The Snare .............................................................................................................................................................1

Rafael Sabatini .........................................................................................................................................1

It is established beyond doubt that Mr. Butler was drunk at the time. This rests upon the evidence of Sergeant

Flanagan and the troopers who accompanied him, and it rests upon Mr. Butler's own word, as we shall see.

And let me add here and now that however wild and irresponsible a rascal he may have been, yet by his own

lights he was a man of honour, incapable of falsehood, even though it were calculated to save his skin. I do

not deny that Sir Thomas Picton has described him as a "thieving blackguard." But I am sure that this was

merely the downright, rather extravagant manner, of censure peculiar to that distinguished general, and that

those who have taken the expression at its purely literal value have been lacking at once in charity and in

knowledge of the caustic, uncompromising terms of speech of General Picton whom Lord Wellington, you

In further extenuation it may truthfully be urged that the whole hideous and odious affair was the result of a

misapprehension; although I cannot go so far as one of Lieutenant Butler's apologists and accept the view that

he was the victim of a deliberate plot on the part of his toogenial host at Regoa. That is a misconception

easily explained. This host's name happened to be Souza, and the apologist in question has very rashly leapt

at the conclusion that he was a member of that notoriously intriguing family, of which the chief members

were the Principal Souza, of the Council of Regency at Lisbon, and the Chevalier Souza, Portuguese minister

to the Court of St. James's. Unacquainted with Portugal, our apologist was evidently in ignorance of the fact

that the name of Souza is almost as common in that country as the name of Smith in this. He may also have

been misled by the fact that Principal Souza did not neglect to make the utmost capital out of the affair,

thereby increasing the difficulties with which Lord Wellington was already contending as a result of

incompetence and deliberate malice on the part both of the ministry at home and of the administration in

Indeed, but for these factors it is unlikely that the affair could ever have taken place at all. If there had been

more energy on the part of Mr. Perceval and the members of the Cabinet, if there had been less bad faith and

selfseeking on the part of the Opposition, Lord Wellington's campaign would not have been starved as it

was; and if there had been less bad faith and selfseeking of an even more stupid and flagrant kind on the

part of the Portuguese Council of Regency, the British Expeditionary Force would not have been left without

Lord Wellington might have experienced the mental agony of Sir John Moore under similar circumstances

fifteen months earlier. That he did suffer, and was to suffer yet more, his correspondence shows. But his iron

will prevented that suffering from disturbing the equanimity of his mind. The Council of Regency, in its

concern to court popularity with the aristocracy of Portugal, might balk his measures by its deliberate

supineness; echoes might reach him of the voices at St. Stephen's that loudly dubbed his dispositions rash,

presumptuous and silly; catchhalfpenny journalists at home and men of the stamp of Lord Grey might

exploit their abysmal military ignorance in reckless criticism and censure of his operations; he knew what a

passionate storm of anger and denunciation had arisen from the Opposition when he had been raised to the

peerage some months earlier, after the glorious victory of Talavera, and how, that victory notwithstanding, it

had been proclaimed that his conduct of the campaign was so incompetent as to deserve, not reward, but

punishment; and he was aware of the growing unpopularity of the war in England, knew that the Government

ignorant of what he was so laboriously preparing was chafing at his inactivity of the past few months, so

that a member of the Cabinet wrote to him exasperatedly, incredibly and fatuously "for God's sake do

A heart less stout might have been broken, a genius less mighty stifled in this evil tangle of stupidity,

incompetence and malignity that sprang up and flourished about him can every hand. A man less

singleminded must have succumbed to exasperation, thrown up his command and taken ship for home,

inviting some of his innumerable critics to take his place at the head of the troops, and give free rein to the

military genius that inspired their critical dissertations. Wellington, however, has been rightly termed of iron,

and never did he show himself more of iron than in those trying days of 1810. Stern, but with a passionless

sternness, he pursued his way towards the goal he had set himself, allowing no criticism, no censure, no

Unfortunately the lofty calm of the CommanderinChief was not shared by his lieutenants. The Light

Division was quartered along the River Agueda, watching the Spanish frontier, beyond which Marshal Ney

was demonstrating against Ciudad Rodrigo, and for lack of funds its fierytempered commander, Sir Robert

Craufurd, found himself at last unable to feed his troops. Exasperated by these circumstances, Sir Robert was

betrayed into an act of rashness. He seized some church plate at Pinhel that he might convert it into rations. It

was an act which, considering the general state of public feeling in the country at the time, might have had

the gravest consequences, and Sir Robert was subsequently forced to do penance and afford redress. That,

however, is another story. I but mention the incident here because the affair of Tavora with which I am

concerned may be taken to have arisen directly out of it, and Sir Robert's behaviour may be construed as

setting an example and thus as affording yet another extenuation of Lieutenant Butler's offence.

Our lieutenant was sent upon a foraging expedition into the valley of the Upper Douro, at the head of a

halftroop of the 8th Dragoons, two squadrons of which were attached at the time to the Light Division. To

be more precise, he was to purchase and bring into Pinhel a hundred head of cattle, intended some for

slaughter and some for draught. His instructions were to proceed as far as Regoa and there report himself to

one Bartholomew Bearsley, a prosperous and influential English winegrower, whose father had acquired

considerable vineyards in the Douro. He was reminded of the almost hostile disposition of the peasantry in

certain districts; warned to handle them with tact and to suffer no straggling on the part of his troopers; and

advised to place himself in the hands of Mr. Bearsley for all that related to the purchase of the cattle. Let it be

admitted at once that had Sir Robert Craufurd been acquainted with Mr. Butler's featherbrained,

irresponsible nature, he would have selected any officer rather than our lieutenant to command that

expedition. But the Irish Dragoons had only lately come to Pinhel, and the general himself was not

Lieutenant Butler set out on a blustering day of March at the head of his troopers, accompanied by Cornet

O.'Rourke and two sergeants, and at Pesqueira he was further reinforced by a Portuguese guide. They found

quarters that night at Ervedoza, and early on the morrow they were in the saddle again, riding along the

heights above the Cachao da Valleria, through which the yellow, swollen river swirled and foamed along its

rocky way. The prospect, formidable even in the full bloom of fruitful and luxuriant summer, was forbidding

and menacing now as some imagined gorge of the nether regions. The towering granite heights across the

turgid stream were shrouded in mist and sweeping rain, and from the leaden heavens overhead the downpour

was of a sullen and merciless steadiness, starting at every step a miniature torrent to go swell the roaring

waters in the gorge, and drenching the troop alike in body and in spirit. Ahead, swathed to the chin in his blue

cavalry cloak, the water streaming from his leather helmet, rode Lieutenant Butler, cursing the weather, the

country; the Light Division, and everything else that occurred to him as contributing to his present

discomfort. Beside him, astride of a mule, rode the Portuguese guide in a caped cloak of thatched straw,

which made him look for all the world like a bottle of his native wine in its straw sheath. Conversation

between the two was out of the question, for the guide spoke no English and the lieutenant's knowledge of

Presently the ground sloped, and the troop descended from the heights by a road flanked with dripping

pinewoods, black and melancholy, that for a while screened them off from the remainder of the sodden

world. Thence they emerged near the head of the bridge that spanned the swollen river and led them directly

into the town of Regoa. Through the mud and clay of the deserted, narrow, unpaved streets the dragoons

squelched their way, under a superdeluge, for the rain was now reinforced by steady and overwhelming

sheets of water descending on either side from the guttershaped tiles that roofed the houses.

Inquisitive faces showed here and there behind blurred windows; odd doors were opened that a peasant

family might stare in questioning wonder and perhaps in some concern at the sodden pageant that was

passing. But in the streets themselves the troopers met no living thing, all the world having scurried to shelter

Beyond the town they were brought by their guide to a walled garden, and halted at a gateway. Beyond this

could be seen a fair white house set in the foreground of the vineyards that rose in terraces up the hillside

until they were lost from sight in the lowering veils of mist. Carved on the granite lintel of that gateway, the

lieutenant beheld the inscription, "BARTHOLOMEU BEARSLEY, 1744," and knew himself at his

destination, at the gates of the son or grandson he knew not which, nor cared of the original tenant of that

Mr. Bearsley, however, was from home. The lieutenant was informed of this by Mr. Bearsley's steward, a

portly, genial, rather priestly gentleman in smooth black broadcloth, whose name was Souza a name which,

as I have said, has given rise to some misconceptions. Mr. Bearsley himself had lately left for England, there

to wait until the disturbed state of Portugal should be happily repaired. He had been a considerable sufferer

from the French invasion under Soult, and none may blame him for wishing to avoid a repetition of what

already he had undergone, especially now that it was rumoured that the Emperor in person would lead the

But had Mr. Bearsley been at home the dragoons could have received no warmer welcome than that which

was extended to them by Fernando Souza. Greeting the lieutenant in intelligible English, he implored him, in

the florid manner of the Peninsula, to count the house and all within it his own property, and to command

The troopers found accommodation in the kitchen and in the spacious hall, where great fires of pine logs were

piled up for their comfort; and for the remainder of the day they abode there in various states of nakedness,

relieved by blankets and straw capotes, what time the house was filled with the steam and stench of their

drying garments. Rations had been short of late on the Agueda, and, in addition, their weary ride through the

rain had made the men sharpset. Abundance of food was placed before them by the solicitude of Fernando

Souza, and they feasted, as they had not feasted for many months, upon roast kid, boiled rice and golden

maize bread, washed down by a copious supply of a rough and not too heady wine that the discreet and

discriminating steward judged appropriate to their palates and capable of supporting some abuse.

Akin to the treatment of the troopers in hall and kitchen, but on a nobler scale, was the treatment of

Lieutenant Butler and Cornet O'Rourke in the diningroom. For them a wellroasted turkey took the place of

kid, and Souza went down himself to explore the cellars for a wellsunned, timeripened Douro table wine

which he vowed and our dragoons agreed with him would put the noblest Burgundy to shame; and then

with the dessert there was a Port the like of which Mr. Butler who was always of a nice taste in wine, and

who was coming into some knowledge of Port from his residence in the country had never dreamed

For four and twenty hours the dragoons abode at Mr. Bearsley's quinta, thanking God for the discomforts that

had brought them to such comfort, feasting in this land of plenty as only those can feast who have kept a rigid

Lent. Nor was this all. The benign Souza was determined that the sojourn there of these representatives of his

country's deliverers should be a complete rest and holiday. Not for Mr. Butler to journey to the uplands in this

matter of a herd of bullocks. Fernando Souza had at command a regiment of labourers, who were idle at this

time of year, and whom his good nature would engage on behalf of his English guests. Let the lieutenant do

no more than provide the necessary money for the cattle, and the rest should happen as by enchantment and

The lieutenant asked no better. He had no great opinion of himself either as cattle dealer or cattle drover, nor

did his ambitions beget in him any desire to excel as one or the other. So he was well content that his host

should have the bullocks fetched to Regoa for him. The herd was driven in on the following afternoon, by

when the rain had ceased, and our lieutenant had every reason to be pleased when he beheld the solid beasts

procured. Having disbursed the amount demanded an amount more reasonable far than he had been

prepared to pay Mr. Butler would have set out forthwith to return to Pinhel, knowing how urgent was the

need of the division and with what impatience the choleric General Craufurd would be awaiting him.

"Why, so you shall, so you shall," said the priestly, soothing Souza. "But first you'll dine. There is good

dinner ah, but what good dinner! that I have order. And there is a wine ah, but you shall give me news

Lieutenant Butler hesitated. Cornet O'Rourke watched him anxiously, praying that he might succumb to the

temptation, and attempted suasion in the form of a murmured blessing upon Souza's hospitality.

"But halfhour," protested Souza. "What is halfhour? And in halfhour you will have dine."

"True," ventured the cornet; "and it's the devil himself knows when we may dine again."

"And the dinner is ready. It can be serve this instant. It shall," said Souza with finality, and pulled the

Mr. Butler, never dreaming as indeed how could he? that Fate was taking a hand in this business, gave

way, and they sat down to dinner. Henceforth you see him the sport of pitiless circumstance.

They dined within the halfhour, as Souza had promised, and they dined exceedingly well. If yesterday the

steward had been able without warning of their coming to spread at short notice so excellent a feast, conceive

what had been accomplished now by preparation. Emptying his fourth and final bumper of rich red Douro,

But Souza detained him, waving a hand that trembled with anxiety, and with anxiety stamped upon his

"An instant yet," he implored. "Mr. Bearsley would never pardon me did I let you go without what he call a

stirrupcup to keep you from the ills that lurk in the wind of the Serra. A glass but one of that Port you

tasted yesterday. I say but a glass, yet I hope you will do honour to the bottle. But a glass at least, at least!"

He implored it almost with tears. Mr. Butler had reached that state of delicious torpor in which to take the

road is the last agony; but duty was duty, and Sir Robert Craufurd had the fiend's own temper. Torn thus

between consciousness of duty and the weakness of the flesh, he looked at O'Rourke. O'Rourke, a cherubic

fellow, who had for his years a very pretty taste in wine, returned the glance with a moist eye, and licked his

"In your place I should let myself be tempted," says he. "It's an elegant wine, and ten minutes more or less is

The lieutenant discovered a middle way which permitted him to take a prompt decision creditable to his

military instincts, but revealing a disgraceful though quite characteristic selfishness.

"Very well," he said. "Leave Sergeant Flanagan and ten men to wait for me, O'Rourke, and do you set out at

once with the rest of the troop. And take the cattle with you. I shall overtake you before you have gone very

Mr. Butler cut him short. "Duty," said he sententiously, "is duty. Be off, O'Rourke."

Came presently the bottles in a basket not one, as Souza had said, but three; and when the first was done

Butler reflected that since O'Rourke and the cattle were already well upon the road there need no longer be

any hurry about his own departure. A herd of bullocks does not travel very quickly, and even with a few

hours' start in a fortymile journey is easily overtaken by a troop of horse travelling without encumbrance.

You understand, then, how easily our lieutenant yielded himself to the luxurious circumstances, and disposed

himself to savour the second bottle of that nectar distilled from the very sunshine of the Douro the phrase

is his own. The steward produced a box of very choice cigars, and although the lieutenant was not an habitual

smoker, he permitted himself on this exceptional occasion to be further tempted. Stretched in a deep chair

beside the roaring fire of pine logs, he sipped and smoked and drowsed away the greater par of that wintry

afternoon. Soon the third bottle had gone the way of the second, and Mr. Bearsley's steward being a man of

extremely temperate habit, it follow: that most of the wine had found its way down the lieutenant's thirsty

It was perhaps a more potent vintage than he had at first suspected, and as the torpor produced by the dinner

and the earlier, fuller wine was wearing off, it was succeeded by an exhilaration that played havoc with the

The steward was deeply learned in wines and wine growing and in very little besides; consequently the talk

was almost confined to that subject in its many branches, and he could be interesting enough, like all

enthusiasts. To a fresh burst of praise from Butler of the ruby vintage to which he had been introduced, the

"You may say so; but it is the truth. We had a greater; a wonderful, clear vintage it was, of the year 1798 a

famous year on the Douro, the quite most famous year that we have ever known. Mr. Bearsley sell some

pipes to the monks at Tavora, who have bottle it and keep it. I beg him at the time not to sell, knowing the

value it must come to have one day. But he sell all the same. Ah, meu Deus!" The steward clasped his hands

and raised rather prominent eyes to the ceiling, protesting to his Maker against his master's folly. "He say we

have plenty, and now" he spread fat hands in a gesture of despair "and now we have none. Some sons of

dogs of French who came with Marshal Soult happen this way on a forage they discover the wine and they

guzzle it like pigs." He swore, and his benignity was eclipsed by wrathful memory. He heaved himself up in a

"Think of that so priceless vintage drink like hogwash, as Mr. Bearsley say, by those goddammed French

swine. "not a drop not a spoonful remain. But the monks at Tavora still have much of what they buy, I am

told. They treasure it for they know good wine. All priests know good wine. Ah yes! Goddam!" He fell into

"'San infern'l shame," said he indignantly. "I'll no forgerrit when I . . . meet the French." Then he too fell into

He was a good Catholic, and, moreover, a Catholic who did not take things for granted. The sloth and

selfindulgence of the clergy in Portugal, being his first glimpse of conventuals in Latin countries, had

deeply shocked him. The vows of a monastic poverty that was kept carefully beyond the walls of the

monastery offended his sense of propriety. That men who had vowed themselves to pauperism, who wore

coarse garments and went barefoot, should batten upon rich food and store up wines that gold could not

"And the monks drink this nectar?" he said aloud, and laughed sneeringly. " I know the breed the fair found

Souza looked at him in sudden alarm, bethinking himself that all Englishmen were heretics, and knowing

nothing of subtle distinctions between English and Irish. In silence Butler finished the third and last bottle,

and his thoughts fixed themselves with increasing insistence upon a wine reputed better than this of which

Abruptly he asked: "Where's Tavora?" He was thinking perhaps of the comfort that such wine would bring to

"Some ten leagues from here," answered Souza, and pointed to a map that hung upon the wall.

The lieutenant rose, and rolled a thought unsteadily across the room. He was a tall, looselimbed fellow,

blueeyed, faircomplexioned, with a thatch of fiery red hair excellently suited to his temperament. He

halted before the map, and with legs wide apart, to afford him the steadying support of a broad basis, he

traced with his finger the course of the Douro, fumbled about the district of Regoa, and finally hit upon the

"Why," he said, "seems to me 'sif we should ha' come that way. I's shorrer road to Pesqueira than by the

"As the bird fly," said Souza. "But the roads be bad just mule tracks, while by the river the road is tolerable

The fumes of the wine were mounting steadily to addle his indifferent brains. Every moment he was seeing

things in proportions more and more false. His resentment against priests who, sworn to selfabnegation,

hoarded good wine, whilst soldiers sent to keep harm from priests' fat carcasses were left to suffer cold and

even hunger, was increasing with every moment. He would sample that wine at Tavora; and he would bear

some of it away that his brother officers at Pinhel might sample it. He would buy it. Oh yes! There should be

no plundering, no irregularity, no disregard of general orders. He would buy the wine and pay for it but

himself he would fix the price, and see that the monks of Tavora made no profit out of their defenders.

Thus he thought as he considered the map. Presently, when having taken leave of Fernando Souza that

prince of hosts Mr. Butler was riding down through the town with Sergeant Flanagan and ten troopers at his

heels, his purpose deepened and became more fierce. I think the change of temperature must have been to

blame. It was a chill, bleak evening. Overhead, across a background of faded blue, scudded ragged banks of

clouds, the lingering flotsam of the shattered rainstorm of yesterday: and a cavalry cloak afforded but

indifferent protection against the wind that blew hard and sharp from the Atlantic.

Coming from the genial warmth of Mr. Souza's parlour into this, the evaporation of the wine within him was

quickened, its fumes mounted now overwhelmingly to his brain, and from comfortably intoxicated that he

had been hitherto, the lieutenant now became furiously drunk; and the transition was a very rapid one. It was

now that he looked upon the business he had in hand in the light of a crusade; a sort of religious fanaticism

The souls of these wretched monks must be saved; the temptation to selfindulgence, which spelt perdition

for them, must be removed from their midst. It was a Christian duty. He no longer though of buying the wine

and paying for it. His one aim ow was to obtain possession of it not merely a part of it, but all of it and

carry it off, thereby accomplishing two equally praiseworthy ends: to rescue a conventful of monks from

damnation, and to regale the muchenduring, halfstarved campaigners of the Agueda.

Thus reasoned Mr. Butler with admirable, if drunken, logic. And reasoning thus he led the way over the

bridge, and kept straight on when he had crossed it, much to the dismay of Sergeant Flanagan, who,

perceiving the lieutenant's condition, conceived that he was missing his way. This the sergeant ventured to

point out, reminding his officer that they had come by the road along the river.

They had no guide. The one who had conducted them to Regoa had returned with O'Rourke, and although

Souza had urged upon the lieutenant at parting that he should take one of the men from the quinta, Butler,

with wit enough to see that this was not desirable under the circumstances, had preferred to find his way

His confused mind strove now to revisualise the map which he had consulted in Souza's parlour. He

discovered, naturally enough, that the task was altogether beyond his powers. Meanwhile night was

descending. They were, however, upon the mule track, which went up and round the shoulder of a hill, and

Sergeant Flanagan was a shrewd fellow and perhaps the most sober man in the troop for the wine had run

very freely in Souza's kitchen, too, and the men, whilst awaiting their commander's pleasure, had taken the

fullest advantage of an opportunity that was all too rare upon that campaign. Now Sergeant Flanagan began

to grow anxious. He knew the Peninsula from the days of Sir John Moore, and he knew as much of the ways

of the peasantry of Portugal as any man. He knew of the brutal ferocity of which that peasantry was capable.

He had seen evidence more than once of the unspeakable fate of French stragglers from the retreating army of

Marshal Soult. He knew of crucifixions, mutilations and hideous abominations practised upon them in these

remote hill districts by the merciless men into whose hands they happened to fall, and he knew that it was not

upon French soldiers alone that these abominations had been practised. Some of those fierce peasants had

been unable to discriminate between invader and deliverer; to them a foreigner was a foreigner and no more.

Others, who were capable of discriminating, were in the position of having come to look upon French and

It is true that whilst the Emperor's troops made war on the maxim that an army must support itself upon the

country it traverses, thereby achieving a greater mobility, since it was thus permitted to travel comparatively

light, the British law was that all things requisitioned must be paid for. Wellington maintained this law in

spite of all difficulties at all times with an unrelaxing rigidity, and punished with the utmost vigour those who

offended against it. Nevertheless breaches were continual; men broke out here and there, often, be it said,

under stress of circumstances for which the Portuguese were themselves responsible; plunder and outrage

took place and provoked indiscriminating rancour with consequences at times as terrible to stragglers from

the British army of deliverance as to those from the French army of oppressors. Then, too, there was the

Portuguese Militia Act recently enforced by Wellington acting through the Portuguese Government

deeply resented by the peasantry upon whom it bore, and rendering them disposed to avenge it upon such

Knowing all this, Sergeant Flanagan did not at all relish this night excursion into the hill fastnesses, where at

any moment, as it seemed to him, they might miss their way. After all, they were but twelve men all told, and

he accounted it a stupid thing to attempt to take a short cut across the hills for the purpose of overtaking an

encumbered troop that must of necessity be moving at a very much slower pace. This was the way not to

overtake but to outdistance. Yet since it was not for him to remonstrate with the lieutenant, he kept his peace

At the mean wineshop of that hamlet Mr. Butler inquired his way by the simple expedient of shouting

"Tavora?" with a strong interrogative inflection. The vintner made it plain by gestures accompanied by a

rattling musketry of incomprehensible speech that their way lay straight ahead. And straight ahead they went,

following that mule track for some five or six miles until it began to slope gently towards the plain again.

Below them they presently beheld a cluster of twinkling lights to advertise a township. They dropped swiftly

down, and in the outskirts overtook a belated bullockcart, whose ungreased axle was arousing the hillside

Of the vigorous young woman who marched barefoot beside it, shouldering her goad as if it were a pikestaff,

Mr. Butler inquired by his usual method if this were Tavora, to receive an answer which, though voluble,

"Covento Dominicano? was his next inquiry, made after they had gone some little way.

The woman pointed with her goad to a massive, dark building, flanked by a little church, which stood just

A moment later the sergeant, by Mr. Butler's orders, was knocking upon the ironstudded main door. They

waited awhile in vain. None came to answer the knock; no light showed anywhere upon the dark face of the

convent. The sergeant knocked again, more vigorously than before. Presently came timid, shuffling steps; a

shutter opened in the door, and the grille thus disclosed was pierced by a shaft of feeble yellow light. A

A faint exclamation suggestive of dismay was the answer, the shutter closed again with a snap, the shuffling

"Now wharra devil may this mean?" growled Mr. Butler. Drugged wits, like stupid ones, are readily

suspicious. "Wharra they hatching in here that they :are afraid of lerring Bri'ish soldiers see? Knock again,

The sergeant beat the door with the butt of his carbine. The blows gave out a hollow echo, but evoked no

more answer than if they had fallen upon the door of a mausoleum. Mr. Butler completely lost his temper.

"Seems to me that we've stumbled upon a hotbed o' treason. Hotbed o' treason!" he repeated, as if pleased

with the phrase. "That's wharrit is." And he added peremptorily: "Break down the door."

"Break down the door," repeated Mr. Butler. Lerrus be after seeing wha' these monks are afraid of showing

Some of the troopers carried axes precisely against such an emergency as this. Dismounting, they fell upon

the door with a will. But the oak was stout, fortified by bands of iron and great iron studs; and it resisted long.

The thud of the axes and the crash of rending timbers could be heard from one end of Tavora to the other, yet

from the convent it evoked no slightest response. But presently, as the door began to yield to the onslaught,

there came another sound to arouse the town. From the belfry of the little church a bell suddenly gave tongue

upon a frantic, hurried note that spoke unmistakably of alarm. Dingdingdingding it went, a tocsin

Mr. Butler, however, paid little heed to it. The door was down at last, and followed by his troopers he rode

under the massive gateway into the spacious close. Dismounting there, and leaving the woefully anxious

sergeant and a couple of men to guard the horses, the lieutenant led the way along the cloisters, faintly

revealed by a newrisen moon, towards a gaping doorway whence a feeble light was gleaming. He stumbled

over the step into a hall dimly lighted by a lantern swinging from the ceiling. He found a chair, mounted it,

and cut the lantern down, then led the way again along an endless corridor, stoneflagged and flanked on

either side by rows of cells. Many of the doors stood open, as if in silent token of the tenants' hurried flight,

Mr. Butler became more and more deeply intrigued, more and more deeply suspicious that here all was not

well. Why should a community of loyal monks take flight in this fashion from British soldiers?

"Bad luck to them!" he growled, as he stumbled on. "They may hide as they will, but it's myself 'll run the

They were brought up short at the end of that long, chill gallery by closed double doors. Beyond these an

organ was pealing, and overhead the clapper of the alarm bell was beating more furiously than ever. All

realised that they stood upon the threshold of the chapel and that the conventuals had taken refuge there.

Mr. Butler checked upon a sudden suspicion. "Maybe, after all, they've taken us for French," said he.

A trooper ventured to answer him. "Best let them see we're not before we have the whole village about our

"Damn that bell," said the lieutenant, and added: "Put your shoulders to the door."

Its fastenings were but crazy ones, and it yielded almost instantly to their pressure yielded so suddenly that

Mr. Butler, who himself had been foremost in straining against it, shot forward halfadozen yards into the

Simultaneously from the chancel came a great cry: "Libera nos, Domine! followed by a shuddering murmur

The lieutenant picked himself up, recovered the lantern that had rolled from his grasp, and lurched forward

round the angle that hid the chancel from his view. There, huddled before the main altar like a flock of scared

and stupid sheep, he beheld the conventuals some two score of them perhaps and in the dim light of the

heavy altar lamp above them he could make out the black and white habit of the order of St. Dominic.

Mr. Butler addressed them in the best French he could command: "What do you fear? Why do you flee? We

A vague alarm was stirring in him. It began to penetrate his obfuscated mind that perhaps he had been rash,

that this forcible rape of a convent was a serious matter. Therefore he attempted this peaceful explanation.

>From that huddled group a figure rose, and advanced with a solemn, stately grace. There was a faint swish

of robes, the faint rattle of rosary beads. Something about that figure caught the lieutenant's attention sharply.

He craned forward, half sobered by the sudden fear that clutched him, his eyes bulging in his face.

"I had thought," said a gentle, melancholy woman's voice, "that the seals of a nunnery were sacred to British

For a moment Mr. Butler seemed to be labouring for breath. Fully sobered now, understanding of his ghastly

But as he fled in horror of his sacrilege, he still kept his head turned, staring over his shoulder at the stately

figure of the abbess, either in fascination or with some lingering doubt of what he had seen and heard.

Running thus, he crashed headlong into a pillar, and, stunned by the blow, he reeled and sank unconscious to

This the troopers had not seen, for they had not lingered. Understanding on their own part the horrible

blunder, they had turned even as their leader turned, and they had raced madly back the way they had come,

conceiving that he followed. And there was reason for their haste other than their anxiety to set a term to the

sacrilege of their presence. From the cloistered garden of the convent uproar reached them, and the metallic

The alarm bell of the convent had done its work. The villagers were up, enraged by the outrage, and armed

with sticks and scythes and billhooks, an army of them was charging to avenge this infamy. The troopers

reached the close no more than in time. Sergeant Flanagan, only half understanding the reason for so much

anger, but understanding that this anger was very real and very dangerous, was desperately defending the

horses with his two companions against the vanguard of the assailants. There was a swift rush of the dragoons

and in an instant they were in the saddle, all but the lieutenant, of whose absence they were suddenly made

conscious. Flanagan would have gone back for him, and he had in fact begun to issue an order with that

object when a sudden surge of the swelling, roaring crowd cut off the dragoons from the door through which

they had emerged. Sitting their horses, the little troop came together, their sabres drawn, solid as a rock in

that angry human sea that surged about them. The moon riding now clear overhead irradiated that scene of

Flanagan, standing in his stirrups, attempted to harangue the mob. But he was at a loss what to say that would

appease them, nor able to speak a language they could understand. An angry peasant made a slash at him with

a billhook. He parried the blow on his sabre, and with the flat of it knocked his assailant senseless.

"Bad cess to you!" cried Flanagan. "Will ye listen to me, ye murthering villains" Then in despair

The troopers attempted in vain to reach it. The mob hemmed them about too closely, and then a horrid

handtohand fight began, under the cold light of the moon, in that garden consecrated to peace and piety.

Two saddles had been emptied, and the exasperated troopers were slashing now at their assailants with the

edge, intent upon cutting a way out of that murderous press. It is doubtful if a man of them would have

survived, for the odds were fully ten to one against them. To their aid came now the abbess. She stood on a

balcony above, and called upon the people to desist, and hear her. Thence she harangued them for some

moments, commanding them to allow the soldiers to depart. They obeyed with obvious reluctance, and at last

But Flanagan hesitated to pass down this lane and so depart. Three of his troopers were down by now, and his

lieutenant was missing. He was exercised to resolve where his duty lay. Behind him the mob was solid,

cutting off the dragoons from their fallen comrades. An attempt to go back might be misunderstood and

resisted, leading to a renewal of the combat, and surely in vain, for he could not doubt but that the fallen

Similarly the mob stood as solid between him and the door that led to the interior of the convent, where Mr.

Butler was lingering alive or dead. A number of peasants had already invaded the actual building, so that in

that connection too the sergeant concluded that there was little reason to hope that the lieutenant should have

escaped the fate his own rashness had invoked. He had his remaining seven men to think of, and he

concluded that it was his duty under all the circumstances to bring these off alive, and not procure their

So "Forward!" roared the voice of Sergeant Flanagan, and forward went the seven through the passage that

Beyond the convent walls they found fresh assailants awaiting them, enemies these, who had not been

soothed by the gentle, reassuring voice of the abbess. But here there was more room to manoeuvre.

"Trot!" the sergeant commanded, and soon that trot became a gallop. A shower of stones followed them as

they thundered out of Tavora, and the sergeant himself had a lump as large as a duckegg on the middle of

his head when next day he reported himself at Pesqueira to Cornet O'Rourke, whom he overtook there.

When eventually Sir Robert Craufurd heard the story of the affair, he was as angry as only Sir Robert could

be. To have lost four dragoons and to have set a match to a train that might end in a conflagration was reason

"How came such a mistake to be made?" he inquired, a scowl upon his full red countenance.

"It appears, sir, that at Tavora there is a convent of Dominican nuns as well as a monastery of Dominican

friars. Mr. Butler will have used the word 'convento,' which more particularly applies to the nunnery, and so

"And you say the sergeant has reason to believe that Mr. Butler did not survive his folly?"

"It's perhaps just as well," said Sir Robert. "For Lord Wellington would certainly have had him shot."

And there you have the true account of the stupid affair of Tavora, which was to produce, as we shall see,

News of the affair at Tavora reached Sir Terence O'Moy, the AdjutantGeneral at Lisbon, about a week later

in dispatches from headquarters. These informed him that in the course of the humble apology and

explanation of the regrettable occurrence offered by the Colonel of the 8th Dragoons in person to the Mother

Abbess, it had transpired that Lieutenant Butler had left the convent alive, but that nevertheless he continued

Those dispatches contained other unpleasant matters of a totally different nature, with which Sir Terence

must proceed to deal at once; but their gravity was completely outweighed in the adjutant's mind by this

deplorable affair of Lieutenant Butler's. Without wishing to convey an impression that the blunt and

downright O'Moy was gifted with any undue measure of shrewdness, it must nevertheless be said that he was

quick to perceive what fresh thorns the occurrence was likely to throw in a path that was already thorny

enough in all conscience, what a semblance of justification it must give to the hostility of the intriguers on the

Council of Regency, what a formidable weapon it must place in the hands of Principal Souza and his

partisans. In itself this was enough to trouble a man in O'Moy's position. But there was more. Lieutenant

Butler happened to be his brotherinlaw, own brother to O'Moy's lovely, frivolous wife. Irresponsibility ran

For the sake of the young wife whom he loved with a passionate and fearful jealousy such as is not

uncommon in a man of O'Moy's temperament when at his age he was approaching his fortysixth birthday

he marries a girl of half his years, the adjutant had pulled his brotherinlaw out of many a difficulty;

shielded him on many an occasion from the proper consequences of his incurable rashness.

This affair of the convent, however, transcended anything that had gone before and proved altogether too

much for O'Moy. It angered him as much as it afflicted him. Yet when he took his head in his hands and

groaned, it was only his sorrow that he was expressing, and it was a sorrow entirely concerned with his wife.

The groan attracted the attention of his military secretary, Captain Tremayne, of Fletcher's Engineers, who sat

at work at a littered writingtable placed in the window recess. He looked up sharply, sudden concern in the

strong young face and the steady grey eyes he bent upon his chief. The sight of O'Moy's hunched attitude

O'Moy looked at him, whitefaced, and in his blue eyes a blaze of that swift passion that had made his name

"All?" he roared. "You'll say it's enough, by God, when you hear what the fool's been at this time. Violation

of a nunnery, no less." And he brought his massive fist down with a crash upon the document that had

conveyed the information. "With a detachment of dragoons he broke into the convent of the Dominican nuns

at Tavora one night a week ago. The alarm bell was sounded, and the village turned out to avenge the

outrage. Consequences: three troopers killed, five peasants sabred to death and seven other casualties, Dick

himself missing and reported to have escaped from the convent, but understood to remain in hiding so that

he adds desertion to the other crime, as if that in itself were not enough to hang him. That's all, as you say,

Captain Tremayne stared at his chief, the utmost dismay upon his fine young face. "But surely, sir, surely I

mean, sir, if this report is correct some explanation " He broke down, utterly at fault.

"To be sure, there's an explanation. You may always depend upon a most elegant explanation for anything

that Dick Butler does. His life is made up of mistakes and explanations." He spoke bitterly, "He broke into

the nunnery under a misapprehension, according to the account of the sergeant who accompanied him," and

Sir Terence read out that part of the report. "But how is that to help him, and at such a time as this, with

public feeling as it is, and Wellington in his present temper about it? The provost's men are beating the

country for the blackguard. When they find him it's a firing party he'll have to face."

Tremayne turned slowly to the window and looked down the fair prospect of the hillside over a forest of cork

oaks alive with fresh green shoots to the silver sheen of the river a mile away. The storms of the preceding

week had spent their fury the travail that had attended the birth of Spring and the day was as fair as a day

of June in England. Weaned forth by the generous sunshine, the burgeoning of vine and fig, of olive and cork

went on apace, and the skeletons of trees which a fortnight since had stood gaunt and bare were already

>From the window of this fine conventual house on the heights of Monsanto, above the suburb of Alcantara,

where the AdjutantGeneral had taken up his quarters, Captain Tremayne stood a moment considering the

panorama spread to his gaze, from the redbrown roofs of Lisbon on his left that city which boasted with

Rome that it was built upon a cluster of seven hills to the lines of embarkation that were building about the

fort of St. Julian on his left. Then he turned, facing again the spacious, handsome room with its heavy,

semiecclesiastical furniture, and Sir Terence, who, hunched in his chair at the ponderously carved black

The interrogation, which seemed almost to cover a reproach, irritated the adjutant.

"I have. That seems to, have been my principal occupation ever since I married his sister. But this time he's

"Lord Wellington is fond of you," suggested Captain Tremayne. He was your imperturbable young man, and

he remained as calm now as O'Moy was excited. Although by some twenty years the adjutant's junior, there

was between O'Moy and himself, as well as between Tremayne and the Butler family, with which he was

remotely connected, a strong friendship, which was largely responsible for the captain's present appointment

O'Moy looked at him, and looked away. "Yes," he agreed. "But he's still fonder of law and order and military

discipline, and I should only be imperilling our friendship by pleading with him for this young blackguard."

"Bad luck to you, Tremayne, don't I know it? Besides, what is there I can do?" he asked again, and ended

"I'm thinking of Una," said Captain Tremayne in that composed way of his, and the words fell like cold water

The man who can receive with patience a reproach, implicit or explicit, of being wanting in consideration

towards his wife is comparatively rare, and never a man of O'Moy's temperament and circumstances.

Tremayne's reminder stung him sharply, and the more sharply because of the strong friendship that existed

between Tremayne and Lady O'Moy. That friendship had in the past been a thorn in O'Moy's flesh. In the

days of his courtship he had known a fierce jealousy of Tremayne, beholding in him for a time a rival who,

with the strong advantage of youth, must in the end prevail. But when O'Moy, putting his fortunes to the test,

had declared himself and been accepted by Una Butler, there had been an end to the jealousy, and the old

O'Moy had conceived that jealousy of his to have been slain. But there had been times when from its faint,

uneasy stirrings he should have taken warning that it did no more than slumber. Like most warm hearted,

generous, bignatured men, O'Moy was of a singular humility where women were concerned, and this

humility of his would often breathe a doubt lest in choosing between himself and Tremayne Una might have

been guided by her head rather than her heart, by ambition rather than affection, and that in taking himself

she had taken the man who could give her by far the more assured and affluent position.

He had crushed down such thoughts as disloyal to his young wife, as ungrateful and unworthy; and at such

times he would fall into selfcontempt for having entertained them. Then Una herself had revived those

doubts three months ago, when she had suggested that Ned Tremayne, who was then at Torres Vedras with

Colonel Fletcher, was the very man to fill the vacant place of military secretary to the adjutant, if he would

accept it. In the reaction of selfcontempt, and in a curious surge of pride almost as perverse s his humility,

O'Moy had adopted her suggestion, and thereafter in the pastthree months, that is to say the

unreasonable devil of O'Moy's jealousy had slept, almost forgotten. Now, by a chance remark whose

indiscretion Tremayne could not realise, since he did not so much as suspect the existence of that devil, he

had suddenly prodded him into wakefulness. That Tremayne should show himself tender of Lady O'Moy's

feelings in a matter in which O'Moy himself must seem neglectful of them was gall and wormwood to the

adjutant. He dissembled it, however, out of a natural disinclination to appear in the ridiculous role of the

"That," he said, "is a matter that you may safely leave to me," and his lips closed tightly upon the words when

"Oh, quite so," said Tremayne, no whit abashed. He persisted nevertheless. "You know Una's feelings for

"When I married Una," the adjutant cut in sharply, "I did not marry the entire Butler family." It hardened him

unreasonably against Dick to have the family cause pleaded in this way. "It's sick to death I am of Master

Richard and his escapades. He can get himself out of this mess, or he can stay in it."

And Tremayne, looking straight into the adjutant's faintly smouldering blue eyes, beheld there a fierce and

rancorous determination which he was at a loss to understand, but which he attributed to something outside

"I am sorry," he said gravely. "Since that is how you feel, it is to be hoped that Dick Butler may not survive

to be taken. The alternative would weigh so cruelly upon Una that I do not care to contemplate it."

