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Title: The Inn at the Red Oak

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</pre>

    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <h1>
      THE INN AT THE RED OAK
    </h1>
    <center>
      <b>BY LATTA GRISWOLD</b>
      <p>
        &nbsp;
      </p>
      <p>
        &nbsp;
      </p>
      <p>
        &nbsp;
      </p>1917
    </center>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p><a name="image-1"><!-- Image 1 --></a>
    <center>
      <img src="frontis.png" height="555" width="450" alt=
      "'It's a treasure right enough!' cried Dan.">
    </center>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <h2>
      CONTENTS
    </h2>
    <center>
      <a href="#PART1">PART I</a><br>
      THE OLD MARQUIS
    </center>
    <p>
      <a href="#CH1">I THE MARQUIS ARRIVES AT THE INN</a>
    </p>
    <p>
      <a href="#CH2">II THE LION'S EYE</a>
    </p>
    <p>
      <a href="#CH3">III THE MARQUIS AT NIGHT</a>
    </p>
    <p>
      <a href="#CH4">IV THE OAK PARLOUR</a>
    </p>
    <p>
      <a href="#CH5">V THE WALK THROUGH THE WOODS</a>
    </p>
    <center>
      <a href="#PART2">PART II</a><br>
      THE TORN SCRAP OF PAPER
    </center>
    <p>
      <a href="#CH6">VI THE HALF OF AN OLD SCRAP OF PAPER</a>
    </p>
    <p>
      <a href="#CH7">VII A DISAPPEARANCE</a>
    </p>
    <p>
      <a href="#CH8">VIII GREEN LIGHTS</a>
    </p>
    <p>
      <a href="#CH9">IX RECOLLECTIONS OF A FRENCH EXILE</a>
    </p>
    <p>
      <a href="#CH10">X MIDNIGHT VIGILS</a>
    </p>
    <center>
      <a href="#PART3">PART III</a><br>
      THE SCHOONER IN THE COVE
    </center>
    <p>
      <a href="#CH11">XI THE SOUTHERN CROSS</a>
    </p>
    <p>
      <a href="#CH12">XII TOM TURNS THE TABLES</a>
    </p>
    <p>
      <a href="#CH13">XIII MADAME DE LA FONTAINE</a>
    </p>
    <p>
      <a href="#CH14">XIV IN THE FOG</a>
    </p>
    <p>
      <a href="#CH15">XV NANCY</a>
    </p>
    <p>
      <a href="#CH16">XVI MADAME AT THE INN</a>
    </p>
    <p>
      <a href="#CH17">XVII THE MARQUIS LEAVES THE INN</a>
    </p>
    <center>
      <a href="#PART4">PART IV</a><br>
      THE ATTACK ON THE INN
    </center>
    <p>
      <a href="#CH18">XVIII THE AVENUE OF MAPLES</a>
    </p>
    <p>
      <a href="#CH19">XIX THE ATTACK</a>
    </p>
    <p>
      <a href="#CH20">XX THE OAK PARLOUR</a>
    </p>
    <p>
      <a href="#CH21">XXI THE TREASURE</a>
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <h1>
      The Inn at the Red Oak
    </h1><a name="PART1"><!-- PART1 --></a>
    <h2>
      PART I
    </h2>
    <center>
      THE OLD MARQUIS
    </center>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p><a name="CH1"><!-- CH1 --></a>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER I
    </h2>
    <center>
      THE MARQUIS ARRIVES AT THE INN
    </center>
    <p>
      By the end of the second decade of the last century Monday
      Port had passed the height of prosperity as one of the
      principal depots for the West Indian trade. The shipping was
      rapidly being transferred to New York and Boston, and the old
      families of the Port, having made their fortunes, in rum and
      tobacco as often as not, were either moving away to follow
      the trade or had acquiesced in the changed conditions and
      were settling down to enjoy the fruit of their labours. The
      harbour now was frequently deserted, except for an occasional
      coastwise trader; the streets began to wear that melancholy
      aspect of a town whose good days are more a memory than a
      present reality; and the old stage roads to Coventry and
      Perth Anhault were no longer the arteries of travel they once
      had been.
    </p>
    <p>
      To the east of Monday Port, across Deal Great Water, an
      estuary of the sea that expanded almost to the dignity of a
      lake, lay a pleasant rolling wooded country known in Caesarea
      as Deal. It boasted no village, scarcely a hamlet. Dr.
      Jeremiah Watson, a famous pedagogue and a graduate of
      Kingsbridge, had started his modest establishment for "the
      education of the sons of gentlemen" on Deal Hill; there were
      half-a-dozen prospering farms, Squire Pembroke's Red Farm and
      Judge Meath's curiously lonely but beautiful House on the
      Dunes among them; a little Episcopalian chapel on the shores
      of the Strathsey river, a group of houses at the cross roads
      north of Level's Woods, and the Inn at the Red Oak,&#8212;and
      that was all.
    </p>
    <p>
      In its day this inn had been a famous hostelry, much more
      popular with travellers than the ill-kept provincial hotels
      in Monday Port; but now for a long time it had scarcely
      provided a livelihood for old Mrs. Frost, widow of the famous
      Peter who for so many years had been its popular host. No one
      knew when the house had been built; though there was an old
      corner stone on which local antiquarians professed to
      decipher the figures "1693," and that year was assigned by
      tradition as the date of its foundation.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was a long crazy building, with a great sloping roof, a
      wide porch running its entire length, and attached to its
      sides and rear in all sorts of unexpected ways and places
      were numerous out houses and offices. Behind its high brick
      chimneys rose the thick growth of Lovel's Woods, crowning the
      ridge that ran between Beaver Pond and the Strathsey river to
      the sea. The house faced southwards, and from the cobbled
      court before it meadow and woodland sloped to the beaches and
      the long line of sand dunes that straggled out and lost
      themselves in Strathsey Neck. To the east lay marshes and the
      dunes and beyond them the Strathsey, two miles wide where its
      waters met those of the Atlantic; west lay the great curve,
      known as the Second Beach, the blue surface of Deal Bay, and
      a line of rocky shore, three miles in length, terminated by
      Rough Point, near which began the out-lying houses of Monday
      Port.
    </p>
    <p>
      The old hostelry took its name from a giant oak which grew at
      its doorstep just to one side of the maple-lined driveway
      that led down to the Port Road, a hundred yards or so beyond.
      This enormous tree spread its branches over the entire width
      and half the length of the roof. Ordinarily, of course, its
      foliage was as green as the leaves on the maples of the
      avenue or on the neighbouring elms, and the name of the Inn
      might have seemed to the summer or winter traveller an odd
      misnomer; but in autumn when the frost came early and the
      great mass of green flushed to a deep crimson it could not
      have been known more appropriately than as the Inn at the Red
      Oak.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was a solidly-built house, such as even in the early part
      of the nineteenth century men were complaining they could no
      longer obtain; built to weather centuries of biting
      southeasters, and&#8212;the legend ran&#8212;to afford
      protection in its early days against Indians. At the time of
      the Revolution it had been barricaded, pierced with
      portholes, and had served, like innumerable other houses from
      Virginia to Massachusetts, as Washington's headquarters. When
      Tom Pembroke knew it best, its old age and decay had well set
      in.
    </p>
    <p>
      Pembroke was the son of the neighbouring squire, whose house,
      known as the Red Farm, lay In the little valley on the other
      side of the Woods at the head of Beaver Pond. From the time
      he had been able to thread his way across the woodland by its
      devious paths&#8212;Tom had been at the Inn almost every day
      to play with Dan Frost, the landlord's son. They had played
      in the stables, then stocked with a score of horses, where
      now there were only two or three; in the great haymows of the
      old barn in the clearing back of the Inn; in the ramshackle
      garret under that amazing roof; or, best of all, in the
      abandoned bowling-alley, where they rolled dilapidated balls
      at rickety ten-pins.
    </p>
    <p>
      When Tom and Dan were eighteen&#8212;they were born within a
      day of each other one bitter February&#8212;old Peter died,
      leaving the Inn to his wife. Mrs. Frost pretended to carry on
      the business, but the actual task of doing so soon devolved
      upon her son. And in this he was subjected to little
      interference; for the poor lady, kindly inefficient soul that
      she was, became almost helpless with rheumatism. But indeed
      it was rather on the farm than to the Inn that more and more
      they depended for their living. In the social hierarchy of
      Caesarea the Pembrokes held themselves as vastly superior to
      the Frosts; but thanks to the easy-going democratic customs
      of the young republic, more was made of this by the women
      than the men.
    </p>
    <p>
      The two boys loved each other devotedly, though love is
      doubtless the last word they would have chosen to express
      their relation. Dan was tall, dark, muscular; he had a
      well-shaped head on his square shoulders; strong well-cut
      features; a face that the sun had deeply tanned and dark hair
      that it had burnished with gold. Altogether he was a
      prepossessing lad, though he looked several years older than
      he was, and he was commonly treated by his neighbours with a
      consideration that his years did not merit. Tom Pembroke was
      fairer; more attractive, perhaps, on first acquaintance;
      certainly more boyish in appearance and behaviour. He was
      quicker in his movements and in his mental processes; more
      aristocratic in his bearing. His blue eyes were more
      intelligent than Dan's, but no less frank and kindly. Young
      Frost admired his friend almost as much as he cared for him;
      for Dan, deprived of schooling, had a reverence for learning,
      of which Tom had got a smattering at Dr. Watson's
      establishment for "the sons of gentlemen" on the nearby hill.
    </p>
    <p>
      One stormy night in early January, the eve of Dan Frost's
      twenty-second birthday, the two young men had their supper
      together at the Inn, and afterwards sat for half-an-hour in
      the hot, stove-heated parlour until Mrs. Frost began to nod
      over her knitting.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Off with you, boys," she said at length; "you will be
      wanting to smoke your dreadful pipes. Nancy will keep me
      company."
    </p>
    <p>
      They took instant advantage of this permission and went into
      the deserted bar, where they made a roaring fire on the great
      hearth, drew their chairs near, filled their long clay pipes
      with Virginia tobacco, and fell to talking.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Think of it!" exclaimed young Frost, as he took a great
      whiff at his pipe; "here we are&#8212;the middle of the
      winter&#8212;and not a guest in the house. Why we used to
      have a dozen travellers round the bar here, and the whole
      house bustling. I've known my father to serve a hundred and
      more with rum on a night like this. Now we do a fine business
      if we serve as many in a winter. Times have changed since we
      were boys."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Aye," Tom agreed, "and it isn't so long ago, either. It
      seemed to me as if the whole county used to be here on a
      Saturday night."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I'm thinking," resumed Dan musingly, "of throwing up the
      business, what's the use of pretending to keep an inn? If it
      wasn't for mother and for Nancy, I'd clear out, boy; go off
      and hunt my fortune. As it is, with what I make on the farm
      and lose on the house, I just pull through the year."
    </p>
    <p>
      "By gad," exclaimed Tom, "I'd go with you, Dan. I'm tired to
      my soul with reading law in father's office. Why, you and I
      haven't been farther than Coventry to the county fair, or to
      Perth Anhault to make a horse trade. I'd like to see the
      world, go to London and Paris. I've wanted to go to France
      ever since that queer Frenchman was
      here&#8212;remember?&#8212;and told us those jolly tales
      about the Revolution and the great Napoleon. We were hardly
      more than seven or eight then, I guess."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I would like to go, hanged if I wouldn't," said Dan. "I'm
      getting more and more discontented. But there's not much use
      crying for the moon, and France might as well be the moon,
      for all of me." He relapsed then into a brooding silence. It
      was hard for an inn-keeper to be cheerful in midwinter with
      an empty house. Tom too was silent, dreaming vividly, if
      vaguely, of the France he longed to see.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Hark!" exclaimed Dan presently. "How it blows! There must be
      a big sea outside to-night."
    </p>
    <p>
      He strode to the window, pushed back the curtains of faded
      chintz, and stared out into the darkness. The wind was
      howling in the trees and about the eaves of the old inn, the
      harsh roar of the surf mingled with the noise of the storm,
      and the sleet lashed the window-panes in fury.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You will not be thinking of going home tonight, Tom?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Not I," Pembroke answered, for he was as much at home in
      Dan's enormous chamber as he was in his own little room under
      the roof at the Red Farm.
    </p>
    <p>
      As he turned from the window, the door into the parlour
      opened, and a young girl quietly slipped in and seated
      herself in the chimney-corner.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Hello, Nance," Dan exclaimed, as she entered; "come close,
      child; you need to be near the fire on a night like this."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Mother is asleep," the girl answered briefly, and then,
      resting her chin upon her hands, she fixed her great dark
      eyes upon the glowing logs. She was Dan's foster-sister,
      eighteen years of age, though she looked hardly more than
      sixteen; a shy, slender, girl, lovely with a wild, unusual
      charm. To Tom she had always been a silent elfin creature,
      delightful as their playmate when a child, but now though
      still so familiar, she seemed in an odd way, to grow more
      remote. Apparently she liked to sit with them on these winter
      evenings in the deserted bar, when Mrs. Frost had gone to
      bed; and to listen to their conversation, though she took
      little part in it.
    </p>
    <p>
      As Dan resumed his seat, he looked at her with evident
      concern, for she was shivering as she sat so quietly by the
      fireside.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Are you cold, Nance?" he asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      "A little," she replied. "I was afraid in the parlour with
      Mother asleep, and the wind and the waves roaring so
      horribly."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Afraid?" exclaimed Tom, with an incredulous laugh. "I never
      knew you to be really afraid of anything in the world,
      Nancy."
    </p>
    <p>
      She turned her dark eyes upon him for the moment, with a
      sharp inquisitive glance which caused him to flush
      unaccountably. An answering crimson showed in her cheeks, and
      she turned back to the fire. The colour fled almost as
      quickly as it had come, and left her pale, despite the glow
      of firelight.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I was afraid&#8212;to-night," she said, after a moment's
      silence.
    </p>
    <p>
      Suddenly there came the sound of a tremendous knocking on the
      door which opened from the bar into the outer porch, and all
      three started in momentary alarm.
    </p>
    <p>
      Dan jumped to his feet. "Who's that?" he cried.
    </p>
    <p>
      Again came the vigorous knocking. He ran across the room, let
      down the great oaken beam, and opened the door to the night
      and storm.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Come in, travellers." A gust of wind and sleet rushed
      through the opening and stung their faces. With the gust
      there seemed to blow in the figure of a little old man
      wrapped in a great black coat, bouncing into their midst as
      if he were an India rubber ball thrown by a gigantic hand.
      Behind him strode in Manners, the liveryman of Monday Port.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Here's a guest for you, Mr. Frost. I confess I did my best
      to keep him in town till morning, but nothing 'd do; he must
      get to the Inn at the Red Oak to-night. We had a hellish time
      getting here too, begging the lady's pardon; but here we
      are."
    </p>
    <p>
      Good-naturedly he had taken hold of his fare and, as he
      spoke, was helping the stranger unwrap himself from the
      enveloping cloak.
    </p>
    <p>
      "He's welcome," said Dan. "Here, sir, let me help you." He
      put out his hand to steady the curious old gentleman, who, at
      last, gasping for breath and blinking the sleet out of his
      eyes, had been unrolled by Manners from the dripping cloak.
    </p>
    <p>
      He was a strange figure of a man, they thought, as Dan led
      him to the fire to thaw himself out. He was scarcely more
      than five and a half feet in height, with tiny hands and feet
      almost out of proportion even to his diminutive size. He was
      an old man, they would have said, though his movements were
      quick and agile as if he were set up on springs. His face,
      small, sharp-featured and weazened, was seamed with a
      thousand wrinkles. His wig was awry, its powder, washed out
      by the melting sleet, was dripping on his face in pasty
      streaks; and from beneath it had fallen wisps of thin grey
      hair, which plastered themselves against his temples and
      forehead. This last feature was also out of proportion to the
      rest of his physiognomy, for it was of extraordinary height,
      and of a polished smoothness, in strange contrast to his
      wrinkled cheeks. Beneath shone two flashing black eyes, with
      the fire of youth in them, for all he seemed so old. The
      lower part of his face was less distinctive. He had a small,
      Suddenly there came the sound of a tremendous knocking on the
      door which opened from the bar into the outer porch, and all
      three started in momentary alarm.
    </p>
    <p>
      Dan jumped to his feet. "Who's that?" he cried.
    </p>
    <p>
      Again came the vigorous knocking. He ran across the room, let
      down the great oaken beam, and opened the door to the night
      and storm.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Come in, travellers." A gust of wind and sleet rushed
      through the opening and stung their faces. With the gust
      there seemed to blow in the figure of a little old man
      wrapped in a great black coat, bouncing into their midst as
      if he were an India rubber ball thrown by a gigantic hand.
      Behind him strode in Manners, the liveryman of Monday Port.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Here's a guest for you, Mr. Frost. I confess I did my best
      to keep him in town till morning, but nothing'd do; he must
      get to the Inn at the Red Oak to-night. We had a hellish time
      getting here too, begging the lady's pardon; but here we
      are."
    </p>
    <p>
      Good-naturedly he had taken hold of his fare and, as he
      spoke, was helping the stranger unwrap himself from the
      enveloping cloak.
    </p>
    <p>
      "He's welcome," said Dan. "Here, sir, let me sharply-pointed
      nose; a weak mouth, half-hidden by drooping white moustaches;
      and a small sharp chin, accentuated by a white beard nattily
      trimmed to a point. He was dressed entirely in black; a
      flowing coat of French cut, black small clothes, black
      stockings and boots that reached to the calves of his little
      legs. These boots were ornamented with great silver buckles,
      and about his neck and wrists showed bedraggled bits of
      yellowed lace."
    </p>
    <p>
      He stood before the fire, speechless still; standing first on
      one foot then on the other; rubbing his hands the while as he
      held them to the grateful warmth.
    </p>
    <p>
      Nancy had in the meanwhile drawn a glass of rum, and now
      advancing held it toward him a little gingerly. He took it
      eagerly and drained it at a gulp.
    </p>
    <p>
      "<i>Merci, ma petite ange; merci, messieurs</i>" he exclaimed
      at last; and then added in distinct, though somewhat strongly
      accented English, "I ask your pardon. I forget you may not
      know my language. But now that this good liquor has put new
      life in my poor old bones, I explain myself. I am arrived, I
      infer, at the Inn at the Red Oak; and you, monsieur, though
      so young, I take to be my host. I have your description, you
      perceive, from the good postilion. You will do me the
      kindness to provide me with supper and a bed?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Certainly, sir," said Dan. "It is late and we are
      unprepared, but we will put you up somehow. You too, Manners,
      had best let me bunk you till morning; you'll not be going
      back to the Port tonight? Nancy a fresh bumper for Mr.
      Manners."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Thankee, sir; I managed to get out with the gentleman
      yonder, and I guess I'll manage to get back. But it's a rare
      night, masters. Just a minute, sir, and I'll be getting his
      honour's bags.... Thank ye kindly, Miss Nancy."
    </p>
    <p>
      He drained the tumbler of raw spirit that Nancy held out.
      Then he opened the door again and went out into the storm,
      returning almost at once with the stranger's bags.
    </p>
    <p>
      Dan turned to his sister. "Nancy dear, go stir up Susan and
      Deborah. We must have a fire made in the south chamber and
      some hot supper got ready. Tell Susan to rout out Jesse to
      help her. Say nothing to Mother; no need to disturb her. And
      now, sir," he continued, turning again to the stranger, "may
      I ask your name?"
    </p>
    <p>
      The old gentleman ceased his springing seesaw for a moment,
      and fixed his keen black eyes on the questioner.
    </p>
    <p>
      "<i>Certainment, monsieur</i>&#8212;certainly, I should say,"
      he replied in a high, but not unpleasant, voice. "I am the
      Marquis de Boisdhyver, at your service. I am to travel in the
      United States&#8212;oh! for a long time. I stay here, if you
      are so good as to accommodate me, perhaps till you are weary
      and wish me to go elsewhere. You have been greatly
      recommended to me by my friend,&#8212;quiet, remote,
      secluded, an <i>auberge</i>&#8212;what you call it?&#8212;an
      inn, well-suited to my habits, my tastes, my desire for rest.
      I am very <i>fatigu&eacute;</i>, monsieur."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes," said Dan, with a grim smile, "we are remote and quiet
      and secluded. You are welcome, sir, to what we have. Tom, see
      that Manners has another drink before he goes, will you? and
      do the honours for our guest, while Nance and I get things
      ready."
    </p>
    <p>
      As he disappeared into the kitchen, following Nancy, the
      Marquis looking after him with a comical expression of
      gratitude upon his face. Tom drew another glass of rum, which
      Manners eagerly, if rashly, devoured. Then the liveryman
      wrapped himself in his furs, bade them good-night, and
      started out again into the storm for his drive back to Monday
      Port.
    </p>
    <p>
      All this time the old gentleman stood warming his feet and
      hands at the fire, watching his two companions with
      quickly-shifting eyes, or glancing curiously over the great
      bar which the light of the fire and the few candles but
      faintly illuminated.
    </p>
    <p>
      Having barred the door, Tom turned back to the hearth. "It is
      a bad night, sir."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But yes," exclaimed the Marquis. "I think I perish. Oh! that
      dreary tavern at your Monday Port. I think when I arrive
      there I prefer to perish. But this, this is the old Inn at
      the Red Oak, is it not? And it dates, yes,&#8212;from the
      year 1693? The old inn, eh, by the great tree?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, certainly," Pembroke answered; "at least, that is the
      date that some people claim is on the old cornerstone. You
      have been here before then, sir?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I?" exclaimed Monsieur de Boisdhyver. "Oh, no! not I. I have
      heard from my friend who was here some years ago."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, I see. And you have come far to-day?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "From Coventry, monsieur&#8212;Monsieur&#8212;?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Pembroke," Tom replied, with a little start.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah! yes, Monsieur Pembroke. A member of the household?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No&#8212;a friend."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I make a mistake," quickly interposed the traveller,
      "Pardon. I am come from Coventry, Monsieur Pembroke, in an
      everlasting an eternal stage, a monster of a carriage,
      monsieur. It is only a few days since that I arrive from
      France."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah, France!" exclaimed Tom, recalling that only a little
      while before he and Dan had been dreaming of that magic
      country. And here was a person who actually lived in France,
      who had just come from there, who extraordinarily chose to
      leave that delightful land for the Inn at the Red Oak in
      mid-winter.
    </p>
    <p>
      "France," he repeated; "all my life, sir, I have been longing
      to go there."
    </p>
    <p>
      "So?" said the Marquis, raising his white eyebrows with
      interest. "You love <i>ma belle patrie</i>, eh? <i>Qui
      Sait</i>?&#8212;you will perhaps some day go there. You have
      interests, friends in my country?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, none," Tom answered. "I wish I had. You come from Paris,
      sir?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "<i>Mais oui</i>."
    </p>
    <p>
      For some time they chatted in such fashion, the Marquis
      answering Tom's many questions with characteristic French
      politeness, but turning ever and anon a pathetic glance
      toward the door through which Dan and Nancy had disappeared.
      It was with undisguised satisfaction that he greeted young
      Frost when he returned to announce that supper was ready.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I famish!" the old gentleman exclaimed. "I have dined to-day
      on a biscuit and a glass of water."
    </p>
    <p>
      They found the kitchen table amply spread with
      food,&#8212;cold meats, hot eggs and coffee, and a bottle of
      port. Monsieur de Boisdhyver ate heartily and drank his wine
      with relish, gracefully toasting Nancy as he did so. When his
      meal was finished, he begged with many excuses to be shown to
      his bedroom; and indeed his fatigue was evident. Dan saw him
      to the great south chamber, carrying a pair of lighted
      candles before. He made sure that all had been done that
      sulky sleepy maids could be induced to do, and then left him
      to make ready for the night.
    </p>
    <p>
      Lights were extinguished in the parlour and the bar, the
      fires were banked, and the two young men went up to Dan's own
      room. There on either side of the warm hearth, had been drawn
      two great four-posted beds, and it took the lads but a moment
      to tumble into them.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It's queer," said Dan, as he pulled the comfort snugly about
      his shoulders, calling to Tom across the way; "it's
      queer&#8212;the old chap evidently means to stay awhile. What
      does a French marquis want in a deserted hole like this, I'd
      like to know? But if he pays, why the longer he stays the
      better."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I hope he does," said Tom sleepily. "He has a reason, I
      fancy, for he asked questions enough while you were out
      seeing to his supper. He seems to know the place almost as
      well as if he had been here before, though he said he hadn't.
      But, by gad, I wish you and I were snug in a little hotel on
      the banks of the Seine to-night and not bothering our heads
      about a doddering old marquis who hadn't sense enough to stay
      there."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Wish we were," Dan replied. "Good-night," he called,
      realizing that his friend was too sleepy to lie awake and
      discuss any longer their unexpected guest.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Good-night," murmured Tom, and promptly drifted away into
      dreams of the wonderful land he had never seen. As for Dan he
      lay awake a long time, wondering what could possibly have
      brought the old Marquis to the deserted inn at such a time of
      the year and on such a night.
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p><a name="CH2"><!-- CH2 --></a>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER II
    </h2>
    <center>
      THE LIONS EYE
    </center>
    <p>
      Toward daylight the storm blew itself out, the wind swung
      round to the northwest, and the morning dawned clear and
      cold, with a sharp breeze blowing and a bright sun shining
      upon a snow-clad, ice-crusted world and a sparkling sapphire
      sea.
    </p>
    <p>
      Dan had risen early and had set Jesse to clear a way across
      the court and down the avenue to the road. The maids, astir
      by dawn, were no longer sulky but bustled about at the
      preparation of an unusually good breakfast in honour of the
      new guest.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mrs. Frost, who habitually lay till nine or ten o'clock
      behind the crimson curtains of her great bed, had caught wind
      of something out of the ordinary, demanded Nancy's early
      assistance, and announced her intention of breakfasting with
      the household.
    </p>
    <p>
      She was fretful during the complicated process of her
      toilette and so hurt the feelings of her foster-daughter,
      that when Dan came to take her into the breakfast room, Nancy
      found an excuse for not accompanying them.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Marquis was awaiting their appearance. He stood with his
      back-to the fire, a spruce and carefully-dressed little
      figure, passing remarks upon the weather with young Pembroke,
      who leaned his graceful length against the mantelpiece.
    </p>
    <p>
      The noble traveller was presented with due ceremony to Mrs.
      Frost, who greeted him with old-world courtesy. She had had,
      indeed, considerably more association with distinguished
      personages than had most of the dames of the neighbouring
      farms who considered themselves her social superiors. She
      welcomed Monsieur de Boisdhyver graciously, enquiring with
      interest of his journey and with solicitude as to his rest
      during the night. She received with satisfaction his
      rapturous compliments on the comforts that had been provided
      him, on the beauty of the surrounding country upon which he
      had looked from the windows of his chamber, and on her own
      condescension in vouchsafing to breakfast with them. She was
      delighted that he should find the Inn at the Red Oak so much
      to his taste that he proposed to stay with them indefinitely.
    </p>
    <p>
      They were soon seated at the breakfast-table and had
      addressed themselves to the various good things that black
      Deborah had provided. The native Johnny cakes, made of meal
      ground by their own windmill, the Marquis professed to find
      particularly tempting.
    </p>
    <p>
      Despite Mrs. Frost's questions, despite his own voluble
      replies, Monsieur de Boisdhyver gave no hint, that there was
      any deeper reason for his seeking exile at the Inn of the Red
      Oak than that he desired rest and quiet and had been assured
      that he would find them there. And who had so complimented
      their simple abode of hospitality?
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah, madame," he murmured, lifting his tiny hands, "so many!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "But I fear, monsieur," replied his hostess, "that you, who
      are accustomed to the luxuries of a splendid city like Paris,
      to so many things of which we read, will find little to
      interest and amuse you in our remote countryside."
    </p>
    <p>
      "As for interest, madame," the Marquis protested, "there are
      the beauties of nature, your so delightful household, my few
      books, my writing; and for amusement, I have my
      violin;&#8212;I so love to play. You will not
      mind?&#8212;perhaps, enjoy it?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Indeed yes," said Mrs. Frost. "Dan, too, is a fiddler after
      a fashion; and as for Nancy, she has a passion for music, and
      dreams away many an evening while my son plays his old
      tunes."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah, yes," said the Marquis, "Mademoiselle Nancy, I have not
      the pleasure to see her this morning?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No," replied Mrs. Frost, flushing a trifle at the
      recollection of why Nancy was not present, "she is somewhat
      indisposed&#8212;a mere trifle. You will see her later in the
      day. But, monsieur, you should have come to us in the spring
      or the summer, for then the country is truly beautiful; now,
      with these snow-bound roads, when not even the stagecoach
      passes, we are indeed lonely and remote."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is that," insisted the Marquis, "which so charms me. When
      one is old and when one has lived a life too occupied, it is
      this peace, this quiet, this remoteness one desires. To walk
      a little, to sit by your so marvellously warm fires, to look
      upon your beautiful country, <i>cest bou</i>!"
    </p>
    <p>
      He held her for a moment with his piercing little eyes, a
      faint smile upon his lips, as though to say that it was
      impossible he should be convinced that he had not found
      precisely what he was seeking, and insisting, as it were,
      that his hostess take his words as the compliment they were
      designed to be.
    </p>
    <p>
      Before she had time to reply, he had turned to Dan. "What a
      fine harbour you have, Monsieur Frost," he said, pointing
      through the window toward the Cove, separated from the river
      and the sea by the great curve of Strathsey Neck, its blue
      waters sparkling now in the light of the morning sun.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes," replied Dan, glancing out upon the well-known
      shoreline, "it is a good harbour, though nothing, of course,
      to compare with a Port. But it's seldom that we see a ship at
      anchor here, now."
    </p>
    <p>
      "There is, however," inquired the Marquis with interest,
      "anchorage for a vessel, a large vessel?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, indeed," Tom interrupted, "in the old days when my
      father had his ships plying between Havana and the Port, he
      would often have them anchor in the Cove for convenience in
      lading them with corn from the farm."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And they were large ships?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Full-rigged, sir; many of 'em, and drawing eight feet at
      least."
    </p>
    <p>
      "<i>Eh bien</i>! And the old Inn, madame, it dates, your son
      tells me, from 1693?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "We think so, sir, though I have no positive knowledge of its
      existence before 1750. My husband purchased the place in '94,
      and it had then been a hostelry for some years, certainly
      from the middle of the century. But we have made many
      additions. Danny dear, perhaps it will interest the Marquis
      if you should take him over the house. We are proud of our
      old inn, sir."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And with reason, madame. If monsieur will, I shall be
      charmed."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I will leave you then with my son. Give me your arm, Dan, to
      the parlour. Unfortunately, Monsieur le Marquis, affliction
      has crippled me and I spend the day in my chair in the blue
      parlour. I shall be so pleased, if you will come and chat
      with me. Tommy, you will be staying to dinner with us?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Thank you, Mrs. Frost, but I must get to the Port for the
      day. Mother and Father are leaving by the afternoon stage, if
      it gets through. They are going to spend the winter in
      Coventry. But I shall be back to-night as I have promised Dan
      to spend that time with him."
    </p>
    <p>
      "We shall be glad to have you, as you know."
    </p>
    <p>
      Soon after Mrs. Frost had left the breakfast-room and Tom had
      started forth with horse and sleigh, Dan returned. The
      Marquis promptly reminded him of the suggestion that he
      should be taken over the Inn. It seemed to Dan an
      uninteresting way to entertain his guest and the morning was
      a busy one. However, he promised to be ready at eleven
      o'clock to show the Marquis all there was in the old house.
    </p>
    <p>
      As Dan went about the offices and stables, performing himself
      much of the work that in prosperous times fell to grooms and
      hostlers, he found himself thinking about his new guest. Dan
      knew enough of French history to be aware there were frequent
      occasions in France when partisans of the various factions,
      royalist, imperialist, or republican, found it best to
      expatriate themselves. He knew that in times past many of the
      most distinguished exiles had found asylum in America. But at
      the present, he understood, King Louis Philippe, was reigning
      quietly at the Tuileries and, moreover, the Marquis de
      Boisdhyver, mysterious as he was, did not suggest the
      political adventurer of whom Dan as a boy had heard his
      parents tell such extraordinary tales. In the few years
      immediately after the final fall of the great Bonaparte there
      had been an influx of imperialistic supporters in America,
      some of whom had even found their way to Monday Port and
      Deal. One of these, Dan remembered, had stayed for some
      months in '14 or '15 at the Inn at the Red Oak, and it was he
      whom Tom had recalled the night before as having told them
      stories of his adventurous exploits in the wars of the Little
      Corporal. But it was too long after Napoleon's fall to
      connect his present guest with the imperial exiles. He could
      imagine no ulterior reason for the Marquis's coming and was
      inclined to put it down as the caprice of an old restless
      gentleman who had a genuine mania for solitude. Of solitude,
      certainly, he was apt to get his fill at the Inn at the Red
      Oak.
    </p>
    <p>
      At eleven o'clock he returned to keep his appointment. He
      found the Marquis established at a small table in the bar by
      an east window, from which was obtained a view of the Cove,
      of the sand-dunes along the Neck, and of the open sea beyond.
      A writing-desk was on the table, ink and quills had been
      provided, a number of books and papers were strewn about, and
      Monsieur de Boisdhyver was apparently busy with his
      correspondence.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Enchanted" he exclaimed, as he pulled out a great gold
      watch. "Punctual. I find another virtue, monsieur, in a
      character to which I have already had so much reason to pay
      my compliments. I trust I do not trespass upon your more
      important duties." As he spoke, he rapidly swept the papers
      into the writing-desk, closed and locked it, and carefully
      placed the tiny golden key into the pocket of his
      gayly-embroidered waistcoat.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Not at all," Dan replied courteously, "I shall be glad to
      show you about. But I fear you will find it cold and dismal,
      for the greater part of the house is seldom used or even
      entered."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I bring my cloak," said the Marquis. "Interest will give me
      warmth. What I have already seen of the Inn at the Red Oak is
      so charming, that I doubt not there is much more to delight
      one. I imagine, monsieur, how gay must have been this place
      once."
    </p>
    <p>
      He took his great cloak from the peg near the fire where it
      had been hung the night before to dry wrapped himself snugly
      in it; and then, with a little bow, preceded Dan into the
      cold and draughty corridor that opened from the bar into the
      older part of the house.
    </p>
    <p>
      This hallway extended fifty or sixty feet to the north wall
      of the main part of the inn whence a large window at the turn
      of a flight of stairs gave light. On the right, extending the
      same distance as the hall itself, was a great room known as
      the Red Drawing-room, into which Dan first showed the
      Marquis. This room had not been used since father's death
      four or five years before, and for a long time previous to
      that only on the rare occasions when a county gathering of
      some sort was held at the inn. It had been furnished in good
      taste and style in colonial days, but was now dilapidated and
      musty. The heavy red damask curtains were drawn before the
      windows, and the room was dark and cheerless. Dan admitted
      the dazzling light of the sun; but the Marquis only shivered
      and seemed anxious to pass quickly on.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You see, sir," observed the young landlord, "it is dismal
      enough."
    </p>
    <p>
      "<i>Mais oui</i>&#8212;<i>mais oui</i>," exclaimed the
      Marquis.
    </p>
    <p>
      At the foot of the stairway the corridor turned at right
      angles and ran north. On either side opened a number of
      chambers in like conditions of disrepair, which had been used
      as bedrooms in the palmy days of the hostelry. This corridor
      ended at the bowling-alley, where as children Tom and Dan had
      loved to play. Half-way to the entrance to the bowling-alley
      a third hallway branched off to the right, leading to a
      similar set of chambers. Into all these they entered, the
      Marquis examining each with quick glances, dismissing them
      with the briefest interest and the most obvious comment.
    </p>
    <p>
      Dan saved the <i>pi&eacute;ce-de-resistance</i> till last.
      This was a little room entered from the second corridor just
      at the turn&#8212;the only room indeed, as he truthfully
      said, that merited a visit.
    </p>
    <p>
      "This," he explained, "we call the Oak Parlour. It is the
      only room on this floor worth showing you. My father brought
      the wainscoting from an old English country-house in
      Dorsetshire. My father's people were Torries, sir, and kept
      up their connection with the old country."
    </p>
    <p>
      It was a delightful room into which Dan now admitted the
      light of day, drawing aside the heavy green curtains from the
      eastern windows. It was wainscoted from floor to cornice in
      old black English oak, curiously and elaborately carved, and
      divided into long narrow panels. The ceiling, of similar
      materials and alike elaborately decorated, was supported by
      heavy transverse beams that seemed solid and strong enough to
      support the roof of a cathedral. On one side two windows
      opened upon the gallery and court and looked out upon the
      Cove, on the other side stood a cabinet. It was the most
      striking piece of furniture in the room, of enormous
      dimensions and beautifully carved on the doors of the
      cupboards below and on the top-pieces between the mirrors
      were lion's heads of almost life-size. Opposite the heavy
      door, by which they had entered, was a large fireplace,
      containing a pair of elaborately ornamented brass and irons.
      There was not otherwise a great deal of furniture,&#8212;two
      or three tables, some chairs, a deep window-seat, a
      writing-desk of French design; but all, except this last, in
      keeping with the character of the room, and all brought
      across the seas from the old Dorsetshire mansion, from which
      Peter Frost had obtained the interior.
    </p>
    <p>
      "<i>Charmant</i>!" exclaimed the Marquis. "You have a jewel,
      <i>mon ami</i>; a bit of old England or of old France in the
      heart of America; a room one finds not elsewhere in the
      States. It is a <i>creation superbe</i>."
