peter made the required vow, not dreaming how soon he would be tested. for just as he had made up his mind to create an occasion for going to lostwithiel, and, acting on his credit as an old servant, to take the journey on his own responsibility, who should walk into the stable-yard but admiral penrock.

'was that little charity i saw going down the lane. peter?' inquired the master.

'like as not, sir.'

the admiral prodded the groom's shoulder with his staff.

'fie on thee, peter! are these tricks learned in london? thinkst thou canst take jack poole's place?'

this idea never having occurred to grey-haired peter, he was some time in apprehending it; then, with a sheepish grin, he accepted the visit of the fisher girl in the light his master chose to cast upon it. and not knowing that the end of charity's letter was sticking out of his pocket, the old groom allowed himself to be poked by the admiral again, and questioned adroitly as to the habits of the young lady. not a syllable would peter utter to break his word to pretty charity, and in the end he rode off to lostwithiel to seek a fresh bottle of lotion for the horses.

the admiral stumped after him up the lane. he was intending to pay a morning visit to roger trevannion. the boundary wall between the two estates was crumbling in places, and the admiral was minded to arrange with roger to see to the matter on his behalf. the early sunlight lay slantingly across the tree-tops, and the old sailor, noting the freshness of the new green mantle that overspread the countryside, sighed to think that so fair a world could be so awry.

ever since the day, now over a month old, when he had bidden marion good-bye and driven back to the west, he had felt an irksomeness in his duties that was new to him. had his office remained simply that of magistrate in his own parts, he would not have felt the burden. but the lord chief-justice jeffreys, in scouring the west country, had learned that if there was one man in cornwall whose loyalty to the crown was to be relied upon, that man was admiral penrock of garth. consequently, when the spies of jeffreys, still lurking in the county after their lord had returned to london, revealed one or two tracts in cornwall which the hounds of the dreaded judge had not thoroughly drawn, jeffreys decided to make the admiral master of that particular hunt. 'by fair means or foul,' ran his order, 'you will run the quarry to earth.' and the admiral, who had a thorough dislike for meddling with affairs outside his own district, had been obliged to obey.

in various cornish towns—bodmin, truro, st. austell, penzance—a number of soldiers were kept in readiness for his orders. his new duties carried him far and near. people who had never heard of him began to have reason for remembering his beetling brows, his thundering tones. the admiral was in a fair way to become a dreaded person. in a magistrate 'twas all very well. but the old sailor carried a warm heart under his garb of authority, and there were times when that warm heart was chilled at the thought of the pain he had brought into many people's lives since jeffreys had chosen to lay his commands upon him.

another reason for disliking his new office had been the necessity for leaving garth many days at a time without a master. he found himself in the position of a general who, while conducting wars abroad, neglects the enemy within his own frontiers.

two facts, however, brought comfort to the admiral: the absence of marion during this time, and the recent departure of victoire for her breton home. elise herself had never merited the complete distrust that underlay the old sailor's thoughts of victoire. since keziah's uncomfortable revelations he had thought hard and watched shrewdly—when he was at liberty to watch. had he possessed in his service a man of education and trustworthiness, untinged by the prejudice that coloured the judgment of the country folk, garth would not have been left thus at the mercy of fortune. but no such man, roger trevannion excepted, had been within hail, and it was impossible without arousing suspicion to bring roger from his own lands to act as overseer of the penrock demesne. consequently the admiral had granted victoire permission to cross the channel without much troubling himself as to any hidden reason for her departure.

victoire thus abroad, the old french attorney on his way to england, the admiral experienced a sense of relief. he looked forward with the heartiest pleasure to the day when the attorney would arrive at garth. then he would consider his duty to his old friend accomplished. he had fathered elise in her growing girlhood; she was now old enough to be given over to the care of her aunts. he had certainly done his utmost to train the girl to standards of thought which were native to the comrade of his fighting days. the fact that in some way elise's nature had been warped to begin with, was beyond his control, and there he left the problem, vaguely attributing the crookedness to some strain on the mother's side. the admiral had never seen madame de delauret. to contemplate the return of marion, and the final departure of his ward and her maid from garth, was to the admiral something akin to watching in the darkness of the waning night for the daystar of the dawn. when he arrived at the manor, roger was in the farmyard at the back of the house, setting a dozen men to their day's work. he strode to meet his visitor with a look of pleased surprise.

'this is an honour, sir,' he said heartily, the golden lights showing in his brown eyes, 'and all the more for being paid so early. will you come indoors for a tankard of ale? my mother will be pleased to see you in the house.'