"And who the devil asks you to contemplate it?" snapped O'Moy. "I am not aware that it is any concern of

"My dear O'Moy!" It was an exclamation of protest, something between pain and indignation, under the

stress of which Tremayne stepped entirely outside of the official relations that prevailed between himself and

the adjutant. And the exclamation was accompanied by such a look of dismay and wounded sensibilities that

O'Moy, meeting this, and noting the honest manliness of Tremayne's bearing and countenance; was there and

then the victim of reaction. His warmhearted and impulsive nature made him at once profoundly ashamed of

himself. He stood up, a tall, martial figure, and his ruggedly handsome, shaven countenance reddened under

"My dear boy, I beg your pardon. It's so utterly annoyed I am that the savage in me will be breaking out.

Sure, it isn't as if it were only this affair of Dick's. That is almost the least part of the unpleasantness

contained in this dispatch. Here! In God's name, read it for yourself, and judge for yourself whether it's in

With a shrug and a smile to show that he was entirely mollified, Captain Tremayne took the papers to his

desk and sat down to con them. As he did so his face grew more and more grave. Before he had reached the

end there was a tap at the door. An orderly entered with the announcement that Dom Miguel Forjas had just

"Ha!" said O'Moy shortly, and exchanged a glance with his secretary. "Show the gentleman up."

As the orderly withdrew, Tremayne came over and placed the dispatch on the adjutant's desk. "He arrives

"So opportunely as to be suspicious, bedad!" said O'Moy. He had brightened suddenly, his Irish blood

quickening at the immediate prospect of strife which this visit boded. "May the devil admire me, but there's a

The door opened, and the orderly admitted Miguel Forjas, the Portuguese Secretary of State. He was a slight,

dapper gentleman, all in black, from his silk stockings and steelbuckled shoes to his satin stock. His keen

aquiline face was swarthy, and the razor had left his chin and cheeks blueblack. His sleek hair was

irongrey. A portentous gravity invested him this morning as he bowed with profound deference first to the

"Your Excellencies," he said he spoke an English that was smooth and fluent for all its foreign accent

"Have you not received news of what has happened at Tavora? Of the violation of a convent by a party of

British soldiers? Of the fight that took place between these soldiers and the peasants who went to succour the

"Oh, and is that all?" said O'Moy. "For a moment I imagined your Excellency referred to other matters. I have

news of more terrible affairs than the convent business with which to entertain you this morning."

The Secretary of State sat down, crossed his knees and placed his hat in his lap. The other two resumed their

seats, O'Moy leaning forward, his elbows on the writingtable, immediately facing Senhor Forjas.

"First, however," he said, "to deal with this affair of Tavora. The Council of Regency will, no doubt, have

been informed of all the circumstances. You will be aware, therefore, that this very deplorable business was

the result of a misapprehension, and that the nuns of Tavora might very well have avoided all this trouble had

they behaved in a sensible, reasonable manner. If instead of shutting themselves up in the chapel and ringing

the alarm bell the MotherAbbess or one of the sisters had gone to the wicket and answered the demand of

admittance from the officer commanding the detachment, he would instantly have realised his mistake and

"You have had your report, sir, and surely it was complete. You must know that he conceived himself to be

"Can your Excellency tell me what was this officer's business at the monastery of the Dominican fathers?"

"I am without information on that point," O'Moy admitted; "no doubt because the officer in question is

missing, as you will also have been informed. But I have no reason to doubt that, whatever his business may

have been, it was concerned with the interests which are common alike to the British and the Portuguese

"Perhaps you will inform me, Dom Miguel, of the uncharitable assumption which the Principal Souza

A faint colour kindled in the cheeks of the Portuguese minister, but is manner remained unruffled.

"I speak, sir, not with the voice of Principal Souza, but with that of the entire Council of Regency; and the

Council has formed the opinion, which your own words confirm, that his Excellency Lord Wellington is

skilled in finding excuses for the misdemeanours of the troops under his command."

"That," said O'Moy, who would never have kept his temper in control but for the pleasant consciousness that

he held a hand of trumps with which he would' presently overwhelm this representative of the Portuguese

Government, "that is an opinion for which the Council may presently like to apologise, admitting its entire

Senhor Forjas started as if he had been stung. He uncrossed his black silk legs and made as if to rise.

"It is as well that we should be plain, so as to be avoiding all misconceptions," said O'Moy. "You must know,

sir, and your Council must know, that wherever armies move there must be reason for complaint. The British

army does not claim in this respect to be superior to others although I don't say, mark me, that it might not

claim it with perfect justice. But we do claim for ourselves that our laws against plunder and outrage are as

strict as they well can be, and that where these things take place punishment inevitably follows. Out of your

"True, certainly, where the offenders are men from the ranks. But in this case, where the offender is an

officer, it does not transpire that justice has been administered with the same impartial hand." "That, sir,"

The Secretary's thin lips permitted themselves to curve into the faintest ghost of a smile. "Precisely," he said.

For answer O'Moy, red in the face, thrust forward the dispatch he had received relating to the affair.

"Read, sir read for yourself, that you may report exactly to the Council of Regency the terms of the report

that has just reached me from headquarters. You will be able to announce that diligent search is being made

"That is very good," he said, "and the Council will be glad to hear of it. It will enable us to appease the

popular resentment in some degree. But it does not say here that when taken this officer will not be excused

"It does not. But considering that he has since been guilty of desertion, there can be no doubt all else apart

"Very well," said Forjas. "I will accept your assurance, and the Council will be relieved to hear of it." He rose

to take his leave. "I am desired by the Council to express to Lord Wellington the hope that he will take

measures to preserve better order among his troops and to avoid the recurrence of such extremely painful

"A moment," said O'Moy, and rising waved his guest back into his chair, then resumed his own seat. Under a

more or less calm exterior he was a seething cauldron of passion. "The matter is not quite at an end, as your

Excellency supposes. From your last observation, and from a variety of other evidence, I infer that the

"That is an inference which I cannot venture to contradict. You will understand, General, that I do not speak

for myself, but for the Council, when I say that many of his measures seem to us not merely unnecessary, but

detrimental. The power having been placed in the hands of Lord Wellington, the Council hardly feels itself

able to interfere with his dispositions. But it nevertheless deplores the destruction of the mills and the

devastation of the country recommended and insisted upon by his lordship. It feels that this is not warfare as

the Council understands warfare, and the people share the feelings of the Council. It is felt that it would be

worthier and more commendable if Lord Wellington were to measure himself in battle with the French,

"Quite so," said O'Moy, his hand clenching and unclenching, and Tremayne, who watched him, wondered

how long it would be before the storm burst. "Quite so. And because the Council disapproves of the very

measures which at Lord Wellington's instigation it has publicly recommended, it does not trouble to see that

those measures are carried out. As you say, it does not feel itself able to interfere with his dispositions. But it

does not scruple to mark its disapproval by passively hindering him at every turn. Magistrates are left to

neglect these enactments, and because," he added with bitter sarcasm, "Portuguese valour is so redhot and

so devilish set on battle the Militia Acts calling all men to the colours are forgotten as soon as published.

There is no one either to compel the recalcitrant to take up arms, or to punish the desertions of those who

have been driven into taking them up. Yet you want battles, you want your frontiers defended. A moment,

sir! there is no need for heat, no need for any words. The matter may be said to be at an end." He smiled a

thought viciously, be it confessed and then played his trump card, hurled his bombshell. "Since the views of

your Council are in such utter opposition to the views of the CommanderinChief, you will no doubt

welcome Lord Wellington's proposal to withdraw from this country and to advise his Majesty's Government

There followed a long spell of silence, O'Moy sitting back in his chair, his chin in his hand, to observe the

result of his words. Nor was he in the least disappointed. Dom Miguel's mouth fell open; the colour slowly

ebbed from his cheeks, leaving them an ivoryyellow; his eyes dilated and protruded. He was consternation

"My God!" he contrived to gasp at last, and his shaking hands clutched at the carved arms of his chair.

"But, General, surely . . . surely his Excellency cannot mean to take so . . . so terrible a step?"

"Terrible to us all." Forjas rose in his agitation. He came to lean upon O'Moy's writingtable, facing the

adjutant. "Surely, sir, our interests England's interests and Portugal's are one in this."

"To be sure. But England's interests can be defended elsewhere than in Portugal, and it is Lord Wellington's

view that they shall be. He has already warned the Council of Regency that, since his Majesty and the Prince

Regent have entrusted him with the command of the British and Portuguese armies, he will not suffer the

Council or any of its members to interfere with his conduct of the military operations, or suffer any criticism

or suggestion of theirs to alter system formed upon mature consideration. But when, finding their criticisms

fail, the members of the Council, in their wrongheadedness, in their anxiety to allow private interest to

triumph over public duty, go the length of thwarting the measures of which they do not approve, the end of

Lord Wellington's patience has been reached. I am giving your Excellency his own words. He feels that it is

futile to remain in a country whose Government is determined to undermine his every endeavour to bring this

"Yourself, sir, you appear to be distressed. But the Council of Regency will no doubt take a different view. It

will rejoice in the departure of a man whose military operations it finds so detestable. You will no doubt

discover this when you come to lay Lord Wellington's decision before the Council, as I now invite you to

Bewildered and undecided, Forjas stood there for a moment, vainly seeking words. Finally:

"Is this really Lord Wellington's last word?" he asked in tones of profoundest consternation.

"Very well." O'Moy shrugged, and took up a sheet of the dispatch which lay before him. "You will admit, sir,

I think, that the beginning of these troubles coincided with the advent of the Principal Souza upon the

Council of Regency." He waited in vain for a reply. Forjas, the diplomat, preserved an uncompromising

silence, in which presently O'Moy proceeded: "From this, and from other evidence, of which indeed there is

no lack, Lord Wellington has come to the conclusion that all the resistance, passive and active, which he has

encountered, results from the Principal Souza's influence upon the Council. You will not, I think, trouble to

Forjas spread his hands. "You will remember, General," he answered, in tones of conciliatory regret, "that the

Principal Souza represents a class upon whom Lord Wellington's measures bear in a manner peculiarly hard."

"You mean that he represents the Portuguese nobility and landed gentry, who, putting their own interests

above those of the State, have determined to oppose and resist the devastation of the country which Lord

"You will find Lord Wellington's own words even more blunt," said O'Moy, with a grim smile, and turned to

"'As for Principal Souza, I beg you to tell him from me that as I have had no satisfaction in transacting the

business of this country since he has become a member of the Government, no power on earth shall induce

me to remain in the Peninsula if he is either to remain a member of the Government or to continue in Lisbon.

Either he must quit the country, or I will do so, and this immediately after I have obtained his Majesty's

The adjutant put down the letter and looked expectantly at the Secretary of State, who returned the look with

one of utter dismay. Never in all his career had the diplomat been so completely dumbfounded as he was now

by the simple directness of the man of action. In himself Dom Miguel Forjas was both shrewd and honest. He

was shrewd enough to apprehend to the full the military genius of the British CommanderinChief, fruits of

which he had already witnessed. He knew that the withdrawal of Junot's army from Lisbon two years ago

resulted mainly from the operations of Sir Arthur Wellesley as he was then before his supersession in the

supreme command of that first expedition, and he more than suspected that but for that supersession the

defeat of the first French army of invasion might have been even more signal. He had witnessed the masterly

campaign of 1809, the battle of the Douro and the relentless operations which had culminated in hurling the

shattered fragments of Soult's magnificent army over the Portuguese frontier, thus liberating that country for

the second time from the thrall of the mighty French invader. And he knew that unless this man and the

troops under his command remained in Portugal and enjoyed complete liberty of action there could be no

hope of stemming the third invasion for which Massena the ablest of all the Emperor's marshals was now

gathering his divisions in the north. If Wellington were to execute his threat and withdraw with his army,

Forjas beheld nothing but ruin for his country. The irresistible French would sweep forward in devastating

conquest, and Portuguese independence would be ground to dust under the heel of the terrible Emperor.

All this the clearsighted Dom Miguel Forjas now perceived. To do him full justice, he had feared for some

time that the unreasonable conduct of his Government might ultimately bring about some such desperate

situation. But it was not for him to voice those fears. He was the servant of that Government, the "mere

Forjas sighed, shook his dark head and drew himself up like a man who has chosen his part. Being shrewd, he

"That Lord Wellington should announce intentions of going," Forjas explained. And having admitted so

much, he now stripped off the official mask completely. He spoke with his own voice and not with that of the

Council whose mouthpiece he was. "Of course it will never be permitted. Lord Wellington has been entrusted

with the defence of the country by the Prince Regent; consequently it is the duty of every Portuguese to

O'Moy was mystified. Only a knowledge of the minister's inmost thoughts could have explained this oddly

"But your Excellency understands the terms the only terms upon which his lordship will so continue?"

"Perfectly. I shall hasten to convey those terms to the Council. It is also quite clear is it not? that I may

convey to my Government and indeed publish your complete assurance that the officer responsible for the

Looking intently into O'Moy's face, Dom Miguel saw the clear blue eyes flicker under his gaze, he beheld a

grey shadow slowly overspreading the adjutant's ,ruddy cheek. Knowing nothing of the relationship between

O'Moy and the offender, unable to guess the sources of the hesitation of which he now beheld such

"There must be no flinching in this, General," he cried. "Let me speak to you for a moment quite frankly and

in confidence, not as the Secretary of State of the Council of Regency, but as a Portuguese patriot who places

his country and his country's welfare above every other consideration. You have issued your ultimatum. It

may be harsh, it may be arbitrary; with that I have no concern. The interests, the feelings of Principal Souza

or of any other individual, however highplaced, are without weight when the interests of the nation hang

against them in the balance. Better that an injustice be done to one man than that the whole country should

suffer. Therefore I do not argue with you upon the rights and wrongs of Lord Wellington's ultimatum. That is

a matter apart. Lord Wellington demands the removal of Principal Souza from the Government, or, in the

alternative, proposes himself to withdraw from Portugal. In the national interest the Government can come to

only one decision. I am frank with you, General. Myself I shall stand ranged on the side of the national

interest, and what my influence in the Council can do it shall do. But if you know Principal Souza at all, you

must know that he will not relinquish his position without a fight. He has friends and influence the

Patriarch of Lisbon and many of the nobility will be on his side. I warn you solemnly against leaving any

He paused impressively. But O'Moy, greyfaced now and haggard, waited in silence for him to continue.

"From the message I brought you," Forjas resumed, "you will have perceived how Principal Souza has

fastened upon this business at Tavora to support his general censure of Lord Wellington's conduct of the

campaign. That is the weapon to which my warning refers. You must if we who place the national interest

supreme are to prevail you must disarm him by the assurance that I ask for. You will perceive that I am

disloyal to a member of my Council so that I may be loyal to my country. But I repeat, I speak to you in

confidence. This officer has committed a gross outrage, which must bring the British army into odium with

the people, unless we have your assurance that the British army is the first to censure and to punish the

offender with the utmost rigour. Give me now, that I may publish everywhere, your official assurance that

this man will be shot, and on my side I assure you that Principal Souza, thus deprived of his stoutest weapon,

"I hope," said O'Moy slowly, his head bowed, his voice dull and even unsteady, "I hope that I am not behind

you in placing public duty above private consideration. You may publish my official assurance that the

"General, I thank you. My country thanks you. You may be confident of this issue." He bowed gravely to

O'Moy and then to Tremayne. "Your Excellencies, I have the honour to wish you goodday." He was shown

out by the orderly who had admitted him, and he departed well satisfied in his patriotic heart that the crisis

which he had always known to be inevitable should have been reached at last. Yet, as he went, he wondered

why the AdjutantGeneral had looked so downcast, why his voice had broken when he pledged his word that

justice should be done upon the offending British officer. That, however, was no concern of Dom Miguel's,

and there was more than enough to engage his thoughts when he came to consider the ultimatum to his

Across the frontier in the northwest was gathering the third army of invasion, some sixty thousand strong,

commanded by Marshal Massena, Prince of Esslingen, the most skilful and fortunate of all Napoleon's

generals, a leader who, because he had never known defeat, had come to be surnamed by his Emperor "the

Wellington, at the head of a British force of little more than one third of the French host, watched and waited,

maturing his stupendous strategic plan, which those in whose interests it had been conceived had done so

much to thwart. That plan was inspired by and based upon the Emperor's maxim that war should support

itself; that an army on the march must not be hampered and immobilised by its commissariat, but that it must

draw its supplies from the country it is invading; that it must, in short, live upon that country.

Behind the British army and immediately to the north of Lisbon, in an arc some thirty miles long, following

the inflection of the hills from the sea at the mouth of the Zizandre to the broad waters of the Tagus at

Alhandra, the lines of Torres Vedras were being constructed under the direction of Colonel Fletcher and this

so secretly and with such careful measures as to remain unknown to British and Portuguese alike. Even those

employed upon the works knew of nothing save the section upon which they happened to be engaged, and

To these lines it was the British commander's plan to effect a slow retreat before the French flood when it

should sweep forward, thus luring the enemy onward into a country which he had commanded should be laid

relentlessly waste, that there that enemy might fast be starved and afterwards destroyed. To this end had his

proclamations gone forth, commanding that all the land lying between the rivers Tagus and Mondego, in

short, the whole of the country between Beira and Torres Vedras, should be stripped naked, converted into a

desert as stark and empty as the Sahara. Not a head of cattle, not a grain of corn, not a skin of vine, not a flask

of oil, not a crumb of anything affording nourishment should be left behind. The very mills were to be

rendered useless, bridges were to be broken down, the houses emptied of all property, which the refugees

Such was his terrible demand upon the country for its own salvation. But such, as we have seen, was not war

as Principal Souza and some of his adherents understood it. They had not the foresight to perceive the

inevitable result of this strategic plan if effectively and thoroughly executed. They did not even realise that

the devastation had better be effected by the British in this defensive and in its results at the same time

overwhelmingly offensive manner than by the French in the course of a conquering onslaught. They did not

realise these things partly because they did not enjoy Wellington's full confidence, and in a greater measure

because they were blinded by selfinterest, because, as O'Moy told Forjas, they placed private considerations

above public duty. The northern nobles whose lands must suffer opposed the measure violently; they even

opposed the withdrawal of labour from those lands which the Militia Act had rendered necessary. And

Antonio de Souza made himself their champion until he was broken by Wellington's ultimatum to the

Council. For broken he was. The nation had come to a parting of the ways. It had been brought to the

necessity of choosing, and however much the Principal, voicing the outcry of his party, might argue that the

British plan was as detestable and ruinous as a French invasion, the nation preferred to place its confidence in

Souza quitted the Government and the capital as had been demanded. But if Wellington hoped that he would

quit intriguing, he misjudged his man. He was a fellow of monstrous vanity, pride and selfsufficiency, of the

sort than which there is none more dangerous to offend. His wounded pride demanded a salve to be procured

at any cost. The wound had been administered by Wellington, and must be returned with interest. So that he

ruined Wellington it mattered nothing to Antonio de Souza that he should ruin himself and his own country at

the same time. He was like some blinded, ferocious and unreasoning beast, ready, even eager, to sacrifice its

In that mood he passes out of the councils of the Portuguese Government into a brooding and secretly active

retirement, of which the fruits shall presently be shown. With his departure the Council of Regency, rudely

shaken by the ultimatum which had driven him forth, became more docile and active, and for a season the

measures enjoined by the CommanderinChief were pursued with some show of earnestness.

As a result of all this life at Monsanto became easier, ,and O'Moy was able to breathe more freely, and to

devote more of his time to matters concerning the fortifications which Wellington had left largely in his

charge. Then, too, as the weeks passed, the shadow overhanging him with regard to Richard Butler gradually

lifted. No further word had there been of the missing lieutenant, and by the end of May both O'Moy and

Tremayne had come to the conclusion that he must have fallen into the hands of some of the ferocious

mountaineers to whom a soldier whether his uniform were British or French was a thing to be done to

For his wife's sake O'Moy came thankfully to that conclusion. Under the circumstances it was the best

possible termination to the episode. She must be told of her brother's death presently, when evidence of it was

forthcoming; she would mourn him passionately, no doubt, for her attachment to him was deep

extraordinarily deep for so shallow a woman but at least she would be spared the pain and shame she must

Meanwhile, however, the lack of news from him, in another sense, would have to be explained to Una sooner

or later for a fitful correspondence was maintained between brother and sister and O'Moy dreaded the

moment when this explanation must be made. Lacking invention, he applied to Tremayne for assistance, and

Tremayne glumly supplied him with the necessary lie that should meet Lady O'Moy's inquiries when they

In the end, however, he was spared the necessity of falsehood. For the truth itself reached Lady O'Moy in an

unexpected manner. It came about a month after that day when O'Moy had first received news of the

escapade at Tavora. It was a resplendent morning of early June, and the adjutant was detained a few moments

from breakfast by the arrival of a mailbag from headquarters, now established at Vizeu. Leaving Captain

Tremayne to deal with it, Sir Terence went down to breakfast, bearing with him only a few letters of a

The architecture of the house at Monsanto was of a semiclaustral character; three sides of it enclosed a

sheltered luxuriant garden, whilst on the fourth side a connecting corridor, completing the quadrangle,

spanned bridgewise the spacious archway through which admittance was gained directly from the parklands

that sloped gently to Alcantara. This archway, closed at night by enormous wooden doors, opened wide

during the day upon a grassy terrace bounded by a baluster of white marble that gleamed now in the brilliant

sunshine. It was O'Moy's practice to breakfast outofdoors in that genial climate, and during April, before

the sun had reached its present intensity, the table had been spread out there upon the terrace. Now, however,

it was wiser, even in the early morning, to seek the shade, and breakfast was served within the quadrangle,

under a trellis of vine supported in the Portuguese manner by roughhewn granite columns. It was a delicious

spot, cool and fragrant, secluded without being enclosed, since through the broad archway it commanded a

Here O'Moy found himself impatiently awaited that morning by his wife and her cousin, Sylvia Armytage,

"You are very late," Lady O'Moy greeted him petulantly. Since she spent her life in keeping other people

Her portrait, by Raeburn, which now adorns the National Gallery, had been painted in the previous year. You

will have seen it, or at least you will have seen one of its numerous replicas, and you will have remarked its

singular, delicate, rosepetal loveliness the gleaming golden head, the flawless outline of face and feature,

Thus was she now in her artfully simple gown of flowered muslin with its white fichu folded across her neck

that was but a shade less white; thus was she, just as Raeburn had painted her, saving, of course, that her

"I was detained by the arrival of a mailbag from Vizeu," Sir Terence excused himself, as he took the chair

which Mullins, the elderly, pontifical butler, drew out for him. "Ned is attending to it, and will be kept for a

"No word from Dick?" Again there was that note of ever ready petulance. "It is too provoking. He should

know that he must make me anxious by his silence. Dick is so thoughtless so careless of other people's

The adjutant paused in the act of unfolding his napkin. The prepared explanation trembled on his lips; but its

"I should certainly do so, my dear," was all he said, and addressed himself to his breakfast.

"What news from headquarters?" Miss Armytage asked him. "Are things going well?"

"Much better now that Principal Souza's influence is at an end. Cotton reports that the destruction of the mills

"Do you know, Terence," she said, "that I am not without some sympathy for the Portuguese resistance to

Lord Wellington's decrees. They must bear so terribly hard upon the people. To be compelled with their own

hands to destroy their homes and lay waste the lands upon which they have laboured what could be more

"War can never be anything but cruel," he answered gravely. "God help the people over whose lands it

"Why must war be?" she asked him, in intelligent rebellion against that most monstrous and infamous of all

O'Moy proceeded to do his best to explain the unexplainable, and since, himself a professional soldier, he

could not take the sane view of his sane young questioner, hot argument ensued between them, to the infinite

weariness of Lady O'Moy, who out of selfprotection gave herself to the study of the latest fashion plates

from London and the consideration of a gown for the ball which the Count of Redondo was giving in the

It was thus in all things, for these cousins represented the two poles of womanhood. Miss Armytage without

any of Lady O'Moy's insistent and excessive femininity, was nevertheless feminine to the core. But hers was

the Diana type of womanliness. She was tall and of a cleanlimbed, supple grace, now emphasised by the

ridinghabit which she was wearing for she had been in the saddle during the hour which Lady, O'Moy had

consecrated to the rites of toilet and devotions done before her mirror. Darkhaired, darkeyed, vivacity and

intelligence lent her countenance an attraction very different from the allurement of her cousin's delicate

loveliness. And because her countenance was a true mirror of her mind, she argued shrewdly now, so

"My dear Sylvia, war is most merciful where it is most merciless," he assured her with the Irish gift for

paradox. "At home in the Government itself there are plenty who argue as you argue, and who are wondering

when we shall embark for England. That is because they are intellectuals, and war is a thing beyond the

understanding of intellectuals. It is not intellect but brute instinct and brute force that will help humanity in

such a crisis as the present. Therefore, let me tell you, my child, that a government of intellectual men is the

This was far from satisfying Miss Armytage. Lord Wellington himself was an intellectual, she objected.

Nobody could deny it. There was the work he had done as Irish Secretary, and there was the calculating

And then, observing her husband to be in distress, Lady O'Moy put down her fashion plate and brought up

"Sylvia, dear," she interpolated, "I wonder that you will for ever be arguing about things you don't

Miss Armytage laughed goodhumouredly. She was not easily put out of countenance. "What woman

"Ah, but an exceptional woman," her cousin rallied her affectionately, tapping the shapely white arm that

protruded from a foam of lace. And Lady O'Moy, to whom words never had any but a literal meaning, set

herself to purr precisely as one would have expected. Complacently she discoursed upon the perfection of her

own endowments, appealing ever and anon to her husband for confirmation, and O'Moy, who loved her with

all the passionate reverence which Nature working inscrutably to her ends so often inspires in just such

strong, essentially masculine men for just such fragile and excessively feminine women, afforded this

Thus until Mullins broke in upon them with the announcement of a visit from Count Samoval, an

The Portuguese nobleman was introduced. He had attained to a degree of familiarity in the adjutant's

household that permitted of his being received without ceremony there at that breakfasttable spread in the

open. He was a slender, handsome, swarthy man of thirty, scrupulously dressed, as graceful and elegant in his

movements as a fencing master, which indeed he might have been; for his skill with the foils was, a matter of

pride to himself and notoriety to all the world. Nor was it by any means the only skill he might have boasted,

for Jeronymo de Samoval was in many things,, a very subtle, supple gentleman. His friendship with the

O'Moys, now some three months old, had been considerably strengthened of late by the fact that he had

unexpectedly become one of the most hostile critics of the Council of Regency as lately constituted, and one

He bowed with supremest grace to the ladies, ventured to kiss the fair, smooth hand of his hostess, undeterred

by the frosty stare of O'Moy's blue eyes whose approval of all men was in inverse proportion to their

approval of his wife and finally proffered her the armful of early roses that he brought.

"These poor roses of Portugal to their sister from England," said his softly caressing tenor voice.

"Having found Castalia here," said, the Count, "shall I not drink its limpid waters?"

"Not, I hope, while there's an agreeable vintage of Port on the table. A morning whet, Samoval?" O'Moy

"Two fingers, then no more. It is not my custom in the morning. But here to drink your lady's health, and

yours, Miss Armytage." With a graceful flourish of his glass he pledged them both and sipped delicately, then

"Good news, I hear, General. Antonio de Souza's removal from the Government is already bearing fruit. The

"Ye're very well informed," grunted O'Moy, who himself had but received the news. "As well informed,

indeed, as I am myself." There was a note almost of suspicion in the words, and he was vexed that matters

which it was desirable be kept screened as much as possible from general knowledge should so soon be put

"Naturally, and with reason," was the answer, delivered with a rueful smile. "Am I not interested? Is not some

of my property in question?" Samoval sighed. "But I bow to the necessities of war. At least it cannot be said

of me, as was said of those whose interests Souza represented, that I put private considerations above public

duty that is the phrase, I think. The individual must suffer that the nation may triumph. A Roman maxim,

"Oh, admitted," replied the amiable Samoval. "You proved it by your uncompromising firmness in the affair

"Of course not," snapped O'Moy, who had broken into a cold perspiration. "Hardly a subject for the ladies,

"Perhaps not; perhaps not," he agreed, as if dismissing it, whereupon O'Moy recovered from his momentary

breathlessness. "But in your own interests, my dear General, I trust there will be no weakening when this

But the toowellinformed Samoval corrected him. "Not Philip, General Richard Butler. I had the name

In the scared hush that followed the Count perceived that he had stumbled headlong into a mystery. He saw

Lady O'Moy's face turn whiter and whiter, saw her sapphire eyes dilating as they regarded him.

"Richard Butler!" she echoed. "What of Richard Butler? Tell me. Tell me at once."

Hesitating before such signs of distress, Samoval looked at O'Moy, to meet a dejected scowl.

Lady O'Moy turned to her husband. "What is it?" she demanded. "You know something about Dick and you

"What has he done? You spoke of an affair at Evora or Tavora, which is not to be mentioned before ladies. I

demand to know." Her affection and anxiety for her brother invested her for a moment with a certain dignity,

Seeing the men stricken speechless, Samoval from bewildered astonishment, O'Moy from distress, she

jumped to the conclusion, after what had been said, that motives of modesty accounted for their silence.

"Leave us, Sylvia, please," she said. "Forgive me, dear. But you see they will not mention these things while

you are present." She made a piteous little figure as she stood trembling there, her fingers tearing in agitation

She waited until the obedient and discreet Miss Armytage had passed from view into the wing that contained

And O'Moy, with a sigh of regret for the lie so laboriously concocted which would never now be uttered,

Miss Armytage's own notions of what might be fit and proper for her virginal ears were by no means

coincident with Lady O'Moy's. Thus, although you have seen her pass into the private quarters of the

adjutant's establishment, and although, in fact, she did withdraw to her own room, she found it impossible to

abide there a prey to doubt and misgivings as to what Dick Butler might have done doubt and misgivings,

By the corridor spanning the archway on the southern side of the quadrangle, and serving as a connecting

bridge between the adjutant's private and official quarters, Miss Armytage took her way to Sir Terence's

workroom, knowing that she would find Captain Tremayne there, and assuming that he would be alone.

He sprang to his feet. "Why, certainly, Miss Armytage." For so imperturbable a young man he seemed oddly

breathless in his eagerness to welcome her. "Are you looking for O'Moy? He left me nearly halfanhour ago

She closed the door, and came forward into the room, moving with that supple grace peculiarly her own.

"I want you to tell me something, Captain Tremayne, and I want you to be frank with me."

Tremayne sighed. He had recovered from the surprise of her coming and was again his imperturbable self.

"I assure you that is the last way in which I desire to treat you. But if you insist "

"I do." She had frowned slightly at the earlier part of his speech, with its subtle, halfjesting gallantry, and

"Only that he has done something at Tavora for which the consequences, I gather, may be grave. I am

"She is being told now. Count Samoval let slip just what I have outlined. And she has insisted upon being

"Because they sent me away on the plea that oh, on the silly plea of my youth and innocence, which were

"Sylvia!" It was a curious exclamation of satisfaction and of gratitude for the implied confidence. We must

admit that it betrayed a selfish forgetfulness of Dick Butler and his troubles, but it is by no means clear that it

Her colour rose. "Well, sir? What do you suggest that I implied or seemed to imply?" But as suddenly her

manner changed. "I think we are too concerned with trifles where the matter on which I have sought you is a

He told her quite simply the whole story, not forgetting to give prominence to the circumstances extenuating

it in Butler's favour. She listened with a deepening frown, rather pale, her head bowed.

Captain Tremayne turned aside and looked out of the window. "I should welcome the news that he is dead,"

he said softly. "For if he is taken he will find no mercy at the hands of his own people."

A shudder ran through her, and she covered her face with her halls. When she withdrew then Tremayne

He shook his head, his lips tight pressed. "'There is no man less able to do so."

He looked at her, hesitating for a, moment, then answered her: "'O'Moy has pledged his word to the

"He was compelled to it. Honour and duty demanded no less of him. I alone, who was present and witnessed

the undertaking, know what it cost him and what he suffered. But he was forced to sink all private

considerations. It was a sacrifice rendered necessary, inevitable for the success of this campaign." And he

proceeded to explain to her all the circumstances that were interwoven with Lieutenant Butler's illtimed

offence. "Thus you see that from Terence you can hope for nothing. His honour will not admit of his

"I was thinking of Una when I said I should welcome the news of Dick's death somewhere in the hills. It is

"Why, so I have been; so I am. Perhaps that is another reason why I should hope that he is dead."

"Believe me, Miss Armytage, if I saw a way to save him, to do anything to help him, I should seize it, both

for the sake of my friendship for himself and because of my affection for Una. Since you yourself are

interested in him, that is an added reason for me. But it is one thing to admit willingness to help and another

thing actually to afford help. What is there that I can do? I assure you that I have thought of the matter.

Indeed for days I have thought of little else. But I can see no light. I await events. Perhaps a chance may

Her expression had softened. "I see." She put out a hand generously to ask forgiveness. "I was presumptuous,

He took the hand. "I should never question your right to speak to me in any way that seemed good to you," he

"I had better go to Una. She will be needing me, poor child. I am grateful to you, Captain Tremayne, for your

confidence and for telling me." And thus she left him very thoughtful, as concerned for Una as she was

Now Una O'Moy was the natural product of such treatment. There had ever been something so appealing in

her lovely helplessness and fragility that all her life others had been concerned to shelter her from every wind

that blew. Because it was so she was what she was; and because she was what she was it would continue to

But Lady O'Moy at the moment did not stand in such urgent need of Miss Armytage as Miss Armytage

imagined. She had heard the appalling story of her brother's escapade, but she had been unable to perceive in

what it was so terrible as it was declared. He had made a mistake. He had invaded the convent under a

misapprehension, for which it was ridiculous to blame him. It was a mistake which any man might have made

in a foreign country. Lives had been lost, it is true; but that was owing to the stupidity of other people of the

nuns who had run for shelter when no danger threatened save in their own silly imaginations, and of the

peasants who had come blundering to their assistance where no assistance was required; the latter were the

people responsible for the bloodshed, since they had attacked the dragoons. Could it be expected of the

Thus Lady O'Moy upon the affair of Tavora. The whole thing appeared to her to be rather silly, and she

refused seriously to consider that it could have any rave consequences for Dick. His continued absence made

her anxious. But if he should come to be taken, surely his punishment would be merely a formal matter; at the

worst he might be sent home, which would a very good thing, for after all the climate of the Peninsula had

In this fashion she nimbly pursued a train of vitiated logic, passing from inconsequence to inconsequence.

And O'Moy, thankful that she should take such a view this mercifully hopeful that the last had been heard

of his peccant and vexatious brotherinlaw content, more than content, to leave her comforted such

And then, while she was still discussing the matter terms of comparative calm, came an orderly to summon

The Count had been deeply shocked by the discover that Dick Butler was Lady O'Moy's brother, and a little

confused that he himself in his ignorance should have been the means of bringing to her knowledge a painful

matter that touched her so closely and that hitherto had been so carefully concealed from her by her husband.

He was thankful that she should take so op optimistic a view, and quick to perceive O'Moy's charitable desire

to leave her optimism undispelled. But he was no less quick to perceive the opportunities which the

circumstances afforded him to further a certain deep intrigue upon which he was engaged.

Therefore he did not take his leave just yet. He sauntered with Lady O'Moy on the terrace above the wooded

slopes that screened the village of Alcantara, and there discovered her mind to be even more frivolous and

unstable than his perspicuity had hitherto suspected. Under stress Lady O'Moy could convey the sense that

she felt deeply. She could be almost theatrical in her displays of emotion. But these were as transient as they

were intense. Nothing that was not immediately present to her senses was ever capable of a deep impression

upon her spirit, and she had the facility characteristic of the selfloving and selfindulgent of putting aside

any matter that was unpleasant. Thus, easily selfpersuaded, as we have seen, that this escapade of Richard's

was not to be regarded too seriously, and that its consequences were not likely to be gave, she chattered with

gay inconsequence of other things of the dinnerparty last week at the house of the Marquis of Minas, that

prominent member of the council of Regency, of the forthcoming ball to be given by the Count of Redondo,

of the latest news from home, the latest fashion and the latest scandal, the amours of the Duke of York and

Samoval, however, did not intend that the matter of her brother should be so entirely forgotten, so lightly

Considering her as she leant upon the granite balustrade, her pink sunshade aslant over her shoulder, her

flimsy lace shawl festooned from the crook of either arm and floating behind her, a wisp of cloudy vapour,

But do not misunderstand her. Hers was an almost childish coquetry, inevitable fruit of her intense

femininity, craving ever the worship of the sterner sex and the incense of its flattery. And Samoval, after all,

young, noble, handsome, with a halfsinister reputation, was something of a figure of romance, as a good

He fingered his snowy stock, and bent upon her eyes of glowing adoration. "Dear Lady O'Moy," his tenor

voice was soft and soothing as a caress, "I sigh to think that one so adorable, so entirely made for life's

sunshine and gladness, should have cause for a moment's uneasiness, perhaps for secret grief, at the thought

Her glance clouded under this reminder. Then she pouted and made a little gesture of impatience. "Dick is not

in peril," she answered. "He is foolish to remain so long in hiding, and of course he will have to face

unpleasantness when he is found. But to say that he is in peril is . . . just nonsense. Terence said nothing of

peril. He agreed with me that Dick will probably be sent home. Surely you don't think "

"No, no." He looked down, studying his hessians for a moment, then his dark eyes returned to meet her own.

"I shall see to it that he is in no danger. You may depend upon me, who ask but the happy chance to serve

you. Should there be any trouble, let me know at once, and I will see to it that all is well. Your brother must

"Is it not plain? Whatever happens, you must not suffer, Lady O'Moy. No man of feeling, and I least of any,

could endure it. And since if your brother were to suffer that must bring suffering to you, you may count

"From whatever may threaten. The Portuguese Government may demand in selfprotection, to appease the

clamour of the people stupidly outraged by this affair, that an example shall be made of the offender."

"Oh, but how could they? With what reason?" She displayed a vague alarm, and a less vague impatience of

He shrugged. "The people are like that a fierce, vengeful god to whom appeasing sacrifices must be offered

from time to time. If the people demand a scapegoat, governments usually provide one. But be comforted." In

his eagerness of reassurance he caught her delicate mittened hand in his own, and her anxiety rendering her

heedless, she allowed it to lie there gently imprisoned. "Be comforted. I shall be here to guard him. There is

much that I can do and you may depend upon me to do it for your sake, dear lady. The Government will

listen to me. I would not have you imagine me capable of boasting. I have influence with the Government,

that is all; and I give you my word that so far as the Portuguese Government is concerned your brother shall

She looked at him for a long moment with moist eyes, moved and flattered by his earnestness and intensity of

homage. "I take this very kindly in you, sir. I have no thanks that are worthy," she said, her voice trembling a

"Your assurance that I have made you happy repays me very fully, since your happiness is my tenderest

concern. Believe me, dear lady, you may ever count Jeronymo de Samoval your most devoted and obedient

He bore the hand to his lips and held it to them for a long moment, whilst with heightened colour and eyes

that sparkled, more, be it confessed, from excitement than from gratitude, she stood passively considering his

As he came erect again a movement under the archway caught his eye, and turning he found himself

confronting Sir Terence and Miss Armytage, who were approaching. If it vexed him to have been caught by a

husband notoriously jealous in an attitude not altogether uncompromising, Samoval betrayed no sign of it.

"General, you come in time to enable me to take my leave of you. I was on the point of going."

His frosty manner would have imposed constraint upon any man less master of himself than Samoval. But the

Count ignored it, and ignoring it delayed a moment to exchange amiabilities politely with Miss Armytage,

But no sooner was he gone than O'Moy expressed himself full frankly to his wife.

"He has undertaken that if there should be any trouble with the Portuguese Government about Dick's silly

"Oh!" said O'Moy, "that was it?" And out of his tender consideration for her said no more.

But Sylvia Armytage, knowing what she knew from Captain Tremayne, was not content to leave the matter

there. She reverted to it presently as she was going indoors alone with her cousin.

"Una," she said gently, "I should not place too much faith in Count Samoval and his promises."