    </p>
    <p>
      With enthusiastic interest he moved about, touching each
      article of furniture, examining with care the two of three
      old English landscapes that had been let into panels on the
      west side of the room, pausing in ecstacies before the great
      cabinet and standing before the fireplace as if he were
      warming his hands at that generous hearth.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah, Monsieur Frost, could I but write, read, dream here...!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I fear that would be impossible, sir," replied Dan. "It is
      difficult to heat this portion of the house; and in fact, we
      never use it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "<i>H&eacute;las</i>!" exclaimed the Marquis, "those things
      which allure us in this world are so often impossible.
      Perhaps in the spring, in the summer, when there is no longer
      the necessity of the fire, you will permit me."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It may be, monsieur," Dan replied, "that long before the
      summer comes you will have left us."
    </p>
    <p>
      "<i>Mais non</i>!" cried M. de Boisdhyver. "Every hour that I
      stay but proves to me how long you will have to endure my
      company."
    </p>
    <p>
      Somewhat ungraciously, it seemed, young Frost made no reply
      to this pleasantry; for already he was impatient to be gone.
      Although the room was intensely cold and uncomfortable, still
      his guest lingered, standing before the massive cabinet,
      exclaiming upon the exquisiteness of the workmanship, and
      every now and then running his dainty fingers along the
      carving of its front. As Dan stood waiting for the Marquis to
      leave, he chanced to glance through the window to the court
      without, and saw Jesse starting out in the sleigh. As he had
      given him no such order he ran quickly to the window, rapped
      vigourously and then, excusing himself to the Marquis,
      hurried out to ask Jesse to explain his errand.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Marquis de Boisdhyver stood for a moment, as Dan left
      him, motionless in front of the cabinet. His face was bright
      with surprise and delight, his eyes alert with interest and
      cunning. After a moment's hesitation he stole cautiously to
      the window, and seeing Frost was engaged in conversation with
      Jesse, he sprang back with quick steps to the cabinet. He
      hastily ran the tips of his fingers along the beveled edges
      of the wide shelf from end to end several times, each time
      the expression of alertness deepening into one of
      disappointment. He stopped for a moment and listened. All was
      quiet. Again with quick motions he felt beneath the edges.
      Suddenly his eyes brightened and he breathed quickly; his
      sensitive fingers had detected a slight unevenness in the
      smooth woodwork. Again he paused and listened, and then
      pressed heavily until he heard a slight click. He glanced up,
      as directly in front of him the eye of one of the carved
      wooden lion's heads on the front of the board winked and
      slowly raised, revealing a small aperture. With a look of
      satisfaction, the Marquis thrust his fingers into the tiny
      opening and drew forth a bit of tightly folded yellow paper;
      he glanced at it for an instant and thrust it quickly into
      the pocket of his waistcoat. Then he lowered the lid of the
      lion's eye. There was a slight click again; and he turned,
      just as Dan reappeared in the doorway.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Excuse my leaving you so abruptly," said Frost, "but I saw
      Jesse going off with the sleigh, and as I had given him no
      orders, I wanted to know where he was going. But it was all
      right. Are you ready, sir? I am afraid if we stay much longer
      you will catch cold." This last remark was added as the
      Marquis politely smothered a sneeze with his flimsy lace
      handkerchief.
    </p>
    <p>
      "<i>C'est bien</i>, monsieur. I fear I have taken a little
      cold. Perhaps it would be just as well if we explore no
      further to-day."
    </p>
    <p>
      "If you prefer, sir," answered Dan, holding the door open for
      his guest to go out. Monsieur de Boisdhyver turned and
      surveyed the Oak Parlour once more before he left it. "Ah!"
      he exclaimed, "this so charming room&#8212;it is of a
      perfection! Dorsetshire, you say? ... To me it would seem
      French." They walked back rapidly along the dark cold
      corridors to the bar. All the way the Marquis, wrapped
      tightly in his great cloak, kept the thumb of his left hand
      in his waistcoat pocket, pressing securely against the paper
      he had taken from the old cabinet in the Oak Parlour.
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p><a name="CH3"><!-- CH3 --></a>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER III
    </h2>
    <center>
      THE MARQUIS AT NIGHT
    </center>
    <p>
      The household of the Inn at the Red Oak soon became
      accustomed to the presence of their new member; indeed, he
      seemed to them during those bleak winter months a most
      welcome addition. Except for an occasional traveller who
      spent a night or a Sunday at the Inn, he was the only guest.
      He was gregarious and talkative, and would frequently keep
      them for an hour or so at table as he talked to them of his
      life in France, and of his adventures in the exciting times
      through which his country had passed during the last fifty
      years. He was the cadet, he told them, of a noble family of
      the Vend&eacute;e, the head of which, though long faithful to
      the exiled Bourbons, had gone over to Napoleon upon the
      establishment of the Empire. But as for
      himself&#8212;Marie-Anne-Tim&eacute;lon-Armand de
      Boisdhyver&#8212;he still clung to the Imperial cause, and
      though now for many years his age and infirmities had forced
      him to withdraw from any part in intrigues aiming at the
      restoration of the Empire, his sympathies were still keen.
    </p>
    <p>
      When he talked in this strain, of his thrilling memories of
      the Terror and of the extraordinary days when Bonaparte was
      Emperor, Dan and Tom would listen to him by the hour. But
      Mrs. Frost preferred to hear the Marquis's reminiscences of
      the <i>ancien r&eacute;gime</i> and of the old court life at
      Versailles. He had been a page, he said, to the unfortunate
      Marie Antoinette; he would cross himself piously at the
      mention of the magic name, and digress rapturously upon her
      beauty and grace, and bemoan, with tears, her unhappy fate.
      She liked also to hear of the court of Napoleon and of the
      life of the <i>faubourgs</i> in the Paris of the day. On
      these occasions the young men were apt to slip away and leave
      the Marquis alone with Mrs. Frost and Nancy.
    </p>
    <p>
      For Nancy Monsieur de Boisdhyver seemed to have a
      fascination. She would listen absorbed to his voluble tales,
      her bright eyes fixed on his fantastic countenance, her head
      usually resting upon her hand, and her body bent forward in
      an attitude of eager attention. She rarely spoke even to ask
      a question; indeed, her only words would be an occasional
      exclamation of interest, or the briefest reply.
    </p>
    <p>
      During the day their noble guest would potter about the house
      or, when the weather was fine, stroll down to the shore,
      where he would walk up and down the strip of sandy beach in
      the lee of the wind hour after hour. Now and then he wandered
      out upon the dunes that stretched along the Neck; and once,
      Dan afterwards learned, he paid a call upon old Mrs. Meath
      who lived by herself in the lonely farmhouse on Strathsey
      Neck, that was known as the House of the Dunes.
    </p>
    <p>
      After supper they were wont to gather in Mrs. Frost's parlour
      or in the old bar before the great hearth on which a splendid
      fire always blazed; and when the Marquis had had his special
      cup of black coffee, he would get out his violin and play to
      them the long evening through. He played well, with the skill
      of a master of the art, and with feeling. He seemed at such
      times to forget himself and his surroundings; his bright eyes
      would grow soft, a dreamy look would steal into them, and a
      happy little smile play about the corners of his thin pale
      lips. Obligingly he gave Dan lessons, and often the young man
      would accompany him, in the songs his mother had known and
      loved in her youth, when old Peter had come wooing with
      fiddle in hand.
    </p>
    <p>
      But best of all were the evenings when the Marquis chose to
      improvise. Plaintive, tender melodies for the most part;
      prolonged trembling, faintly-expiring airs; and sometimes
      harsh, strident notes that evoked weird echoes from the bare
      wainscoted walls. Mrs. Frost would sit, tears of sadness and
      of pleasure in her eyes, the kindly homely features of her
      face moving with interest and delight. Nancy was usually by
      the table, her sharp little chin propped up on the palms of
      her hands, never taking her fascinated gaze from the
      musician. Sometimes Tom would look at her and wonder of what
      she could be thinking. For certainly her spirit seemed to be
      far away wandering in a world of dreams and of strange
      inexpressible emotions. For Tom the music stirred delicate
      thoughts bright dreams of beauty and of love; the vivid
      intangible dreams of awakening youth. He had not had much
      experience with emotion; the story of his love affairs
      contained no more dramatic moments than the stealing of
      occasional kisses from the glowing cheeks of Maria Stonywell,
      the beauty of the Tinterton road, as he had walked back to
      the old farm with her on moonlight evenings.
    </p>
    <p>
      They would all be sorry when Monsieur pleaded weariness and
      bade them good-night. Sometimes his music so moved the old
      Frenchman that the tears would gather in his faded blue eyes
      and steal down his powdered cheeks; and then, like as not, he
      was apt to break off suddenly, drop violin and bow upon his
      knees, and exclaim, "<i>Ah! la musique! mon Dieu, mon Dieu!
      elle me rappelle ma jeunesse. Et maintenant&#8212;et
      maintenant</i>!" And then, brushing away the tears he would
      rise, make them a courtly bow, and hurry out of the room.
    </p>
    <p>
      Dan alone did not fall under his spell. He and Tom would
      often talk of their strange guest after they were gone to bed
      in the great chamber over the dining-room.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I don't know what it is," Dan said one night, "but I am
      sorry he ever came to the Inn; I wish he would go away."
    </p>
    <p>
      "How absurd, old boy!" protested Tom. "He has saved our lives
      this frightful winter. I never knew your mother to be so
      cheerful and contented; Nancy seems to adore him, and you
      yourself are making the most of his fiddle lessons."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I know," Dan replied, "all that is true, but it is only half
      the truth. Mother's cheerfulness is costing me a pretty
      penny, for I can't keep her from ordering the most expensive
      things,&#8212;wines, and the like,&#8212;that we can't
      afford. Maybe Nance adores him, as you say,&#8212;she is such
      a strange wild child; but I have never known her to be so
      unlike herself. We used to have good times
      together&#8212;Nance and I. But this winter I see nothing of
      her at all." For the moment Dan forgot his complaint in the
      tender thought of his foster-sister. "It probably is absurd,"
      he added presently, "but I don't like it; I don't like him,
      Tom! He plays the fiddle well, I admit but he is so queer and
      shifty, nosing about, looking this way and that, never
      meeting your eyes. It's just as though he were waiting,
      biding his time, for&#8212;I don't know what."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nonsense, Dan; you're not an old woman."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It may be, Tom, but I feel so anyway. The place hasn't
      seemed the same to me since that Frenchman came. I wish he
      would go away; and apparently he means to stay on forever."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I think you would miss him, if he were to go," insisted
      Pembroke, "for my part I'm glad he is here. To tell the
      truth, Dan, he's been the life of the house."
    </p>
    <p>
      "He has fascinated you as he has fascinated Mother and
      Nance," Dan replied. "But it stands to reason, boy, that he
      can't be quite all right. What does he want poking about in a
      deserted old hole like Deal?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "What he has said a thousand times; just what he so
      beautifully gets&#8212;quiet and seclusion."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Perhaps you are right and I am wrong; but all the same I
      shall be glad to see the last of him."
    </p>
    <p>
      The night was one of bright moonlight at the end of February.
      The bedroom windows were open to the cold clear air. Tom was
      not sleepy, and he lay for a long time recalling the dreams
      and emotions that had so stirred him earlier in the evening,
      as he had listened to the Marquis's playing. He kept
      whistling softly to himself such bars of the music as he
      could remember. Dan's chamber faced west, and Tom's bed was
      so placed that he could look out, without raising his head
      from the pillow, over the court in the rear of the Inn and
      into the misty depths of Lovel's Woods beyond the offices and
      stables.
    </p>
    <p>
      As he lay half-consciously musing&#8212;it must have been
      near midnight&#8212;his attention was suddenly riveted upon
      the court below. It seemed to him that he heard footsteps. He
      was instantly wide awake, and jumped from the bed to the
      window, whence he peered from behind the curtain into the
      courtyard. Close to the wall of the Inn, directly beneath the
      window, a shadow flitted on the moonlight-flooded pavement,
      and he could hear the crumbling of the snow. Cautiously he
      thrust his head out of the window. Moving rapidly along near
      to the house, was a little figure wrapped in a dark cloak,
      which looked to Tom for all the world like the Marquis de
      Boisdhyver.
    </p>
    <p>
      For the moment he had the impulse to call to him by name, but
      the conversation he had so recently had with Dan flashed into
      his mind, and he decided to keep still and watch. The figure
      moved rapidly along the west wall of the Inn almost the
      entire length of the building, until it arrived at the
      entrance of the bowling-alley which abutted from the old
      northern wing. Reaching this it paused for a moment, glancing
      about; then inserted a key, fumbled for a moment with the
      latch, opened the door, and disappeared within.
    </p>
    <p>
      Tom was perplexed. He could not be sure that it was the
      Marquis; but whether it were or not, he knew that there was
      no reason for any one entering the old portion of the Inn at
      midnight. His first thought was to go down alone and
      investigate; his second was to waken Dan.
    </p>
    <p>
      He lowered the window gently, drew the curtains across it,
      and bending over his friend, shook him gently by the
      shoulder. "Dan, Dan, I say; wake up!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "What's the matter?" exclaimed Dan with a start of alarm, as
      he sat up in bed.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nothing, nothing; don't make a noise. I happened to be
      awake, and hearing footsteps under the window, I got up and
      looked out. I saw some one moving along close to the wall
      until he got to the bowling alley. He opened the door and
      disappeared."
    </p>
    <p>
      "The door's locked," exclaimed Dan. "Who was it?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "He had a key, whoever he was then. To tell the truth, Dan,
      it looked like the Marquis; though I couldn't swear to him. I
      certainly saw some one."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You have not been asleep and dreaming, have you?" asked his
      friend, rubbing his eyes.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I should say not. I'm going down to investigate; thought
      you'd like to come along."
    </p>
    <p>
      "So I shall," said Dan, jumping out of bed and beginning to
      dress. "If you really have seen any one, I'll wager you are
      right in thinking it's the old marquis. That is just the sort
      of thing I have imagined him being up to. What he wants
      though in the old part of the house is more than I can think.
      He has pestered me to get back there ever since I showed him
      over the place the day he arrived. Are you ready? Bring a
      candle, and some matches. Ill just take my gun along on
      general principles. I don't care how soon we get rid of the
      Marquis de Boisdhyver, but I shouldn't exactly like to shoot
      him out with a load of buckshot in his hide."
    </p>
    <p>
      Tom stood waiting with his boots in hand. Dan went to his
      bureau and took out his father's old pistol, that had done
      duty in the West India trade years ago, when pirates were not
      romantic memories but genuine menaces.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Sh!" whispered Dan as he opened the door. "Let's blow out
      the candle. It's moonlight, and we will be safer without it.
      Be careful as you go down stairs not to wake Mother and
      Nancy."
    </p>
    <p>
      Tom blew out the candle and slipped the end into his pocket,
      as he tiptoed after Dan down the stairs. At every step the
      old boards seemed to creak as though in pain. As they paused
      breathless half-way down on the landing, they heard no sound
      save the loud ticking of the clock in the hall below and the
      gentle whispering of the breeze without. The moon gave light
      enough had they needed it, but each of them could have found
      his way through every nook and corner of the Inn in darkness
      as well as in broad day-light. They crept down the short
      flight from the landing, paused and listened at the doors of
      Mrs. Frost's and Nancy's chambers, and then slipped
      noiselessly into the bar where the logs still glowed on the
      hearth.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Shall we," asked Tom in a low tone, "go down the corridor or
      around outside?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Best outside," Dan whispered. "If we go down the corridor we
      are like to frighten him if he is the Marquis, or get a
      bullet in our gizzards if he is not. Should he be inside,
      he'll have a light and we can find just where he is. I have a
      notion that it's the Marquis and that he'll be in the Oak
      Parlour. We'd better creep along the porch."
    </p>
    <p>
      Very softly he unlocked the door, and stepped outside. Tom
      was close behind him. They crept stealthily along next the
      wall well within the shadow of the roof, pausing at every
      window to peer through the cracks of the shutters. But all
      were dark. As they turned the corner of the porch at the end
      of the main portion of the inn from which the north wing
      extended, Dan suddenly put his hand back and stopped Tom.
      "Wait," he breathed, "there's a light in the Oak Parlour.
      Stay here, while I peek in."
    </p>
    <p>
      With gun in hand he crept up to the nearest window of the Oak
      Parlour. The heavy shutters were closed, but between the
      crack made by the warping of the wood, he could distinguish a
      streak of golden light. He waited a moment; and, then at the
      risk of alarming the intruder within, carefully tried the
      shutter. To his great satisfaction it yielded and swung
      slowly, almost noiselessly, back upon its hinges; the inside
      curtains were drawn; but a slight gap had been left. Peering
      in through this, Dan found he could get a view of a small
      section of the interior,&#8212;the end of the great
      Dorsetshire cabinet on the farther side of the room and a
      part of the wall. Before the cabinet, bending over its shelf,
      stood the familiar form of the Marquis de Boisdhyver,
      apparently absorbed in a minute examination of the carving.
      But Dan's attention was quickly diverted from the figure of
      the old Frenchman, for by his side, also engaged in a similar
      examination of the cabinet, stood Nancy. For a moment he
      watched them with intent interest, but as he could not
      discover what so absorbed them he slipped back to Tom, who
      was waiting at the turn of the porch.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It's the Marquis," he whispered in his friend's ear.
    </p>
    <p>
      "What is he up to?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I don't know. Apparently he is examining the old cabinet.
      But, Tom, Nancy is with him and as absorbed in the thing as
      he is. Look!" he exclaimed suddenly. "They've blown out the
      light."
    </p>
    <p>
      As he spoke, he pointed to the window, now dark. "Come," he
      said, making an instant decision, "let's hide ourselves in
      the hall and see if they come back."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But Nancy&#8212;?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No time for talk now. Come along."
    </p>
    <p>
      They ran back along the porch, slipped into the bar, and
      thence into the hall. Dan motioned to Tom to conceal himself
      in a closet beneath the stairway, and he himself slipped
      behind the clock. Hardly were they safely hidden thus, than
      they heard a fumble at the latch of the door into the bar.
      Then the door was pushed open, and the Marquis stepped
      cautiously in the hall. He paused for a moment, listening
      intently. Then he held open the door a little wider; and
      another figure, quite enveloped by a long black coat, entered
      after him. They silently crossed the hall to the door of
      Nancy's chamber. This the Marquis opened; then bowed low, as
      his companion passed within. They were so close to him that
      Dan could have reached out his hand and touched them. As
      Nancy entered her room, Dan distinctly heard Monsieur de
      Boisdhyver whisper, "More success next time, mademoiselle!"
    </p>
    <p>
      There was no reply.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Marquis turned, stole softly up the stairs, and in a
      moment Dan heard the click of the latch as he closed his
      door. He slipped out from his hiding place, and whispered to
      Tom.
    </p>
    <p>
      In a few moments they were back again in their bedroom.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Heavens! man, what do you make of it?" asked Tom.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Make of it!" exclaimed Dan, "I don't know what to make of
      it. It's incomprehensible. What the devil is that old rascal
      after, and how has he bewitched Nance?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Perhaps," suggested Tom, more for Nancy's sake than because
      he believed what he was saying, "it is simply that he is
      curious, and knowing that you don't want him in the old part
      of the Inn, he has persuaded Nancy to take him there at
      night."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nonsense! that couldn't possibly account for such secrecy
      and caution. No, Tom, he has some deviltry on foot, and we
      must find out what it is."
    </p>
    <p>
      "That should be simple enough. Ask Nance."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah!" exclaimed his friend, "you don't know Nance as well as
      I. You may be sure he has sworn her to secrecy, and Nance
      would never betray a promise whether she had been wise in
      making it or not."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then go to the old man himself and demand an explanation."
    </p>
    <p>
      "He'd lie ..."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Turn him out."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I could do that, of course. But I think I would rather find
      out what he is up to. It has something to do with the old
      cabinet in the Oak Parlour. I'll find out the mystery of that
      if I have to hack the thing into a thousand pieces. What I
      hate, is Nance's being mixed up in it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "We can watch again."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes; we'll do that. In the meanwhile, I am going to
      investigate that old ark myself. There's something about,
      something concealed in it, that he wants to get. When I took
      him in there the day after he came, he couldn't keep his eyes
      off it. If you can get Nance out of the way tomorrow
      afternoon, I'll send the Marquis off with Jesse for that
      long-talked-of visit to Mondy Port; and I'll give Jesse
      instructions not to get him back before dark. And while they
      are away, I'll investigate the Oak Parlour myself. Can you
      get Nance off?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I might ask her to go and look over the Red Farm with me.
      She might like the walk through the woods. I could easily
      manage to be away for three or four hours."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Good! You may think it odd, Tom, that I should seem to
      distrust Nance. I don't distrust her, but there has always
      been a mystery about her. Mother knows a good deal more than
      she has even been willing to tell to me, or even to Nance, I
      guess. I know nothing except that she is of French
      extraction, and I have sometimes wondered since she has been
      so often with the old Marquis this winter, if he didn't know
      something about her. It flashed over me to-night as I saw
      them in that deserted room. Whatever is a-foot, I am going to
      get at the bottom of it. We will watch again to-morrow night.
      I heard him whisper as he left Nance, 'More success next
      time!' This sort of thing may have been going on for a
      month."
    </p>
    <p>
      They undressed again, and Dan put his gun away in his bureau.
      "We may have use for that yet, Tommy," he said. "It would do
      me good, after what I have seen to-night, to put a bit of
      lead into the Marquis de Boisdhyver as a memento of his so
      delightful sojourn at <i>L'Auberge au Chene Rouge</i>."
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p><a name="CH4"><!-- CH4 --></a>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER IV
    </h2>
    <center>
      THE OAK PARLOUR
    </center>
    <p>
      The two young men felt self-conscious and ill-at-ease the
      next morning at the breakfast table, but apparently their
      embarrassment was neither shared nor observed. Mrs. Frost had
      kept her room, but Nancy and the Marquis were in their
      accustomed places; the old gentleman, chattering away in a
      fashion that demanded few answers and no attention; Nancy,
      speaking only to ask necessary questions as to their wants at
      table and meeting the occasional glances of Dan and Tom
      without suspicion. Tom could scarcely realize in that bright
      morning light, that only seven or eight hours earlier he and
      his friend had spied upon their companions prowling about in
      the abandoned wing of the inn.
    </p>
    <p>
      Monsieur de Boisdhyver assented readily enough when Dan
      proposed that Jesse should take him that day to Monday Port.
      He was curious to see the old town, he said, having heard
      much of it from his friend; much also from his celebrated
      compatriot, the Marquis de Lafayette.
    </p>
    <p>
      Tom took occasion during the discussion to ask Nancy if she
      would walk across the woods with him after dinner, that he
      might pay a visit to the Red Farm and see that all was going
      well in the absence of his parents. He felt that the tones of
      his voice were charged with unwonted significance; but Nancy
      accepted the invitation with a simple expression of pleasure.
      When Mrs. Frost was informed of the plans for the day, she
      came near thwarting Dan's carefully laid schemes. She had
      counted upon Jesse to do her bidding and had, she declared,
      arranged that Nancy should help her put together the silken
      patches of the quilt upon which she was perennially engaged.
      Her foster-daughter's glance of displeasure at this was
      tinder to the old lady's temper, and Dan entered most
      opportunely.
    </p>
    <p>
      "So!" she was exclaiming, "I am always the one to be
      sacrificed when it is a question of some one's else
      pleasure."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Mother, Mother," Dan protested good-naturedly, as he bent
      over to kiss her good-morning, "aren't you ever willing to
      spend a day alone with me?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Danny dear," cried the old lady, as she began to smile
      again, "you know I'm always willing. Of course, if Tom wants
      Nancy to go, the quilt can wait; it has waited long enough,
      in all conscience. There, my dear," she added, turning to the
      girl, "order an early dinner, and since you are going to the
      Red Farm, you might as well come back by the dunes and
      enquire for old Mrs. Meath. We have neglected that poor woman
      shamefully this winter."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, Mother,&#8212;if we have time."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Take the time, my dear," added Mrs. Frost sharply.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, Mother."
    </p>
    <p>
      The Marquis started off with Jesse at eleven o'clock, as
      eager for the excursion as a boy; and by half-past twelve
      Nancy and Tom had set out across the woods for the Red Farm.
      Dan was impatient for them to be gone. As soon as he saw them
      disappear in the woods back of the Inn, he made excuses to
      his mother, and hurried to the north wing. He found the door
      of the bowling alley securely locked, which convinced him
      that either the Marquis or Nancy had taken the key from the
      closet of his chamber. Having satisfied himself, he went
      directly to the Oak Parlour.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was cold and dark there. He opened the shutters and drew
      back the curtains, letting in the cheerful midday sun, which
      revealed all the antique, sombre beauty of the room, of the
      soft landscapes and the exquisite carving of the Dorsetshire
      cabinet. But Dan was in no mood to appreciate the old-world
      beauty of the Oak Parlour. In that cabinet he felt sure there
      was something concealed which would reveal the mystery of the
      Marquis's stay at the inn and possibly the nature of his
      influence over Nancy. Whatever had been the object of the
      Marquis's search, it had not been found: his parting words to
      Nancy the night before showed that.
    </p>
    <p>
      Dan took a long look at the cabinet first, estimating the
      possibility of its containing secret drawers. Hidden
      compartments in old cabinets, secret chambers in old houses,
      subterranean passageways leading to dungeons in romantic
      castles, had been the material of many a tale that Dan and
      Tom had told each other as boys. For years their dearest
      possession had been a forbidden copy of "<i>The Mysteries of
      Udolpho</i>" which they read in the mow of the barn lying in
      the dusty hay. However unusual, the situation was real; and
      he felt himself confronted by as hard a problem as he had
      ever tried to solve in fiction. He knew something about
      carpentry, so that his first step, after examining the
      drawers and cupboards and finding them empty, was to take
      careful measurements of the entire cabinet, particularly of
      the thicknesses of its sides, back, and partitions. It proved
      a piece of furniture of absolutely simple and straightforward
      construction. After long examination and careful soundings he
      came to the conclusion that a secret drawer was an
      impossibility.
    </p>
    <p>
      Suddenly an idea occurred to him and he returned to the
      sitting-room. "Mother," he said, "I have been looking over
      the old cabinet in the Oak Parlour, thinking perhaps that I
      would have it brought into the dining-room. I wonder, if by
      chance, there are any secret drawers in it.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Secret drawers? What an idea!" exclaimed Mrs. Frost.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You never knew of any did you?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No.... Stop, let me think. Upon my word, I think there was
      something of the sort, but it has been so long ago I have
      almost forgotten."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Try to remember, do!" urged Dan, striving to repress his
      excitement.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It was not a secret drawer, but there were little hidden
      cubby-holes&#8212;three or four of them. I remember, now,
      your father once showed me how they opened. They were little
      places where the Roman Catholics used to hide the pages of
      their mass-books and such like in the days of persecution in
      England."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, yes," said Dan, "that makes it awfully interesting. Did
      father ever find anything in them?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, I think not; but, dear me, it was over thirty years ago
      we brought that old cabinet from England,&#8212;long before
      you were born, Dan."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Can you remember how to open the secret places? I have been
      looking it over, but I can't see where they can be, much less
      how to get into them."
    </p>
    <p>
      "There were four of them, I think; all in the carving on the
      front, in the eyes of the lions it seems to me, and in the
      lion's mouth, or in the leaves somewhere. One spring that
      opened them I recollect, was under the ledge of the shelf,
      another at the back of the cabinet and,&#8212;but no, I
      really can't remember where the others were."
    </p>
    <p>
      Dan was impatient to try his luck at finding them, and
      hurried back to the Oak Parlour. He ran his fingers many
      times under the ledge of the shelf before he heard the click
      of a tiny spring, and, looking up, saw the lion's eyelid wink
      and slowly open. With an exclamation of satisfaction, he
      thrust his fingers into the tiny aperture, felt carefully
      about, and was chagrined to find it empty. "More success next
      time, <i>monsieur le marquis</i>!" he muttered.
    </p>
    <p>
      At length he found the spring that released the eyelid on the
      carved lion on the other side of the panel. He glanced into
      the little opening and, to his delight, saw the end of a bit
      of paper tucked away there. He dug it out with the blade of
      his pocket knife and unfolded it. It was yellow and brittle
      with age, covered with writing in a fine clear hand. But he
      was annoyed to discover, as he bent closely over to read it,
      that it was written in French, still worse, part of the paper
      was missing, for one side of it was ragged as if it had been
      torn in two.
    </p>
    <p>
      Remembering with relief, that Pembroke had acquired a
      smattering of French at Dr. Watson's school for the sons of
      gentlemen, he put the paper carefully away in his pocket to
      wait for Tom's assistance in deciphering it. Then he set to
      work to find the missing half.
    </p>
    <p>
      He fumbled about at the back of the cabinet for a spring that
      would release another secret cubby-hole, and was rewarded at
      last by an unexpected click, and the seemingly solid jaws of
      the lion fell apart about half-an-inch. But the little
      aperture which they revealed was empty. Further experiment at
      last discovered the fourth hiding place, but this also
      contained nothing.
    </p>
    <p>
      It occurred to him then that the Marquis had already
      discovered the other half of the paper, and like himself was
      searching for a missing portion. As he stood thinking over
      the problem, he suddenly noticed that the room was in deep
      shadow, and realized that the sun had set over the ridge of
      Lovel's Woods. The Marquis would soon be returning. Carefully
      closing the four openings in the carving he pushed the old
      cabinet back against the wall, closed the shutters and drew
      the curtains. Then with a last glance to see that all was as
      he found it, he went out and closed the door the precious bit
      of paper in his inside pocket.
    </p>
    <p>
      He went directly to Mrs. Frost's parlour. "Mother," he said,
      "please don't tell anyone that I have been in the north wing
      today. I have good reasons which I will explain to you before
      long. Now, I shall be deeply offended if you give the
      slightest hint."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Gracious! Dan, what is all this mystery about?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "You will never know, mother, unless you trust me absolutely.
      Mind! not a word to Tom, Nancy or the Marquis."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Very well, Danny. You know I am as safe with a secret as
      though it had been breathed into the grave."
    </p>
    <p>
      Dan did not quite share his mother's confidence in her own
      discretion, but he knew he could count on her devotion to him
      to keep her silent even where curiosity and the love of talk
      would render her indiscreet. He also knew, and had often
      deplored it, that fond as she was of Nancy she was not
      inclined to take the girl into her confidence.
    </p>
    <p>
      Having said all he dared to his mother, Dan went to his room
      and carefully locked up the mysterious paper. He returned to
      the first floor just as the Marquis and Jesse drove up in the
      sleigh to the door of the inn.
    </p>
    <p>
      Monsieur de Boisdhyver was enthusiastic about all that he had
      seen&#8212;the headquarters of General Washington, the house
      in which the Marquis de Lafayette had slept, the old mill in
      the parade, the fort at the Narrows, the shipping, the quaint
      old streets.... "But, O Monsieur Frost," he exclaimed, "the
      weariness that is now so delightful! How soundly shall I
      sleep to-night!"
    </p>
    <p>
      Dan smiled grimly as he assured his guest of his sympathy for
      a good night and a sound sleep; thinking to himself, however,
      that if the Marquis walked, he would not walk unattended. He
      had no intention of trusting too implicitly to that loudly
      proclaimed fatigue.
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p><a name="CH5"><!-- CH5 --></a>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER V
    </h2>
    <center>
      THE WALK THROUGH THE WOODS
    </center>
    <p>
      While Dan Frost was hunting for the secret places of the old
      cabinet, Tom and Nancy were picking their way across the
      snowcovered paths of Lovel's Woods to the Red Farm. These
      woods were a striking feature in the landscape of the open
      coast country around Deal. Rising somewhat precipitously
      almost out of the sea, three ridges extended far back into
      the country, with deep ravines between. They were thickly
      wooded, for the most part with juniper and pine. In some
      places the descent to the ravines was sheer and massed with
      rocks heaped there by a primeval glacier; in other parts they
      dipped more gently to the little valleys, which were threaded
      with many a path worn smooth by the dwellers on the eastern
      shore. Nearly two miles might be saved in a walk from the Inn
      to Squire Pembroke's Farm by going across the Woods rather
      than by the encircling road.
    </p>
    <p>
      As they were used to the frozen country Tom and Nancy
      preferred the shorter if more difficult route. They had often
      found their way together through the tangled thickets of the
      Woods or along the shores of the Strathsey River, in season
      accompanied by dog and gun hunting fox and rabbit or
      partridge and wild duck. In Tom's company Nancy seemed to
      forget her shyness and would talk freely enough of her
      interests and her doings. He had always been fond of her,
      though until lately she had seemed to him hardly more than a
      child. This winter, as so frequently he had watched her
      sitting in the firelight listening to the old Marquis's
      playing and dreaming perhaps as he also dreamed, he realized
      that she was growing up. A new beauty had come into her face
      and slender form, her great dark eyes seemed to hold deeper
      interests, she was no longer in the world of childhood. The
      mystery enveloping her origin, which for some reason Mrs.
      Frost had never chosen to dispel, gave a certain piquancy to
      the interest and affection Tom felt for her. In the
      imaginative tales he had been fond of weaving for his own
      amusement, Nancy would frequently figure, revealed at last as
      the child of noble parents, as a princess doomed by some
      strange fate to exile. He thought of these things as from
      time to time he glanced back at her, holding aside some
      branch that crossed the path or giving her his hand to help
      her over a boulder in the way. The red scarf about her neck,
      red cap on her dark hair, flashing in and out of the tangled
      pathway against the background of the snow-clad woods, gave a
      bright note of colour to the scene.
    </p>
    <p>
      They were obliged for the most part to walk in single file
      until the last ridge descended over a mass of rocks to the
      marshes along Beaver Pond. Then having given her his hand to
      help her down, he kept hold of it as they went along the free
      path to the open meadows. The feeling of Nancy's cool little
      hand in his gave Tom an odd and conscious sense of pleasure.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You have been uncommonly silent, Nance, even for you," he
      said at last.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, I'm always silent, Tom," she replied. "It is because I
      am stupid and have nothing to say."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nonsense, my dear, you always have a lot to say to me. But
      you are forever reading, thinking ... what's it all about?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, I think, Tom, because I have little else to do; but my
      thoughts aren't often worth the telling. In truth there is no
      one, not even you, who particularly cares to hear them. Tom,"
      she said, "I am restless and discontented. Sometimes I wish I
      were far away from the Inn at the Red Oak and Deal, from all
      that I know,&#8212;even from you and Dan."
    </p>
    <p>
      Pembroke suddenly realized that he could not laugh at these
      fancies, as he had so often done, and dismiss as if they were
      the vagaries of a child.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why are you restless and discontented, Nancy?" he asked
      seriously.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Aren't you ever?" she questioned for reply. "Don't you ever
      get weary with the emptiness of it all, the everlasting
      round, the dullness? Don't you ever want to get away from
      Deal, and know people and see things and be somebody?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I do that, Nance. I mean to go as soon as I am a lawyer. I
      won't poke about Deal long after that, nor Monday Port
      either. I mean to set up in Coventry."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Coventry!" exclaimed the girl with an accent of disdain.
      "That is just a provincial town like the Port, only a little
      more important because it is the capital of the state."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Being the capital means a lot," protested Tom in defense of
      his ambitions of which for the first time he felt ashamed.
      "Men are sent to Congress from there. Nance, girl, ours is a
      wonderful country; we are making a great nation."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Some people may be. None of us are, Tom. I wonder at you
      more than I do at Dan, for you have had more advantages. As
      for me, I am only a girl; there's nothing for girls but to
      sit and sew, and prepare meals for men to eat, and wait until
      some one comes and chooses to marry them. Then they go off
      and do the same thing some place else."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But what have you to complain of, Nancy? you have the
      kindest brother, a good mother, a comfortable home...."
    </p>
    <p>
      "The kindest brother, yes. But you know Mrs. Frost is not my
      mother. She doesn't care for me and I can't care for her as
      if she were. I have never loved any one but Dan."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You can't help loving Dan," said Tom, thinking of his good
      friend. "But then, little girl, you love me too." And he
      pressed the hand in his warmly.
    </p>
    <p>
      Nancy quickly withdrew her hand. "I am not a little girl. I
      have been grown up in lots of ways ever so long."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But you love me?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I like you. Oh, Tom, the life we all lead is so futile. If I
      weren't a girl, I should go away."
    </p>
    <p>
      They had reached the stile by now that led into the meadow
      which sloped down from the clump of poplars a hundred rods or
      so above, in the midst of which the Red Farmhouse stood.
      Instead of helping his companion over the steps in the wall,
      Tom stopped and stood with his back to them. "Let's stay here
      a minute, Nance, and have it out."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Have what out?" she asked a trifle sharply.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You haven't any queer wild plan in your head to go away,
      have you?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I don't know&#8212;sometimes I think I have. I dare say
      there are things somewhere a girl could find to do."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But Mrs. Frost&#8212;?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, Mother would not miss me long&#8212;she'd have Dan."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But Dan would miss you."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, Dan might. I couldn't go, if Dan really needed me here.
      I think sometimes he doesn't. But, Tom, if you were in my
      position, if you didn't know who your parents were, if all
      your life you had been living on the charity of
      others&#8212;good and kind as they are, wonderful even as Dan
      has always been&#8212;you couldn't be happy. I'm not happy."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But, Nance, what has come over you?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No&#8212;nothing in particular; I have often felt this way."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But, dear, I couldn't let you go. I'd mind a lot, Nance."
    </p>
    <p>
      She looked at him with a sudden smile of incredulity. "You,
      Tommy?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "You can't go&#8212;you musn't go," Tom repeated, as he drew
      nearer to her.
    </p>
    <p>
      Suddenly he reached out and seized her hands. "Don't you
      realize it?&#8212;I love you, Nance; I've always loved you!"
