University of Virginia Library

3. CHAPTER III.

Shirley.

Whilst the Secretary was undergoing the Captain's
preparatory training in the Fort, the Skipper
was no less busy in making provision for the meeting.
Having secured the services of a second, he
betook himself on board of his vessel, which he caused
to be loosed from her mooring and then dropped down
the river opposite the creek of St. Inigoe's, where he
anchored—his purpose being to take a position convenient
to the spot chosen for the encounter, and to
which he might proceed without suspicion from the
townspeople.

Cornwaleys's Cross was situated near the most
inland extremity of a deep and narrow inlet, known
by the name of St. Luke's creek—a branch of St.
Inigoe's—on a piece of meadow, surrounded by
woods, immediately at the foot of a range of hills,
not more than four miles, by land, from the Port of
St. Mary's, and about half that distance by water

from the anchorage of the Olive Branch. This spot
was traditionally notorious to the inhabitants of the
town, as the scene of a melancholy event that had
happened nearly fifty years anterior to the date of
this story, in which a gentleman of repute in the
early history of the province, Captain Cornwaleys,
had the misfortune, on a hunting excursion, accidentally
and with fatal effect to lodge the contents of his
carbine in the bosom of his friend. The bitterness of
this unhappy gentleman's grief, unallayed by active
and meritorious service in the early wars of the
colony, induced him, in the decline of his life, to
erect a hermitage on the spot, whither he retired, in
obedience to a penitential vow, and dedicated the
remnant of his days to austere self-denial and religious
devotion. A cross of locust, now swayed from
its perpendicular by age, still reared its shattered
frame above the ruins of the ancient hermitage, of
which there yet remained a few mouldering logs,
mingled with the fragments of the crushed roof, and
the hearth-stone showing the scorches of long-quenched
fires in the light of which the soldier-hermit had
undergone his painful vigils of prayer. A certain
superstitious notoriety was thus conferred upon the
place, and by some strange association peculiar to
the habits of those times, in which the sword and
cross still held a mystical relation in the popular belief,
it had grown to be the customary appointed
trysting ground for those personal combats which
constituted, at that era, almost a lawful and approved
ordinance of society.

In the vicinity of this spot, about half an hour before

noon, occasional glimpses through the foliage
might have been had of Captain Dauntrees and Albert
Verheyden, followed by Matchcote, the Captain's
man,—all mounted,—as they descended the
hill in the rear of St. Luke's, by a winding, gravelly
road, partially overgrown with bay-tree, alder, and
laurel. The murmur of cheerful conversation, and
now and then an outflash of audible mirth in the voice
of the Captain, for some moments before they arrived
at their halting point, would have puzzled a casual
hearer to guess the nature of their errand: and when
they reached the level ground and finally reined up
their horses, hard by the old, wind-shaken cross, Dauntrees
was still engaged in narrating to the Secretary
some story of pleasant interest, which had evidently,
for the time, drawn off at least the narrator's thoughts
from the main purpose of the day.

“By our patron! Master Verheyden,” said the
commander of the Fort, as he carefully clambered
down from his saddle and drew forth his watch, “we
have here reached our ground before I was aware of
it: a cheerful companion has a marvellous faculty
in abridging a long road.—The adventures of this
Claude de la Chastre would wear out a winter night
in the telling, and never a drowsy ear in the company.
I purpose, on a fit occasion, Master Albert, to
rehearse to you more of that worthy soldier's exploits.
He served under six kings, and fought fifteen
duels,—the last at three score and ten. I have seen
his chapel and tomb with my own eyes at Bourges,
and his true effigies cut in stone.”

“I have been but a listener, Captain,” said the

Secretary with a smile, “and would willingly hear
more of that valiant gentleman, when we have
brought our own adventures to an end. Methinks
now, we may find other occupation in the matter we
have in hand.”

