CHAPTER XXI. OF THE VOYAGE OF LUCILLE.

Beneath the rock I had selected as our shelter for the night I kindled a fire, and the wind, taking the smoke away, made the place comfortable. The heat served to dry our garments and warmed our chilled blood. Lucille clung to me, trembling with the recollection of all she had passed through, and I held her in my arms and bade her be of better cheer, for the worst was now past.

“You had a long voyage,” I said, for I did not know how to begin so that she might tell me of the cruise of the Eagle.

“And a terrible one,” she answered, with a shudder. “Oh, Edward, my love, I thought never to see you again, and I wished myself dead a hundred times. There was naught but fear and misery in my heart, but now--now--I am so very happy. Yet not altogether happy, Edward.”

“And why?” I asked.

“Because I think of the morrow.”

“So you fear for me, my sweet?”

“Much, Edward, for he is a terrible man.”

228“So am I, when I fight for love,” was my reply.

Then there was silence for a time, and she seemed to be thinking of something.

“Why did he call you Sir Francis, Edward?” she asked, presently.

“Because, dear, it is my name,” I said.

“Why, I thought----” she began, but I was not ready to tell her all yet.

“To-morrow will do for my story,” I interposed. “The night is short, let me hear about yourself.”

“There may be no to-morrow,” whispered Lucille.

“It is as God wills,” I said, simply, and I kissed her.

Then she told me of the voyage with Sir George.

“When I found that you were in Salem gaol, charged with witchcraft,” she began, “I recalled how few had come out of there alive, after such an accusation. I knew, as you did not, since you had been absent, how fierce was the hue and cry after witches, or those poor wretches so called. I knew how perilous was the time in Salem town. So I made up my mind that I must get you out, as you could not help yourself. I thought of the Governor, Sir William Phips, believing that he was my only hope. To see him, get a full and free pardon for you, was my only desire.”

I could feel her hand, that I held beneath my coat, press mine. I answered the pressure, and drew Lucille near to me. She went on:

229“So, knowing there was little time to lose, I made a bargain with Master Richard Johnson, who lived on the road back of me, to take me to Boston in his big cart, as he was going there that day with some barrels of cider. Not even stopping to tell you good bye, so full was I of my project, I put on my best gown--’tis a sad sight now, though”--and Lucille sighed and looked down at her dress, all wet and torn--“pinned a ribbon in my hair, and was off to see His Excellency. We were two days on the road, because the cart broke.

“Well, I found him at home, and, after some parley with his servant, who said his master was busy with noble lords from London, I was admitted to the presence of Sir William.

“I curtsied as best I knew, and looked about, half tempted to run out again, for the room was filled with men. Oh, but they stared so at me; verily, I thought none of them had scarce before seen a maid in her best gown.”

Well I knew why they looked, I thought, for fairer face than Lucille’s there was not in Boston, or Salem--aye, in all of London.

“But,” she continued, “I did manage to stammer out what I had come for, and when His Excellency had gathered the import of my words, he became kindly at once and came near to me, while he left the noble lords, if such they were, to talk among themselves. I heard one of them say ‘Zounds! But would she not make some of our 230London beauties stare.’ So I looked him full in the face, and replied:

“‘There be many others in Salem town, if it please you, sir,’ whereat they all laughed, save His Excellency, and he smiled at me. Then, Edward, I pleaded for your life.”

“What did you say, sweet?” I asked.

“I begged that I might not be sent away without a pardon,” went on Lucille. “And, to show it was deserved, I told Sir William of the deeds you had done. How strong you were to cast the great stone, and how they said you were a witch because you had done that. Then I reminded him of St. Johns and Pemaquid, for I had heard somewhat of what took place there. I urged upon him that you were a good soldier, and a true one, serving His Gracious Majesty most faithful.

“Then, when I could think of no more to say, I told His Excellency that--that I loved you better than any one else in the whole world, and that he must pardon you for me,” and Lucille leaned over and hid her face on my shoulder.

“All that for me,” I whispered. “I was not worth it.”

“Oh, but you are,” said Lucille, looking up quickly, “or I should never have been brave enough to do all I did.”

“What said His Excellency, when you pleaded so well for me?” I asked.

“Why,” continued Lucille, “he smiled, and wanted to 231know who it was I had come to save. ‘Captain Edward Amherst,’ I replied, and then all the men in the room, who had been talking about the custom-house, burst into shouts of laughter.

“One of them said: ‘Not the traitor Sir George is after, is it, Your Excellency?’ ‘The same,’ was the Governor’s answer.

“That angered me, to hear them call you a traitor, though I did not realize who Sir George was then,” went on Lucille. “I stamped my foot, forgetting that I was in the presence of the Governor, and cried out: ‘Captain Amherst is no traitor, but a true and honorable gentleman, and a brave soldier, which is more than can be said of many.’ The men turned aside at that, and Sir William led me to another room.