      He drew her close to him. She did not resist nor did she
      yield, but still with her eyes she questioned him. "Kiss me,
      Nancy," he whispered. She let him press his lips to hers but
      without responding to the pressure, as though she still were
      wondering of the meaning of this sudden unforeseen passion.
      But at last, caught up in its intensity, she gave him back
      his kisses. He took her face then between his hands and
      looked into it with a gaze that in itself was a caress. "Oh
      my sweetheart!" he said softly.
    </p>
    <p>
      Slowly she disengaged herself. "Tom, Tom," she said, "this is
      foolishness. We musn't do this."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why not?" demanded Pembroke. "I tell you I love you!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No&#8212;not that way, not that way. I didn't mean that.
      Why, you foolish boy, haven't we kissed each other hundreds
      of times before?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, Nancy, not like that&#8212;not like this," he added, as
      again he put his arm around her and drew her face to his. And
      again she yielded. "Say it&#8212;say it, Nance&#8212;you love
      me."
    </p>
    <p>
      She drew back from him. "I think I must, Tom. I don't think I
      could let you kiss me that way if I didn't. But now come ...
      Tom ... dear Tom ... do come ... don't kiss me again."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But say it," he insisted, "say you love me."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Please help me over the stile."
    </p>
    <p>
      He gave her his hand and she sprang lightly to the top of the
      steps. In a second he was by her side, both of them balancing
      somewhat uncertainly on the top of the stone wall. "I won't
      let you down till you say it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Please&#8212;".
    </p>
    <p>
      "No&#8212;you love me?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes&#8212;there&#8212;I love you&#8212;now&#8212;".
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, kiss me again."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Tom&#8212;no." But the negative was weak and Pembroke took
      it so.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Now," he said, as they began to cross the meadow, "we must
      tell Mrs. Frost and Dan."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Tell them what?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, that we are in love with each other, and that you are
      going to marry me. What else?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, no," exclaimed Nancy, "You must say nothing. I am not in
      love. I don't mean to marry you."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But why not? You are. You do."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Are&#8212;do&#8212;?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "In love&#8212;you do mean to marry me."
    </p>
    <p>
      "No&#8212;Tom, listen&#8212;you know your father and mother
      would hate it. You have at least two years before you can
      practice. We couldn't marry&#8212;we can't marry. Oh, there
      are things I must do, before I can think of that."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Not marry me? Good Lord, what does it mean when people are
      in love with each other, what does it mean when a girl kisses
      a fellow like that?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I don't know! what it means&#8212;madness, I guess. Do you
      think I could marry as I am, not knowing who I am?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, what do I care who your parents were! We'll find out. I
      swear we will. Good Lord, I love you, Nancy; I love you!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Please, please don't make me talk about it now."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But soon&#8212;?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, soon&#8212;only promise you'll say nothing to Dan or to
      Mother till we have talked again. I must think; it is all so
      queer and unexpected; I never dreamed that you cared for me
      except as a little girl."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I didn't know I did. But come to think of it, Nance, it has
      been you as much as Dan that has brought me to the Inn at the
      Red Oak. Why it was you I wanted to walk and talk and play
      with."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Please,&#8212;dear Tom&#8212;G&#8212;ive me time to think
      what it all means. Now be careful, there's the farmer. You
      have a lot to do, and we have been lingering too long. Mother
      wants us to go back by the dunes and enquire for old Mrs.
      Meath; so we must hurry."
    </p>
    <p>
      The sun had set before they started on the homeward journey
      in one of the squire's sleighs. As they turned the bend at
      the beach and started across the dune road close to the sea,
      a great yellow moon rose over Strathsey Neck.
    </p>
    <p>
      Tom had been so preoccupied with his own emotions and the
      unexpected and absorbing relation in which he found himself
      with Nancy, that he had altogether forgotten why he had asked
      her to go off with him that afternoon. As they skimmed along
      over the snow-packed road across the sands, Tom spied another
      sleigh on the Port road, the occupants of which he recognized
      as Jesse and the Marquis. Suddenly the memory of the night
      before flashed over him. He pointed with his whip in their
      direction. "There's the old Marquis coming back from Monday
      Port," he said.
    </p>
    <p>
      Nancy looked without comment, but Tom thought the colour
      deepened in her cheeks.
    </p>
    <p>
      "See here, Nance," he exclaimed impulsively; "has the Marquis
      anything to do with the mood you were in this afternoon? Has
      he said anything to make you discontented?"
    </p>
    <p>
      He was sure that now she paled.
    </p>
    <p>
      "What makes you ask?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh&#8212;a number of things. I've seen you with him more or
      less; felt he had some influence over you."&#8212;Tom was
      blundering now and knew it.&#8212;
    </p>
    <p>
      She looked at him coldly. "I have been with the Marquis very
      little save when others have been about. He has no influence
      over me. I don't care to discuss such queer ideas."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, all right ... I dare say I'm mistaken ... I only
      thought..." He hesitated... "If you care for me, I don't mind
      what you think of the Marquis."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Remember, Tom&#8212;you promised to say nothing until I gave
      you leave. You're not fair..."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But you do love me?"
    </p>
    <p>
      Nancy was silent.
    </p>
    <p>
      "There is nothing between you and the old Frenchman&#8212;no
      mystery?"
    </p>
    <p>
      There was no reply. Nancy sat with compressed lips and drawn
      brows, gazing fixedly at the distant House on the Dunes at
      the end of their road. For a long while they drove on in
      silence.
    </p>
    <p>
      At the House on the Dunes they chatted for a while with old
      Mrs. Meath, who lived there alone with a maid-of-all-work.
      She was a source of much anxiety to Mrs. Frost, who sent
      several times each week to learn if all was going well. But
      Mrs. Meath was a Quaker and apparently never gave a thought
      to loneliness or fear.
    </p>
    <p>
      "They will never guess," she said to Nancy and Tom as they
      sat in the tiled kitchen talking with her, "what I am going
      to do."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Not going to leave the House on the Dunes, Mrs. Meath?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Deary me! no; but I am going to take a boarder."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Really?&#8212;you are setting up to rival the Inn, eh?" said
      Tom.
    </p>
    <p>
      "No", Tommy, nothing of the sort. But I am offered good pay
      for my front room, and as Jane Frost is always nagging me
      about living here alone, I thought I'd take her."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And who pray is your new boarder?" asked Nancy.
    </p>
    <p>
      "That is the funny part of it," replied Mrs. Meath, "I know
      nothing but her name&#8212;Mrs. Fountain. Everything has been
      arranged by a lawyer man from Coventry, and she is coming in
      a few days. Tell thy mother, Nancy dear, that she need worry
      about me no longer."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I will, Mrs. Meath. I think it is a splendid idea, and I
      hope you will like the lady. Mother will be so glad that you
      have some one with you."
    </p>
    <p>
      Soon they were on their way across the dunes and marshes to
      Tinterton road and home. Dan was preoccupied, not with the
      news that was so exciting to Mrs. Meath, but with the
      recollection of his conversation with Nancy as they had
      driven toward the house. Despite her implicit denial he knew
      there was a secret between the Marquis de Boisdhyver and
      herself. He could not imagine what it might be, and it was
      evident that she did not mean to tell him at present. But his
      anxieties on this or kindred subjects were not relieved by
      his companion during the remainder of the drive. Moreover his
      attempts to speak again of his newly discovered passion were
      received coldly&#8212;so coldly indeed that he had no heart
      for pleading for such proofs as she had given him earlier in
      the afternoon that she shared his emotion. So despite the
      splendid moon, the bright cold night, the merry jangle of the
      sleigh bells, the drive back was not the unmixed joy Tom had
      promised himself; and he felt his role of a declared and
      practically-accepted lover anything but a satisfactory one.
    </p>
    <p>
      Finally they reached the Inn and entered the bar where they
      found the Marquis sitting alone before a cheerful fire. All
      of Tom's suspicious jealousies returned with fresh force, for
      Nancy rapidly crossed the room, spoke a few words to the old
      gentleman in an inaudible tone of voice, and passed quickly
      on to her own apartments.
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p><a name="PART2"><!-- PART2 --></a>
    <h2>
      PART II
    </h2>
    <center>
      THE TORN SCRAP OF PAPER
    </center>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p><a name="CH6"><!-- CH6 --></a>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER VI
    </h2>
    <center>
      THE HALF OF AN OLD PAPER
    </center>
    <p>
      That evening Mrs. Frost made a particular request for music.
      Poor Dan, impatient to be alone with Tom and show him the
      torn scrap of paper that he had found that afternoon was
      forced to bring out his fiddle and accompany the Marquis.
      Tom, for first part, was more concerned with his own
      relations with Nancy than with the mysterious possibilities
      of the previous night. The poignant notes of the violin set
      his pulses to beating in tune with the throbbing of the music
      and transported him again into the realms of youthful dreams.
      They were quaint plaintive songs of old France that the
      Marquis chose to play that evening, folk tunes of the
      Vend&eacute;e, love songs of olden time.
    </p>
    <p>
      From where he sat in the shadow Tom got a full view of Nancy
      seated on the oaken setlle near the fire. Her brows were
      drawn a little in deep thought, her lips for the most part
      compressed, though ever and anon relaxing at some gentler
      thought. Her hands were clasped, her head was bent a little,
      but her body was held straight and tense. Her eyes, dark and
      lustrous in the light of the flaming logs, always fixed upon
      the musician, not once wandering in his direction.
    </p>
    <p>
      What was the influence, the fascination that strange old
      Frenchman seemed to exert? It seemed to Tom impossible that
      there could be a secret which she felt necessary to hide from
      them, her lifelong friends. But apart from what he knew had
      taken place the night before as he looked back over the past
      month, he was conscious that there had been a change in
      Nancy, a change that mystified him. It was the danger in this
      change, he told himself, that had awakened in him the
      knowledge of his love.
    </p>
    <p>
      But then as he looked across at her so lovely, in the
      firelight, he felt again the thrill as when first he had
      taken her hand that afternoon. In that moment all the dreams,
      the vague longings of his boyhood had found their reality.
    </p>
    <p>
      Suddenly, while he was thinking thus, the Marquis laid his
      violin upon his knees. "Ah, <i>ma jeunnesse</i>!" he
      exclaimed in a dramatic whisper, "<i>et
      maintenant</i>&#8212;<i>et maintenant</i>!"
    </p>
    <p>
      For a moment no one spoke or stirred. They looked at him
      curiously as they always did when he brought his playing to
      an end in such fashion. Then he rose. "<i>Bon soir, madame;
      bon soir, messieurs; bon soir, mademoiselle</i>"
    </p>
    <p>
      Tom saw his little faded blue eyes meet Nancy's with a look
      of swift significance. Then he bowed with a flourish that
      included them all.
    </p>
    <p>
      "A thousand thanks, Monsieur le Marquis," murmured Mrs.
      Frost, "how much pleasure you give us!"
    </p>
    <p>
      They all rose then, as the Marquis smiled his appreciation
      and withdrew.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Give me your arm, Dan," the old lady said. "It must be past
      my bedtime. Come, Nancy."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, mother." The girl rose wearily, stopping a moment at
      the mantelpiece to snuff the candles there. Tom seized his
      opportunity, and was by her side. She started, as she
      realized him near her.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nance, Nance, I must have a word with you," he exclaimed in
      a tense whisper, "don't go!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nance, come," called Mrs. Frost from the hall.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, Mother, I am coming ... I must go, Tom. Don't delay me.
      You know how Mother is ..."
    </p>
    <p>
      "What difference will it make if you wait a moment? Good
      Lord! Nance, I have been trying all evening to get a word
      with you, and you have not so much as given me a glance.
      Don't go&#8212;please don't go! Oh, Nancy dear,&#8212;I love
      you so!"
    </p>
    <p>
      He seized her hands and kissed them passionately. "Nance,
      Nance ... please ..." His arms were about her.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Tom, you make it so hard ... Remember, you promised me ...
      No word of love until I can think, until I have time to know
      ... Please, Tom, let me go."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I can't let you go. Oh sweetheart dear."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Tom, we musn't&#8212;Dan, Mother! ..."
    </p>
    <p>
      Unheeding her protest, he put his arms around her. An instant
      he felt her yield, then quickly thrusting him aside, she ran
      from the room, leaving him standing alone there, trembling
      with excitement, chagrin, happiness, alarm.
    </p>
    <p>
      In a moment his friend returned and Tom pulled himself
      together. "Come on," said Dan, "I have a lot to tell you."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Did you find anything this afternoon?" exclaimed Pembroke.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Sh! for heaven's sake be careful. Don't talk here. Let's go
      upstairs."
    </p>
    <p>
      A few minutes later they were closeted in Dan's chamber. The
      curtains were tightly drawn and a heavy quilt was hung over
      the door. Good Lord! thought Tom, could it be possible that
      these precautions in part at least were taken against Nancy.
      The world seemed to have turned upside down for him in the
      last twenty-four hours.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Aren't we going to keep watch to-night?" he asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, but later. They are just getting to bed&#8212;or
      pretending to. Look here, this may throw light on the
      mystery. I found this paper in a secret cubby-hole in the old
      cabinet in the Oak Parlour. Draw a chair up to the table so
      that you can see."
    </p>
    <p>
      "The cabinet," he continued, as he took the paper out of his
      strong-box and began to unfold it, "was brought from some old
      manor house in England. It has four little secret
      cubby-holes, opened by hidden springs, that Mother says were
      probably used by the Roman Catholics to hide pages of their
      mass-books during the days of persecution. She remembered
      fortunately a little about them. They were all empty but one,
      and in that I found this torn scrap of paper."
    </p>
    <p>
      He handed the yellowed bit of writing to Tom, who flattened
      it out on the table before him.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why it's written in French," Pembroke exclaimed, as he bent
      over to examine it.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, I know it is," said Dan. "I can't make head or tail of
      it. Besides it seems to be only a part of a note or letter. I
      could hardly wait to give you a chance at it. You can make
      something of it, can't you?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I don't know&#8212;I guess I can. It's hard to read the
      handwriting. The thing's torn in two&#8212;haven't you the
      rest of it?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, I tell you; that's all I could find; that's all, I am
      sure, that can be in the cabinet now. My theory is that the
      old marquis has somehow come across the other half and is
      still looking for this. God only knows who hid it there.
    </p>
    <p>
      "How the deuce could the Marquis know about it. Ah!
      look&#8212;it's signed somebody, something <i>de
      Boisdhyver</i>&#8212;'<i>an&ccedil;ois</i>&#8212;that's short
      for Fran&ccedil;ois, I guess. Evidently 't wasn't the Marquis
      himself. Wonder what it means?"
    </p>
    <p>
      For goodness' sake, try to read it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Wait. Get that old French dictionary out of the bookcase
      downstairs, will you? I'll see if I can translate."
    </p>
    <p>
      Dan crept softly out, leaving Tom bent over the paper. Again
      he smoothed it out carefully on the table, bringing the two
      candles nearer, and tried to puzzle out the faint fine
      handwriting.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I can make out some of it," he remarked to Dan, when his
      friend returned with the dictionary. "Let me have that thing;
      there are a few words I don't know at all, but I'll write out
      as good a translation as I can."
    </p>
    <p>
      While Tom was busy with the dictionary, Dan placed writing
      materials to his hand, and sat down to wait as patiently as
      he could. His curiosity was intensified by Pembroke's
      occasional exclamations and the absorption with which he bent
      over the task.
    </p>
    <p>
      "There!" Tom exclaimed after half-an-hour's labour, "that's
      the best I can do with it. You see the original note was
      evidently torn into two or three strips and we have only got
      the righthand one, so we don't get a single complete
      sentence&#8212;, but what we have is mighty suggestive.
      Listen&#8212;This is what it says: Make great efforts ... gap
      ... glorious, I am about to leave' ... gap ... 'to offer my'
      ... gap ... 'that I should not return' ... gap ...
      'directions' ... gap ... 'this paper which I tear' ... gap
      ... 'the explanation' ... something missing ... 'to discover'
      ... that's the end of a sentence. The next one begins, 'This
      treasure' ... than another gap ... 'jewels and money' ...
      'secret chamber' ... 'one can enter' ... something gone here
      ... 'by the <i>salon de chene</i>'&#8212;that's the Oak
      Parlour, I suppose ... something missing again ... 'by a
      spring' ... 'hand of the lady in the picture' ... 'chimney on
      the north side of the' ... 'side a panel which reveals' ...
      'one will find the directions' ... more missing ... 'of the
      treasure in a golden chest' ... That's the end of it. And, as
      I said before it is signed,&#8212;'an&ccedil;ois de
      Boisdhyver.' There, you can read it. That's the best I can
      make of it."
    </p>
    <p>
      Dan bent over his friend's translation. "Whoever wrote it was
      about to leave here to offer something to somebody, and if he
      did not return, apparently he is giving directions, in this
      paper, which he tears in to two or three parts, how to
      discover&#8212;a treasure?&#8212;jewels and money, I
      guess,&#8212;that he is about to hide or has hidden in a
      secret chamber, which is entered in some way from the Oak
      Parlour&#8212;? ... pushes a spring,&#8212;Something to do
      with the hand of the lady in the picture, near the chimney on
      the north side of the room ... then a panel which reveals
      ...where? ... the directions will be found, for getting the
      treasure, in a golden chest in the secret chamber? How's that
      for a version? I reckon the other half doesn't tell as much
      ...'an&ccedil;ois de Boisdhyver!&#8212;That can't be the
      Marquis, for none of his names end 'an&ccedil;ois; do they?
      Let's see, what are they?&#8212;Marie, Anne, Tim&eacute;lon,
      Armand ... Tom,"&#8212;and Dan faced his friend
      excitedly,&#8212;"that old devil is after treasure! Who the
      deuce is 'an&ccedil;ois de Boisdhyver, and how did he come to
      leave money in the Oak Parlour? Hanged if I believe there's
      any secret chamber! By gad, man, if I didn't hurt when I
      pinch myself, I'd think I was asleep and dreaming. What do
      you make of it?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Pretty much what you do. Somebody sometime,&#8212;a good
      many years ago, concealed some valuables here in the Inn. It
      must be some one who is connected with our marquis, for the
      last names are the same. These are directions, or half the
      directions, for finding it. The Marquis knows enough about it
      to have been hunting for this paper. Who the devil is the
      Marquis?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "The Lord knows. But how does Nance come in?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Blamed if I can see; wish I could! This accounts for the
      Marquis's mysterious investigations, anyway. Probably he's no
      right to the paper. Maybe he isn't a Boisdhyver at all. I'll
      be damned if I can understand how he has got Nance to league
      with him."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And now what the deuce are we going to do about it?" asked
      Dan.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Hunt for the treasure ourselves, eh?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, why not? but to do that we've got to get rid of the
      Marquis. He'll be suspicious if we begin to poke about the
      north wing. Hanged if I wouldn't like to have it all out with
      him!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, but we'd better think and talk it over before we decide
      to do anything. We can watch them. We'll watch to-night any
      way, and plan something definite to-morrow."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I tell you one thing, Tom, I am going to make Mother tell me
      all she knows about Nancy. Perhaps she is mixed up in some
      way with all this. But it's time to keep watch now. We'll put
      out the candles and I'll watch for the first two hours. If
      you go to sleep, I'll wake you up to take the next turn. How
      about it?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Hang sleep!" Tom replied.
    </p>
    <p>
      "All right, but we must blow out the light. Lucky it's clear.
      Let's whisper after this."
    </p>
    <p>
      Tom threw himself on the bed, while Dan sat near the window
      and kept his eyes fixed on the door of the bowling-alley.
      They talked for some time in low tones, but eventually Tom
      fell asleep. Dan waked him at twelve for his vigil, and he in
      turn was wakened at two. During the third watch they both
      succumbed to weariness.
    </p>
    <p>
      Tow awoke with a start about four, and sprang to the window.
      The moon was sinking low in the western sky, but its light
      still flooded the deserted courtyard beneath. He heard the
      patter of a horse's hoofs on the road beyond and the
      crunching of the snow beneath the runners of a sleigh. Well,
      he thought, as he rubbed his eyes, it was too near morning
      for anything to happen, so he turned in and was soon asleep,
      as though no difficult problems were puzzling his mind and
      heart and no mysteries were being enacted around him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p><a name="CH7"><!-- CH7 --></a>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER VII
    </h2>
    <center>
      A DISAPPEARANCE
    </center>
    <p>
      When Dan came downstairs in the morning Mrs. Frost called him
      to the door of her bedroom. "What on earth is the matter with
      Nancy?" she exclaimed; "I have been waiting for her the past
      hour. No one has been near me since Deborah came in to lay
      the fire. Call the girl Danny; I want to get up."
    </p>
    <p>
      "All right, mother. She has probably overslept; she had a
      long walk yesterday."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But that is no excuse for sleeping till this time of day.
      Tell her to hurry."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is only seven, mother."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, Danny, dear, but I mean to breakfast with you all this
      morning if I ever succeed in getting dressed."
    </p>
    <p>
      Dan crossed the hall and knocked at Nancy's door. There was
      no response. He knocked again, then opened the door and
      looked within. Nancy was not there, and her bed had not been
      slept in.
    </p>
    <p>
      He went back to his mother. "Nancy is not in her room," he
      said. "She has probably gone out for a walk. I'll go and look
      for her."
    </p>
    <p>
      He went to the kitchens to enquire of the maids, but they had
      not seen their young mistress since the night before.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Spec she's taken dem dogs a walkin'," said black Deborah
      unconcernedly. "Miss Nance she like de early morn' 'fore de
      sun come up."
    </p>
    <p>
      Dan went out to the stables. The setters came rushing out,
      bounding and barking joyously about him.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Have you seen Miss Nancy this morning, Jess?" he asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, Mister Dan, ain't seen her this mornin'. Be n't she in
      the house?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "She doesn't seem to be. Take a look down the road, and call
      after her, will you? Down, Boy; down, Girl!" he cried to the
      dogs.
    </p>
    <p>
      Dan began to be thoroughly alarmed. If Nancy had gone out,
      the dogs would certainly have followed her. She must be
      within!
    </p>
    <p>
      He went back into the house, and searched room after room,
      but no trace of her was to be found. He returned at last to
      his mother's chamber.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I can't find Nancy," he said. "She must have gone off
      somewhere."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Gone off! why, she must have left very early then. I have
      been awake these two hours&#8212;since daylight&#8212;; I
      would have heard every sound."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, she isn't about now, Mother. She will be back by
      breakfast time, I don't doubt. Just stay abed this morning, I
      will send her to you as soon as she comes."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I shall have to, I suppose. Really, Dan, it is extraordinary
      how neglectful of me that child can sometimes be. She
      knew&#8212;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Mother, don't find fault with her. She is devoted to you,
      and you know it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I daresay she is. Of course she is, and I am devoted to her.
      Where would she be, I wonder, if it hadn't been for me? Good
      heavens! Dan, can anything have happened to her?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, no&#8212;of course not,&#8212;nothing."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Search the house, boy; she may be lying some place in a
      faint. She isn't strong&#8212;I have always been
      worried&#8212;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Don't get excited, Mother. We will wait until breakfast
      time. If she doesn't turn up then, you may be sure I shall
      find her."
    </p>
    <p>
      He looked at his watch. It was already nearly eight o'clock,
      so he decided to say nothing to Pembroke until after
      breakfast. He found the Marquis and Tom chatting before the
      fire in the bar.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Shall we have breakfast?" said Dan. "Mother will not be in
      this morning."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah!" exclaimed the Marquis, as they took their seats at
      table, "that is a disappointment. And shall we not wait for
      Mademoiselle Nancy?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "My sister has stepped out, monsieur; she may be late. Shall
      I give you some coffee?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "If you please&#8212;. We have another of these so beautiful
      days, eh? This so glorious weather, these moonlight nights,
      this snow&#8212;<i>C'est merveilleux</i>. Last night I sat
      myself for a long time in my window. Ah <i>la
      nuit</i>&#8212;the moon past its full, say you not?&#8212;the
      sea superbly dark, superbly blue, the wonderful white
      country! As I sat there, messieurs, a sight too beautiful
      greeted my eyes. A ship, with three great sails, appeared out
      on the sea and sailed as a bird up the river to our little
      cove, <i>Voila, mes amis</i>"&#8212;he waved his hand toward
      the eastern windows&#8212;"She is anchored at our feet."
    </p>
    <p>
      The two young men looked in the direction in which the
      marquis pointed, and to their astonishment they saw, riding
      securely at her moorings in the cove, a large sailing vessel.
      She was a three-masted schooner of perhaps fifteen hundred
      tons, a larger ship than they had seen at anchor in the
      Strathsey for many a year.
    </p>
    <p>
      "By all that's good!" exclaimed Tom, "that is exactly the
      sort of ship my father used to have in the West Indie trade,
      a dozen or fifteen years ago. What is she? I wonder; and why
      is she anchored here instead of in the Port?"
    </p>
    <p>
      The Marquis shrugged his shoulders. "That I can tell you not,
      my friend; but I am happy that she is anchored there for the
      hours of beauty she has already given to me. On this strange
      coast of yours one so rarely sees a sail."
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, they go too far to the south... But what is she?" asked
      Dan. "We must find out." He went to the cupboard, and got out
      his marine glass and took a long look at the stranger.
    </p>
    <p>
      "What do you make her out?" asked Tom.
    </p>
    <p>
      "There are men on deck, some swabbing out the roundhouse. One
      of them is lolling at the wheel. She flies the British flag."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Do you, perhaps, make out the name?" asked the Marquis.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I don't know&#8212;yes," Dan replied, twisting the lens to
      suit his eyes better and spelling out the letters,
      "S,O,U,T,H,E,R,N,C,R&#8212;the <i>Southern Cross</i>. By
      Jingo, Tom, we'll have to go down to the beach and have a
      look at her."
    </p>
    <p>
      Tom took the glasses; turning them over presently to the
      Marquis. "She is a good fine boat, eh?" exclaimed M. de
      Boisdhyver, as he applied his eye to the end of the glass.
    </p>
    <p>
      "She certainly is," said Dan.
    </p>
    <p>
      They sat down at length and resumed their breakfast. The ship
      had diverted Tom's attention for the moment from the fact
      that Nancy had not appeared.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Where is Nance, Dan?" he asked at length, striving to
      conceal his impatience.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I don't know," Dan replied. "I think she has gone over to
      see Mrs. Meath and stayed for breakfast."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Madame Meath&#8212;?" enquired the Marquis.
    </p>
    <p>
      "At the House on the Dunes," Dan answered, a trifle sharply.
    </p>
    <p>
      "A long walk for Mademoiselle on a cold morning," commented
      Monsieur Boisdhyver, as he sipped his coffee.
    </p>
    <p>
      In a few moments Dan rose. "Going to the Port to-day, Tom?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Not till later, any way; I am going down to the beach to
      have a look at that ship."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Wait a little, and I'll go with you," He turned to the door
      and motioned Tom to follow him.
    </p>
    <p>
      Outside he took his friend's arm and drew him close. "Tom,
      something's up; Nancy's not here."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nancy's not here;" exclaimed Pembroke. "What do you mean?
      Where is she?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "To tell the truth, I don't know where she is; her bed has
      not been slept in. I thought at first she had gone for a walk
      with the dogs as she does sometimes, but Boy and Girl are
      both in the barn. It's half-past eight now, and she ought to
      be back,"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Good Lord! man, have you searched the house?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I've been over it from garret to cellar."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And you can't find her?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Not a sign of her."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Have you been through the north wing?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, all over it. I have been in every room in the house,
      boy. Nance isn't there. You heard nothing in the night, did
      you?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nothing."
    </p>
    <p>
      "When did you go to sleep?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Perhaps about half-past three. Come to think of it, I awoke
      at four with a start, for I heard a sleigh on the Port Road.
      After that I went to bed."
    </p>
    <p>
      "The sleigh hadn't been at the Inn?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "It couldn't have been&#8212;I'd have heard of it if it had;
      you see it woke me up just going along the road."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I don't suppose we need worry. But it is queer&#8212;none of
      the servants have seen her since last night."
    </p>
    <p>
      "My God, what can have happened to her?" cried Tom.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Sh, boy! We have nothing to go on, but I wager that old
      French devil knows more than he will tell."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then, we'll choke it out of him."
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, no, don't be a fool! She may be back any minute. I'll
      get the sleigh and go over to the House on the Dunes. In the
      meanwhile don't show that you are anxious! I'll be back
      inside of an hour, and we can have a look at the ship. If
      Nance isn't with Mrs. Meath, why I am sure I'll find her
      here. Let's not worry till we have to."
    </p>
    <p>
      Tom assented to this proposition somewhat unwillingly.
      Despite his friend's reassuring words, he did not feel that
      Nancy would be found at the House on the Dunes or that she
      would immediately return. He remembered her telling him of
      her desire to go away. He remembered how strangely she had
      received the declaration of his love, and he feared almost as
      much that she had fled from him, as that the Marquis, weird
      and evil as he began to think him, had any hand in her
      disappearance.
    </p>
    <p>
      After Dan's departure in the sleigh, Tom wandered about
      restlessly. When half an hour passed and Frost did not
      return, he went out to look down the road and see if he were
      coming. The white open country was still and empty, and the
      only sign of life was the great three-masted ship riding at
      anchor in the cove, with seamen lolling about her deck.
    </p>
    <p>
      As Tom stood under the Red Oak, the Marquis stepped out of
      the front door. He was wrapped in his great coat, about to
      take his morning walk up and down the gallery.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why so pensive, Monsieur Pembroke? Is it that you are moved
      by the beauty of the scene&#8212;, the land so white, the sea
      so blue, and the <i>Southern Cross</i> shining as it were in
      a northern sky!"
    </p>
    <p>
      Tom grunted a scarcely civil reply, and turning away to avoid
      further conversation, strolled down the avenue of maples
      toward the road.
    </p>
    <p>
      Monsieur de Boisdhyver raised his eyebrows slightly, and
      began his walk. By and by, still more impatient, Pembroke
      walked back toward the house. If Dan did not return soon, he
      determined he would go after him. As he came up to the
      gallery again the Marquis paused and spoke to him. "And
      Mademoiselle, she has not returned?" he asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      "No!" Pembroke replied sharply. "She has gone to the House on
      the Dunes and her brother has driven over to fetch her."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah! pardon," exclaimed Monsieur de Boisdhyver; "I did not
      know... But it is cold for me, Monsieur Pembroke; I seek the
      fire."
    </p>
    <p>
      Tom did not reply. The Marquis went inside, and presently Tom
      could see him standing at the window, the marine glass in his
      hands, sweeping the countryside.
    </p>
    <p>
      Pembroke passed an anxious morning. Ten o'clock came;
      half-past; eleven struck. Nancy had not appeared, or was
      there a sign of Dan. Unable to be patient longer, he set out
      on the Port Road to meet his friend.
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p><a name="CH8"><!-- CH8 --></a>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER VIII
    </h2>
    <center>
      GREEN LIGHTS
    </center>
    <p>
      The smoke was curling from the chimneys of the House on the
      Dunes as Dan drove up the long marsh road from the beach. He
      had half convinced himself that Nancy would be there, and he
      hoped that she herself would answer his knock. When at length
      the door was opened it was not by Nancy nor by Mrs. Meath,
      but by a stranger whom he had never seen before.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes?" a pleasant voice questioned, but giving an accent to
      the monosyllable that made Dan think instantly of France.
    </p>
    <p>
      He found himself facing a charming woman, her bright blue
      eyes looking into his with a smile that instantly attracted
      him. She was well-dressed, with a different air from the
      women he knew. And she was undeniably pretty&#8212;of that
      Dan was convinced, and the conviction overwhelmed him with
      shyness. He stood awkward and ill-at-ease; for the moment
      forgetting his errand. "I suppose," he stammered, "&#8212;I
      beg your pardon&#8212;but I suppose you are Mrs. Heath's new
      boarder,&#8212;Mrs. Fountain?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes," replied the strange lady with an amused smile, "that
      is what I imagine that I am called. My name is Madame de La
      Fontaine. And you&#8212;?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I?&#8212;Oh, yes&#8212;of course&#8212;I am Dan Frost from
      the Inn over yonder. I came to see Mrs. Meath to ask if my
      sister Nancy is here."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Alas!" replied Madame de La Fontaine, "poor Mrs. Meath she
      this morning is quite unwell. She is in her room, so that I
      am afraid you cannot see her. But, I may tell you, there is
      no one else here, just myself and my servants."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You have not seen or heard anything then of my sister, Nancy
      Frost?" repeated Dan.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nancy Frost?&#8212;your sister?&#8212;No, monsieur. I am
      arrived only last night and have seen no one."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I had hoped my sister would be here. I am sorry about Mrs.
      Meath; perhaps I can be of some service. If you should need
      me at any time, I can almost always be found at the Inn at
      the Red Oak."
    </p>
    <p>
      "The Inn at the Red Oak?" repeated Madame de La Fontaine,
      "and is that near by?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is about a mile and a half by the road," Frost replied,
      "but you can see it plainly from the doorstep here."
    </p>
    <p>
      The foreign lady stepped out in the crisp February air. "Can
      you point it out to me? I may need your assistance some
      time."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You see the woods and the oak at the edge of them," said
      Dan, pointing across the Dunes. "That great tree is the Red
      Oak, the rambling old building beneath it is the Inn."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah! one can see quite plainly from one house to the other,
      is it not so?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Quite," Dan replied.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Thank you, monsieur. I trust there will be no need for
      assistance. But it makes one glad to know where are
      neighbours, especially&#8212;" she added, "while poor Mrs.
      Meath is ill."
    </p>
    <p>
      As she spoke she turned to the door with the air of
      dismissing him, but on second thoughts she faced him again.
      "I wonder, Mr. Frost, will you do me a favour?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I shall be delighted," Dan exclaimed.
    </p>
    <p>
      "My luggage arrived last night," said Madame de La Fontaine,
      "upon the ship that is at anchor in the bay. They are to
      bring my boxes ashore. But before that I desire to give
      directions to the captain at the beach, and I cannot well do
      so by my servant. Will you be kind enough to walk with me and
      show me the way?"
    </p>
    <p>
      Dan forgot about Nancy in his eagerness to assure this
      unusually attractive lady that he was at her disposal. She
      disappeared within, and he heard her give some quick, sharp
      directions in French to a maid. Then in a moment she
      reappeared on the little porch, bonneted and wrapped for a
      walk in the cold.
    </p>
    <p>
      As they set out across the Dunes, she kept up a rapid fire of
      questions that might have seemed inquisitive to one more
      accustomed to the world than Dan. He found himself in the
      course of that quarter of an hour talking quite freely with
      the charming stranger.
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, I did not make the journey from France in the
      <i>Southern Cross</i>," she replied to one of his
      interrogations, "that would have been uncomfortable, I fear.
      But she brings over my boxes. She is arrived somewhat sooner
      than I was promised."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Do you expect to signal her from the beach?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "But yes."
    </p>
    <p>
      "How will they know who you are?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, they have instructions. You must think all this
      curious!" she commented with a smile. "You must think me an
      odd person."
    </p>
    <p>
      The possible oddness of Madame de La Fontaine made less
      impression upon Dan than did her charm. He was conversing
      easily with a very lovely woman, and all else was forgotten
      in that agreeable sensation.
    </p>
    <p>
      As they emerged from the Dunes upon the little beach of the
      Cove, Dan observed on the deck of the <i>Southern Cross</i> a
      sailor watching them through a glass. Madame de La Fontaine
      drew her handkerchief from beneath her cloak and waved it
      toward the ship.
    </p>
    <p>
      "This is the signal," she explained, "that they were
      instructed to look out for. If I am not mistaken Captain
      Bonhomme will come to the shore for my directions. You speak
      French, monsieur?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Not at all," Dan replied.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah!" sighed the lady, "you lose a great deal."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I might have learned some this winter," said Dan; "for we
      have had a French gentleman as our guest at the Inn."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Indeed! And who, may I ask, is your French gentleman?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "His name is the Marquis de Boisdhyver. Do you, by any
      chance, know him?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "The Marquis de Boisdhyver?" repeated Madame de La Fontaine.
      "I know the name certainly; it is an old family with us,
      monsieur. But I do not recall that I have ever had the
      pleasure of meeting any one who bore it... But see! they are
      lowering the boat."
    </p>
    <p>
      They were now at the edge of the surf. Madame de La Fontaine
      again waved a hand in the direction of the clipper. Dan saw a
      small boat alongside her, into which several sailors and an
      officer, as it seemed, were clambering over the rail. They
      pushed off, and began to row vigorously for the shore.
    </p>
    <p>
      The French lady stood watching them intently. Within a few
      moments the little boat was beached, the officer sprang out,
      advanced to Madame de La Fontaine, and saluted. She exchanged
      sentences with him in French of which Dan understood nothing.
      Then the seaman touched his cap, got into his small boat, and
      gave orders to push off.
    </p>
    <p>
      "He understands no English," remarked Madame de La Fontaine.
      "I gave directions about my boxes. We may return now,
      monsieur; or doubtless I am able to find my way back alone."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh no," exclaimed Dan gallantly, "I will go with you."
    </p>
    <p>
      The lady smiled graciously. As they walked back across the
      Dunes, she kept up a lively conversation, no longer asking
      him questions, nor, he observed, giving him the opportunity
      to ask any.
    </p>
    <p>
      At the door of the House on the Dunes she dismissed him
      finally. "I am but too grateful, Monsieur, for your kindness.
      I hope that we shall meet again while I dwell in your
      beautiful country. In the meantime, I trust you will find
      your sister."