“Why as to that, Master Verheyden,” replied the
Captain, “as we have very diligently perpended all
matters relating to this meeting, before we quitted
the Fort, and have now nothing left to do but to wait
for the accolade, the less thought we give it the better.
We should go to this pinking and scratching as
a mumbling old priest goes to mass,—even as a thing
of custom, wherein there is but little premeditation:
—and yet, by my gossip, not exactly as a priest goes
to mass, for he goes hungry and dry: I would by no
means have it so. Here, Matchcote, that flask from
thy wallet? I have ever found that when an affair
of business or sport be on hand, it is good grace to
begin it, first by devoutly drawing thy sleeve, like a
Dutch toper, across thy mouth, and then to take such
reasonable and opportune refreshment as shall give a
fillip to the spirit without clouding the brain. And
so, by way of example, as your senior, Master Verheyden,”
he added, taking the bottle from the servant's
hand and applying it to his mouth, “here I
drink—Good fortune to our venture!

as the rhyme has it. You will drink, master?”

“I pray you, excuse me, Captain,” replied Albert;
“my head will not stand so early a freedom, and, to

say the truth, I have no relish for food or drink until
this affair be done. I scarce ate this morning.”

“Over-anxiousness, Master Secretary! too eager
for thy first entry upon the field of Mars!—ha, ha!—
the token of a green soldier, a callow martialist; but
it is natural, and will wear off when thou hast fought
half-a-dozen of these bouts. I went through it all
myself. In my 'prenticeship I could neither sleep
nor eat—faith! I will not say drink—at the contemplation
of a pitched field, but was ever taken up with
the thought of making ready. There was always
some tag in my bandalier to be looked to—some
strap awry—some furbishing of musquetoon, pike or
sword to be cared for:—works of supererogation! as
the church has it. But it is pleasant to behold how
use in the wars corrects a qualmish appetite, and
contents one with his accommodation:—it teaches
the stomach the custom of instant service. So keep
thyself cool, Master Verheyden,—it is a cardinal
point of discretion. And, I beseech you, be not fanciful
in your conceit of skill with your weapon; for
though you play well, you have a swordsman to deal
with. I have seen some whipsters who were over-fantastic
and dainty in their love of the quarrel; and
it was as much as their tutors could do to bring them
to that modesty of opinion which should put them on
the necessary cautions of fence. Such hawklings get
their lesson in good time: this world has store of
rubbers for a vaulting temper. I pray, you, therefore,
Master Secretary, bear yourself humbly, as it were.
Remember, this is thy first quarrel.”

“You shall find me tractable in all things, worthy
Captain, to your better experience.”

“I have seen,” continued Dauntrees, “almost as
many of these dudgeon-prickings as the renowned
Claude de la Chastre himself; and have found, in
nine chances out of ten, your cool and cheery gentleman
to get the odds of your choleric hot-blood. I
had a comrade in Flanders who was a master in this
sort—and, by the bell and candle! a priest. A most
comical churchman, truly! His name was Roger
O'Brien, an Irish Jesuit, and most notable for many
perfections both of the book and the sword. From a
liking to his old trade—for he served with Prince
Rupert before he took up the cassock—he must needs,
for a fancy, put on the red coat again, and buckle his
cheese-toaster to his thigh, and, in this disguise, throw
himself abroad amongst the lanskennets and swashbucklers
of Flanders. There I met him, and we journeyed
together to Paris. Ha, ha, ha! I saw him foil
the whole Sorbonne on a great prize question! There
was a thesis debated—a quodlibet wrangle concerning
some knot in the cobweb of theology—where the
whole world was challenged to the dispute. Thereupon,
my Irish friend and myself—both in our livery
—went swaggering in to see and hear how these
Frenchmen chopped their logic. The thesis was debated
in Latin; when presently, to the amazement of
all—myself no less than others—up rises my priest to
say somewhat to the point. Well, a Spanish cavalier
there present, thinking my comrade could be no
other than a man of the wars in his cups, rudely pulls
him by the skirt to take his seat: but he, nowise