“There he told me he would grant a pardon from the charge of witchcraft, which he did not believe in, but he added that there were graver matters hanging over your head. I was so overjoyed at hearing him say he would give the pardon that I only heard him murmur something about fearing it would be of little service. He called his secretary to bring his quill, ink-horn and sand box. When he had them he indited a full and free pardon for Captain Amherst, from the charge of witchcraft, sealing it with his own hand.

“He bowed me out of the chamber, while all the men stared so again that my cheeks were burning. But I was 232out of the house at last, and so anxious to get back to you and have you released from Salem gaol, that I could scarce walk fast enough. As I was going down the steps I was startled by seeing a man in front of me. I looked up in fright, and there was one I least desired to meet--Sir George Keith.”

Lucille glanced at me.

“I should have told you about him before,” she continued, “only I wanted to wait----”

“I know,” was my reply; “Nanette told me something of him, and I know more, of my own experience.”

“He stood before me,” went on Lucille, “and, when I would have passed by him, never giving heed to him, he bowed, and said if I would deign to hear him he would deliver a message from you. I did not know that he was your enemy, as well as mine, or I would not have listened to him. But I was so anxious to do all I could for you that I never stopped to think that Sir George Keith would scarce do his rival a courtesy. So I bade him say on quickly, and told him I never would listen to him on my account.

“Then he told me you had broken gaol early that morning, and were hiding in the woods to avoid capture. He said you had besought him, as a comrade in arms, to get him aid, and particularly to send word to me, so I might come to you.

“‘There is no cause for Captain Amherst to hide,’ I said, ‘for I have a pardon for him. He need fear no 233gaol.’ Sir George said it was not the witchcraft that was hanging over you now, but a charge of treason. That made me greatly frightened, and I suppose he saw it and knew he could tell me any lie and have it believed. He said, if I would consent to let him guide me to you, he could provide a way of escape for us both.

“I was afraid of him, but he spoke so gently, and was so courteous, never even referring to the hateful past, that I consented. Oh, how little I knew what was before me,” and Lucille shivered, not alone from the night wind. I knew now why Sir George had left the court room so suddenly the day of my trial. It was to get trace of Lucille.

“He said,” she continued, after a pause, “that it would not be safe for us to go directly to your hiding place, as we might be followed. There was a small boat, down at the wharf, he added, sailed by an honest man, and, if I would but trust myself in it, we could move along the shore until we had picked you up. Such, Sir George said, was the plan you had devised.

“Though I wavered a bit, being friendless and alone in Boston town, in the end I yielded, and suffered him to lead the way to the boat. It was the Eagle, and Simon was the whole crew. When Sir George came to the end of the wharf with me, he said to Simon:

“‘This is the lady you are to take to her lover.’

“‘Aye, aye, sir,’ answered Simon, and he touched his hat, and held the steps steady for me to descend. Ah me, it was many a day ere I went up those same steps again.

234“At a signal from Sir George Simon cast off, and we were sailing smoothly down the bay, while I was all impatience until I should see you, as my heart misgave me. And I longed to show you the pardon I had, that you might know why I had not remained near you in Salem. See, here it is now.”

Lucille took from her bosom a paper, all crumpled and stained and wet from the sea water. By the dim light of the fire I saw that it was the pardon she had obtained. I kissed it, for it was my first love letter from Lucille, verily a strange one. I would have kept it, but she said she would hold it until we reached some safe place, as it might yet be needed.

“We sailed on,” related Lucille, “until it grew dark, and then, in fright, I called from the cabin to know when we would land and find you. ‘Presently,’ answered Sir George, and I waited, with small patience. Simon lighted a lantern, so that its beams fell upon Sir George, as he stood at the helm. ‘Is it not true, my lord?’ I called to him. ‘Presently,’ he said again, and he smiled. In that smile I saw the trick he had played.

“I stood before him then, and, though I feared him, I demanded that he instantly set me ashore. At that he only smiled once more, and called to Simon to make sail.

“‘Put me ashore, my lord, as you are a gentleman and a soldier,’ I pleaded. ‘I had rather be alone in the woods than here with you.’ ‘You shall go ashore in good season,’ he said. I begged and pleaded with him, until his smiles 235became frowns. Seeing that it was useless to beg him to release me, I cried out that I would throw myself into the sea. I ran to the rail, but Simon sprang after me and dragged me back. Sir George gave the tiller over to him, and, standing before me, said:

“‘Lucille, I pray you to forgive me for what I have done, but I cannot let you go, now that I have found you again. Captain Amherst has not escaped; he does not wait for you, hiding in the woods. Ere this ’tis likely that he is no longer alive. But I am alive, I am here, and, Lucille, I love you. I have waited and searched for you many years,’ he went on, ‘and now I will not let you go. As there is a God above us I mean you no wrong. But I love you, oh, how I love you!’”