    </p>
    <p>
      Dan flushed, how could he have forgotten Nancy! Taking the
      hand that his new acquaintance offered, he hurried away. He
      met Tom on the Port Road about half a mile from the Inn and
      was truly worried to find that Nancy had not returned; he
      explained briefly his own delay in his expedition with the
      strange lady to the beach.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is certainly odd, though perhaps not so odd as stupid,
      that they should have anchored in the Cove just to disembark
      one woman's boxes. It would have been much simpler to go to
      the Port, as every well-bred skipper does, and had the French
      woman's stuff carted out. At any rate, we'll go down this
      afternoon and have a look at her."
    </p>
    <p>
      By the time they reached the Inn it was noon, and still there
      was no word of Nancy. The dinner was a silent one, as the
      Marquis tactfully did not disturb his companions'
      preoccupation, and Mrs. Frost, who was unusually nervous, did
      not appear.
    </p>
    <p>
      After the meal the two young men started for the beach. At
      Tom's suggestion they got a little dory from the boathouse
      and rowed out to the clipper. The wind had shifted to the
      southeast, but still there was not enough of a sea to give
      them any trouble; and in a few minutes they were under the
      bows of <i>The Southern Cross</i>. Dan hailed a seaman who
      was leaning over the gunwale and watching them with idle
      curiosity. If the man replied in French, it was in a variety
      of that tongue that Tom's limited attainments did not
      understand, and, annoyed by the incomprehensible replies, he
      asked for "le captaine". At length,&#8212;possibly attracted
      by the altercation at the bows,&#8212;the
      authoritative-looking person who had come ashore in the
      morning in response to Madame de La Fontaine's signal, now
      appeared at the gunwale and glanced below at the two young
      men in the dory. His expression betrayed no sign that he
      recognized Frost. Indeed he vouchsafed no syllable of reply
      to the questions Dan asked in English or to those that Tom
      ventured to phrase in Dr. Watson's French.
    </p>
    <p>
      He was not, they thought, an attractive person; his
      countenance was swarthy, his eyes were black his hair was
      black, his heavy jaw was shadowed by an enormous black
      mustachio. A kerchief of brilliant red tied about his throat
      gave him the appearance of the matador in a Spanish bullfight
      rather than the officer of an English merchantman. He glanced
      at the dory occasionally, shook his head silently in response
      to the requests to go aboard, and at length when that did not
      serve to put an end to them, he shrugged his shoulders and
      disappeared. The seaman continued to lean over the gunwale
      and spat nonchalantly as though that were the measure of
      their appreciation of this unasked-for visit.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I move we skip up the rope," said Tom, "and explain
      ourselves at close quarters."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Thanks, no," replied Dan. "Either of those two amiable
      gentlemen looks capable and willing of pitching us overboard.
      The water is too cold for bathing."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Very well," said Tom, "I will yield to your sober judgment
      for the moment; but I propose to see the inside of that ship
      sooner or later unless she weighs anchor in the hour and
      sails away. But we ought to be getting to town to make
      enquiries about Nancy. For Heavens' sake, Dan, where do you
      suppose she can be?"
    </p>
    <p>
      They rowed back to the beach, stowed the dory in the
      boathouse, and set out in the sleigh for Monday Port.
      Diligent enquiry there, in likely and unlikely places, proved
      fruitless. It was nightfall when they returned to the Inn.
    </p>
    <p>
      They were greeted by the Marquis in the bar. "Mademoiselle
      Nancy, she has not been found?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No," said Dan. "I take it from your question that she has
      not come home yet either."
    </p>
    <p>
      "She is not come, no. Perhaps she stays at the House on the
      Dunes?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I do not know," Dan answered tartly. "I expect her every
      moment, but it is idle to conceal from you, Monsieur, that we
      are much concerned as to her absence."
    </p>
    <p>
      The Marquis grew sympathetic,&#8212;optimistically
      sympathetic. Tom clutched at his re-assuring words, but Dan
      was even more irritated by the silence that Monsieur de
      Boisdhyver had maintained throughout the day.
    </p>
    <p>
      Directly after supper Dan went into his mother's parlour,
      leaving the others to their own devices. The Marquis settled
      himself near the fire and was soon absorbed in reading an old
      folio; Tom wandered restlessly about, now up and down the
      long bar, now in the corridors, now on the gallery and in the
      court without.
    </p>
    <p>
      The night, after the bright day, had set in raw and cold; a
      damp breeze blew from the southwest, and gave promise both of
      wind and rain. From his position under the Red Oak, Tom could
      see the red and green lights of <i>The Southern Cross</i> at
      her moorings in the Cove below, and across the Neck the
      lighted windows of the House on the Dunes. Over all else the
      night had cast its black damp mantle.
    </p>
    <p>
      As he stood watching, deeply anxious for the welfare of the
      girl he loved, he noticed a new light appear in one of the
      upper windows of the House on the Dunes&#8212;not yellow as
      is the light of candles, but green like the light on the port
      side of the clipper in the Cove. Had he not seen the lights
      from the other windows he could have thought it was another
      ship on the ocean side of the Neck.
    </p>
    <p>
      He looked for a long time at the tiny spark in the distance,
      wondering what whim had induced Mrs. Meath to shade her
      candles with so deep a green. As he strolled back toward the
      Inn, he glanced through the windows of the bar where the
      Marquis still read by the fireside. Suddenly the old
      gentleman, as Tom curiously watched him, laid his book down
      on the table and rose from his chair. He looked about the
      room and then advanced to the window. Tom instinctively
      slipped behind the trunk of the great oak. Monsieur de
      Boisdhyver stood for several moments peering into the
      darkness. Then he turned away and crossed the room to the
      door into the front hall. It flashed through Tom's mind that
      possibly the Marquis had started on another of his mysterious
      tours. He ran down again into the court far enough from the
      house to command a view of the entire facade, and watched
      curiously, particularly the north wing. All was dark, save
      for the lights below.
    </p>
    <p>
      Suddenly he saw the flicker of a candle in one of the
      windows, not of the north wing, but of the south. A moment's
      glance, and he made sure that it was the room occupied as a
      sleeping apartment by Monsieur de Boisdhyver.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Marquis was standing by the window, with his face pressed
      close to the pane, peering out into the night. He still held
      the candle in his hand. To Dan's surprise, he placed it
      carefully on the broad window-sill, and drew down the dark
      shade to within a foot of the sill, blotting out all save a
      narrow band of light. Then the Marquis disappeared for
      several moments into the interior of the room. Dan was about
      to turn back into the house, when again Monsieur de
      Boisdhyver came to the window. He did not raise the shade,
      but inserted between the windowpane and the candle a strip of
      dark green paper. It was translucent and had the effect of
      sending a beam of green light southward, across the meadows
      and the dunes, to meet&#8212;Tom suddenly realized&#8212;the
      rays of the green light from the House on the Dunes.
    </p>
    <p>
      Was it a signal being exchanged, and between whom? The
      coincidence of green lights from the Inn and the House on the
      Dunes, at the same moment, was too marked to be without
      significance. To what end was the Marquis de Boisdhyver
      exchanging mysterious signals with some one in that lonely
      farmhouse, and what did they mean?
    </p>
    <p>
      Tom repressed his agitation and remained for some time
      watching the two green lights that glowed toward one another
      over the dark landscape.
    </p>
    <p>
      Suddenly the light in the House on the Dunes was
      extinguished; then, momentarily it shone again, but quickly
      went out and left the great sweep of dunes in darkness. Two
      minutes later the same thing took place in the window of the
      south chamber of the Inn. The light flashed and was gone,
      flashed again and shone no more.
    </p>
    <p>
      Tom went in, by a rear entrance, to the bar. The Marquis was
      seated by a table, absorbed in reading. He started as Tom
      entered. "Still no word of Mademoiselle?" he piped.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Still no word, monsieur," Pembroke answered laconically. He
      also seated himself in the candle light and took up the last
      issue of the <i>Port News</i>.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Do you know what has become of Dan?" Pembroke asked
      presently.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Monsieur Frost he has been closeted with madame his mother
      for the past half-hour. You have no further plans for seeking
      Mademoiselle? For myself, I grow alarmed."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I know nothing but what you know, monsieur. Nancy has not
      returned. There has been no word of her. We shall have to
      wait." With tremendous effort to conceal his agitation and
      annoyance, Tom resumed his reading.
    </p>
    <p>
      Monsieur de Boisdhyver glanced at him for a moment with a
      little air of interrogation, then shrugged his shoulders
      slightly and turned again to his French paper.
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p><a name="CH9"><!-- CH9 --></a>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER IX
    </h2>
    <center>
      MRS. FROST'S RECOLLECTIONS OF A FRENCH EXILE
    </center>
    <p>
      After the long day of fruitless search and enquiry for the
      vanished Nancy, supper being over and Tom having gone
      outside, Dan joined his mother in the blue parlour.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mrs. Frost was weary with waiting and anxiety, but as Dan
      threw himself on a couch near her chair, she watched him
      patiently.
    </p>
    <p>
      "There is no clue, Dan?" she ventured at last.
    </p>
    <p>
      "No clue, mother, not the slightest. Nancy seems to have
      vanished as completely as if she had dissolved into air. As
      you know, the house has been thoroughly searched; the
      servants carefully questioned; and enquiries have been made
      at every conceivable place in Monday Port. I have been to the
      House on the Dunes, and to the farmhouses on every road round
      about. No one has seen or heard of her. She has taken French
      leave, but for what reason I can't imagine."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nancy has not been happy for some time, Dan," said Mrs.
      Frost.
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, I have fancied that she was not. But why? Do you suppose
      she has left us deliberately? or&#8212;". He paused uncertain
      whether or not to give voice to his suspicions.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Or what?" asked his mother.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Or she has been forced away against her will."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Against her will!" the old lady exclaimed. "Who could have
      forced her? and for what reason? Do you think she may have
      been kidnapped?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Either kidnapped or decoyed away."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But who could have designs upon Nancy? It is more reasonable
      to suppose that she left of her own accord. I confess that
      would not altogether surprise me."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I don't know, mother, but I have my fears and suspicions.
      There may be some one who has a deep interest in Nancy, who
      for reasons of his own, which I don't yet understand, may
      wish to control her movements. I wish you would tell me all
      you know of Nancy's origin. You have never told me;&#8212;you
      have never told her, I fancy,&#8212;who she really is and how
      you came to adopt her as your own child. I have never been
      curious to know, in fact I have not wanted to know, for she
      has always been to me precisely what a sister of my own blood
      would be. But now, it may help me to understand certain
      strange things that have happened in the last few days."
    </p>
    <p>
      For a moment Mrs. Frost was silent. "No, I have never spoken
      to you or to Nancy of her early history, Dan; simply because,
      to all intent she has been our own. I have always wished that
      she should feel absolutely one with us; and I think she
      always has, until this winter. But of late I have noticed her
      discontent, her growing restlessness, and I have sometimes
      wondered if she could be brooding over the mystery of her
      early years. But she has never asked me a direct question;
      and I have kept silent."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I think now, mother," Dan replied, "it is your duty to tell
      me all you know."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I have no reason, my dear, to keep anything from you. I
      should have told you years ago, if you had asked me. There is
      not much to tell. You may remember when you were a boy about
      six or seven years old, a French exile came to the Inn, a
      military gentleman, who had left France in consequence of the
      fall of the great Napoleon."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, I remember him distinctly," said Dan. "He used to tell
      stories to Tom and me of his adventures in the wars. Tom was
      speaking of him only the other day."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well," continued Mrs. Frost, "this gentleman called himself
      General Pointelle. I learned afterwards it was not his real
      name. Who he actually was, I have not the slightest idea. He
      brought with him a little girl two years old, a sweet little
      black-eyed girl, to whom I, having lost your only sister at
      about that age, took a great fancy. The General also had two
      servants with him, a valet, and a maid. The maid, a pretty
      young thing, took care of the child. They arrived in
      mid-summer, on a merchantman that plied between Marseilles
      and Monday Port. I do not know why General Pointelle came to
      this part of the country, or why he chose to stay at the Inn;
      at any rate he came, and he engaged for an indefinite period
      the best suite of apartments in the old north wing. He had
      the Oak Parlour&#8212;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "The Oak Parlour!" exclaimed Dan.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes," replied Mrs. Frost, "that was part of the suite
      reserved usually for our most distinguished guests. The
      general used that for a sitting-room and the adjoining
      chamber as a bed-room. The maid and child occupied connecting
      rooms across the hall. The valet, I believe, was in some
      other part of the house. General Pointelle proved himself a
      fascinating guest, and his little daughter Eloise was a
      favourite with all the household. The maid, pretty as she
      certainly was and apparently above her station, I somehow
      never trusted. I have always believed that the relations
      between the general and herself were not what they should
      have been. But Frenchmen look at such things differently, I
      am told; and it was not to our interests to be over-curious.
    </p>
    <p>
      "They had been with us about two months when one fine morning
      we awoke to find that General Pointelle, his valet, and the
      charming Marie had disappeared, and little Eloise was crying
      alone in her big room. You have probably guessed the child
      was Nancy."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes," Dan agreed, "but do you mean that the father actually
      abandoned her?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Practically. He left a note for me and a little bag of gold
      amounting to two thousand dollars to be used for the child.
      If you will hand me that old secretary there, I will show you
      the letter."
    </p>
    <p>
      Dan placed the old-fashioned writing-desk on the table beside
      her, and waited anxiously while she fumbled in her pocket for
      the key. She unlocked the desk, and after searching a few
      moments amongst innumerable papers, drew out an old letter.
      This she unfolded carefully and handed to Dan. It was written
      in English, in a fine running hand. He read it attentively.
    </p>
    <p>
      "<i>The Inn at the Red Oak, Deal</i>:
    </p>
    <p>
      "14 October, '814.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Madame:
    </p>
    <p>
      "Political circumstances over which I have no control,
      patriotic considerations which I cannot withstand, demand my
      immediate return to France. In the conditions into which I am
      about to be plunged the care of my dear little daughter
      becomes an impossibility. Inhuman as it must seem to you,
      lacking in all sense of Christian duty as it must appear to
      you, I entrust, without the formality of consulting you, my
      beautiful little Eloise to your humane and tender care. With
      this letter I deposit with you the sum of two thousand
      dollars in gold, which will go a little way at least to
      compensate you for the burden I thus unceremoniously, but of
      necessity, thrust upon you. I appeal to and confide in the
      goodness of your heart, of which already I have such abundant
      testimony, that will take pity upon the misfortune of a
      helpless infant and an equally helpless parent. May you be a
      mother to the motherless, and may the Heavenly Father bless
      you for what you shall do.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I embark, madame, upon a dangerous and uncertain mission.
      Should that mission prove successful and restore the fortunes
      of my house, I will return and claim my daughter. Should fate
      overwhelm me with disaster, I must beg that you will continue
      to regard her and love her as your own. The issue will have
      been decided within five years. Permit me to add but one
      thing more,&#8212;in the event that I fall in the cause I
      have embraced, I have made arrangements whereby
      communications shall be established with you, madame, that
      will redound to your own good fortune and that of the little
      Eloise.
    </p>
    <p>
      "All effort to thwart my plans or to establish my identity in
      the meantime, will, I must warn you, be fruitless.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Adieu, madame: accept the assurance of my gratitude for all
      that you have already done to sweeten exile and of my earnest
      prayer for the blessing of God upon your great good heart.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I remain, madame, for the present, but always, under
      whatever name,
    </p>
    <p>
      "Your grateful and sincere servant,
    </p>
    <p>
      "GASTON POINTELLE,"
    </p>
    <p>
      As Dan, with gathering brows, concluded the reading of this
      extraordinary letter, Mrs. Frost resumed her story.
    </p>
    <p>
      "We always imagined that the general and his companions had
      sailed in a French vessel that lay at that time in the
      Passage and left that morning at dawn. There was nothing to
      do but adopt little Eloise Pointelle for my own. I changed
      her name, at your father's suggestion, to Nancy Frost;
      knowing that Pointelle was not the general's real name. For
      five years we looked to see our guest return; and afterwards
      for years, we hoped to receive some communication that would
      prove, as he promised, of advantage to Nancy and ourselves.
      But from the night General Pointelle left our house to this
      day, I have not heard one word to show that he still existed
      or, indeed, that he ever had existed. We brought Nancy up as
      our own daughter, though, never concealing from her the fact
      that she was not of our blood. Indeed, Dan, I have loved her
      dearly."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Certainly, you have always treated her with the greatest
      kindness. But this is quite extraordinary, Mother. I think it
      will throw light on Nancy's present disappearance."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Do you think the father is alive, Dan? that he has
      communicated with her?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Not that, mother; I am really in the dark. But I believe
      that the Marquis de Boisdhyver has some connection with your
      General Pointelle, and that his stay with us this winter has
      something to do with Nancy."
    </p>
    <p>
      In response to Mrs. Frost's questions, he told of the
      meetings of Nancy and the marquis, but decided to say nothing
      about the paper that he had found in the Oak Parlour.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I want you to be careful, Mother, to give no hint to the
      Marquis that we suspect him in any way. Tom and I are trying
      to solve the mystery, and secrecy is of the greatest
      importance. It is a more complicated business than we
      imagined. I must go now and find Tom. May I keep this
      letter?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, but keep it under lock and key. I have guarded it for
      sixteen years; and it is the only evidence I possess of
      Nancy's origin."
    </p>
    <p>
      Dan returned to the bar, where he found the Marquis and Tom
      still reading their papers.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah!" exclaimed Monsieur de Boisdhyver, "I trust, Monsieur
      Frost, you bring us the good news at last of the return of
      Mademoiselle."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Unfortunately, I do not, monsieur," Dan replied. "Our
      efforts to find out what has become of her have been entirely
      unsuccessful. I am very anxious, as you may imagine."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And to what mishap do you attribute Mademoiselle's so
      unceremonious departure?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I do not attribute it to any mishap," replied Dan. "I think
      that my sister has gone off on a visit to some friends, and
      that her messages to us have been miscarried. I feel certain
      that to-morrow we will be completely reassured."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah! I hope so with all my heart," exclaimed the Marquis
      fervently. "It is a matter of deep distress to
      me&#8212;monsieur. But if&#8212;to-morrow passes and still
      you do not hear&#8212;?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "God knows, sir. We must do everything to find her."
    </p>
    <p>
      "We shall find her," cried Tom, as he sprang to his feet,
      unable longer to repress his anxiety or his irritation. "And
      if we do not find her safe and well, woe to the man who has
      harmed her."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Bravo!" cried the Marquis. "Permit me to adopt those words
      to express my own sentiments. I applaud this determination,
      monsieur, <i>de tout mon coeur</i>."
    </p>
    <p>
      Tom glared at the little old man with an expression of
      illconcealed rage. He was about to blurt out some angry
      reply, when a warning gesture from Dan checked him. Without
      speaking, he flung himself out of the room.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Poor Tom!" said Dan quickly, to cover Pembroke's attitude
      toward the Marquis, "this takes him especially hard. He is in
      love with Nancy."
    </p>
    <p>
      "<i>Eh bien</i>! I sympathize with his good taste. It is that
      that accounts for his vigour of his expressions, so much more
      <i>emphatique</i> than our good host."
    </p>
    <p>
      "More emphatic, perhaps," said Dan, "though I do not feel
      less strongly."
    </p>
    <p>
      The Marquis made a little bow, as he rose to retire. "If,
      chance, monsieur could require my assistance&#8212;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Thank you," said Dan quickly. "In that case, sir, I shall be
      only too happy to call upon you." He rose also, and
      courteously held the candle till the Marquis had reached the
      top of the stairs.
    </p>
    <p>
      Tom waited his friend impatiently in their common chamber.
      And when at last, having closed the house for the night, Dan
      joined him, he told at once of the signals which he supposed
      had been exchanged between the Marquis at the Inn and someone
      at the House on the Dunes. In return Dan repeated what he had
      learned about Nancy from Mrs. Frost.
    </p>
    <p>
      "There is no doubt in my mind," said Dan, "that the Marquis
      knows all about Nancy's disappearance and where she is, and
      further I believe that Nancy's disappearance is part of a
      plot with the Marquis here, Madame de la Fontaine at the
      House on the Dunes, and that schooner riding at anchor in the
      Cove. I have a plan, Tom."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Go ahead for heaven's sake. If we don't do something, I'll
      go in and choke the truth out of that old reprobate. He
      applauds my sentiments, eh! Good God! If he knew them!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, yes," said Dan. "But the time for choking has not come.
      You nearly gave yourself away to-night, you will ruin our
      plans, and involve Nancy in some harm. She is probably in
      that old villain's power. Now listen to me. The first thing
      to do is to discover Nancy's whereabouts. The second is to
      get at the bottom of the Marquis's plot and the secret of the
      torn scrap of paper. We will find the clew to both, I think,
      if we can discover the meaning of the signals between the
      Marquis and the lady in the House on the Dunes."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Right!" cried Tom. "But how?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "One of us must stay at the Inn and watch the Marquis
      to-night, and the other investigate the House on the Dunes. I
      have already been there and made the acquaintance of the
      lady, so I had better do that, and you stay here. Do you
      agree?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, of course; though I envy you the chance to be out and
      doing."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You will be doing something here. I want you to hide
      yourself in the hallway near the Marquis's door and watch all
      night&#8212;till dawn anyway. He cannot get out of his room
      without coming into the hall, and we must know what he does
      to-night. If the Marquis can spend a sleepless night, we can
      afford to do so. I don't know what I can do at the House on
      the Dunes but I shall take the pistol, and you can keep my
      gun. To-morrow I will get more arms, for I shouldn't be
      surprised if we needed them. Is everything clear?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Perfectly," said Tom. "I'll watch as soon as you are off."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Good-night, old boy, good luck."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Good-night," and Dan slipped out of the room and down the
      dark stairs.
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p><a name="CH10"><!-- CH10 --></a>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER X
    </h2>
    <center>
      MIDNIGHT VIGILS
    </center>
    <p>
      As soon as Dan had gone Tom blew out his light and slipped
      into the hallway.
    </p>
    <p>
      This portion of the Inn was simple in design. A long corridor
      ran through the middle of the house to meet a similar passage
      at the southern end extending at right angles to the main
      hall. The South Chamber, occupied by the Marquis de
      Boisdhyver, opened into the southwest passage, but the door
      was well beyond the juncture of the two corridors. It was
      Pembroke's intention to conceal himself in the bedroom next
      the Marquis's chamber, from the door of which he could look
      down the entire length of the main hall, and by stepping
      outside get a view of the branch hallway into which the door
      of this room and that of the Marquis actually opened. A
      further advantage was that the windows of this room, like
      those of the South Chamber, looked out upon the Dunes and the
      Cove.
    </p>
    <p>
      As Tom stepped from his chamber, the house seemed utterly
      deserted; save for the roaring of the wind without and an
      occasional creak or crack in the time-worn boards, there were
      no sounds.
    </p>
    <p>
      The night was not a dark one, although the wind was rising
      and rain was threatening; for a full moon lurked behind the
      thick veil of cloud and something of its weird weak light
      relieved the darkness even of the great corridor of the Inn.
    </p>
    <p>
      Tom stole softly down the hallway and gained the room next
      the Marquis's. He took his position in a great chair, which
      he drew near the open door, and laid his gun on the floor
      near at hand. No one could enter the hall without his seeing
      him. Every few moments he would tiptoe to the doorway, thrust
      his head into the corridor, and listen intently for any sound
      in the South Chamber.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was a lonely and unpleasant vigil. The night was wild, the
      storm was rising, the old Inn was moaning as though in
      distress; and, despite his natural courage, fantastic terrors
      and dangers thrust themselves upon his excited imagination.
      He would much have preferred, he felt, to be out in the open
      as Dan was, even facing real dangers and greater
      difficulties. Deeper than by these imaginary fears of the
      night, he was racked with anxiety to know what had become of
      the girl he loved. Had she been decoyed away by the evil
      genius of the place; was she in danger? Had she disappeared
      of her own free will; and didn't she really love him?
    </p>
    <p>
      He was not in the least sleepy; but after a while the vigil
      began to tell upon his nerves. He found it almost impossible
      to sit still and wait, perhaps in vain. He made innumerable
      trips across the room to the windows to look out into the
      bleak night. The landscape was blotted out. Not a light
      showed from the House on the Dunes; only the two lamps on the
      schooner at anchor in the Cove gleamed across the night.
      Eleven o'clock, twelve o'clock struck solemnly from the old
      clock on the stairs.
    </p>
    <p>
      Once as he was looking out of the window, it seemed to him
      that the green light on the <i>Southern Cross</i> was moving.
      But it was impossible that she should weigh anchor in the
      teeth of the rising storm. He was mistaken. Nay, he was sure.
      But it was rising, slowly, steadily, as though drawn by an
      invisible hand, to about the height of the masthead. There at
      last it stopped, and swung to the wind, to and fro, to and
      fro; high above its red companion, high above the deck.
    </p>
    <p>
      And then, suddenly, as if to answer this mysterious
      manoeuvre, the green light, that earlier in the evening had
      glowed from a north window of the House on the Dunes, now
      flashed from an east window of the old farmhouse; flashed,
      then gleamed steadily. The light on the <i>Southern Cross</i>
      was lowered slowly, then raised again. The light in the House
      on the Dunes vanished; soon flashed again and then vanished
      once more. Slowly the light in the schooner descended to its
      normal position. A moment later the green light appeared on
      the north side of the House on the Dunes, where it had been
      earlier, and shone there steadily.
    </p>
    <p>
      Was it a signal to the Marquis de Boisdhyver? Tom tiptoed to
      the partition between his room and the South Chamber, and put
      his ear to the wall to listen. Not a sound reached him. He
      turned to the door to go into the corridor, and stood
      suddenly motionless. For there, advancing ever so cautiously
      down the hall, carrying a lighted candle in his hand, was the
      old Marquis. He was clad in night dress and cap, with a
      gayly-coloured dressing-gown worn over the white shirt.
      Slowly, silently, pausing every instant to listen; he stole
      on, gun in hand, and Tom followed him as cautiously and as
      quietly. Instead of turning to the right at the partition
      that divides the north and south wings of the Inn and going
      down stairs, the Marquis turned to the left, into the short
      hall that led directly to the great chamber occupied by Tom
      and Dan.
    </p>
    <p>
      By the time Pembroke in pursuit had reached the turn and
      dared to peep around the corner of the wall, the Marquis was
      at the door of Dan's room. He stood there, ear bent close to
      the panel, intently listening.
    </p>
    <p>
      Tom waited breathless. Not satisfied, Monsieur de Boisdhyver
      turned about and went into an adjoining chamber, the door of
      which stood open. Pembroke was about to advance, when the
      Marquis emerged again into the corridor, having left his
      lighted candle in the empty room. This manoeuvre, whatever
      advantage it had for the Marquis, was fortunate for Pembroke,
      for it left the end of the little hall, where he stood
      watching, in deep shadow. He could now step boldly from
      behind the concealing wall without fear of immediate
      detection.
    </p>
    <p>
      Again the Marquis stood and listened at the door of Dan's
      room, then cautiously turned the knob. The door yielded and
      opened an inch or so. Monsieur de Boisdhyver put his ear to
      the crack. Dissatisfied with the absolute silence that must
      have met him, he pushed open the door a little further and
      thrust his head inside. In a moment he disappeared within.
    </p>
    <p>
      Tom realized that the Marquis would soon discover the fact
      that the room was empty. He looked about quickly for a place
      of concealment that would command a view of all the halls.
      Fortunately the partition that divided the long corridor
      between the north and south wings was hung with heavy
      curtains. Deciding instantly, Pembroke slipped behind them,
      and ruthlessly slit an opening in the thick green stuff,
      through which he could peek out. He was just in time, as the
      Marquis came out of their bedroom and softly closed the door.
      He stood irresolute; then, with even greater caution,
      re-entered the room in which he had left his candle. To Tom's
      chagrin, the candle was suddenly extinguished and the Inn
      left in darkness.
    </p>
    <p>
      For some moments, there was absolute silence. Then Tom could
      hear faintly,&#8212;or feel rather than hear&#8212;the
      Marquis cautiously finding his way back. Luckily, the old
      Frenchman was groping his way next the other wall. Pembroke
      slipped from behind the curtains and stole softly in pursuit.
      As he reached the south end of the corridor, he heard the
      latch of the Marquis's door click softly. Alarmed by
      discovering that they were not in bed, thought Tom, he had
      abandoned whatever purpose he had in mind for his midnight
      prowl.
    </p>
    <p>
      After waiting a little and hearing no more, Tom went again to
      the window. The rain had begun now and the wind was blowing a
      gale. Suddenly Pembroke discerned a light shining from the
      window next the very one from which he was peering into the
      darkness,&#8212;the steady glow of a deep red light.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Another signal!" he murmured; then waited to see if it would
      be answered by the House on the Dunes. Perhaps fifteen
      minutes passed, and then, suddenly, there gleamed through the
      rain and dark, a tiny bit of red flame, just where the House
      on the Dunes must be. A little later the red lamp on the
      <i>Southern Cross</i> performed a fantastic ascension to what
      Pembroke took to be the masthead.
    </p>
    <p>
      The red light in the neighbouring window was extinguished.
      Almost instantly the red spark on the Dunes disappeared, and
      in a few moments the schooner's lamp began its descent.
      Simultaneously they glowed again and the ship's light danced
      upward; then the two red lights on shore vanished and the
      lamp on the <i>Southern Cross</i> sank to its proper place
      and stayed there.
    </p>
    <p>
      Of one thing Tom was sure: The Marquis, the lady at the House
      on the Dunes, and the skipper of the schooner in the Cove,
      were in collusion. Of another thing he felt almost equally
      certain: the red light was a signal of danger, and the
      message of danger flashed across the night was the fact that
      he and Dan were not safe asleep in bed.
    </p>
    <p>
      For a long time he watched, keen with excitement; listened
      patiently; started at every sound. But nothing more unusual
      did he hear that night than the roar of the wind, the dash of
      the brawling southeaster against the panes, and the groans of
      the old house, shaken by the storm. Toward morning he crept
      back to bed and fell instantly into a deep and dreamless
      sleep.
    </p>
    <p>
      While Tom was thus watching and sleeping a somewhat different
      experience had fallen to the lot of Dan Frost. He had no
      definite plan in making a midnight visit to the vicinity of
      the House on the Dunes, but he hoped to discover some clue to
      the surrounding mysteries. From time to time during the day
      he had taken his field glasses to one of the upper rooms of
      the Inn, and scanned the countryside but nothing unusual
      seemed astir in the white world without. The <i>Southern
      Cross</i> had lain on the surface of the little cove all day,
      swaying with wind and tide, no sign of activity upon her
      decks. It was after ten when he started forth. The night was
      not quite dark, for the full moon was shining somewhere
      behind the thick veil of clouds. Earlier in the evening Dan
      had intended to go boldly to the House itself and demand an
      interview with old Mrs. Meath; but he reflected that he would
      probably be met with the excuse that Mrs. Meath was ill, and
      he did not know how he could force himself in, particularly
      past the barrier of Madame de la Fontaine's charming manner.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was an unpleasant walk with the wind in his face, and it
      was nearly eleven before he turned into the long dune road,
      which branched from the Port Road near the Rocking Stone and
      led directly to the old farmhouse on Strathsey Neck. To his
      chagrin it appeared that all lights had been extinguished as
      if the inmates of the house had gone to bed.
    </p>
    <p>
      The old farmhouse loomed before him, dark and forbidding. On
      either side there were outhouses, and in the rear quite near
      the house a barn. There was not a tree on the place; indeed,
      there was little vegetation upon the entire Neck, save the
      grass of the middle meadows which in summer furnished scant
      nourishment for the cattle and a flock of sheep. Now all was
      bleak and covered with snow, and a freshening gale swept out
      of the great maw of the Atlantic.
    </p>
    <p>
      Keeping close to the fence, Frost began to make a complete
      circuit of the farmhouse. As he turned a corner of the south
      end, or rear of the house, he was relieved to see a light
      burning in the kitchen. He stole cautiously to a position
      within the shadow of the barn from which he could get a
      glimpse of the interior. In the kitchen standing before a
      deal table, he saw a young woman&#8212;not Jane, Mrs. Heath's
      maid-of-all-work, but a stranger,&#8212;with her hands deep
      in a bowl of dough. Her back was toward him, but he guessed
      that she was Madame de la Fontaine's maid, whom he had seen
      in the morning. The door into the dining-room beyond stood
      open, and by craning his neck, Dan could see that the room
      was lighter, but he could not discover whether or not it were
      occupied. The shutters of the dining-room were so closely
      barred and the curtains so tightly drawn that not a ray of
      light penetrated to the outside.
    </p>
    <p>
      The girl in the kitchen proceeded busily about her work. She
      was evidently engaged, despite the lateness of the hour, in
      mixing bread.
    </p>
    <p>
      Once while he waited patiently, to what end he hardly knew,
      Madame de la Fontaine entered the kitchen. She was clad in
      black and held in her hands what Dan took to be a ship's
      lamp. She stood for a moment in the doorway and spoke to the
      servant maid. The girl stopped her work, and taking a strip
      of paper, ignited it at a candle and lighted the lamp, which
      Madame de la Fontaine held up for her. It glowed instantly
      with a deep green flame, such as Tom had described as shining
      from a window of the House on the Dunes in the early evening.
    </p>
    <p>
      As soon as her lamp was lighted Madame de la Fontaine left
      the room. Supposing that she was about to give a signal,
      Dan's heart leaped at the prospect of some result to his
      eavesdropping, and he stole carefully around to the front of
      the house. Presently from an upper window in the east side of
      the house, not the north as he had expected, he saw the green
      light sending forth its message across the Dunes&#8212;to
      whom? Probably the signal could be seen from the Inn, but it
      more likely was intended for the schooner in the Cove. Sure
      enough, as he watched, Dan saw the phenomenon of the
      ascending lamp on the <i>Southern Cross</i>, which at that
      identical moment Tom Pembroke was watching from his post of
      vantage in one of the south windows of the Inn.
    </p>
    <p>
      A little later the signal was removed from the east window of
      the farmhouse and placed in a north window. Dan looked to see
      the answering gleam from the Inn at the Red Oak. But none
      came. Crouched in a corner of the fence, he waited perhaps
      for half-an-hour.
    </p>
    <p>
      Suddenly a signal gleamed from the Inn, but this time it was
      not green as he expected, but red. In a few moments a form
      appeared in the window of the farmhouse, and a white hand,
      which he supposed was that of Madame de la Fontaine, took
      hold of the lamp and reversed it, so that now it showed red.
      The light in the Inn vanished, reappeared, vanished again.
      The same thing happened to the light in the House on the
      Dunes. And looking eastward, Dan saw the ship's red lamp
      perform its fantastic ascent and descent. Soon all was left
      in darkness. Frost slipped back to his post near the barn and
      looked again into the kitchen.
    </p>
    <p>
      Madame de la Fontaine was standing in the doorway as before.
      The maid, turning away from the table, came at that moment to
      the window, and raised the sash, as though she were
      overheated. Presently, leaving the window open, she turned to
      her mistress, and Dan could hear the sharp staccato of her
      voice as she said something in what seemed to him her
      barbarous French.
    </p>
    <p>
      Impelled by curiosity, he crept closer to the house. He was
      within six feet of the window, standing on the tip of his
      toes. Suddenly he felt himself pinioned from behind; his arms
      were gripped as in a vise, a hand grasped his throat and
      began to choke him, and a sharp knee was planted with
      terrific force in the small of his back. He made a gurgling
      sound as he went backward, but there was no opportunity for
      struggling. He recovered from the shock to find himself
      stretched at full length in the wet snow. Some one was
      sitting upon him, struggling to thrust a gag into his mouth;
      some one else was binding his hands and feet.
    </p>
    <p>
      He could just distinguish, in the sickly moonlight and the
      dim rays of the candle from the kitchen, the faces of his
      assailants. One was the murderous looking Frenchman, the
      skipper of the <i>Southern Cross</i>, the other he took to be
      a common seaman.
    </p>
    <p>
      Attracted by the scuffle, the French maid had thrust her head
      out of the window and was addressing the combatants in
      vigorous French. Neither then nor later did Madame de la
      Fontaine appear. When Frost was safely bound and gagged,
      Captain Bonhomme arose, said a few words to his companion,
      and disappeared into the farmhouse. Dan's guard searched him
      rapidly, confiscated his revolver and knife, and then resumed
      his seat upon his legs. Inside the kitchen Dan could hear the
      sounds of an animated French dialogue, in which he imagined
      from time to time that he detected the silvery tones of
      Madame de la Fontaine's voice. Perhaps fifteen minutes
      elapsed. Captain Bonhomme came out of the house, strode to
      the spot where Dan was lying, and addressed him in excellent
      English.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Monsieur; for purposes which it is superfluous to explain,
      it is decided to extend to you for a while the hospitality of
      my good ship the <i>Southern Cross</i>&#8212;a hospitality, I
      may say, that your unceremonious eavesdropping has thrust
      upon you. I will release your feet; and then, monsieur, you
      follow my good Jean across the sands. If you are quiet, no
      harm shall come to you. If you resist, <i>cher monsieur</i>,
      it will be of painful duty that I entrust the contents of
      this revolver into&#8212;<i>mais non! Vous comprenez,
      n'est-ce pas?&#8212;Bien</i>!"
    </p>
    <p>
      He gave a sharp order to the seaman. The handkerchief about
      Dan's ankles was untied, and he was roughly assisted to his
      feet.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The snow is wet, eh! Yes, for the good wind is moist. Now,
      <i>Allons</i>!"
    </p>
    <p>
      Jean led the way, and Dan, deciding that he had no choice in
      the matter, followed obediently. The captain brought up the
      rear. As they went out through the gate, Dan turned for a
      moment and looked back at the house. He could see the French
      maid still at the kitchen window. At the same moment Captain
      Bonhomme glanced back and ceremoniously raised his hat.