heeding this interruption, pressed on in his discourse,
and poured out such a flood of choice Latin, most
select in phrase and apt in argument, that the amazement
of the company was greatly increased, and our
priestly martialist won the whole glory of the day.
The Sorbonne was mute, and the assembly in an
ecstasy of wonder. Whereupon departing, father
O'Brien touches the Spanish cavalier upon the shoulder,
and whispers in his ear a challenge to meet him,
at sunset, in the church-yard of St. Genevieve, which
the Spaniard could not choose avoid. I went with
my friend to the rendezvous; and on the way, amongst
other discourse touching the arrangement of the duel,
I shall not forget his commendation of this virtue of
coolness, by which I have more than once profited:
for he was, Master Verheyden, a most expert swordsman,
and singularly versed in the practique of these
single combats, and showed it too on that day; for
our testy Spaniard, a fellow of pepper and ginger,
was whipt through the lungs whilst he was flourishing
at a stoccado. Said father O'Brich to me,—a
man who plays at this craft of phlebotomy, should
carry a light heart and a merry eye before his adversary,
and, like a rake-helly royster who makes
free of the commodity of a tavern, should give no
thought to the reckoning. It was excellent advice,
Master Verheyden, and I commend it to your notice
now.”

“I shall do my best,” replied the Secretary; “and
if I should chance, Master Dauntrees, to fail in some
necessary punctilio, you will pardon it, for my unskilfulness.
An acolyte of the Seminary of Antwerp

has but scant opportunity to make himself master of
the observances of the duello.”

“By my honour as a man, Master Secretary, I
have not seen amongst the most practised cavaliers,
a gentleman who comes to his appointment with better
grace, than this same acolyte of the Seminary of
Antwerp.”

“You commend beyond my desert, good Captain,
though I have reasonable trust in my sword. Whilst
my Lord tarried some three months in Brabant, being
at Louvain, I had a master there—an Italian, one
Signor Sacchari—who taught me to ride the great
horse and manage my weapon, both rapier and long-sword.
And, to say sooth,—though it should shame
me to confess it,—I do not dislike this quarrel with
the Skipper. I do not perceive,—and yet I may misjudge
the world's opinion,—but I do not perceive how
I may be blamed for taking up this quarrel. I tell
you truly, Master Dauntrees,” added the Secretary,
blushing, “and I would beg you say so—to her, Master
Dauntrees—if adverse fortune should befall me on
this ground to-day—that I would gladly encounter
for Mistress Blanche, our maiden of the Rose Croft,
a sharper war and more perilous hazard than this
single combat with a rude and boisterous seaman;
and now, with right good will I seek to do her honour
against the body of this unruly Skipper. Say so to
her, I pray you, good Captain Dauntrees.”

“Tush, man, you heed not my preaching! When
thou goest to dying-speeches, it is summing up of the
reckoning. A fig's end for the message! thou shalt
bear it to the maiden thyself.—Blame thee, Master

Secretary! Who would blame, I would fain know,
a brave man who does battle for so peerless a maiden?
By my manhood! I think that nothing short of
the maiden herself will be fit guerdon for this exploit.
He was a wise and a courteous king, as the ballad
feigns him, that gave his daughter to the brave knight
who overthrew his adversary in combat. Now, I will
take on me to say that no king of the ballad ever had
more need to be rid of a pestilent suitor to his daughter,
than our worshipful friend, old Anthony Warden,
has to be free of this sea-dog. Thou shalt fairly win
a most fair meed: and here, once more, I do thee
honour in a sup, with this pledge—
There's verse for it—halting verse, ha, ha! Master
Verheyden, but of an honest coinage: it comes from
thine and the maiden's well-wisher.” And with this
flash of merriment, the Captain again plied the flask,
and spent some moments laughing at his jest, when
he suddenly ceased with the remark, “I hear the
stroke of oars—this Master Cocklescraft is at hand.
He is punctual, for it is just noon. We shall see him
anon.”

It was as the Captain said: for at that moment
Cocklescraft, attended by two followers, was seen
coming up from the margin of St. Luke's, across the
meadow, to the place appointed for the combat.