'nay,' said the admiral, nodding to the farm men who were pulling their forelocks and chanting 'marnin', admur'l!' 'i have but just breakfasted. those are fine horses yonder, roger. you keep them well.'

the two moved out of earshot of the menservants.

'i saw peter in the lane just now, but he said not you were coming,' remarked roger.

the sailor's eyes twinkled. ''tis a simple soul, that peter. did he say aught to you of a letter to my daughter, writ by charity borlase, that was in his pocket and had emptied all the bottles of lotion in the stables?'

as he spoke, the admiral was casting a critical eye over a young cart-horse, the latest addition to the manor stables, and he was unaware of roger's slight start.

roger had wondered more than once what could have been taking charity up the hillside towards the headland that overlay haunted cove. in the revelation of the later afternoon he had remembered the chance encounter; charity's embarrassment recurred to him.

at the sight he had had of elise in close converse with the old traitor of garth, roger had experienced a momentary but severe shock. the idle talk of the village which, he knew very well, was more than half due to a deep-rooted hatred for foreigners, he had honestly tried to discount, putting away the versions that had reached his ears as gossiping women's tales. but he was too young, too human, not to be affected in his judgment by his personal attitude to victoire and her young mistress. the only being to whom he had ever mentioned the matter had been dick hooper, his boyhood's friend. young dick had shrugged his shoulders. 'wait a bit. ill weeds grow for cutting. the girl's crooked, but the woman's wicked.' and so the subject had been passed by.

and now the distrust and dislike of close on ten years, and the memory of the persistent tales of the villagers, had suddenly made for roger an inflammable track down which the spark of a strong suspicion raced. the burning revelation ran into words, right enough, clear as the flaming signs on the wall at belshazzar's feast. 'thou art tried in the balances and found wanting,' flickered the gleaming letters, as of old, and then died away. and roger was left pondering as to the nature of the final word which must lie somewhere, at present unillumined. when and whence that final proof must appear, roger could not guess; but he had read the riddle well enough to be profoundly uncomfortable as to its portent, and, more than all, as to its effects on the house of garth.

a fatherless son, heir to an estate the control of which called for judgment and action, roger had learned the weight of responsibility when most youths of his age and class had been conning greek and latin texts. and now his first thought had been as to his own share in the matter. what was his duty towards the admiral and marion? marion. his heart had stirred at the passing thought of marion, of her sweet wholesomeness, her contempt for double dealing, her outspoken truth. to think of her just then was like looking from a dark, secretly stirred pool to an open, sunswept stream.

what could have been elise's business yonder? could it be political? something connected with denunciations of still hidden monmouth men? hardly so; rumours in the village had been years old before ever monmouth landed at lyme. and yet, these were days of distrust and treachery. could some dark fate be hurling suspicion at the heads of the two people whom, next to his mother, he loved wholly?

roger had ridden home in the company of unhappy thoughts, slowly resolving that he must trace the trouble to its source, and begin with the admiral himself.

the chance mention of charity, however, made roger pause. charity had been writing to marion. perhaps it would be well to see charity first. his instinct was that whatever had been her business that afternoon, charity was friend and not foe. on seeing the admiral, his first thought had been to take advantage of his visit and unburden himself at once of the story. now, in secret relief, he put the idea aside, determining first to learn what was charity's part in the affair. so, while the admiral was poking among his horses, roger's thoughts ran; he turned gladly for the moment out of the shadow that had fallen across his path, not knowing that a small cloud, the size of a man's hand, lay on the far horizon.

talking of farming matters, the two started on a leisurely survey of the manor close, and presently came on the beech-topped hedge that was the northern boundary of the garth lands. leaning on the gate set in the hedge, they lingered some time. the conversation had fallen on the near prospect of a letter from marion, on her life in kensington; on the french attorney's visit, the contemplation of which, though neither knew the other's thought, brought to each a sense of comfort.

from the gate a little path ran down towards the house, making a diagonal course through the intervening pastures. the admiral, about to light his second pipe, paused, tinder-box in hand, and stared across the fields. his face darkened.

'if i mistake not, yonder is one of jeffreys' couriers. what fresh business is toward now? could it not have waited my return to the house?'

'i thought your work in that direction was finished, sir.'

'so did i. so did i. you see what a price one pays, my lad, for being an honest man. i declare, i thought when my lord's last letter came, that i would go to sea again, that i did, stump and all, so as to be free of this scurvy business.'

'the man will hear you, sir,' ventured roger.