    </p>
    <p>
      "<i>Bonsoir, mam'zelle</i>."
    </p>
    <p>
      "<i>Bonsoir, monsieur</i>," was the sharp reply, and the
      window was lowered with a bang.
    </p>
    <p>
      They went on in silence across the Dunes to the beach. There,
      drawn up above high water line, they found a skiff. The
      captain and Jean shoved off, sprang in, and the little boat
      plunged into the combing waves. They reached the <i>Southern
      Cross</i> without misadventure. The captain blew a call upon
      a boatswain's whistle. A rope was lowered and Jean made the
      skiff fast to the ladder at the schooner's side. The captain
      took out his revolver and held it in his hand, while Jean
      unloosed the cords that bound Dan's wrists.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Now up, <i>mon ami</i>."
    </p>
    <p>
      For a moment Dan thought of risking a scuffle in the unsteady
      skiff, but discretion proved the better part of valour, and
      he climbed obediently on to the deck. The seaman stood close
      by till the captain and Jean had clambered up after him. A
      few words in French to his men, then Captain Bonhomme,
      beckoning to Dan to follow, led the way down the companion.
      He opened the door of a little cabin amidships and bade Frost
      enter.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You will find everything required for your comfort,
      monsieur," he said, "and I trust you will make yourself at
      home, as you say; and enjoy a good night and a sound sleep.
      We can discuss our affairs in the morning."
    </p>
    <p>
      And with the words, he closed the door, turned the key in the
      lock, and left Dan to his reflections.
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p><a name="PART3"><!-- PART3 --></a>
    <h2>
      PART III
    </h2>
    <center>
      THE SCHOONER IN THE COVE
    </center>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p><a name="CH11"><!-- CH11 --></a>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XI
    </h2>
    <center>
      THE SOUTHERN CROSS
    </center>
    <p>
      Dan spent a miserable night. He had soon satisfied himself
      that escape was impossible. A child could not have squeezed
      through the port hole, and the stoutness of the
      door&#8212;barred, he fancied, as well as locked on the
      outside,&#8212;seemed to indicate that this particular cabin
      had been constructed for the purpose of keeping an enemy out
      of mischief.
    </p>
    <p>
      Young Frost's reflections, as at length he stretched himself
      upon the bunk, were anything but agreeable. The reconnoitre
      at the House on the Dunes had established nothing but what
      they already practically knew&#8212;that the Marquis, the
      lady, and the captain of the schooner were working together.
      If they were responsible for Nancy's disappearance, as Dan
      was convinced, he had not succeeded in getting a scrap of
      evidence against them. And to cap the climax, he had stupidly
      allowed himself to be captured. The method of his capture
      seemed to him quite as ignominious as the fact.
    </p>
    <p>
      He was not particularly alarmed for his own safety. He did
      not doubt that eventually he would escape, though at the
      moment he could not imagine how; or, failing in that, he
      supposed he would be released,&#8212;honorably discharged, as
      it were,&#8212;when it was too late for him to interfere with
      the designs of the conspirators. And this was the bitterest
      reflection of all: that a carefully-planned conspiracy was on
      foot, and no sooner had he and Tom realized it than through
      sheer stupidity he must not only make it clear to the Marquis
      and his colleagues that they were being watched, but must let
      himself fall into their power. Poor Tom! thought Dan ruefully
      as he tossed upon the little bunk, there must fall upon him
      now the brunt of whatever was to be done for Nancy's rescue,
      for the thwarting of whatever nefarious designs this gang of
      French desperados were concocting.
    </p>
    <p>
      Escape! A dozen times and more he sprang from his bed to
      press his face against the thick glass of the little port and
      to rage futilely that he could not elongate his six feet of
      anatomy, and slip through. In vain he would throw his weight
      against the door, without so much as shaking it. And then he
      would sink back upon the bunk and determine to conserve his
      strength by snatching a bit of sleep. And he would
      wait&#8212;since he must wait&#8212;till morning.
    </p>
    <p>
      The gale had lashed itself into a fury; the rain was pouring
      in torrents; and the ship rolled distressingly in the rising
      sea. It was near dawn before Dan succeeded in getting to
      sleep at all, but from then on for several hours he slept
      heavily. When he awoke the storm, like many storms that come
      out of the south, had exhausted itself. The rain had ceased,
      the wind had fallen, and it was evident from the motion of
      the ship, that the sea was going down. Dan sprang to the port
      hole and peered out, and was thankful to realize that the
      peep hole of his prison gave upon the shore.
    </p>
    <p>
      Though it had stopped raining, the clouds were still grey and
      lowering, and the morning light was weak and pale. The Dunes,
      beyond the disturbed waters of the little cove, looked dirty
      and bedraggled. The snow had been washed off the hillocks,
      the little streams that here and there emptied into the Cove
      had swollen to the size of respectable brooks, and the high
      water of the night had strewn the beach with brown tangled
      seaweed. There was no sign of human life in evidence. Dan
      could just see the upper story of the House on the Dunes, but
      no other habitation save the deserted fisherman's huts that
      straggled along the beach.
    </p>
    <p>
      His watch showed half-past seven when the evil-visaged Jean
      unbarred the door, opened it about a foot, and thrust in upon
      the floor a tray of food. Dan sprang forward and succeeded in
      getting his foot into the opening, so that Jean could not
      close the door. He was prepared to fight for his liberty.
      Despite Jean's superior strength, Dan had the advantage in
      that his own body acted as a lever, and for a moment it
      seemed that he was to be successful; but the Frenchman, with
      a violent execration, suddenly let go his hold on the knob,
      the door swung in, and Dan fell back on all fours upon the
      floor. By the time he had recovered himself for another dash,
      he was confronted by Jean, a disagreeable leer upon his
      unpleasant countenance and a cocked pistol in his hand.
    </p>
    <p>
      Dan stood in his tracks. "I want to see Captain Bonhomme!" he
      demanded, making up in the tone of his voice for the vigor
      his movements suddenly lacked.
    </p>
    <p>
      "<i>Je ne parle pas englais</i>," was the irritating reply,
      as Jean, menacing the prisoner with the pistol, reached for
      the door and closed it with a snap. Dan had the chagrin of
      hearing the key turn in the lock and the heavy bar fall into
      place across the panels.
    </p>
    <p>
      He sat down ruefully, but after a moment or so took up the
      tray and placed it on the bunk before him. He made a bad
      breakfast off thick gruel, black bread and villainous coffee,
      and then kicked his heels impatiently for an hour or more.
    </p>
    <p>
      Eventually Jean reappeared, this time pistol in hand, and
      behind him, to Dan's relief, Captain Bonhomme. The captain
      entered the little cabin, leaving the door open behind him
      while Jean stood in the passage on duty as guard. The swarthy
      unattractive face of Captain Bonhomme wore this morning an
      expression of sarcastic levity that was more irritating to
      Frost than its ferocious anger had been the night before.
    </p>
    <p>
      "<i>Bon jour, monsieur</i>," said the captain in a tone of
      obnoxious pleasantry. "I trust the night has gone well with
      you."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You will oblige me," snapped Dan for reply, "by omitting
      your hypocritical courtesy. I demand to know what you mean by
      this proceeding,&#8212;capturing me like a common thief and
      imprisoning me on this confounded ship?"
    </p>
    <p>
      Captain Bonhomme's countenance quickly lost its factitious
      cheerfulness. "Monsieur," he replied sharply, "I did not come
      to you to bandy words. If you will reflect on the occupation
      you were indulging last night at the moment we surprised you,
      you will comprehend that it was certainly to be inferred
      that, if you were not a thief, you were an eavesdropper;
      which, to my way of thinking, is as bad. If you address me
      again in that insulting tone, I shall leave you till such a
      time as you may be willing to listen at least with common
      courtesy to what I have to say. You are, young gentleman, a
      prisoner on my ship and very much in my power. You have
      grossly offended a distinguished countrywoman who is under my
      protection in your barbarous country. Madame de la Fontaine,
      however, has been good enough to interest herself in your
      behalf and to beg that I shall not unceremoniously pitch you
      overboard to feed the fishes as you so richly deserve."
    </p>
    <p>
      Dan bit his lips, but for the moment kept silent.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am come this morning," continued Captain Bonhomme, "not
      for the pleasure of entering upon a discussion, but to inform
      you that a little later in the morning, when this infernal
      wind of yours has blown itself out, Madame de la Fontaine
      proposes to come aboard. For reasons of her own, she does you
      the honor to desire a conversation with you. I have to ask
      that you will meet my distinguished patroness as the
      gentleman you doubtless profess to be, and that you will give
      me your word not to attempt to escape while Madame is on
      board the ship."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I shall not give my word," protested Dan, "under any
      circumstances to a pirate such as I take you to be."
    </p>
    <p>
      "<i>Eh bien, monsieur</i>; in that case, you will appear
      before Madame in irons. From your window, so admirably small,
      you will see at what hour Madame comes aboard. If in the
      meantime you have decided to give us your word of honour,
      well and good; if you continue to display your freedom of
      choice by the exercise of your stupidity, also, well and
      good. And now, <i>an revoir</i>." Captain Bonhomme smiled
      grimly, bowed again with insulting politeness, and left Dan
      alone in the cabin.
    </p>
    <p>
      An hour, two hours passed. The wind had abated, the sun was
      struggling to dissipate the murky bank of cloud that hung
      from zenith to the eastern horizon. From his coign of vantage
      at the little port hole Dan saw Madame de la Fontaine pick
      her way across the Dunes and come upon the little beach. A
      small boat had put off from the schooner and was being rowed
      to shore by two seamen. The French lady gathered her skirts
      about her ankles, and stepped lightly into the skiff, as the
      men held it at the edge of the surf. The little boat was then
      pushed off and rowed briskly toward the <i>Southern
      Cross</i>.
    </p>
    <p>
      Half-an-hour passed before the door of Dan's cabin was opened
      again, and Captain Bonhomme, attended by the faithful Jean,
      reappeared. In the skipper's hand was a pair of irons.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Monsieur," said the captain, holding up the irons, "Madame
      de la Fontaine does you the honour of desiring an interview
      in the saloon. May I venture to enquire your pleasure?"
    </p>
    <p>
      The ignominy of appearing before his charming acquaintance of
      the day before manacled like a criminal, was too much for
      Dan's vanity. "I give you my word of honour," he said
      gruffly.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah, monsieur," murmured the captain, "permit me to applaud
      your good taste. But let us be exact: until you are returned
      to this cabin and are again under lock and key, that is to
      say until Madame is safely upon shore again,&#8212;you give
      me your word of honour as a gentleman to make no attempt to
      escape?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, yes," said Dan, striving to conceal his irritation.
      "But spare me, I beg, your explanations. As you know, I am
      practically helpless. We understand each other. I trust that
      Madame de la Fontaine will give me an explanation of the
      outrage that you have refused."
    </p>
    <p>
      "<i>Sans doute, sane doute</i>!" exclaimed the captain. He
      waved his hand toward the door. "<i>Apr&eacute;s vous,
      monsieur</i>. Our worthy Jean will lead the way."
    </p>
    <p>
      Without more ado they left the little cabin that had served
      as Dan's prison and traversed a narrow passageway aft to the
      door of a little saloon.
    </p>
    <p>
      In the saloon, seated in a deep arm chair by the side of the
      table, was Madame de la Fontaine. She was clad in some soft
      green gown, with furs about her neck and wrists, and a little
      bonnet, adorned by the gay plumage of a tropical bird, worn
      close upon her head. At first glance she was as bewitchingly
      beautiful, as entirely charming, as she had seemed to Dan the
      day before. He blushed to the roots of his hair and for the
      moment quite forgot the extraordinary predicament in which he
      was placed. Madame de la Fontaine rose, a bright smile
      beaming from her soft blue eyes, and waited for Dan to
      approach.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Good morning, Mr. Frost. This is charming of you. And now,
      Captain Bonhomme, if you will be so kind,&#8212;" she turned
      with her delightful smile to the skipper. "<i>Eh bien</i>,
      Jean!" This last remark was uttered in a sharp tone of
      command, very different from the silvery accents in which she
      had spoken to Frost and the captain. Dan wondered at it.
    </p>
    <p>
      The disagreeable impression was but momentary, for the lady
      turned again to Dan, engaged him with her frank and pleasant
      glance, and young Frost forgot everything in the presence of
      the most charming woman he had ever met.
    </p>
    <p>
      Captain Bonhomme and his watchdog had disappeared, closing
      the saloon door behind them. Dan and Madame de la Fontaine
      were alone.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Will you not seat yourself, monsieur?" she said. "We shall
      then talk so much more at our ease."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Thank you," Dan murmured vaguely, and advancing a step or
      two nearer, seated himself in the first chair within reach.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah, not there, Mr. Frost," the lady protested with a little
      laugh of amusement. "It will never be that we are able to
      talk at so great a distance." She indicated a more
      comfortable chair at much closer quarters.
    </p>
    <p>
      Dan obediently changed his seat, and waited for Madame de la
      Fontaine to begin the conversation. But she continued for a
      moment silently to regard him with a naive air of interest
      and of unconcealed admiration.
    </p>
    <p>
      "May I ask," said Dan at length, disturbed by this scrutiny,
      and rising to a courtesy that was in reality beyond him, "for
      what reason you have done me the honour to wish to speak with
      me?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "<i>Vraiment</i>," replied Madame de la Fontaine; "after the
      events of last night there is need that we should have some
      conversation. You are very young and I have reason to be
      grateful to you for courtesy and kindness, so I have yielded
      to impulse, against my judgment, to interfere with Captain
      Bonhomme who has great anger with you."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You are very kind, madame," Dan replied with dignity. "I am
      to infer then that my liberty or my further unwarranted
      imprisonment on this ship is to be determined by you?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "<i>Mais non, Monsieur</i>. It is true only that I have a
      little influence with Captain Bonhomme. Last night you were
      watching me, so it interests me to know why."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I was watching Mrs. Heath's house," Dan answered.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah! but I and my maid were alone in the room into which you
      so unceremoniously looked, monsieur!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, madame, but why should you infer that my motive in
      looking into that room was interest in your affairs?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I do not altogether assume that, Mr. Frost," the lady
      protested. "I infer simply&#8212;but, pardon! you were to
      say&#8212;?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Merely to ask you, madame, what Captain Bonhomme proposes to
      do with me, should you not be so good as to use your
      influence in my behalf?"
    </p>
    <p>
      For reply the lady shrugged her shoulders a trifle. "I have
      fear, monsieur," she said after a moment, "that Captain
      Bonhomme will take you for a sail, perhaps a long sail, on
      the <i>Southern Cross</i>."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then," said Dan, "since there is no doubt in my mind of your
      influence with the captain, I beg that you will have him
      release me."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is that that I desire, monsieur; and yet&#8212;?" Madame
      de la Fontaine paused and glanced at her companion with a
      charming little air of interrogation.
    </p>
    <p>
      "And yet?" repeated Dan, flushing a little as he looked into
      the lovely blue eyes that met his so frankly.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I confess, monsieur, I must first discover if you are really
      deserving of my efforts. I care to know very much why you
      watched me last night at the House on the Dunes. For what
      reason do you watch me at midnight? a stranger, a woman? Why
      is it that my affairs give you interest? I would know."
    </p>
    <p>
      Her voice, her countenance expressed now only her sense of
      injury, an injury which, as it were, she was striving not to
      regard also as an insult. Under the persistent searching of
      her soft glance, Dan felt himself very small indeed.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Answer me, if you please," she said. This time Dan detected
      just a trace of the sharpness with which she had dismissed
      the obsequious Jean. It gave him courage and a sense of
      protection from the fascination he knew that this strange
      woman was successfully exerting over him.
    </p>
    <p>
      As he replied, his glance encountered hers with frankness.
      "Madame de la Fontaine, I told you yesterday morning, my
      sister, Nancy Frost, has disappeared. We searched for her all
      day in vain. Not a trace of her has been found. But certain
      strange events have led me to suspect that certain persons
      have had something to do with her disappearance and must know
      her whereabouts. I will be frank Madame. One of the persons
      whom I so suspect is yourself."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I!&#8212;<i>mon Dieu</i>! and why is it that you believe
      this, Monsieur?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I suspect you, madame, because I suspect the Marquis de
      Boisdhyver."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah! the French gentleman who is staying with you at the Inn
      at the Red Oak, is it not so?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But&#8212;why me?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Because, madame, I discovered that you and the Marquis de
      Boisdhyver have been in secret communication with each
      other."
    </p>
    <p>
      "<i>C'est impossible. Te me comprende pas, monsieur</i>. Will
      you tell me why it is that you can think that this Marquis de
      Bois&#8212;what is the name?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "De Boisdhyver."
    </p>
    <p>
      "<i>Merci</i>. Why is it that you can think that the Marquis
      de Boisdhyver and I have been in secret communication?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Lights, green and red lights, have been used as signals; by
      the Marquis at the Inn; by you, madame, from the House on the
      Dunes; and by some one,&#8212;Captain Bonhomme, I
      suppose,&#8212;from this ship."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Lights, you have seen lights?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Several times last night, Madame. My suspicions were
      aroused. I was determined to find my sister. I resolved to
      learn the meaning of those mysterious signals. My method was
      stupid: I blundered, and as you have several times so gently
      hinted, I am in your power."
    </p>
    <p>
      For a moment Madame de la Fontaine was silent, then she
      looked quickly up; a half-vexed, half-amused expression
      curling her pretty lips.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Look at me, monsieur," she said. "Do you know what you tell
      me? That I am an adventuress?"
    </p>
    <p>
      Dan flushed suddenly as he met her steadfast gaze. "I have
      stated only a suspicion, madame, to account for my own stupid
      blundering. But if you think that my suspicions are
      extraordinary, don't you think that our present situation and
      conversation are also extraordinary, and that they might
      rather confirm my suspicions?"
    </p>
    <p>
      Madame de la Fontaine dropped her eyes with a perceptible
      frown of displeasure; but again she looked up, smiling.
    </p>
    <p>
      "<i>C'est drole</i>, monsieur, but I find you very
      attractive? You are at once so naive and so clever?"
    </p>
    <p>
      Dan, finding nothing to reply to this unexpected remark, bit
      his lips.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Will you not trust me?" she asked him suddenly, and putting
      out her hand she touched his own with the tips of her
      fingers.
    </p>
    <p>
      Poor Frost tingled at this unaccustomed contact.
      "I&#8212;I&#8212;" he stammered awkwardly. "I have certainly
      no desire to distrust you, madame."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And yet it is that you do distrust me."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But what would you have me do?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah!" Her hand spontaneously closed upon his with a clasp
      that delighted and yet disconcerted him. "I hope that we
      shall make each other to understand."
    </p>
    <p>
      "What would you have me do?" Dan repeated.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Monsieur, let me make to you a confession. I understand your
      suspicions; I understand your desire to find if they are
      true. You have reason; Monsieur le Marquis de Boisdhyver and
      I have exchanged the mysterious signals that you have
      witnessed. Why should I deny that which already you know?
      Monsieur de Boisdhyver and I are occupied with affairs of
      great importance, and it is necessary that all is kept
      secret. But I believe, that it is that I can trust you,
      monsieur."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And Nancy&#8212;?" exclaimed Dan.
    </p>
    <p>
      "<i>Pas si vite, pas si vite</i>!" said the lady, laughing
      gayly, Dan's hand still in her friendly pressure. "All in
      good time, <i>mon ami</i>. It is necessary before I confide
      in you our little secret that I consult Monsieur le Marquis."
    </p>
    <p>
      Dan's face betrayed his disappointment. "But you do know
      about Nancy," he insisted; "you will assure me&#8212;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Of nothing, dear boy,"&#8212;and she withdrew her hand. "But
      it had been so much better for us all if only Monsieur le
      Marquis had at the first confided in you."
    </p>
    <p>
      Madame de la Fontaine had risen now and was holding out her
      hand to say good-bye.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is necessary that I return to the shore. I will see
      Monsieur le Marquis this afternoon, and immediately
      afterward&#8212;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "But, madame, surely," Dan exclaimed, "I am to accompany
      you?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah! monsieur," she replied with a charming little smile,
      "for the present you must rest content to be <i>mon
      captif</i>. We must quite clearly understand each other
      before&#8212;well. But you are too impetuous, Monsieur Dan.
      For the moment I leave you here."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But Madame de la Fontaine," cried Dan, "I cannot
      consent&#8212;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No! no!" she said, as with a gay laugh, she placed a cool
      little hand across his mouth to prevent his finishing his
      sentence.
    </p>
    <p>
      What absurd impulse fired his blood at this sudden
      familiarity, Dan did not know; but, quite spontaneously, as
      though all his life he had been in the habit of paying such
      gallantries to charming ladies, he kissed the soft fingers
      upon his lips. Madame de la Fontaine quickly withdrew them.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah, <i>mon ami</i>;" she said, "I expected not to find here
      <i>une telle galanterie</i>."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I have offended you," murmured Dan, blushing furiously.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah, <i>pas du tout</i>!" said Madame de la Fontaine. "You
      are a dear boy, monsieur Dan, and I&#8212;well, I find you
      charming."
    </p>
    <p>
      As she said this, to Dan's complete confusion, Madame de la
      Fontaine lightly brushed his cheeks with her lips, and
      passing him rapidly, went out of the door of the saloon.
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p><a name="CH12"><!-- CH12 --></a>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XII
    </h2>
    <center>
      TOM TURNS THE TABLES
    </center>
    <p>
      Owing to his long watch during the greater part of the night,
      Pembroke slept heavily until late the next morning. Indeed,
      he did not waken until Jesse, alarmed that neither Dan nor he
      had appeared, knocked on their door. He sprang up quickly
      then, and began to dress hastily. Dan's bed had not been
      slept in, and Tom wondered how the night had gone with him.
    </p>
    <p>
      In a few moments he was down stairs and in the
      breakfast-room. He found the Marquis de Boisdhyver already at
      table, pouring out his coffee, which Deborah had just placed
      before him. Mrs. Frost had not appeared.
    </p>
    <p>
      Tom murmured an apology for being late, and delayed the black
      woman, who was on the point of leaving the room, by a
      question.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Where is Mr. Dan?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Sure an, Mass' Tom, I ain't seen him dis mornin' yet. Ain't
      he done over-slept hisself like you?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No; but I dare say he is about the place somewheres. All
      right, Deb; bring my breakfast quickly, please."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You will pardon me," said Monsieur de Boisdhyver, "for
      having begun without you?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, certainly," said Tom; "Don't know what was the matter,
      but I slept unusually soundly last night; that is, after I
      got to sleep, for the storm kept me awake for hours."
    </p>
    <p>
      "<i>Et moi aussi</i>," said the Marquis. "What wind! I am but
      thankful it has exhausted itself at last. And Monsieur Frost,
      he has also over-slept, you say?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No. He got up early without disturbing me. I guess he will
      be in any minute now."
    </p>
    <p>
      The Marquis stirred his coffee and slowly sipped it.
    </p>
    <p>
      Tom made a hasty breakfast, and then went outside to
      reconnoitre. He discovered no trace of his friend. There was
      but one inference in his uneasy mind: Dan had met with some
      misadventure at the House on the Dunes. At last, after
      wandering about aimlessly for some time, he decided to tell
      Jesse of his uneasiness.
    </p>
    <p>
      "If Mr. Dan is not back by dinner time, I shall go over to
      the House on the Dunes and try to find out what has become of
      him. Heaven knows what has become of Miss Nancy. I don't like
      that schooner, Jess, and its ugly crew, lying there in the
      Cove. It's all a darn queer business."
    </p>
    <p>
      "They're certainly a rough-looking lot, Mr. Tom, as I saw
      when I was on the beach yesterday. And she don't appear to
      have any particular business anchoring there. I hope they've
      nothing to do with Miss Nancy's and Mr. Dan's being away."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I don't know, Jess, what to think. But listen here I want
      you to go into the Port this morning and engage Ezra Manners
      to come out here and stay with us for a week or so. Don't
      tell him too much, but I guess Ezra won't balk at the notion
      of a scrap. Bring him out with you, and offer to pay him
      enough to make sure of his coming. And I want you to go to
      Breeze's on the Parade and get some guns and powder, enough
      to arm every blessed soul of us in the Inn. Charge the stuff
      to me. And be careful how you bring it back, for I don't want
      any one here to know about it, particularly the old
      Frenchman. Understand? You ought to get back by dinner-time,
      if you start at once. I'll stay here till you return."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I'll start right off, sir. Guess I'll have to drive, for the
      rain'll have washed the snow off the roads. I'll be back by
      halfpast twelve, Mr. Tom."
    </p>
    <p>
      "All right," said Pembroke. "Be sure not to let any one know
      what you are doing."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Sure I won't, sir. I've been pretty much worried myself
      about Miss Nancy. Didn't seem a bit like Miss Nance to go off
      without sayin' a word to anybody.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, hurry along now, Jesse."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, sir."
    </p>
    <p>
      Tom's next task was to try to explain to Mrs. Frost without
      alarming her. She happily jumped to the idea that Dan had
      gotten trace of Nancy, had gone to fetch her, and would
      return with her before nightfall. So Tom left her quite
      cheerfully knitting in her room for the day.
    </p>
    <p>
      From time to time during the morning Tom wandered into the
      bar always to find Monsieur de Boisdhyver absorbed in his
      writing before the fire. The morning passed&#8212;a long
      restless morning for Pembroke&#8212;and nothing had happened.
      Dan had not returned. He tried to think out a plan of action.
      He went into the north wing of the Inn and barricaded the
      door leading from the bowling alley into the hallway. He made
      sure that all other doors and windows were fastened, and he
      put the key of the door that opened from the bar into the old
      wing into his pocket. Then he looked at the doors and windows
      in the south wing.
    </p>
    <p>
      About noon, as he was standing at an upper window anxiously
      scanning the landscape for any sign of his friend, Tom saw
      the Marquis, wrapped in his great black cloak, emerge from
      the gallery, go down the steps by the Red Oak, and walk
      rapidly down the avenue of maples. He went along the Port
      Road, to the point where a little road branched off and led
      to the beach of the Cove; here he turned and walked in the
      direction of the beach. With the field glass Tom could follow
      him quite easily as he picked his way through the slush.
    </p>
    <p>
      Beyond, on the waters of the Cove, the <i>Southern Cross</i>
      rode at anchor. A small boat had put off from the schooner,
      two seamen at the oars, and a woman seated in the stern. The
      boat reached the shore, the lady was lifted out upon the
      sands, the men jumped in again, pushed off and rowed briskly
      back to the schooner. Tom could not distinguish the lady's
      features, but from the style of her dress, cut in so
      different a fashion than that the ladies of Caesarea were
      wont to display, and from the character of her easy graceful
      walk, he judged that that was the Madame de la Fontaine, of
      whom Dan had told him the day before. The lady, whoever she
      might be, advanced along the beach and turned into the road
      down which the Marquis de Boisdhyver was going to meet her.
      Tom could see her extend her hand, and the old gentleman,
      bending ceremoniously, lift it to his lips. Then leaning
      against a stone wall beside a meadow of bedraggled snow, they
      engaged in animated conversation. The lady talked, the
      Marquis talked. They shrugged their shoulders, they nodded
      their heads, they pointed this way and then that. Poor Tom
      felt he must know what was being said. At last, their
      conference ended, they parted as ceremoniously as they had
      met, the lady starting across the Dunes and the Marquis
      retracing his steps toward the Inn.
    </p>
    <p>
      In the meantime, fortunately before the Marquis reached the
      Port Road, Jesse had returned, accompanied by the able-bodied
      Ezra Manners, and laden with the supply of arms and
      ammunition that Pembroke had ordered.
    </p>
    <p>
      Within half-an-hour Tom and Monsieur de Boisdhyver were
      seated together in the dining-room.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah, and where is Monsieur Dan?" asked the Marquis, with an
      affectation of cheerfulness. "Is he not returned?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Not yet, monsieur," Tom replied grimly.
    </p>
    <p>
      "But you have heard from him?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, yes," was Tom's answer; "I have heard from him of
      course."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And from Mademoiselle Nancy, I trust, also?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, from Nancy also."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah, I am so relieved, Monsieur Pembroke. I was most anxious
      for their safety. One knows not what may happen. We shall
      have a charming little reunion at supper, <i>n'est-ce
      pas</i>?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Delightful," said Tom, but in a tone of voice that did not
      encourage the Marquis to ask further questions or to continue
      his comments.
    </p>
    <p>
      After dinner, Tom slipped the field glass beneath his jacket,
      and ran upstairs to take another view of the countryside. To
      his great satisfaction he saw a dark spot moving across the
      snowy dunes and recognized the lady of the morning.
      Apparently she was on her way to the Cove again.
    </p>
    <p>
      He took a loaded pistol, ran down stairs, gave Jesse strict
      orders to keep his eye on the Marquis, saddled his horse, and
      galloped off madly for Mrs. Meath's house.
    </p>
    <p>
      When he reached the gate of the farmhouse, Tom hitched his
      horse to the fence, went rapidly up the little walk, and
      knocked boldly and loudly on the front door. Repeated and
      prolonged knocking brought no response. He tried the door and
      found it fastened. He walked about the house. Every window on
      the ground floor was tightly closed and barred. There was no
      sign of life. He knocked at the door of the kitchen, but with
      no result. He tried it, and found it also locked. Determined
      not to be thwarted in his effort to see Mrs. Meath, he kicked
      vigourously against the door with his great hob-nailed boots.
      Unsuccessful in this, he detached a rail from the top of the
      fence and used it against the door as a battering-ram. At the
      first crash of timbers, the sash of a window in the second
      story, directly above the kitchen, was thrown open, and a
      dark-eyed, dark-haired, excessively angry-looking, young
      woman thrust her head out.
    </p>
    <p>
      "<i>Qui va la</i>?" she exclaimed.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well," said Tom, smiling a little in spite of himself, for
      the young woman was in a state of great indignation. "I want
      to see Mrs. Meath. I may say, I am determined to see Mrs.
      Meath."
    </p>
    <p>
      "<i>Peste! Je ne parle pas anglais</i>!" snapped the damsel.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Very well then, mademoiselle, I'll try you in French," said
      Tom. And in very bad French indeed, scarcely even the French
      of Dr. Watson's school for the sons of gentlemen, Pembroke
      repeated his remarks.
    </p>
    <p>
      "<i>Je ne comprend pas</i>," said the young woman.
    </p>
    <p>
      Tom essayed his explanation again, but whether the youthful
      female in the window could or would not understand, she kept
      repeating in the midst of his every sentence "<i>Je ne parle
      pas anglais</i>," till Tom lost his temper.
    </p>
    <p>
      "<i>Bien</i>, my fine girl," he exclaimed at last; "I am
      going to enter this house. If you won't open the door, I will
      batter it down. Understand? <i>Comprenez-vous</i>?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "<i>Je ne parle pas anglais</i>."
    </p>
    <p>
      "As you will." He raised the fence-rail again and made as if
      to ram the door. "<i>Ouvrez la porte</i>! Do you understand
      that?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "<i>Bete</i>!" cried the girl, withdrawing her head and
      slamming down the window.
    </p>
    <p>
      Tom waited a moment to see if his threats had been effective,
      and was relieved by hearing the bar within removed and the
      key turned in the lock. The door was opened, and the young
      woman stood on the sill and volleyed forth a series of French
      execrations that made Tom wince, though he did not understand
      a word she was saying. Despite her protests, he brushed her
      aside and stalked into the house. He went rapidly from room
      to room, upstairs and down, from garret to cellar, the girl
      following him with her chorus of abusive reproach. She might
      have held her peace, thought Tom, for within half-an-hour he
      was convinced that there was not a person in the House on the
      Dunes save himself and his excited companion. All he
      discovered for his pains was that old Mrs. Meath was also
      among the missing.
    </p>
    <p>
      "<i>Ou est Madame Meath</i>?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "<i>Madame Meath! Que voulez vous? Je ne connais pas Madame
      Meath</i>...." And infinitely more of which Tom could gather
      neither head nor tail.
    </p>
    <p>
      Satisfied at last that there was nothing to be gained by
      further search or parley with the woman, he thanked her
      civilly enough and went out. He unhitched his horse, vaulted
      into the saddle, and dashed back, as fast as his beast could
      be urged to carry him, to the Inn. He was certain now that
      the schooner held the secret of his vanished friends, and it
      occurred to him to play their own game and turn the tables on
      Monsieur the Marquis de Boisdhyver.
    </p>
    <p>
      Arrived at the Inn, Tom turned his horse, white with lather,
      over to Jesse; made sure that the Marquis was in the bar; and
      then, with the help of Manners, rapidly made a few
      preparations.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was about five o'clock when, his arrangements completed,
      he returned to the bar, where Monsieur de Boisdhyver was
      quietly taking his tea. Tom bowed to the old gentleman,
      seated himself in a great chair about five feet away, and
      somewhat ostentatiously took from his pocket a pistol, laid
      it on the arm of his chair, and let his fingers lightly play
      upon the handle. The old marquis watched Pembroke's movements
      out of the corner of his eye, still somewhat deliberately
      sipping his tea. Manners, meanwhile, had entered, and stood
      respectfully in the doorway, oddly enough also with a pistol
      in his hand.
    </p>
    <p>
      Suddenly Monsieur de Boisdhyver placed his teacup on the
      table, and leaning back in his chair, surveyed Tom with an
      air of indignant astonishment.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Monsieur Pembroke," he said, "to what am I to attribute
      these so unusual attentions? Is it that you are mad?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "You may attribute these unusual attentions, marquis, to the
      fact that from now on, you are not a guest of the Inn at the
      Red Oak, but a prisoner."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah!" exclaimed the Marquis with a start, as he made a
      spasmodic motion toward the pocket of his coat. But if his
      intention had been to draw a weapon, Tom was too quick for
      him. The Marquis found himself staring into the barrel of a
      pistol and heard the unpleasant click of the trigger as it
      was cocked.
    </p>
    <p>
      The old gentleman paled, whether with fright or indignation,
      Tom was not concerned to know. "You will please keep
      perfectly still, marquis."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Monsieur Pembroke," exclaimed the old gentleman,
      "<i>C'est</i> abominable, outrageous, <i>Mon Dieu</i>, what
      insult!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Manners," said Tom, "kindly search that gentleman and put
      his firearms out of his reach."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Monsieur, <i>c'est extraordinaire</i>. I protest."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Quick, Ezra," replied Tom, "or one of us is likely to know
      how it feels to have a bullet in his skin. Up with your
      hands, marquis."
    </p>
    <p>
      Monsieur de Boisdhyver obeyed perforce, while Manners quickly
      searched him, removed a small pistol from his coat pocket and
      a stiletto from his waistcoat, and handed them to Tom.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I thought as much," said Pembroke, slipping them into his
      pocket. "Now, sir, you will oblige me by dropping that
      attitude of surprised indignation."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Monsieur," said the Marquis, "What is it that you do? Why is
      it that you so insult me?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Monsieur, I will explain. You are my prisoner. I intend to
      lock you up safely and securely until my friend and his
      sister return, unharmed, to the Inn. When they are safe at
      home, when Madame de la Fontaine has taken her departure from
      the House on the Dunes, and when the <i>Southern Cross</i>
      has sailed out of the Strathsey, we shall release you and see
      you also safely out of this country. Is that clear?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "<i>Mais, monsieur</i>&#8212;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am quite convinced that you know where Nancy is and what
      has happened to Dan. As my friends are probably in your power
      or in the power of your friends, so, dear marquis, you are in
      mine. If you wish to regain your own liberty, you will have
      to see that they have theirs. Now kindly follow Manners; it
      will give him pleasure to show you to your apartment. There
      you may burn either red or green lights, and I am sure the
      snowbirds and rabbits of Lovel's Woods will enjoy them. After
      you, monsieur."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Sir, I refuse."
    </p>
    <p>
      "My dear marquis, do not make me add force to discourtesy.
      After you."
    </p>
    <p>
      The Marquis bowed ironically, shrugged his shoulders, and
      followed Manners up the stairs. He was ushered into a chamber
      on the west side of the Inn, whose windows, had they not been
      heavily barred, would have given him a view but of the thick
      tangles of the Woods.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I trust you will be able to make yourself comfortable here,"
      said Tom. "Your meals will be served at the accustomed hours.
      I shall return myself in a short time, and perhaps by then
      you will have reconciled yourself to the insult I have
      offered you and be prepared to talk with me."
    </p>
    <p>
      With that Tom bowed as ironically as the Marquis had done,
      went out and closed the door, and securely locked and barred
      it outside. Monsieur de Boisdhyver was left to his
      reflections.
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p><a name="CH13"><!-- CH13 --></a>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XIII
    </h2>
    <center>
      MADAME DE LA FONTAINE
    </center>
    <p>
      For several hours after his return to the little cabin Dan
      had ample leisure in which to think over his extraordinary
      interview. There could be no doubt that the conspirators, for
      such he had come to call them to himself, were determined and
      desperate enough to go to any lengths in accomplishing their
      designs. Whether his suspicions and activity in seeking Nancy
      had precipitated their plans, his unexpected capture seemed
      to embarrass his captors as much as it did himself. At least,
      he gathered this from Madame de la Fontaine's conversation.
      Whatever might be the motive of the lady's proposed
      confidence, poor Frost could see nothing for it but to await
      their disclosure and then seize whatever advantage they might
      open to him. Notwithstanding the fact that Dan had cautioned
      himself against trusting the flattery of his charming
      visitor, notwithstanding that he told himself to be
      forewarned, even by his own suspicions, was to be forearmed,
      he was in reality unconscious of the degree to which he had
      proved susceptible to the lady's blandishments, if indeed she
      had employed blandishments and had not merely given him the
      evidence of a good heart upon which his youth and
      naivet&eacute; had made a genuine impression.