"What do you mean?" Lady O'Moy was never very tolerant of advice, especially from an inexperienced

"Pooh! Terence mistrusts every man who looks at me. My dear, never marry a jealous man," she added with

"He is the last man the Count, I mean to whom, in your place, I should go for assistance if there is trouble

about Dick." She was thinking of what Tremayne had told her of the attitude of the Portuguese Government,

and her clearsighted mind perceived an obvious peril in permitting Count Samoval to become aware of

"What nonsense, Sylvia! You conceive the oddest and most foolish notions sometimes. But of course you

have no experience of the world." And beyond that she refused to discuss the matter, nor did the wise Sylvia

Although Dick Butler might continue missing in the flesh, in the spirit he and his miserable affair seem to

It would be at about this time that there befell in Lisbon the deplorable event that nipped in the bud the career

of that most promising young officer, Major Berkeley of the famous DieHards, the 29th Foot.

Coming into Lisbon on leave from his regiment, which was stationed at Abrantes, and formed part of the

division under Sir Rowland Hill, the major happened into a company that contained at least one member who

was hostile to Lord Wellington's conduct of the campaign, or rather to the measures which it entailed. As in

the case of the Principal Souza, prejudice drove him to take up any weapon that came to his hand by means of

Since we are concerned only indirectly with the affair, it may be stated very briefly. The young gentleman in

question was a Portuguese officer and a nephew of the Patriarch of Lisbon, and the particular criticism to

which Major Berkeley took such just exception concerned the very troublesome Dick Butler. Our patrician

ventured to comment with sneers and innuendoes upon the fact that the lieutenant of dragoons continued

missing, and he went so far as to indulge in a sarcastic prophecy that he never would be found.

Major Berkeley, stung by the slur thus slyly cast upon British honour, invited the young gentleman to make

"I had thought that I was explicit enough," says young impudence, leering at the stalwart redcoat. "But if

you want it more clearly still, then I mean that the undertaking to punish this ravisher of nunneries is one that

you English have never intended to carry out. To save your faces you will take good care that Lieutenant

Major Berkeley was quite uncompromising and downright. I am afraid he had none of the graces that can

Ye're just a very foolish liar, sir, and you deserve a good caning," was all he said, but the way in which he

took his cane from under his arm was so suggestive of more to follow there and then that several of the

The Patriarch's nephew, very white and very fierce to hear himself addressed in terms which out of respect

for his august and powerful uncle had never been used to him before, demanded instant satisfaction. He got

it next morning in the shape of halfanounce of lead through his foolish brain, and a terrible uproar ensued.

To appease it a scapegoat was necessary. As Samoval so truly said, the mob is a ferocious god to whom

sacrifices must be made. In this instance the sacrifice, of course, was Major Berkeley. He was broken and

sent home to cut his pigtail (the adornment still clung to by the 29th) and retire into private life, whereby the

British army was deprived of an officer of singularly brilliant promise. Thus, you see, the score against poor

But in my haste to usher Major Berkeley out of a narrative which he touches merely at a tangent, I am guilty

of violating the chronological order of the events. The ship in which Major Berkeley went home to England

and the rural life was the frigate Telemachus, and the Telemachus had but dropped anchor in the Tagus at the

date with which I am immediately concerned. She came with certain stores and a heavy load of mails for the

troops, and it would be a full fortnight before she would sail again for home. Her officers would be ashore

during the time, the welcome guests of the officers of the garrison, bearing their share in the gaieties with

which the latter strove to kill the time of waiting for events, and Marcus Glennie, the captain of the frigate, an

old friend of Tremayne's, was by virtue of that friendship an almost daily visitor at the adjutant's quarters.

But there again I am anticipating. The Telemachus came to her moorings in the Tagus, at which for the

present we may leave her, on the morning of the day that was to close with Count Redondo's semiofficial

ball. Lady O'Moy had risen late, taking from one end of the day what she must relinquish to the other, that

thus fully rested she might look her best that night. The greater part of the afternoon was devoted to

preparation. It was amazing even to herself what an amount of detail there was to be considered, and from

Sylvia she received but very indifferent assistance. There were times when she regretfully suspected in Sylvia

a lack of proper womanliness, a taint almost of masculinity. There was to Lady O'Moy's mind something very

wrong about a woman who preferred a canter to a waltz. It was unnatural; it was suspicious; she was not quite

At last there had been dinner to which she came a full halfhour late, but of so ravishing and angelic an

appearance that the sight of her was sufficient to mollify Sir Terence's impatience and stifle the withering

sarcasms he had been laboriously preparing. After dinner which was taken at six o'clock there was still an

Sir Terence pleaded stress of work, occasioned by the arrival of the Telemachus that morning, and withdrew

with Tremayne to the official quarters, to spend that hour in disposing of some of the many matters awaiting

his attention. Sylvia, who to Lady O'Moy's exasperation seemed now for the first time to give a thought to

what she should wear that night, went off in haste to gown herself, and so Lady O'Moy was left to her own

The evening being calm and warm, she sauntered out into the open. She was more or less annoyed with

everybody with Sir Terence and Tremayne for their assiduity to duty, and with Sylvia for postponing all

thought of dressing until this eleventh hour, when she might have been better employed in beguiling her

ladyship's loneliness. In this petulant mood, Lady O'Moy crossed the quadrangle, loitered a moment by the

table and chairs placed under the trellis, and considered sitting there to await the others. Finally, however,

attracted by the glory of the sunset behind the hills towards Abrantes, she sauntered out on to the terrace, to

the intense thankfulness of a poor wretch who had waited there for the past ten hours in the almost despairing

She was leaning upon the balustrade when a rustle in the pines below drew her attention. The rustle worked

swiftly upwards and round to the bushes on her right, and her eyes, faintly startled, followed its career, what

Then the bushes parted and a limping figure that leaned heavily upon a stick disclosed itself; a shaggy,

redbearded man in the garb of a peasant; and marvel of marvels! this figure spoke her name sharply,

The voice was certainly the voice of Mr. Butler. But how came that voice into the body of this peasant?

Terrified, with drumming pulses, yet obedient to the injunction, she remained without speech or movement,

whilst crouching so as to keep below the level of the balustrade the man crept forward until he was

She stared into that haggard face, and through the halfmask of stubbly beard gradually made out the features

"'Sh!" He waved his hands in wild alarm to repress her. "For God's sake, be quiet! It's a ruined man I am they

"Is there anywhere you can hide me? Can you get me into the house without being seen? I am almost

starving, and my leg is on fire. I was wounded three days ago to make matters worse than they were already. I

have been lying in the woods there watching for the chance to find you alone since sunrise this morning, and

"Poor, poor Richard!" She leaned down towards him in an attitude of compassionate, ministering grace. "But

why? Why did you not come up to the house and ask for me? No one would have recognised you."

"Terence!" He almost laughed from excess of bitterness, labouring under an egotistical sense of wrong. "He's

the last man I should wish to meet, as I have good reason to know. If it hadn't been for that I should have

come to you a month ago immediately after this trouble of mine. As it is, I kept away until despair left me

"Sure, and he's also adjutantgeneral, and if I know him at all he's the very man to place official duty and

"Oh, Richard, how little you know Terence! How wrong you are to misjudge him like this!"

"Right or wrong, I'd prefer not to take the risk. It might end in my being shot one fine morning before long."

"For God's sake, less of your Richard! It's all the world will be hearing you. Can you hide me, do you think,

for a day or two? If you can't, I'll be after shifting for myself as best I can. I've been playing the part of an

English overseer from Bearsley's wine farm, and it has brought me all the way from the Douro in safety. But

the strain of it and the eternal fear of discovery are beginning to break me. And now there's this infernal

wound. I was assaulted by a footpad near Abrantes, as if I was worth robbing. Anyhow I gave the fellow

more than I took. Unless I have rest I think I shall go mad and give myself up to the provostmarshal to be

"Why do you talk of being shot? You have done nothing to deserve that. Why should you fear it?"

Now Mr. Butler was aware having gathered the information lately on his travels of the undertaking given

by the British to the Council of Regency with regard to himself. But irresponsible egotist though he might be,

yet in common with others he was actuated by the desire which his sister's fragile loveliness inspired in every

"It's not myself will take any risks," he said again. "We are at war, and when men are at war killing becomes

a sort of habit, and one life more or less is neither here nor there." And upon that he renewed his plea that she

should hide him if she could and that on no account should she tell a single soul and Sir Terence least of

Having driven him to the verge of frenzy by the waste of precious moments in vain argument, she gave him

at last the promise he required. "Go back to the bushes there," she bade him, "and wait until I come for you. I

Contiguous to her dressingroom, which overlooked the quadrangle, there was a small alcove which had

been converted into a storeroom for the array of trunks and dress boxes that Lady O'Moy had brought from

England. A door opening directly from her dressing room communicated with this alcove, and of that door

As she hurried now indoors she happened to meet Bridget on the stairs. The maid announced herself on her

way to supper in the servants' quarters, and apologised for her presumption in assuming that her ladyship

would no further require her services that evening. But since it fell in so admirably with her ladyship's own

wishes, she insisted with quite unusual solicitude, with vehemence almost, that Bridget should proceed upon

"Just give me the key of the alcove," she said. "There are one or two things I want to get."

There was no more to be said. Bridget produced a bunch of keys, which she surrendered to her mistress,

Lady O'Moy went up, to come down again the moment that Bridget had disappeared. The quadrangle was

deserted, the household disposed of, and it wanted yet halfanhour to the time for which the carriage was

ordered. No moment could have been more propitious. But in any case no concealment was attempted

since, if detected it must have provoked suspicions hardly likely to be aroused in any other way.

When Lady O'Moy returned indoors in the gathering dusk she was followed at a respectful distance by the

limping fugitive, who might, had he been seen, have been supposed some messenger, or perhaps some person

employed about the house or gardens coming to her ladyship for instructions. No one saw them, however,

There, whilst Richard, allowing his exhaustion at last to conquer him, sank heavily down upon one of his

sister's many trunks, recking nothing of the havoc wrought in its priceless contents, her ladyship all atremble

But there was no rest for her. Richard's wound required attention, and he was faint for want of meat and

drink. So having procured him the wherewithal to wash and dress his hurt a nasty knifeslash which had

penetrated to the bone of his thigh, the very sight of which turned her ladyship sick and faint she went to

On the diningroom sideboard, from the remains of dinner, she found and furtively abstracted what she

needed best part of a roast chicken, a small loaf and a halfflask of Collares. Mullins, the butler, would no

doubt be exercised presently when he discovered the abstraction. Let him blame one of the footmen, Sir

Having devoured the food and consumed the wine, Richard's exhaustion assumed the form of a lethargic

torpor. To sleep was now his overmastering desire. She fetched him rugs and pillows, and he made himself a

couch upon the floor. She had demurred, of course, when he himself had suggested this. She could not

conceive of any one sleeping anywhere but in a bed. But Dick made short work of that illusion.

"Haven't I been in hiding for the last six weeks?" he asked her. "And haven't I been thankful to sleep in a

ditch? And wasn't I campaigning before that? I tell you I couldn't sleep in a bed. It's a habit I've lost entirely."

"We'll talk tomorrow, Una," he promised her, as he stretched himself luxuriously upon that hard couch. "But

She went out and locked the door, and when, on the point of setting out for Count Redondo's, she returned the

"I shall require it again in the morning, Bridget," she explained lightly. And then added kindly, as it seemed:

"Don't wait for me, child. Get to bed. I shall be late in coming home, and I shall not want you."

Lady O'Moy and Miss Armytage drove alone together into Lisbon. The adjutant, still occupied, would follow

as soon as he possibly could, whilst Captain Tremayne would go on directly from the lodgings which he

shared in Alcantara with Major Carruthers also of the adjutant's staff whither he had ridden to dress some

"Are you ill, Una?" had been Sylvia's concerned greeting of her cousin when she came within the range of the

carriage lamps. "You are pale as a ghost." To this her ladyship had replied mechanically that a slight

But now that they sat side by side in the well upholstered carriage Miss Armytage became aware hat her

Had it not been for the dominant fear that the shedding of tears would render her countenance unsightly, Lady

O'Moy would have yielded to her feelings and wept. Heroically in the cause of her own flawless beauty she

"I I have been so troubled about Richard," she faltered. "It is preying upon my mind."

"Poor dear!" In sheer motherliness Miss Armytage put an arm about her cousin and drew her close. "We must

Now if you have understood anything of the character of Lady O'Moy you will have understood that the

burden of a secret was the last burden that such a nature was capable of carrying,. It was because Dick was

fully aware of this that he had so emphatically and repeatedly impressed upon her the necessity for saying not

a word to any one of his presence. She realised in her vague way or rather she believed it since he had

assured her that there would be grave danger to him if he were discovered. But discovery was one thing,

and the sharing of a confidence as to his presence another. That confidence must certainly be shared.

Lady O'Moy was in an emotional maelstrom that swept her towards a cataract. The cataract might inspire her

with dread, standing as it did for death and disaster, but the maelstrom was not to be resisted. She was

helpless in it, unequal to breasting such strong waters, she who in all her futile, charming life had been borne

Remained but to choose her confidant. Nature suggested Terence. But it was against Terence in particular

that she had been warned. Circumstance now offered Sylvia Armytage. But pride, or vanity if you prefer it,

denied her here. Sylvia was an inexperienced young girl, as she herself had so often found occasion to remind

her cousin. Moreover, she fostered the fond illusion that Sylvia looked to her for precept, that upon Sylvia's

life she exercised a precious guiding influence. How, then, should the supporting lean upon the supported?

Yet since she must, there and then, lean upon something or succumb instantly and completely, she chose a

"I have been imagining things," she said. "It may be a premonition, I don't know. Do you believe in

"I have been imagining that if Dick is hiding, a fugitive, he might naturally come to me for help. I am

fanciful, perhaps," she added hastily, lest she should have said too much. "But there it is. All day the notion

has clung to me, and I have been asking myself desperately what I should do in such a case."

"I know," her ladyship interrupted on that everready note of petulance of hers. "I know, of course. But I

think I should be easier in my mind if I could find an answer to my doubt. If I knew what to do, to whom to

appeal for assistance, for I am afraid that I should be very helpless myself. There is Terence, of course. But I

am a little afraid of Terence. He has got Dick out of so many scrapes, and he is so impatient of poor Dick. I

am afraid he doesn't understand him, and so I should be a little frightened of appealing to Terence again."

"No," said Sylvia gravely, "I shouldn't go to Terence. Indeed he is the last man to whom I should go."

There was a brief pause in which Lady O'Moy shuddered. She had been so near to betraying herself. How

"Myself, of course. It is what I have thought myself. There is Count Samoval. He promised that if ever any

such thing happened he would help me. And he assured me I could count upon him. I think it may have been

"I should go to Sir Terence before I went to Count Samoval. By which I mean that I should not go to Count

"And you assured me that I spoke out of the fullness of my ignorance and inexperience."

"There is nothing to forgive. No doubt you were right. But remember that instinct is most alive in the

ignorant and inexperienced, and that instinct is often a surer guide than reason. Yet if you want reason, I can

supply that too. Count Samoval is the intimate friend of the Marquis of Minas, who remains a member of the

Government, and who next to the Principal Souza was, and no doubt is, the most bitter opponent of the

British policy in Portugal. Yet Count Samoval, one of the largest landowners in the north, and the nobleman

who has perhaps suffered most severely from that policy, represents himself as its most vigorous supporter."

Lady O'Moy listened in growing amazement. Also she was a little shocked. It seemed to her almost indecent

that a young girl should know so much about politics so much of which she herself, a married woman, and

"Extraordinary conversation for a young man to hold with a young girl," pronounced her ladyship. "Terence

"Terence was too busy making love to you," said Sylvia, and there was the least suspicion of regret in her

"That may account for it," her ladyship confessed, and fell for a moment into consideration of that delicious

and rather amusing past, when O'Moy's ferocious hesitancy and flaming jealousy had delighted her with the

full perception of her beauty's power. With a rush, however, the present forced itself back upon her notice.

"But I still don't see why Count Samoval should have offered me assistance if he did not intend to grant it

Sylvia explained that it was from the Portuguese Government that the demand for justice upon the violator of

the nunnery at Tavora emanated, and that Samoval's offer might be calculated to obtain him information of

Butler's whereabouts when they became known, so that he might surrender him to the Government.

"My dear!" Lady O'Moy was shocked almost beyond expression. "How you must dislike the man to suggest

"I do not suggest that he could be. I warn you never to run the risk of testing him. He maybe as honest in this

matter as he pretends. But if ever Dick were to come to you for help, you must take no risk."

The phrase was a happier one than Sylvia could suppose. It was almost the very phrase that Dick himself had

"To whom then should I go?" she demanded plaintively. And Sylvia, speaking with knowledge, remembering

the promise that Tremayne had given her, answered readily: "There is but one man whose assistance you

could safely seek. Indeed I wonder you should not have thought of him in the first instance, since he is your

"Ned Tremayne?" Her ladyship fell into thought. "Do you know, I am a little afraid of Ned. He is so very

"My dear, how should I know? But at least I know for I think I can be sure of this that he will not lack the

will to help you; and to have the will, in a man like Captain Tremayne, is to find a way."

The confident, almost respectful, tone in which she spoke arrested her ladyship's attention. It promptly sent

"Yes; but I don't mean quite in that way." And then before the subject could be further pursued the carriage

rolled to a standstill in a flood of light from gaping portals, scattering a mob of curious sightseers

intersprinkled with chairmen, footmen, linkmen and all the valetaille that hovers about the functions of the

The carriage door was flung open and the steps let down. A brace of footmen, plump as capons, in gorgeous

liveries, bowed powdered heads and proffered scarlet arms to assist the ladies to alight.

Above in the crowded, spacious, colonnaded vestibule at the foot of the great staircase they were metby

Captain Tremayne, who had just arrived with Major Carruthers, both resplendent in full dress, and Captain

Marcus Glennie of the Telemachus in blue and gold. "Together they ascended the great staircase, lined with

chatting groups, and ablaze with uniforms, military, naval and diplomatic, British and Portuguese, to be

Lady O'Moy's entrance of the ballroom produced the effect to which custom had by now inured her. Soon she

found herself the centre of assiduous attentions. Cavalrymen in blue, riflemen in green, scarlet officers of the

line regiments, winged lightinfantrymen, rakishly pelissed, goldbraided hussars and all the smaller fry of

court and camp fluttered insistently about her. It was no novelty to her who had been the recipient of such

homage since her first ball five years ago at Dublin Castle, and yet the wine of it had gone ever to her head a

little. But tonight she was rather pale and listless, her rosepetal loveliness emphasised thereby perhaps. An

unusual air of indifference hung about her as she stood there amid this throng of martial jostlers who craved

the honour of a dance and at whom she smiled a thought mechanically over the top of her slowly moving fan.

The first quadrille impended, and the senior service had carried off the prize from under the noses of the

landsmen. As she was swept away by Captain Glennie, she came face to face with Tremayne, who was

"But I don't intend that you shall. I have something to say to you." He met her glance, and found it oddly

serious most oddly serious for her. Responding to its entreaty, he murmured a promise in courteous terms

But either he forgot the promise or did not conceive its redemption to be an urgent matter, for the quadrille

being done he sauntered through one of the crowded anterooms with Miss Armytage and brought her to the

cool of a deserted balcony above the garden. Beyond this was the river, agleam with the lights of the British

"Una will be waiting for you," Miss Armytage reminded him. She was leaning on the sill of the balcony.

Standing erect beside her, he considered the graceful profile sharply outlined against a background of gloom

by the light from the windows behind them. A heavy curl of her dark hair lay upon a neck as flawlessly white

as the rope of pearls that swung from it, with which her fingers were now idly toying. It were difficult to say

which most engaged his thoughts: the profile; the lovely line of neck; or the rope of pearls. These latter were

of price, such things as it might seldom and then only by sacrifice lie within the means of Captain

He so lost himself upon that train of thought that she was forced to repeat her reminder.

She laughed amusedly, a frank, boyish laugh. "I thank you for not saying as eagerly as I am waiting for

He sighed, and stiffened slightly. "Of course if you insist," said he, and made ready to reconduct her.

"Then begin by taking me more literally, and do not read into my words more meaning than I intend to give

them. When I say Una is waiting for you, I state a simple fact, not a command that you shall go to her. Indeed

"I beg your pardon," he said, contrite, and something shaken out of his imperturbability. "Sylvia," he

ventured very boldly, and there checked, so terrified as to be a shame to his brave scarlet, goldlaced

"Yes?" she said. She was leaning upon the balcony again, and in such a way now that he could no longer see

her profile. But her fingers were busy at the pearls once more, and this he saw, and seeing, recovered himself.

Had he not looked away as he spoke he might have observed that her fingers tightened their grip of the pearls

almost convulsively, as if to break the rope. It was a gesture slight and trivial, yet arguing perhaps vexation.

But Tremayne did not see it, and had he seen it, it is odds it would have conveyed no message to him.

There fell a long pause, which he did not venture to break. At last she spoke, her voice quiet and level as his

She flashed round upon him almost angrily. "Why do you utter these set speeches to me?" she demanded.

And then before he could recover from his astonishment to make any answer she had resumed a normal

She told him of Una's premonitions about Dick. Told him, in short, what it was that Una desired to talk to

He was silent and very thoughtful for a moment. "I wonder that Una needed to be told that she had in me a

"Samoval!" he rapped the name out sharply. He was clearly angry. "That man! I can't understand why O'Moy

There was a brief pause. "If you were to fail Una in this," said Miss Armytage presently, "I mean that unless

you yourself give her the assurance that you are ready to do what you can for Dick, should the occasion arise,

I am afraid that in her present foolish mood she may still avail herself of Count Samoval. That would be to

give Samoval a hold upon her; and I tremble to think what the consequences might be. That man is a snake

The frankness with which she spoke was to Tremayne full evidence of her anxiety. He was prompt to allay it.

"I at least have not pledged my word to anything or to any one. Even so," he added slowly, "the chances of

my services being ever required grow more slender every day. Una may be full of premonitions about Dick.

Again a pause, and then: "I am glad," said Miss Armytage, "to think that Una has a friend, a trustworthy

friend, upon whom she can depend. She is so incapable of depending upon herself. All her life there has been

some one at hand to guide her and screen her from unpleasantness until she has remained just a sweet, dear

"Me?" Miss Armytage spoke deprecatingly. "I don't think I am a very able or experienced guide. Besides,

even such as I am, she may not have me very long now. I had letters from home this morning. Father is not

very well, and mother writes that he misses me. I am thinking of returning soon."

She brightened and laughed at the dismay in his voice. "Indeed, I have been here six weeks." She looked out

over the shimmering moonlit waters of the Tagus and the shadowy, ghostly ships of the British fleet that rode

at anchor there, and her eyes were wistful. Her fingers, with that little gesture peculiar to her in moments of

constraint, were again entwining themselves in her rope of pearls. "Yes," she said almost musingly, "I think I

He was dismayed. He realised that the moment for action had come. His heart was sounding the charge

within him. And then that cursed rope of pearls, emblem of the wealth and luxury in which she had been

"We shall miss you very much," he said gloomily. "The house at Monsanto will not be the same when you

"It occurs to me sometimes," she said slowly, "that the people about Una think too much of Una and too little

It was a cryptic speech. In another it might have signified a spitefulness unthinkable in Sylvia Armytage;

therefore it puzzled him very deeply. He stood silent, wondering what precisely she might mean, and thus in

silence they continued for a spell. Then slowly she turned and the blaze of light from the windows fell about

her irradiantly. She was rather pale, and her eyes were of a suspiciously excessive brightness. And again she

Yet, as before, he stood silent and immovable, considering her, questioning himself, searching her face and

"And after all, as yourself suggested, it is possible that others may be waiting for me," she added presently.

Instantly he was crestfallen and contrite. "I sincerely beg your pardon, Miss Armytage," and with a pang of

She took it, barely touching it with her fingertips, and they reentered the anteroom.

And then the sleek and courtly Samoval, detaching from, seeming to materialise out of, the glittering throng

they had entered, was bowing low before her, claiming her attention. Knowing her feelings, Tremayne would

not have relinquished her, but to his infinite amazement she herself slipped her fingers from his scarlet sleeve,

to place them upon the black one that Samoval was gracefully proffering, and greeted Samoval with a gay

raillery as oddly in contrast with her grave demeanour towards the captain as with her recent avowal of

Stricken and half angry, Tremayne stood looking after them as they receded towards the ballroom. To

increase his chagrin came a laugh from Miss Armytage, sharp and rather strident, floating towards him, and

Miss Armytage's laugh was wont to be low and restrained. Samoval, no doubt, had resources to amuse a

woman even a woman who instinctively, disliked him resources of which Captain Tremayne himself

And then some one tapped him on the shoulder. A very tall, hawkfaced man in a scarlet coat and tightly

strapped blue trousers stood beside him. It was Colquhoun Grant, the ablest intelligence officer in

"Why, Colonel!" cried Tremayne, holding out his hand. "I didn't know you were in Lisbon."

"I arrived only this afternoon." The keen eyes flashed after the disappearing figures of Sylvia and her

cavalier. "Tell me, what is the name of the irresistible gallant who has so lightly ravished you of your quite

Grant's face remained inscrutable. "Really!" he said softly. "So that is Jeronymo de Samoval, eh? How very

interesting. A great supporter of the British policy; therefore an altruist, since himself he is a sufferer by it;

"Most interesting." Grant was slowly nodding, and a faint smile curled his thin, sensitive lips. "But I'm

keeping you, Tremayne, and no doubt you would be dancing. I shall perhaps see you tomorrow. I shall be

Tremayne elbowed his way through the gorgeous crowd, exchanging greetings here and there as he went, and

so reached the ballroom during a pause in the dancing. He looked round for Lady O'Moy, but he could see

her nowhere, and would never have found her had not Carruthers pointed out a knot of officers and assured

him that the lady was in the heart of it and in imminent peril of being suffocated.

Thither the captain bent his steps, looking neither to right nor left in his singleness of purpose. Thus it

happened that he saw neither O'Moy, who had just arrived, nor the massive, decorated bulk of Marshal

Beresford, with whom the adjutant stood in conversation on the skirts of the throng that so assiduously

Captain Tremayne went through the group with all a sapper's skill at piercing obstacles, and so came face to

face with the lady of his quest. Seeing her so radiant now, with sparkling eyes and ready laugh, it was

difficult to conceive her haunted by any such anxieties as Miss Armytage had mentioned. Yet the moment

she perceived him, as if his presence acted as a reminder to lift her out of the delicious present, something of

Child of impulse that she was, she gave no thought to her action and the construction it might possibly bear in

"Why, Ned," she cried, "you have kept me waiting." And with a complete and charming ignoring of the

claims of all who had been before him, and who were warring there for precedence of one another, she took

his arm in token that she yielded herself to him before even the honour was so much as solicited.

With nods and smiles to right and left a queen dismissing her court she passed on the captain's arm

through the little crowd that gave way before her dismayed and intrigued, and so away.

O'Moy, who had been awaiting a favourable moment to present the marshal by the marshal's own request,

attempted to thrust forward now with Beresford at his side. But the bowing line of officers whose backs were

towards him effectively barred his progress, and before they had broken up that formation her ladyship and

The marshal laughed goodhumouredly. "The infallible reward of patience," said he. And O'Moy laughed

"Have you ever heard," quoth a heavy dragoon, who was also a heavy jester, "that in heaven the last shall be

"And bedad," rejoined the infantryman, "as there's no marryin' in heaven ye've got to make the best of it with

other men's wives. Sure it's a great success that fellow should be in paradise. Did ye remark the way she

melted to him beauty swooning at the sight of temptation! Bad luck to him! Who is he at all?"

They dispersed laughing and followed by O'Moy's scowling eyes. It annoyed him that his wife's thoughtless

conduct should render her the butt of such jests as these, and perhaps a subject for lewd gossip. He would

"Since the privilege must be postponed," said he, "suppose that we seek supper. I have always found that a

man can best heal in his stomach the wounds taken by his heart." His fleshy bulk afforded a certain

With a roll more suggestive of the quarterdeck than the saddle, the great man bore off O'Moy in quest of

material consolation. Yet as they went the adjutant's eyes raked the ballroom in quest of his wife. That quest,

"I want to talk to you most urgently, Ned. Take me somewhere where we can be quite private," she had

Her agitation, now uncontrolled, suggested to Tremayne that the matter might be far more serious and urgent

than Miss Armytage had represented it. He thought first of the balcony where he had lately been. But then the

balcony opened immediately from the anteroom and was likely at any moment to be invaded. So, since the

night was soft and warm, he preferred the garden. Her ladyship went to find a wrap, then arm in arm they

"A premonition!" Her ladyship laughed nervously. "It is more than a premonition, Ned. He has come."

"Sh!" she warned him, and sank her voice from very instinct. "He came to me this evening, half an hour

before we left home. I have put him in an alcove adjacent to my dressingroom for the present."

"Oh, there's no fear. No one ever goes there except Bridget. And I have locked the alcove. He's fast asleep.

He was asleep before I left. The poor fellow was so worn and weary." Followed details of his appearance and

a recital of his wanderings so far as he had made them known to her. "And he was so insistent that no one

He was so stern, so impressive, that she begged for explanation. He afforded it. "You would be doing Terence

the utmost cruelty if you told him. You would be compelling him to choose between his honour and his

concern for you. And since he is the very soul of honour, he must sacrifice you and himself, your happiness

She was aghast, for all that she was far from understanding. But he went on relentlessly to make his meaning

clear, for the sake of O'Moy as much as for her own for the sake of the future of these two people who were

perhaps his dearest friends. He saw in what danger of shipwreck their happiness now stood, and he took the

determination of clearly pointing out to her every shoal in the water through which she must steer her course.

"Since this has happened, Una, you must be told the whole truth; you must listen, and, above all, be

reasonable. I am Dick's friend, as I am your own and Terence's. Your father was my best friend, perhaps, and

my gratitude to him is unbounded, as I hope you know. You and Dick are almost as brother and sister to me.

In spite of this indeed, because of this, I have prayed for news that Dick was dead."

Her grasp interrupted him, and he felt the tightening clutch of her hands upon his arm in the gloom.

"I have prayed this for Dick's sake, and more than all for the sake of your happiness and Terence's. If Dick is

taken the choice before Terence is a tragic one. You will realise it when I tell you that duty forced him to

pledge his word to the Portuguese Government that Dick should be shot when found."

"Oh!" It was a gasp of horror, of incredulity. She loosed his arm and drew away from him. "It is infamous! I

"What could I do? How could I interfere? Besides, the minister who demanded that undertaking knew

"That would have made no difference unless it were to create fresh difficulties."

She stood there ghostly white against the gloom. A dry sob broke from her. "Terence did that! Terence did

that!" she moaned. And then in a surge of anger: "I shall never speak to Terence again. I shall not live with

"It was not infamous. It was almost noble, almost heroic," he amazed her. "Listen, Una, and try to

understand." He took her arm again and drew her gently on down that avenue of moonlightfretted darkness.

"Oh, I understand," she cried bitterly. "I understand perfectly. He has always been hard on Dick! He has

always made mountains out of molehills where Dick was concerned. He forgets that Dick is young a mere

boy. He judges Dick from the standpoint of his own sober middle age. Why, he's an old man a wicked old

Thus her rage, hurling at O'Moy what in the insolence of her youth seemed the last insult.

"You are very unjust, Una. You are even a little stupid," he said, deeming the punishment necessary and

It took her aback by its directness, and for a moment left her without an answer. Then: "I think you had better

"Perhaps I do," he admitted. "That is because I am more concerned to think of Dick and Terence and

They had reached a little circle by a piece of ornamental water, facing which a granitehewn seat had been

"It may perhaps help you to understand what Terence has done when I tell you that in his place, loving Dick

as I do, I must have pledged myself precisely as he did or else despised myself for ever. And being pledged, I

must keep my word or go in the same selfcontempt." He elaborated his argument by explaining the full

circumstances under which the pledge had been exacted. " But be in no doubt about it," he concluded. "If

Terence knows of Dick's presence at Monsanto he has no choice. He must deliver him up to a firing party

or to a courtmartial which will inevitably sentence him to death, no matter what the defence that Dick may

urge. He is a man prejudged, foredoomed by the necessities of war. And Terence will do this although it will

break his heart and ruin all his life. Understand me, then, that in enjoining you never to allow Terence to

suspect that Dick is present, I am pleading not so much for you or for Dick, but for Terence himself for it is

upon Terence that the hardest and most tragic suffering must fall. Now do you understand?"

She didn't understand it all. But since Tremayne was so insistent she supposed there must be something in his

point of view. She had been brought up in the belief that Ned Tremayne was common sense incarnate; and

although she often doubted it as you may doubt the dogmas of a religion in which you have been bred yet

she never openly rebelled against that inculcated faith. Above all she wanted to cry. She knew that it would

be very good for her. She had often found a singular relief in tears when vexed by things beyond her

understanding. But she had to think of that flock of gallants in the ballroom waiting to pay court to her and of

her duty towards them of preserving her beauty unimpaired by the ravages of a vented sorrow.

Tremayne sat down beside her. "So now that we understand each other on that score, let us consider ways and

He thought rapidly, and gave voice to some of his thoughts. "If I could I would take him to my lodgings at

Alcantara. But Carruthers knows him and would see him there. So that is out of the question. Then again it is

"Hardly recognised," she said. "His beard disguises him, and his dress " She shuddered at the very thought

"That is something, of course," he agreed. And then asked: "How long do you think that you could keep him

"I don't know. You see, there's Bridget. She is the only danger, as she has charge of my dressingroom."

"She must be bought as well. Devotion and gain when linked together will form an unbreakable bond. Don't

let us be stingy, Una. Take her into your confidence boldly, and promise her a hundred guineas for her silence

"I think I know a way. I can depend on Marcus Glennie. I may tell him the whole truth and the identity of our

man, or I may not. I must think about that. But, whatever I decide, I am sure I can induce Glennie to take our

fugitive home in the Telemachus and land him safely somewhere in Ireland, where he will have to lose

himself for awhile. Perhaps for Glennie's sake it will be safer not to disclose Dick's identity. Then if there

should be trouble later, Glennie, having known nothing of the real facts, will not be held responsible. I will

"Do you think he will consent?" she asked in strained anxiety anxiety to have her anxieties dispelled.

"I am sure he will. I can almost pledge my word on it. Marcus would do anything to serve me. Oh, set your

mind at rest. Consider the thing done. Keep Dick safely hidden for a week or so until the Telemachus is ready

to sail he mustn't go on board until the last moment, for several reasons and I will see to the rest."

Under that confident promise her troubles fell from her, as lightly as they ever did.

"You are very good to me, Ned. Forgive me what I said just now. And I think I understand about Terence

"Of course you do." Moved to comfort her as he might have been moved to comfort a child, he flung his arm

along the seat behind her, and patted her shoulder soothingly. "I knew you would understand. And not a word

to Terence, not a word that could so much as awaken his suspicions. Remember that."

Fell a step upon the patch behind them crunching the gravel. Captain Tremayne, his arm still along the back

of the seat, and seeming to envelop her ladyship, looked over her shoulder. A tall figure was advancing

briskly. He recognised it even in the gloom by its height and gait and swing for O'Moy's.

"Why, here is Terence," he said easily so easily, with such frank and obvious honesty of welcome, that the

anger in which O'Moy came wrapped fell from him on the instant, to be replaced by shame.

"I have been looking for you everywhere, my dear," he said to Una. "Marshal Beresford is anxious to pay you

his respects before he leaves, and you have been so hedged about by gallants all the evening that it's devil a

chance he's had of approaching you." There was a certain constraint in his voice, for a man may not recover

instantly from such feelings as those which had fetched him hotfoot down that path at sight of those two

figures sitting so close and intimate, the young man's arm so proprietorialy about the lady's shoulders as it

Lady O'Moy sprang up at once, with a little silvery laugh that was singularly carefree; for had not Tremayne

"You should have married a dowd," she mocked him. "Then you'd have found her more easily accessible."

"Instead of finding her dallying in the moonlight with my secretary," he rallied back between good and ill

humour. And he turned to Tremayne: "Damned indiscreet of you, Ned," he added more severely. "Suppose

you had been seen by any of the scandalmongering old wives of the garrison? A nice thing for Una and a nice

Tremayne accepted the rebuke in the friendly spirit in which it appeared to be conveyed. "Sorry, O'Moy," he

said. "You're quite right. We should have thought of it. Everybody isn't to know what our relations are." And

again he was so manifestly honest and so completely at his ease that it was impossible to harbour any thought

of evil, and O'Moy felt again the glow of shame of suspicions so utterly unworthy and dishonouring.

In a small room of Count Redondo's palace, a room that had been set apart for cards, sat three men about a

cardtable. They were Count Samoval, the elderly Marquis of Minas, lean, bald and vulturine of aspect, with

a deepset eye that glared fiercely through a single eyeglass rimmed in tortoiseshell, and a gentleman still

on the fair side of middle age, with a clearcut face and irongrey hair, who wore the dark green uniform of a

Considering his Portuguese uniform, it is odd that the lowtoned, earnest conversation amongst them should

There were cards on the table; but there was no pretence of play. You might have conceived them a group of

players who, wearied of their game, had relinquished it for conversation. They were the only tenants of the

room, which was small, cedarpanelled and lighted by a girandole of sparkling crystal. Through the closed

With perhaps the single exception of the Principal Souza, the British policy had no more bitter opponent in

Portugal than the Marquis of Minas. Once a member of the Council of Regency before Souza had been

elected to that body he had quitted it in disgust at the British measures. His chief ground of umbrage had

been the appointment of British officers to the command of the Portuguese regiments which formed the

division under Marshal Beresford. In this he saw a deliberate insult and slight to his country and his

countrymen. He was a man of burning and blinded patriotism, to whom Portugal was the most glorious

nation in the world. He lived in his country's splendid past, refusing to recognise that the days of Henry the

Navigator, of Vasco da Gama, of Manuel the Fortunate days in which Portugal had been great indeed

among the nations of the Old World were gone and done with. He respected Britons as great merchants and

industrious traders; but, after all, merchants and traders are not the peers of fighters on land and sea, of

navigators, conquerors and civilisers, such as his countrymen had been, such as he believed them still to be.

That the descendants of Gamas, Cunhas, Magalhaes and Albuquerques men whose names were indelibly

written upon the very face of the world should be passed over, whilst alien officers lead been brought in to

train and command the Portuguese legions, was an affront to Portugal which Minas could never forgive.

It was thus that he had become a rebel, withdrawing from a government whose supineness he could not

condone. For a while his rebellion had been passive, until the Principal Souza had heated him in the fire of

his own rage and fashioned him into an intriguing instrument of the first power. He was listening intently

"Of course, rumours had reached the Prince of this policy of devastation," he was saying, "but his Highness

has been disposed to treat these rumours lightly, unable to see, as indeed are we all, what useful purpose such

a policy could finally serve. He does not underrate the talents of milord Wellington as a commander. He does

not imagine that he would pursue such operations out of pure wantonness; yet if such operations are indeed

being pursued, what can they be but wanton? A moment, Count," he stayed Samoval, who was about to

interrupt. His mind and manner were authoritative. "We know most positively from the Emperor's London

agents that the war is unpopular in England; we know that public opinion is being prepared for a British

retreat, for the driving of the British into the sea, as must inevitably happen once Monsieur le Prince decides

to launch his bolt. Here in the Tagus the British fleet lies ready to embark the troops, and the British Cabinet

itself" (he spoke more slowly and emphatically) "expects that embarkation to take place at latest in

September, which is just about the time that the French offensive should be at its height and the French troops

under the very walls of Lisbon. I admit that by this policy of devastation if, indeed, it be true added to a

stubborn contesting of every foot of ground, the French advance may be retarded. But the process will be

"And, as you, say, Monsieur le Marquis, more costly still to Portugal. Let me for a moment show you another

side of the picture. The French administration, so sane, so cherishing, animated purely by ideas of progress,

enforcing wise and beneficial laws, making ever for the prosperity and wellbeing of conquered nations,

knows how to render itself popular wherever it is established. This Portugal knows already or at least some

part of it. There was the administration of Soult in Oporto, so entirely satisfactory to the people that it was no

inconsiderable party was prepared, subject to the Emperor's consent, to offer him the crown and settle down

peacefully under his rule. There was the administration of Junot in Lisbon. I ask you: when was Lisbon better

"Contrast, for a moment, with these the present British administration for it amounts to an administration.

