[figure description] Page 013.[end figure description]

The young officer and the woman sat down
side by side on the bench, in the full light
of the beacon fire.

The light revealed his face and figure
clearly. He was about twenty-five; of slight
figure, but evidently active and powerful. The
face was bronzed by sun and wind. In the
black eyes, keen and piercing, could be read
force of character, and a courage as cool as it
was reckless.

They talked long and earnestly. The sailor
seemed to be narrating his adventures.

“And now, mother,” he at length said, “since
I have finished with myself, let us come to yourself.
You still keep up your beacon?”

“Yes, yes, my son!” was the reply, in French,

[figure description] Page 014.[end figure description]

the language of their conversation. “Alas! it
is little to do in expiation of my sins.”

“Your sins?”

“My great sins. Do not bring them to my
memory. That beacon, you know, warns vessels
approaching the reefs. It has saved many
lives.”

“True, mother—mine among the rest. I
dared not look for a pilot, and your beacon saved
the corvette last year.”

“A whole year since year last visit!”

She gazed at him tenderly as she uttered these
words.

“Could I help that, mother? England and
France are enemies now, and the coast is
guarded. A frigate may blow my little corvette
out of the water at any moment.”

“But you come—”

“On secret service.”

“Tell me of it.”

He shook his head.

“That is impossible, mother.”

“And yet I tell you all!”

He looked at her with a smile, and then
shrugged his shoulders.

“You tell me nothing. What is it you have
ever told me? Stay: what brought you hither,

[figure description] Page 015.[end figure description]

many years since, to this solitary spot? Why
did you leave beautiful France for this rock-bound
shore? Why do you live the life of a
recluse, going to the fishing village beneath
only once in many months to buy scanty supplies,
with the poor little gold I brought?”

Her head sank.

“True,” she said, “I have preserved silence
as to all this, but only because I was compelled
to do so. Believe me, Edmond, I have good
reasons for my silence.”

“And I too, my mother, for mine, namely,
my orders. So we will respect each other's secret.
Instead of speaking, I wish you to speak.
Is a certain Viscount Cecil in this neighborhood
now?”

“I do not know, my son.”

“A certain Sir Murdaugh Westbrooke?”

The woman turned her head suddenly.

“I believe so. But your business with him,
my son?”

The sailor uttered a short laugh.

“Merely to have an interview with him, my
mother.”

The woman shuddered.

“What is the matter, mother?”

“Beware of this man, my son.”

[figure description] Page 016.[end figure description]

“Beware of Sir Murdaugh Westbrooke?”

“He is a terrible person, they say; bloody and
cruel; and strange stories are told of him.”

“Ah! what stories?”

“Mysterious things are said to take place at
Westbrooke Hall. People speak of singular
noises heard there,—of groans; of great hounds
prowling around ready to tear down intruders.
More still,—it is said that a singular odor fills
the house.”

“A singular odor?”

“The smell of corpses.”

And the woman crossed herself.

The young sailor repeated his short laugh.

“That is mysterious, and curious, and I will
go and see for myself. Groans—hounds—
noises—the smell of corpses! That is queer,
and excites curiosity. But we have conversed
sufficiently of the excellent baronet. Besides,
I am in haste, my mother—I must leave you.
First, however, here is some gold.”

And he drew a heavily filled beg from his
valise, and placed it in the lap of the recluse.

“Do not refuse it,” he added; “it is honestly
earned; and money is a friend, mother—one of
the best in the world, and we should not repulse
friends. Now I must hurry. I have some

[figure description] Page 017.[end figure description]

distance to travel to-night, and must change my
costume.”

With these words the sailor raised the valise,
and entered the door of the hut, leaving the
solitary woman still seated on her bench, in the
light of the beacon fire.

This light streamed through the small window,
and revealed a rush-clad floor, one hard
wooden chair, a low narrow bed, with a poor
but neat covering, and several exquisite engravings
of scenes in the lives of the saints.

In ten minutes the sailor reappeared. He
was scarce recognizable. His uniform had been
replaced by a handsome dark travelling suit of
English fashion; in one hand he carried a small
travelling satchel, and in the other what appeared
to be a bundle of rods about three feet in length,
wrapped in shining oil-cloth.

“You behold, my mother, the gentleman
tourist, Mr. Delamere,” he said, laughing. “Let
it be pardoned the captain, Edmond Earle,
sailor, if he adopts the name of Delamere—
de la mèr—as that to which he is best entitled
after his own.”

“And you will leave me, my son, so soon
after gladdening my poor old eyes with your
coming?”

[figure description] Page 018.[end figure description]

“I must, mother; but do not fear: I will soon
return.”

“But the danger.”

“Danger! Well, we are old acquaintances,
this same danger and myself. We have shaken
hands often, and I am not afraid of him.”

“If they discover you —”

“They will arrest and hang me as a spy?
Yes: but they will not probably discover me.
I speak English like a native; and before they
hang me, the town yonder will be blown to
atoms by my cannon.”

The recluse clasped her hands.

“Oh, my son! do not go.”

He laughed grimly.

“Be at rest, my mother: there is no danger;
and you will not behold that fine spectacle from
your headland, — the coast of this good Pembrokshire
raked by the guns of my corvette.
See! yonder is her light on the horizon. She is
standing out to sea. You do not see it? I am a
sailor, and see far. And now, farewell, my
mother. I will revisit you to-morrow night, I
think. Embrace me.”

And embracing the woman, the sailor set out
rapidly by a path which led down the mountain
side toward the interior.

p517-024

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