    </p>
    <p>
      Dan's experiences with girls up to this time had been
      limited. His emotional nature had never, as yet, been deeply
      stirred. But no one could be insensible to Madame de la
      Fontaine's beauty and charm, and her delightfully natural
      familiarity; and, finally, her fleeting kiss had seemed to
      Dan but evidence of a warm impulsive heart. To be sure, with
      all the good will in the world, he could not acquit her of
      being concerned in a mysterious plot&#8212;indeed, had she
      not admitted so much?&#8212;though, also, he must in justice
      remember that he knew very little of the nature of the plot
      in question.
    </p>
    <p>
      As he paced restlessly back and forth the length of his
      prison, he tried to think clearly of the accumulating
      mystery. Was there a hidden treasure and how did the Marquis
      know about it? What part had the <i>Southern Cross</i> to
      play with its diabolical looking captain, and what could have
      become of Nancy? Then why had Madame de la Fontaine&#8212;but
      again his cheek would burn and remembrance of the bewitching
      Frenchwoman blotted out all else.
    </p>
    <p>
      At half-past twelve Captain Bonhomme appeared again. This
      time he invited Dan to partake of luncheon with him on the
      condition once more of a parole. And Dan accepted. He and the
      Captain made their luncheon together, attended by the
      faithful Jean; and, though no mention was made to their
      anomalous position, the meal was not altogether a comfortable
      one. Captain Bonhomme asked a great many questions about the
      country, to which Frost was inclined to give but the briefest
      replies; nor, on his part, did he show more disposition to be
      communicative in response to Dan's questions about France.
      Jean regarded the situation with obviously surly disapproval.
      When the meal was finished, Frost was conducted back to his
      little cabin.
    </p>
    <p>
      About two o'clock he saw the small boat put off for shore,
      and glancing in that direction, he was relieved to see Madame
      de la Fontaine already waiting upon the beach. Within
      half-an-hour he was again in her presence in the Captain's
      saloon, where their conversation had taken place in the
      morning.
    </p>
    <p>
      The lady received him graciously. "Ah! monsieur Dan, I fear
      you have had a weary day of it; but it was impossible for me
      to return sooner."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is very kind of you to return at all," replied Dan,
      gallantly enough.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Now, Monsieur, you are anxious, I know, that I keep my
      promise of the morning."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Most anxious," said Dan.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Without doubt. Come here, my friend, sit near me and listen
      attentively to a long story."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You have consulted with the Marquis?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "<i>Mais oui</i>. It was difficult, but I have brought him to
      my way of thinking. I am certain that it was an error in the
      first place not taking you into our confidence. <i>Eh
      bien</i>! Tell me, do you know how your foster-sister came to
      be in the charge of your mother at the Inn at the Red Oak?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, I know what my mother has told me. The child was
      abandoned to her rather than left in her charge."
    </p>
    <p>
      "<i>Mais non</i>" said Madame de la Fontaine; "General
      Pointelle was impelled to act as he did by the strongest
      motives,&#8212;nothing less than the tremendous task,
      undertaken for his country, to liberate the Emperor Napoleon
      from Elba. General Pointelle was a soldier,&#8212;more, he
      was a mar&eacute;chal of the Empire; the greatest
      responsibilities devolved upon him. It was impossible for him
      to be burdened with a child."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But why, madame, did he not take my mother into his
      confidence?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Secrecy was imperative, monsieur. Even to this day, you do
      not know who General Pointelle actually was. His was a name
      well-known in France, glorious in the annals of the Empire; a
      name, too, familiar to you in a somewhat different
      connection. 'General Pointelle' was the <i>nom-de-guerre</i>,
      as it were, of Fran&ccedil;ois, Marquis de Boisdhyver,
      mar&eacute;chal de France."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Fran&ccedil;ois! you say, <i>Fran&ccedil;ois</i>!" exclaimed
      Dan.
    </p>
    <p>
      "<i>Mais oui</i>, monsieur; but that should hardly astonish
      you so much as the fact that he was a Boisdhyver. Why are you
      surprised?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Simply, madame," exclaimed Dan hastily, "by the fact that it
      is the same name as that of our Marquis."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Not quite," corrected the lady; "our Marquis&#8212;as you
      say&#8212;is Marie-Anne-Tim&eacute;lon-Armand de Boisdhyver,
      the General's younger brother."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah! and therefore Nancy's uncle?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, the uncle of Nancy Frost, or of Eloise de Boisdhyver."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I see," said Dan. "I begin to see."
    </p>
    <p>
      "<i>Eh bien</i>, monsieur. General Pointelle&#8212;the
      mar&eacute;chal de Boisdhyver,&#8212;left the Inn at the Red
      Oak upon a mission for the Emperor, then at Elba.
      <i>H&eacute;las</i>! that mission ended with disaster after
      the Hundred Days; for, as you know, the Emperor was sent in
      exile to St. Helena; and, as you may not know, the
      Mar&eacute;chal de Boisdhyver was killed on the plains of
      Waterloo. <i>Allons</i>; when he left Deal, he concealed in a
      hidden chamber, which one enters, I believe, from a room you
      call the Oak Parlour, a large treasure, of jewels and gold.
      This treasure, saved from the <i>debacle</i> in France, he
      had brought with him to America, and he hid it in the Inn,
      for the future of his little daughter Eloise. You remember
      that your mother was to hear something of advantage to her
      and the child, did not the General return. It was the secret
      of the treasure and the directions to find it. Well,
      Monsieur, at Waterloo, you must know, the Mar&eacute;chal and
      his brother, the present Marquis, fought side by side.
      Fran&ccedil;ois de Boisdhyver fell, nobly fighting for the
      glory of France; Marie-Anne had the good fortune to preserve
      his life, but was taken prisoner by the English. Before the
      Mar&eacute;chal received his death wound, the two brothers
      spoke with each other for the last time. In that moment,
      monsieur, the Marquis Fran&ccedil;ois revealed to the Marquis
      Marie-Anne that he had abandoned his daughter in America and
      that he had concealed in your old inn a treasure sufficient
      to provide for her future. He charged his brother to go to
      America, if he survived the battle; claim the little Eloise;
      rescue the treasure, and return with her to France and
      restore the fallen fortunes of the House of Boisdhyver.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It took the Marquis Marie-Anne a long time to carry out his
      brother's dying injunctions," said Dan.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah! but yes. You do not realize that the Marquis Marie-Anne,
      after the fall of Napoleon, spent many years in a military
      prison in England, for I have already told you that he fell
      into the hands of the enemy on the field of Waterloo. When at
      last he was released, he was aged, broken, and in poverty.
      His brother, in those dreadful moments on the battlefield,
      had been able to give him but the briefest description of the
      Inn at the Red Oak and the hidden treasure. He did not tell
      him where the treasure was, but only how he might obtain the
      paper of instructions which the Mar&eacute;chal had concealed
      in a curiously-carved old cabinet in the Oak Parlour. The
      Mar&eacute;chal, monsieur, loved the mysterious, and chose
      the device of tearing into two parts this paper of directions
      and concealing them in different hiding-places of the
      cabinet. Those directions, after many years, grew vague in
      the younger brother's memory.
    </p>
    <p>
      "<i>Eh bien</i>, the Marquis was at last able to make the
      journey to this country. You must remember he had nothing
      wherewith to prove his story, if he gave you his confidence
      at once; and so, he decided, to investigate quietly alone.
      But he won the confidence of Mademoiselle Nancy,&#8212;that
      is, of his niece, Eloise de Boisdhyver,&#8212;and revealed to
      her the secret of her identity and the mysterious story of
      the treasure. You follow me in all this, Monsieur Dan?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Perfectly, madame," Frost replied. "But as yet you have told
      me nothing of your own connection with this strange history."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Pardon, dear boy," rejoined Madame de la Fontaine; "I was
      about to do so, but there is so much to tell. My own
      connection with the affair is quite simple. I am an old
      friend, one of the oldest, of Monsieur le Marquis de
      Boisdhyver, and, when I was a very young girl, I knew the
      Mar&eacute;chal himself. It has been my happiness to be able
      to prove my friendship for a noble and a fallen family. One
      day last summer, Monsieur de Boisdhyver told me his brother's
      dying words, and it was I, Monsieur Dan, who was able to give
      the money for this strange expedition. The poor Marquis had
      lost quite all his fortune."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I understand," said Frost. "But, yet, madame, I do not see
      the necessity for the secrecy, the mystery, for these strange
      signals at night, for these midnight investigations, for this
      schooner and its rough crew, for Nancy's disappearance, for
      my own imprisonment here."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Please, please," murmured Madame de la Fontaine, as she held
      up her hands in smiling protest. "You go too fast for me.
      <i>Un moment, mon ami, un moment</i>. It was sixteen years
      ago that the Mar&eacute;chal de Boisdhyver was a guest at the
      Inn at the Red Oak. You forget that the Marquis de Boisdhyver
      had no proof of his right to the treasure, save his own
      story, save his account of his brother's instructions on the
      field of Waterloo. By telling all he might have awakened
      deeper suspicions than by secrecy."
    </p>
    <p>
      "That, I must say," Dan interrupted, "would hardly be
      possible."
    </p>
    <p>
      "So!" exclaimed Madame de la Fontaine, with an accent of
      displeasure. "<i>Ecoutez</i>! Monsieur le Marquis was to come
      a month in advance, as he did come; take up his quarters at
      the Inn; reconnoitre the ground; and win, if possible, the
      confidence and aid of mademoiselle. He fortunately succeeded
      in this last, for he found it otherwise impossible to enter
      into the old wing of the Inn and examine the Oak Parlour.
      With the assistance of Eloise, this was accomplished at last,
      and the paper of directions was found; at least, found in
      part.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then I, having impressed the services of Captain Bonhomme
      and his ship the <i>Southern Cross</i>, set sail and arrived
      at the House on the Dunes only a few days ago, as you already
      know. The signals that you saw flashing at night were to
      indicate that all was well."
    </p>
    <p>
      "The green light, I suppose," commented Dan, "was to indicate
      that; and the red&#8212;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Was the signal of danger. Because the Marquis discovered
      last night that you were not in the house; he flashed the
      warning that made Captain Bonhomme go to the House on the
      Dunes. Quite recently the manners of your friend,
      Mr.&#8212;eh&#8212;?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Pembroke?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, Mr. Pembroke&#8212;led the Marquis to believe that he
      was being watched.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I understand," said Dan, "but nothing you have told me so
      far, madame, accounts for Nancy's disappearance, and I am as
      anxious as ever to know where she is."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Mademoiselle is perfectly safe, Monsieur Dan; I assure you.
      She left the Inn because she had fear of betraying our plans,
      particularly as she loved your friend, Mr. Pembroke."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is still strange to me, madame, that Nancy should
      distrust her oldest and best friends. But now you will let me
      see her?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Of course I shall soon, very soon, my dear boy. I have told
      you all, and now you will aid me to find the treasure that is
      your foster-sister's heritage, will you not?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why certainly I want Nancy to have what is hers," replied
      Dan.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Bravo, my friend. We are to count you one of us, I am sure."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Just a moment," said Dan, resisting the temptation to touch
      the little hand that had been placed impulsively upon his
      arm. "May I ask one more question?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "A thousand, my dear, if you desire."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why then, since until last night everything has gone as you
      planned it, why has not the treasure already been
      discovered?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Because, <i>mon ami</i>; the Marquis has only been able to
      visit the Oak Parlour at night. And also it was decided to
      wait until I arrived."
    </p>
    <p>
      "With the schooner?" suggested Dan.
    </p>
    <p>
      "With the schooner, if you will. And you may remember that it
      was only the day before yesterday that I reached your so
      hospitable countryside."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah! I understand; so then all that you desire of me, madame,
      is that I shall permit the Marquis or anyone else whom you
      may select for the purpose, to make such investigation of the
      Oak Parlour as is desired."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, my friend; and also there is yet another thing that we
      desire."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But suppose, madame, that I cannot agree to that?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah! <i>cher ami</i>, but you will. I confess&#8212;you must
      remember that the Marquis de Boisdhyver has been a
      soldier&#8212;that my friends have not agreed with me
      entirely. It has seemed to them simpler that we should keep
      you a prisoner on this ship, as we could so easily do, until
      our mission is accomplished. But,&#8212;I like you too much
      to agree to that."
    </p>
    <p>
      Dan flushed a trifle, but he was not yet quite sure enough to
      fall in entirely with his charming gaoler's suggestions.
      "Madame de la Fontaine," he said after a moment's reflection,
      "I am greatly obliged to you for explaining the situation to
      me so fully. I shall be only too happy to help you,
      particularly in anything that is for the benefit of Nancy."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I was sure of it. Now, my friend, there is a service that
      you can immediately render."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And that is?" asked Dan.
    </p>
    <p>
      "To entrust to me the other half of the paper of directions
      written by Fran&ccedil;ois de Boisdhyver, which you found in
      a secret cubby-hole in the old cabinet."
    </p>
    <p>
      "What makes you think that I was successful in finding that,
      when the Marquis failed?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Because, at first having forgotten his precise directions
      after so many years, the Marquis could not find the fourth
      and last hiding-place in the cabinet, in which he knew the
      Mar&eacute;chal had placed the other half of the torn scrap
      of paper. Another time he did find the cubby-hole, and it was
      empty. So knowing he was watched by you and Mr. Pembroke, he
      decided that you must have found it. Is it not so, that you
      have it?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is certainly not in my possession at this moment," said
      Dan.
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, but you have it?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "And if I have?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is necessary for our success."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then, my first service, is to put you into complete
      possession of the secret?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "If you will so express it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Very well, madame, I will do so; but, on one condition."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And what is that, my friend?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "That I be allowed to see Nancy, and that she herself shall
      ask me to do as you desire."
    </p>
    <p>
      For a moment Madame de la Fontaine was silent. "<i>Eh
      bien</i>," she said at last, "you do not trust me?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "But, dear madame, think of my situation, it is hard for me."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah! I know it, believe me. <i>C'est difficile</i>. But I
      hoped you would trust me as I have you."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Indeed, madame," exclaimed Dan, "I must try to think of
      everything, the mystery, this extraordinary mission upon
      which you are engaged, the fact that I am quite literally
      your prisoner. When I think about you, I know only you are
      beautiful, that you are lovely, and that I am happy near
      you."
    </p>
    <p>
      She looked at him for a moment with a glance of anxious
      interrogation, as if to ask were it safe for her to believe
      these protestations. "You say, my friend," she asked at
      length, "that you care a little for me, for just me? <i>C'est
      impossible</i>. If Claire de la Fontaine could believe that,
      understand me, monsieur, it would be very sweet and very
      precious to her."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I do care," cried Dan.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah!" she exclaimed. "You have touched my heart. I am not a
      young girl, <i>mon ami</i>, but I confess that you have made
      me to know again the dreams of youth."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Only let me prove that I care," cried Dan, considering but
      little now to what he committed himself.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Let me prove," cried she, "that I too believe in you. I must
      first see the Marquis, and then, tonight, if it can be
      arranged, you shall receive from Eloise de Boisdhyver's own
      lips the request I have made of you. But if, for any reason,
      this cannot be arranged for to-night, you must be patient
      till morning; you must trust me to the extent of remaining on
      this ship. I cannot act entirely on my own judgment, but I
      assure you that in the end my judgment will prevail. And now,
      <i>au revoir</i>."
    </p>
    <p>
      She placed her hand in his, and responded to the impulsive
      pressure with which he clasped it. Their eyes met; in Dan's
      the frankest expression of her conquest of his emotions; in
      her's a glance at once tender and sad, above all a glance
      that seemed to search his spirit for assurance that he was in
      earnest. Suddenly fired by her alluring beauty, Dan drew her
      to him and bent his head to hers.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah! my friend," she murmured, "you are taking an unfair
      advantage of the fact that this morning I too rashly yielded
      to an impulse."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I cannot help it," Dan stammered. "You bewitch me." He bent
      lower to kiss her cheek, when he suddenly thrilled to the
      realization that his lips had met hers.
    </p>
    <p>
      A moment later Madame de la Fontaine was gone and Captain
      Bonhomme had reappeared in the doorway.
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p><a name="CH14"><!-- CH14 --></a>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XIV
    </h2>
    <center>
      IN THE FOG
    </center>
    <p>
      Tom Pembroke was as good as his word. He returned to the
      little room, in which he had confined the Marquis, within an
      hour after he had left him. It was then nearly supper-time
      and dusk was fast settling upon the gloomy countryside. An
      unwonted calm had fallen upon land and sea after the sharp
      blow of the previous night, but the sky was still gray and
      there was promise of more rain, if not of wind.
    </p>
    <p>
      To Tom's indignation and alarm, though scarcely to his
      surprise, there had been no sign or word from Dan or Nancy.
      Shortly after he had left the Marquis, he saw, by aid of the
      field-glass, Madame de la Fontaine, attended by two seamen,
      leave the schooner and return to the House on the Dunes. He
      smiled a little as he thought of the account the lively young
      maid-servant would give of his recent visit. But withal, he
      felt very much as if he were playing a game of blind man's
      buff and that he was "it." He was impatient for his interview
      with the Marquis, though he was but little hopeful that an
      hour's confinement would have been sufficient to bring the
      old gentleman to terms. Nor was he to be surprised.
    </p>
    <p>
      He found Monsieur de Boisdhyver huddled in a great arm chair
      near the fire that that been kindled on the hearth of his
      prison. The Marquis glanced up, as Tom entered, but dropped
      his eyes at once and offered him no greeting. Tom placed his
      candle on the table and, drawing up a chair, seated himself
      between the Marquis and the door.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, sir," he said at last, "as I promised you, I have
      returned within an hour. Have you anything to say to me?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Have I anything to say to you!" exclaimed the Marquis. "For
      why, monsieur? If I venture to express my astonishment and
      indignation at the way I am treated, you subject me to a
      barbarity that could be matched no where else in the
      civilized world than in this extraordinary country. My life
      is menaced with firearms. My protests are sneered at. I have
      left but one inference&#8212;you have gone mad."
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, marquis," said Pembroke, "I am not mad. I am simply
      determined that the mysteries by which we have been
      surrounded and of which you are the center, shall cease. You
      have a free choice: put me in the way of getting my friend
      and his sister back to the Inn, or resign yourself to a
      prolonged confinement in this room."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But monsieur I have nothing to communicate to you concerning
      the disappearance of your friends."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Pardon me, marquis," returned Pembroke; "you have much to
      communicate to me. Perhaps you are not aware that I know the
      motive of your coming to the Inn at the Red Oak; that I know
      the reason for your prolonged stay here; that I know of the
      influence that you have acquired over Nancy Frost; and that I
      have been a witness of your midnight prowlings about the Inn.
      Nor am I in ignorance of your connection with the
      rascally-looking captain of the schooner at anchor in the
      Cove and with the mysterious woman, who has taken possession
      of the House on the Dunes. I am convinced that you know what
      has become of Dan as well as what has happened to Nancy. And,
      believe me, I am determined to find out."
    </p>
    <p>
      "<i>Bien</i>!" exclaimed Monsieur de Boisdhyver, "permit me
      to wish you good luck in your undertaking. I repeat, Monsieur
      Pembroke, I have no information to give to you. I do not know
      to what extent I have been watched, but I may say with truth
      that my actions do not in the least concern you."
    </p>
    <p>
      "They concern my friends," said Tom. "Dan, as you know, is
      more to me than a brother; and as for his sister Nancy, I
      hope and expect to make her my wife."
    </p>
    <p>
      "In that case," rejoined the Marquis with ill-concealed
      irony, "I may be permitted to offer to you my
      congratulations. But even so, monsieur, there is nothing that
      I can do to facilitate your matrimonial plans."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You refuse then to come to terms?" asked Pembroke.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Marquis raised his hands with a gesture of despair. "What
      shall I say, monsieur? If you insisted upon my flying from
      here to yonder beach, I might have all the desire in the
      world to oblige you, but the fact would remain that I was
      without the means of doing so. Since you are so little
      disposed to accept my protestations, I will no longer make
      them, but simply decline your proposal. And, pardon me, but
      so long as I am submitted to the indignity of this
      confinement, it would be a courtesy that I should appreciate
      if you would spare me your company."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Very good," said Tom. "Your meals will be served regularly;
      and you may ask the servant for anything necessary. I shall
      not visit you again until you request me to do so."
    </p>
    <p>
      "<i>Merci</i>," said the Marquis drily. He rose from his seat
      as Dan turned toward the door, and bowed ironically.
    </p>
    <p>
      Pembroke went downstairs to have his supper with Mrs. Frost.
      He said what he could to pacify her, not altogether with
      success, for as darkness fell the old lady became
      increasingly apprehensive.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I know you are anxious, Mrs. Frost," said Tom, "but you must
      not worry. Try to believe that all will come out right. I am
      going out after supper, but I shall leave Jesse and Ezra on
      guard, and you may be sure everything will be safe."
    </p>
    <p>
      It was some time before Mrs. Frost would consent to his
      leaving the Inn. If she had yielded to her inclinations, she
      would have spent the evening in hysterics with Tom at hand to
      administer comfort. Pembroke, however, deputed that office to
      black Deborah, and immediately after supper set about his
      business.
    </p>
    <p>
      He gave the necessary instructions to Jesse, Ezra and the
      maids, saw that everything was closely locked and barred,
      supplied himself with arms and ammunition, and slipped out
      into the night. Having saddled Fleetwing, he swung himself on
      the young hunter's back, and trotted down the avenue to the
      Port Road. The night was intensely dark and still. The moon
      had not yet risen, and a thick fog rolled in from the sea,
      shrouding the countryside with its impenetrable veil.
    </p>
    <p>
      At the Beach Road Pembroke dismounted, tied his horse to a
      fence rail, and proceeded thence on foot toward the Cove.
      Stumbling along through the heavy sand, he made his way to
      the boathouse at the northern end of the little beach. There
      he ventured to light his lantern, unlocked the door and
      stepped within. On either side of the entrance were the two
      sailboats that he and Dan used in summer and to the rear was
      the old-fashioned whaleboat with which they did their deep
      fishing. Over it, in a rudely constructed rack, was the
      Indian birch-bark canoe which Dan had purchased in the
      mountains a few years before. As the sea had fallen to a dead
      calm, he decided to use this canoe, which he could paddle
      quite noiselessly, and pulling down the little craft from its
      winter resting-place, he carried it to the water's edge. The
      sea, so angry the night before, now scarcely murmured; only a
      low lazy swell, at regularly recurring intervals, slapped the
      shore and hissed upon the sands. Tom pushed the nose of the
      canoe into the water, leaped lightly over the rail, and with
      his paddle thrust it off the beach. He was launched without
      mishap.
    </p>
    <p>
      Not the faintest gleam of light showed the position of the
      <i>Southern Cross</i>, but estimating as well as he could the
      general direction, he paddled out through the enshrouding
      fog. For ten minutes or so, he pushed on into the strange,
      misty night. Then suddenly he found himself alongside an old
      fisherman's yawl that had been rotting all winter at her
      moorings, and he knew from her position that he could not be
      far from the <i>Southern Cross</i>.
    </p>
    <p>
      A few more strokes to leeward, and a spot of dull light broke
      through the darkness. He headed directly for it. To his
      relief it grew brighter; when suddenly, too late to stop the
      progress of his canoe, he shot under it, and the bow of his
      craft bumped with a dull thud against the timber side of the
      schooner. Its dark outlines were just perceptible above him;
      and at one or two points there gleamed rays of light in the
      fog, green and red from the night lamps on the masthead, and
      dull yellow from the port holes in the rear. A second after
      the contact the canoe receded, then the wash of the sea drew
      her toward the stern. Another moment and Pembroke felt his
      prow scrape gently against the rudder, which prevented
      further drifting. Apparently, since he heard nothing from the
      deck above, he had reached his goal without attracting
      attention.
    </p>
    <p>
      He kept perfectly still, however, for some little time, until
      satisfied that there was no one at the wheel above, he pushed
      the canoe softly back to the rope ladder, that a day or so
      before he had seen hanging over the side. It was the work of
      a moment to make his little boat fast to the lower rung. Then
      slipping over the rail, he climbed stealthily up till his
      head protruded above the gunwhale. The immediate deck seemed
      deserted; but he was sure that some one was keeping the
      watch, and probably near the point where he was, that is to
      say, where access to the deck was easiest. But the fog and
      the darkness afforded him protection, as he climbed over the
      gunwhale and, without making a sound, moved toward the stern,
      crossed the after-deck and found the wheel. As he had
      surmised, it was deserted. The watch evidently was forward.
      Beneath him, sending its ineffectual rays obliquely into the
      fog, shone the light from the little cabin below.
    </p>
    <p>
      Determined to get a look through the port, he climbed over
      the gunwhale again, fastened a stern-sheet about his waist
      and to a staple, and at the risk, if he slipped or if the
      rope gave way, of plunging head foremost into the icy waters
      of the Cove, he let himself down until his head was on a
      level of the port.
    </p>
    <p>
      Through the blurred glass he peered into a tiny cabin. There
      with back toward him, just a few feet away stood Nancy Frost.
      He steadied himself with an effort, and looking again saw
      that she was alone. A moment's hesitation, and he tapped
      resolutely on the pane with his finger tips. At first Nancy
      did not hear, but presently, aroused by the slight tapping,
      she glanced with a frightened expression toward the door, and
      stood anxiously listening. Tom continued to knock on the
      window, not daring to make it louder for fear of being heard
      above. The alarm deepened on Nancy's face, and in sheer pity
      Tom was tempted to desist; but at that instant her attention
      was riveted upon the spot whence the tapping came. At last,
      still with the expression of alarm on her face, she came
      slowly toward the port. She hesitated, then pressed her face
      against the pane over which Tom had spread his fingers. At
      whatever risk, of frightening her or of danger to himself, as
      she drew back, he pressed his own face against the outside of
      the little window glass. She stared at him as if she were
      looking at a ghost.
    </p>
    <p>
      He moved his lips to form the word "Open." At length, in
      obedience to this direction, Nancy cautiously unloosened the
      window of the port and drew it back.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Good heavens, Tom!" she whispered. "Is it you?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, yes," Pembroke whispered back. "But for God's sake,
      speak softly. I'm in a devilishly unpleasant position, and
      can hang here but a minute. Tell me quickly&#8212;are you
      here of your own free will or are you a prisoner?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "How can you ask?" she exclaimed. "For the love of heaven,
      help me to escape."
    </p>
    <p>
      "That's what I'm here for," was Toms reply. "Now, quick; are
      you only locked in or barred as well? I've brought some keys
      along."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Only locked, I think."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Where does that door lead?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Into a little passage off the companion-way. Give me your
      keys. They have but one man on watch. The captain is on shore
      to-night, apt to return at any moment. And you?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I have a canoe tied to the ladder on the shore side. If the
      captain returns, I'm caught. Try those keys." He slipped into
      her the bunch of keys that he had brought along. "I was sure
      you were here, and against your will."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Dan, too, is locked up on board."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I thought as much; but you first. Hurry."
    </p>
    <p>
      Nancy sprang to the door, trying one key after another in
      feverish haste. At last, to Tom's infinite relief, he saw the
      key turn in the lock, and the door open.
    </p>
    <p>
      "On deck," she whispered; "at the ladder. I'm not likely to
      be caught." Then she waved her hand and disappeared into the
      passage.
    </p>
    <p>
      Tom pulled himself up, unloosed the rope, and stole along the
      rail toward the ladder. For a few moments, which seemed like
      a thousand years, he stood in anguished suspense waiting for
      Nancy. Then suddenly she came out of the mist and was at his
      side. They stood for a moment like disembodied spirits,
      creatures of the night and the fog. The next instant a hand
      shot out and grasped the girl's shoulder.
    </p>
    <p>
      "<i>Peste! mam'zelle</i>," a rough voice hissed, "<i>ou
      allez-vous</i>?"
    </p>
    <p>
      As the man spoke Tom swung at him with the butt of his
      revolver, and without a murmur the figure fell to the deck.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Quick now," Pembroke whispered, "down the ladder."
    </p>
    <p>
      Instantly Nancy was over the rail and Tom was climbing down
      after her. As he knelt in the bow and fumbled with the
      painter, the plash of oars sounded a dozen yards away.
    </p>
    <p>
      "<i>Ho! Croix du Midi</i>!" came a hail through the fog.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Curse it!" muttered Tom; "the painter's caught." He drew out
      his knife, slashed the rope that bound them to the schooner,
      got to his place amidships, and pushed the canoe free. The
      lights of a small boat were just emerging from the dark a
      dozen feet away. But the canoe slid by unobserved, in the
      fog. They heard the nose of the small boat bump against the
      schooner; then an oath, and a man's voice calling the watch.
    </p>
    <p>
      "They've found my painter," whispered Tom, "and in a second
      they'll find the sailor on their deck."
    </p>
    <p>
      The lights of the <i>Southern Cross</i> grew dim; vanished;
      the sound of angry voices became muffled. They were half-way
      to shore when they heard the noise of oars again. Evidently
      some one had started in pursuit. For a moment Tom rested,
      listening intently; but the sound was still some distance
      away. Probably, he thought, they were heading directly for
      the shore, whereas he, at a considerable angle, was making
      for the boathouse at the north end of the beach. In ten
      minutes he had beached the canoe within a rod of the point
      from where he embarked.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I can't hear them," whispered Tom, after a moment's
      listening. "They've made for shore down the beach. They can't
      find us in the dark. I've got Fleetwing tied to a fence in
      the meadow yonder. Come."
    </p>
    <p>
      It was the work of a moment to stow the canoe, lock the
      boathouse, run across the sands, and mount Nancy in front of
      him on the back of his trusty hunter. A second later
      Fleetwing's hoofs were striking fire on the stones that the
      high tides had washed into the beach road. In the distance
      there was a cry, the sharp ring of a pistol shot; but they
      were safe on their way, racing wildly for the Inn. The
      escape, the adventure had thrilled Nancy. Tom's arms were
      around her, and her hands on his that grasped the bridle. At
      last they were in the avenue, and Tom pulled in under the
      great branches of the Red Oak. He slipped from the back of
      the horse and held out his arms to Nance.
    </p>
    <p>
      "We are safe, girl," he whispered.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You are sure? Oh, thank God, thank God! Quick, let us in!
      Can they be following?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, no. They won't follow. It's all right.
      Easy,&#8212;before we go in&#8212;please,
      dear&#8212;once&#8212;kiss me."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, Tom, Tom," she whispered, as she lifted her face to his.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I have you at last, sweetheart," he murmured. "You love me?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah!" she cried, "with my whole heart and soul."
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p><a name="CH15"><!-- CH15 --></a>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XV
    </h2>
    <center>
      NANCY
    </center>
    <p>
      It was after eleven before Nancy rejoined Tom in the bar. She
      seemed more like herself as she slipped in and took her
      accustomed seat beside the blazing logs.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, I am all right, thank you," she insisted, declining the
      glass of wine that Pembroke poured out for her. "I wonder,
      Tom, if you killed that poor wretch on the deck?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Don't know," Tom answered. "I hope so. But what the deuce,
      Nance, has been happening? I can wait till to-morrow to hear,
      if you are too tired to tell me; but I do want awfully to
      know."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am not tired," Nancy replied, "and I shan't sleep a wink
      anyway. If I close my eyes I'll feel that hand on my shoulder
      and hear the thud of that man's fall on the deck. I can't
      bear to think that this miserable business will bring
      bloodshed."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But tell me, Nance, who is the Marquis&#8212;what
      happened&#8212;how did they get you away?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah! the Marquis," exclaimed Nancy with a shudder. "I am glad
      you have him locked up. I can't bear to think of him, but
      I'll tell you what I know. You remember, Tom, he tried to be
      friends with me from the first; and he seemed to fascinate me
      in some unaccountable way. Then he questioned me about my
      identity, and began to drop hints that he knew more than he
      cared to let appear to the others, and my curiosity was
      excited. I have always known of course that there was some
      mystery about my being left to Mrs. Frost's care. She has
      been kind, good, all that she should be; but she wasn't my
      mother. Well, the Marquis stirred all the old wonder that I
      had as a child, and before long quite won my confidence. He
      told me after a time that I was the daughter of his elder
      brother, the Marquis Fran&ccedil;ois de Boisdhyver, who in
      1814 stayed here at the Inn at the Red Oak under the name of
      General Pointelle. I was not altogether surprised, for I have
      always believed that I was French by birth, and his assertion
      that I was his niece seemed to account for his interest in
      me. My father, if this Marquis de Boisdhyver was my father,
      was one of the Emperor Napoleon's marshals and was a party to
      the plot to rescue the Emperor from Elba. He was obliged to
      return to France, and since it was impossible for him to take
      me with him&#8212;I was a little girl of two at the
      time&#8212;he left me with Mrs. Frost. Thinking of my future,
      he hid a large treasure in some secret chamber off the Oak
      Parlour."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I know," Tom interrupted.
    </p>
    <p>
      "What? You mean there is a treasure?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I think there is; but go on. I will tell you afterwards."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then he set sail for France, took part in the great events
      of the Hundred Days, and fell at Waterloo. It was on the
      field of Waterloo that he met his younger brother&#8212;our
      Marquis&#8212;and told him about the child left in America
      and about the treasure hidden in the Inn at the Red Oak."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well," Nancy continued, having answered a volley of
      questions from Tom, "the Marquis&#8212;I mean our old
      Marquis&#8212;was held for many years in a military prison in
      England. Upon his release he was poor and unable to come to
      America to seek his little niece and the fortune that he
      believed to be hidden in the Inn. Tom, at first I didn't
      believe this strange story about a treasure; but gradually I
      became convinced; for the Marquis believed in it thoroughly,
      and for proof of it he showed me a torn scrap of paper that
      he found in the cabinet in the Oak Parlour the day after he
      arrived at the Inn. It seems the old marshal had torn the
      paper in two and hidden the parts in different cubby-holes of
      that old Dorsetshire cabinet. He couldn't find an opportunity
      to hunt for the other half, so at last he persuaded me to
      help him in the search. Of course, he swore me to secrecy,
      and I was foolish enough to give him my promise. I got the
      key to the bowling alley from the ring in Dan's closet, and
      two or three times went with him at night after you all were
      asleep."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I know you did," said Tom.
    </p>
    <p>
      "How could you know it&#8212;has the Marquis&#8212;?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, Dan and I saw you. I woke one night, happened to look
      out of the window and saw the Marquis going into the bowling
      alley. It was moonlight, you know. I woke Dan, we slipped
      down stairs, saw a light in the Oak Parlour, peeped through
      the shutters and saw you and the old Marquis at the cabinet."
    </p>
    <p>
      "When was this?" asked Nancy.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The night&#8212;before our walk in the woods."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And you did not tell me! What could you think I was doing?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I didn't know. How could I know? It was that which first
      made me suspicious of the Marquis. We made up our minds to
      watch. But that day in the woods&#8212;well, I forgot
      everything in the world but just that I was in love with
      you."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah!" exclaimed Nancy, flushing.
    </p>
    <p>
      "But tell me," asked Tom, "What did you find in the cabinet?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "We found nothing. I began to think that the Marquis had
      deceived me. I didn't know what to believe. I didn't know
      what to do. I threatened each day to tell Dan. And then came
      our walk. When we came in that night&#8212;do you
      recall?&#8212;we found the Marquis sitting in the bar before
      the fire, and I went over and spoke to him."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, I remember," Tom answered.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I had made up my mind that I must take you all,&#8212;mother
      and you and Dan,&#8212;into my confidence. I told him so. He
      begged me to wait until the next day and promised that he
      would tell you then himself. I was beginning to think he
      might be a little crazy, that there was no hidden treasure."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I'm sure there is," said Tom. "There was another half of
      that torn scrap of paper, hidden in one of the cubby-holes of
      the old cabinet. Dan found it. It's the directions, sure
      enough, for finding the treasure."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah! but what has it all to do with me?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I don't know; something I fancy, or the Marquis would not
      have told you as much as he did. But here is the other half.
      You can tell whether it is part of the paper he showed you."
    </p>
    <p>
      He drew from his pocket the yellowed bit of paper and spread
      it on the table before them. Nance bent over and examined it
      closely.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I believe it is the other half. See, it is signed
      ...'an&ccedil;ois de Boisdhyver'. I remember perfectly that
      the signature of the other was missing, except for the
      letters 'F-r-' It is, it must be, Fran&ccedil;ois de
      Boisdhyver, who, the Marquis says, was my father. Then look!
      here are the words '<i>tr&eacute;sor', 'bijoux et
      monaie</i>'. I remember in the other there were phrases that
      seemed to go with these&#8212;'<i>tr&eacute;sor cach&eacute;'
      'lingots d'or</i>'. Ah! do you suppose there really is a
      fortune hidden away in the Inn all these years?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, I think so," said Tom. "And I feel certain you have
      some claim to it, or they wouldn't have made such an effort
      to involve you in their plot. But, please, Nance, tell me the
      rest. You got to the night of your disappearance."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It was a horror&#8212;that night!" exclaimed Nancy. "It must
      have been about twelve that the Marquis came and tapped at my
      door. For some reason I was restless and had not gone to bed.
      I slipped out into the hall with him and we came in here to
      talk. He begged me to make one more expedition with him to
      the Oak Parlour. But I refused&#8212;I insisted that I must
      tell Dan. Suddenly, Tom, without the slightest warning, I
      felt my arms pinioned from behind, and before I could scream,
      the Marquis himself had thrust a handkerchief in my mouth,
      and I was gagged and bound. Everything was done so quickly,
      so noiselessly, that not a soul in the house could have
      heard. They carried me out of the Inn and into the avenue of
      maples. From there on I was forced to walk. We went to the
      beach. I was put into a small boat and rowed out to the
      schooner, and there they locked me up in the little cabin in
      which you found me."