Consider the burning grievances that must be left behind by this policy of laying the country waste, of

pauperising a million people of all degrees, driving them homeless from the lands on which they were born,

after compelling them to lend a hand in the destruction of all that their labour has built up through long years.

If any policy could better serve the purposes of France, I know it not. The people from here to Beira should

be ready to receive the French with open arms, and to welcome their deliverance from this most costly and

"Bien!" said the major of Portuguese Cacadores. "Then we reach one or two only possible conclusions: either

these rumours of a policy of devastation which have reached the Prince of Esslingen are as utterly false as he

"To my cost I know them to be true, as I have already told you," Samoval interrupted bitterly.

"Or," the major persisted, raising a hand to restrain the Count, "or there is something further that has not been

yet discovered a mystery the enucleation of which will shed light upon all the rest. Since you assure me,

Monsieur le Comte, that milord Wellington's policy is beyond doubt, as reported to Monsieur, le Marechal, it

but remains to address ourselves to the discovery of the mystery underlying it. What conclusions have you

reached? You, Monsieur de Samoval, have had exceptional opportunities of observation, I understand."

"I am afraid my opportunities have been none so exceptional as you suppose," replied Samoval, with a

dubious shake of his sleek, dark head. "At one tine I founded great hopes in Lady O'Moy. But Lady O'Moy is

a fool, and does not enjoy her husband's confidence in official matters. What she knows I know.

Unfortunately it does not amount to very much. One conclusion, however, I have reached: Wellington is

"A snare? Hum!" The major pursed his full lips into a smile of scorn. "There cannot be a trap with two exits,

my friend. Massena enters Portugal at Almeida and marches to Lisbon and the open sea. He may be

inconvenienced or hampered in his march; but its goal is certain. Where, then, can lie the snare? Your theory

presupposes an impassable barrier to arrest the French when they are deep in the country and an

overwhelming force to cut off their retreat when that barrier is reached. The overwhelming force does not

exist and cannot be manufactured; as for the barrier, no barrier that it lies within human power to construct

"I should not make too sure of that," Samoval warned him. "And you have overlooked something."

The major glanced at the Count sharply and without satisfaction. He accounted himself trained as he had

been under the very eye of the great Emperor of some force in strategy and tactics, a player too well versed

"Where is it then? Whence has it been created? If you refer to the united British and Portuguese troops, you

will be good enough to bear in mind that they will be retreating before the Prince. They cannot at once be

The man's cool assurance and cooler contempt of Samoval's views stung the Count into some sharpness

"Ah! Your pardon, Monsieur le Comte. I inquire of course. I put forward arguments to anticipate conditions

Samoval waived the point. "There is another force besides the British and Portuguese troops that you have

"You should remember what Wellington obviously remembers: that a French army depends for its sustenance

upon the country it is invading. That is why Wellington is stripping the French line of penetration as bare of

sustenance as this cardtable. If we assume the existence of the barrier an impassable line of fortifications

encountered within many marches of the frontier we may also assume that starvation will be the

The other's keen eyes flickered. For a moment his face lost its assurance, and it was Samoval's turn to smile.

"You have no right to assume an impassable barrier. That is an inadmissible hypothesis. There is no such

"You will pardon me, Major, but it is yourself have no right to your own assumptions. Again you overlook

something. I will grant that technically what you say is true. No fortifications can be built that cannot be

destroyed given adequate power, with which it is yet to prove that Massena not knowing what may await

"But let us for a moment take so much for granted, and now consider this: fortifications are unquestionably

building in the region of Torres Vedras, and Wellington guards the secret so jealously that not even the

British either here or in England are aware of their nature. That is why the Cabinet in London takes for

granted an embarkation in September. Wellington has not even taken his Government into his confidence.

That is the sort of man he is. Now these fortifications have been building since last October. Best part of eight

months have already gone in their construction. It may be another two or three months before the French

army reaches them. I do not say that the French cannot pass them, given time. But how long will it take the

French to pull down what it will have taken ten or eleven months to construct? And if they are unable to draw

sustenance from a desolate, wasted country, what time will they have at their disposal? It will be with them a

matter of life or death. Having come so far they must reach Lisbon or perish; and if the fortifications can

delay them by a single month, then, granted that all Lord Wellington's other dispositions have been duly

carried out, perish they must. It remains, Monsieur le Major, for you to determine whether, with all their

energy, with all their genius and all their valour, the French can in an illnourished condition destroy in a

The major was aghast. He had changed colour, and through his eyes, wide and staring, his stupefaction glared

Minas uttered a dry cough under cover of his hand, and screwed up his eyeglass to regard the major more

"But, my dear Marquis," was the halfindignant answer, "why was I not told all this to begin with? You

represented yourself as but indifferently informed, Monsieur de Samoval. Whereas "

"So I am, my dear Major, as far as information goes. If I did not use these arguments before, it was because it

seemed to me an impertinence to offer what, after all, are no more than the conclusions of my own

constructive and deductive reasoning to one so well versed in strategy as yourself."

The major was silenced for a moment. "I congratulate you, Count," he said. "Monsieur le Marechal shall have

your views without delay. Tell me," he begged. "You say these fortifications lie in the region of Torres

"I think so. But again I warn you that I can tell you only what I infer. I judge they will run from the sea,

somewhere near the mouth of the Zizandre, in a semicircle to the Tagus, somewhere to the south of Santarem.

I know that they do not reach as far north as San, because the roads there are open, whereas all roads to the

south, where I am assuming that the fortifications lie, are closed and closely guarded."

"Because that is the formation of the hills, and presumably the line of heights would be followed."

"Yes," the major approved slowly. "And the distance, then, would be some thirty or forty miles?"

The major's face relaxed its gravity. He even smiled. "You will agree, Count, that in a line of that extent a

uniform strength is out of the question. It must perforce present many weak, many vulnerable, places."

"Again undoubtedly. Sir Terence O'Moy will have plans in his possession showing their projected extent.

Colonel Fletcher, who is in charge of the construction, is in constant communication with the adjutant,

himself an engineer; and as I partly imagine, partly infer from odd phrases that I have overheard

"Two things, then, are necessary," said the major promptly. "The first is, that the devastation of the country

"That," said Minas, "you may safely leave to myself and Souza's other friends, the northern noblemen who

have no intention of becoming the victims of British disinclination to pitched battles."

"The second and this is more difficult is that we should obtain by hook or by crook a plan of the

"To a man of your resource and intelligence an intelligence of which you have just given such veer signal

proof the matter should be possible." He paused a moment. Then: "If I understand you correctly, Monsieur

de Samoval, your fortunes have suffered deeply, and you are almost ruined by this policy of Wellington's.

You are offered the opportunity of making a magnificent recovery. The Emperor is the most generous

paymaster in the world, and he is beyond measure impatient at the manner in which the campaign in the

Peninsula is dragging on. He has spoken of it as an ulcer that is draining the Empire of its resources. For the

man who could render him the service of disclosing the weak spot in this armour, the Achilles heel of the

British, there would be a reward beyond all your possible dreams. Obtain the plans, then, and "

He checked abruptly. The door had opened, and in a Venetian mirror facing him upon the wall the major

caught the reflection of a British uniform, the stiff gold collar surmounted by a bronzed hawk face with which

"I beg your pardon, gentlemen," said the officer in Portuguese, "I was looking for "

His voice became indistinct, so that they never knew who it was that he had been seeking when he intruded

upon their privacy. The door had closed again and the reflection had vanished from the mirror. But there were

"It is fortunate," he muttered breathlessly, "that my back was towards him. I would as soon meet the devil

"Colonel Grant, the British Intelligence officer. Phew! Name of a Name! What an escape!" The major

"If one of you will kindly make quite sure that he is not about I think that I had better go. If we should meet

everything might be ruined." Then with a change of manner he stayed Samoval, who was already on his way

to the door. "We understand each other, then?" he questioned them. "I have my papers, and at dawn I leave

Lisbon. I shall report your conclusions to the Prince, and in anticipation I may already offer you the

expression of his profoundest gratitude. Meanwhile, you know what is to do. Opposition to the policy, and

He shook hands with them, and having waited until Samoval assured him that the corridor outside was clear,

he took his departure, and was soon afterwards driving home, congratulating himself upon his most fortunate

But when in the dead of that night he was awakened to find a British sergeant with a halbert and six redcoats

with fixed bayonets surrounding his bed it occurred to him belatedly that what one man can see in a mirror is

also visible to another, and that Marshal Massena, Prince of Esslingen, waiting for information beyond

Ciudad Rodrigo, would never enjoy the advantages of a report of Count Samoval's masterly constructive and

Sir Terence sat alone in his spacious, severely furnished private room in the official quarters at Monsanto. On

the broad carved writingtable before him there was a mass of documents relating to the clothing and

accoutrement of the forces, to leaves of absence, to staff appointments; there were returns from the various

divisions of the sick and wounded in hospital, from which a complete list was to be prepared for the Secretary

of State for War at home; there were plans of the lines at Torres Vedras just .received, indicating the progress

of the works at various points; and there were documents and communications of all kinds concerned with the

adjutantgeneral's multifarious and arduous duties, including an urgent letter from Colonel Fletcher

suggesting that the CommanderinChief should take an early opportunity of inspecting in person the inner

Sir Terence, however, sat back in his chair, his work neglected, his eyes dreamily gazing through the open

window, but seeing nothing of the sundrenched landscape beyond, a heavy frown darkening his bronzed and

rugged face. His mind was very far from his official duties and the mass of reminders before him this

Five days had elapsed since the ball at Count Redondo's, where Sir Terence had surprised the pair together in

the garden and his suspicions had been fired by the compromising attitude in which he had discovered them.

Tremayne's frank, easy bearing, so unassociable with guilt, had, as we know, gone far, to reassure him, and

had even shamed him, so that he had trampled his suspicions underfoot. But other things had happened since

to revive his bitter doubts. Daily, constantly, had he been coming upon Tremayne and Lady O'Moy alone

together in intimate, confidential talk which was ever silenced on his approach. The two had taken to

wandering by themselves in the gardens at all hours, a thing that had never been so before, and O'Moy

detected, or imagined that he detected, a closer intimacy between them, a greater warmth towards the captain

Thus matters had reached a pass in which peace of mind was impossible to him. It was not merely what he

saw, it was his knowledge of what was; it was his everpresent consciousness of his own age and his wife's

youth; it was the memory of his antenuptial jealousy of Tremayne which had been awakened by the gossip

of those days a gossip that pronounced Tremayne Una Butler's poor suitor, too poor either to declare

himself or to be accepted if he did. The old wound which that gossip had dealt him then was reopened now.

He thought of Tremayne's manifest concern for Una; he remembered how in that very room some six weeks

ago, when Butler's escapade had first been heard of, it was from avowed concern for Una that Tremayne had

urged him to befriend and rescue his rascally brotherinlaw. He remembered, too, with increasing bitterness

There were moments when the conviction of Tremayne's honesty, the thought of Tremayne's unswerving

friendship for himself, would surge up to combat and abate the fires of his devastating jealousy.

But evidence would kindle those fires anew until they flamed up to scorch his soul with shame and anger. He

had been a fool in that he had married a woman of half his years; a fool in that he had suffered her former

Thus he assured himself. But he would abide by his folly, and so must she. And he would see to it that

whatever fruits that folly yielded, dishonour should not be one of them. Through all his darkening rage there

beat the light of reason. To avert, he bethought him, was better than to avenge. Nor were such stains to be

wiped out by vengeance. A cuckold remains a cuckold though he take the life of the man who has reduced

Tremayne must go before the evil transcended reparation. Let him return to his regiment and do his work of

Eased by that resolve he rose, a tall, martial figure, youth and energy in every line of it for all his six and

forty years. Awhile he paced the room in thought. Then, suddenly, with hands clenched behind his back, he

checked by the window, checked on a horrible question that had flashed upon his tortured mind. What if

"Here's the very devil to pay, sir," he announced, with that odd mixture of familiarity towards his friend and

O'Moy looked at him in silence with smouldering, questioning eyes, thinking of anything but the trouble

"Captain Stanhope has just arrived from headquarters with messages for you. A terrible thing has happened,

sir. The dispatches from home by the Thunderbolt which we forwarded from here three weeks ago reached

"Garfield, who carried them, came into collision at Penalva with an officer of Anson's Brigade. There was a

meeting, and Garfield was shot through the lung. He lay between life and death for a fortnight, with the result

that the dispatches were delayed until he recovered sufficiently to remember them and to have them

The aidedecamp came in. He was splashed from head to foot in witness of the fury with which he had

ridden, his hair was caked with dust and his face haggard. But he carried himself with soldierly uprightness,

and his speech was brisk. He repeated what Tremayne had already stated, with some few additional details.

"This wretched fellow sent Lord Wellington a letter dictated from his bed, in which he swore that the duel

was forced upon him, and that his honour allowed him no alternative. I don't think any feature of the case has

so deeply angered Lord Wellington as this stupid plea. He mentioned that when Sir John Moore was at

Herrerias, in the course of his retreat upon Corunna, he sent forward instructions for the leading division to

halt at Lugo, where he designed to deliver battle if the enemy would accept it. That dispatch was carried to

Sir David Baird by one of Sir John's aides, but Sir David forwarded it by the hand of a trooper who got drunk

and lost it. That, says Lord Wellington, is the only parallel, so far as he is aware, of the present case, with this

difference, that whilst a common trooper might so far fail to appreciate the importance of his mission, no

"I am glad of that," said Sir Terence, who had been bristling. "For a moment I imagined that it was to be

implied I had been as indiscreet in my choice of a messenger as Sir David Baird."

"No, no, Sir Terence. I merely repeated Lord Wellington's words that you may realise how deeply angered he

is. If Garfield recovers from his wound he will be tried by courtmartial. He is under open arrest meanwhile,

as is his opponent in the duel a Major Sykes of the 23rd Dragoons. That they will both be broke is beyond

doubt. But that is not all. This affair, which might have had such grave consequences, coming so soon upon

the heels of Major Berkeley's business, has driven Lord Wellington to a step regarding which this letter will

Sir Terence broke the seal. The letter, penned by a secretary, but bearing Wellington's own signature, ran as

"The bearer, Captain Stanhope, will inform you of the particulars of this disgraceful business of Captain

Garfield's. The affair following so soon upon that of Major Berkeley has determined me to make it clearly

understood to the officers in his Majesty's service that they have been sent to the Peninsula to fight the French

and not each other or members of the civilian population. While this campaign continues, and as long as I am

in charge of it, I am determined not to suffer upon any plea whatever the abominable practice of duelling

among those under my command. I desire you to publish this immediately in general orders, enjoining upon

officers of all ranks without exception the necessity to postpone the settlement of private quarrels at least

until the close of this campaign. And to add force to this injunction you will make it known that any

infringement of this order will be considered as a capital offence; that any officer hereafter either sending or

accepting a challenge will, if found guilty by a general courtmartial, be immediately shot."

"Very well," he said. "The measure is most wise, although I doubt if it will be popular. But, then,

unpopularity is the fate of wise measures. I am glad the matter has not ended more seriously. The dispatches

"There is something more," said Captain Stanhope. "The dispatches bore signs of having been tampered

"Tampered with?" It was a question from Tremayne, charged with incredulity. "But who would have

"There were signs, that is all. Garfield was taken to the house of the parish priest, where he lay lost until he

recovered sufficiently to realise his position for himself. No doubt you will have a schedule of the contents of

Tremayne turned to his desk, and a brief search in one of its wellordered drawers brought to light an oblong

strip of paper folded and endorsed. He unfolded and spread it on Sir Terence's table, whilst Captain Stanhope,

producing a note with which he came equipped, stooped to check off the items. Suddenly he stopped,

frowned, and finally placed his finger under one of the lines of Tremayne's schedule, carefully studying his

"Ha!" he said quietly at last. "What's this?" And he read: "'Note from Lord Liverpool of reinforcements to be

embarked for Lisbon in June or July.'" He looked at the adjutant and the adjutant's secretary. "That would

appear to be the most important document of all indeed the only document of any vital importance. And it

"Not a copy but a summary of its contents, the figures it contained, are pencilled there on the margin,"

"Allow me, sir," said Stanhope, and taking up a quill from the adjutant's table he rapidly copied the figures.

"Lord Wellington must have this memorandum as soon as possible. The rest, Sir Terence, is of course a

matter for yourself. You will know what to do. Meanwhile I shall report to his lordship what has occurred. I

"If you will rest for an hour, and give my wife the pleasure of your company at luncheon, I shall have a letter

ready for Lord Wellington," replied Sir Terence. "Perhaps you'll see to it, Tremayne," he added, without

waiting for Captain Stanhope's answer to an invitation which amounted to a command.

Thus Stanhope was led away, and Sir Terence, all other matters forgotten for the moment, sat down to write

Later in the day, after Captain Stanhope had taken his departure, the duty fell to Tremayne of framing the

"Oh, quite." Tremayne's agreement was unhesitating. "But I shouldn't care to feel the restraint of it, and I

Sir Terence's brow darkened. His face was turned away from his secretary. "How can a man be confident of

"Oh, a clean conscience, I suppose," laughed Tremayne, and he gave his attention to his papers.

Frankness, honesty and lightheartedness rang so clear in the words that they sowed in Sir Terence's mind

"Do you boast a clean conscience, eh, Ned?" he asked, not without a lurking shame at this deliberate sly

"Almost clean," said Tremayne. "Temptation doesn't stain when it's resisted, does it?"

"Nay, now, that's a question for the casuists. They right answer you that it depends upon the temptation." And

Tremayne was in a mood for confidences, and Sir Terence was his friend. But he hesitated. His answer to the

The adjutant turned to stare at him. Tremayne was sitting with his head resting on one hand, the fingers

thrusting through the crisp fair hair, and there was gloom in his clearcut face, a dullness in the usually keen

"To be sure. If I weren't poor I could put my fortunes to the test, and make an end of the matter one way or

There was a pause. "Sure I hope I am the last man to force a confidence, Ned," said O'Moy. "But you

Tremayne shook himself mentally. "I think we had better deal with the matter of this dispatch that was

"So we will, to be sure. But it can wait a minute." Sir Terence pushed back his chair, and rose. He crossed

slowly to his secretary's side. "What's on your mind, Ned?" he asked with abrupt solicitude, and Ned could

not suspect that it was the matter on Sir Terence's own mind that was urging him but urging him hopefully.

Captain Tremayne looked up with a rueful smile. "I thought you boasted that you never forced a confidence."

And then he looked away. "Sylvia Armytage tells me that she is thinking of returning to England,"

For a moment the words seemed to Sir Terence a fresh irrelevance; another attempt to change the subject.

Then quite suddenly a light broke upon his mind, shedding a relief so great and joyous that he sought to

"It is more than she has told me," he answered steadily. "But then, no doubt, you enjoy her confidence."

Tremayne was silent for a while, little dreaming how Sir Terence hung upon his answer, how impatiently he

"Of course," he said at last. "Isn't it obvious to any one?" And he grew rhapsodical: "How can a man be daily

in her company without succumbing to her loveliness, to her matchless grace of body and of mind, without

perceiving that she is incomparable, peerless, as much above other women as an angel perhaps might be

Before his glum solemnity, and before something else that Tremayne could not suspect, Sir Terence exploded

into laughter. Of the immense and joyous relief in it his secretary caught no hint; all he heard was its sheer

amusement, and this galled and shamed him. For no man cares to be laughed at for such feelings as Tremayne

"Laugh, is it?" spluttered Sir Terence. "God grant I don't burst a bloodvessel."

Tremayne reddened. "When you've indulged your humour, sir," he said stiffly, "perhaps you'll consider the

But Sir Terence laughed more uproariously than ever. He came to stand beside Tremayne, and slapped him

"Ye'll kill me, Ned!" he protested. "For God's sake, not so glum. It's that makes ye ridiculous."

"Nay, then, it's glad ye ought to be. By my soul, if Sylvia tempts you, man, why the devil don't ye just

succumb and have done with it? She's handsome enough and well set up with her air of an Amazon, and she

rides uncommon straight, begad! Indeed it's a broth of a girl she is in the huntingfield, the ballroom, or at

the breakfasttable, although riper acquaintance may discover her not to be quite all that you imagine her at

present. Let your temptation lead you then, entirely, and good luck to you, my boy."

"Didn't I tell you, O'Moy," answered the captain, mollified a little by the sympathy and good feeling peeping

through the adjutant's boisterousness, "that poverty is just hell. It's my poverty that's in the way."

"And is that all? Then it's thankful you should be that Sylvia Armytage has got enough for two."

"It'll not have occurred to you that the lady may have feelings which having aroused you ought to be

A wry smile and a shake of the head was Tremayne only answer; and then Carruthers came in fresh from

Lisbon, where he had been upon business connected with the commissariat, and to Tremayne's relief the

Yet he marvelled several times that day that the hilarity he should have awakened in Sir Terence continued to

cling to the adjutant, and that despite the many vexatious matters claiming attention he should preserve an

Meanwhile, however, the coming of Carruthers had brought the adjutant a moment's seriousness, and he

reverted to the business of Captain Garfield. When he had mentioned the missing note, Carruthers very

properly became grave. He was a short, stiffly built man with a round, goodhumoured, rather florid face.

"The matter must be probed at once, sir," he ventured. "We know that we move in a tangle of intrigues and

espionage. But such a thing as this has never happened before. Have you anything to go upon?"

"Then by all means let a note be sent to him asking him if he will step up to Monsanto as soon as he

It was noon of the next day before Colonel Grant came to the house at Monsanto from whose balcony floated

the British flag, and before whose portals stood a sentry in the tall bearskin of the grenadiers.

He found the adjutant alone in his room, and apologised for the delay in responding to his invitation, pleading

"A wise enactment this of Lord Wellington's," was his next comment. "I mean this prohibition of duelling. It

may be resented by some of our young bloods as an unwarrantable interference with their privileges, but it

will do a deal of good, and no one can deny that there is ample cause for the measure."

"It is on the subject of the cause that I'm wanting to consult you," said Sir Terence, offering his visitor a chair.

"Have you been informed of the details? No? Let me give you them." And he related how the dispatch bore

signs of having been tampered with, and how the only document of any real importance came to be missing

Colonel Grant, sitting with his sabre across his knees, listened gravely and thoughtfully. In the end he

"The harm is done, and cannot very well be repaired. The information obtained, no doubt on behalf of

Massena, will by now be on its way to him. Let us be thankful that the matter is not more grave, and thankful,

too, that you were able to supply a copy of Lord Liverpool's figures. What do you want me to do?"

Colquhoun Grant smiled. "That is precisely the matter which has brought me to Lisbon."

"Oh, not that this had happened. But that the spy or rather a network of espionage existed. We move here

in a web of intrigue wrought by illwill, selfinterest, vindictiveness and every form of malice. Whilst the

great bulk of the Portuguese people and their leaders are loyally cooperating with us, there is a strong party

opposing us which would prefer even to see the French prevail. Of course you are aware of this. The heart

and brain of all this is as I gather the Principal Souza. Wellington has compelled his retirement from the

Government. But if by doing so he has restricted the man's power for evil, he has certainly increased his will

"You tell me that Garfield was cared for by the parish priest at Penalva. There you are. Half the priesthood of

the country are on Souza's side, since the Patriarch of Lisbon himself is little more than a tool of Souza's.

What happens? This priest discovers that the British officer whom he has so charitably put to bed in his house

is the bearer of dispatches. A loyal man would instantly have communicated with Marshal Beresford at

Thomar. This fellow, instead, advises the intriguers in Lisbon. The captain's dispatches are examined and the

only document of real value is abstracted. Of course it would be difficult to establish a case against the priest,

and it is always vexatious and troublesome to have dealings with that class, as it generally means trouble with

"I have them under observation," replied the colonel. "I already knew the leaders, Souza's lieutenants in

Lisbon, and I can put my hand upon them at any moment. If I have not already done so it is because I find it

more profitable to leave them at large; it is possible, indeed, that I may never proceed to extremes against

them. Conceive that they have enabled me to seize La Fleche, the most dangerous, insidious and skilful of all

Napoleon's agents. I found him at Redondo's ball last week in the uniform of a Portuguese major, and through

him I was able to track down Souza's chief instrument I discovered them closeted with him in one of the

"Arrest them! I apologised for my intrusion, and withdrew. La Fleche took his leave of them. He was to have

left Lisbon at dawn equipped with a passport countersigned by yourself, my dear adjutant."

"Major Vieira!" Sir Terence frowned thoughtfully. Suddenly he recollected. "But that was countersigned by

me at the request of Count Samoval, who represented himself a personal friend of the major's."

Colonel Grant did not immediately answer the question. He preferred to continue his narrative. "That night I

had the false major arrested very quietly. I have caused him to disappear for the present. His Lisbon friends

believe him to be on his way to Massena with the information they no doubt supplied him. Massena awaits

his return at Salamanca, and will continue to wait. Thus when he fails to be seen or heard of there will be a

good deal of mystification on all sides, which is the proper state of mind in which to place your opponents.

Lord Liverpool's figures, let me add, were not among the interesting notes found upon him possibly

"And you say that Samoval was aware of the man's real identity?" insisted Sir Terence, still incredulous.

"Aware of it?" Colonel Grant laughed shortly. "Samoval is Souza's principal agent the most dangerous man

Sir Terence stared at him in frank amazement, in utter unbelief. "Oh, impossible!" he ejaculated at last.

"I saw Samoval for the first time," said Colonel Grant by way of answer, "in Oporto at the time of Soult's

occupation. He did not call himself Samoval just then, any more than I called myself Colquhoun Grant. He

was very active therein the French interest; I should indeed be more precise and say in Bonaparte's interest,

for he was the man instrumental in disclosing to Soult the Bourbon conspiracy which was undermining the

marshal's army. You do not know, perhaps, that French sympathy runs in Samoval's family. You may not be

aware that the Portuguese Marquis of Alorna, who holds a command in the Emperor's army, and is at present

"But," faltered Sir Terence, "Count Samoval has been a regular visitor here for the past three months."

"So I understand," said Grant coolly. "If I had known of it before I should have warned you. But, as you are

aware, I have been in Spain on other business. You realise the danger of having such a man about the place.

"Oh, as to that," Sir Terence interrupted, "I can assure you that none have fallen from my official table."

"Never be too sure, Sir Terence. Matters here must ever be under discussion. There are your secretaries and

the ladies and Samoval has a great way with the women. What they know you may wager that he knows."

"That is a great deal to say. Little odds and ends now; a hint at one time; a word dropped at another; these

things picked up naturally by feminine curiosity and retailed thoughtlessly under Samoval's charming suasion

and display of Britannic sympathies. And Samoval has the devil's own talent for bringing together the pieces

of a puzzle. Take the lines now: you may have parted with no details. But mention of them will surely have

been made in this household. However," he broke off abruptly, "that is all past and done with. I am as sure as

you are that any real indiscretions in this household are unimaginable, and so we may be confident that no

harm has yet been done. But you will gather from what I have now told you that Samoval's visits here are not

a mere social waste of time. That he comes, acquires familiarity and makes himself the friend of the family

"That is more than I should have ventured to suggest. But it is a very wise resolve. It will need tact to carry it

"I'll handle him carefully, devil a fear," said Sir Terence. "You can depend upon my tact."

Colonel Grant rose. "In this matter of Penalva, I will consider further. But I do not think there is anything to

be done now. The main thing is to stop up the outlets through which information reaches the French, and that

"It was more active immediately after Souza left the Government. But the last reports announce a slackening

"They are at work in that, too, you see. Souza will not slumber while there's vengeance and selfinterest to

They descended, to find luncheon served already in the open under the trellis vine, and the party consisted of

Lady O'Moy, Miss Armytage, Captain Tremayne, Major Carruthers, and Count Samoval, of whose presence

As a matter of fact the Count had been at Monsanto for the past hour, the first half of which he had spent

most agreeably on the terrace with the ladies. He had spoken so eulogistically of the genius of Lord

Wellington and the valour of the British soldier, and, particularlyof the Irish soldier, that even Sylvia's

instinctive distrust and dislike of him had been lulled a little for the moment.

"And they must prevail," he had exclaimed in a glow of enthusiasm, his dark eyes flashing. "It is

inconceivable that they should ever yield to the French, although the odds of numbers may lie so heavily

"Are the odds of numbers so heavy?" said Lady O'Moy in surprise, opening wide those almost childish eyes

"Alas! anything from three to five to one. Ah, but why should we despond on that account?" And his voice

vibrated with renewed confidence. "The country is a difficult one, easy to defend, and Lord Wellington's

genius will have made the best of it. There are, for example, the fortifications at Torres Vedras."

"Tell you about them, dear lady? Shall I carry perfumes to the rose? What can I tell you that you do not know

"Indeed, I know nothing. Sir Terence is ridiculously secretive," she assured him, with a little frown of

petulance. She realised that her husband did not treat her as an intelligent being to be consulted upon these

matters. She was his wife, and he had no right to keep secrets from her. In fact she said so.

"Indeed no," Samoval agreed. "And I find it hard to credit that it should be so."

"Then you forget," said Sylvia, "that these secrets are not Sir Terence's own. They are the secrets of his

"Perhaps so," said the unabashed Samoval. "But if I were Sir Terence I should desire above all to allay my

"Naturally," she agreed, whose anxieties never transcended the fit of her gowns or the suitability of a

"Incredible!" the Count protested, and raised his dark eyes to heaven as if invoking its punishment upon so

unnatural a husband. "Do you tell me that you have never so much as seen the plans of these fortifications? "

"Ah!" he said. "I dare swear then that you do not even know of their existence." He was jocular now.

"I am sure that she does not," said Sylvia, who instinctively felt that the conversation was following an

"Then you are wrong," she was assured. "I saw them once, a week ago, in Sir Terence's room."

"Why, how would you know them if you saw them?" quoth Sylvia, seeking to cover what might be an

"And this unsympathetic Sir Terence did not explain them to you?" laughed Samoval.

"In fact, I could swear that he locked them away from you at once?" the Count continued on a jocular note.

"Not at once. But he certainly locked them away soon after, and whilst I was still there."

"In your place, then," said Samoval, ever on the same note of banter, "I should have been tempted to steal the

"Not so easily done," she assured him. "It never leaves his person. He wears it on a gold chain round his

"Too bad," protested Samoval. "Too bad, indeed. What, then, should you have done, Miss Armytage?"

It was difficult to imagine that he was drawing information from them, so bantering and frivolous was his

manner; more difficult still to conceive that he had obtained any. Yet you will observe that he had been

placed in possession of two facts: that the plans of the lines of Torres Vedras were kept locked up in Sir

Terence's own room in the strongbox, no doubt and that Sir Terence always carried the key on a gold

Miss Armytage laughed. "Whatever I might do, I should not be guilty of prying into matters that my husband

"Madam," Samoval bowed to her, "your future husband is to be envied on yet another count."

And thus the conversation drifted, Samoval conceiving that he had obtained all the information of which

Lady O'Moy was possessed, and satisfied that he had obtained all that for the moment he required. How to

proceed now was a more difficult matter, to be very seriously considered how to obtain from Sir Terence

He was at table with them, as you know, when Sip Terence and Colonel Grant arrived. He and the colonel

were presented to each other, and bowed with a gravity quite cordial on the part of Samoval, who was by far

the more subtle dissembler of the two. Each knew the other perfectly for what he was; yet each was in

complete ignorance of the extent of the other's knowledge of himself; and certainly neither betrayed anything

At table the conversation was led naturally enough by Tremayne to Wellington's general order against

duelling. This was inevitable when you consider that it was a topic of conversation that morning at every

table to which British officers sat down. Tremayne spoke of the measure in terms of warm commendation,

thereby provoking a sharp disagreement from Samoval. The deep and almost instinctive hostility between

these two men, which had often been revealed in momentary flashes, was such that it must invariably lead

"In my opinion it is a most arbitrary and degrading enactment," said Samoval. "I say so without hesitation,

notwithstanding my profound admiration and respect for Lord Wellington and all his measures."

"Degrading?" echoed Grant, looking across at him. "In what can it be degrading, Count?"

"In that it reduces a gentleman to the level of the clod," was the prompt answer. "A gentleman must have his

quarrels, however sweet his disposition, and a means must be afforded him of settling them."

"Thrash?" echoed Samoval. His sensitive lip curled in disdain. "To use your hands upon a man!" He

shuddered in sheer disgust. "To one of my temperament it would be impossible, and men of my temperament

"But if you were thrashed yourself?" Tremayne asked him, and the light in his grey eyes almost hinted at a

Samoval's dark, handsome eyes considered the captain steadily. "To be thrashed myself?" he questioned. "My

dear Captain, the idea of having hands laid upon me, soiling me, brutalising me, is so nauseating, so

repugnant, that I assure you I should not hesitate to shoot the man who did it just as I should shoot any other

wild beast that attacked me. Indeed the two instances are exactly parallel, and my country's courts would

"Then you may thank God," said O'Moy, "that you are not under British jurisdiction."

"I do," snapped Samoval, to make an instant recovery: "at least so far as the matter is concerned." And he

elaborated: "I assure you, sirs, it will be an evil day for the nobility of any country when its Government

enacts against the satisfaction that one gentleman has the right to demand from another who offends him."

"Isn't the conversation rather too bloodthirsty for a luncheontable?" wondered Lady O'Moy. And tactlessly

she added, thinking with flattery to mollify Samoval and cool his obvious heat: "You are yourself such a

"At the present time Portugal is in urgent need of her famous swordsmen to go against the French and not to

A silence complete and ominous followed the rash words, and Samoval, white to the lips, pondered the

"I think," he said at last, speaking slowly and softly, and picking his words with care, "I think that is

innuendo. I should be relieved, Captain Tremayne, to hear you say that it is not."

Tremayne was prompt to give him the assurance. "No innuendo at all. A plain statement of fact."

"The innuendo I suggested lay in the application of the phrase. Do you make it personal to myself?"

"Of course not," said Sir Terence, cutting in and speaking sharply. "What an assumption!"

"I am asking Captain Tremayne," the Count insisted, with grim firmness, notwithstanding his deferential

"I spoke quite generally, sir," Tremayne assured him, partly under the suasion of Sir Terence's interposition,

partly out of consideration for the ladies, who were looking scared. "Of course, if you choose to take it to

yourself, sir, that is a matter for your own discretion. I think," he added, also with a smile, "that the ladies

"Perhaps we may have the pleasure of continuing it when they are no longer present."

"Oh, as you please," was the indifferent answer. "Carruthers, may I trouble you to pass the salt? Lady

O'Callaghan was complaining the other night of the abuse of salt in Portuguese cookery. It is an abuse I have

"I can't conceive Lady O'Callaghan complaining of too much salt in anything, begad," quoth O'Moy, with a

"Terence, my dear!" his wife checked him, her fine brows raised, her stare frigid.

"Faith, we go from bad to worse," said Carruthers. "Will you try to improve the tone of the conversation,

With a general laugh, breaking the ice of the restraint that was in danger of settling about the table, a

semblance of ease was restored, and this was maintained until the end of the repast. At last the ladies rose,

and, leaving the men at table, they sauntered off towards the terrace. But under the archway Sylvia checked

"Una," she said gravely, "you had better call Captain Tremayne and take him away for the present."

Miss Armytage was almost impatient with her. "Didn't you see? Resentment is only slumbering between

those men. It will break out again now that we have left them unless you can get Captain Tremayne away."

Una continued to look at her cousin, and then, her mind fastening ever upon the trivial to the exclusion of the

important, her glance became arch. "For whom is your concern? For Count Samoval or Ned?" she inquired,

"I am certainly not afraid for him," was the reply on a faint note of indignation. She had reddened slightly.

"But I should not like to see Captain Tremayne or any other British officer embroiled in a duel. You forget

Lord Wellington's order which they were discussing, and the consequences of infringing it."

Sylvia spoke quickly: "I am certain that unless you take Captain Tremayne away, and at once, there will! be

And now behold Lady O'Moy thrown into a state of alarm that bordered upon terror. She had more reason

than Sylvia could dream, more reason she conceived than Sylvia herself, to wish to keep Captain Tremayne

out of trouble just at present. Instantly, agitatedly, she turned and called to him.

"Ned!" floated her silvery voice across the enclosed garden. And again: "Ned! I want you at once, please."

Captain Tremayne rose. Grant was talking briskly at the time, his intention being to cover Tremayne's retreat,

which he himself desired. Count Samoval's smouldering eyes were upon the captain, and full of menace. But

he could not be guilty of the rudeness of interrupting Grant or of detaining Captain Tremayne when a lady

Rebuke awaited Captain Tremayne at the hands of Lady O'Moy, and it came as soon as they were alone

together sauntering in the thicket of pine and corkoak on the slope of the hill below the terrace.

"Did I provoke him? I thought it was the Count himself who was provoking." Tremayne spoke lightly.

"But suppose anything were to happen to you? You know the man's dreadful reputation."

Tremayne looked at her kindly. This apparent concern for himself touched him. "My dear Una, I hope I can

take care of myself, even against so formidable a fellow; and after all a man must take his chances a soldier

"But what of Dick?" she cried. "Do you forget that he is depending entirely upon you that if you should fail

him he will be lost?" And there was something akin to indignation in the protesting eyes she turned upon him.

For a moment Tremayne was so amazed that he was at a loss for an answer. Then he smiled. Indeed his

inclination was to laugh outright. The frank admission that her concern which he had fondly imagined to be

for himself was all for Dick betrayed a state of mind that was entirely typical of Una. Never had she been

able to command more than one point of view of any question, and that point of view invariably of her own

interest. All her life she had been accustomed to sacrifices great and small made by others on heir own behalf,

"I am glad you reminded me," he said with an irony that never touched her. "You may depend upon me to be

"Thank you, Ned. You are very good to me." They sauntered a little way in silence. Then: "When does

"Yes. I have just heard from him that the Telemachus will put to sea on Sunday morning at two o'clock."

"Tides, as King Canute discovered, are beyond mortal control. The Telemachus goes out with the ebb. And,

after all, for our purposes surely no hour could be more suitable. If I come for Dick at midnight tomorrow

that will just give us time to get him snugly aboard before she sails. I have made all arrangements with

Glennie. He believes Dick to be what he has represented himself one of Bearsley's overseers named

Jenkinson, who is a friend of mine and who must be got out of the country quietly. Dick should thank his

luck for a good deal. My chief anxiety was lest his presence here should be discovered by any one."

"Haven't I?" she purred, delighted to have him discover a virtue so unusual in her.

Thereafter they discussed details; or, rather, Tremayne discussed them. He would come up to Monsanto at

twelve o'clock tomorrow night in a curricle in which he would drive Dick down to the river at a point where

a boat would be waiting to take him out to the Telemachus. She must see that Dick was ready in time. The

rest she could safely leave to him. He would come in through the official wing of the building. The guard

would admit him without question, accustomed to seeing him come and go at all hours, nor would it be

remarked that he was accompanied by a man in civilian dress when he departed. Dick was to be let; down

from her ladyship's balcony to the quadrangle by a rope ladder with which Tremayne would come equipped,

She hung upon his arm, overwhelming him now with her gratitude, her parasol sheltering them both from the

rays of the sun as they emerged from the thicket intro the meadowland in full view of the terrace where Count

You will remember that O'Moy had undertaken to provide that Count Samoval's visits to Monsanto should be

discontinued. About this task he had gone with all the tact of which he had boasted himself master to

Colquhoun Grant. You shall judge of the tact for yourself. No sooner had the colonel left for Lisbon, and

Carruthers to return to his work, than, finding himself alone with the Count, Sir Terence considered the

"I take it ye're fond of walking, Count," had been his singular opening move. They had left the table by now,

"And is that so? Well, well! Of course it's not so very far from your place at Bispo."

"Just so," said O'Moy. "Halfaleague there, and halfaleague back: a league. It's nothing at all, of course;

yet for a gentleman who detests walking it's a devilish long tramp for nothing."