Cocklescraft's bearing was stern; his brow high
charged with passion, and a keen resentment flashed
from his eye, as he advanced into the presence of

his adversary. A slight salute passed between the
combatants, and for some moments each party drew
aside.

In the presence of his antagonist Dauntrees' whole
deportment was changed. He had heretofore, as
we have seen, assumed a cheerful vein of intercourse
with his principal, considerately adapted with a view
to amuse his mind and give him the necessary assurance
which the successful conduct of the enterprise
required—a labour, however, which was in no
degree rendered necessary by the circumstances of
the case, as it was very apparent that the Secretary,
although a novice in the practice of the quarrel, was
altogether self-possessed and even eager for the issue.
The Captain, however, was not slow to perceive that
there was still in his carriage that hurried motion
and too anxious restlessness which betokened the
novelty of the situation in which he found himself,
and the earnestness of his desire to acquit himself to
the satisfaction of his own feelings. Through all
this cheerful colloquy of the Captain, Albert's manner
was grave, and scarce responded to his companion's
merriment; but now that the moment of
action arrived, he grew apparently more light-hearted;
whilst, on the other hand, Dauntrees became
serious, and addressed himself to the business
in hand, like a careful and provident man.

“The Skipper is surly,” said Dauntrees, as he stood
apart with the Secretary, wiping the sword that was
to be used by his friend. “I am glad to see it: it
denotes passion. Receive the assault from him;
stand on your defence, giving ground slightly to his

advance: then suddenly, when you have whipped him
to a rage, as you will surely do, give back the attack
hotly; follow it up, as you did this morning in practice
with me, and you will hardly fail to find him at
disadvantage; then thrust home—for the shorter you
make this quarrel the better for your strength.”

“I am more at my ease in this play than you think
me,” replied Albert, smiling; “you shall find it so.
Pray let us go to our business.”

The Captain, with two rapiers in his hand, advanced
to the ground occupied by Cocklescraft and his
friends.

“I would be acquainted with thy second, Master
Cocklescraft,” he said. “Here are our swords: shall
we measure?”

“Master Roche Del Carmine,” replied the Skipper,
as he presented a swarthy Portuguese seaman, the
mate of the Olive Branch; “this other companion is
but a looker on.”

“I would thou had'st matched me,” replied Dauntrees,
hastily, and with some show of displeasure,
“with an antagonist of better degree, Master Skipper,
than this mate of thine. He was but a boatswain
within the year past. Our quality deserved that you
should sort us with gentlemen, at least.”

“Gentlemen!” exclaimed the Portuguese, in a passion;
“St. Salvadore! are we not gentlemen enough
for you. We belong to the Coast—”

“Peace, sirrah!” hastily interrupted Cocklescraft:
“Prate not here—leave me to speak! Master Roche
Del Carmine is my follower, not my second, further
than as your bearing, Master Dauntrees, may render

one needful to me. I came hither to make my own
battle.”

“I came to this field,” replied Dauntrees, “prepared
with my sword to make good the quarrel of my
friend against any you might match me with. So,
second or follower, bully or bravo at your heels,
Master Cocklescraft, I will fight with this Master
Roche.”

“That is but a boy's play, and I will none of it,
Captain Dauntrees,” said Cocklescraft, angrily. “This
custom of making parties brings the quarrel to an end
at the first drawing of blood. I wish no respite upon
a scratch; my demand stops not short of a mortal
strife.”

“My sword, sir!” said Albert Verheyden, hastily
striding up to the Captain and seizing his sword.
“This is my quarrel alone; Captain Dauntrees you
strike no blow in it. Upon your guard, sir!” he
added, whilst his eye flashed fire, and his whole figure
was lighted up with the animation of his anger. “To
your guard! I will have no parley!”

“Are you bereft!” exclaimed Dauntrees, interposing
with his sword between the parties, and looking
the Secretary steadfastly in the face. “Back,
Master Verheyden, this quarrel must proceed orderly.”

