Of all the crises of my life I am accustomed to think of the presentation of my silver button to the patroon as the most important. Nor did I underrate it at the time. On that night, when the manor was settling itself to sleep, I walked restlessly on the wide terrace, taking account of the game as it stood, of the cards in my hand, and reckoning forward on the play of the morrow.

The manor-house was a rambling stone structure of two stories. It abounded in irregular corners, and in long, gloomy corridors which crossed and forked as intricately as the streets of a city. On the north side, the side visible from the window of my room, there was a wide terrace. When I stepped upon it, it was mostly in the deep shadow. Here and there, however, the moonlight broke across it in narrow silver bands.

I was thinking about my new master and about the danger of my situation. Lady Marmaduke and Pierre had both penetrated my disguise. Was the patroon as keen-eyed as they? Had he recognized me also and had he guessed the secret of my presence? I recalled every word he had said, and every expression of his face, even the idle tapping of his finger tips. The more I pondered the 182more I was at a loss. I could make nothing of the patroon’s action beyond what appeared on the surface. So I gave over thinking of him and thought of pleasanter things.

There are few joys in this world greater than the approach of danger when it courts success. But when the certainty of success is absent one has not far to go to find happier stuff for musing. My mind was soon full of the girl Miriam. Here, in the very bosom of my enemy’s house, where I was a spy in constant peril of my life, I had found one who, if not exactly my friend, had, at least, a strong claim upon my gratitude. I had no doubt now that I had met the patroon’s daughter when I wandered in my trance, and that she had given me the miniature which I wore about my neck. In my dreams I had thought her an angel. To my waking eyes she appeared no less beautiful. Her tall, graceful figure, her calm eyes and dark hair, above all, her pride and her affection for my sister—all these qualities together won my heart. Though she was a Catholic, I could not cease to think of her as I had seen her when I crouched beneath her father’s window, when she stood bravely facing his headlong anger on behalf of the girl whom she must have considered as a common servant. I made up my mind to protect her. I recalled the goblet that I had seen shatter against the wall. The idea of her needing a protector was not an idle dream.

183While I was thinking about her she came towards me, walking slowly along the shadowy terrace. I first spied her white dress shimmering in the dark; then she stepped into a band of moonlight and her whole figure became radiant. I took off my hat, but she passed me without a word or even a bow of recognition. She seemed to have come out upon the terrace for no other purpose than to take the air. She continued to traverse it back and forth without paying any attention to me. Only once she seemed to notice me. Then she stopped in front of me, was about to speak, lifted her head proudly, and passed on.

While we were thus, a distant sound broke savagely upon our ears. The night had fallen very still, so still you could count the chirping crickets. A fringe of birches in the moonlight looked like a row of peering ghosts. The sudden sound that broke the stillness seemed at first to be some one calling out. It was coming nearer, though it came and went drearily. At times it was almost like a song. Occasionally it rose to a long mournful wail; after that there would be silence.

Mistress Van Volkenberg stopped to listen. She stood so near me that I could have touched her with my hand. I could hear her breathe in long gasping breaths. “She must not come to-night,” I heard her mutter. “If I could only warn her back!”

“I am at your service, madam.”

184“Hush,” she said. She stepped a little closer to me and continued: “It is Meg of the Hills, a poor crazy woman. But I love her. She used to be my mother’s servant.”

“Is it not safe for her?” I asked.

“Her wild ways anger my father,” was her simple answer.

I needed no further explanation to know why she dreaded a meeting between the two. After five minutes, during which we listened in silence, Meg appeared at the edge of the wide stretch of turf that surrounded the house. She was still chanting her wild song, which was unlike any music I had ever fancied. Behind her, nosing her skirts, came the hound, Caesar, who had fled when I offered to touch him. I inquired again whether I should convey a warning message to her.

“No,” answered my companion. “That would distress my father also. Let us wait.”

The woman and the dog came nearer. They were about to pass us when the latter suddenly stopped and began to growl.

