, and it seemed to Seth that he was being hard pressed. At any rate, if it were not so, the two men running towards them must turn the scale. Feigning a vigorous onslaught upon his opponent, who was already somewhat disconcerted, Seth deliberately fired at the man fighting his master, who fell backwards with a cry.

"Seth!" Richard exclaimed.

"Look! there are two more running to the attack. This is a time to waive ceremony and be gone. To horse, Master Richard!"

The keen-eyed man, who had been powerless being without a sword, now caught up the weapon which the fallen man had dropped.

"There's another pistol shot if you move," cried Seth, with one foot in the stirrup.

It is doubtful whether the threat would have stopped him, but the two men suddenly running towards him through the trees did. He knew them and they were not expected.

Barrington and Seth seized the opportunity, and putting spurs to their horses were riding towards the head of the valley which led down to the frontier. They broke into a gallop as soon as they reached the road, and for some time neither of them spoke.

"Had we waited the whole of Beauvais would have been upon us. All's fair in war."

"And in love, they say," Barrington added.

A low growl expressed Seth's opinion on this point.

"Right, Seth, right," was the bitter answer. "I have had my lesson, and enough of women for a lifetime. You have your wish. We ride alone to Paris."

The two men who entered the wood as Barrington and Seth rode out of it were lackeys, and ran to their master.

"Monsieur! Monsieur!"

"What is it?" he asked with an angry oath.

"Monsieur, there is some mistake. Mademoiselle St. Clair left Beauvais last night before the dance was over at the château."