    </p>
    <p>
      "What time did you say it was?" asked Tom.
    </p>
    <p>
      "About twelve&#8212;after midnight, perhaps; I don't know for
      sure. The Marquis went to the beach with us and pretended to
      assure me that I was in no danger; that I would be released
      in good time, and that he would see me again. As a matter of
      fact for three days I have seen no one but Captain Bonhomme.
      He brought my meals, and was inclined to talk about anything
      that come into his head. Last night he told me that Dan was
      also a prisoner on the <i>Southern Cross</i>, if that would
      be of any consolation to me. Then he said he had to go ashore
      and locked me up. Several times I was taken on deck for
      exercise, but the captain kept close by my side."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And you haven't seen or heard from the Marquis again?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No! nor do I want to see him. But, Tom, what is the meaning
      of it all? How are we going to rescue Dan? What are we going
      to do? We can't keep the Marquis a prisoner indefinitely."
    </p>
    <p>
      Tom gave her his own version of the last few days. He told
      her of what he and Dan had suspected, of Dan's proposal to
      visit the House on the Dunes and his disappearance, of his
      own investigations there, and his determination to play the
      same game with the Marquis as hostage.
    </p>
    <p>
      "But what to do next, I confess I don't know," he continued.
      "At present it seems to be stale mate. For to-night, any way,
      we are safe, I think, for I shall take turns in keeping guard
      with Jesse and Ezra. I have the idea that to-morrow, when
      they realize something has happened to the Marquis we shall
      hear from Madame de la Fontaine or from the schooner. In the
      morning I am going to take you and Mrs. Frost to the Red Farm
      for safety. I intend to fight this thing out with that gang,
      whatever happens. If there is treasure, according to their
      own story, it belongs to you. If I don't get a proposal from
      them, I shall make the offer, through Madame de la Fontaine,
      of exchanging the Marquis for Dan.... But I must go now,
      Nance, and relieve one of the men. We must all get some sleep
      to-night, and it's already after twelve. Go to bed,
      sweetheart, and try to get some rest. One of us will be
      within call all night, watching right there in the hall; so
      don't be afraid."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It was my wretched curiosity that got us into all this
      trouble."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Not a bit of it! The trouble was all arranged by the
      Marquis; he was simply waiting for the schooner. Now that I
      have you back again, my heart is fairly light. We shall get
      Dan to-morrow, I am sure."
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p><a name="CH16"><!-- CH16 --></a>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XVI
    </h2>
    <center>
      MADAME AT THE INN
    </center>
    <p>
      In the morning the fog lifted, a bright sun shone from a
      cloudless sky, the marshes sparkled with pools of melted snow
      and the long-promised thaw seemed definitely to have set in.
      Soon after breakfast Tom sent Jesse to the Red Farm with
      directions for the people there to make preparations for Mrs.
      Frost and Nancy, whom he proposed to drive over himself in
      the course of the afternoon.
    </p>
    <p>
      About the middle of the morning as Tom and Nancy stood on the
      gallery discussing the situation, Tom drew her attention to a
      small boat putting off from <i>The Southern Cross</i>. They
      examined it through the glass, and Nancy recognized the
      figure of Captain Bonhomme sitting amongst the stern-sheets.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You may depend upon it," said Tom, "he is going to the House
      on the Dunes to report your disappearance to Madame de la
      Fontaine. The most curious thing about this whole business to
      me is the mixing-up in it of such a woman as Dan described
      Madame de la Fontaine to be."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is strange," Nancy agreed, "but from the bits of talk
      I've overheard, I should say that she was the prime mover in
      it all."
    </p>
    <p>
      "In a way I am rather glad of that," said Tom, "for with a
      woman at the head of things there is less chance of their
      resorting to force to gain their ends. But the stake they are
      playing for must be a big one, and already they have done
      enough to make me sure that we should be prepared for
      anything. I shall be surprised if we don't get some
      communication from them to-day. The old Marquis counts on it,
      or he would not keep so still. At any cost, we must get Dan
      back."
    </p>
    <p>
      They talked for some time longer and were about to go in,
      when Nancy pointed to a horse and rider coming down the
      avenue of Maples. A glance sufficed to show that the rider
      was a woman. Nancy slipped inside to escape observation,
      while Tom waited on the gallery to receive the visitor.
    </p>
    <p>
      As the lady drew rein under the Red Oak, he ran down the
      steps, and helped her to dismount. Her grace, her beauty, her
      manner as of the great world, made him sure that he was in
      the presence of Madame de la Fontaine.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Good morning, sir," said the lady, with a charming smile,
      "if I mistake not, I have the pleasure of addressing Mr.
      Pembroke?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, madam,&#8212;at you service," replied Tom.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am come on a strange errand, monsieur; as an ambassadress,
      so to say, of those whom I fear you take to be your enemies."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You are frank, madam. I believe that I am speaking
      with&#8212;?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Madame de la Fontaine," the lady instantly supplied. "Events
      have so precipitated themselves, monsieur, that pretense and
      conventionality were an affectation. I am informed, you
      understand, of your brilliant rescue of Mademoiselle Eloise
      de Boisdhyver."
    </p>
    <p>
      "If you mean Nancy Frost by Mademoiselle Eloise de
      Boisdhyver, madam, your information is correct. I gathered
      that you had been told of this, when I saw Captain Bonhomme
      make his way to the House on the Dunes this morning."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah! What eyes, monsieur!" exclaimed the lady. "But I have
      grown accustomed to having my privacy examined over-curiously
      during the few days I have spent on your hospitable shores.
      <i>Mais pardon</i>&#8212;my purpose in coming to the Inn at
      the Red Oak this morning was but to request that my name be
      conveyed to Monsieur the Marquis de Boisdhyver."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You mean, madam, that you wish to see the Marquis?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, monsieur, if you will be so good as to allow me to do
      so."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am sorry," Tom rejoined, "that I must disappoint you.
      Circumstances over which the Marquis has no control will
      deprive him of the pleasure of seeing you this morning."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah!" exclaimed Madame de la Fontaine, "I was right then.
      Monsieur le Marquis is, shall we say, in confinement?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "As you please, madam; as safe, for the time, as is my friend
      Dan Frost."
    </p>
    <p>
      "<i>Eh bien</i>, monsieur! It is that you have&#8212;do you
      not say?&#8212;turned the tables upon us?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Precisely, madam," assented Tom.
    </p>
    <p>
      "And you will not permit me even a word&#8212;ever so little
      a word&#8212;with my poor friend?" murmured Madame de la
      Fontaine plaintively.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Again I am sorry to refuse you, madam; but&#8212;not even a
      little word."
    </p>
    <p>
      "So! <i>Mais oui</i>, I am not greatly surprised. I was
      assured last night...."
    </p>
    <p>
      "When you did not see the signals?" suggested Tom quickly.
    </p>
    <p>
      "When I did not see the signals," repeated the lady, with a
      glance of the briefest enquiry, "I was assured that something
      had befallen Monsieur le Marquis. <i>Mais vraiment</i>,
      monsieur, you do us much dishonour in assuming a wicked
      conspiracy on our parts. The Marquis is my friend; he is also
      the friend of the charming Mademoiselle. All that we wish,
      all that we would do is as much in her interest as in his
      own. But it is impossible that my old friend shall remain in
      confinement. On what condition, monsieur, will you release
      the Marquis de Boisdhyver?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "On the condition, naturally, that my friend Dan Frost is
      released from the <i>Southern Cross</i>."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah! Is it that you are quite sure that Monsieur Frost is
      confined on the ship?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Quite sure, Madame de la Fontaine. I was on board <i>The
      Southern Cross</i> last night."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, I know it; and I congratulate you upon your
      extraordinary success. Very well, then, I accept your
      condition. Monsieur Dan Frost returns; Monsieur le Marquis is
      released. And now you will perhaps have the kindness&#8212;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, madame; in this affair the Marquis and his friends have
      been the aggressors. I cannot consent that you should hold
      any communication with the Marquis till Dan returns free and
      unharmed to the Inn."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And what assurance then shall I have that the Marquis will
      be released?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "None, madame, but my word of honour."
    </p>
    <p>
      "<i>Pardon, monsieur</i>. I accept your terms. Monsieur Frost
      shall return. The instant he enters the Inn at the Red Oak,
      you promise that the Marquis de Boisdhyver be released and
      that he be given this note from me?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Certainly, madam."
    </p>
    <p>
      The lady took a sealed note from the pocket of her habit and
      handed it to Tom. "There remains, monsieur," she murmured,
      "but to bid you good-day. If you will be so kind&#8212;"
    </p>
    <p>
      She ran lightly down the steps, and held up her foot for Tom
      to assist her into the saddle.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Your friend will return <i>tout de suite</i>, monsieur," she
      cried gayly, as she drew in the rein.
    </p>
    <p>
      "And we shall have the pleasure of seeing you again?" asked
      Tom.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah! who can tell?" She touched the horse lightly with her
      whip, inclined her head, and soon disappeared down the avenue
      of maples.
    </p>
    <p>
      Some time later Nancy and Tom watched her cantering across
      the beach. She waved her handkerchief as a signal to the
      schooner; a small boat put ashore, and she was rowed out to
      <i>The Southern Cross</i>.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Once Dan is back, and we get rid of the old Marquis," said
      Tom, "I shall breathe considerably easier."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I can't believe they will give the game up so easily," was
      Nancy's reply. "Seizing the Marquis, Tom, was a check, not a
      mate."
    </p>
    <p>
      Out on the schooner in the Cove, Madame de la Fontaine and
      Dan Frost were once more talking together.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Dear boy," said the lady. "I cannot do that which I
      promised. It is impossible that your sister shall make to you
      the request to give me the torn scrap of paper, for the
      reason that Mademoiselle Nancy has chosen to disappear. Have
      no fear, monsieur, for I have good reason to believe she has
      returned to the Inn at the Red Oak. Our schemes, <i>mon
      ami</i>, have failed. You are no longer a prisoner, you are
      free. And this is good-bye. I abandon our mission. I leave
      the House on the Dunes to-day; to-morrow I return to France."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But, madame, you bewilder me," exclaimed Dan. "Why should
      you go; why should we not all join forces, hunt for the
      treasure together, if there is a treasure; why this division
      of interests?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "<i>C'est impossible</i>!" she exclaimed impetuously.
      "Monsieur le Marquis will not consent. He is treated with
      intolerable rudeness by your friend Mr. Pembroke. He will not
      accept that which I propose. And I&#8212;<i>vraiment, I</i>
      desire no longer to work against you. No, monsieur Dan,
      <i>tout est fini</i>, we must say good-bye."
    </p>
    <p>
      She held out her hands and Dan impetuously seized them. Then,
      suddenly, she was in his arms and his lips were seeking hers.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I cannot let you go," he cried hoarsely. "I cannot say
      good-bye."
    </p>
    <p>
      For a moment he held her, but soon, almost brusquely, she
      repulsed him. "<i>C'est folie, mon ami, folie</i>! We lose
      our heads, we lose our hearts."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But I love you," cried Dan. "You must believe it; will you
      believe it if I give you the paper?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, no!&#8212;What!&#8212;you wish to give to me the secret
      of the Oak Parlour?&#8212;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Aye, to entrust to you my life, my soul, my honour."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah, but you must go," she murmured tensely.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Captain Bonhomme is returning. It is better that he knows of
      your release after you are gone. <i>C'est vrai</i>, my
      friend, that I risk not a little in your behalf. Go now,
      quickly ... No! No!" she protested, as she drew away from
      him. "I tell you, <i>C'est folie</i>,&#8212;madness and
      folly. You do not know me. Go now, while there is time!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "But you will see me again?" insisted Dan. "Promise me that;
      or, on my honour, I refuse to leave. Do with me what you
      will, but&#8212;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Listen!" she whispered hurriedly. "I shall meet you to-night
      at ten o'clock, at the end of the avenue of maples near to
      your inn; you know the place? <i>Bien</i>! Bring me the paper
      there, to prove that you trust me. And I&#8212;<i>mais
      non</i>, I implore you&#8212;go quickly!"
    </p>
    <p>
      Dan turned at last and opened the door. Madame de la Fontaine
      called sharply to the waiting Jean, and he, motioning to Dan
      to follow him, led the way on deck. In a moment they were in
      a little boat heading for the shore. The afternoon sun was
      bright in the western sky. The <i>Southern Cross</i> rode
      serenely at anchor, and from her deck, Madame de la Fontaine
      was waving him good-bye.
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p><a name="CH17"><!-- CH17 --></a>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XVII
    </h2>
    <center>
      THE MARQUIS LEAVES THE INN
    </center>
    <p>
      By the time Dan was put ashore on the beach of the Cove it
      was afternoon. During the short row from the schooner he had
      been unable to exchange remarks with the surly Jean, for that
      individual's only response to his repeated efforts, was a
      surly "<i>Je ne parle pas anglais</i>," which seemed to
      answer as a general formula to the conspirators. He gave up
      at last in disgust, and waited impatiently for the small boat
      to be beached, distrustful lest at the last moment some fresh
      trick be played upon him. Not that his ingenuous faith in the
      beautiful French lady failed him, but he was suspicious lest,
      having acted independently of the Marquis and Captain
      Bonhomme in releasing him, she should not have the power to
      make that release genuinely effective.
    </p>
    <p>
      But his apprehensions were groundless. The seaman rowed
      straight for the shore, beached the boat with a last sturdy
      pull at the oars, and leaping out into the curling surf, held
      the skiff steady.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Thank you very much," said Dan, shaking the spray from his
      coat.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Eh?" grunted Jean.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh!&#8212;beg pardon!&#8212;<i>merci</i>," he explained,
      exaggerating the pronunciation of the French word.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Huh!" was the gutteral reply, as the man jumped back into
      the skiff, and pushed off. Dan looked once more towards the
      distant schooner and the slight figure in the stern. Then he
      started at a rapid pace for the Inn.
    </p>
    <p>
      As he turned into the avenue of maples, he was surprised to
      see Jesse standing on the gallery, musket in hand, as though
      he were a sentinel on guard.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Bless my soul, Mister Dan! I thought the Frenchies had made
      way with you. You're a blessed sight to lay eyes on. But
      Mister Tom was right, he said you'd be coming back this
      afternoon."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, here I am, Jesse," Dan replied grasping his hand, "as
      large as life and twice as natural, I guess. I feel as if I'd
      been away for a year and a day. But tell me, what's the news?
      Where is Tom? Has Nancy come back? How is Mother? Have you
      been having trouble, that you are guarding the door like a
      soldier on duty?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, now, Mister Dan, one at a time, <i>if</i> you please.
      Can't say exactly as we've been havin' trouble; but we've
      sort of been lookin' for it. And Mister Tom&#8212;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Where is Tom? I must see him at once.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "He ain't here, sir; he left about an hour ago, driving the
      old Miss and Miss Nancy to the Red Farm, sir; so as to be out
      of harm's way. He'll be back before night, sir."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah, good! Then Nance is back? When did she come?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "She come back last night, sir; leastways Mister Tom brought
      her back. Mister Tom, he got the idea that they'd cooped Miss
      Nance up on that there schooner laying in the Cove, and sure
      enough, he found her there and got her off somehows last
      night."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Good for Tom! How did he work it?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I ain't heard no particulars, Mister Dan. We've been too
      busy watching things to talk much. We got Ezra Manners out
      from the Port to help do guard duty."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Guard?&#8212;what?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, the Inn, sir. Mister Tom he's been sort of expectin'
      some kind of attack. That's the reason he took the women
      folks over to the Red Farm."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I see&#8212;and where's the old Marquis?"
    </p>
    <p>
      Jesse chuckled. "The old Marquis's where he hasn't been doin'
      any harm for the last twenty-four hours, sir. Mister Tom he
      locked him up last night in one of the south bedrooms. That
      reminds me, I was to let him out just as soon as you come
      back."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why lock him up, and then let him out? Things have been
      moving at the Inn, Jess, since I've been gone!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Moving&#8212;yes, sir. But them's my orders&#8212;first
      thing I was to do soon as you come back was to let the old
      Frenchy out and do as he pleased. Mister Tom was to arrange
      everything else with you, sir."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Seems as if Tom had a whole campaign planned out. All
      right&#8212;we'll obey orders, Jess. Let the Marquis out, and
      tell him he can find me in the bar if he wants to see me.
      What time will Tom be back?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Before dark, sir, I'm sure. He's been gone over an hour."
    </p>
    <p>
      Dan ran up to his bedroom, made a quick toilet, took the torn
      scrap of paper from his strong-box, and put it in his wallet.
      Then he went down stairs into the bar. The Marquis, released
      from his confinement, was awaiting him.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah, Monsieur Frost!" the old gentleman exclaimed, coming
      forward with outstretched hands, "I rejoice at your return.
      Now this so horrible nightmare will end... Ah!" This last
      exclamation was uttered in a tone of surprise and
      indignation, for Dan faced him with folded arms, deliberately
      refusing the handclasp.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, Marquis," he said, "I have returned; but I cannot say
      that I am particularly pleased to see you."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Monsieur, <i>te me comprends pas</i>; this abuse, this
      insult&#8212;it is impossible that I understand."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Pray, Monsieur de Boisdhyver," replied Dan, with dignity,
      "Let us have done with make-believe and sham. For two days I
      have been in prison on that confounded ship yonder, whose
      villainous crew are in your pay."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You in prison&#8212;the ship&#8212;the villainous crew!"
      repeated the Marquis. "What is it that you say?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Come, Marquis, your protests are useless," Dan interrupted.
      "I know of the conspiracy in which you are engaged, of your
      deceit and trickery here, of your part in my poor sister's
      disappearance. You know that Madame de la Fontaine has told
      me much. Do you expect me to meet you as though nothing had
      happened?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "But, <i>mon cher, monsieur</i>," continued the Marquis, "if
      it is that you have been told anything by Madame de la
      Fontaine, my so good friend, the bright angel of an old age
      too-cruelly shattered by misfortune, you well know how
      innocent are my designs, how sincere my efforts for your
      foster-sister, for her who is my niece."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Marquis, I do not understand all that has taken place. I may
      say further that I do not care to discuss the situation with
      you until I have talked with my sister and Mr. Pembroke."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah! then Eloise&#8212;then Mademoiselle Nancy, is returned?"
      exclaimed the old gentleman.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I believe so. But I have not seen her. I must decline,
      Marquis, to continue this conversation. I must first learn
      what has taken place in my absence. When Tom returns&#8212;he
      is out just now&#8212;I am perfectly willing to talk matters
      over with you and him together."
    </p>
    <p>
      The Marquis's eyes flashed. "But, Monsieur," he protested,
      "you must understand that I cannot submit to meet with
      Monsieur Pembroke again. A Marquis de Boisdhyver does not
      twice put himself in the position to be insulted with
      impunity."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I should hardly imagine," Dan replied, "that it would be
      more difficult for you to meet Pembroke again than it has
      been difficult for me to meet you."
    </p>
    <p>
      "How&#8212;me?&#8212;<i>je ne comprends pas</i>. But I have
      been insulted, imprisoned, I have suffered much that is
      terrible."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I found myself in an identical situation," said Dan.
    </p>
    <p>
      "But, monsieur, <i>un moment</i>" protested the old
      gentleman, as Dan made as if to leave the room, "give me the
      time to explain to you this misunderstanding.&#8212;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, Marquis. I will not talk until I have seen Tom."
    </p>
    <p>
      The black eyes of Monsieur de Boisdhyver gleamed
      unpleasantly. "I have said to you, Monsieur Frost, that I
      refuse to meet Monsieur Tom Pembroke once more. It would be
      intolerable. <i>Impossible, absolutment</i>! I must insist
      that you will be kind enough to facilitate my departure at
      once."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Certainly, as you wish, Marquis."
    </p>
    <p>
      The old gentleman hesitated. For once indecision was shown by
      the agitation of his features and the shifting of his eyes,
      but he gave no other expression to the quandaries in his
      mind. After a moment's silence he drew himself up with
      exaggerated dignity. With one hand upon his breast and the
      other extended, in a fashion at once absurd and a little
      pathetic, he addressed Dan for the last time, as might an
      ambassador taking leave of a sovereign upon his declaration
      of war.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Monsieur, I renew my gratitude for the hospitality of the
      Inn at the Red Oak, so long enjoyed, so discourteously
      withdrawn. I require but the presentation of my account for
      the time, I have trespassed upon your good will, and I
      request the assistance of a servant to facilitate my
      departure. But I do not take my farewell without protesting,
      <i>avec tout mon coeur</i>, at the misunderstanding to which
      I am persistently subjected. The inevitable bitterness in my
      soul does not prevent me even now to forget the sweet hours
      of rest that I have enjoyed here. The unwillingness on your
      part, monsieur, to comprehend my position, does not interfere
      to stifle in my breast the consciousness but of honourable
      purpose. I make my compliments to mesdames."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Very good, marquis&#8212;and at what time shall I have a
      carriage ready for you?"
    </p>
    <p>
      The Marquis glanced nonchalantly at his watch, "In fifteen
      minutes, monsieur."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It will be ready, Marquis."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Your very obedient servant; Monsieur Frost."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Your obedient servant, Marquis de Boisdhyver."
    </p>
    <p>
      The old gentleman bowed again with elaborate courtesy and,
      turning sharply on his heel, left the room.
    </p>
    <p>
      Somewhat disturbed by the turn affairs had taken, Dan stood
      for a moment lost in thought. There was nothing for it, he
      supposed: Tom, who had been in command, had given orders, and
      they should be obeyed; besides there was no reason that he
      could see why the Marquis should be detained at the Inn if he
      chose to leave it. So he sat down at a table, made out the
      old gentleman's bill for the month, and then stepped to the
      door to call for Jesse.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Take this," he said when the man appeared in response to his
      summons, "to the old Marquis. It is the bill for his board.
      If he pays you, well and good; if not&#8212;in any case,
      treat him courteously, and do not interfere with his
      movements. He is leaving the Inn for good. I want you to have
      the buggy ready within half-an-hour and drive him where he
      wishes to go. I fancy he will want his stuff put on the
      schooner in the Cove."
    </p>
    <p>
      "All right, sir," replied Jesse. "Now that you and Miss Nance
      are back, sir, I guess the sooner we get rid of the Marquis
      the better."
    </p>
    <p>
      Jesse carried the bill to the Marquis, then came down and
      went to the barn to harness the horse. A little later he
      drove round to the courtyard, hitched the horse to a ring in
      the Red Oak, and ran upstairs to fetch the Marquis's boxes.
    </p>
    <p>
      Perhaps half-an-hour had passed when he returned to Dan in
      the Bar. "The old gentleman's gone, sir," he said.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Gone!&#8212;where?" cried Dan.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Don't know, sir," Jesse replied. "To the schooner, I guess.
      He left this money on his dressing-bureau."
    </p>
    <p>
      Dan took the gold which Jesse held out to him. "Well, well,"
      he murmured, "quite on his dignity, eh? All right, Jess, take
      his stuff to the beach and hail the schooner. He will
      probably have given directions. I hope we've seen the last of
      him."
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p><a name="PART4"><!-- PART4 --></a>
    <h2>
      PART IV
    </h2>
    <center>
      THE ATTACK ON THE INN
    </center>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p><a name="CH18"><!-- CH18 --></a>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XVIII
    </h2>
    <center>
      THE AVENUE OF MAPLES
    </center>
    <p>
      The Marquis's belongings were sent after him to the schooner,
      where, however, it appeared that they had not been expected,
      for it was some time before Jesse could obtain an answer to
      his hail from the shore, and still longer before he could
      make the men on the ship understand what it was he wanted
      with them. Eventually Captain Bonhomme had rowed ashore, and
      the Marquis's bags, boxes, writing-desk, and fiddle were
      loaded into the small boat and taken off to <i>The Southern
      Cross</i>.
    </p>
    <p>
      It appeared from Jesse's report that the Captain had been
      sufficiently polite, and had attributed the misunderstanding
      of his men to their inability to speak English. They had not
      gotten their orders for the Marquis. He had asked no further
      questions about Monsieur de Boisdhyver or about his recent
      prisoners, but had feed Jesse liberally, and dismissed him,
      with his own and the Marquis's thanks.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well," said Tom, who had returned an hour before and had
      been exchanging experiences with Dan, "that seems to be the
      end of him for the present. I don't know that I did right in
      promising your French lady that I should release him, but
      there seemed no other way to make sure of getting you back."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am glad you promised," replied Dan. "It is a relief not to
      have him under our roof. For the last week I've felt as if
      the place were haunted by an evil spirit."
    </p>
    <p>
      "So it has been, and so it still will be, I am afraid," was
      Tom's reply. "If there is treasure here, you may be sure that
      gang won't sail away without making a desperate effort to get
      it. I move that we beat them out by hunting for it ourselves.
      Why not begin to-night?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Not to-night," protested Dan. "I am tired to death. You can
      imagine that I didn't get much sleep cooped up on that
      confounded ship."
    </p>
    <p>
      "No more have I, old boy. But I believe in striking while the
      iron is hot. Every day's delay gives them a better chance for
      their plans, if they mean to attack the Inn."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I doubt if they'll do that. I don't think force is precisely
      their line. You know, I believe that the story Madame de la
      Fontaine told isn't altogether a fiction."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Pshaw!" exclaimed Tom. "I don't believe a word of it.
      Naturally they wouldn't use force, if they could help it. But
      their plans have all been upset, and a gang like that won't
      stop at anything."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But we live in a civilized community, my boy. This isn't the
      middle ages."
    </p>
    <p>
      "We live in a civilized community, perhaps; but if you can
      find a more isolated spot, a place more remote from help, in
      any other part of the civilized world, I'd be glad to see it.
      We might as well be in the middle of the Sahara desert. Find
      the treasure and get it out of harm's way&#8212;that's my
      idea."
    </p>
    <p>
      "All right, but to-morrow; I swear I'm not up to it
      to-night."
    </p>
    <p>
      "To-morrow! Well, then to-morrow. Though for the life of me,
      I don't see why you want to delay things. Jesse and Ezra can
      keep watch tonight."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But we must get some sleep, Tom."
    </p>
    <p>
      "The devil with sleep! However, you're the boss now. It's
      your inn, your treasure, your sister, that are involved. I'll
      take a back seat."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Come, come, Tom&#8212;don't let's quarrel. Give me to-night
      to&#8212;to get myself together, and tomorrow I'll pull the
      Inn down with you, if you wish."
    </p>
    <p>
      Perhaps Dan was right, he did need rest and sleep and a few
      hours would restore him. They had their supper, then,
      apportioned the night into watches, and Dan went upstairs for
      his first period of sleep.
    </p>
    <p>
      His brain was a-whirl. All through the afternoon, during his
      talk with the Marquis, and later during his talk with Tom,
      one idea had been dominating his thought, dictating his plan
      of action, colouring his judgment. The fascination which
      Madame de la Fontaine exerted over his senses was too strong
      for him even to contemplate resisting it. She was confessedly
      in league with a gang of adventurers upon a quest for
      treasure. She had lied to him at first about the Marquis, she
      had lied to him about Nancy, she had lied to him about his
      release; and when she had left him under the pretext of
      arranging his return to the Inn, she had in fact gone to Tom
      to bargain an exchange of him for the old Marquis. Her lies,
      her subterfuges, her flatteries, had been evidently designed
      but to get possession of the torn scrap of paper which was so
      necessary to their finding the hidden treasure. All this Dan
      told himself a hundred times, and then, quickly dispelling
      the witness of these cold hard facts, there would flash
      before him the vision of her wonderful eyes, of her strange
      appealing beauty, of her stirring personality; he would feel
      once more the touch of her cheek and her lips pressing his,
      intoxicating as wine; and delicious fires flamed through his
      veins, and set his heart to beating, and made havoc of his
      honour and his conscience. Whatever were the consequences, he
      would meet her again that night as he had promised. It was
      his first experience of passion and it was sweeping him off
      his feet.
    </p>
    <p>
      Alone in his room Dan sat down at the table. He drew from his
      pocket the torn paper, and as an act of justice to the
      friends he felt that he was about to betray, he labourously
      made a copy of the difficult French handwriting. This done,
      he locked the copy in his strong box and put the original
      back in his pocket. Then, like the criminal he thought
      himself to be, he crept cautiously down the stairs. The door
      into the bar was open, and he stood for a moment, shoes in
      hand, peering into the dimly-lit room. Tom sat by the hearth,
      reading, a pipe in his mouth and a cocked pistol on the table
      by his side. A pang went through Dan's breast, but he checked
      the impulse to speak, and stole softly across the hall and
      into his mother's parlour. Ever so cautiously he closed the
      door behind him, crossed the room, and raised the sash of one
      of the windows.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was dark, but starlight; the moon had not yet risen. In a
      moment he had slipped over the sill and stood upon the porch.
      Lowering the sash, he crept across the band of light that
      shone from the windows of the bar, and into the shadow of the
      Red Oak. There he buttoned his great coat tightly about him,
      put on his shoes, and started softly down the avenue of
      maples. Scarcely a sound disturbed the silence of the night,
      save the lazy creaking of the windmill as it turned now and
      then to the puff of a gentle breeze.
    </p>
    <p>
      At every few steps, he paused to listen, fearful lest his
      absence had been detected and he were followed by some one
      from the Inn. Then he would start on again, peering eagerly
      into the darkness ahead for any sign of her whom he sought.
      At last he reached the end of the avenue. His heart was
      beating wildly, in a very terror that she might not come.
      Nothing&#8212;no catastrophe, no danger, no
      disgrace,&#8212;could be so terrible to him as that the woman
      he loved so recklessly and madly should not come. She must
      not fail! He looked at his watch; it was already three
      minutes past ten. If in five&#8212;then minutes she did not
      come, he would go to seek her&#8212;to the House on the
      Dunes, aye, if must be to <i>The Southern Cross</i> itself.
    </p>
    <p>
      Suddenly a dark figure slipped out of the gloom, and Claire
      de la Fontaine was in his arms. For a moment she let him
      clasp her, let his lips again meet hers; then quickly she
      disengaged herself. "Are we safe?" she asked in a whisper.
      "Is it that we can talk here."
    </p>
    <p>
      "We are perfectly safe," he answered. "Nothing can be heard
      from the Inn. No one is about."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You escaped without notice? Are you certain that no one
      follows you?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Absolutely. I am sure. And you?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I?&#8212;Oh, no, no&#8212;. There is no one to question me.
      I have been at the House on the Dunes all the evening. Marie,
      my maid,&#8212;she thinks that I am gone to the schooner.
      <i>Mon Dieu! cher ami</i>, what terrors I have suffered for
      you. It had not seemed possible that Claire de la Fontaine
      would ride and walk two so long miles in a desolate country
      to meet a lover&#8212;It must be that we are gone mad."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Madness then is the sweetest experience of life," said Dan,
      seizing her hand again and carrying it to his lips.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah <i>peut-etre, mon ami</i>. But now there are many affairs
      to discuss. Tell me&#8212;the Marquis, he was released, as
      your friend has promised me he should be?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Of course, didn't you know it?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I know nothing. Why then is it he has not left the Inn?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "But he did leave&#8212;in the middle of the afternoon, half
      an hour after I returned."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And where is it that he has gone?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "To the schooner, I suppose. He left alone, giving directions
      for his things to be sent after him."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah! to the schooner, you say? You are certain?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes&#8212;that is, I think he went there. Jesse took his
      boxes and bags down to the shore, and Captain Bonhomme
      received them, and thanked him in the Marquis's name,''
    </p>
    <p>
      "<i>Mais non! Est-ce possible</i>?" For a moment she was
      silent, considering deeply. "<i>Bien</i>!" she exclaimed
      presently. "It is as you say, of course. And you, my friend?"
      She stopped suddenly, for they had been walking slowly
      forward, and withdrawing her hand from his arm, she held it
      out before him. "The paper?" she demanded.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Here it is," murmured Dan, fumbling in his pocket, and
      pulling out the scrap of paper. She took it eagerly from his
      hand and held it up before her eyes as though trying to see
      it in the dark.
    </p>
    <p>
      "This is it, really?" she asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I swear it," he answered. "It is the piece of writing that I
      found in the hidden cubby-hole of the old cabinet in the Oak
      Parlour. It is written in French, you know."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, I know, I know," she assented absently. For a moment
      she was quite still, and then, with a strange exclamation,
      she put the paper to her lips. "<i>Quels souvenirs,
      d'autrefois</i>!" she murmured. "<i>Ah, mon Dieu, mon
      Dieu</i>!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Dearest, what is it?" asked Dan.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nothing, nothing," she replied, withdrawing a little from
      his touch. "I was unwell for the moment,&#8212;<i>ce ne fait
      rien</i>. No, no, you are not to kiss me, please." Again she
      unloosed his arm from about her neck, slipped the paper into
      her muff, and pressed a little forward. For a space they
      walked slowly, silently, toward the Inn.
    </p>
    <p>
      "But, dearest one," murmured Dan, "this proves to you my
      love, doesn't it? You no longer doubt me. For your sake, I
      give my honour; it may be, the safety of my friends. You must
      see how I love you with all my heart and soul. Won't
      you,&#8212;"
    </p>
    <p>
      Suddenly she stopped again quite still and faced him. "My
      poor boy," she said gently, "you really love me?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Love you! My God, have I not proved it! What more would you
      have me do?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "<i>Mais oui</i>," she answered quickly. "You have proved it,
      but I have thought that it was not possible."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And you&#8212;you do care&#8212;oh, tell me&#8212;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "<i>H&eacute;las, mon paurve ami</i>. I love as tenderly as
      it remains in me to love. Ah, dear, dear boy, so sincerely,
      that I cannot have you to sell your honour for the futile
      kisses of Claire de la Fontaine."
    </p>
    <p>
      "What do you mean? Have I&#8212;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, no, no! This&#8212;take the paper. You must not again
      give it me, I desire that you will not." She drew the paper
      from her muff with an impulsive movement and thrust it toward
      him. "Take it, I implore you."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But why&#8212;?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Because that you shall not give your honour to a woman such
      as I am. <i>Mai vraiment</i>, I love you. That is why you
      must take back the paper."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But you must explain&#8212;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "<i>Mon Dieu</i>! is it that I have not explained? There is
      time for nothing more. I have fear, <i>mon ami</i>; a kiss,
      and it is necessary that I go. It is good-bye."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But you love me, you have said so. I cannot, I will not let
      you go."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Listen to me, my friend," she said, her voice rising for the
      moment above the whisper in which she had cautiously spoken
      heretofore. "From the first I have deceived you, betrayed
      you, played upon your affection but to betray you afresh. And
      now I find that I love you. I am not that which you call
      good, but it is impossible that I injure you. Go back to your
      friends."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Never! I love you. What matters now anything that you have
      said or done? And you love me. Ah dearest one, what can that
      mean but good?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "<i>Bien-aim&eacute;</i>, what will you that I say?" she
      interrupted speaking rapidly, "I am what you Americans call
      'a bad woman',&#8212;the sort of woman that you know nothing
      of. I was the woman who sixteen years ago stayed at the Inn
      at the Red Oak with Fran&ccedil;ois de Boisdhyver, the woman
      your mother called nurse, who cared for his little daughter.
      And now I have told you all. Will you know from now that I am
      a thousand times unworthy? <i>Pour l'amour de Dieu</i>, give
      it to me to do this one act of honour and of generosity."
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p><a name="CH19"><!-- CH19 --></a>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XIX
    </h2>
    <center>
      THE ATTACK
    </center>
    <p>
      With these words she thrust the scrap of paper into his hands
      and turning swiftly, started forward as though to escape his
      further importunities by flight. But Dan was instantly by her
      side, trying to catch her hand in the darkness.
    </p>
    <p>
      Again she faced him passionately. "<i>C'est folie</i>," she
      cried hoarsely, "have I not told you that we are in great
      danger? Go, go back to the Inn. It is there only that you
      will be safe.&#8212;O, <i>mon Dieu!"</i>
    </p>
    <p>
      A figure had sprung suddenly from the blackness of the trees.
      Dan felt a sharp blow on his shoulder, and then he was
      grappling with a wiry antagonist, striving to keep at safe
      distance a hand that clutched an open knife. Locked in a
      close embrace, swaying from side to side of the road, they
      fought desperately. Dan striving to get at the pistol which
      he carried, his assailant trying to use his knife.
    </p>
    <p>
      It seemed as if Dan could no longer hold the man off when two
      small hands closed over the fist that held the gleaming knife
      and a clear voice rang out in French. Dan felt his
      antagonist's grip loosen and he wrenched himself free. Madame
      de la Fontaine had come to his rescue. "Quick, quick&#8212;to
      the Inn. I am safe. You have but one chance for your life,"
      she cried. Already his assailant had put a boatswain's
      whistle to his lips and was sounding a shrill blast.
    </p>
    <p>
      As Dan hesitated, uncertain what to do, he heard a number of
      men come crashing through the underbrush of the neighbouring
      field. Again Madame de la Fontaine cried, "<i>Mon Dieu</i>!
      will you not run?" Then she turned and disappeared in the
      darkness. Simultaneously came the crack of a pistol shot, and
      a bullet whizzed by his ear. There was nothing for it but to
      run; and run he did, shouting at the top of his voice the
      while to Tom in the Inn. He probably owed his start to the
      fact that for the moment his attacker, who had been held at
      bay by Madame de la Fontaine, was uncertain whether to follow
      her or Dan. That moment's delay saved Dan's life, for though,
      with a curse, the man started after him now, he had a poor
      chance of catching him in the darkness. But on he came only a
      dozen yards or so behind, and after him the thundering steps
      and harsh cries of those who had responded to the call of the
      whistle.