Then conducting his principal some paces off, the
other yielding to his guidance, he again cautioned
him against losing his self-command by such bursts
of passion. The Secretary promised obedience and
begged him to proceed.

“Go to it, in cuerpo—strip to thy shirt, Master

Albert!” said the Captain. When the Secretary had,
in obedience to this order, thrown aside his cloak and
doublet, and come to the spot designated by his
second as his position in the fight, Dauntrees once
more approached the opposite party, went through the
formal ceremony of measuring swords, and then returned
and placed the weapon in Albert's hand, at the
same time drawing his own and planting himself
within a few paces of his friend.

“We are ready, sir!” he said, bowing to the Skipper's
attendant.

Cocklescraft lost no time in taking his ground;
Master Roche del Carmine, carefully keeping out of
the way of harm from any party.

“The onset was made by the Skipper with an
energy that almost amounted to rage, and it was with
a most lively interest, not unmingled with pleasure,
that Dauntrees watched the eye of Albert Verheyden,
and saw it playing with an expression of confidence
and self-command whilst, with admirable dexterity,
he parried his antagonist's assault.

“Bravo!” exclaimed Dauntrees, more than once
during this anxious moment. “To it, Master Verheyden!
passado—hotly, master!” he cried aloud, at
the same time flourishing his own blade above his
head when he saw Albert return the attack with great
animation upon his adversary, who was thus compelled
to give ground.

This rapid exchange of thrust and parry was suddenly
arrested by the sword of the Skipper being
struck from his hand. The Secretary had disarmed
him, and instead of following up his advantage, generously

halted and brought the point of his own
sword to the ground.

“The fight is done; we hold you, sir, at mercy!”
said Dauntrees, promptly interposing, and placing
his foot upon the Skipper's rapier. “Master Verheyden
has come hither upon your challenge; you
will acknowledge that your life is in his hands. You
have had your satisfaction, sir.”

As the Captain said this he stepped one pace aside,
and Cocklescraft at the same instant picked up the
rapier from the ground, and madly called out for a
renewal of the fight, as with extended arm he presented
himself again upon his guard.

“Instead of the favour that has been shown thee
in sparing thy worthless life, thou deservest to be
cloven to the chine for this dastardly bravado!” exclaimed
Dauntrees, as his spirit suddenly kindled into
wrath, notwithstanding the advice he had given the
Secretary to keep his temper. “Out upon thee for
a disgrace to thy calling!” he added, in a tone of
angry reproof, as advancing nearer to the Skipper
he struck the extended rapier with a dexterous underblow
and made it spin in the air above his head; “I
could almost find it in my conscience to spit thee upon
my sword.”

“By the Virgin, I will not see my Captain put
upon!” said Roche del Carmine, as he now advanced
towards the combatants, though still keeping a respectful
space between himself and the Captain,
whose skill of fence he had no mind to try.

“Nor I!” exclaimed the other attendant, at the
same time drawing his hanger and shouting, “Whoop,

Master Cocklescraft! Perros, a la savanna! For the
Brothers of the Coast!—let them have it in the fashion
of the Costa Rica!”

“Caitiffs!” vociferated Dauntrees, as he and Albert
Verheyden now sprang forward to engage with
the attendants—

“Back to your boat, you knaves! is it thus you
serve me?” interposed Cocklescraft, thrusting his
officious followers aside, and then whispering to the
mate, “there is an end of it—begone!”

“By my sword, but here is a crossing of our plot!”
exclaimed Dauntrees, on looking towards the range
of upland over which the road towards the town lay,
and discovering no less a personage than the Proprietary
and father Pierre approaching them on
horseback; “we have been informed on and tracked.
Thanks to our luck! his Lordship may do nothing
better than rail against us, as is his wont. He has
ever had a quick nose to scent out a duel—ay, and a
nimble tongue, Master Verheyden, to reprove one:
this is not my first experience of his reprimand. We
shall have it without stint presently.”