"For nothing?" Samoval checked and looked at his host in faint surprise. Then he smiled very affably. "But

you must not say that, Sir Terence. I assure you that the pleasure of seeing yourself and Lady O'Moy cannot

"You are very good." Sir Terence was the very quintessence of courtliness, of concern for the other. "But if

"Then, of course, it would be different." Samoval was beginning to be slightly intrigued.

"Just what you're meaning? But, my dear General, you are assuming circumstances which fortunately do not

Again Samoval stood still and looked at O'Moy. He found something in the bronzed, rugged face that was

unusually sardonic. The blue eyes seemed to have become hard, and yet there were wrinkles about their

corners suggestive of humour that might be mockery. The Count stiffened; but beyond that he preserved his

outward calm whilst confessing that he did not understand Sir Terence's meaning.

"It's this way," said Sir Terence. "I've noticed that ye're not looking so very well lately, Count."

"Really? You think that?" The words were mechanical. The dark eyes continued to scrutinise that bronzed

"I do, and it's sorry I am to see it. But I know what it is. It's this walking backwards and forwards between

here and Bispo that's doing the mischief. Better give it up, Count. Better not come toiling up here any more.

It's not good for your health. Why, man, ye're as white as a ghost this minute."

He was indeed, having perceived at last the insult intended. To be denied the house at such a time was to

checkmate his designs, to set a term upon his crafty and subtle espionage, precisely in the season when he

hoped to reap its harvest. But his chagrin sprang not at all from that. His cold anger was purely personal. He

was a gentleman of the fine flower, as he would have described himself of the nobility of Portugal; and

that a probably upstart Irish soldier himself, from Samoval's point of view, a guest in that country should

deny him his house, and choose such terms of illconsidered jocularity in which to do it, was an affront

For a moment passion blinded him, and it was only by an effort that he recovered and kept his selfcontrol.

But keep it he did. You may trust your practised duellist for that when he comes face to face with the

necessity to demand satisfaction. And soon the mist of passion clearing from his keen wits, he sought swiftly

for a means to fasten the quarrel upon Sir Terence in Sir Terence's own coin of galling mockery. Instantly he

found it. Indeed it was not very far to seek. O'Moy's jealousy, which was almost a byword, as we know, had

been apparent more than once to Samoval. Remembering it now, it discovered to him at once Sir Terence's

"I am having a very interesting and instructive morning in this atmosphere of Irish boorishness," said he.

"Now don't be after blaming old Ireland for Tremayne's shortcomings. Tremayne's just a clumsy mannered

"I am glad to know there is a distinction. Indeed I might have perceived it for myself. In motives, of course,

that distinction is great indeed, and I hope that I am not slow to discover it, and in your case to excuse it. I

"I am glad of that now," said Sir Terence, who had understood nothing of all this.

"Naturally," the Count pursued on a smooth, level note of amiability, "when a man, himself no longer young,

commits the folly of taking a young and charming wife, he is to be forgiven when a natural anxiety drives

him to lengths which in another might be resented." He bowed before the empurpling Sir Terence.

"Of course you would assume it. It was to be expected. I condone it with the rest. And because I condone it,

because I sympathise with what in a man of your age and temperament must amount to an affliction, I hasten

to assure you upon my honour that so far as I am concerned there are no grounds for your anxiety."

"And who the devil asks for your assurances? It's stark mad ye are to suppose that I ever needed them."

"Of course you must say that," Samoval insisted, with a confident and superior smile. He shook his head, his

expression one of amused sorrow. "Sir Terence, you have knocked at the wrong door. You are youthful at

least in your impulsiveness, but you are surely as blind as old Pantaloon in the comedy or you would see

where your industry would be better employed in shielding your wife's honour and your own."

Goaded to fury, his blue eyes aflame now with passion, Sir Terence considered the sleek and subtle

gentleman before him, and it was in that moment that the Count's subtlety soared to its finest heights. In a

flash of inspiration he perceived the advantages to be drawn by himself from conducting this quarrel to

This is not mere idle speculation. Knowledge of the real motives actuating him rests upon the evidence of a

letter which Samoval was to write that same evening to La Fleche afterwards to be discovered wherein he

related what had passed, how deliberately he had steered the matter, and what he meant to do. His object was

no longer the punishing of an affront. That would happen as a mere incident, a thing done, as it were, in

passing. His real aim now was to obtain the keys of the adjutant's strongbox, which never left Sir Terence's

person, and so become possessed of the plans of the lines of Torres Vedras. When you consider in the light of

this the manner in which Samoval proceeded now you will admire with me at once the opportunism and the

It was in that moment that Tremayne and Lady O'Moy came arm in arm into the open on the hillside,

halfamile away very close and confidential. They came most opportunely to the Count's need, and he

Sir Terence looked, and laughed. He knew the sect of Ned Tremayne's heart and could laugh now with relish

"And who shall blame Lady O'Moy?" Count Samoval pursued. "A lady so charming and so courted must

seek her consolation for the almost unnatural union Fate has imposed upon her. Captain Tremayne is of her

He smiled at O'Moy with insolent compassion, and O'Moy, losing all his selfcontrol, struck him slapped

Samoval stepped back, breathing hard, one cheek red, the other white. Yet by a miracle he still preserved his

"I have proved my courage too often," he said, "to be under the necessity of killing you for this blow. Since

"Ye'll take advantage of it whether ye like it or not," blazed Sir Terence at him. "I mean you to take

advantage of it. D' ye think I'll suffer any man to cast a slur upon Lady O'Moy? I'll be sending my friends to

Thus did the hotheaded fellow deliver himself into the hands of his enemy. Nor was he warned when he saw

"Ha!" said the Count. It was a little exclamation of wicked satisfaction. "You are offering me a challenge,

"I said 'shoot' and it shall be at ten paces, or across a handkerchief, or any damned distance you please."

The Count shook his head. He sneered. "I think not not shoot." And he waved the notion aside with a hand

white and slender as a woman's. "That is too English, or too Irish. The pistol, I mean appropriately a fool's

weapon." And he explained himself, explained at last his extraordinary forbearance under a blow. "If you

think I have practised the smallsword every day of my life for ten years to suffer myself to be shot at like a

rabbit in the end ho, really!" He laughed aloud. "You have challenged me, I think, Sir Terence. Because I

feared the predilection you have discovered, I was careful to wait until the challenge came from you. The

choice of weapons lies, I think, with me. I shall instruct my friends to ask for swords."

"Sorry a difference will it make to me," said Sir Terence. "Anything from a horsewhip to a howitzer." And

then recollection descending like a cold hand upon him chilled his hot rage, struck the fine Irish arrogance all

out of him, and left him suddenly limp. "My God!" he said, and it was almost a groan. He detained Samoval,

who had already turned to depart. "A moment, Count," he cried. "I I had forgotten. There is the general

"Awkward, of course," said Samoval, who had never for a moment been oblivious of that enactment, and

who had been carefully building upon it. "But you should have considered it before committing yourself so

Sir Terence steadied himself. He recovered his truculence. "Irrevocable or not, it will just have to be

"I do not see the impossibility. I am not surprised you should shelter yourself behind an enactment; but you

"But it applies to me, who am not only a soldier, but the AdjutantGeneral here, the man chiefly responsible

for seeing the order carried out. It would be a fine thing if I were the first to disregard it."

O'Moy was distracted. "Samoval," he said, drawing himself up, "I will admit that I have been a fool. I will

"The apology would imply that my statement was a true one and that you recognised it. If you mean that "

"I mean nothing of the kind. Damme! I've a mind to horsewhip you, and leave it at that. D' ye think I want to

"I don't think there is the remotest likelihood of any such contingency," replied Samoval.

But O'Moy went headlong on. "And another thing. Where will I be finding a friend to meet your friends?

The Count considered. He was grave now. "Of course that is a difficulty," he admitted, as if he perceived it

now for the first time. "Under the circumstances, Sir Terence, and entirely to accommodate you, I might

"Dispense with seconds?" Sir Terence was horrified at the suggestion. "You know that that is irregular that

"Oh, quite so. But it is for your own convenience that I suggest it, though I appreciate your considerate

concern on the score of what may happen to me afterwards should it come to be known that I was your

"And is it like that?" cried O'Moy, his countenance inflaming again, his mind casting all prudence to the

It followed, of course, that without further thought for anything but the satisfaction of his rage Sir Terence

"There is my place at Bispo. We should be private in the gardens there. As for time, the sooner the better,

though for secrecy's sake we had better meet at night. Shall we say at midnight?"

"Tonight is out of the question for me. I have an engagement that will keep me until late. Tomorrow night,

if you will, I shall be at your service." And because he did not trust Samoval he added, as Samoval himself

had almost reckoned: "But I should prefer not to come to Bispo. I might be seen going or returning."

"Since there are no such scruples on my side, I am ready to come to you here if you prefer it."

"Then expect me promptly at midnight tomorrow, provided that you can arrange to admit me without my

"Those gates will be closed," said O'Moy, indicating the now gaping massive doors that closed the archway at

night. "But if you knock I shall be waiting for you, and I will admit you by the wicket."

"Excellent," said Samoval suavely. "Then until tomorrow night, General." He bowed with almost

extravagant submission, and turning walked sharply away, energy and suppleness in every line of his slight

figure, leaving Sir Terence to the unpleasant, almost desperate, thoughts that reflection must usher in as his

It was a time of stress and even of temptation for Sir Terence. Honour and pride demanded that he should

keep the appointment made with Samoval; common sense urged him at all costs to avoid it. His frame of

mind, you see, was not at all enviable. At moments he would consider his position as adjutantgeneral, the

enactment against duelling, the irregularity of the meeting arranged, and, consequently, the danger in which

he stood on every score; at others he could think of nothing but the unpardonable affront that had been

offered him and the venomously insulting manner in which it had been offered, and his rage welled up to blot

For two days and a night he was a sort of shuttlecock tossed between these alternating moods, and he was still

the same when he paced the quadrangle with bowed head and hands clasped behind him awaiting Samoval at

a few minutes before twelve of the following night. The windows that looked down from the four sides of

that enclosed garden were all in darkness. The members of the household had withdrawn over an hour ago

and were asleep by now. The official quarters were closed. The rising moon had just mounted above the

eastern wing and its white light fell upon the upper half of the facade of the residential site. The quadrangle

Sir Terence, pacing there, was considering the only definite conclusion he had reached. If there were no way

even now of avoiding this duel, at least it must remain secret. Therefore it could not take place here in the

enclosed garden of his own quarters, as he had so rashly consented. It should be fought upon neutral ground,

where the presence of the body of the slain would not call for explanations by the survivor.

>From distant Lisbon on the still air came softly the chimes of midnight, and immediately there was a sharp

rap upon the little door set in one of the massive gates that closed the archway.

Sir Terence went to open the wicket, and Samoval stepped quickly over the sill. He was wrapped in a dark

cloak, a broadbrimmed hat obscured his face. Sir Terence closed the door again. The two men bowed to

each other in silence, and as Samoval's cloak fell open he produced a pair of duellingswords swathed

"I hope I shall never be so discourteous as to keep an opponent waiting. It is a thing of which I have never yet

been guilty," replied Samoval, with deadly smoothness in that reminder of his victorious past. He stepped

forward and looked about the quadrangle. "I am afraid the moon will occasion us some delay," he said. "It

were perhaps better to wait some five or ten minutes, by then the light in here should have improved."

"We can avoid the delay by stepping out into the open," said Sir Terence. "Indeed it is what I had to suggest

But Samoval, who had purposes to serve of which this duel was but a preliminary, was of a very different

"We are quite private here, your household being abed," he answered, "whilst outside one can never be sure

even at this hour of avoiding witnesses and interruption. Then, again, the turf is smooth as a table on that

patch of lawn, and the ground well known to both of us; that, I can assure you, is a very necessary condition

"But there is yet another consideration, sir. I prefer that we engage on neutral ground, so that the survivor

shall not be called upon for explanations that might be demanded if we fought here."

Even in the gloom Sir Terence caught the flash of Samoval's white teeth as he smiled.

"You trouble yourself unnecessarily on my account," was the smoothly ironic answer. "No one has seen me

"You may be sure that no one shall, by God," snapped O'Moy, stung by the sly insolence of the other's

"If you're set on dying here, I suppose I must be after humouring you, and make the best of it. As soon as you

They stepped to the patch of lawn in the middle of the quadrangle, and there Samoval threw off altogether his

cloak and hat. He was closely dressed in black, which in that light rendered him almost invisible. Sir Terence,

less practised and less calculating in these matters, wore an undress uniform, the red coat of which showed

greyish. Samoval observed this rather with contempt than with satisfaction in the advantage it afforded him.

Then he removed the swathing from the swords, and, crossing them, presented the hilts to Sir Terence. The

adjutant took one and the Count retained the other, which he tested, thrashing the air with it so that it

"In a few minutes the moon will be more obliging," he suggested. "If you would prefer to wait "

But it occurred to Sir Terence that in the gloom the advantage might lie slightly with himself, since the other's

superior swordplay would perhaps be partly neutralised. He cast a last look round at the dark windows.

Samoval's reply was instantaneous. "On guard, then," he cried, and on the words, without giving Sir Terence

so much as time to comply with the invitation, he whirled his point straight and deadly at the greyish outline

of his opponent's body. But a ray of moonlight caught the blade and its livid flash gave Sir Terence warning

of the thrust so treacherously delivered. He saved himself by leaping backwards just saved himself with not

"Ye murderous villain," he snarled under his breath, as steel ground on steel, and he flung forward to the

But from the gloom came a little laugh to answer him, and his angry lunge was foiled by an enveloping

movement that ended in a ripost. With that they settled down to it, Sir Terence in a rage upon which that

assassin stroke had been fresh fuel; the Count cool and unhurried, delaying until the moonlight should have

crept a little farther, so as to enable him to make quite sure that his stroke when delivered should be final.

Meanwhile he pressed Sir Terence towards the side where the moonlight would strike first, until they were

fighting close under the windows of the residential wing, Sir Terence with his back to them, Samoval facing

them. It was Fate that placed them so, the Fate that watched over Sir Terence even now when he felt his

strength failing him, his sword arm turning to lead under the strain of an unwonted exercise. He knew himself

beaten, realised the dexterous ease, the masterly economy of vigour and the deadly sureness of his opponent's

play. He knew that he was at the mercy of Samoval; he was even beginning to wonder why the Count should

delay to make an end of a situation of which he was so completely master. And then, quite suddenly, even as

he was returning thanks that he had taken the precaution of putting all his affairs in order, something

A light showed; it flared up suddenly, to be as suddenly extinguished, and it had its source in the window of

That flash drawing off the Count's eyes for one instant, and leaving them blinded for another, had revealed

him clearly at the same time to Sir Terence. Sir Terence's blade darted in, driven by all that was left of his

spent strength, and Samoval, his eyes unseeing, in that moment had fumbled widely and failed to find the

other's steel until he felt it sinking through his body, searing him from breast to back.

His arms sank to his sides quite nervelessly. He uttered a faint exclamation of astonishment, almost instantly

interrupted by a cough. He swayed there a moment, the cough increasing until it choked him. Then, suddenly

limp, he pitched forward upon his face, and lay clawing and twitching at Sir Terence's feet.

Sir Terence himself, scarcely realising what had taken place, for the whole thing had happened within the

time of a couple of heartbeats, stood quite still, amazed and awed, in a halfcrouching attitude, looking

down at the body of the fallen man. And then from above, ringing upon the deathly stillness, he caught a

He stepped back softly, and flattened himself instinctively against the wall; thence profoundly intrigued and

vaguely alarmed on several scores he peered up at the windows of his wife's room whence the sound had

come, whence the sudden light had come which as he now realised had given him the victory in that

unequal contest. Looking up at the balcony in whose shadow he stood concealed, he saw two figures there

his wife's and another's and at the same time he caught sight of something black that dangled from the

He felt his skin roughening, bristling like a dog's; he was conscious of being cold from head to foot, as if the

flow of his blood had been suddenly arrested; and a sense of sickness overcame him. And then to turn that

horrible doubt of his into still more horrible certainty came a man's voice, subdued, yet not so subdued but

"Don't go down! For pity's sake, come back. Come back and wait, Ned. If any one should come and find you

Thus hoarsely whispering, vibrating with terror, the voice of his wife reached O'Moy, to confirm him the

unsuspecting blind cuckold that Samoval had dubbed him to his face, for which Samoval warning the guilty

pair with his last breath even as he had earlier so mockingly warned Sir Terence had coughed up his soul

Crouching there for a moment longer, a man bereft of movement and of reason, stood O'Moy, conscious only

of pain, in an agony of mind and heart that at one and the same time froze his blood and drew the sweat from

Then he was for stepping out into the open, and, giving flow to the rage and surging violence that followed,

calling down the man who had dishonoured him and slaying him there under the eyes of that trull who had

brought him to this shame. But he controlled the impulse, or else Satan controlled it for him. That way,

whispered the Tempter, was too straight and simple. He must think. He must have time to readjust his mind

Very soft and silently, keeping well within the shadow of the wall, he sidled to the door which he had left

ajar. Soundlessly he pushed it open, passed in and as soundlessly closed it again. For a moment he stood

leaning heavily against its timbers, his breath coming in short panting sobs. Then he steadied himself and

turning, made his way down the corridor to the little study which had been fitted up for him in the residential

wing, and where sometimes he worked at night. He had been writing there that evening ever since dinner, and

he had quitted the room only to go to his assignation with Samoval, leaving the lamp burning on his open

He opened the door, but before passing in he paused a moment, straining his ears to listen for sounds

overhead. His eyes, glancing up and down, were arrested by a thin blade of light under a door at the end of

the corridor. It was the door of the butler's pantry, and the line of light announced that Mullins had not yet

gone to bed. At once Sir Terence understood that, knowing him to be at work, the old servant had himself

Continuing to move without noise, Sir Terence entered his study, closed the door and crossed to his desk.

Wearily he dropped into the chair that stood before it, his face drawn and ghastly, his smouldering eyes

staring vacantly ahead. On the desk before him lay the letters that he had spent the past hours in writing one

to his wife; another to Tremayne; another to his brother in Ireland; and several others connected with his

official duties, making provision for their uninterrupted continuance in the event of his not surviving the

Now it happened that amongst the latter there was one that was destined hereafter to play a considerable part;

it was a note for the CommissaryGeneral upon a matter that demanded immediate attention, and the only

one of all those letters that need now survive. It was marked "Most Urgent," and had been left by him for

delivery first thing in the morning. He pulled open a drawer and swept into it all the letters he had written

He locked that drawer; then unlocked another, and took thence a case of pistols. With shaking hands he lifted

out one of the weapons to examine it, and all the while, of course, his thoughts were upon his wife and

Tremayne. He was considering how wellfounded had been his every twinge of jealousy; how wasted, how

senseless the reactions of shame that had followed them; how insensate his trust in Tremayne's honesty, and,

above all, with what crafty, treacherous subtlety Tremayne had drawn a red herring across the trail of his

suspicions by pretending to an unutterable passion for Sylvia Armytage. It was perhaps that piece of

duplicity, worthy, he thought, of the Iscariot himself, that galled Sir Terence now most sorely; that and the

memory of his own silly credulity. He had been such a ready dupe. How those two together must have

laughed at him! Oh, Tremayne had been very subtle! He had been the friend, the quasibrother, parading his

affection for the Butler family to excuse the familiarities with Lady O'Moy which he had permitted himself

under Sir Terence's very eyes. O'Moy thought of them as he had seen them in the garden on the night of

Redondo's ball, remembered the air of transparent honesty by which that damned hypocrite when discovered

Oh, there was no doubt that the treacherous blackguard had been subtle. But by God! subtlety should be

repaid with subtlety! He would deal with Tremayne as cruelly as Tremayne had dealt with him; and his

wanton wife, too, should be repaid in kind. He beheld the way clear, in a flash of wicked inspiration. He put

He rose, took up the letter to the Commissarygeneral, stepped briskly to the door and pulled it open.

Came the sound of a scraping chair, and instantly that door at the end of the corridor was thrown open, and

Mullins stood silhouetted against the light behind him. A moment he stood there, then came forward.

"Yes." Sir Terence's voice was miraculously calm. His back was to the light and his face in shadow, so that

its drawn, haggard look was not perceptible to the butler. "I am going to bed. But first I want you to step

across to the sergeant of the guard with this letter for the CommissaryGeneral. Tell him that it is of the

utmost importance, and ask him to arrange to have it taken into Lisbon first thing in the morning."

Mullins bowed, venerable as an archdeacon in aspect and bearing, as he received the letter from his master:

As he departed Sir Terence turned and slowly paced back to his desk, leaving the door open. His eyes had

narrowed; there was a cruel, an almost evil smile on his lips. Of the generous, goodhumoured nature

imprinted upon his face every sign had vanished. His countenance was a mask of ferocity restrained by

Oh, he would pay the score that lay between himself and those two who had betrayed him. They should

receive treachery for treachery, mockery for mockery, and for dishonour death. They had deemed him an old

fool! What was the expression that Samoval had used Pantaloon in the comedy? Well, well! He had been

Pantaloon in the comedy so far. But now they should find him Pantaloon in the tragedy nay, not Pantaloon

at all, but Polichinelle, the sinister jester, the cynical clown, who laughs in murdering. And in anguished

silence should they bear the punishment he would mete out to them, or else in no less anguished speech

His wife he beheld now in a new light. It was out of vanity and greed that she had married him, because of

the position in the world that he could give her. Having done so, at least she might have kept faith; she might

have been honest, and abided by the bargain. If she had not done so, it was because honesty was beyond her

shallow nature. He should have seen before what he now saw so clearly. He should have known her for a

lovely, empty husk; a silly, fluttering butterfly; a toy; a thing of vanities, emotions, and nothing else.

Thus Sir Terence, cursing the day when he had mated with a fool. Thus Sir Terence whilst he stood there

waiting for the outcry from Mullins that should proclaim the discovery of the body, and afford him a pretext

"Sir Terence! Sir Terence! For God's sake, Sir Terence!" he heard the voice of his old servant. Came the loud

crash of the door thrust back until it struck the wall and quick steps along the passage.

"Why, what the devil " he was beginning in his bluff, normal tones, when the servant, showing a white,

"A terrible thing, Sir Terence! Oh, the saints protect us, a dreadful thing! This way, sir! There's a man killed

"But " Sir Terence checked. "Count Samoval, did ye say? Impossible!" and he went out quickly, followed

In the quadrangle he checked. In the few minutes that were sped since he had left the place the moon had

overtopped the roof of the opposite wing, so that full upon the enclosed garden fell now its white light,

There lay the black still form of Samoval supine, his white face staring up into the heavens, and beside him

knelt Tremayne, whilst in the balcony above leaned her ladyship. The rope ladder, Sir Terence's swift glance

He halted in his advance, standing at gaze a moment. He had hardly expected so much. He had conceived the

plan of causing the house to be searched immediately upon Mullins's discovery of the body. But Tremayne's

rashness in adventuring down in this fashion spared him even that necessity. True, it set up other difficulties.

But he was not sure that the matter would not be infinitely more interesting thus.

He stepped forward, and came to a standstill beside the two his dead enemy and his living one.

He stood up as he spoke, and Sir Terence observed with terrible inward mirth that his tone had the frank and

honest ring, his bearing the imperturbable ease which more than once before had imposed upon him as the

outward signs of an easy conscience. This secretary of his was a cool scoundrel.

"Samoval, is it?" said Sir Terence, and went down on one knee beside the body to make a perfunctory

"Happen?" echoed Tremayne, realising that the question was being addressed particularly to himself. "That is

"You found him here? Oh, you found him here in this condition! Curious!" Over his shoulder he spoke to the

butler: "Mullins, you had better call the guard." He picked up the slender weapon that lay beside Samoval. "A

duelling sword!" Then he looked searchingly about him until his eyes caught the gleam of the other blade

near the wall, where himself he had dropped it. "Ah!" he said, and went to pick it up. "Very odd!" He looked

up at the balcony, over the parapet of which his wife was leaning. "Did you see anything, my dear?" he

asked, and neither Tremayne nor she detected the faint note of wicked mockery in the question.

"Nno. I saw nothing." Sir Terence's straining ears caught no faintest sound of the voice that had prompted

"A a moment only," she replied, again after a pause. "I I thought I heard a cry, and and I came to see

what had happened." Her voice shook with terror; but what she beheld would have been quite enough to

The guard filed in through the doors from the official quarters, a sergeant with a halbert in one hand and a

lantern in the other, followed by four men, and lastly by Mullins. They halted and came to attention before

Sir Terence. And almost at the same moment there was a sharp rattling knock on the wicket in the great

closed gates through which Samoval had entered. Startled, but without showing any signs of it, Sir Terence

bade Mullins go open, and in a general silence all waited to see who it was that came.

A tall man, bowing his shoulders to pass under the low lintel of that narrow door, stepped over the sill and

into the courtyard. He wore a cocked hat, and as his great cavalry cloak fell open the yellow rays of the

sergeant's lantern gleamed faintly on a British uniform. Presently, as he advanced into the quadrangle, he

"Goodevening, General. Goodevening, Tremayne," he greeted one and the other. Then his eyes fell upon

the body lying between them. "Samoval, eh? So I am not mistaken in seeking him here. I have had him under

very close observation during the past day or two, and when one of my men brought me word tonight that he

had left his place at Bispo on foot and alone, going along the upper Alcantara road, If had a notion that he

might be coming to Monsanto and I followed. But I hardly expected to find this. How has it happened?"

"That is what I was just asking Tremayne," replied Sir Terence. "Mullins discovered him here quite by

"I?" interrupted Tremayne with sudden violence. He seemed now to become aware for the first time of the

gravity of his position. "Certainly not, Colonel Grant. I heard a cry, and I came out to see what it was. I found

"Nay," Sir Terence interrupted. "I have been alone since dinner, clearing up some arrears of work. I was in

my study there when Mullins called me to tell me what he had discovered. It looks as if there had been a duel.

Look at these swords." Then he turned to his secretary. "I think, Captain Tremayne," he said gravely, "that

Tremayne stiffened suddenly. "Report myself under arrest?" he cried. "My God, Sir Terence, you don't

Sir Terence interrupted him. The voice in which he spoke was stern, almost sad; but his eyes gleamed with

fiendish mockery the while. It was Polichinelle that spoke Polichinelle that mocks what time he slays.

"What were you doing here?" he asked, and it was like moving the checkmating piece.

Tremayne stood stricken and silent. He cast a desperate upward glance at the balcony overhead. The answer

was so easy, but it would entail delivering Richard Butler to his death. Colonel Grant, following his upward

glance, beheld Lady O'Moy for the first time. He bowed, swept off his cocked hat, and "Perhaps her

And then she herself was feverishly assuring Colonel Grant that she had seen nothing at all, that she had

"And was Captain Tremayne here when you came out?" asked O'Moy, the deadly jester.

"You see?" said Sir Terence heavily to Grant, and Grant, with pursed lips, nodded, his eyes moving from

"But, Sir Terence," cried Tremayne, "I give you my word I swear to you that I know absolutely nothing

"What were you doing here?" O'Moy asked again, and this time the sinister, menacing note of derision

Tremayne for the first time in his honest, upright life found himself deliberately choosing between truth and

falsehood. The truth would clear him since with that truth he would produce witnesses to it, establishing his

movements completely. But the truth would send a man to his death; and so for the sake of that man's life he

"Really, Sir Terence, if my word is not sufficient, I refuse to submit to crossexamination."

Sir Terence turned to the sergeant of the guard, "How long is it since Captain Tremayne arrived?" he asked.

The sergeant stood to attention. "Captain Tremayne, sir, arrived rather more than halfanhour ago. He came

"Halfanhour ago, eh?" said Sir Terence, and from Colquhoun Grant there was a sharp and audible intake of

breath, expressive either of understanding, or surprise, or both. The adjutant looked at Tremayne again. "As

my questions seem only to entangle you further," he said, "I think you had better do as I suggest without

more protests: report yourself under arrest to Colonel Fletcher in the morning, sir."

Still Tremayne hesitated for a moment. Then drawing himself up, he saluted curtly. "Very well, sir," he

"Ah?" said Sir Terence, and he looked up. "You would say ?" he encouraged her, for she had broken off

abruptly, checked again although none below could guess it by the one behind who prompted her.

"Couldn't you couldn't you wait?" she was faltering, compelled to it by his question.

"That will be the business of the courtmartial," he answered. "My duty is quite clear and simple; I think.

And so, without another word, Tremayne turned and departed. The soldiers, in compliance with the short

command issued by Sir Terence, took up the body and bore it away to a room in the official quarters; and in

their wake went Colonel Grant, after taking his leave of Sir Terence. Her ladyship vanished from the balcony

and closed her windows, and finally Sir Terence, followed by Mullins, slowly, with bowed head and dragging

steps, reentered the house. In the quadrangle, flooded now by the cold, white light of the moon, all was peace

once more. Sir Terence turned into his study, sank into the chair by his desk and sat there awhile staring into

vacancy, a diabolical smile upon his handsome, mobile mouth. Gradually the smile faded and horror

overspread his face. Finally he flung himself forward and buried his head in his arms.

There were steps in the hall outside, a quick mutter of voices, and then the door of his study was flung open,

He sat up stiffly, as she sped across the room to him. She was wrapped in a blue quilted bedgown, her dark

hair hung in two heavy plaits, and her bare feet had been hastily thrust into slippers.

Sir Terence looked at her with eyes that were dull and heavy and that yet seemed to search her white, startled

She set a hand on his shoulder, and looked down into his ravaged, haggard countenance. He seemed suddenly

"Mullins has just told me that Captain Tremayne has been ordered under arrest for for killing Count

"It is true," he answered her, and there was a heavy, sneering curl on his upper lip.

"But " She stopped, and put a hand to her throat; she looked as if she would stifle. She sank to her knees

beside him, and caught his hand in both her own that were trembling. "Oh, you can't believe it! Captain

"A duel!" She looked at him, and then, remembering what had passed that morning between Tremayne and

Samoval, remembering, too, Lord Wellington's edict, "Oh, God!" she gasped. "Why did you let them take

"They didn't take him. I ordered him under arrest. He will report himself to Colonel Fletcher in the morning."

"You ordered him? You! You, his friend!" Anger, scorn, reproach and sorrow all blending in her voice bore

He looked down at her most closely, and gradually compassion crept into his face. He set his hands on her

"You care for him, Sylvia?" he said, between inquiry and wonder. "Well, well! We are both fools together,

child. The man is a dastard, a blackguard, a Judas, to be repaid with betrayal for betrayal. Forget him, girl.

"Terence!" She looked in her turn into that distorted face. "Are you mad?" she asked him.

She drew back and away from him, bewildered and horrified. Slowly she rose to her feet. She controlled with

difficulty the deep emotion swaying her. "Tell me," she said slowly, speaking with obvious effort, "what will

"What will they do to him?" He looked at her. He was smiling. "They will shoot him, of course."

"Above all things," he answered. "A more poetic justice never overtook a blackguard."

"I will tell you afterwards, after they have shot him; unless the truth comes out before."

"Oh, no. That matter is quite clear, the evidence complete. I mean oh, I will tell you afterwards what I

"No," he answered, rising, and speaking with finality. "Afterwards if necessary, afterwards. And now get

back to bed, child, and forget the fellow. I swear to you that he isn't worth a thought. Later I shall hope to

He laughed, and again his laugh was harsh and terrible in its bitter mockery. "Yet another trusting fool," he

cried. "The world is full of them it is made up of them, with just a sprinkling of knaves to batten on their

folly. Go to bed, Sylvia, and pray for understanding of men. It is a possession beyond riches."

"I think you are more in need of it than I am," she told him, standing by the door.

"Of course you do. You trust, which is why you are a fool. Trust," he said, speaking the very language of

She went without answering him and toiled upstairs with dragging feet. She paused a moment in the corridor

above, outside Una's door. She was in such need of communion with some one that for a moment she thought

of going in. But she knew beforehand the greeting that would await her; the empty platitudes, the obvious

small change of verbiage which her ladyship would dole out. The very thought of it restrained her, and so she

passed on to her own room and a sleepless night in which to piece together the puzzle which the situation

And the only conclusion that she reached was that intertwined with the death of Samoval there was some

other circumstance which had aroused in the adjutant an unreasoning hatred of his friend, converting him into

Tremayne's bitterest enemy, intent as he had confessed upon seeing him shot for that night's work. And

because she knew them both for men of honour above all, the enigma was immeasurably deepened.

Had she but obeyed the transient impulse to seek Lady O'Moy she might have discovered all the truth at once.

For she would have come upon her ladyship in a frame of mind almost as distraught as her own; and she

might had she penetrated to the dressingroom where her ladyship was have come upon Richard Butler at

Now, in view of what had happened, her ladyship, ever impulsive, was all for going there and then to her

husband to confess the whole truth, without pausing to reflect upon the consequences to others than Ned

Tremayne. As you know, it was beyond her to see a thing from two points of view at one and the same time.

It was also beyond her brother the failing, as I think I have told you, was a family one and her brother

"A single word to Terence," he had told her, putting his back to the door of the dressingroom to bar her

intended egress, "and you realise that it will be a courtmartial and a firing party for me."

That warning effectively checked her. Yet certain stirrings of conscience made her think of the man who had

"Oh, Ned will be all right. What is the evidence against him after all? Men are not shot for things they haven't

done. Justice will out, you know. Leave Ned to shift for himself for the present. Anyhow his danger isn't

Helplessly distraught, she sank to an ottoman. The night had been a very trying one for her ladyship. She

"If only you had been ready at the time, as he told you to be, there would have been no delays, and you would

"Was it my fault that I should have reopened my wound bad luck to it! in attempting to get down that

damned ladder?" he asked her. "Is it my fault that I am neither an ape nor an acrobat? Tremayne should have

come up at once to assist me, instead of waiting until he had to come up to help me bandage my leg again.

Then time would not have been lost, and very likely my life with it." He came to a gloomy conclusion.

"Just that. What are my chances of getting away now?" he asked her. "Was there ever such infernal luck as

mine? The Telemachus will sail without me, and the only man who could and would have helped me to get

out of this damned country is under arrest. It's clear I shall have to shift for myself again, and I can't even do

that for a day or two with my leg in this state. I shall have to go back into that stuffy storecupboard of yours

till God knows when." He lost all selfcontrol at the prospect and broke into imprecations of his luck.

"And then," he grumbled on, "you have so little sense that you want to run straight off to Terence and explain

to him what Tremayne was doing here. You might at least have the grace to wait until I am off the premises,

"Oh, Dick, Dick, you are so cruel!" she protested. "How can you say such things to me, whose only thought

"I won't, Dick. I won't." She drew him down beside her on the ottoman and her fingers smoothed his rather

tumbled red hair, just as her words attempted to smooth the ruffles in his spirit. "You know I did didn't

realise, or I should not have thought of it even. I was so concerned for Ned for the moment."

"Don't I tell you there's not the need?" he assured her. "Ned will be safe enough, devil a doubt. It's for you to

keep to what you told them from the balcony; that you heard a cry, went out to see what was happening and

saw Tremayne there bending over the body. Not a word more, and not a word less, or it will be all over with

With the possible exception of her ladyship, I do not think that there was much sleep that night at Monsanto

for any of the four chief actors in this tragicomedy. Each had his own preoccupations. Sylvia's we know. Mr.

Butler found his leg troubling him again, and the pain of the reopened wound must have prevented him from

sleeping even had his anxieties about his immediate future not sufficed to do so. As for Sir Terence, his was

the most deplorable case of all. This man who had lived a life of simple and downright honesty in great

things and in small, a man who had never stooped to the slightest prevarication, found himself suddenly

launched upon the most horrible and infamous course of duplicity to encompass the ruin of another. The

offence of that other against himself might be of the most foul and hideous, a piece of treachery that only

treachery could adequately avenge; yet this consideration was not enough to appease the clamours of Sir

In the end, however, the primary desire for vengeance and vengeance of the bitterest kind proved master of

his mind. Captain Tremayne had been led by his villainy into a coil that should presently crush him, and Sir

Terence promised himself an infinite balm for his outraged honour in the entertainment which the futile

struggles of the victim should provide. With Captain Tremayne lay the cruel choice of submitting in tortured

silence to his fate, or of turning craven and saving his miserable life by proclaiming himself a seducer and a

betrayer. It should be interesting to observe how the captain would decide, and his punishment was certain

Sir Terence came to breakfast in the open, greyfaced and haggard, but miraculously composed for a man

who had so little studied the art of concealing his emotions. Voice and glance were calm as he gave a

It took him aback. He looked askance at her, marvelling at the steadiness with which she bore his glance,

until it occurred to him that effrontery was an essential part of the equipment of all harlots.

"What am I going to do?" he echoed. "Why, nothing. The matter is out of my hands. I may be asked to give

evidence; I may even be called to sit upon the courtmartial that will try him. My evidence can hardly assist

him. My conclusions will naturally be based upon the evidence that is laid before the court."

Her teaspoon rattled in her saucer. "I don't understand you, Terence. Ned has always been your best friend."

He seemed moved by that statement. He leaned forward with an odd eagerness, behind which there was

"Yes, yes. But what makes you so sure? Do you possess some knowledge that you have not revealed?"

He saw the colour slowly shrinking from her cheeks under his burning gaze. So she was not quite shameless

She made a good recovery. "I possess the knowledge that you should possess yourself," she told him. "I know

Ned for a man incapable of such a thing. I am ready to swear that he could not have done it."

"I see: evidence as to character." He sack back into his chair and thoughtfully stirred his chocolate. "It may

weigh with the court. But I am not the court, and my mere opinions can do nothing for Ned Tremayne."

Her ladyship looked at him wildly. "The court?" she cried. "Do you mean that I shall have to give evidence?"

"Oh no, no!" In her alarm shy half rose, then sank again to her chair. "You must keep me out of this, Terence.

"Why," he said, "you would not deprive Tremayne of any of the advantages to be derived from your

testimony? Are you not ready to bear witness as to his character? To swear that from your knowledge of the

man you are sure he could not have done such a thing? That he is the very soul of honour, a man incapable of

And then at last Sylvia, who had been watching them, and seeking to apply to what she heard the wild

expressions that Sir Terence had used to herself last night, broke into the conversation.

He turned sharply to meet the opposition he detected in her. "I don't apply them. On the contrary, I say that,

"Then you make an unnecessary statement, a statement that has nothing to do with the case. Captain

Tremayne has been arrested for killing Count Samoval in a duel. A duel may be a violation of the law as

recently enacted by Lord Wellington, but it is not an offence against honour; and to say that a man cannot

have fought a duel because a man is incapable of anything base or treacherous or sly is just to say a very

"Oh, quite so," the adjutant, admitted. "But if Tremayne denies having fought, if he shelters himself behind a

falsehood, and says that he has not killed Samoval, then I think the statement assumes some meaning."

"It is what I understood him to say last night when I ordered him under arrest."

"Perhaps he didn't," Sir Terence admitted. "The court will no doubt discover the truth. The truth, you know,

must prevail," and he looked at his wife again, marking the fresh signs of agitation she betrayed.

Mullins coming to set fresh covers, the conversation was allowed to lapse. Nor was it ever resumed, for at

that moment, with no other announcement save such as was afforded by his quick step and the clickclick of

his spurs, a short, slight man entered the quadrangle from the doorway of the official wing.

The adjutant, turning to look, caught his breath suddenly in an exclamation of astonishment.

At the exclamation the newcomer checked and turned. He wore a plain grey undress frock and white stock,

buckskin breeches and lacquered boots, and he carried a ridingcrop tucked under his left arm. His features

were bold and sternly handsome; his fine eyes singularly piercing and keen in their glance; and the sweep of

those eyes now took in not merely the adjutant, but the spread table and the ladies seated before it. He halted

a moment, then advanced quickly, swept his cocked hat from a brown head that was but very slightly touched

"Since I have intruded so unwittingly, I had best remain to make my apologies," he said. "I was on my way to

your residential quarters, O'Moy, not imagining that I should break in upon your privacy in this fashion."