    </p>
    <p>
      At last Dan was at the door of the Inn, beating wildly upon
      it, and calling, "Open, Tom; quick, for God's sake! It's
      Dan." As the door was flung back, he sprang in and slammed it
      shut. Already the attackers were in the courtyard, a volley
      of shots rang against the stout oak, followed almost at once,
      by the flinging against it of half-a-dozen men. But the great
      oaken beam had been slipped into place and held firmly. Dan
      was none the worse for his experience, save for a graze on
      the cheek where the knife had glanced, and a slit on his
      shoulder from a bullet.
    </p>
    <p>
      "They're here!" he cried. "No time for explanations, Tom. I
      went out&#8212;fool that I was!&#8212;was attacked. They're
      here in force."
    </p>
    <p>
      By this time Jesse had rushed into the bar, attracted by the
      firing, and soon Ezra Manners came running down from the
      floor above. After the first impact against the door those
      without had withdrawn, evidently taking up a position in the
      courtyard again, for almost at once there was a fusilade of
      shots against door and windows, which luckily the heavy oak
      was proof against.
    </p>
    <p>
      "They're welcome to keep that up all night," said Tom. "Only
      a waste of ammunition. How many are there?" He would liked to
      have asked Dan why he had gone out, but there was no time for
      discussion.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I don't know&#8212;half-a-dozen at least, I should guess,"
      was Dan's reply. "Bonhomme is at their head, I'm sure. It was
      he who tackled me in the avenue. They may have the whole crew
      of the schooner here. That would mean a dozen or more."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well," said Tom, "we're in for it now, I guess. We'll have
      to watch in different parts of the house, for we don't know
      where they will attack. Unless they are all fools, it won't
      be here."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You're right. I'll stay and look out for the south wing. You
      go to the north wing, Tom; Jesse to the kitchen, and Ezra to
      the end of the south passage. That'll cover the house as well
      as we can cover it. They'll try to force an entrance
      somewheres. Have you all got guns? Good. Leave the doors open
      so that we can hear each other call."
    </p>
    <p>
      Evidently the attacking party had concluded that they were
      wasting their lead and their time in shooting at doors and
      window-shutters, for as Tom had said, all was now quiet
      outside. Fifteen minutes, half-an-hour passed, and nothing
      occurred to alarm or to relieve the tension on the anxious
      watchers within. At length Dan stole upstairs to reconnoitre.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was fortunate that he chose the precise moment he did, for
      as his head emerged above the last stair, he saw that the
      great shutters at the end of the south corridor were open,
      and a man stood before the window, evidently on the top rung
      of a ladder, trying the sash. It was locked to be sure, but
      at the instant Dan saw him, he raised his fist and smashed
      it. He was about to leap through the opening, fringed though
      it was with jagged glass, when Dan aimed his pistol
      carefully, and fired. There was a cry, and the form at the
      window fell crashing to the ground below. Dan rushed to the
      casement, and could hear in the court beneath him the curses
      and exclamations of the surprised assailants. Quickly he
      thrust the end of the ladder from the wall, then seizing a
      fresh pistol from his belt, fired at random into the darkness
      below. Another cry of pain attested to the fact that his
      chance shot had taken effect. By this time Tom had rushed to
      his assistance, and together they barred the window again.
    </p>
    <p>
      Dan gave a brief account of the incident. "But, for heaven's
      sake, Tom," he concluded, "get back to the north wing. We are
      in danger there every moment. I'll watch out here."
    </p>
    <p>
      As Tom returned to his post in the cold corridor of the north
      wing, he heard heavy crashes, as of a battering-ram, against
      the great door that opened into the gallery. A shrill whistle
      brought Ezra Manners to his assistance. "Watch here!" he
      commanded. "If the door crashes in, shoot, and shoot to kill;
      then run into the bar and barricade the door between. I've a
      plan."
    </p>
    <p>
      He himself ran into the bar, blew out the candles, and
      risking perhaps too much on the chance of success, cautiously
      opened the front door. He could scarcely make out the group
      at the farther end of the gallery, as he stepped out; but he
      could hear the resounding crashes against the door into the
      north hall, each one of which seemed to be the last that even
      that massive frame could hold out against. Leveling his
      pistol at the group; he took aim, and fired; snatched another
      from his pocket, and fired a second time. Again, by good
      luck, the defender's shots had told. There was a thud on the
      gallery floor, and the besiegers scurried to cover beyond the
      courtyard fence. Tom dashed safely back into the house, and
      slipped the great beam into place.
    </p>
    <p>
      Upstairs Dan's attention had been attracted by the commotion
      in front of the inn. He opened a window on to the roof of the
      gallery, climbed out, and crawled along on his belly till his
      head just abutted over the eaves. For a few moments, after
      the firing, he could hear the attackers moving about behind
      the fence across the courtyard. At length, a couple of them
      stole across the court and up on to the gallery beneath him.
      In a moment they returned carrying the dead or wounded
      comrade; then all of them seemed to go off together up the
      dark avenue of maples. He waited till they could be heard no
      more, then crept back into the house and ran down to tell Dan
      of their temporary withdrawal. For an hour or more the four
      defenders of the Inn kept themselves occupied parading the
      corridors and rooms, on the watch for a fresh attack. But
      nothing happened. They felt no security, however, and would
      feel none till daylight.
    </p>
    <p>
      In the silent watching of that night Dan had ample
      opportunity to reflect upon his extraordinary interview with
      Madame de la Fontaine. He loved her. Good heavens how he
      loved her, but&#8212;had she been sincere in her refusal at
      the last to keep the scrap of paper for the possession of
      which she had so desperately intrigued? Had she decoyed him
      to the rendezvous in the dark but to betray him to the
      bandits with whom she was in league? At first it would seem
      so. And yet the paper was in his possession; and, she it was
      who had rescued him from the assassin's knife. Where was she
      now? What had become of her? What was to be the end of this
      mad night's work? That she was the woman who had accompanied
      General Pointelle&#8212;or the Mar&eacute;chal de
      Boisdhyver&#8212;somehow did not surprise him. And for the
      time the full import of what that implied did not dawn upon
      him. But what mattered anything now that he loved her?
    </p>
    <p>
      He determined at last to reconnoitre again from the roof of
      the gallery. It still lay in shadow, but it would not be long
      before the moon, now rising over the eastern hills beyond the
      Strathsey flooded it with light. In a moment, he had opened
      the window, was over the sill, and, creeping cautiously along
      the roof to the ledge, he worked his way toward the great oak
      at the farther end.
    </p>
    <p>
      All was still and deserted below as the Inn courtyard would
      have been in the middle of any winter's night. While he stood
      peering into the darkness, listening intently, the moon, just
      showing above the distant tree tops, cast the first rays of
      its light into the courtyard beneath him. At the instant the
      figure of a woman stole across the flagged pavement and crept
      fearfully to the Red Oak. With a strange thrill he recognized
      Claire de la Fontaine. Reaching the shelter of the great
      tree, she stooped, gathered a handful of gravel from the road
      bed, and then cast it boldly at the shutters of the bar,
      calling softly, "Dan, Dan."
    </p>
    <p>
      Instantly he replied. "Claire! Is that you? What is it? I am
      here, above you, on the roof."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah, <i>mon Dieu</i>!" she exclaimed, as she looked up
      startled, and discerned his form leaning over the eaves, "for
      the love of heaven, my friend, open to me. I am in danger and
      I must tell you that which is of great importance to you.
      <i>Mais vite, mon ami</i>. In ten minutes they will return
      again."
    </p>
    <p>
      It did not occur to Dan to doubt her. Careless of the risk,
      he rushed back to the window, climbed in, and in a few
      seconds had opened the door to the anxious woman without. She
      seemed physically exhausted as she stepped into the warm bar.
      Taking her in his arms, he carried her to a chair, and poured
      out a glass of wine, which she eagerly drank.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It matters not what I have been doing," she murmured in
      reply to his questions, "I have but little time to give you
      my warning. <i>Ecoute</i>. Bonhomme and his men are gone only
      to carry back their dead and wounded, and to bring cutlasses,
      and the two or three sailors who were left on the schooner. I
      have followed them&#8212;God knows how&#8212;and heard
      something of their plans. They will make an attack&#8212;now,
      in a moment&#8212;in two different places. But these attacks
      will be shams,&#8212;is not that the word?&#8212;they will
      mean nothing. It is the Oak Parlour that they desire to
      enter. At the window of that so horrible room Bonhomme will
      try to make an entrance without alarm while the others hold
      your attention at the front and back of the Inn. Is it that
      you understand? It is necessary that you are prepared for
      these sham attacks, but the great danger is Bonhomme. The
      window in the Oak Parlour is not strong. They have
      information&#8212;recent information&#8212;from the Marquis
      probably,&#8212;that it will not be difficult to break in.
      One of you must conceal himself in the dark and shoot
      Bonhomme when he enters; you must shoot and shoot to kill,
      then we will be safe. I have no fear of Monsieur le Marquis.
      The others&#8212;they are brutes&#8212;but they will flee.
      And they know nothing, they do this for money,&#8212;ah,
      <i>mon Dieu</i>, for money which I have furnished!"
    </p>
    <p>
      For a moment, torn between his love and his deep distrust of
      this woman, poor Dan stood uncertainly. Suddenly he knelt at
      her side and clasped his arms about her. "Claire, you are on
      our side? You swear it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah, <i>mon Dieu</i>! is it that I deserve this?" she
      exclaimed bitterly. "Ah! I tell you truth," she cried. "You
      must believe me&#8212;Listen! Are they come already?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, no, there is nothing. But I trust you, I will go."
    </p>
    <p>
      Suddenly she sprang to her feet. "Let me go with you. It is
      terrible to me to enter again that room; but I desire to
      prove myself of honour. <i>Allous, allous</i>!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Tom is there."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah! send him here to the bar. But do you come, <i>mon
      ami</i>. See, I go with you." She rose and forcing herself to
      the effort, led the way across the bar and into the corridor
      of the north wing, as if to show him that in sixteen years
      she had not forgotten.
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p><a name="CH20"><!-- CH20 --></a>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XX
    </h2>
    <center>
      IN THE OAK PARLOUR
    </center>
    <p>
      "You know the way?" Dan exclaimed as he caught up with her,
      and held open the door that led into the old north wing.
    </p>
    <p>
      "But so well," she replied, catching her breath. "Would to
      God that I did not!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah!" he murmured, "I forgot that you have been here before."
    </p>
    <p>
      They pressed on silently. At the turn of the corridor upon
      which the Oak Parlour gave, they discerned Tom Pembroke, a
      weird figure, in the dim light of the tallow dip upon the
      table, that cast fantastic shadows upon the whitewashed
      walls.
    </p>
    <p>
      As he recognized them, he sprang forward in astonishment.
      "Madame de la Fontaine! Dan! What does this mean?" he cried.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You know Madame?" Dan replied hastily and in evident
      confusion. "At great risk she has come to warn us&#8212;she
      is our friend, understand.&#8212;She has come to tell us how
      Bonhomme and his men will attack the Inn."
    </p>
    <p>
      Tom listened to his explanation with unconcealed dismay.
      "Good heavens, Dan!" he protested, "You trust this woman? You
      know she is in league with these ruffians. Do you want us to
      fall into a trap?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, no, Monsieur Pembroke," interrupted Madame de la
      Fontaine, "you must listen to me. I understand your fear. But
      at last you can trust me. I repent that which I have done.
      Ah, <i>mon Dieu</i>, with what bitterness! And now I desire
      to do all that is possible to save you. You must trust me."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I do not&#8212;I can not trust you," Tom cried sternly.
      "Don't go in there, Dan. Don't I beg of you, trust this
      woman's word. It is a trick."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Perhaps," said Dan grimly, "but go back. I take the
      responsibility. I do trust her, I shall trust her&#8212;to
      death. There is no time to lose, man. Go back!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "What deviltry has bewitched you?" cried Tom passionately.
      "Already once to-night you have risked our lives by your
      fool-hardiness,&#8212;for the sake of this woman, eh? By gad,
      man, I begin to see. But I tell you now, I refuse to be a
      victim to your madness."
    </p>
    <p>
      "<i>Mais non</i>, Monsieur Pembroke," Claire cried again. "By
      all that is good and holy, I swear to you, that that which I
      have said is true. You must go. They will attack the bar and
      the kitchen. If those places are not defended, there will be
      danger."
    </p>
    <p>
      "At any rate," said Dan, "I am going into the Oak Parlour. If
      you refuse to act with me, barricade the door between the bar
      and the north wing. If need be, I shall fight alone. Only now
      we lose time, precious time."
    </p>
    <p>
      Pembroke looked at him as if he had gone mad, then shrugging
      his shoulders he turned back into the bar, whistling for
      Jesse and Ezra as he did so.
    </p>
    <p>
      For a moment, glancing after Tom's retreating figure, shaken
      to his soul by conflicting emotions, Dan stood irresolute.
    </p>
    <p>
      "But come," said Madame de la Fontaine, touching his arm.
      Again like the weird genius of this strange night she led the
      way on down the shadowy hall, and paused only when her hand
      rested upon the knob of the door into the Oak Parlour. "It is
      here," she said simply.
    </p>
    <p>
      As Dan reached her side, she opened the door. The light of
      the candle down the hallway did not penetrate the gloom of
      the disused room. A musty smell as of cold stagnant air came
      strong to their nostrils, and Dan felt, as they crossed the
      threshold together, that he was entering a place where no
      life had been for a long long time, a place full of dead
      nameless horrors.
    </p>
    <p>
      The woman by his side was trembling violently. He put his arm
      about her to reassure her, and there shot through him a
      sensation of strange and terrible joy to be with her alone in
      this darkness and danger. For the moment he was exulting that
      for her sake he had risked his honour, that for her sake now
      he was risking life itself. He bent his head to hers.
    </p>
    <p>
      "No! no!&#8212;not here!" she whispered hoarsely, but yet
      clinging to him with shaking hands. "It is so cold, so dark.
      I have fear," she murmured.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is like a tomb," he said.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The tomb of my hopes, of my youth," she breathed softly.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Shall I strike a light?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, no,&#8212;no light, I implore you. <i>Ecoute</i>! What
      is it that I hear?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I hear nothing. It is the wind in the Red Oak outside."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But listen!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is an owl hooting."
    </p>
    <p>
      Suddenly she drew her hand from his, and he could hear her
      moving swiftly about. "All is as it used to be?" she asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Precisely," he answered; "nothing has been changed."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Here is the cabinet," she said, from across the room. "I can
      feel the lion's head. It is opposite to the window and the
      moonlight will stream in when the casement is opened, but if
      I crouch low I shall not be seen. <i>Bien</i>! And you,
      <i>mon ami</i>? Tell me, is the old <i>escritoire</i> still
      to the left of the door?" Now she was back at his side once
      again.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The <i>escritoire</i>?" he repeated.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The little table where one writes. Ah! yes, it is here. See,
      behind this, <i>mon ami</i>, shall you hide yourself. The
      moonlight will not reach here&#8212;and it is so arranged
      that you will see plainly any one that appears at the window.
      When the casement is opened, you will shoot, will you not,
      and shoot to kill?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, I will shoot," said Dan, his voice trembling.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You promise me?" she cried in a tense whisper, as she
      grasped his arm and held it tight in her grip.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I tell you, yes."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You must not fail."
    </p>
    <p>
      "No. Shall I shoot at any one who opens?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Any one?&#8212;it will be Bonhomme,&#8212;no other."
    </p>
    <p>
      Suddenly there came, from the front and the rear of the Inn,
      at the same instant it seemed, the sharp staccato of a
      fusilade of pistol shots, and the lumbering blows as of beams
      being thrust at distant doors.
    </p>
    <p>
      "They are come!" she whispered, "hide." Dan could hear the
      swish of her garments as she rapidly glided across the room
      to the old cabinet, then he turned and crouched low behind
      the writing desk that she had chosen for his place of
      concealment. He knelt there motionless, a cocked pistol
      clenched in his right hand. His breath seemed to have
      stopped, but his heart was pounding as though it must burst
      through his breast. How could he shoot down in cold blood a
      fellow man? The horror of it crowded out all other
      impressions, sensations fears. He could fight, risk his life,
      but to pull the trigger of that pistol when the casement
      should open seemed to him an impossibility. He would wait,
      grapple with him, fight as men should.
    </p>
    <p>
      Suddenly a ray of moonlight fell across the dark floor. Dan,
      looking up, seemed frozen by horror. The shutters had opened,
      the casement swung back noiselessly, and there in the
      opening, sharply outlined against the moonlight-flooded
      night, was the great black hulk of Captain Bonhomme.
    </p>
    <p>
      For a moment he stood there irresolute, listening intently.
      Dan was fascinated, motionless, held as in a vice by the
      horror of the thing.
    </p>
    <p>
      Suddenly Bonhomme moved his head to one side as if to listen
      more acutely. As he did so, the ray of moonlight fell upon
      the cabinet, fell upon Claire de la Fontaine, upon something
      that she held in an outstretched hand that gleamed.
    </p>
    <p>
      "<i>Nom de Dieu</i>!" There was the flash and crack of a
      pistol, a sharp cry, and the great figure fell back and sank
      out of sight.
    </p>
    <p>
      With that Dan sprang forward, reckless of danger, and ran to
      the window. He heard without the confused sounds as of
      persons scurrying to cover, saw their forms dash across the
      moonlit courtyard, into the shadows of the trees and
      outhouses. Beneath him on the floor of the gallery was
      something horrible and still.
    </p>
    <p>
      Almost instantly Claire de la Fontaine was by his side, and
      as regardless of danger as he, she was calling sharply,
      calling men by their names. Her hair had been loosened and
      fell over her shoulders in black waves, her dark eyes flashed
      with excitement and passion, and her face, strangely pale, in
      the silver moonlight, was set in stern harsh lines. Even then
      this vision of her tragic beauty thrilled the man at her
      side.
    </p>
    <p>
      But she was as unconscious of him as she was of her danger.
      With hand uplifted she called by name the desperados, who had
      taken shelter in the darkness and to those who now came
      running from front and rear where their attacks had been
      unsuccessful.
    </p>
    <p>
      Appalled, spell-bound by the vision, even as Dan was, they
      stopped, and stood listening mutely to the torrent of words
      that she poured forth,&#8212;vehement French of which Dan had
      no understanding.
    </p>
    <p>
      At last, ending the frightful tension of the scene, two of
      the men came forward, crept up to the lifeless body of
      Bonhomme, and grasping it by head and feet, carried it away,
      across the courtyard, into the darkness of the avenue of
      maples. One by one, still mysteriously silent, the others of
      the gang followed, till at length the last one had
      disappeared into the gloom. Weird silence fell once more upon
      the Inn.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was only then that Madame de la Fontaine turned to Dan.
      "They will come no more," she said in a strained unnatural
      voice. "We are saved, safe.... I have proved, is it not
      so?&#8212;my honour, my love."
    </p>
    <p>
      With the words she sank at his feet, just as Tom, candle in
      hand, appeared in the doorway.
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p><a name="CH21"><!-- CH21 --></a>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXI
    </h2>
    <center>
      THE TREASURE
    </center>
    <p>
      Owing doubtless to the death of Bonhomme and to the orders
      given in no uncertain tones by Madame de la Fontaine, the
      bandits from the schooner in the cove did not make a further
      effort to attack the Inn that night. There was no rest,
      however, for Madame de la Fontaine, after her heroic exploit
      in the Oak Parlour, had swooned completely away. They carried
      her to the couch in Mrs. Frost's parlour, and, awkwardly
      enough, did what could be done for her by men. It was over an
      hour before they succeeded in restoring her to consciousness,
      and when they did so, she awoke to delirium and fever.
      Distracted by anxiety and by their helplessness, at the first
      streak of dawn, Dan started for town to get a doctor, and
      Ezra Manners volunteered to go to the Red Farm and bring back
      Mrs. Frost, Nancy, and the maids.
    </p>
    <p>
      About six o'clock in the morning the women folk returned to
      the Inn. But the briefest account of the attack was given
      them, though they were told in no uncertain terms of Madame
      de la Fontaine's heroic action in coming to warn them and of
      her courageous shot at the leader. Then Mrs. Frost and Nancy
      turned all their attention to the sick woman, caring for her
      as tenderly and devotedly as if she were their own.
      Half-an-hour later Dan returned from Monday Port with the
      family doctor, a grave silent old gentleman, in whose skill
      and discretion they trusted. After making an examination of
      his patient, he nodded his head encouragingly; gave a few
      directions to Mrs. Frost, and then left, promising to return
      later in the morning with medicines and supplies.
    </p>
    <p>
      At last, utterly worn out, the four men threw themselves on
      their beds and slept from sheer exhaustion. The sun was high
      in the sky when they came down stairs again and found Nancy
      waiting for them, and a smoking breakfast ready on the table.
      After greeting them, she pointed to the window, across the
      fields, almost bare of snow now and gleaming in the morning
      sunlight, to the bright waters of the cove. "See!" she cried,
      "the schooner has disappeared."
    </p>
    <p>
      They both looked. "By Jove, it has!" exclaimed Tom, rushing
      to the other side of the room, and peering out at the
      shipless sea. "Heigho! that's a relief. Pray God we've seen
      the last of her. The Marquis gone, the schooner
      gone,&#8212;we three together once more! Perhaps we shall
      begin to live again. Ah!" he added more softly, glancing with
      sudden sympathy at Dan's white drawn face, "I forgot the poor
      woman across the hall."
    </p>
    <p>
      Dan turned aside to hide his emotion, for though a load of
      anxiety had been lifted from his heart by the vanishing of
      <i>The Southern Cross</i>, he was sick with fear for the
      issue of the illness that had stricken down the woman he
      loved,&#8212;the woman who had proved her love for him by so
      terrible and so tragic a deed.
    </p>
    <p>
      As though aware that for the moment they were best left
      together alone, Nancy slipped away into the kitchen.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You love her, Dan?" asked Tom simply.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, Tom, with all my heart and soul. I staked my honour, my
      life, on her sincerity. And how she has proved that we were
      right to trust her! It can't be&#8212;she mustn't die&#8212;I
      couldn't bear it!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "She'll be all right, old fellow, don't worry; trust to your
      mother and Nance. It is only the shock of the terrible things
      she went through last night. Come on, we must take something
      to eat. Here is Nancy back again."
    </p>
    <p>
      There was no doubt of the fact, <i>The Southern Cross</i> had
      sailed away, vanished in the night as mysteriously as a week
      before she had appeared in the Strathsey and found moorings
      in the Cove. They did not count on the certainty of her not
      reappearing, however; and that night and for many nights
      thereafter the Inn was securely barricaded and a watch was
      kept, but neither then nor ever did <i>The Southern Cross</i>
      spread her sails in those waters again. She and her crew
      disappeared from their lives as completely as from the seas
      that stretched around the coast of Deal.
    </p>
    <p>
      Tom at once was for making a search in the Oak Parlour for
      the hidden treasure, but for the time Dan had no heart for
      the undertaking. He urged delay at least until Madame de la
      Fontaine had recovered; and as for Nancy she would not hear
      of it.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I can't bear to think of it,&#8212;of the trouble, the
      crime, the suffering of which it has been the cause. When our
      poor lady recovers, she will tell us all we need to know. I
      dread the Oak Parlour. I would not go into that room for
      anything in the world. Nor, believe me, Tom, could Dan do so
      now. You have guessed, haven't you, that he loves Madame de
      la Fontaine?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Of course, dearest; poor fellow! he betrays his love by
      every word and act. But good heaven, Nance, he couldn't marry
      her!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No&#8212;I don't know. I suppose not. But Dan will do as he
      will. To oppose him now would only make him the more
      wretched."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Does your mother know?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, and it is best she should not. I don't think she has the
      faintest suspicion."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, I suppose we had better let things rest awhile;" Tom
      assented, "but I swear I would like to get at the Oak Parlour
      and tear the secret out of it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "We must wait a bit, Tom dear. Let's just be glad now of what
      we have and are."
    </p>
    <p>
      And with that he drew her toward him and pressed for a
      definite answer to the question which so deeply concerned
      their future.
    </p>
    <p>
      "When Madame has recovered, when we know all and the mystery
      is solved," she replied; then she added inconsequently, "I
      wonder if we shall ever hear of the old Marquis again."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I wonder too," Tom exclaimed. "Though he has sailed away on
      <i>The Southern Cross</i>, I doubt if he will willingly leave
      the treasure behind him."
    </p>
    <p>
      "That dreadful treasure, Tom," cried Nancy. "I wish to
      goodness that the Marquis had it and might keep it always. We
      have each other."
    </p>
    <p>
      The evening of the second day after the terrible night of the
      attack, as Dan was entering the Inn from his work outside, he
      saw Madame de la Fontaine standing on the gallery under the
      Red Oak. It was the dusk of a mild pleasant day. She was clad
      still in her soft grey gown with furs about her waists and
      neck, and a grey scarf over her head. But there was something
      infinitely pathetic to him in the listlessness of her
      attitude, in the expression of a deep and melancholy that had
      come into her face.
    </p>
    <p>
      He stole swiftly to her side, and taking her hand in his
      pressed it to his lips, with a gesture that was as reverent
      as it was tender. For a moment something of the old
      brightness returned to her face as she bent her clear gaze
      upon his bowed head.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You love me, Dan?" she murmured.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You know I love you," he whispered passionately.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, I believe that you do," she said simply. "I shall
      always be thankful that I have won a good man's love." But
      suddenly she withdrew her hand, as the door of the bar
      opened. "See, here is Mademoiselle Nancy. She is coming for
      me: she is to be with me to-night. There is much for me to
      do."
    </p>
    <p>
      His heart surged within him; for he knew that in her simple
      words there was the tragic note of farewell; but he could not
      speak, he could not plead from that sad and broken woman for
      a passion that he knew but too well she could never give. He
      knew that she would leave him on the morrow, that his
      protests would be vain;&#8212;nay,&#8212;he would not even
      utter them! With the gathering of the darkness about the old
      Inn, he felt that the light in his heart was being obscured
      forever.
    </p>
    <p>
      The evening passed, the night. Morning came, and Madame de la
      Fontaine, accompanied by Nancy, left the Inn at the Red Oak
      for Coventry. There remained to Dan of his brief and tragic
      passion but one letter, which Tom handed to him that morning,
      and which, with despairing heart, he read and re-read a
      hundred times.
    </p>
    <p>
      "<i>Mon cher ami</i>:
    </p>
    <p>
      "You would forgive that I do not know well how to express
      myself as I desire, if you could read my heart. I bade you
      good-bye to-night under the Red Oak, tree for me of such
      tragic and such beautiful memories. I could not say farewell
      otherwise, dear friend, nor could you. We have loved
      sincerely, have we not? We will remember that in days to
      come; you will remember it even in the happier days to come
      that I pray God to grant you. I know all that you would say,
      my friend, but it cannot be. I must vanish from your life, be
      gone as completely as though I had never entered it. I love
      you deeply, tenderly, but I could not be to you what I know
      that now you wish. All the past forbids. The very tragedy
      that proved to you that I was worthy of your trust forbids.
      It is my only justification that I saved your lives, dear
      friend; but oh how bitterly I ask pardon of God for what has
      been done! Then also, dearest friend, my heart is no longer
      capable to bear passion, but only to feel great tenderness. I
      could not say these things, and yet they must be written. I
      cannot go with them unsaid. Certain other things must be told
      you in justice to all.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The story I told you on the schooner that day was largely
      truth. The General Pointelle, who was at the Inn at the Red
      Oak in 1814, was in reality the Mar&eacute;chal de
      Boisdhyver, the father of your foster-sister Nancy. She is
      truly Eloise de Boisdhyver. The Mar&eacute;chal returned to
      France to support the Emperor, as he wrote to madame your
      good mother; and he fell, as I told you, on the field of
      Waterloo. Admitting the importance of his mission, admitting
      my ambiguous relation to him (indefensible as it was), to
      have left the child as he did was an act of kindness. In
      truth the treasure concealed in the Oak Parlour is
      considerable, and it was always my purpose to return, but the
      necessary directions for finding it were not entrusted to me,
      but to the Marquis Marie-Anne, whom I didn't meet until many
      years after Waterloo. Then I was induced by the
      Marquis,&#8212;your old Marquis&#8212;to provide the money
      for the miserable enterprise, of which we know the tragic
      result. From the first I was uncertain about the method we
      adopted; and then soon after our arrival here, from a hundred
      little indications, I became convinced that Bonhomme was
      prepared to betray us, once we secured the treasure. As for
      the Marquis, I suppose that he sailed away on the schooner.
      You need fear him no longer. It was he, I am convinced, that
      conveyed to them the information of the loosened casement in
      the Oak Parlour, and unwittingly arranged for his own undoing
      and our salvation. At all events he will have realized now
      that he has hopelessly lost the fight. As for the treasure,
      by right it belongs to Eloise, who should not disdain to use
      it. I enclose a transcription of the other half of the torn
      scrap of paper, which will supplement the directions in your
      possession.
    </p>
    <p>
      "And as for me, my friend, I shall seek a shelter in my own
      country apart from the world in which I have lived so to
      little purpose and for the most part so unhappily. Believe
      me, so it is best. My heart is too full for me to express all
      that I feel for you.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Dear, dear friend, do not render me the more unhappy to know
      that my brief friendship with you shall have harmed your
      life. Your place is in the world, to take part in the life of
      your own country, not, dear Dan, to waste youth and energy in
      the fruitless desolation of this beautiful Deal, not above
      all to grieve for a woman who was unworthy.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I commend you to God, and I shall never forget you.
    </p>
    <p>
      "CLAIRE DE LA FONTAINE."
    </p>
    <p>
      It was with a heavy heart that Dan consented later in the
      morning to Tom's proposal that they force at last the secret
      of the Oak Parlour. He got the torn scrap of paper which he
      had found,&#8212;such ages ago it seemed, though it was
      scarcely a week,&#8212;in the old cabinet, and gave it to
      Tom, with the copy of the other half which Madame de la
      Fontaine had enclosed in her letter of farewell. The copy in
      Madame de la Fontaine's handwriting did not dovetail exactly
      into the jagged edges of the original portion, so that it was
      some time before they could get it into position for reading.
      But at last it was pasted together on a large bit of
      cardboard, and Tom, with the aid of a dictionary, succeeded
      in making a translation, which Dan took down.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Learning of the attempt of my Emperor to regain his glorious
      throne, I leave these hospitable shores to offer my sword to
      his cause. In case I do not return, the person having
      instructions for the discovery of this paper, which I tear in
      two parts, will find herein the necessary directions for the
      finding of my hidden treasure. This treasure, bullion,
      jewels, and coins, is concealed in a secret chamber in this
      Inn at the Red Oak. This secret chamber will be entered from
      the Oak Parlour. The hidden door is released by a spring
      beneath the hand of the lady in the picture nearest the
      fireplace on the north side of the room. A panel slides back
      revealing the entrance. Instructions as to the deposition of
      the treasure will be found in the golden casket therewith.
    </p>
    <p>
      "FRAN&Ccedil;OIS DE BOISDHYVER."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well?" said Tom, "the instructions are definite enough. Now
      we can put them to the test. Let's get to work at once. Wait
      a second till I get some wood, and well make a fire in the
      Oak Parlour." He filled his arms with logs from the bin under
      the settle in the bar, while Dan got the key for the north
      wing.
    </p>
    <p>
      Soon they were at the end of the old hall. It was with an
      effort that Dan brought himself to enter the room, for there
      flashed into his mind the vision of the last time he was
      there,&#8212;the cold silver moonlight, the dark burly form
      at the casement, the white drawn face of Claire de la
      Fontaine, and then the sharp flash and crack of the pistol.
    </p>
    <p>
      But with an impatient gesture, as if to thrust aside these
      tragic memories, he stepped across the threshold, and
      kneeling at the hearth, took the wood from Tom's arms and
      began to lay a fire. In the meantime his friend fumbled at
      the window casements, opened them, and let in the light of
      day and the pure air of out-of-doors. Soon the fire was
      crackling cheerily on the great andirons and casting its
      bright reflection on the dark oak panelling of the walls.
      Nothing had been disturbed&#8212;the old cabinet with the
      lions' heads stood opposite the window; the little
      <i>escritoire</i>, behind which he had crouched on the fatal
      night, was pushed back against the wall; the chairs, the
      tables, thick with dust, stood just as they had been standing
      for many years.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Do you realize, Tom," Dan said, as they stood side by side
      watching the blazing logs, "that it is sixteen years since
      General Pointelle stayed at the Inn and used this room? And
      the treasure, if there is any treasure, has been mouldering
      here all that time."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Let's get at it," said Tom. "I confess this place gives me
      the creeps. Have you got my translation of the directions?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, here it is." Dan spread out the bit of paper on one of
      the tables. "'The hidden door is released by a spring beneath
      the hand of the lady in the picture nearest the fireplace on
      the north side of the room.' Ah! that must be it&#8212;that
      old landscape let into the panel there." He walked nearer and
      examined it closely.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was a simple landscape, a garden in the foreground, forest
      and hills in the distance; and in the midst a lady in
      Eighteenth century costume caressing the head of a greyhound.
      It was beautifully mellow in tone, and might well have been a
      production of Gainsborough, though the Frosts had preserved
      no such tradition.
    </p>
    <p>
      Dan began to fumble, according to the directions, beneath the
      hand of the stately lady, pressing vigourously here and there
      with thumb and forefinger. "What's that?" he cried suddenly.
      A faint click, as of a spring in action, had sounded sharp in
      the stillness, but apparently with no other effect. "By
      Jove!" he exclaimed, "I believe there is something behind it.
      You heard the click? See there! the panel's opened a bit at
      the side." Surely enough, there was a long crack on the
      right&#8212;the length of the picture. "Here, let's push."
    </p>
    <p>
      Careless of the landscape, they put their hands upon the
      panel and pressed with all their force to the left. It
      yielded slowly, slipping back side-wise into the wall, and
      revealed a narrow opening, beyond which was a little circular
      stairway, leading apparently to some chamber above.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Here's the entrance to the secret chamber all right," Dan
      exclaimed. "Let's see where it goes to." He climbed in and
      started up the winding flight of stairs, Tom close behind
      him. About half way up the height of the Oak Parlour he came
      to a door. "Can't go any farther," he called to Tom.
    </p>
    <p>
      "What's the matter?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "There's a door here; it leads, evidently, into some little
      room between the Oak Parlour and the bedroom next. Who would
      ever have guessed it?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Can't you open the door; is it locked?"
    </p>
    <p>
      Dan fumbled about till he found and turned the knob. "No," he
      answered. "I've opened it. But it's pitch dark inside. Get a
      candle."
    </p>
    <p>
      He waited anxiously while Tom went below again to get a
      candle, a strange feeling of dread creeping over him now that
      at last he was about to penetrate the secret which had been
      of such tragic purport in his life. In a moment Tom had
      returned, a candle in either hand, one of which he handed to
      Dan, and together they entered the secret chamber. It was a
      little room scarcely six feet square, without light, and so
      far as they could see without ventilation. As they stood
      looking about the candle flickered strangely casting weird
      shadows over the walls. Suddenly they saw at their feet a
      tiny golden casket, and then, in a corner of the room a row
      of small cloth bags, several of which had been ripped open,
      so that a stream of golden coin flowed out upon the floor.
      Nearby stood another little golden chest; and Tom, lifting
      the lid, started back astonished. For there sparkling and
      glowing in the candle light as though they were living moving
      things, lay a heap of precious gems&#8212;diamonds, rubies,
      opals, sapphires, amethysts, that might have been the ransom
      of a princess.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It's a treasure right enough!" cried Dan. "But what's this?"
      He turned to the opposite corner where there lay a heap of
      something covered with a great black cloth. They approached
      gingerly, and Dan stooped and picked up an edge of the
      covering. "It's a cloak," he exclaimed. Startled, he paused
      for a moment; then quickly pulled the cloak away, uncovering,
      to their horror, a lifeless body.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Tom!" Dan cried in a ghastly whisper. "A man has died here."
    </p>
    <p>
      Tom held the candle over the gruesome heap. "But who?" he
      asked in a hoarse whisper.
    </p>
    <p>
      For reply Dan pointed significantly to the cloak which he had
      dropped on the floor.
    </p>
    <p>
      "What!" cried Tom. "Good God! the old Marquis! But how? I
      don't understand&#8212;" he added, staring blankly.
    </p>
    <p>
      "He must have come here the afternoon he pretended to leave
      the Inn, must have learned the secret passage somehow. It was
      he who loosened the casement in the Oak Parlour that night,
      and got his message to Bonhomme. He was waiting here for him.
      Can't you see it all&#8212;the panel slipped back; he
      couldn't open it again; Bonhomme didn't come; he was caught
      like a rat in a trap."
    </p>
    <p>
      "My God, what a fate!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "We can't leave his body here. We must give it decent burial,
      you and I, Tom, for we can't let this be known."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And the treasure?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah! there was treasure, wasn't there? Wait, let's see what
      is in the little casket." He picked up the golden casket that
      they had stepped over as they entered, and raised the lid. A
      single scrap of paper was inside on the little velvet
      cushion, inscribed in the same handwriting as the paper of
      directions, "<i>Pour Eloise de Boisdhyver</i>."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But come," Tom whispered, holding back the door, "I can't
      stand this any longer. We'll come back again, and do what
      must be done. Come, Dan."
    </p>
    <p>
      Dan gave a last look into the strange horrible little room,
      then he followed his friend. They closed the door behind them
      and crept slowly down the narrow winding stairs to the Oak
      Parlour, leaving the treasure in the secret chamber and the
      Marquis guarding it in the silence and darkness of death.
      What had been so basely striven for was sorrily won at last.
    </p>
    <center>
      THE END.
    </center>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>







<pre>





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