“To the boat, quickly, and put off!” said Cocklescraft,
with a sullen angry tone to his companions.
“I may find another day to right myself,” he muttered,
as he gathered up his sword, cloak, and hat, and,
with a moody swagger, hurriedly strode towards
his boat which lay in a direction opposite to that
from which the Proprietary was hastening towards
the scene. In a few moments he had embarked, and
was seen shooting along the glassy surface of St.
Luke's, until he was speedily lost to view by rounding

one of the turns of the creek. In the mean time
Lord Baltimore and the priest arrived on the ground
of the combat before the Secretary had yet resumed
his doublet.

“Ah, my son, my son!” exclaimed the good father
Pierre, as he pricked his steed forward in advance of
the Proprietary, and made haste to alight and throw
his arms around Albert's neck, kissing his cheeks,
whilst the tears flowed down his own; “my son Albert,
how could you be so unmindful of poor father
Pierre, to give him all this pain? We saw swords
flashing in the sun, and heard the clank of steel.
Are you hurt, my son? You look pale.”

“I am not hurt, father, more than that I am pained
to see you here,” replied the Secretary, as he affectionately
placed his arm across the old man's
shoulders; “our quarrel has ended without the shedding
of blood.”

“Albert Verheyden,” said the Proprietary gravely,
reining up beside the young man, “I take it much
amiss that one of my household should dare to contemn
the laws of this province by coming forth to
such appointment as I find you concerned in here.
I had reason to hope for the setting of good example
from him whom I chose for my Secretary; but I find
you fostering an evil usage which is worthy no better
countenance than such as it hath gained from hot-bloods
and rufflers. Fie on thee, Albert! Is it for
thee, who hast but lately changed thy square cloister-bonnet
for the feathery gewgaw of a page—is it for
thee to play at bilbo and buff like a common royster?
Have we no shallow-pated coxcomb with the privilege

of wearing a sword, who, for lack of other
quality to be noted by, hath learned a trick to vapour
and strut, and swear filthy oaths, and break God's
commandments and men's peace with his bloody
broils, but that a scholar and gentleman, nursed in
all kindly studies—ay, and who hath been reared,
Master Verheyden, within the pale of the altar—
must needs turn buckler-man with a rude sea-rover,
and quarrel and strike as in an ale-house fray? Oh,
it doth grieve me to find you thus!”

“My honoured Lord,” replied Albert, not venturing
to raise his eyes from the ground, “I do confess
my fault, which with forethought and weighing of all
consequence, except my Lord's displeasure, I did
commit. I was called hither by such defiance as it
would not have consisted with my manhood to refuse.
I have sought no companionship with the
Skipper, nor knew that such man was, till within a
week—and even now was prone to slight him off, as
one not worthy of my resentment; but, my good Lord,
venturing to presume upon my cloistered schooling
and my unskillfulness with my sword, he must taunt
with a question of my courage, and defy me hither.”

“And if a fellow who lives upon the element of his
own brawls, must take a conceit to exalt his base condition
by having a contest with his betters, shall he
compass it by bragging words and bullying questions?
Does it mend his manners, or exalt thy deservings to
have a pass with him on the green sward? Would
it comfort thee to bring away from this field a hand
red with his blood? Captain Dauntress, how comes

it to pass that I see you here? Your age should have
given you the privilege to be a peace-maker, not the
fomenter of a quarrel.”

“My Lord,” said the Captain, folding his arms
across his breast and advancing one foot to give a
more sturdy fixedness to his attitude, whilst an expression
half comic lurked in his eye, “I am an old
ban-dog that has been chidden too often for barking
to heed reproof in my old age. Your Lordship hath
the credit of a persevering spirit to abolish the duello
within the province; I foretell you will even give over
before your work is done: it were but lost pains, if
I might be so bold as to say so—at least until your
Lordship shall find a more mannerly brood of lieges.
By the mass! we shall win sainthood for our patience,
if, in these saucy times, we may reach such perfection
of humility as to brook the insolences of some of
your Lordship's hopeful children of the province.
The Skipper was rude to our Mistress Blanche,
—and the Secretary, like a cavalier, such as becomes
your Lordship's household, rebuked him for
it; and thereupon grew a considered challenge,
which Master Verheyden accepting, as, in my poor
judgment, he could not otherwise do, I came hither
with him to see fair play. It is well I did—for, to
my thinking, this seaman would not have stopped
at any measure of treachery. He has a deep hate
against the Secretary, and the lesson Master Verheyden
has taught him will not much sweeten his
humour.”