O'Moy with a great deference made haste to reassure him on the score of the intrusion, whilst the ladies

themselves rose to greet him. He bore her ladyship's hand to his lips with perfunctory courtesy, then insisted

upon her resuming her chair. Then he bowed ever with that mixture of stiffness and deference to Miss

"Do not suffer me to disturb you," he begged them. "Sit down, O'Moy. I am not pressed, and I shall be

monstrous glad of a few moments' rest. You are very pleasant here," and he looked about the luxuriant garden

Sir Terence placed the hospitality of his table at his lordship's disposal. But the latter declined graciously.

"A glass of wine and water, if you will. No more. I breakfasted at Torres Vedras with Fletcher." Then to the

look of astonishment on the faces of the ladies he smiled. "Oh yes," he assured them, "I was early astir, for

time is very precious just at present, which is why I drop unannounced upon you from the skies, O'Moy." He

took the glass that Mullins proffered on a salver, sipped from it, and set it down. "There is so much vexation,

so much hindrance from these pestilential intriguers here in Lisbon, that I have thought it as well to come in

person and speak plainly to the gentlemen of the Council of Regency." He was peeling off his stout

ridinggloves as he spoke. "If this campaign is to go forward at all, it will go forward as I dispose. Then, too,

I wanted to see Fletcher and the works. By gad, O'Moy, he has performed miracles, and I am very pleased

with him oh, and with you too. He told me how ably you have seconded him and counselled him where

necessary. You must have worked night and day, O'Moy." He sighed. "I wish that I were as well served in

every direction." And then he broke off abruptly. "But this is monstrous tedious for your ladyship, and for

Her ladyship protested the contrary, professing a deep interest in military matters, and inviting his lordship to

continue. Lord Wellington, however, ignoring the invitation, turned the conversation upon life in Lisbon,

inquiring hopefully whether they found the place afforded them adequate entertainment.

"Indeed yes," Lady O'Moy assured him. "We are very gay at times. There are private theatricals and dances,

occasionally an official ball, and we are promised picnics and waterparties now that the summer is here."

"And in the autumn, ma'am, we may find you a little hunting," his lordship promised them. "Plenty of foxes;

a rough country, though; but what's that to an Irishwoman?" He caught the quickening of Miss Armytage's

Miss Armytage admitted it, and thus they made conversation for a while, what time the great soldier sipped

his wine and water to wash the dust of his morning ride from his throat. When at last he set down an empty

glass Sir Terence took this as the intimation of his readiness to deal with official matters, and, rising, he

Lord Wellington claimed his attention for a full hour with the details of several matters that are not

immediately concerned with this narrative. Having done, he rose at last from Sir Terence's desk, at which he

had been sitting, and took up his ridingcrop and cocked hat from the chair where he had placed them.

"And now," he said, "I think I will ride into Lisbon and endeavour to come to an understanding with Count

Sir Terence advanced to open the door. But Wellington checked him with a sudden sharp inquiry.

"Ha! It doesn't seem to have taken long for the order to be infringed, then." His manner was severe. his eyes

stern. Sir Terence was conscious of a quickening of his pulses. Nevertheless his answer was calmly regretful:

The great man nodded. "Disgraceful! I heard of it from Fletcher this morning. Captain What'shisname had

just reported himself under arrest, I understand, and Fletcher had received a note from you giving the grounds

for this. The deplorable part of these things is that they always happen in the most troublesome manner

conceivable. In Berkeley's case the victim was a nephew of the Patriarch's. Samoval, now, was a person of

even greater consequence, a close friend of several members of the Council. His death will be deeply

resented, and may set up fresh difficulties. It is monstrous vexatious." And abruptly he asked "What did they

O'Moy trembled, and his glance avoided the other's gimlet eye. "The only quarrel that I am aware of between

them," he said, "was concerned with this very enactment of your lordship's. Samoval proclaimed it infamous,

and Tremayne resented the term. Hot words passed between them, but the altercation was allowed to go no

His lordship had raised his brows. "By gad, sir," he ejaculated, "there almost appears to be some justification

"Ha! Pity! Pity!" His lordship was thoughtful for a moment. Then he dismissed the matter. "But then orders

are orders, and soldiers must learn to obey implicitly. British soldiers of all degrees seem to find the lesson

O'Moy's honest soul was in torturing revolt against the falsehoods he had implied and to this man of all

men, to this man whom he reverenced above all others, who stood to him for the very fount of military

honour and lofty principle! He was in such a mood that one more question on the subject from Wellington

and the whole ghastly truth must have come pouring from his lips. But no other question came. Instead his

"Not a step farther, O'Moy. I've left you a mass of work, and you are short of a secretary. So don't waste any

of your time on courtesies. I shall hope still to find the ladies in the garden so that I may take my leave

And he was gone, stepping briskly with clicking spurs, leaving O'Moy hunched now in his chair, his body the

In the garden his lordship came upon Miss Armytage alone, still seated by the table under the trellis, from

which the cloth had by now been removed. She rose at his approach and in spite of gesture to her to remain

"I was seeking Lady O'Moy," said he, "to take my leave of her. I may not have the pleasure of coming to

"She is on the terrace, I think," said Miss Armytage. "I will find her for your lordship."

"Let us find her together," he said amiably, and so turned and went with her towards the archway. "You said

His eyes twinkled. "You possess an exceptional virtue," said he. "To be truthful is common; to be accurate

rare. Well, then, Sir Terence said so. Once I had a great friend of the name of Armytage. I have lost sight of

"At Monsieur Goubert's," she surprised him by saying. "That would be John Armytage, my uncle."

"God bless my soul, ma'am!" he ejaculated. "But I gathered you were Irish, and Jack Armytage came from

"My mother is Irish, and we live in Ireland now. I was born there. But father, none the less, was John

He looked at her with increased interest, marking the straight, supple lines of her, and the handsome,

highbred face. His lordship, remember, never lacked an appreciative eye for a fine woman. "So you're Jack

She did so. Jack Armytage was well and prospering, had made a rich marriage and retired from the Blues

many years ago to live at Northampton. He listened with interest, and thus out of his boyhood friendship for

her uncle, which of late years he had had no opportunity to express, sprang there and then a kindness for the

niece. Her own personal charms may have contributed to it, for the great soldier was intensely responsive to

They reached the terrace. Lady O'Moy was nowhere in sight. But Lord Wellington was too much engrossed

"My dear," he said, "if I can serve you at any timer both for Jack's sake and your own, I hope that you will let

She looked at him a moment, and he saw her colour come and go, arguing a sudden agitation.

"Then yield to the temptation, child," he urged her kindly, those keen, penetrating eyes of his perceiving

"It isn't for myself," she responded. "Yet there is something I would ask you if I dare something I had

intended to ask you in any case if I could find the opportunity. To be frank, that is why I was waiting there in

"Well, well," he encouraged her. "It should be the easier now, since in a sense we find that we are old

He was so kind, so gentle, despite that stern, strong face of his, that she melted at once to his persuasion.

"Ah," said he lightly, "I feared as much when you said it was not for yourself you had a favour to ask."

"Mr. Butler," she said, "is the officer who was guilty of the affair at Tavora."

He knit his brow in thought. "ButlerTavora?" he muttered questioningly. Suddenly his memory found what

it was seeking. "Oh yes, the violated nunnery." His thin lips tightened; the sternness of his ace increased.

Nevertheless she was not deterred. "Mr. Butler is Lady O'Moy's brother," she said.

He stared a moment, taken aback. "Good God! Ye don't say so, child! Her brother! O'Moy's brotherinlaw!

"What should he say? Sir Terence himself pledged his word to the Council of Regency that Mr. Butler would

"Did he, egad!" He was still further surprised out of his sternness. "Something of a Roman this O'Moy in his

"So I understand, my lord. Lady O'Moy, realising her brother's grave danger, is very deeply troubled."

"Naturally," he agreed. "But what can I do, Miss Armytage? What were the actual facts, do you happen to

She recited them, putting the case bravely for the scapegrace Mr. Butler, dwelling particularly upon the error

under which he was labouring, that he had imagined himself to be knocking at the gates of a monastery of

Dominican friars, that he had broken into the convent because denied admittance, and because he suspected

"Hum! You make out so good a case for him that one might almost believe you instructed by the gentleman

"Nothing, sir, since he vanished from Tavora, nearly, two months ago. And I have only repeated to your

lordship the tale that was told by the sergeant and the troopers who reported the matter to Sir Robert Craufurd

He was very thoughtful. Leaning on the balustrade, he looked out across the sunlit valley, turning his boldly

chiselled profile to his companion. At last he spoke slowly, reflectively: "But if this were really so a mere

blunder I see no sufficient grounds to threaten him with capital punishment. His subsequent desertion, if he

has deserted I mean if nothing has happened to him is really the graver matter of the two."

"I gathered, sir, that he was to be sacrificed to the Council of Regency a sort of scapegoat."

He swung round sharply, and the sudden blaze of his eyes almost terrified her. Instantly he was cold again

and inscrutable. "Ah! You are oddly well informed throughout. But of course you would be," he added, with

an appraising look into that intelligent face in which he now caught a faint likeness of Jack Armytage. "Well,

well, my dear, I am very glad you have told me of this. If Mr. Butler is ever taken and in danger there will

be a courtmartial, of course send me word of it, and I will see what I can do, both for your sake and for the

"Oh, not for my sake," she protested, reddening slightly at the gentle imputation. "Mr. Butler is nothing to me

that is to say, he is just my cousin. It is for Una's sake that I am asking this."

"Why, then, for Lady O'Moy's sake, since you ask it," he replied readily. "But," he warned her, "say nothing

of it until Mr. Butler is found." It is possible he believed that Butler never would be found. "And remember, I

promise only to give the matter my attention. If it is as you represent it, I think you may be sure that the worst

that will befall Mr. Butler will be dismissal from the service. He deserves that. But I hope I should be the last

man to permit a British officer to be used as a scapegoat or a burntoffering to the mob or to any Council of

On that almost fierce denial his lordship looked at her, raising his eyebrows in astonishment.

"But I am told that he did, and he is under arrest for it this moment for that, and for breaking my order

"You were not told the truth, my lord. Captain Tremayne says that he didn't, and if he says so it is so."

"Oh, of course, Miss Armytage!" He was a man of unparalleled valour and boldness, yet so fierce was she in

"Captain Tremayne is the most honourable man I know," she continued, "and if he had killed Samoval he

"There is no need for all this heat, my dear," he reassured her. "The point is not one that can remain in doubt.

The seconds of the duel will be forthcoming; and they will tell us who were the principals."

"No seconds!" he cried in horror. "D' ye mean they just fought a rough and tumble fight?"

"I mean they never fought at all. As for this tale of a duel, I ask your lordship: Had Captain Tremayne desired

a secret meeting with Count Samoval, would he have chosen this of all places in which to hold it?"

"This. The fight whoever fought it took place in the quadrangle there at midnight."

"Upon my soul," he said, "I do not appear to have been told any of the facts. Strange that O'Moy should never

have mentioned that," he muttered, and then inquired suddenly: "Where was Tremayne arrested?"

"I don't know. But whatever he was doing, can your lordship believe that he would have come here to fight a

"It certainly puts a monstrous strain upon belief," said he. "But what can he have been doing here?"

"I don't know," she repeated. She wanted to add a warning of O'Moy. She was tempted to tell his lordship of

the odd words that O'Moy had used to her last night concerning Tremayne. But she hesitated, and her courage

failed her. Lord Wellington was so great a man, bearing the destinies of nations on his shoulders, and already

he had wasted upon her so much of the time that belonged to the world and history, that she feared to trespass

further; and whilst she hesitated came Colquhoun Grant clanking across the quadrangle looking for his

lordship. He had come up, he announced, standing straight and stiff before them, to see O'Moy, but hearing

of Lord Wellington's presence, had preferred to see his lordship in the first instance.

"I'll not forget either Mr. Butler or Captain Tremayne," he promised her, and his stern face softened into a

They were alone together in the quadrangle under the trellis, through which the sun, already high, was

"It would be easier to read if it were not for the duelling swords. Those and the nature of Samoval's wound

certainly point unanswerably to a duel. Otherwise there would be considerable evidence that Samoval was a

"In the French interest," answered the colonel without emotion, "acting upon the instructions of the Souza

faction, whose tool he had become." And Colonel Grant proceeded to relate precisely what he knew of

Lord Wellington sat awhile in silence, cogitating. Then he rose, and his piercing eyes looked up at the

"By no means," was the answer. "The evidence I have secured is much more palpable. I have it here." He

produced a little wallet of red morocco bearing the initial "S " surmounted by a coronet. Opening it, he

selected from it some papers, speaking the while. "I thought it as well before I left last night to make an

examination of the body. This is what I found, and it contains, among other lesser documents, these to which

I would draw your lordship's attention. First this." And he placed in Lord Wellington's hand a holograph note

from the Prince of Esslingen introducing the bearer, M. de la Fleche, his confidential agent, who would

consult with the Count, and thanking the Count for the valuable information already received from him.

His lordship sat down again to read the letter. "It is a full confirmation of what you have told me," he said

"Then this," said Colonel Grant, and he placed upon the table a note in French of the approximate number

and disposition of the British troops in Portugal at the time. "The handwriting is Samoval's own, as those who

know it will have no difficulty in discerning. And now this, sir." He unfolded a small sketch map, bearing the

title also in French: Probable position and extent of the fortifications north of Lisbon.

"The notes at the foot," he added, "are in cipher, and it is the ordinary cipher employed by the French, which

in itself proves how deeply Samoval was involved. Here is a translation of it." And he placed before his chief

"This is based upon my own personal knowledge of the country, odd scraps of information received from

time to time, and my personal verification of the roads closed to traffic in that region. It is intended merely as

a guide to the actual locale of the fortifications, an exact plan of which I hope shortly to obtain."

His lordship considered it very attentively, but without betraying the least discomposure.

"For a man working upon such slight data as he himself confesses," was the quiet comment, "he is damnably

"My own assumption is that he put off sending it, intending to replace it by the actual plan which he here

"Indeed," said Colonel Grant, "I have kept the best for the last." And unfolding yet another document, he

placed it in the hands of the CommanderinChief. It was Lord Liverpool's note of the troops to be embarked

for Lisbon in June and July the note abstracted from the dispatch carried by Captain Garfield.

His lordship's lips tightened as he considered it. "His death was timely indeed, damned timely; and the man

who killed him deserves to be mentioned in dispatches. Nothing else, I suppose?"

"Very well." He rose. "You will leave these with me, and the wallet as well, if you please. I am on my way to

confer with the members of the Council of Regency, and I am glad to go armed with so stout a weapon as

this. Whatever may be the ultimate finding of the courtmartial, the present assumption must be that Samoval

met the death of a spy caught in the act, as you suggested. That is the only conclusion the Portuguese

Government can draw when I lay these papers before it. They will effectively silence all protests."

"Oh, certainly," answered his lordship, instantly to change his mind. "Stay!" He considered, his chin in his

hand, his eyes dreamy. "Better not, perhaps. Better not tell anybody. Let us keep this to ourselves for the

present. It has no direct bearing on the matter to be tried. By the way, when does the courtmartial sit?"

"I have just heard that Marshal Beresford has ordered it to sit on Thursday here at Monsanto."

His lordship considered. "Perhaps I shall be present. I may be at Torres Vedras until then. It is a very odd

Grant smiled darkly. "I have been piecing things together. The result is rather curious, and still very

mystifying, still leaving a deal to be explained, and somehow this wallet doesn't fit into the scheme at all."

"You shall tell me about it as we ride into Lisbon. I want you to come with me. Lady O'Moy must forgive me

The truth was, that her ladyship had purposely gone into hiding, after the fashion of suffering animals that are

denied expression of their pain. She had gone off with her load of sorrow and anxiety into the thicket on the

flank of Monsanto, and there Sylvia found her presently, dejectedly seated by a spring on a bank that was

thick with flowering violets. Her ladyship was in tears, her mind swollen to burstingpoint by the secret

which it sought to contain but felt itself certainly unable to contain much longer.

"Why, Una dear," cried Miss Armytage, kneeling beside her and putting a motherly arm about that

Her ladyship wept copiously, the springs of her grief gushing forth in response to that sympathetic touch.

"Oh, my dear, I am so distressed. I shall go mad, I think. I am sure I have never deserved all this trouble. I

have always been considerate of others. You know I wouldn't give pain to any one. And and Dick has

"Dick?" said Miss Armytage, and there was less sympathy in her voice. "It is Dick you are thinking about at

"Of course. All this trouble has come through Dick. I mean," she recovered, "that all my troubles began with

this affair of Dick's. And now there is Ned under arrest and to be courtmartialled."

"Nothing, of course," her ladyship agreed, with more than usual selfrestraint. "But it's one trouble on

"I know, my dear, I know," Miss Armytage said soothingly, and her own voice was not so steady.

"You don't know! How can you? It isn't your brother or your friend. It isn't as if you cared very much for

either of them. If you did, if you loved Dick or Ned, you might realise what I am suffering."

Miss Armytage's eyes looked straight ahead into the thick green foliage, and there was an odd smile, half

"Yet I have done what I could," she said presently. "I have spoken to Lord Wellington about them both."

Lady O'Moy checked her tears to look at her companion, and there was dread in her eyes.

"And whatever did you tell him?" She was all atremble now, as she clutched Miss Armytage's hand.

Miss Armytage related what had passed; how she had explained the true facts of Dick's case to his lordship;

how she had protested her faith that Tremayne was incapable of lying, and that if he said he had not killed

Samoval it was certain that he had not done so; and, finally, how his lordship had promised to bear both cases

"But he said that he would never allow a British officer to be made a scapegoat, and that if things proved to

be as I stated them he would see that the worst that happened to Dick would be his dismissal from the army.

More than ever was her ladyship on the very edge of confiding. A chance word might have broken down the

last barrier of her will. But that word was not spoken, and so she was given the opportunity of first consulting

"A trap to take me, that's all," he pronounced it. "My dear girl, that stiffnecked martinet knows nothing of

forgiveness for a military offence. Discipline is the god at whose shrine he worships." And he afforded her

anecdotes to illustrate and confirm his assertion of Lord Wellington's ruthlessness. "I tell you," he concluded,

"it's nothing but a trap to catch me. And if you had been fool enough to yield, and to have blabbed of my

She was terrified and of course convinced, for she was easy of conviction, believing always the last person to

whom she spoke. She sat down on one of the boxes that furnished that cheerless refuge of Mr. Butler's.

"Then what's to become of Ned?" she cried. "Oh, I had hoped that we had found a way out at last."

"Be easy now," he bade her impatiently. "They can't do anything to Ned until they find him guilty; and how

"Fiddlesticks!" he answered her and the expression chosen was a mere concession to her sex, and not at all

what Mr. Butler intended. "Appearances can't establish guilt. Do be sensible, and remember that they will

have to prove that he killed Samoval. And you can't prove a thing to be what it isn't. You can't!"

"Do you know that I shall have to give evidence before the court?" she announced resentfully.

It was an announcement that gave him pause. Thoughtfully he stroked his abominable tuft of red beard. Then

"Well, and what of it?" he cried. "They are not likely to bully you or crossexamine you. Just tell them what

you saw from the balcony. Indeed you can't very well say anything else, or they will see that you are lying,

She got up in a pet. "You're callous, Dick callous!" she told him. "Oh, I wish you had never come to me for

He looked at her and sneered. "That's a matter you can soon mend," he told her. "Call up Terence and the

others and have me shot. I promise I shall make no resistance. You see, I'm not able to resist even if I would."

"Well, what is a poor devil to think? You blow hot and cold all in a breath. I'm sick and ill and feverish," he

continued with selfpity, "and now even you find me a trouble. I wish to God they'd shoot me and make an

And now she was on her knees beside him, soothing him; protesting that he had misunderstood her; that she

had meant oh, she didn't know what she had meant, she was so distressed on his account.

"And there's never the need to be," he assured her. "Surely you can be guided by me if you want to help me.

As soon as ever my leg gets well again I'll be after fending for myself, and trouble you no further. But if you

want to shelter me until then, do it thoroughly, and don't give way to fear at every shadow without substance

She promised it, and on that promise left him; and, believing him, she bore herself more cheerfully for the

remainder of the day. But that evening after they had dined her fears and anxieties drove her at last to seek

Sir Terence had sauntered off towards the house, gloomy and silent as he had been throughout the meal. She

ran after him now, and came tripping lightly at his side up the steps. She put her arm through his.

He stopped, and from his fine height looked down upon her with a curious smile. Slowly he disengaged his

arm from the clasp of her own. "I am afraid I must," he answered coldly. "I have a great deal to do, and I am

short of a secretary. When this inquiry is over I shall have more time to myself, perhaps." There was

something so repellent in his voice, in his manner of uttering those last words, that she stood rebuffed and

The board of officers convened by Marshal Beresford to form the court that was to try Captain Tremayne,

was presided over by General Sir Harry Stapleton, who was in command of the British troops quartered in

Lisbon. It included, amongst others, the adjutantgeneral, Sir Terence O'Moy; Colonel Fletcher of the

Engineers, who had come in haste from Torres Vedras, having first desired to be included in the board chiefly

on account of his friendship for Tremayne; and Major Carruthers. The judgeadvocate's task of conducting

the case against the prisoner was deputed to the quartermaster of Tremayne's own regiment, Major Swan.

The court sat in a long, cheerless hall, once the refectory of the Franciscans, who had been the first tenants of

Monsanto. It was stoneflagged, the windows set at a height of some ten feet from the ground, the bare,

whitewashed walls hung with very wooden portraits of longdeparted kings and princes of Portugal who had

The court occupied the abbot's table, which was set on a shallow dais at the end of the room a table of stone

with a covering of oak, over which a green cloth had been spread; the officers twelve in number, besides

the president sat with their backs to the wall, immediately under the inevitable picture of the Last Supper.

The court being sworn, Captain Tremayne was brought in by the provostmarshal's guard and given a stool

placed immediately before and a few paces from the table. Perfectly calm and imperturbable, he saluted the

He had declined all offers of a friend to represent him, on the grounds that the court could not possibly afford

The president, a florid, rather pompous man, who spoke with a faint lisp, cleared his throat and read the

charge against the prisoner from the sheet with which he had been supplied the charge of having violated

the recent enactment against duelling made by the CommanderinChief of his Majesty's forces in the

Peninsula, in so far as he had fought: a duel with Count Jeronymo de Samoval, and of murder in so far as that

duel, conducted in an irregular manner, and without any witnesses, had resulted in the death of the said Count

"How say you, then, Captain Tremayne?" the judgeadvocate challenged him. "Are you guilty of these

The president sat back and observed the prisoner with an eye that was officially benign. Tremayne's glance

considered the court and met the concerned and grave regard of his colonel, of his friend Carruthers and of

two other friends of his own regiment, the cold indifference of three officers of the Fourteenth then

stationed in Lisbon with whom he was unacquainted, and the utter inscrutability of O'Moy's rather lowering

glance, which profoundly intrigued him, and, lastly, the official hostility of Major Swan, who was on his feet

setting forth the case against him. Of the remaining members of the court he took no heed.

>From the opening address it did not seem to Captain Tremayne as if this case which had been hurriedly

prepared by Major Swan, chiefly that same morning would amount to very much. Briefly the major

announced his intention of establishing to the satisfaction of the court how, on the night of the 28th of May,

the prisoner, in flagrant violation of an enactment in a general order of the 26th of that same month, had

engaged in a duel with Count Jeronymo de Samoval, a peer of the realm of Portugal.

Followed a short statement of the case from the point of view of the prosecution, an anticipation of the

evidence to be called, upon which the major thought rather sanguinely, opined Captain Tremayne to

convict the accused. He concluded with an assurance that the evidence of the prisoner's guilt was as nearly

The first witness called was the butler, Mullins. He was introduced by the sergeantmajor stationed by the

double doors at the end of the hall from the anteroom where the witnesses commanded to be present were in

Mullins, rather less venerable than usual, as a consequence of agitation and affliction on behalf of Captain

Tremayne, to whom he was attached, stated nervously the facts within his knowledge. He was occupied with

the silver in his pantry, having remained up in case Sir Terence, who was working late in his study, should

"Very well, then. Sir Terence called you at ten minutes past twelve. Pray continue."

"He gave me a letter addressed to the Commissarygeneral. 'Take that,' says he, 'to the sergeant of the guard

at once, and tell him to be sure that it is forwarded to the CommissaryGeneral first thing in the morning.' I

went out at once, and on the lawn in the quadrangle I saw a man lying on his back on the grass and another

man kneeling beside him. I ran across to them. It was a bright, moonlight night bright as day it was, and

you could see quite clear. The gentleman that was kneeling looks up, at me, and I sees it was Captain

Tremayne, sir. 'What's this, Captain dear?' says I. 'It's Count Samoval, and he's kilt,' says he, 'for God's sake,

go and fetch somebody.' So I ran back to tell Sir Terence, and Sir Terence he came out with me, and mighty

startled he was at what he found there. 'What's happened ?'says he, and the captain answers him just as he had

answered me: 'It's Count Samoval, and he's kilt. 'But how did it happen?' says Sir Terence. 'Sure and that's

just what I want to know,' says the captain; 'I found him here.' And then Sir Terence turns to me, and

"Not in the quadrangle, sir. But Lady O'Moy was on the balcony of her room all the time."

"Colonel Grant arrived, sir, and I understood him to say that he had been following Count Samoval ... "

"No, sir. Sir Terence himself went to open the wicket when Colonel Grant knocked."

"Well, not quite at once, sir. He naturally made some bother. 'Good God!' he says, 'ye'll never be after

thinking I kilt him? I tell you I just found him here like this.' 'What were ye doing here, then?' says Sir

Terence. 'I was coming to see you,' says the captain. 'What about?' says Sir Terence, and with that the captain

got angry, said he refused to be crossquestioned and went off to report himself under arrest as he was bid."

That closed the butler's evidence, and the judgeadvocate looked across at the prisoner.

"None," replied Captain Tremayne. "He has given his evidence very faithfully and accurately."

Major Swan invited the court to question the witness in any manner it considered desirable. The only one to

avail himself of the invitation was Carruthers, who, out of his friendship and concern for Tremayne and a

conviction of Tremayne's innocence begotten chiefly by that friendship desired to bring out anything that

"Devil a bit; not until Sir Terence ordered him under arrest, and then he was a little hot."

Dismissed by the court, Mullins would have departed, but that upon being told by the sergeantmajor that he

was at liberty to remain if he chose he found a seat on one of the benches ranged against the wall.

The next witness was Sir Terence, who gave his evidence quietly from his place at the board immediately on

the president's right. He was pale, but otherwise composed, and the first part of his evidence was no more

than a confirmation of what Mullins had said, an exact and strictly truthful statement of the circumstances as

"You were present, I believe, Sir Terence," said Major Swan, "at an altercation that arose on the previous day

"Count Samoval permitted himself to criticise adversely Lord Wellington's enactment against duelling, and

Captain Tremayne defended it. They became a little heated, and the fact was mentioned that Samoval himself

was a famous swordsman. Captain Tremayne made the remark that famous swordsmen were required by

Count Samoval's country to, save it from invasion. The remark was offensive to the deceased, and although

the subject was abandoned out of regard for the ladies present, it was abandoned on a threat from Count

Invited to crossexamine the witness, Captain Tremayne again declined, admitting freely that all that Sir

Terence had said was strictly true. Then Carruthers, who appeared to be intent to act as the prisoner's friend,

"It is of course admitted that Captain Tremayne enjoyed free access to Monsanto practically at all hours in his

"And it is therefore possible that he might have come upon the body of the deceased just as Mullins came

"It is possible, certainly. The evidence to come will no doubt determine whether it is a tenable opinion."

"Admitting this, then, the attitude in which Captain Tremayne was discovered would be a perfectly natural

one? It would be natural that he should investigate the identity and hurt of the man he found there?"

"But it would hardly be natural that he should linger by the body of a man he had himself slain, thereby

"Thank you, Sir Terence." And, as no one else desired to question him, Sir Terence resumed his seat, and

She came in very white and trembling, accompanied by Miss Armytage, whose admittance was suffered by

the court, since she would not be called upon to give evidence. One of the officers of the Fourteenth seated on

the extreme right of the table made gallant haste to set a chair for her ladyship, which she accepted gratefully.

The oath administered, she was invited gently by Major Swan to tell the court what she knew of the case

"But but I know nothing," she faltered in evident distress, and Sir Terence, his elbow leaning on the table,

covered his mouth with his hand that its movements might not betray him. His eyes glowered upon her with a

"If you will take the trouble to tell the court what you saw from your balcony," the major insisted, "the court

Perceiving her agitation, and attributing it to nervousness, moved also by that delicate loveliness of hers, and

"Is Lady O'Moy's evidence really necessary?" he asked. "Does it contribute any fresh fact regarding the

"No, sir," Major Swan admitted. "It is merely a corroboration of what we have already heard from Mullins

"Oh, for my own part, sir " the prosecutor was submitting, when Sir Terence cut in:

"I think that in the prisoner's interest perhaps Lady O'Moy will not mind being distressed a little." It was at

her he looked, and for her and Tremayne alone that he intended the cutting lash of sarcasm concealed from

the rest of the court by his smooth accent. "Mullins has said, I think, that her ladyship was on the balcony

when he came into the quadrangle. Her evidence therefore, takes us further back in point of time than does

Mullins's." Again the sarcastic double meaning was only for those two. "Considering that the prisoner is

being tried for his life, I do not think we should miss anything that may, however slightly, affect our

"Will you be good enough to tell the court, Lady O'Moy, how you came to be upon the balcony?"

Her pallor had deepened, and her eyes looked more than ordinarily large and childlike as they turned this

way and that to survey the members of the court. Nervously she dabbed her lips with a handkerchief before

"What on earth has that to do with it, Sir Terence?" the president rebuked him, out of his earnest desire to cut

"The question, sir, does not seem to me to be without point," replied O'Moy. He was judicially smooth and

selfcontained. "It is intended to enable us to form an opinion as to the lapse of time between her ladyship's

"But not asleep or were you asleep?" rapped O'Moy again, and in answer to the president's impatient glance

again explained himself: "We should know whether perhaps the cry might not have been repeated several

"It would be more regular," ventured the judgeadvocate, "if Sir Terence would reserve his examination of

"Very well," grumbled Sir Terence, and he sat back, foiled for the moment in his deliberate intent to torture

"I was not asleep," she told the court, thus answering her husband's last question. "I heard the cry, and ran to

"Yes; but but there was a good deal of shadow in the garden, and and I couldn't see anything at first."

"Oh, eventually! Yes, eventually." Her fingers were twisting and untwisting the handkerchief they held, and

her distressed loveliness was very piteous to see. Yet it seems to have occurred to none of them that this

distress and the minor contradictions into which it led her were the result of her intent to conceal the truth, of

her terror lest it should nevertheless be wrung from her. Only O'Moy, watching her and reading in her every

word and glance and gesture the signs of her falsehood, knew the hideous thing she strove to hide, even, it

seemed, at the cost of her lover's life. To his lacerated soul her torture vas a balm. Gloating, he watched her,

then, and watched her lover, marvelling at the blackguard's complete selfmastery and impassivity even now.

"I saw a man lying on the ground, and another kneeling over him, and then almost at once Mullins came

"I don't think we need take this any further, Major Swan," the president again interposed. "We have heard

"By no means," said Tremayne composedly. Although outwardly impassive, he had been watching her

intently, and it was his eyes that had perturbed her more than anything in that court. It was she who must

determine for him how to proceed; how far to defend himself. He had hoped that by now Dick Butler might

have been got away, so that it would have been safe to tell the whole truth, although he began to doubt how

far that could avail him, how far, indeed, it would be believed in the absence of Dick Butler. Her evidence

told him that such hopes as he may have entertained had been idle, and that he must depend for his life

simply upon the court's inability to bring the guilt home to him. In this he had some confidence, for, knowing

himself innocent, it seemed to him incredible that he could be proven guilty. Failing that, nothing short of the

discovery of the real slayer of Samoval could save him and that was a matter wrapped in the profoundest

mystery. The only man who could conceivably have fought Samoval in such a place was Sir Terence himself.

But then it was utterly inconceivable that in that case Sir Terence, who was the very soul of honour, should

not only keep silent and allow another man to suffer, but actually sit there in judgment upon that other; and,

besides, there was no quarrel, nor ever had been, between Sir Terence and Samoval.

"There is," Major Swan was saying, "just one other matter upon which I should like to question Lady

O'Moy." And thereupon he proceeded to do so: "Your ladyship will remember that on the day before the

event in which Count Samoval met his death he was one of a small luncheon party at your house here in

"Would your ladyship be good enough to tell the court who were the other members of that party?"

"It it was hardly a party, sir," she answered, with her unconquerable insistence upon trifles. "We were just

Sir Terence and myself, Miss Armytage, Count Samoval, Colonel Grant, Major Carruthers and Captain

"Can your ladyship recall any words that passed between the deceased and Captain Tremayne on that

She knew that there had been something, but in her benumbed state of mind she was incapable of

remembering what it was. All that remained in her memory was Sylvia's warning after she and her cousin had

left the table, Sylvia's insistence that she should call Captain Tremayne away to avoid trouble between

himself and the Count. But, search as she would, the actual subject of disagreement eluded her. Moreover, it

occurred to her suddenly, and sowed fresh terror in her soul, that, whatever it was, it would tell against

"Need we insist?" put in the president compassionately. "There are sufficient witnesses as to what passed on

"Quite so, sir," the major agreed in his dry voice. "It only remains for the prisoner to question the witness if

Tremayne shook his head. "It is quite unnecessary, sir," he assured the president, and never saw the swift,

Of the court Sir Terence was the only member who could have desired to prolong the painful examination of

her ladyship. But he perceived from the president's attitude that he could not do so without betraying the

vindictiveness actuating him; and so he remained silent for the present. He would have gone so far as to

suggest that her ladyship should be invited to remain in court against the possibility of further evidence being

presently required from her but that he perceived there was no necessity to do so. Her deadly anxiety

concerning the prisoner must in itself be sufficient to determine her to remain, as indeed it proved.

Accompanied and half supported by Miss Armytage, who was almost as pale as herself, but otherwise very

steady in her bearing, Lady O'Moy made her way, with faltering steps to the benches ranged against the side

After the uninteresting and perfunctory evidence of the sergeant of the guard who had been present when the

prisoner was ordered under arrest, the next witness called was Colonel Grant. His testimony was strictly in

accordance with the facts which we know him to have witnessed, but when he was in the middle of his

At the extreme right of the dais on which the table stood there was a small oaken door set in the wall and

giving access to a small anteroom that was known, rightly or wrongly, as the abbot's chamber. That

anteroom communicated directly with what was now the guardroom, which accounts for the newcomer

At the opening of that door the members of the court looked round in sharp annoyance, suspecting here some

impertinent intrusion. The next moment, however, this was changed to respectful surprise. There was a

scraping of chairs and they were all on their feet in token of respect for the slight man in the grey undress

Saluting the members of the court with two fingers to his cocked hat, he immediately desired them to sit,

peremptorily waving his hand, and requesting the president not to allow his entrance to interrupt or interfere

"A chair here for me, if you please, sergeant," he called and, when it was fetched, took his seat at the end of

the table, with his back to the door through which he had come and immediately facing the prosecutor. He

retained his hat, but placed his ridingcrop on the table before him; and the only thing he would accept was

an officer's notes of the proceedings as far as they had gone, which that officer himself was prompt to offer.

With a repeated injunction to the court to proceed, Lord Wellington became instantly absorbed in the study of

Colonel Grant, standing very straight and stiff in the originally red coat which exposure to many weathers

had faded to an autumnal brown, continued and concluded his statement of what he had seen and heard on the

The judgeadvocate now invited him to turn his memory back to the luncheonparty at Sir Terence's on the

27th, and to tell the court of the altercation that had passed on that occasion between Captain Tremayne and

"The conversation at table," he replied, "turned, as was perhaps quite natural, upon the recently published

general order prohibiting duelling and making it a capital offence for officers in his Majesty's service in the

Peninsula. Count Samoval stigmatised the order as a degrading and arbitrary one, and spoke in defence of

single combat as the only honourable method of settling differences between gentlemen. Captain Tremayne

dissented rather sharply, and appeared to resent the term 'degrading' applied by the Count to the enactment.

Words followed, and then some one Lady O'Moy, I think, and as I imagine with intent to soothe the

feelings of Count Samoval, which appeared to be ruffled appealed to his vanity by mentioning the fact that

he was himself a famous swordsman. To this Captain Tremayne's observation was a rather unfortunate one,

although I must confess that I was fully in sympathy with it at the time. He said, as nearly as I remember, that

at the moment Portugal was in urgent need of famous swords to defend her from invasion and not to increase

Lord Wellington looked up from the notes and thoughtfully stroked his highbridged nose. His stern,

handsome face was coldly impassive, his fine eyes resting upon the prisoner, but his attention all to what

"It was a remark of which Samoval betrayed the bitterest resentment. He demanded of Captain Tremayne that

he should be more precise, and Tremayne replied that, whilst he had spoken generally, Samoval was welcome

to the cap if he found it fitted him. To that he added a suggestion that, as the conversation appeared to be

tiresome to the ladies, it would be better to change its topic. Count Samoval consented, but with the promise,

rather threateningly delivered, that it should be continued at another time. That, sir, is all, I think."

"Have you any questions for the witness, Captain Tremayne?" inquired the judgeadvocate.

As before, Captain Tremayne's answer was in the negative, coupled with the now usual admission that

Colonel Grant's statement accorded perfectly with iris own recollection of the facts.

The court, however, desired enlightenment on several subjects. Came first of all Carruthers's inquiries as to

the bearing of the prisoner when ordered under arrest, eliciting from Colonel Grant a variant of the usual

It was an answer which appeared to startle the court, and perhaps Carruthers would have acted best in

Tremayne's interest had he left the question there. But having obtained so much he eagerly sought for more.

Colonel Grant smiled slowly, and slowly shook his head. "I fear I could not go so far, as that," he answered,

And now Colonel Fletcher voiced a question agitating the minds of several members of the count.

"Colonel Grant," he said, "you have told us that on the night in question you had Count Samoval under

observation, and that upon word being brought to you of his movements by one of your agents you yourself

followed him to Monsanto. Would you be good enough to tell the court why you were watching the

Colonel Grant glanced at Lord Wellington. He smiled a little reflectively and shook his head.

"I am afraid that the public interest will not allow me to answer your question. Since, however, Lord

Wellington himself is present, I would suggest that you ask his lordship whether I am to give you the

"Certainly not," said his lordship crisply, without awaiting further question. "Indeed, one of my reasons for

There followed a moment's silence. Then the president ventured a question. "May we ask, sir, at least whether

Colonel Grant's observation of Count Samoval resulted from any knowledge of, or expectation of, this duel

"What grounds had you, Colonel Grant, for assuming that Count Samoval was going to Monsanto?" the

"I think we are upon forbidden ground again," said Colonel Grant, and again he looked at Lord Wellington

"I do not see the point of the question," said Lord Wellington, replying to that glance. "Colonel Grant has

quite plainly informed the court that his observation of Count Samoval had no slightest connection with this

duel, nor was inspired by any knowledge or suspicion on his part that any such duel was to be fought. With

that I think the court should be content. It has been necessary for Colonel Grant to explain to the court his

own presence at Monsanto at midnight on the 28th. It would have been better, perhaps, had he simply stated

that it was fortuitous, although I can understand that the court might have hesitated to accept such a

statement. That, however, is really all that concerns the matter. Colonel Grant happened to be there. That is

all that the court need remember. Let me add the assurance that it would not in the least assist the court to

In view of that the president notified that he had nothing further to ask the witness, and Colonel Grant saluted

There followed the evidence of Major Carruthers with regard to the dispute between Count Samoval and

Captain Tremayne, which substantially bore out what Sir Terence and Colonel Grant had already said,

"The conversation which Samoval threatened to resume does not appear to have been resumed," he added in

"Indeed, sir, you may not," the president assured him. "You are upon oath to give evidence of facts directly

"It is directly within my own personal knowledge that Captain Tremayne was called away from the table by

Lady O'Moy, and that he did not have another opportunity of speaking with Count Samoval that day. I saw

the Count leave shortly after, and at the time Captain Tremayne was still with her ladyship as her ladyship

can testify if necessary. He spent the remainder of the afternoon with me at work, and we went home together

"There was still all of the next day," said Sir Harry. "Do you say that the prisoner was never out of your sight

"Yet it is evidence of a kind," insisted Carruthers, with the tenacity of a bulldog. He looked as if he would

make it a personal matter between himself and Major Swan if he were not allowed to proceed. "I can't believe

that Captain Tremayne would have embroiled himself further with Count Samoval. Captain Tremayne has

too high a regard for discipline and for orders, and he is the least excitable man I have ever known. Nor do I

"Not perhaps unless Captain Tremayne desired to keep the matter secret, in view of the general order, which

"Falsely contended, then," snapped Major Carruthers, to be instantly rebuked by the president.