I must have shown the feeling in my heart as Lucille repeated the words of Sir George.

“Heed not his words, Edward,” she said; “they were only words to me. He said we would sail far away from New England, to the New Jersey Colony, where he had friends. ‘There,’ he said, ‘you will have learned to care for me. And, if you do not, we will go down into the depths of the sea together, for, if I cannot have you in life I will have you in death.’

“Oh, how I was frightened, my love, but I thought of you, and how brave you were, and that gave me courage. I told Sir George I would never love him, in life nor death, and I said I would not even die with him, so much did I hate him. I said I would appeal for help to the 236first person I met when I reached shore. Whereat he laughed and said it would be many days ere we touched land. Then he begged me to enter the cabin, which had been fitted up with some degree of comfort, saying that he would not intrude himself upon me. More to escape him than because I was weary, I went down, and bolted the door.”

Then Lucille told me of the long voyage that followed. Sir George was like a madman with one idea in his head. He never sailed near shore, save when supplies were needed, and then Simon rowed to the beach in a small boat. The two men were most gentle to her, and once, when Simon had grumbled at taking the meals to her in the cabin, Sir George felled him to the deck with a blow. After that the sailor had little to say. Sir George and his man steered the craft by turns, and the master stopped at no task, however mean, performing all, as did the man. To such will love or its counterfeit go.

On they sailed, and never once did Lucille, by any chance, get near enough a passing vessel, or within distance of shore, so as to make a cry heard.

When it was necessary to approach a town harbor to anchor from a storm, she was locked in the cabin. Thus she spent one month, longing night and day to be free, until the roses faded from her cheeks, and the love light from her eyes. Ever did Sir George protest his affection for her, begging that she would but give him a little hope. But never, even by a turn of the head, did she admit that 237she heard him, for, after the first few days when she demanded that he set her free, she held her peace and spoke no words to him.

This was the tale Lucille related to me, as we sat under the ledge of rock by the waters I had saved her from. And, as the story grew, I longed for the morrow, that I might fight for her honor and my own. I put some driftwood on the fire, and it blazed up.

Of the storm, which blew the craft out to sea until the voyagers thought it would never return, Lucille told. Then provisions ran low, and for three days Sir George had nothing but a small crust of bread, and Simon had as little, because they put all aside for her. And this she never knew till after they had reached the vicinity of a town again, when by the ravenous hunger of Sir George and his man, she saw they had been near death.

It seemed strange to me that this man could endure so much for love, could battle so to win it, and yet could not master himself. Of a truth, he was one who might have been great, had not his life been turned in the wrong direction.

The last storm which blew had started the seams of the Eagle, and this had compelled Sir George to put in shore sooner than he intended, for he was near to his journey’s end.

The remainder of the tale I knew, having seen the sinking of the Eagle.

“And now tell me of yourself, Edward,” commanded 238Lucille. “Tell me how you escaped from Salem gaol, and how you happened to be here, so far away, just as I was about to give myself up for lost. You must have had a wearisome search for me.”

“I forget the weariness of it, now,” I whispered, “for I have found you,” and I held her close to me.

“Mayhap, only to lose me again,” replied she, with a touch of sadness in her voice.

“Not if there is still strength in my arm or temper in my sword,” I answered, cheerfully, for I am not one easily downcast, when I have a fight before me.

“Oh, the terrible morrow, I wish it would never come,” Lucille whispered.

“Have no fear,” I assured her. Then I told her of myself. How I with others had broken from Salem gaol after I had been near to death in the great press. I told of my journey, though I did not relate all my feelings when I knew she had sailed with Sir George, as I thought.

The night wore on. Our fire grew dim, and I bade Lucille sleep, for I did not want her to be awake when I must go out to meet my enemy. But she said she could not slumber, and thus we sat in each other’s arms until a greater blackness gave warning that the dawn was at hand.

It was cold and gray and still, save for the noise of the waves. Then the grayness became lighter in color.

The stars that had been bright grew dim. Slowly the morning light came, a pale rosy flush in the eastern sky. 239Then the edge of the sun peeped up from beneath the waves.

I looked at Lucille. She was fast asleep on my arm. I placed her gently against the rock, my coat for a pillow. It was time to go now. I wondered if I would return, or would it be Sir George, who would be there when she awoke.

I leaned over and kissed her lightly on the half parted lips. Once, twice, three times.

She stirred, and murmured my name.

“Good bye, Lucille,” I whispered. “Good bye, my dear love, good bye.”

Then I went out to meet my foe.