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CHAPTER XIX

RED BLOOD AND BLUE BLOOD

HREE nights later, namely on the Saturday following Christmas, while all but the suffering were asleep, a pebble had been flung at an attic window of St. Neot's Parsonage. Without waking Genny, or looking to see whence came that stone, Charity Hornbuckle hurried into her clothes and crept softly, not for secrecy's sake but silence's, down the stair and out into the arms of the lover, though he was white with snow. Bringing him in, boots in hand, she put the morning's kindling and a log on the hearth, set Luke in front of the blaze, and hung the kettle on the hook to make tea.

"Is that overseer comin' a'ter ye still? asked the young fisherman, something roughly.

'He durn't come here. Seemingly he'm 'fraid o' Parson. But I tell 'ee, Luke, ef I sets foot in Tamerhill, sure 'nough there he be, lookin' for me; an' then, I you knows I can run, don't 'ee?"

runs

Luke sipped his tea, as his hands embraced the hot mug; but he took small notice of the girl's endeavour to wean him from his jealously.

He only scowled as he sipped and sipped.

Times I did run from thee, boy: that wer' 'cos I loved 'ee. An' now I du run from he; an' that's 'cos I hate un."

I reckon," he said, seeming to ignore her approaches but suddenly rising and walking to and fro in stockinged

feet, 'tis hell in my chest here . . nothin' but hangin's an' shootin's an' stickin's with that long French knife. Cherry, I keep it sharp for my job, too. His soul ain't worth twopence. Times I reckons li'l Ben du be trottin' by my side with his big tabby cat in his arms, or ridin' cock-a-horse on my shoulders; or I sees un in the front o' the fight limpin' with that slug in his foot. An' I'd go to Hell for ever an' ever to see 'im an' Mother together ag'in dun know what I wouldn't du— short o' lettin' Cherry Hornbuckle wed him what's more blacker than a score o' murderin' lewtenants."

Then he sat again to drink a second mug of tea. "Luke, boy," Cherry said, dropping to her knees by his side, and resting elbows on his knee," 'twould take a great load off o' my heart, if you'd swear as you won't kill that officer. He be weaker than you, lad: wouldn't have no chanst!

"

'Dun know as I want he to have no chanst! muttered Luke, over the edge of the mug.

'Nay, but ye du, Luke. I want he to come to a bad end, gallows an' that; but I won't have my man as is to be dirty his hands with it; 'tis dirt as would stick to 'em an' dirty every blessed thing they touched a'terwards an' so I tell 'ee fine an' straight! An' ye've got to make a better maid o' Charity Hornbuckle-an' p'raps a better wife o' she someday!'

Luke rose quickly, crushed the girl in his huge arms and strode away into the darkness; and so silently that, though she went to the door and looked after him, she could not guess in which direction he was gone. Miserable with fear, she went to bed, but not to sleep.

An hour later, past one o'clock, Luke went down into the great cave of Skeleton Priory, knocked loudly at the door of the lieutenant's cabin and entered.

He threw on the bed the bundle he carried and, opening it, displayed a fisherman's oilskins, heavy knitted jersey and stockings, boots and sou'-wester, The lieutenant was wide awake.

Us'll be obligated if ye'll get into thicky here oilers, Mr. Lewtenant," said Luke, "an' come 'long o' me. Ye can have yer liberty, now ye be hearty enough for a trip in our lugger. Dr. Ralph he sez 'tedn' safe to keep ye lyin' here no longer . . . not if you'm to get your health ag'in. An' us durn't let ye know where 'tis ye've bin tarryin.' So I must blindfold ye 'fore we get outside."

The prisoner without a word made haste to dress, though he needed Luke's help. Then for the first time he realized the extent of the caves, as he was hurried across them and along passages so low that, although he could walk nearly upright, his guide must go bent and seemed almost to fill the narrow space with his great form. Never in his life had Reginald Walrond felt so small; never before, not even as he lay sick in his cell, had he realized that he was inferior, dependent upon the good faith of one who, whatever his social degradation in the world, was his natural superior. And he was beholden to this fellow, clung to him like a child as they skirted a narrow ledge, many feet below which the lantern revealed a pit of water-blackness.