He sat down in a huff, and the judgeadvocate called Private Bates, who had been on sentry duty on the night

of the 28th, to corroborate the evidence of the sergeant of the guard as to the hour at which the prisoner had

Private Bates having been heard, Major Swan announced that he did not propose to call any further witnesses,

and resumed his seat. Thereupon, to the president's invitation, Captain Tremayne replied that he had no

"In that case, Major Swan," said Sir Harry, "the court will be glad to hear you further."

Major Swan may or may not have been a gifted soldier. History is silent on the point. But the surviving

records of the courtmartial with which we are concerned go to show that he was certainly not a gifted

speaker. His vocabulary was limited, his rhetoric clumsy, and Major Carruthers denounces his delivery as

halting, his very voice dull and monotonous; also his manner, reflecting his mind on this occasion, appears to

have been perfectly unimpassioned. He had been saddled with a duty and he must perform it. He would do so

conscientiously to the best of his ability, for he seems to have been a conscientious man; but he could not be

expected to put his heart into the matter, since he was not inflamed by any zeal born of conviction, nor had he

any of the incentives of a civil advocate to sway his audience by all possible means.

Nevertheless the facts themselves, properly marshalled, made up a dangerous case against the prisoner. Major

Swan began by dwelling upon the evidence of motive: there had been a quarrel, or the beginnings of a

quarrel, between the deceased and the accused; the deceased had shown himself affronted, and had been

heard quite unequivocally to say that the matter could not be left at the stage at which it was interrupted at Sir

Terence's luncheontable. Major Swan dwelt for a moment upon the grounds of the quarrel. They were by no

means discreditable to the accused, but it was singularly unfortunate, ironical almost, that he should have

involved himself in a duel as a result of his outspoken defence of a wise measure which made duelling in

the British army a capital offence. With that, however, he did not think that the court was immediately

concerned. By the duel itself the accused had offended against the recent enactment, and, moreover, the

irregular manner in which the encounter had been conducted, without seconds or witnesses, rendered the

accused answerable to a charge of murder, if it could be proved that he actually did engage and kill the

The irregularity of the meeting must be assigned to the enactment against which it offended. A matter which,

under other circumstances, considering the good character borne by Captain Tremayne, would have been

quite incomprehensible, was, he thought, under existing circumstances, perfectly clear. Because Captain

Tremayne could not have found any friend to act for him, he was forced to forgo witnesses to the encounter,

and because of the consequences to himself of the encounter's becoming known, he was forced to contrive

that it should be held in secret. They knew, from the evidence of Colonel Grant and Major Carruthers, that

the meeting was desired by Count Samoval, and they were therefore entitled to assume that, recognising the

conditions arising out of the recent enactment, the deceased had consented that the meeting should take place

in this irregular fashion, since otherwise it could not have been held at all, and he would have been compelled

He passed to the consideration of the locality chosen, and there he confessed that he was confronted with a

mystery. Yet the mystery would have been no less in the case of any other opponent than Captain Tremayne,

since it was clear beyond all doubt that a duel had been fought and Count Samoval killed, and no less clear

that it was a premeditated combat, and that the deceased had gone to Monsanto expressly to engage in it,

since the duelling swords found had been identified as his property and must have been carried by him to the

The mystery, he repeated, would have been no less in the case of any other opponent than Captain Tremayne;

indeed, in the case of some other opponent it might even have been deeper. It must be remembered, after all,

And it was clearly proven that he availed himself of that access on the night in question. Evidence had been

placed before the court showing that he had come to Monsanto in a curricle at twenty minutes to twelve at the

latest, and there was abundant evidence to show that he was found kneeling beside the body of the dead man

at ten minutes past twelve the body being quite warm at the time and the breath hardly out of it, proving

that he had fallen but an instant before the arrival of Mullins and the other witnesses who had testified.

Unless Captain Tremayne could account to the satisfaction of the court for the manner in which he had spent

that halfhour, Major Swan did not perceive, when all the facts of motive and circumstance were considered,

what conclusion the court could reach other than that Captain Tremayne was guilty of the death of Count

Jeronymo de Samoval in a single combat fought under clandestine and irregular conditions, transforming the

Upon that conclusion the major sat down to mop a brow that was perspiring freely. From Lady O'MOY in the

background came faintly, the sound of a halfsuppressed moan. Terrified, she clutched the hand of Miss

Armytage, and found that hand to lie like a thing of ice in her own, yet she suspected nothing of the deep

Captain Tremayne rose slowly to address the court in reply to the prosecution. As he faced his, judges now he

met the smouldering eyes of Sir Terence considering him with such malevolence that he was shocked and

bewildered. Was he prejudged already, and by his best friend? If so, what must be the attitude of the others?

But the kindly, florid countenance of the president was friendly and encouraging; there was eager anxiety for

him in the gaze of his friend Caruthers. He glanced at Lord Wellington sitting at the table's end sternly

inscrutable, a mere spectator, yet one whose habit of command gave him an air that was authoritative and

At length he began to speak. He had considered his defence, and he had based it mainly upon a falsehood

"My answer, gentlemen" he said, "will be a very brief one as brief, indeed, as the prosecution merits for I

entertain the hope than no member of this court is satisfied that the case made out against me is by any means

complete." He spoke easily, fluently, and calmly: a man supremely selfcontrolled. "It amounts, indeed, to

throwing upon me the onus of proving myself innocent, and that is a burden which no British laws, civil or

"That certain words of disagreement passed between Count Samoval and myself on the eve of the affair in

which the Count met his death, as you have heard from various witnesses, I at once and freely admitted.

Thereby I saved the court time and trouble, and some other witnesses who might have been caused the

distress of having to testify against me. But that the dispute ever had any sequel, that the further subsequent

discussion threatened at the time by Count Samoval ever took place, I most solemnly deny. From the moment

that I left Sir Terence's luncheontable on the Saturday I never set eyes on Count Samoval again until I

discovered him dead or dying in the garden here at Monsanto on Sunday night. I can call no witnesses to

support me in this, because it is not a matter susceptible to proof by evidence. Nor have I troubled to call the

only witnesses I might have called witnesses as to my character and my regard for discipline who might

have testified that any such encounter as that of which I am accused would be utterly foreign to my nature.

There are officers in plenty in his Majesty's service who could bear witness that the practice of duelling is one

that I hold in the utmost abhorrence, since I have frequently avowed it, and since in all my life I have never

fought a single duel. My service in his Majesty's army has happily afforded me the means of dispensing with

any such proof of courage as the duel is supposed to give. I say I might have called witnesses to that fact and

I have not done so. This is because, fortunately, there are several among the members of this court to whom I

have been known for many years, and who can themselves, when this court comes to consider its finding,

"Let me ask you, then, gentlemen, whether it is conceivable that, entertaining such feelings as these towards

single combat, I should have been led to depart from them under circumstances that might very well have

afforded me an ample shield for refusing satisfaction to a too eager and pressing adversary? It was precisely

because I hold the duel in such contempt that I spoke with such asperity to the deceased when he pronounced

Lord Wellington's enactment a degrading one to men of birth. The very sentiments which I then expressed

proclaimed my antipathy to the practice. How, then, should I have committed the inconsistency of accepting a

challenge upon such grounds from Count Samoval? There is even more irony than Major Swan supposes in a

"So much, then, for the motives that are alleged to have actuated me. I hope you will conclude that I have

"Coming to the question of fact, I cannot find that there is anything to answer, for nothing has been proved

against me. True, it has been proved that I arrived at Monsanto at halfpast eleven or twenty minutes to

twelve on the night of the 28th, and it has been further proved that halfanhour later I was discovered

kneeling beside the dead body of Count Samoval. But to say that this proves that I killed him is more, I think,

"Major Swan is quite satisfied that Samoval came to Monsanto for the purpose of fighting a duel that had

been prearranged; and I admit that the two swords found, which have been proven the property of Count

Samoval, and which, therefore, he must have brought with him, are a primafacie proof of such a contention.

But if we assume, gentlemen, that I had accepted a challenge from the Count, let me ask you, can you think

of any place less likely to have been appointed or agreed to by me for the encounter than the garden of the

adjutantgeneral's quarters? Secrecy is urged as the reason for the irregularity of the meeting. What secrecy

was ensured in such a place, where interruption and discovery might come at any moment, although the duel

was held at midnight? And what secrecy did I observe in my movements, considering that I drove openly to

Monsanto in a curricle, which I left standing at the gates in full view of the guard, to await my return? Should

I have acted thus if I had been upon such an errand as is alleged? Common sense, I think, should straightway

acquit me on the grounds of the locality alone, and I cannot think that it should even be necessary for me, so

as to complete my answer to an accusation entirely without support in fact or in logic, to account for my

He paused. So far his clear reasoning had held and impressed the court. This he saw plainly written on the

faces of all with one single exception. Sir Terence alone the one man from whom he might have looked for

the greatest relief watched him ever malevolently, sardonically, with curling lip. It gave him pause now that

he stood upon the threshold of falsehood; and because of that inexplicable but obvious hostility, that attitude

of expectancy to ensnare and destroy him, Captain Tremayne hesitated to step from the solid ground of

reason, upon which he had confidently walked thus far, on to the uncertain bogland of mendacity.

"I cannot think," he said, "that the court should consider it necessary for me to advance an alibi, to make a

statement in proof of my innocence where I contend that no proof has been offered of my guilt."

"I think it will be better, sir, in your own interests, so that you may be the more completely cleared," the

"There was," he resumed, then, "a certain matter connected with the CommissaryGeneral's department

which was of the greatest urgency, yet which, under stress of work, had been postponed until the morrow. It

was concerned with some tents for General Picton's division at Celorico. It occurred to me that night that it

would be better dealt with at once, so that the documents relating to it could go forward early on Monday

morning to the CommissaryGeneral. Accordingly, I returned to Monsanto, entered the official quarters, and

was engaged upon that task when a cry from the garden reached my ears. That cry in the dead of night was

sufficiently alarming, and I ran out at once to see what might have occasioned it. I found Count Samoval

either just dead or just dying, and I had scarcely made the discovery when Mullins, the butler, came out of the

"That, sirs, is all that I know of the death of Count Samoval, and I will conclude with my solemn affirmation,

on my honour as a soldier, that I am as innocent of having procured it as I am ignorant of how it came about.

"I leave myself with confidence in your hands, gentlemen," he ended, and resumed his seat.

That he had favourably impressed the court was clear. Miss Armytage whispered it to Lady O'Moy,

Lady O'Moy pressed her hand in return. "Thank God! Oh, thank God!" she murmured under her breath.

There was silence, broken only by the rustle of the president's notes as he briefly looked them over as a

preliminary to addressing the court. And then suddenly, grating harshly upon that silence, came the voice of

"Might I suggest, Sir Harry, that before we hear you three of the witnesses be recalled? They are Sergeant

The president looked round in surprise, and Carruthers took advantage of the pause to interpose an objection.

"Is such a course regular, Sir Harry?" He too had become conscious at last of Sir Terence's relentless hostility

to the accused. "The court has been given an opportunity of examining those witnesses, the accused has

declined to call any on his own behalf, and the prosecution has already closed its case."

Sir Harry considered a moment. He had never been very clear upon matters of procedure, which he looked

upon as none of a soldier's real business. Instinctively in this difficulty he looked at Lord Wellington as if for

guidance; but his lordship's face told him absolutely nothing, the CommanderinChief remaining an

impassive spectator. Then, whilst the president coughed and pondered, Major Swan came to the rescue.

"The court," said the judgeadvocate, "is entitled at any time before the finding to call or recall any

witnesses, provided that the prisoner is afforded an opportunity of answering anything further that may be

"That is the rule," said Sir Terence, "and rightly so, for, as in the present instance, the prisoner's own

The president gave way, thereby renewing Miss Armytage's terrors and shaking at last even the prisoner's

Sergeant Flynn was the first of the witnesses recalled at Sir Terence's request, and it was Sir Terence who

"You said, I think, that you were standing in the guardroom doorway when Captain Tremayne passed you at

"Yes, sir. I had turned out upon hearing the curricle draw up. I had come to see who it was."

"Naturally. Well, now, did you observe which way Captain Tremayne went? whether he went along the

The sergeant considered for a moment, an Captain Tremayne became conscious for the first time that

morning that his pulses were throbbing. At last his dreadful suspense came to an end.

"No, sir. Captain Tremayne turned the corner, and was out of my sight, seeing that I didn't go beyond the

Sir Terence's lips parted with a snap of impatience. "But you must have heard," he insisted. "You must have

"But even without taking notice it seems impossible that you should not have heard the direction of his steps.

Steps going up stairs sound quite differently from steps walking along the level. Try to think."

The sergeant considered again. But the president interposed. The testiness which Sir Terence had been at no

pains to conceal annoyed Sir Harry, and this insistence offended his sense of fair play.

"The witness has already said that the didn't take notice. I am afraid it can serve no good purpose to compel

him to strain his memory. The court could hardly rely upon his answer after what he has said already."

"Very well," said Sir Terence curtly. "We will pass on. After the body of Count Samoval had been removed

"He brought me a letter with instructions that it was to be forwarded first thing in the morning to the

The sergeant pondered a moment. "Only that he had been bringing it when he found Count Samoval's body."

"That is all I wish to ask, Sir Harry," O'Moy intimated, and looked round at his fellowmembers of that court

as if to inquire whether they had drawn any inference from the sergeant's statements.

"Have you any questions to ask the witness, Captain Tremayne?" the president inquired.

"You said in your evidence that Captain Tremayne arrived at Monsanto between halfpast eleven and twenty

"You told us, I think, that you determined this by the fact that you came on duty at eleven o'clock, and that it

"That is quite in agreement with the evidence of your sergeant. Now tell the court where you were during the

halfhour that followed until you heard the guard being turned out by the sergeant."

"Yes why not? Don't repeat my words. How did it happen that you didn't notice the windows?"

"Oh, quite certain, sir. If a light had shown from one of them I couldn't have failed to notice it."

Sir Harry's face expressed surprise. "After the statement he has just made?" he exclaimed, and thereupon he

again invited the prisoner, in a voice that was as grave as his countenance, to crossexamine he witness; he

did more than invite he seemed almost to plead. But Tremayne, preserving by a miracle his outward calm,

for all that inwardly he was filled with despair and chagrin to see what a pit he had dug for himself by his

Private Bates retired, and Mullins was recalled. A gloom seemed to have settled now upon the court. A

moment ago their way had seemed fairly clear to its members, and they had been inwardly congratulating

themselves that they were relieved from the grim necessity of passing sentence upon a brother officer

esteemed by all who knew him. But now a subtle change had crept in. The statement drawn by Sir Terence

from the sentry appeared flatly to contradict Captain Tremayne's own account of his movements on the night

"You told the court," O'Moy addressed the witness Mullins, consulting his notes as he did so, "that on the

night on which Count Samoval met his death, I sent you at ten minutes past twelve to take a letter to the

sergeant of the guard, an urgent letter which was to be forwarded to its destination first thing on the following

morning. And it was in fact in the course of going upon this errand that you discovered the prisoner kneeling

"I am not sure whether I did that, but I clearly remember, sir, that you told me at the time that it was for the

Sir Terence signified that he had no more to ask, and again the president invited the prisoner to question the

And now O'Moy rose in his place to announce that he had himself a further statement to, make to the court, a

statement which he had not conceived necessary until he had heard the prisoner's account of his movements

"You have heard from Sergeant Flynn and my butler Mullins that the letter carried from me by the latter to

the former on the night of the 28th was a letter for the CommissaryGeneral of an urgent character, to be

forwarded first thing in the morning. If the prisoner insists upon it, the CommissaryGeneral himself may be

brought before this court to confirm my assertion that that communication concerned a complaint from

headquarters on the subject of the tents supplied to the third division Sir Thomas Picton's at Celorico. The

documents concerning that complaint that is to say, the documents upon which we are to presume that the

prisoner was at work during tine halfhour in question were at the time in my possession in my own private

Sir Terence sat down amid a rustling stir that ran through the court, but was instantly summoned to his feet

"A moment, Sir Terence. The prisoner will no doubt desire to question you on that statement." And he looked

Indeed, what question could he have asked? The falsehoods he had uttered had woven themselves into a rope

about his neck, and he stood before his brother officers now in an agony of shame, a man discredited, as he

"But no doubt you will desire the presence of the CommissaryGeneral?" This was from Colonel Fletcher his

own colonel and a man who esteemed him and it was asked in accents that were pleadingly insistent.

"What purpose could it serve, sir? Sir Terence's words are partly confirmed by the evidence he has just

elicited from Sergeant Flynn and his butler Mullins. Since he spent the night writing a letter to the

Commissary, it is not to be doubted that the subject would be such as he states, since from my own

knowledge it was the most urgent matter in our hands. And, naturally, he would not have written without

having the documents at his side. To summon the CommissaryGeneral would be unnecessarily to waste the

time of the court. It follows that I must have been mistaken, and this I admit."

"Very well, sir." Sir Harry paused and then added "The court will be glad to hear you in answer to the further

And now Colonel Fletcher leaned forward to exhort him. "Captain Tremayne," he said, "let me beg you to

"Do you realise that the statements you have made to account for your movements during the halfhour that

you were at Monsanto have been disproved? You have heard Private Bates's evidence to the effect that at the

time when you say you were at work in the offices, those offices remained in darkness. And you have heard

Sir Terence's statement that the documents upon which you claim to have been at work were at the time in his

own hands. Do you realise what inference the court will be compelled to draw from this?"

"The court must draw whatever inference it pleases," answered the captain without heat.

Sir Terence stirred. "Captain Tremayne," said he, "I wish to add my own exhortation to that of your colonel!

Your position has become extremely perilous. If you are concealing anything that may extricate you from it,

The words in themselves were kindly, but through them ran a note of bitterness, of cruel derision, that was

Lord Wellington's piercing eyes looked a moment at O'Moy, then turned upon the prisoner. Suddenly he

"Captain Tremayne if the president will permit me to address you in the interests of truth and justice you

bear, to my knowledge, the reputation of an upright, honourable man. You are a man so unaccustomed to

falsehood that when you adventure upon it, as you have obviously just done, your performance is a clumsy

one, its faults easily distinguished. That you are concealing something the court must have perceived. If you

are not concealing something other than that Count Samoval fell by your hand, let me enjoin you to speak

out. If you are shielding any one perhaps the real perpetrator of this deed let me assure you that your

honour as a soldier demands, in the interests of truth and justice, that you should not continue silent."

Tremayne looked into the stern face of the great soldier, and his glance fell away. He made a little gesture of

"Then, Captain Tremayne," said the president, "the court will pass to the consideration of its finding. And if

you cannot account for the halfhour that you spent at Monsanto while Count Samoval was meeting his

death, I am afraid that, in view of all the other evidences against you, your position is likely to be one of

"For the last time, sir, before I order your removal, let me add my own to the exhortations already addressed

to you, that you should speak. If still you elect to remain silent, the court, I fear, will be unable to draw any

For a long moment Captain Tremayne stood there in tense, expectant silence. Yet he was not considering; he

was waiting. Lady O'Moy he knew to be in court, behind him. She had heard, even as he had heard, that his

fate hung perhaps upon whether Richard Butler's presence were to be betrayed or not. Not for him to break

faith with her. Let her decide. And, awaiting that decision, he stood there, silent, like a man considering. And

then, because no woman's voice broke the silence to proclaim at once his innocence, and the alibi that must

"I thank you, sir. Indeed, I am very grateful to the court for the consideration it has shown me. I appreciate it

Its sharp, almost strident note acted like an electric discharge upon the court; but no member of the assembly

was more deeply stricken than Captain Tremayne. For though the voice was a woman's, yet it was not the

In his excitement he turned, to see Miss Armytage standing there, straight and stiff, her white face stamped

with purpose; and beside her, still seated, clutching her arm in an agony of fear, Lady O'Moy, murmuring for

But Sylvia had risen to speak, and speak she did, and though the words she uttered were such as a virgin

might wish to whisper with veiled countenance and averted glance, yet her utterance of them was bold to the

"I can tell you why Captain Tremayne is silent. I can tell you whom he shields."

"Oh God!" gasped Lady O'Moy, wondering through her anguish how Sylvia could have become possessed of

"Miss Armytage I implore you!" cried Tremayne, forgetting where he stood, his voice shaking at last, his

"Let her speak. Let us have the truth the truth!" And he smote the table with his clenched fist.

"And you shall have it," answered Miss Armytage. "Captain Tremayne keeps silent to shield a woman his

Sir Terence sucked in his breath with a whistling sound. Lady O'Moy desisted from her attempts to check the

speaker and fell to staring at her in stony astonishment, whilst Tremayne was too overcome by the same

emotion to think of interrupting. The others preserved a watchful, unbroken silence.

"Captain Tremayne spent that halfhour at Monsanto in her room. He was with her when he heard the cry

that took him to the window. Thence he saw the body in the courtyard, and in alarm went down at once

without considering the consequences to the woman. But because he has considered them since, he now

"Sir, sir," Captain Tremayne turned in wild appeal to the president, "this is not true." He conceived at once

the terrible mistake that Miss Armytage had made. She must have seen him climb down from Lady O'Moy's

balcony, and she had come to the only possible, horrible conclusion. "This lady is mistaken, I am ready to "

And then the voice of O'Moy on the note of terrible triumph sounded again like a trumpet through the long

"Ah, but it is the truth at last. We have it now. Her name! Her name!" he shouted. "Who was this wanton?"

Writing years afterwards of this event in the rather tedious volume of reminiscences which he has left us

Major Carruthers ventures the opinion that the court should never have been deceived; that it should have

perceived at once that Miss Armytage was lying. He argues this opinion upon psychological grounds,

contending that the lady's deportment in that moment of selfaccusation was the very last that in the

circumstances she alleged would have been natural to such a character as her own.

"Had she indeed," he writes, "been Tremayne's mistress, as she represented herself, it was not in her nature to

have announced it after the manner in which she did so. She bore herself before us with all the effrontery of a

harlot; and it was well known to most of us that a more pure, chaste, and modest lady did not live. There was

here a contradiction so flagrant that it should have rendered her falsehood immediately apparent."

Major Carruthers, of course, is writing in the light of later knowledge, and even, setting that aside, I am very

far from agreeing with his psychological deduction. Just as a shy man will so overreach himself in his efforts

to dissemble his shyness as to assume an air of positive arrogance, so might a pure lady who had succumbed

as Miss Armytage pretended, upon finding herself forced to such selfaccusation, bear herself with a

And this, I think, was the view that was taken by those present. The court it was being composed of honest

gentlemen that felt the shame which she dissembled. There were the eyes that fell away before the spurious

effrontery of her own glance. They were disconcerted one and all by this turn of events, without precedent in

the experience of any, and none more disconcerted though not in the same sense than Sir Terence. To him

this was checkmate fool's mate indeed. An unexpected yet ridiculously simple move had utterly routed him

at the very outset of the deadly game that he was playing. He had sat there determined to have either

Tremayne's life or the truth, publicly avowed, of Tremayne's dastardly betrayal. He could not have told you

which he preferred. But one or the other he was fiercely determined to have, and now the springs of the snare

in which he had so cunningly taken Tremayne had been forced apart by utterly unexpected hands.

"It's a lie!" he bellowed angrily. But he bellowed, it seemed, upon deaf ears. The court just sat and stared,

utterly and hopelessly at a loss how to proceed. And then the dry voice of Wellington followed Sir Terence,

"How can you know that?" he asked the adjutant. "The matter is one upon which few would be qualified to

contradict Miss Armytage. You will observe, Sir Harry, that even Captain Tremayne has not thought it worth

Those words pulled the captain from the spell of sheer horrified amazement in which he had stood, stricken

"I I am so overwhelmed by the amazing falsehood with which Miss Armytage has attempted to save me

from the predicament in which I stand. For it is that, gentlemen. On my oath as a soldier and a gentleman,

"But if there were," said Lord Wellington, who seemed the only person present to retain a cool command of

his wits, "your honour as a soldier and a gentleman and this lady's honour must still demand of you the

"You are interrupting me, I think," Lord Wellington rebuked him coldly, and under the habit of obedience

"I am of opinion, gentlemen," his lordship addressed the court, "that this affair has gone quite far enough.

Miss Armytage's testimony has saved a deal of trouble. It has shed light upon much that was obscure, and it

has provided Captain Tremayne with an unanswerable alibi. In my view and without wishing unduly to

influence the court in its decision it but remains to pronounce Captain Tremayne's acquittal, thereby

enabling him to fulfil towards this lady a duty which the circumstances would seem to have rendered

In immense relief, eager now to make an end, he looked to right and left. Everywhere he met nodding heads

and murmurs of "Yes, Yes." Everywhere with one exception. Sir Terence, white to the lips, gave no sign of

assent, and yet dared give none of dissent. The eye of Lord Wellington was upon him, compelling him by its

"We are clearly agreed," the president began, but Captain Tremayne interrupted him.

"You shall listen. It is infamous that I should owe my acquittal to the sacrifice of this lady's good name."

"Your lordship is mistaken," Captain Tremayne insisted, greatly daring. "The honour of this lady is more dear

"So we perceive," was the dry rejoinder. "These outbursts do you a certain credit, Captain Tremayne. But

"Captain Tremayne, you are acquitted of the charge of killing Count Samoval, and you are at liberty to depart

and to resume your usual duties. The court congratulates you and congratulates. itself upon having reached

"The court has pronounced. The matter is at an end," said Wellington, with a shrug, and immediately upon

the words he rose, and the court rose with him. Immediately, with rattle of sabres and sabretaches, the

officers who had composed the board fell into groups and broke into conversation out of a spirit of

consideration for Tremayne, and definitely to mark the conclusion of the proceedings.

Tremayne, white and trembling, turned in time to see Miss Armytage leaving the hall and assisting Colonel

He stood irresolute, prey to a torturing agony of mind, cursing himself now for his silence, for not having

spoken the truth and taken the consequences together with Dick Butler. What was Dick Butler to him, what

was his own life to him if they should they should demand it for the grave breach of duty he had committed

by his readiness to assist a proscribed offender to escape compared with the honour of Sylvia Armytage?

And she, why had she done this for him? Could it be possible that she cared, that she was concerned so much

for his life as to immolate her honour to deliver him from peril? The event would seem to prove it. Yet the

overmastering joy that at any other time, and in any other circumstances, such a revelation must have

procured him, was stifled now by his agonised concern for the injustice to which she had submitted herself.

And then, as he stood there, a suffering, bewildered man, came Carruthers to grasp his hand and in terms of

"Sooner than have such a price as that paid " he said bitterly, and with a shrug left his sentence unfinished.

O'Moy came stalking past him, palefaced, with eyes that looked neither to right nor left.

Sir Terence checked, and stood stiffly as if to attention, his handsome blue eyes blazing into the captain's

"We will talk of this again, you and I," he said grimly, and passed on and out with clanking step, leaving

Tremayne to reflect that the appearances certainly justified Sir Terence's resentment.

"If you ask me, I think that he has suspected this from the very beginning. Only that could account for the

hostility of his attitude towards you, for the persistence with which he has sought either to convict or wring

Tremayne looked askance at the major. In such a tangle as this it was impossible to keep the attention fixed

There were one or two others would have checked the adjutant's departure, but he had heeded none. In the

quadrangle he nodded curtly to Colonel Grant, who would have detained him. But he passed on and went to

shut himself up in his study with his mental anguish that was compounded of so many and so diverse

emotions. He needed above all things to be alone and to think, if thought were possible to a mind so

distraught as his own. There were now so many things to be faced, considered, and dealt with. First and

foremost and this was perhaps the product of inevitable reaction was the consideration of his own

duplicity, his villainous betrayal of trust undertaken deliberately, but with an aim very different from that

which would appear. He perceived how men must assume now, when the truth of Samoval's death became

known as become known it must that he had deliberately fastened upon another his own crime. The fine

edifice of vengeance he had been so skilfully erecting had toppled about his ears in obscene ruin, and he was

a man not only broken, but dishonoured. Let him proclaim the truth now and none would believe it. Sylvia

Armytage's mad and inexplicable selfaccusation was a final bar to that. Men of honour would scorn him, his

friends would turn from him in disgust, and Wellington, that great soldier whom he worshipped, and whose

esteem he valued above all possessions, would be the first to cast him out. He would appear as a vulgar

murderer who, having failed by falsehood to fasten the guilt upon an innocent man, sought now by falsehood

still more damnable, at the cost of his wife's honour, to offer some mitigation of his unspeakable offence.

Conceive this terrible position in which his justifiable jealousy his naturally vindictive rage had so

irretrievably ensnared him. He had been so intent upon the administration of poetic justice, so intent upon

condignly punishing the false friend who had dishonoured him, upon finding a balm for his lacerated soul in

the spectacle of Tremayne's own ignominy, that he had never paused to see whither all this might lead him.

He had been a fool to have adopted these subtle, tortuous ways; a fool not to have obeyed the earlier and

honest impulse which had led him to take that case of pistols from the drawer. And he was served as a fool

deserves to be served. His folly had recoiled upon him to destroy him. Fool's mate had checked his perfidious

Why had Sylvia Armytage discarded her honour to make of it a cloak for the protection of Tremayne? Did

she love Tremayne and take that desperate way to save a life she accounted lost, or was it that she knew the

Sir Terence was no psychologist. But he found it difficult to believe in so much of selfsacrifice from a

woman for a woman's sake, however dear. Therefore he held to the first alternative. To confirm it came the

memory of Sylvia's words to him on the night of Tremayne's arrest. And it was to such a man that she gave

the priceless treasure of her love; for such a man, and in such a sordid cause, that she sacrificed the

inestimable jewel of her honour? He laughed through clenched teeth at a situation so bitterly ironical.

Presently he would talk to her. She should realise what she had done, and he would wish her joy of it. First,

however, there was something else to do. He flung himself wearily into the chair at his writingtable, took up

To Captain Tremayne, fretted with impatience in the diningroom, came, at the end of a long hour of waiting,

Sylvia Armytage. She entered unannounced, at a moment when for the third time he was on the point of

ringing for Mullins, and for a moment they stood considering each other mutually ill at ease. Then Miss

Armytage closed the door and came forward, moving with that grace peculiar to her, and carrying her head

erect, facing Captain Tremayne now with some lingering signs of the defiance she had shown the members of

"Mullins tells me that you wish to see me," she said the merest conventionality to break the disconcerting,

"After what has happened that should not surprise you," said Tremayne. His agitation was clear to behold, his

usual imperturbability all departed. "Why," he burst out suddenly, "why did you do it?"

She looked at him with the faintest ghost of a smile on her lips, as if she found the question amusing. But

"Could you suppose that I should wish to purchase my life at such a price? Could you suppose that your

honour was not more precious to me than my life? It was infamous that you should have sacrificed yourself in

The question gave him pause. "I don't know!" he cried desperately. "Infamous of the circumstances, I

She shrugged. "The circumstances were there, and they had to be met. I could think of no other way of

Hastily he answered her out of his anger for her sake: "It should not have been your affair to meet them at

He saw the scarlet flush sweep over her face and leave it deathly white, and instantly he perceived how

"I'm sorry to have been interfering," she answered stiffly, "but, after all, it is not a matter that need trouble

"Ah, wait!" He flung himself between her and the door. "We must understand each other, Miss Armytage."

"I think we do, Captain Tremayne," she answered, fire dancing in her eyes. And she added: "You are

"Intentionally." He was calm again; and he was masterful for the first time in all his dealings with her. "We

are very far from any understanding. Indeed, we are overhead in a misunderstanding already. You

misconstrue my words. I am very angry with you. I do not think that in all my life I have ever been so angry

with anybody. But you are not to mistake the source of my anger. I am angry with you for the great wrong

"That should not be your affair," she answered him, thus flinging back the offending phrase.

"Then I do not give you the right. Please let me pass." She looked him steadily in the face, and her voice was

calm to coldness. Only the heave of her bosom betrayed the agitation under which she was labouring.

He laughed. "Even at the risk of being rude, then. I must make myself clear to you. I would suffer anything

sooner than leave you under any misapprehension of the grounds upon which I should have preferred to face

a firing party rather than have been rescued at the sacrifice of your good name."

"I hope," she said, with faint but cutting irony, "you do not intend to offer me the reparation of marriage."

It took his breath away for a moment. It was a solution that in his confused and irate state of mind he had

never even paused to consider. Yet now that it was put to him in this scornfully reproachful manner he

perceived not only that it was the only possible course, but also that on that very account it might be

Her testiness was suddenly plain to him. She feared that he was come to her with an offer of marriage out of a

sense of duty, as an amende, to correct the false position into which, for his sake, she had placed herself. And

he himself by his blundering phrase had given colour to that hideous fear of hers.

He considered a moment whilst he stood there meeting her defiant glance. Never had she been more desirable

in his eyes; and hopeless as his love for her had always seemed, never had it been in such danger of

hopelessness as at this present moment, unless he proceeded here with the utmost care. And so Ned

Tremayne became subtle for the first time in his honest, straightforward, soldierly life. "No," he answered

"I am glad that you spare me that," she answered him, yet her pallor seemed to deepen under his glance.

"And that," he continued, "is the source of all my anger, against you, against myself, and against

circumstances. If I had deemed myself remotely worthy of you," he continued, "I should have asked you

weeks ago to be my wife. Oh, wait, and hear me out. I have more than once been upon the point of doing so

the last time was that night on the balcony at Count Redondo's. I would have spoken then; I would have taken

my courage in my hands, confessed my unworthiness and my love. But I was restrained because, although I

might confess, there was nothing I could ask. I am a poor man, Sylvia, you are the daughter of a wealthy one;

men speak of you as an heiress. To ask you to marry me " He broke off. "You realise that I could not; that I

should have been deemed a fortunehunter, not only by the world, which matters nothing, but perhaps by

yourself, who matter everything. I I " he faltered, fumbling for words to express thoughts of an

overwhelming intricacy. "It was not perhaps that so much as the thought that, if my suit should come to

prosper, men would say you had thrown yourself away on a fortunehunter. To myself I should have

accounted the reproach well earned, but it seemed to me that it must contain something slighting to you, and

to shield you from all slights must be the first concern of my deep worship for you. That," he ended fiercely,

"is why I am so angry, so desperate at the slight you have put upon yourself for my sake for me, who would

have sacrificed life and honour and everything I hold of any account, to keep you up there, enthroned not

He paused, and looked at her and she at him. She was still very white, and one of her long, slender hands was

pressed to her bosom as if to contain and repress tumult. But her eyes were smiling, and yet it was a smile he

could not read; it was compassionate, wistful, and yet tinged, it seemed to him, with mockery.

"I suppose," he said, "it would be expected of me in the circumstances to seek words in which to thank you

for what you have done. But I have no such words. I am not grateful. How could I be grateful? You have

"Perhaps more than all the rest." She took a step forward and set her hand upon his arm. There was no

mistaking now her smile. It was all tenderness, and her eyes were shining. "Ned, there is only one thing to be

He looked down at her who was only a little less tall than himself, and the colour faded from his own face

"You haven't understood me after all," he said. "I was afraid you would not. I have no clear gift of words, and

"On the contrary, Ned, I understand you perfectly. I don't think I have ever understood you until now.

"How could I?" It was an explosion almost of anger. "You yourself suggested that it would be an insult; and

so it would. It is to take advantage of the position into which your foolish generosity has betrayed you. Oh!"

"What alternative do you leave me? You say that I have destroyed my good name. You must provide me with

"My dear," she said, and now she held out both hands to him, "why trouble yourself with things of no

account, when the only thing that matters to us is within our grasp? We love each other, and "

Her glance fell away, her lip trembled, and her smile at last took flight. He caught her hands, holding them in

a grip that hurt her; he bent his head, and his eyes sought her own, but sought in vain.

"Have you considered " he was beginning, when she interrupted him. Her face flushed upward,

surrendering to that questing glance of his, and its expression was now between tears and laughter.

"You will be for ever considering, Ned. You consider too much, where the issues are plain and simple. For

The subtlety he had employed had been greater than he knew, and it had achieved something beyond his

He murmured incoherently and took her to his arms. I really do not see that he could have done anything else.

It was a plain and simple issue, and she herself had protested that the issue was plain and simple.

And then the door opened abruptly and Sir Terence came in. Nor did he discreetly withdraw as a man of

feeling should have done before the intimate and touching spectacle that met his eyes. On the contrary, he

"Very proper," he sneered. "Very fit and proper that he should put right in the eyes of the world the reputation

They moved apart, and each stared at O'Moy Sylvia in cold anger, Tremayne in chagrin.

"You see, Sylvia," the captain cried, at this voicing of the world's opinion he feared so much on her behalf.

"Does she?" said Sir Terence, misunderstanding. "I wonder? Unless you've made all plain."

"Made what plain?" he asked. "There is something here I don't understand, O'Moy. Your attitude towards me

ever since you ordered me under arrest has been entirely extraordinary. It has troubled me more than anything

"I believe you," snorted O'Moy, as with his hands behind his back he strode forward into the room. He was

pale, and there was a set, malignant sneer upon his lip, a malignant look in the blue eyes that were habitually

"There have been moments," said Tremayne, "when I have almost felt you to be vindictive."

"D'ye wonder?" growled O'Moy. "Has no suspicion crossed your mind that I may know the whole truth?"

Tremayne was taken aback. "That startles you, eh?" cried O'Moy, and pointed a mocking finger at the

"What is it?" cried Sylvia. Instinctively she felt that under this troubled surface some evil thing was stirring,

There was a pause. O'Moy, with his back to the window now, his hands still clasped behind him, looked

"Why don't you answer her?" he said at last. "You were confidential enough when I came in. Can it be that

you are keeping something back, that you have secrets from the lady who has no doubt promised by now to

Tremayne was bewildered. His answer, apparently an irrelevance, was the mere enunciation of the thoughts

"Do you mean to say that you have known throughout that I did not kill Samoval?" he asked.

"To be sure I did," was the answer, cynically delivered, accompanied by a short, sharp laugh. "When I have

settled other accounts, and put all my affairs in order, I shall save the provostmarshal the trouble of further

seeking the slayer. And you didn't know then, Sylvia, when you lied so glibly to the court, that your future

"I was always sure of it," she answered, and looked at Tremayne for explanation.

O'Moy laughed again. "But he had not told you so. He preferred that you should think him guilty of

bloodshed, of murder even, rather than tell you the real truth. Oh, I can understand. He is the very soul of

honour, as you remarked yourself, I think, the other night. He knows how much to tell and how much to

withhold. He is master of the art of discreet suppression. He will carry it to any lengths. You had an instance

of that before the court this morning. You may come to regret, my dear, that you did not allow him to have

his own obstinate way; that you should have dragged your own spotless purity in the mud to provide him

with an alibi. But he had an alibi all the time, my child; an unanswerable alibi which he preferred to withhold.

I wonder would you have been so ready to make a shield of your honour could you have known what you

"Ned!" she cried. "Why don't you speak? Is he to go on in this fashion? Of what is he accusing you? If you

"In a lady's room, as you correctly informed the court," came O'Moy's bitter mockery. "Your only mistake

was in the identity of the lady. You imagined that the lady was yourself. A delusion purely. But you and I

may comfort each other, for we are fellowsufferers at the hands of this man of honour. My wife was the

"My God, O'Moy!" It was a strangled cry from Tremayne. At last he saw light; he understood, and,

understanding, there entered his heart a great compassion for O'Moy, a conception that he must have suffered

all the agonies of the damned in these last few days. "My God, you don't believe that I "

"And if I tell you that myself with these eyes I saw you at the window of her room with her; if I tell you that I

saw the rope ladder dangling from her balcony; if I tell you that crouching there after I had killed Samoval

killed him, mark me, for saying that you and my wife betrayed me; killed him for telling me the filthy truth

if I tell you that I heard her attempting to restrain you from going down to see what had happened if I tell

"I will still say that all that you imply is false as hell and your own senseless jealousy can make it.

