"British sailors have a knack, Haul away ye ho, boys, Of hauling down a Frenchman's Jack 'Gainst any one you know, boys.

"Come three to one, right sure am I If we can't beat them, still we'll try To make old England's colours fly, Haul away, haul away, haul away ye ho, boys."

"That fellow has not much care at his heart," thought Harry, rather disposed to avoid the singer.

Harry went on. He had, however, to ask him to move on one side to let him pa.s.s.

"With all the pleasure in my life, my hearty," was the answer. "Why, Master Harry Tryon, on my life!" exclaimed the singer, as Harry jumped over the stile. "Stop, you are not going to cut an old friend, are you?"

"I should scarcely have known you, Jacob Tuttle, if you had not spoken to me," said Harry, taking the seat the other had vacated; "you are grown into such a big burly fellow."

"Yes; a life at sea browns a fellow's phiz, and plenty of beef fills him out; not that ours isn't often tough enough, and more likely covered the bones of an old horse than an ox. But where are you bound to, Master Harry?"

"I am going to pay a farewell visit to some friends, and then I have a great mind to go to sea. I am sick of a sh.o.r.e life, and wish I had gone three or four years ago."

"Not too late now," answered Tuttle. "You are rather old for an officer, and I suppose you would be too proud to go before the mast."

"No, indeed I would not," answered Harry. "I am ready to go anyhow. If I'm worth anything I hope to work my way up, as others have done, and if I am worth nothing I must take my chance with the rest."

"Very rightly said, Harry; active hands like you are wanted. I am thinking of going to Portsmouth to look out for a ship, and if you take my advice you will volunteer on board the same. I will soon teach you your duties, and you will be a petty officer before many months are over. There were plenty of gentlemen's sons on board the last ship I served in, or at all events they said they were. Some of them were pretty wild blades, to be sure, and were `King's hard bargains;' but that's not your style, I have a notion, and so, as I said before, come along with me. I will rig you out as a seaman. And now I come to think on't, you are a better one already than many a chap who has been two or three years afloat. There are some cut out for sailors, and there are others nothing can be made of."

This proposition jumped exactly with Harry's present notions.

"I have no time to lose," said Harry, "and I want to get rid of my present long sh.o.r.e toggery as soon as possible."

"Well, then, mate," said Jacob, "my old mother's cottage, where I am stopping, is not far from here, and if you like to come, I'll rig you out in a seaman's suit, which I only got the other day, and never yet put on. You can pay me for it or not, as you think fit; you are welcome to it, at all events."

Rapid action was to Harry's taste. Within half an hour of the time he fell in with Jacob Tuttle few would have recognised in the smart, young, sailor-like-looking lad, the sedate London-dressed merchant's clerk.

Harry felt freer than before in his new dress, and promising to return to old Dame Tuttle's cottage, he hurried away towards Stanmore. It was dusk when he approached the house; but he knew every path and sylvan glade in the grounds, and had already thought of the best place in which to watch for a chance of meeting Mabel. By climbing a high paling he got round to the garden side of the house. Lights were in several windows. He could, he thought, approach the drawing-room--Mabel might be there alone. He would then ask her to come out and talk with him.

The most secure approach to it was by a long straight avenue overshadowed by trees which led up one side of the grounds. He hurried along it, keeping as much as possible on the turf on one side, that he might run no risk of making a noise, when he heard footsteps approaching, and presently a man's figure appeared in the centre of the walk. Who could it be? It might possibly, he thought, be the colonel, though it was not his custom to walk out at night. Harry drew behind a tree by which he was completely concealed. The person pa.s.sed on, but so thick was the gloom that Harry could not distinguish his features. By his height it was certainly not the colonel. The person went up the avenue, then turned, and walked once more in the direction of the house.

Harry did not move for fear of being discovered: he watched the person narrowly. A gleam of light came through an opening in the trees. He saw clearly the outline of the figure. His jealous feelings told him at once that it was the Baron de Ruvigny.

"I thought he loved poor Lucy," he muttered to himself. "But Mabel! can it be to see her that he comes here? I might give her up for her own sake, but I would never yield her to a Frenchman."

He came forward from his concealment, and confronted the young Frenchman.

"We don't allow people in England to skulk about houses," he whispered, seizing the young man's arm.

"Why, I know that voice--you are Harry Tryon. Surely you would not mock me?" answered the baron, not attempting to withdraw his arm from Harry's grasp.

"Mock you! no; but what brings you here? I ask," exclaimed Harry. "I have a right to know that."

"To indulge in my grief," answered the baron. "I have lost one who had won my deepest affections, and I come here, like an uneasy spirit, to wander over the ground on which she trod. Harry Tryon, I thought you knew how I loved her."

"I thought you did, and I now feel sure you did," answered Harry, his anger vanishing. "You know also that I love her cousin; I wish even now to see her. I am very unhappy. I cannot venture into the house. Will you, therefore, act the part of a true friend, and bear a message from me to her? and also will you pa.s.s your word of honour not to try and win her affections during my absence? Your attentions might annoy her, and yet you might be tempted to pay them."

"Again you mock me, Tryon," said the young baron. "Can you suppose that my affections, which are buried in the grave of her sweet cousin, should so soon be restored to life? I will, however, give you my promise as you desire it."

It is possible that the young baron's affections were not so deeply buried as he supposed. However, he spoke with sincerity, and Harry believed him. He agreed to go round to the front door, and enter as an evening visitor, and to deliver Harry's message, should he have an opportunity of doing so without being overheard by the colonel or Madame Everard.