“Thy profession, Captain Dauntrees, gives thee a
license which makes it but lost breath to chide thee,”

said the Proprietary calmly, nowise offended with
the soldier's familiar and rebellious good nature;
“and, to say the truth, there is much rude speech and
provoking action to tempt even a more governed
man into quarrel; yet I would not have you believe
that I take this transgression so lightly. Albert Verheyden,
you will incur my deepest displeasure, if,
under any pretext or advice, you farther prosecute
this feud. Captain Dauntrees, I command you to
look to it, and charge you to arrest the first who
seeks to revive the quarrel.”

“On the faith of my love to your Lordship,” replied
Albert, “I promise that I will not again offend.”

“My dear son,” interposed the priest, still holding
the Secretary's hand, “my experience has long admonished
me, that to preach restraint upon the desires
of the young is but struggling up the channel
of a torrent: it is hard to teach patience under wrong
to those whose blood is hot with the fever of passion.
Still, mon enfant, though I may not hope to persuade
you—for verily I know the censure of the world
leaves to a temper such as thine no choice but obedience
to the law of custom—still, my dear son, you
will sometimes, perhaps, take old father Pierre's words
to heart: he would entreat you to reflect, that although
offence may abound, and the fashion of men's opinions
may set disgrace upon the refusal to right a contrived
wrong; and though the pride of manhood may
take pleasure in strife—yea, even though thy conscience
shall tell thee of a just cause, and worthy of
vindication by the sword—yet the heroism of suffering
hath better acceptation with Heaven than all the

heroism of action. Do not forget neither, my dear
Master Albert, that thou art linked in this world with
others, whose right to thee and to thy affections thou
durst not violate but at the hazard of the displeasure
of the God who placed thee here and gave thee to thy
kind. How should father Pierre have borne the bereavement
of his son, if thine adversary had chanced
to be too skilful for thy defence? There is yet another,”
said the good priest, drawing nigh to the Secretary's
ear and speaking almost in a whisper, “who takes
this peril even more to heart than father Pierre.
Ah, Master Albert, you did not think of them that
loved you!”

The Secretary blushed at the last allusion of the
priest, as he hurriedly replied, “father, it is over
now—let us say no more about it.”

“There, the truce is made!” said the old man, exultingly,
whilst he grasped Albert by the hand and
shook it, a smile playing amongst the tears that stood
in his eyes: “We have made a truce—benedicite!
We shall be as happy and as gay as ever! Allons,
mon enfant, put on thy cloak, and get thee to thy
horse. My Lord, we shall reserve our scolding for
another time.”

“Get back to my house, Master Verheyden,” said
the Proprietary in a quiet tone, not heeding the appeal
to him, but with a thoughtful and serious manner,
which stood in marked opposition to the light and
laughing air of the priest. “Captain Dauntrees, do
not tarry on this field, but follow us back to the Port.
Come on, father Pierre, the day is wasting.”

In a moment the Captain and Secretary were left
to themselves.

“Nay, never take on, Master Verheyden, nor fall
into dumps,” said Dauntrees, observing that his companion
felt the silent displeasure of the Proprietary.
“It is ever thus with his Lordship, who, from his
cradle, I believe, hath set his heart to the extirpation
of our noble art of self-defence. A conceit of his
which doth no harm. His face will be sunny again
to-morrow—never heed it.”

“I cannot see that I have done wrong,” replied
Albert, with a sigh; “I would not offend his Lordship.”

“Tut, man, if you watched his eye, you would
have seen in a corner of it, that he likes you all the
better for this day's hazard. Now to horse!”

The combatants mounted and rode at a moderate
pace to the town.