"Ah, wait," O'Moy bade her with his heavy sneer. "You interrupt him. He is about to construe those facts so

that they shall wear an innocent appearance. He is about to prove himself worthy of the great sacrifice you

Miss Armytage looked at him too, with eyes from which the dread passed almost at once. The captain was

smiling, wistfully, tolerantly, confidently, almost scornfully. Had he been guilty of the thing imputed he

"O'Moy," he said slowly, "I should tell you that you have played the knave in this were it not clear to me that

you have played the fool." He spoke entirely without passion. He saw his way quite clearly. Things had

reached a pass in which for the sake of all concerned, and perhaps for the sake of Miss Armytage more than

any one, the whole truth must be spoken without regard to its consequences to Richard Butler.

"Yourself shall be the first to justify it presently. I should be angry with you, O'Moy, for what you have done.

But I find my anger vanishing in regret. I should scorn you for the lie you have acted, for your scant regard to

your oath in the courtmartial, for your attempt to combat an imagined villainy by a real villainy. But I

realise what you have suffered, and in that suffering lies the punishment you fully deserve for not having

taken the straight course, for not having taxed me there and then with the thing that you suspected."

"The gentleman is about to lecture me upon morals, Sylvia." But Tremayne let pass the interruption.

"It is quite true that I was in Una's room while you were killing Samoval. But I was not alone with her, as you

have so rashly assumed. Her brother Richard was there, and it was on his behalf that I was present. She had

been hiding him for a fortnight. She begged me, as Dick's friend and her own, to save him; and I undertook to

do so. I climbed to her room to assist him to descend by the rope ladder you saw, because he was wounded

and could not climb without assistance. At the gates I had the curricle waiting in which I had driven up. In

this I was to have taken him on board a ship that was leaving that night for England, having made

arrangements with her captain. You should have seen, had you reflected, that as I told the court had I

been coming to a clandestine meeting, I should hardly have driven up in so open a fashion, and left the

"The death of Samoval and my own arrest thwarted our plans and prevented Dick's escape. That is the truth.

Now that you have it I hope you like it, and I hope that you thoroughly relish your own behaviour in the

There was a fluttering sigh of relief from Miss Armytage. Then silence followed, in which O'Moy stared at

"Dick Butler?" he said at last, and cried out: "I don't believe a word of it! Ye're lying, Tremayne."

"If it were true, Una would not have kept it from me. It was to me she would have come."

"The trouble with you, O'Moy, is that jealousy seems to have robbed you of the power of coherent thought, or

else you would remember that you were the last man to whom Una could confide Dick's presence here. I

warned her against doing so. I told her of the promise you had been compelled to give the secretary, Forjas,

and I was even at pains to justify you to her when she was indignant with you for that. It would perhaps be

"It's what I intend," said Sir Terence in a voice that made a threat of the statement. He strode stiffly across the

room and pulled open the door. There was no need to go farther. Lady O'Moy, white and tearful, was

discovered on the threshold. Sir Terence stood aside, holding the door for her, his face very grim.

She came in slowly, looking from one to another with her troubled glance, and finally accepting the chair that

Captain Tremayne made haste to offer her. She had so much to say to each person present that it was

impossible to know where to begin. It remained for Sir Terence to give her the lead she needed, and this he

did so soon as he had closed the door again. Planted before it like a sentry, he looked at her between anger

"There are other ways of ascertaining that without stooping to keyholes," said her husband.

"I didn't stoop," she said, taking him literally. "I could hear what was said without that especially what you

"And the provocation in this instance was, of course, of the slightest. Since you have heard Captain

"If you still can doubt, O'Moy," said Tremayne, "it must be because you wish to doubt; because you are

afraid to face the truth now that it has been placed before you. I think, Una, it will spare a deal of trouble, and

save your husband from a great many expressions that he may afterwards regret, if you go and fetch Dick.

At the suggestion of producing Dick, O'Moy's anger, which had begun to simmer again, was stilled. He

looked at his wife almost in alarm, and she met his look with one of utter blankness.

"Gone?" said O'Moy, and then he began to laugh. "Are you quite sure that he was ever here?"

"But " She was a little bewildered, and a frown puckered her perfect brow. " Hasn't Ned told you, then?"

"And don't you believe him? Don't you believe me?" She was more plaintive than ever. It was almost as if

she called heaven to witness what manner of husband she was forced to endure. "Then you had better call

"And no doubt," said Miss Armytage mercilessly, "Sir Terence will believe his butler where he can believe

He looked at her in a sort of amazement. "Do you believe them, Sylvia?" he cried.

"Meaning " he began, but broke off. "How long do you say it is since Dick left the house?"

"What a man to live with!" sighed her ladyship, appealing to Miss Armytage. "What a man!" And she applied

"Has any one left the house within the last ten minutes, Mullins?" asked Sir Terence.

"'Tis what I can't tell ye, sir. I never set eyes on him until I saw him coming downstairs from her ladyship's

"You can go." And Sir Terence slammed the door upon the amazed servant, who realised that some unhappy

Sir Terence stood facing them again. He was a changed man. The fire had all gone out of him. His head was

bowed and his face looked haggard and suddenly old. His lip curled into a sneer.

"Pantaloon in the comedy," he said, remembering in that moment the bitter gibe that had cost Samoval his

"It's the name I ought to bear," he said. "And I killed that liar for it the only truth he spoke."

He came forward to the table. The full sense of his position suddenly overwhelmed him, as Tremayne had

said it would. A groan broke from him and he collapsed into a chair, a stricken, broken man.

At once, as he sat there, his elbows on the table, his head in his hands, he found himself surrounded by those

three, against each of whom he had sinned under the spell of the jealousy that had blinded him and led him by

His wife put an arm about his neck in mute comfort of a grief of which she only understood the half for of

the heavier and more desperate part of his guilt she was still in ignorance. Sylvia spoke to him kindly words

of encouragement where no encouragement could avail. But what moved him most was the touch of

Tremayne's hand upon his shoulder, and Tremayne's voice bidding him brace himself to face the situation and

He looked up at his friend and secretary in an amazement that overcame his shame.

Ned looked across at Sylvia Armytage. "You have been the means of bringing me to such happiness as I

should never have reached without these happenings," he said. "What resentment can I bear you, O'Moy?

Besides, I understand, and who understands can never do anything but forgive. I realise how sorely you have

been tried. No evidence more conclusive that you were being wronged could have been placed before you."

"But the courtmartial," said O'Moy in horror. He covered his face with his hand. "Oh, my God! I am

dishonoured. I I " He rose, shaking off the arm of his wife and the hand of the friend he had wronged so

terribly. He broke away from them and strode to the window, his face set and white. "I think I was mad;" he

said. "I know I was mad. But to have done what I did " He shuddered in very horror of himself now that he

was bereft of the support of that evil jealousy that had fortified him against conscience itself and the very

Himself he answered her: "I killed Samoval. It was I who fought that duel. And then believing what I did, I

fastened the guilt upon Ned, and went the lengths of perjury in my blind effort to avenge myself. That is what

I have done. Tell me, one of you, of your charity, what is there left for me to do?"

"Oh!" It was an outcry of horror and indignation from Una, instantly repressed by the tightening grip of

Sylvia's hand upon her arm. Miss Armytage saw and understood, and sorrowed for Sir Terence. She must

restrain his wife from adding to his present anguish. Yet, "How could you, Terence! Oh, how could you!"

cried her ladyship, and so gave way to tears, easier than words to express such natures.

"Because I loved you, I suppose," he answered on a note of bitter selfmockery. "That was the justification I

should have given had I been asked; that was the justification I accounted sufficient."

"But then," she cried, a new horror breaking on her mind "if this is discovered Terence, what will become

He turned and came slowly back until he stood beside her. Facing now the inevitable, he recovered some of

"It must be discovered," he said quietly. "For the sake of everybody concerned it must "

"Oh, no, no!" She sprang up and clutched his arm in terror. "They may fail to discover the truth,"

"They must not, my dear," he answered her; stroking the fair head that lay against his breast. "They must not

"You? You?" Her eyes dilated as she looked at him. She caught her breath on a gasping sob. "Ah no,

Terence," she cried wildly. "You must not; you must not. You must say nothing for my sake, Terence, if

"For honour's sake, I must," he answered her. "And for the sake of Sylvia and of Tremayne, whom I have

"What can I say?" cried Tremayne, with a gesture that was almost of anger. "How can I advise? I scarcely

"Fully, and the only part of it I shrink from is the shame and scorn I have deserved. Yet it is inevitable. You

"I am not sure. None who understands as I understand can feel anything but regret. Oh, I don't know. The

evidence of what you suspected was overwhelming, and it betrayed you into this mistake. The punishment

you would have to face is surely too heavy, and you have suffered far more already than you can ever be

called upon to suffer again, no matter what is done to you. Oh, I don't know! The problem is too deep for me.

There is Una to be considered, too. You owe a duty to her, and if you keep silent it may be best for all. You

"Never was a man blessed with nobler friends who deserved so little of them," he said slowly. "You heap

coals of fire upon my head. You shame me through and through. But have you considered, Ned, that all may

not depend upon my silence? What if the provostmarshal, investigating now, were to come upon the real

"How can you be sure of that? And if it were possible, if it came to pass, what then would be my position?

You see, Ned! I must accept the punishment I have incurred lest a worse overtake me to put it at its lowest.

I must voluntarily go forward and denounce myself before another denounces me. It is the only way to save

There was a tap at the door, and Mullins came to announce that Lord Wellington was asking to see Sir

Mullins departed, and Sir Terence prepared to follow. Gently he disengaged himself from the arms her

"Courage, my dear," he said. "Wellington may show me more mercy than I deserve."

"Of course, sweetheart. What else can I do? And since you and Tremayne find it in your hearts to forgive me,

nothing else matters very much." He kissed her tenderly and put her from him. He looked at Sylvia standing

beside her and at Tremayne beyond the table. "Comfort her," he implored them, and, turning, went out

Awaiting him in the study he found not only Lord Wellington, but Colonel Grant, and by the cold gravity of

both their faces he had an inspiration that in some mysterious way the whole hideous truth was already

The slight figure of his lordship in its grey frock was stiff and erect, his booted leg firmly planted, his hands

behind him clutching his ridingcrop and cocked hat. His face was set and his voice as he greeted O'Moy

"Ah, O'Moy, there are one or two matters to be discussed before I leave Lisbon."

"I had written to you, sir," replied O'Moy. "Perhaps you will first read my letter." And he went to fetch it

His lordship took the letter in silence, and after one piercing glance at O'Moy broke the seal. In the

background, near the window, the tall figure of Colquhoun Grant stood stiffly erect, his hawk face

"Ah! Your resignation, O'Moy. But you give no reasons." Again his keen glance stabbed into the adjutant's

"Because," said Sir Terence, "I prefer to tender it before it is asked of me." He was very white, yet by an

effort those deep blue eyes of his met the terrible gaze of his chief without flinching.

"In the first place," said O'Moy, "it was myself killed Samoval, and since your lordship was a witness of what

The great soldier jerked his head sharply backward, tilting forward his chin. "So!" he said. "Ha! I beg your

pardon, Grant, for having disbelieved you." Then, turning to O'Moy again: "Well," he demanded, his voice

"Nothing that can matter," said O'Moy, with a shrug, and they stood facing each other in silence for a long

"O'Moy," he said, "I have known you these fifteen years, and we have been friends. Once you carried your

friendship, appreciation, and understanding of me so far as nearly to ruin yourself on my behalf. You'll not

have forgotten the affair of Sir Harry Burrard. In all these years I have known you for a man of shining

honour, an honest, upright gentleman, whom I would have trusted when I should have distrusted every other

living man. Yet you stand there and confess to me the basest, the most dishonest villainy that I have ever

known a British officer to commit, and you tell me that you have no explanation to offer for your conduct.

"What explanation can there be?" he asked. "How can a man who has been as I hope I have a man of

honour in the past explain such an act of madness? It arose out of your order against duelling," he went on.

"Samoval offended me mortally. He said such things to me of my wife's honour that no man could suffer, and

I least of any man. My temper betrayed me. I consented to a clandestine meeting without seconds. It took

place here, and I killed him. And then I had, as I imagined quite wrongly, as I know now overwhelming

evidence that what he had told me was true, and I went mad." Briefly he told the story of Tremayne's descent

"I scarcely know," he resumed, "what it was I hoped to accomplish in the end. I do not know for I never

stopped to consider whether I should have allowed Captain Tremayne to have been shot if it had come to

that. All that I was concerned to do was to submit him to the ordeal which I conceived he must undergo when

he saw himself confronted with the choice of keeping silence and submitting to his fate, or saving himself by

"You fool, O'Moyyou damned, infernal fool!" his lordship swore at him. "Grant overheard more than you

imagined that night outside the gates. His conclusions ran the truth very close indeed. But I could not believe

"When Miss Armytage intervened to afford Tremayne an alibi, I believed her, in view of what Grant had told

me; I concluded that hers was the window from which Tremayne had climbed down. Because of what I knew

I was there to see that the case did not go to extremes against Tremayne. If necessary Grant must have given

full evidence of all he knew, and there and then left you to your fate. Miss Armytage saved us from that, and

left me convinced, but still not understanding your own attitude. And now comes Richard Butler to surrender

to me and cast himself upon my mercy with another tale which completely gives the lie to Miss Armytage's,

Sir Terence turned aside with a weary shrug. A little laugh that was more a sob broke from him. "Poor Una!"

"The tangle is a shocking one lies, lies everywhere, and in the places where they were least to be expected."

Wellington's anger flashed out. "Do you realise what awaits you as a result of all this damned insanity?"

"I do, sir. That is why I place my resignation in your hands. The disregard of a general order punishable in

"And you are prepared to face it?" Wellington was almost savage in an anger proceeding from the conflict

that went on within him. There was his duty as commanderinchief, and there was his friendship for O'Moy

and his memory of the past in which O'Moy's loyalty had almost been the ruin of him.

His lordship turned away, and strode the length of the room, his head bent, his lips twitching. Suddenly he

"The signal service rendered the cause of the allies by the death of Samoval might perhaps be permitted to

"How could it?" snapped his lordship. "You don't know, O'Moy, that upon Samoval's body were found

certain documents intended for Massena. Had they reached him, or had Samoval carried out the full

intentions that dictated his quarrel with you, and no doubt sent him here depending upon his swordsmanship

to kill you, all my plans for the undoing of the French would have been ruined. Ay, you may stare. That is

another matter in which you have lacked discretion. You may be a fine engineer, O'Moy, but I don't think I

could have found a less judicious adjutantgeneral if I had raked the ranks of the army on purpose to find an

idiot. Samoval was a spy the cleverest spy that we have ever had to deal with. Only his death revealed how

dangerous he was. For killing him when you did you deserve the thanks of his Majesty's Government, as

Grant suggests. But before you can receive those you will have to stand a courtmartial for the manner in

which you killed him, and you will probably be shot. I can't help you. I hope you don't expect it of me."

"The thought had not so much as occurred to me. Yet what you tell me, sir, lifts something of the load from

"Does it? Well, it lifts no load from mine," was the angry retort. He stood considering. Then with an

impatient gesture he seemed to dismiss his thoughts. "I can do nothing," he said, "nothing without being false

to my duty and becoming as bad as you have been, O'Moy, and without any of the sentimental justification

that existed in your case. I can't allow the matter to be dropped, stifled. I have never been guilty of such a

thing, and I refuse to become guilty of it now. I refuse do you understand? O'Moy, you have acted; and you

"I am glad of that." He was in one of those rages which were as terrible as they were rare with him. "I

wouldn't have you suppose that I make laws for the sake of rescuing people from the consequences of

disobeying them. Here is this brotherinlaw of yours, this fellow Butler, who has made enough mischief in

the country to imperil our relations with our allies. And I am half pledged to condone his adventure at Tavora.

There's nothing for it, O'Moy. As your friend, I am infernally angry with you for placing yourself in this

position; as your commanding officer I can only order you under arrest and convene a courtmartial to deal

Sir Terence bowed his head. He was a little surprised by all this heat. "I never expected anything else," he

said. "And it's altogether at a loss I am to understand why your lordship should be vexing yourself in this

"Because I've a friendship for you, O'Moy. Because I remember that you've been a loyal friend to me. And

because I must forget all this and remember only that my duty is absolutely rigid and inflexible. If I condoned

your offence, if I suppressed inquiry, I should be in duty and honour bound to offer my own resignation to his

Majesty's Government. And I have to think of other things besides my personal feelings, when at any

"From my heart I thank you that you can even think of such things at such a time and after what I have done."

"Oh, as to what you have done I understand that you are a fool, O'Moy. There's no more to be said. You are

to consider yourself under arrest. I must do it if you were my own brother, which, thank God, you're not.

"It's the hand of your friend, Arthur Wellesley, I'm offering you, not the hand of your commanding officer,"

Sir Terence took it, and wrung it in silence, perhaps more deeply moved than he had yet been by anything

There was a knock at the door, and Mullins opened it to admit the adjutant's orderly, who came stiffly to

"Major Carruthers's compliments, sir," he said to O'Moy, "and his Excellency the Secretary of the Council of

There was a pause. O'Moy shrugged and spread his hands. This message was for the adjutantgeneral and he

"Pray tell Major Carruthers that I " he was beginning, when Lord Wellington intervened.

But Wellington detained him. "Since Dom Miguel asked for you, you had better remain, perhaps."

"It is the adjutantgeneral Dom Miguel desires to see, and I am adjutantgeneral no longer."

"Still, the matter may concern you. I have a notion that it may be concerned with the death of Count Samoval,

since I have acquainted the Council of Regency with the treason practised by the Count. You had better

The sleek and supple Secretary of State was ushered in. He came forward quickly, clicked his heels together

"Sirs, your obedient servant," he announced himself, with a courtliness almost out of fashion, speaking in his

extraordinarily fluent English. His sallow countenance was extremely grave. He seemed even a little ill at

"I am fortunate to find you here, my lord. The matter upon which I seek your adjutantgeneral is of

considerable gravity so much that of himself he might be unable to resolve it. I feared you might already

"Since you suggest that my presence may be of service to you, I am happy that circumstances should have

delayed my departure," was his lordship's courteous answer. "A chair, Dom Miguel."

Dom Miguel Forjas accepted the proffered chair, whilst Wellington seated himself at Sir Terence's desk. Sir

Terence himself remained standing with his shoulders to the overmantel, whence he faced them both as well

as Grant, who, according to his selfeffacing habit, remained in the background by the window.

"I have sought you," began Dom Miguel, stroking his square chin, "on a matter concerned with the late Count

Samoval, immediately upon hearing that the courtmartial pronounced the acquittal of Captain Tremayne."

"Oh, on the contrary on the contrary!" Dom Miguel was emphatic. "I represent not only the Council, but the

Samoval family as well. Both realise that it is perhaps fortunate for all concerned that in arresting Captain

Tremayne the military authorities arrested the wrong man, and both have reason to dread the arrest of the

"I am afraid," he said slowly, "that I do not quite perceive their concern in this matter."

"Ah, but let me explain, then. A further investigation of the manner in which Count Samoval met his death

can hardly fail to bring to light the deplorable practices in which he was engaged; for no doubt Colonel Grant,

here, would consider it his duty in the interests of justice to place before the court the documents found upon

the Count's dead body. If I may permit myself an observation," he continued, looking round at Colonel Grant,

There was a pause in which Grant looked at Wellington as if for direction. But his lordship himself assumed

"It was not considered expedient in the public interest to do so at present," he said. "And the circumstances

"There, my lord, if you will allow me to say so, you acted with a delicacy and wisdom which the

circumstances may not again permit. Indeed any further investigation must almost inevitably bring these

"Surely, my lord, the Council as a body deserves your sympathy in that it is in danger of being utterly

Wellington manifested impatience. "The Council has been warned time and again. I am weary of warning,

and even of threatening, the Council with the consequences of resisting my policy. I think that exposure is not

only what it deserves, but the surest means of providing a healthier government in the future. I am weary of

picking my way through the web of intrigue with which the Council entangles my movements and my

dispositions. Public sympathy has enabled it to hamper me in this fashion. That sympathy will be lost to it by

"My lord, I must confess that there is much reason in what you say." He was smoothly conciliatory. "I

understand your exasperation. But may I be permitted to assure you that it is not the Council as a body that

has withstood you, but certain selfseeking members, one or two friends of Principal Souza, in whose

interests the unfortunate and misguided Count Samoval was acting. Your lordship will perceive that the

moment is not one in which to stir up public indignation against the Portuguese Government. Once the

passions of the mob are inflamed, who can say to what lengths they may not go, who can say what disastrous

consequences may not follow? It is desirable to apply the cautery, but not to burn up the whole body."

Lord Wellington considered a moment, fingering an ivory paperknife. He was partly convinced.

"When I last suggested the cautery, to use your own very apt figure, the Council did not keep faith with me."

"It did not, sir. It removed Antonio de Souza, but it did not take the trouble to go further and remove his

friends at the same time. They remained to carry on his subversive treacherous intrigues. What guarantees

"You have our solemn assurances, my lord, that all those members suspected of complicity in this business or

of attachment to the Souza faction, shall be compelled to resign, and you may depend upon the reconstituted

"Your lordship is in possession of the documents found upon Count Samoval. The Council knows this, and

this knowledge will compel it to guard against further intrigues on the part of any of its members which

might naturally exasperate you into publishing those documents. Is not that some guarantee?"

His lordship considered, and nodded slowly. "I admit that it is. Yet I do not see how this publicity is to be

avoided in the course of the further investigations into the manner in which Count Samoval came by his

"My lord, that is the pivot of the whole matter. All further investigation must be suspended."

Sir Terence trembled, and his eyes turned in eager anxiety upon the inscrutable, stern face of Lord

"What else, my lord, in all our interests?" exclaimed the Secretary, and he rose in his agitation.

"British justice has reason to consider itself satisfied. British justice may assume that Count Samoval met his

death in the pursuit of his treachery. He was a spy caught in the act, and there and then destroyed a very

proper fate. Had he been taken, British justice would have demanded no less. It has been anticipated. Cannot

British justice, for the sake of British interests as well as Portuguese interests, be content to leave the matter

"An argument of expediency, eh?" said Wellington. "Why not, my lord! Does not expediency govern

"But a wise soldier, my lord, does not lose sight of the political consequences of his acts." And he sat down

"Your Excellency may be right," said his lordship. "Let us be quite clear, then. You suggest, speaking in the

name of the Council of Regency, that I should suppress all further investigations into the manner in which

Count Samoval met his death, so as to save his family the shame and the Council of Regency the discredit

which must overtake one and the other if the facts are disclosed as disclosed they would be that Samoval

was a traitor and a spy in the pay of the French. That is what you ask me to do. In return your Council

undertakes that there shall be no further opposition to my plans for the military defence of Portugal, and that

all my measures however harsh and however heavily they may weigh upon the landowners, shall be

punctually and faithfully carried out. That is your Excellency's proposal, is it not?"

"Not so much my proposal, my lord, as my most earnest intercession. We desire to spare the innocent the

consequences of the sins of a man who is dead, and well dead." He turned to O'Moy, standing there tense and

anxious. It was not for Dom Miguel to know that it was the adjutant's fate that was being decided. "Sir

Terence," he cried, "you have been here for a year, and all matters connected with the Council have been

His lordship's eyes flashed round upon O'Moy. "Ah yes!" he said. "What is your feeling in this matter,

Sir Terence faltered; then stiffened. "I The matter is one that only your lordship can decide. I have no wish

"Most emphatically upon every count, sir," replied the intelligence officer without hesitation. "I think Dom

Miguel offers an excellent bargain. And, as he says, we hold a guarantee of its fulfilment."

"If your lordship will tell me how, the Council, I am sure, will be ready to do all that lies in its power to

Wellington shifted his chair round a little, and crossed his legs. He brought his fingertips together, and over

"Your Excellency has spoken of expediency political expediency. Sometimes political expediency can

overreach itself and perpetrate the most grave injustices. Individuals at times are unnecessarily called upon to

suffer in the interests of a cause. Your Excellency will remember a certain affair at Tavora some two months

ago the invasion of a convent by a British officer with rather disastrous consequences and the loss of some

"I remember it perfectly, my lord. I had the honour of entertaining Sir Terence upon that subject on the

"Quite so," said his lordship. "And on the grounds of political expediency you made a bargain then with Sir

Terence, I understand, a bargain which entailed the perpetration of an injustice."

"Then let me refresh your Excellency's memory upon the facts. To appease the Council of Regency, or rather

to enable me to have my way with the Council and remove the Principal Souza, you stipulated for the

assurance so that you might lay it before your Council that the offending officer should be shot when

"A moment, sir. That is not the way of British justice, and Sir Terence was wrong to have permitted himself

to consent; though I profoundly appreciate the loyalty to me, the earnest desire to assist me, which led him

into an act the cost of which to himself your Excellency can hardly appreciate. But the wrong lay in that by

virtue of this bargain a British officer was prejudged. He was to be made a scapegoat. He was to be sent to his

death when taken, as a peaceoffering to the people, demanded by the Council of Regency.

"Since all this happened I have had the facts of the case placed before me. I will go so far as to tell you, sir,

that the officer in question has been in my hands for the past hour, that I have closely questioned him, and

that I am satisfied that whilst he has been guilty of conduct which might compel me to deprive him of his

Majesty's commission and dismiss him from the army, yet that conduct is not such as to merit death. He has

chiefly sinned in folly and want of judgment. I reprove it in the sternest terms, and I deplore the consequences

it had. But for those consequences the nuns of Tavora are almost as much to blame as he is himself. His

invasion of their convent was. a pure error, committed in the belief that it was a monastery and as a result of

"Now, Sir Terence's word, given in response to your absolute demands, has committed us to an unjust course,

which I have no intention of following. I will stipulate, sir, that your Council, in addition to the matters

undertaken, shall relieve us of all obligation in this matter, leaving it to our discretion to punish Mr. Butler in

such manner as we may consider condign. In return, your Excellency, I will undertake that there shall be no

further investigation into the manner in which Count Samoval came by his death, and consequently, no

disclosures of the shameful trade in which he was engaged. If your Excellency will give yourself the trouble

The grave anxiety of Dom Miguel's countenance was instantly dispelled. In his relief he permitted himself a

"My lord, there is not the need to take the sense of the Council. The Council has given me carte blanche to

obtain your consent to a suppression of the Samoval affair. And without hesitation I accept the further

condition that you make. Sir Terence may consider himself relieved of his parole in the matter of Lieutenant

"As happily concluded, my lord." Dom Miguel rose to make his valedictory oration. "It remains for me only

to thank your lordship in the name of the Council for the courtesy and consideration with which you have

received my proposal and granted our petition. Acquainted as I am with the crystalline course of British

justice, knowing as I do how it seeks ever to act in the full light of day, I am profoundly sensible of the cost

to your lordship of the concession you make to the feelings of the Samoval family and the Portuguese

The Secretary placed a hand upon his heart, bowing. "It is but the poor expression of what I think and feel."

And so he took his leave of them, escorted by Colonel Grant, who discreetly volunteered for the office.

"In my wife's name, sir, I should like to thank you. But she shall thank you herself for what you have done for

"What I have done for you, O'Moy?" Wellington's slight figure stiffened perceptibly, his face and glance

were cold and haughty. "You mistake, I think, or else you did not hear. What I have done, I have done solely

upon grounds of political expediency. I had no choice in the matter, and it was not to favour you, or out of

O'Moy bowed his head, crushed under that rebuff. He clasped and unclasped his hands a moment in his

"But I am glad, O'Moy, that I had no choice," he added more gently. "As a man, I suppose I may be glad that

my duty as CommanderinChief placed me under the necessity of acting as I have done."

Sir Terence clutched the hand in both his own and wrung it fiercely, obeying an overmastering impulse.

"Tush!" said Wellington, and then abruptly: "What are you going to do, O'Moy?" he asked.

"Do?" said O'Moy, and his blue eyes looked pleadingly down into the sternly handsome face of his chief, "I

"Of course, sir. Naturally you could not after this " He shrugged and broke off. "But must I go home?" he

"Very well," was the dull answer, and then he flared out. "Faith, it's your own fault for giving me a job of this

kind. You knew me. You know that I am just a blunt, simple soldier that my place is at the head of a

regiment, not at the head of an administration. You should have known that by putting me out of my proper

"Perhaps I do," said Wellington. "But what am I to do with you now?" He shrugged, and strode towards the

window. "You had better go home, O'Moy. Your health has suffered out here, and you are not equal to the

heat of summer that is now increasing. That is the reason of this resignation. You understand?"

"I shall be shamed for ever," said O'Moy. "To go home when the army is about to take the field!"

But Wellington did not hear him, or did not seem to hear him. He had reached the window and his eye was

"What the devil's this now?" he rapped out. "That is one of Sir Robert Craufurd's aides."

He turned and went quickly to the door. He opened it as rapid steps approached along the passage,

accompanied by the jingle of spurs and the clatter of sabretache and trailing sabre. Colonel Grant appeared,

followed by a young officer of Light Dragoons who was powdered from head to foot with dust. The youth

he was little more lurched forward wearily, yet at sight of Wellington he braced himself to attention and

"From Almeida in fortyseven hours, my lord," was the answer. "With these from Sir Robert." And he

"Hamilton, my lord," was the answer; "Hamilton of the Sixteenth, aidedecamp to Sir Robert Craufurd."

Wellington nodded. "That was great horsemanship, Mr. Hamilton," he commended him; and a faint tinge in

"The French columns are in movement. Ney and Junot advanced to the investment of Ciudad Rodrigo on the

"The commander, General Herrasti, has sent an urgent appeal to Sir Robert for assistance."

"And Sir Robert?" The question came on a sharp note of apprehension, for his lordship was fully aware that

"Sir Robert asks for orders in this dispatch, and refuses to stir from Almeida without instructions from your

"Ah!!" It was a sigh of relief. He broke the seal and spread the dispatch. He read swiftly. "Very well," was all

he said, when he had reached the end of Sir Robert's letter. " I shall reply to this in person and at, once. You

will be in need of rest, Mr. Hamilton. You had best take a day to recuperate, then follow me to Almeida. Sir

"With pleasure, Mr. Hamilton," replied Sir Terence mechanically for his own concerns weighed upon him

at this moment more heavily than the French advance. He pulled the bellrope, and into the fatherly hands of

Lord Wellington took up his hat and ridingcrop from Sir Terence's desk. "I shall leave for the frontier at

once," he announced. "Sir Robert will need the encouragement of my presence to keep him within the

prudent bounds I have imposed. And I do not know how long Ciudad Rodrigo may be able to hold out. At

any moment we may have the French upon the Agueda, and the invasion may begin. As for you, O'Moy, this

has changed everything. The French and the needs of the case have decided. For the present no change is

possible in the administration here in Lisbon. You hold the threads of your office and the moment is not one

in which to appoint another adjutant to take them over. Such a thing might be fatal to the success of the

British arms. You must withdraw this resignation." And he proffered the document.

"O'Moy," he said, and the concentrated anger of his voice was terrifying, "if you suggest that any

considerations but those of this campaign have the least weight with me in what I now do, you insult me. I

yield to no man in my sense of duty, and I allow no private considerations to override it. You are saved from

going home in disgrace by the urgency of the circumstances, as I have told you. By that and by nothing else.

Be thankful, then; and in loyally remaining at your post efface what is past. You know what is doing at

Torres Vedras. The works have been under your direction from the commencement. See that they are

vigorously pushed forward and that the lines are ready to receive the army in a month's time from now if

necessary. I depend upon you the army and England's honour depend upon you. I bow to the inevitable and

so shall you." Then his sternness relaxed. "So much as your commanding officer. Now as your friend," and

he held out his hand, "I congratulate you upon your luck. After this morning's manifestations of it, it should

"And I shall not fail you," gulped O'Moy, who, strong man that he was, found himself almost on the verge of

"I shall fix my headquarters for the present at Celorico. Communicate with me there. And now one other

matter: the Council of Regency will no doubt pester you with representations that I should if time still

remains advance to the relief of Ciudad Rodrigo. Understand, that is no part of my plan of campaign. I do

not stir across the frontier of Portugal. Here let the French come and find me, and I shall be ready to receive

them. Let the Portuguese Government have no illusions on that point, and stimulate the Council into doing all

possible to carry out the destruction of mills and the laying waste of the country in the valley of the Mondego

"Oh, and by the way, you will find your brotherinlaw, Mr. Butler, in the guardroom yonder, awaiting my

orders. Provide him with a uniform and bid him rejoin his regiment at once. Recommend him to be more

prudent in future if he wishes me to forget his escapade at Tavora. And in future, O'Moy, trust your wife.

Again, goodbye. Come, Grant! I have instructions for you too. But you must take them as we ride."

And thus Sir Terence O'Moy found sanctuary at the altar of his country's need. They left him incredulously to

marvel at the luck which had so enlisted circumstances to save him where all had seemed so surely lost an

He sent a servant to fetch Mr. Butler, the prime cause of all this pother for all of it can be traced to Mr.

Butler's invasion of the Tavora nunnery and with him went to bear the incredible tidings of their joint

The particular story which I have set myself to relate, of how Sir Terence O'Moy was taken in the snare of his

own jealousy, may very properly be concluded here. But the greater story in which it is enshrined and with

which it is interwoven, the story of that other snare in which my Lord Viscount Wellington took the French,

goes on. This story is the history of the war in the Peninsula. There you may pursue it to its very end and

realise the iron will and inflexibility of purpose which caused men ultimately to bestow upon him who guided

Ciudad Rodrigo's Spanish garrison capitulated on the 10th of July of that year 1810, and a wave of

indignation such as must have overwhelmed any but a man of almost superhuman mettle swept up against

Lord Wellington for having stood inactive within the frontiers of Portugal and never stirred a hand to aid the

Spaniards. It was not only from Spain that bitter invective was hurled upon him; British journalism poured

scorn and rage upon his incompetence, French journalism held his pusillanimity up to the ridicule of the

world. His own officers took shame in their general, and expressed it. Parliament demanded to know how

long British honour was to be imperilled by such a man. And finally the Emperor's great marshal, Massena,

gathering his hosts to overwhelm the kingdom of Portugal, availed himself of all this to appeal to the

He issued his proclamation denouncing the British for the disturbers and mischiefmakers of Europe,

warning the Portuguese that they were the cat'spaw of a perfidious nation that was concerned solely with the

serving of its own interests and the gratification of its predatory ambitions, and finally summoning them to

The nation stirred uneasily. So far no good had come to them of their alliance with the British. Indeed

Wellington's policy of devastation had seemed to those upon whom it fell more horrible than any French

But Wellington held the reins, and his grip never relaxed or slackened. And here let it be recorded that he was

nobly and stoutly served in Lisbon by Sir Terence O'Moy. Pressure upon the Council resulted in the measures

demanded being carried out. But much time had been lost through the intrigues of the Souza faction, with the

result that those measures, although prosecuted now more vigorously, never reached the full extent which

Wellington had desired. Treachery, too, stepped in to shorten the time still further. Almeida, garrisoned by

Portuguese and commanded by Colonel Cox and a British staff, should have held a month. But no sooner had

the French appeared before it, on the 26th August, than a powder magazine traitorously fired exploded and

To Wellington this was perhaps the most vexatious of all things in that vexatious time. He had hoped to

detain Massena before Almeida until the rains should have set in, when the French would have found

themselves struggling through a sodden, waterlogged country, through bridgeless floods and a land bereft of

all that could sustain the troops. Still, what could be done Wellington did, and did it nobly. Fighting a

rearguard action, he fell back upon the grim and naked ridges of Busaco, where at the end of September he

delivered battle and a murderous detaining wound upon the advancing hosts of France. That done, he

continued the retreat through Coimbra. And now as he went he saw to it that the devastation was completed

along the line of march. What corn and provisions could not be carried off were burnt or buried, and the

people forced to quit their dwellings and march with the army a pathetic, southward exodus of men and

women, old and young, flocks of sheep, and herds of cattle, creaking bullockcarts laden with provender and

household goods, leaving behind them a country bare as the Sahara, where hunger before long should grip the

French army too far committed now to pause. In advancing and overtaking must lie Massena's hope.

Eventually in Lisbon he must bring the British to bay, and, breaking them, open out at last his way into a land

Thus thought Massena, knowing nothing of the lines of Torres Vedras; and thus, too, thought the British

Government at home, itself declaring that Wellington was ruining the country to no purpose, since in the end

the British must be driven out with terrible loss and infamy that must make their name an opprobrium in the

But Wellington went his relentless way, and at tire end of the first week of October brought his army and the

multitude of refugees safely within the amazing lines. The French, pressing hard upon their heels and

confident that the end was near, were brought up sharply before those stupendous, unsuspected, impregnable

After spending best part of a month in vain reconnoitering, Massena took up his quarters at Santarem, and

thence the country was scoured for what scraps of victuals had been left to relieve the dire straits of the

famished host of France. How the great marshal contrived to hold out so long in Santarem against the

onslaught of famine and concomitant disease remains something of a mystery. An appeal to the Emperor for

succour eventually brought Drouet with provisions, but these were no more than would keep his men alive on

a retreat into Spain, and that retreat he commenced early in the following March, by when no less than ten

Instantly Wellington was up and after him. The French retreat became a flight. They threw away baggage and

ammunition that they might travel the lighter. Thus they fled towards Spain, harassed by the British cavalry

and scarcely less by the resentful peasantry of Portugal, their line of march defined by an unbroken trail of

carcasses, until the tattered remnants of that once splendid army found shelter across the Coira. Beyond this

Wellington could not continue the pursuit for lack of means to cross the swollen river and also because

But there for the moment he might rest content, his immediate object achieved and his stern strategy

On the heights above the yellow, turgid flood rode Wellington with a glittering staff that included O'Moy and

Murray, the quartermastergeneral. Through his telescope he surveyed with silent satisfaction the straggling

columns of the French that were being absorbed by the evening mists from the sodden ground.

O'Moy, at his side, looked on without satisfaction. To him the close of this phase of the campaign which had

justified his remaining in office meant the reopening of that painful matter that had been left in suspense by

circumstances since that June day of last year at Monsanto. The resignation then refused from motives of

Abruptly upon the general stillness came a sharply humming sound. Within a yard of the spot where

Wellington sat his horse a handful of soil heaved itself up and fell in a tiny scattered shower. Immediately

elsewhere in a dozen places was the phenomenon repeated. There was too much glitter about the staff

uniforms and vindictive French sharpshooters were finding them an attractive mark.

"So I perceive," Lord Wellington answered calmly, and leisurely he closed his glass, so leisurely that O'Moy,

in impatient fear of his chief, spurred forward and placed himself as a screen between him and the line of fire.

Lord Wellington looked at him with a faint smile. He was about to speak when O'Moy pitched forward and

They picked him up unconscious but alive, and for once Lord Wellington was seen to blench as he flung

down from his horse to inquire the nature of O'Moy's hurt. It was not fatal, but, as it afterwards proved, it was

grave enough. He had been shot through the body, the right lung had been grazed and one of his ribs broken.

Two days later, after the bullet had been extracted, Lord Wellington went to visit him in the house where he

was quartered. Bending over him and speaking quietly, his lordship said that which brought a moisture to the

eyes of Sir Terence and a smile to his pale lips. What actually were his lordship's words may be gathered

"Ye're entirely wrong, then, and it's mighty glad I am. For now I need no longer hand you my resignation. I

So he was; and thus it happens that not until now when this chronicle makes the matter public does the

knowledge of Sir Terence's single but grievous departure from the path of honour go beyond the few who

were immediately concerned with it. They kept faith with him because they loved him; and because they had

If I have done my duty as a faithful chronicler, you who read, understanding too, will take satisfaction in that