"If a man slips over," said Luke drily," he never sez nothin' an' never rises. 'Ent no bottom to thicky pool."

The passage at last turned sharply and opened into yet another cave stored with tubs. Here a heavy wrapper was thrown over the prisoner's head, leaving free only nose and mouth. It smelt vilely of tar and stale fish, and brought to memory his agony when he hung over the precipice. Then, after passing sideways through an even narrower passage for a short distance, they came into the open night, as the blindfolded man discovered by the bitter coldness and the snow that beat upon hands and face. There followed a walk across wet sand, then a beach, but so hurriedly that the convalescent stumbled and had often fallen but for Luke's hand. Mr. Walrond said never a word: for

there now came, close upon this sense of inferiority that was dogging his footsteps, the fear of foul play: he realized that this was the very smuggler who had served him so brutally at the quarry. Yet he could not believe his illness to be part of the plot: else how had that clever physician, the good-hearted Irishman, or the little Cornish parson with the stern face and the kind smile, borne a consenting share in it? He began to extricate his eyes from their covering. Luke looked round quickly and gripped his captive's hands.

"Curse you!" hissed the officer, as if in confession of his impotence. "I'll not come another step till you tell me where I am and where we're going!

'Look'ee 'ere, Master Lewtenant," said the other, with a hand so heavy upon Walrond's shoulder that it seemed to be thrusting his feet into the stones, "'tis thicky way where ye now be, ain't where ye'll be long, without you folla' me an' quit bawlin'. An' where you'm going to, 'tis God A'mighty knows."

Mr. Walrond shuffled shakily along. But he must show no fear before this lout.

"Your best chance lays in comin' along o' me, Uncle Lewtenant." He always uttered the word lewtenant as though it was one of reproach and contempt. Bein' a fisherman, an' a smuggler, my word is better than a soadger-officer's what'll damn his tuppeny soul to hang a ennocent boy. I tell'ee, that young man, whose blood I see on your hand, didn't have no knife!"' They trudged then for a few paces along a level path, and then:

I don't trust they hands of yourn, an' I'll tie 'em up for 'ee, in case Satan finds more mischief for 'em!'

Quickly each wrist was in the clove-hitch of a small rope and tied behind the back. Resistance and protest were equally useless.

Presently they reached looser shingle and wet sand again, then into a boat which Luke pushed out through the shallow waves.

Since his outburst on emerging from the cave, the prisoner had said never a word. The careful blindfolding suggested that he might be set free at some distance away, so that he should never recognize the present surroundings. But now fleet footsteps came racing towards them over the shingle, and the prisoner began to hope that some interruption was at hand that might give him a chance of escape, notwithstanding his weakness.

Luke peered through the thick-falling snowflakes, recognized Charity and waited.

Though it was now long past midnight she must have heard their voices as they emerged from the cliff not more than twenty or thirty yards from the vicarage ; and, keenly apprehensive for her lover's safety-it being possible that at any time he might pay her a flying visit-she had hastily put on some clothes and gone out, in spite of the snow, and made her way by a perilous path down the rocky cliff. Guided she knew not by what instinct she soon spied the two figures making for the sands, left bare by the tide between the harbour and Trannion Head, and identifying Luke, guessed who the other might be. Fear filled her heart, yet made her bold. Sure that the lieutenant would do nothing now to escape, Luke, still standing in shallow water, seized the boat's nose and drew it aground once more, while he had a word with his sweetheart.

Luke, Luke," whispered Cherry, "I trust ye, I trust ye, but I be ter❜ble feared. S'pose the devil got loose in ye, he might hang ye too. Do'ee let me come along o' ye now-so I'd know you was both safe."

The offer was irresistible. "In you tumble, Auntie," said the young giant with a laugh, making tender fun of her solicitude, "so long's as you don't come 'tween me an' my frien.' Us've got something to argy whiles I pull out to the Sweet Home." Then divesting himself of his oilskin and wrapping it about her, "You set down in the bows. I won't have you

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