'let him! let him! he's heartily welcome!' but none the less the old man struck his flint, and contented himself by roaring into the mouthpiece of his pipe.

roger's eyes twinkled. in just such a way had the motherless bull-calf he had fed that morning growled with his head in the bucket, his mouth full. roger stored up the incident to take a place in the pantomime rehearsal of her father's stray doings and sayings which marion would be sure to demand on her return. the gold lights danced afresh in roger's eyes as his little playmate rose before his mental vision.

the rider was now at speaking distance. he had the appearance of hard travelling, and as he came up, roger's instant sympathy fell on the horse. when the messenger dismounted, saluted the admiral, and proceeded to fumble for his letter, explaining that he had been sent on from the house, roger stepped to the animal's side. 'poor brute!' was his thought as he stroked the steaming flank, and cast a critical eye on the girth, having a mind to undo it for a time and make the man rest at the manor.

'you have ridden fast,' said the admiral in surly tones. 'why shorten the life of a good horse?'

'my lord's orders, sir,' said the man. 'he can never abide the idea of wasting an hour when there's work to be done.'

'did your lord require an answer?'

'he did not, sir.'

'will you not ride down to the house and rest yourself and your animal?'

'i thank you greatly, sir,' said the man, passing his hand across his face, seared with the sweat and dust of his journey, 'but i am to be in taunton ere nightfall.'

'in taunton, on this brute?' cried roger.

'i shall change horses at bodmin,' said the messenger. as he spoke, he took the bridle. 'can i cross the fields here to the bodmin road?'

'i'll show you the way,' said roger, and walking a few yards with the man, he pointed out, through a break in the inner hedge, the bodmin road lying in the valley.

'does your master pay you?' asked roger abruptly.

'aye, sir, well enough.'

''tis a pity he can't pay the horse. a finer grey i never saw. it grieves me to see a brute wasted so. here's a shilling. promise you will give him a fair bucket of oats—or, if he sweats more, a bran mash and a warm belly cloth.'

the man's eyes softened. 'i promise. you're very good, sir.'

'nay, nay. but it goes to my heart to see that horse wasted so. good morning.'

roger strode back to the gate where the admiral was still standing. from the letter in his hand dangled the strings and seals of the lord chancellor. roger paused and hung back a trifle, wondering were it best to leave him. whatever might be the new business to hand, he could see the admiral's wrath was gathering. his face purpled, the eyes growing round as a parrot's. for a second he appeared to be on the point of choking. suddenly he dashed the letter to the ground, and swung round on roger. digging his staff into the turf, he spluttered in incomprehensible rage.

'i will not do it!' he roared. 'by the lord harry, i will not!'

suddenly his fury fell away. he seated himself in the hedge and passed a hand over his face. 'dick!' he said hoarsely. 'poor lad!'

roger stiffened. his eyebrows drew together, his mouth tightened. he stared down at the letter.

'dick? did you say dick?'

'ay, dick hooper. 'tis there. an order to arrange for the arrest of the person of richard merrion hooper, in the parish of st. brennion.'

roger stared down at the written sheet, his face paling under the sunburn.

'impossible!' he jerked out. 'dick's a loyalist like yourself.'

'nothing is impossible in these days.'

'what has he done?'

'that i am not told. mayhap he has looked in pity at the creaking bones of a wretch hanging at the cross roads for monmouth's sake.'

roger turned, and leaning on the gate, buried his head on his arm. the tlot, tlot of a horse on the road below rose in the stillness of the morning. 'i could wish the brute had foundered and thrown his rider into the ditch—that highwaymen had seized him and his cursed letter,' ran the admiral's thoughts, as, unconscious of his companion, he stared down the quiet slope. far below showed the north front of garth, the chimneys cutting the shining bar of the sea into irregular shapes. only one window was visible through the trees of the garden—the window of the admiral's study which, in an upper storey, ran the width of one wing, looking out on one hand on the channel, and on the other to the rising land of the pastures. in the middle of the room stood the old sailor's beloved telescope, through which roger had many times studied the rig of passing vessels. it happened that as the admiral was staring out to sea, small thin fingers were swinging the telescope round to the north, and very soon the two men were plain to the eyes of mademoiselle elise, who was supposed by the housekeeper to be still in her bed.

the admiral turned and saw the black head bent over the gate. he sighed, and rising to his feet picked up the letter.

roger roused himself. his thoughts had been far away, scenes of his boyhood passing before his closed eyes: dick's deep-notched oaken bench at blundell's, which had been next his own; their twin escapades and truancies, punishments and advancements; the holidays dick had spent at the manor.

'i thought dick was at oxford,' he stumbled at length. then recollecting: 'nay, he is reading with a tutor to enter oriel at michaelmas.'

'a thousand pities he had not gone.'

again fell the silence; then roger's rather husky tones: 'must you do this thing, sir?'

'i must.'

'and will you?'

the old salt eagle looked sorrowfully into the brown eyes facing him. he made a step down the slope.