“What is it, Meg?” said my companion in a soothing tone. Then she gripped my arm tight. Her fingers trembled with excitement. I looked around for the cause and saw that her father had stepped upon the terrace. Meantime Meg of the Hills had caught sight of us. She stopped singing. The light fell upon her angular face, full of lines and ridges. Her long white hair streamed like silver 185down her back. Suddenly she stretched a long, skinny finger at me. She threw back her head like a baying dog. And she wailed in a grewsome drone:
“Fire and sleete and candle-light,
And Christ receive your soul.”

“Meg,” cried the patroon sharply, and in a moment was by her side.

Mistress Van Volkenberg put her lips close to my ear. “That is a bad omen and they are superstitious here. Be wary of yourself to-night.”

I gave full heed to what she said, for the scene was already telling upon my nerves. But what did it mean? My companion would not stop to explain her warning. The patroon disappeared round the corner of the house with his witless charge. I remained alone upon the terrace like a man awakened from a dream. Yet this time I knew that it was no dream.

I did not forget her warning. When I shut the door of my room I looked to the priming of my pistols, drew my sword from its scabbard, and then lay down upon the bed without undressing. Some time later I awakened suddenly with the consciousness that I had been struck in the face; not a heavy blow, but a light one as if by some small object. I sat still, listening. Soon there came a sharp click upon the floor, then another as of something striking against the window frame. Someone was surely 186throwing pebbles into my room from the outside. I rose and went to look out of my window, which was on the second floor. Below me in the moonlight stood Meg of the Hills. Her skinny finger was raised to her lips for silence. For a moment her features showed intense—what was it? Hatred, anger, fear—I know not. Then she threw up her hands, her head fell back, and she sang:
“Fire and sleete and candle-light,
And Christ receive your soul.”

She pointed her hand at me, pronounced the words, “Be wary,” and was gone swiftly like a shadow on the water. What struck me most was her changed manner. Early in the evening, I had heard her singing in a wild, harsh screech. Now she spoke under her breath, cunningly, as if in secret. Was she warning me and was there cause?

A narrow balcony ran along one side of the house at the level of the second floor, passing just in front of my window. At that moment I heard a casement open and some one step on this balcony. I drew back into my room, catching up my sword and pistols. I smelt danger in the air, though as yet none was visible. Suddenly I concealed myself behind the hangings on the wall. I did this because I saw some one come cautiously to my window and peer through it into my room. I looked again; I could not be mistaken; the figure, 187the white hair; yes, it was Louis Van Ramm, the patroon’s dwarf.

“I THOUGHT HE WOULD SURELY
HEAR MY BREATHING”—p. 187

The room was too dark for him to see my bed. He listened for a short space of time, during which I thought he would surely hear my breathing. Then he crawled cautiously through the casement into my room. He was followed by a strapping fellow, almost a giant, armed with a huge two-handed sword. They had scarcely entered my room when I saw the patroon behind them upon the balcony just outside the window.

“Be quick,” he said in an undertone. “He may wake at any moment.”

The giant who had followed Louis stepped forward at this command from his chief. He stopped three feet from the side of the bed. I could see him outlined against the window though it must have been all dark to him. He poised the great clumsy weapon for a minute, and then swung it about his head. The blade sang through the air and fell across my bed with a deep thud. But for Meg I should have been lying there!

“My God!” shrieked the giant; and I never heard such agony in a human voice.

“What is it?” cried the patroon in alarm, at the same time springing into the room.

“There is no one here,” answered the man who had made this attack upon my bed.

“So much the worse for you,” returned his master. “Quick; we must get out of here. He is 188probably down stairs upon the terrace. He may come back.”

Then I beheld a scene the meaning of which I could but guess. The fellow who, from his size, could have overmatched both the patroon and the dwarf, cast away his sword, which fell with a loud clash upon the wooden floor. He forgot all caution in his abject terror. He threw himself before the patroon and clung to his knees.

“Mercy, mercy,” he pleaded. “Have mercy.”

“Hush,” answered his master. “I offered you life for life. The man is not here. It cannot be. You are doomed.&r............