Lucy had constructed an arbour with woodwork, interspersed with flowers and paths winding among it. A rustic bridge crossed a sparkling stream, which ran murmuring down in front towards the lake. There was but one approach, so that strangers could not easily find it. Here Harry begged that Mabel would come to him. He sat down in the bower, anxiously waiting her approach. More than once he started up, thinking that he heard her footsteps, but his senses had deceived him. At length he could restrain his anxiety no longer. Had the baron deceived him, or could not Mabel venture out? He wished he had not trusted to another person. He might have written, or he might, by watching patiently, have seen her during the day as she walked about the grounds. He was going once more towards the house, when he saw a figure coming along the gravel walk towards him. He was sure it was Mabel. At the risk of being mistaken he hurried to meet her.

"Speak, speak! Is it Miss Everard? is it Mabel?" he asked.

"Oh, Harry, your voice has relieved me, for not expecting to see you in the dress you wear, as the moonlight fell on you I feared that I might be mistaken. Oh! tell me, what has brought you down so suddenly. The Baron de Ruvigny's manner made me very anxious."

"Come and sit down here, and I will tell you all," said Harry, taking her hand and leading her to the arbour. "I have folly to confess. I am lowered in my own sight, and I fear I must be in yours," said Harry, in a trembling voice, very unlike his usual tone.

"What is it you have done?" asked Mabel, much agitated. "Nothing wrong, surely; nothing wrong?"

"Yes, I have done much that is wrong. I was wrong to trust to a false friend, to visit scenes of dissipation with him, to stake money I could not afford to lose, to lose my senses so as no longer to have command over my actions. He plied me with wine till I knew not what I was about, and during that time I put my name to papers which have brought irretrievable ruin on me. My honour, oh! Mabel, my honour is lost! No one will again trust me."

"But who is the person of whom you speak, Harry? who could gain such influence over you--surely not Mr. Kyffin?"

"Oh! no, no. Had I remained with him, this would not have happened. He is one whose name I scarcely like to mention to you, Mabel; for he is, I believe, related to you. He is Silas Sleech, the son of the lawyer at Lynderton."

"Oh, he is a man I never could endure, even as a girl. His countenance alone made me always fancy he must be a hypocrite. But how could such a man gain an influence over you, Harry?"

Harry had to enter more into details than he had before done. Still, "blessed in the faith of woman," Mabel could not believe him as guilty as he was inclined to consider himself.

"Such is my history," he said at last, "since I parted from you; and now, Mabel, I come to set you free. I have no right to bind you to so lost, so penniless a wretch as I am; and yet with the thought that I might still be worthy of you, I feel confident that I could once more rise to a position in which I might be worthy of your love. I am still young. I have resolved to enter the navy, and work my way up to the quarter-deck. Once there, I may rise to the rank your father holds. He was a post-captain when still a young man, and why should not I be, Mabel?--fame and fortune are before me. For your sake I feel sure that I may achieve them. Mabel, it was this I came to tell you. I could not go away without seeing you, and bidding you farewell. Mabel, pray for me; pray that my life may be saved, and that I may win a name worthy to offer to you. Still believe me, I could love no one but you, though you are free."

Neither spoke for some time.

"I dare not urge you to take any other course," Mabel said at last, "but I wish you could have consulted my kind uncle. He is too ill, however, I fear, to see you; still, he would give you wise counsel, I am sure. I would rather, indeed, that you had remained in London, and, braving the anger of Mr. Coppinger, have exposed the villainy of that wretched man, Silas Sleech."

"It is too late now, Mabel," said Harry; "there are many things I ought to have done, and ought not to have done."

Much more the lovers spoke to the same effect. Mabel did not in any way express her thanks to Harry for offering to give her up. On the contrary, she spoke as if she was more firmly bound to him than ever.

At last, as they sat in the bower, forgetting everything else, the light of a lantern fell upon them. They started and saw before them the tall figure of Paul Gauntlet.

"Why, Master Harry, no one knew you were in these parts," he said, letting the light of the lantern fall on his face; "but you should not have been keeping the young lady out so long as this. Miss Mabel, Madam Everard has been quite in a taking about you for the last quarter of an hour. You must come in at once, and wish this young gentleman good-bye, unless he wants to come in, too."

Harry knew very well that the old soldier would not betray him if he put confidence in him. He therefore at once told him the reason of his visit to Stanmore.

"Ah! Master Harry," said Paul, "the only advice I can give you is to come in and talk the matter over with the colonel. He will tell you what to do better than any other man. That's more than I can do. I have learned to obey orders, and I know how to obey them, but I never was much of a hand at giving orders. You, Master Harry, as I say, just come and tell your troubles to the colonel. He is so wise and good that he is sure to show you the best thing to be done."

"I cannot, I dare not tell the colonel," answered Harry. "I thank you sincerely, Gauntlett, but you don't know how he would look on these things."

"Well, well, Mr. Tryon, you must act as you think best, if you won't take the advice of an old soldier who loves you as if you were his son."

Saying this, Paul walked on ahead, as if to show the way with his lantern, though it is just possible he might have suspected the young people would rather be by themselves for a few minutes, without the bright light of his lantern falling on them.

When Paul got close to the house, he stopped, intending once more to urge his advice on Harry, but when he looked round Mabel was alone.

Harry had bade her a hurried farewell and rushed off, unable any longer to trust his feelings, and unwilling to take the advice which he suspected the old soldier would again proffer.

Paul let Mabel come up with him before entering the house.