That night, poor Alice could not sleep, but watered her pillow with tears.

"He does not care for me a bit," she said; "he is just the same as he used to be, only stiffer in his manner. But what does it matter? I could never leave my darling brother; and what is more, I never will. But he is so nice, nicer than ever." And the tears came again, with a wee bit of vexation in them, and kept on at intervals, till kindly sleep at length fell on those dear blue eyes, and dried them up.

And while this was going on, her brother and his friend were smoking and talking together below.

"You must find it very wearysome, Tournier, to live by yourself now. You are not the man to like that sort of thing. You are too unselfish to be a confirmed bachelor. Excuse me for touching on a painful subject, I use the privilege of a friend."

"I thank you for doing so. But the fact is, and _you_ cannot be surprised at it, I have lost all faith in a woman's constancy. No doubt there are many of my countrywomen who would make me a happy man, but I don't know them, and do not mean to search them out."

Cosin was silent.

What good angel put it into Tournier's mind to come out with it? but he _did_ burst forth, after a pause, with the imprudent a.s.sertion, "The only woman in the world I know in whom anybody might place entire reliance is your sister. Sure am I that the blue sky of Heaven does not more truly reflect the love of G.o.d than her blue eyes reflect constancy and truth!"

Tournier felt he had betrayed himself, and was vexed.

As to Cosin, he opened his eyes with amazement at the other's vehemence of manner. Then a bright smile of surprise lighted up his face, and he said, "Why on earth then do you not ask her to be your wife?"

"My dear fellow," replied Tournier, in his turn amazed, "you surely know why. Did you not tell me years ago that she would always be your companion through life? and do you think I could be such a base scoundrel as to breathe one single syllable to her that might tempt her for even a moment to think of leaving you?"

Cosin seemed really angry instead of pleased at this, and said severely, "And so _you_ thought _me_ such a selfish brute, that I would rather keep her sweet companionship to myself, and be her gaoler more than her brother, than give her a free woman's choice to marry anyone that was worthy of her, and on whom (lucky dog!) she had set her dear heart? I do not thank you for the compliment."

Tournier looked on his irritated friend with admiring surprise. It was like the harsh grating of a heavy door that had hitherto barred his way to happiness, but was now opening.

"The thing is," said Cosin in a milder tone, "does Alice like _you_?"

"I cannot say. She never did anything to make me suppose it. But I was not observant, for I did not think about it."

"And yet, silly fellow that I am," said Cosin, "I now remember how her face always lighted up when she heard about you, or we talked of your coming. What a blind bat I have been! Oh, how I hope she does like you.

I am sure she must. But you must find it out, and if she has any scruples left, tell her to come to me and I will satisfy her."

And Tournier, nothing loth, did find it out next day. The interview shall not be described, for such things are sometimes related with admirable taste and effect, but much more often are made ridiculous; and as this was pre-eminently sensible, natural and real, it shall not run the risk of being spoilt by any attempt of the kind. It must be sufficient to say that the interview was perfectly successful, only Alice persisted in saying that, although she entirely and joyfully believed what Tournier told her about her brother, yet she must speak to him herself, and hear from his own lips that he gave a willing consent. And Tournier only admired her the more for it.

Away, therefore, she went with radiant face to seek her brother; nor did it take long to get his consent. As she came into the room he forestalled her object, and folding her to his breast said, "Dear Alice, I know what you are going to say. Your face tells the tale. You have fulfilled, more than fulfilled, your loving duty to me. Do one thing more to make me happy--go and make that dear good _fellow_ happy all the rest of his days. And remember," he added, as he held her a little from him, and looked into her blushing face with pretended severity, "you shall never come under my roof again if you disobey me! Come, I will give you to him myself."

And they found Tournier awaiting the verdict without the slightest degree of suspense.

"I have brought you your wife," Cosin cried.

What followed may well be imagined by all but ill-natured people, who see no chance of their ever being placed in a similar predicament themselves.

In the course of the evening, Cosin suddenly said with great gravity, amounting almost to solemnity, and looking first at Tournier, and then at Alice: "There is a matter that still remains to be settled. You have run away, Tournier, with my wife, and it is only fit and right that you should make what compensation is in your power."

Both the others were taken rather aback, especially as Cosin continued to seem very much in earnest.

"There must be a marriage-settlement of some sort."

"a.s.suredly," Tournier replied, relieved, but still somewhat puzzled.

"Whatever you think right, I shall be delighted to do."

"Do you really mean that?" said Cosin, still very seriously.

"Indeed I do. Everything I possess I would joyfully give to my sweet love," looking at her with intense affection. "She is worth more than all I have beside."

"But I want more than money and lands," persisted Cosin. "Mind, you have agreed to do whatever I may propose."

"Yes. Anything you require. I trust you as my own soul."

"Then the marriage-settlement must be this: That so long as we all three live, you two shall come and spend a good part of the summer with me every year, and that you will let me spend a good part of every winter with you in your sunny home. Provided always--here comes the lawyer--that if we do at any time wish to turn summer into winter, or winter into summer, we may do so by mutual agreement."

"Could anything be better!" cried the others in great delight. "Agreed, agreed."

Then Cosin, no longer able to look grave, laughingly exclaimed, "Signed, sealed, and delivered."

A few weeks after, Captain Tournier went over to France to prepare his house for the reception of his bride. He did not stop long, but returned with a heart full of grat.i.tude to G.o.d, and joyful expectation of a happy future.

They were married in Yaxley Church in the presence of a crowded congregation. More than half the people who attended could see nothing because of the bullock-boxes: but they were there, and their hearts too.

And when the grand old bells pealed forth a joyous welcome, the bridegroom could hardly repress a tear (only one!) for they reminded him how often the merry sound that now so truly harmonized with his over-br.i.m.m.i.n.g joy, had seemed of old to mock his misery as he listened to them from within his prison walls.

Their happy union, to compare small things with great, may be taken as an emblem of the _entente cordiale_ that ought ever to subsist between the two countries of France and England, and which can only be jeopardized by that rabid journalism which, with slight occasion, or none at all, seems always to take delight in doing its utmost to "let loose the dogs of war."

One word more.

The two stone bosses which for many years have capped the piers of the west gateway of Yaxley Churchyard, formerly occupied the same position on the piers of the princ.i.p.al entrance to the Norman Cross Barracks. And when the poor prisoners of old pa.s.sed between them, they were entering the place of captivity and grief and hopelessness. But now, as the good Yaxley people pa.s.s between the same bosses to go into their n.o.ble House of Prayer, they may rejoice in the thought that they are entering the place where liberty and peace and everlasting hope await them as the gift of G.o.d, through Jesus Christ their Saviour.

THE END.

Footnotes:

{17} See account of the battle of Vimiero in Napier's History of the Peninsular War, Book II, Chapter V.

{44} This is fact, not fiction. It would be interesting to know the history of this good man after the prisoners were discharged in 1814. One thing is certain, that he must ever have enjoyed a feast of memory to his dying day in having been a shepherd and bishop of souls to these poor prisoners.

{133} It is much to be regretted that the ravenous curiosity of a former vicar has since made this very hole. A wooden box was found with a heart inside in perfect form, but which instantly crumbled to dust when exposed to the air. The dust was returned to the cavity, and the box is kept at the Vicarage; but an aromatic odour still impregnates the box, just as the church William of Yaxley built still preserves the holy use to which it was devoted.