'would to god,' he blazed out suddenly, 'that jeffreys had chosen another man!' then, sobering: 'but i must. i cannot forget, after all, that my duty is not to serve jeffreys, but jeffreys' king. i shall drive out after dinner to liskeard to see the officer there. but fear not, roger, i shall do my utmost to get him freed.'

roger was silent. he knew too well how unavailing, in the main, were such efforts.

'is his father living?'

roger nodded.

'and his mother? i forget.'

'she died while dick was at blundell's.'

'thank god for that!' said the admiral in low tones.

'may you not just inquire into the matter and report?' came roger's husky tones. 'i had rather any one had gone but dick.'

'jeffreys prefers to make his inquiries behind bolt and bar.'

'look here, sir,' said roger, his face as hard as his voice. 'i——' he stopped abruptly, then a minute later, with a brief 'good morning,' he swung round, and before the admiral could speak, was striding up the slope.

the old seaman leaned heavily on his staff as he stumbled down the hillside, jerking his wooden leg over the uneven ground. 'i could pray for an ague to seize me,' ran his thoughts, 'an asp to sting me, a draught to sicken my stomach. anything to keep me from this hateful task. poor dick! and poor roger! 'twas a hard blow.'

half way down the slope the admiral stopped short, arrested by an uneasy thought. for the first time since jeffreys had laid his commands upon him he had failed in his duty, betrayed his trust, spoken to another of business of sworn secrecy. completely forgetful of his obligations, and overborne by the weight of personal association, he had talked like an idle woman.

hot on the heels of the first consideration ran a second. he had spoken freely of the arrest to the greatest friend of the condemned man. could it be possible roger would——? he had better walk back to the manor, to make the boy promise secrecy. what would roger do? a gleam ran across the old face. he turned and scanned the pastures. roger was nowhere to be seen. a look of uncertainty was in the man's eyes as he stood, idly digging into a young gorse bush with his staff. his thoughts ranged themselves in two lines: dual personalities facing each other. on the one hand was the loyal seaman who would at any time have risked the gallows for a friend's sake; on the other the stern, justice-loving magistrate.

'you don't know what he may do,' came the one voice, 'and any way, you'd do the same yourself.'

'go up and order him in the king's name to keep the matter secret,' came the reply. 'you can trust his given word.'

'leave him alone,' retorted the first. ''tis not for you to dictate what a man may do for his friend.'

'duty! duty!' cried the other.

'and dick's an honest lad; you know he is guiltless. 'tis but a foul whisper. he deserves a timely warning.'

'a magistrate has no ties. duty! duty!'

and so the mimic battle raged behind the eagle brows. in the end, not without a smile of grim humour, the admiral offered a truce. he would not interfere with roger. in any case, the lad might never have considered taking any step, and time would be wasted on the errand. his magisterial self the old seaman soothed by a promise of utmost haste. instead of ordering the coach for after dinner, he would drive out at once, and eat from a hamper on the carriage seat. having thus silenced the mental combatants, the admiral kept his bargain to the letter. in a few minutes he was back at the house, giving orders to a flurried housekeeper.

peter being absent on charity's affairs, the admiral was obliged to see to his change of garb himself. but here elise proved herself uncommonly thoughtful. hearing from mrs. curnow that the master was bound to liskeard on urgent business, and would not be home till the morrow, and was in an uneasy temper because his man was out on an errand and he must fasten his own cloak and see to his pistols himself, elise proceeded to the admiral's room to offer such services as might be at her command. she found the door of the room ajar, and knew from neighbouring sounds that the admiral was in the study. in his haste the sailor had thrown the fateful letter on the bed, with his work-a-day coat; the sharp eyes of mademoiselle caught the red of the seals. a minute later she was out of the room again, her light step making no sound. when the admiral was safely back in his bedchamber, she returned along the passage, her high heels clicking hard on the boards.

'i wanted to help you, if i might, sir,' came her voice at the door, and pleased at such thoughtfulness, the admiral bade her enter. by that time the letter was in his pocket again.

as soon as the coach had left the courtyard, elise stepped out, and crossing the pastures made her way towards the manor farm. a workman on the south fields was busy ditching, and from him, by dint of casual remarks, elise learned that master roger had taken the fastest horse and ridden away some two hours ago.

elise waited to hear no more. there was a light of triumph in her eyes as she trotted back to garth. presently an under groom was ordered to saddle molly. mademoiselle was bored by the inaction of life so lonely at garth, and she was wishful to ride out to bodmin and make a trifling purchase. she did not deem it necessary to add that it was her intention, while her escort was supping at the king's head, to find means to send a few words to the governor of bodmin gaol.