CHAPTER XXII.

I LOVE YOU.

Urbaine and Martin sat together on that night which followed the sunny

afternoon when they had been alone together on the promontory, in one

of the smaller caverns that opened out of the large one--a cavern

which, of late, Cavalier had used as that in which they ate their

meals--Roland, who shared with him the position of chief of the

Camisards (and indeed claimed to be the absolute chief), being rarely

in this part of the mountains. To-night, however, Cavalier was absent

too, he having gone on one of those terribly dangerous visits to the

valleys which he periodically made, sometimes to spy into what the

following of Baville were doing, or what the king's troops; or to head

some sanguinary raid upon a place where arms or ammunition, food or

clothes, were likely to be obtained.

But to-night he had gone forth on a different mission: to precede

Martin on his way to Nîmes, to see if all the mountain passes were

free of their enemies and, should such be the case, to conduct him

into the city, there to have an interview with the English agent.

Therefore Urbaine and Martin were alone together, save for the

Camisard woman who waited upon them at their meal, and who did not

obtrude herself more than was necessary into the cavern they were in.

As with the larger one and with those which each of them used as their

sleeping apartment, its furnishing and surroundings would have created

intense astonishment to any of the outside world who should have been

able to observe it. Hung with skins in some places, with rich and

costly tapestry and arras in others, all of which were the results of

successful forays upon châteaux and _manoirs_ which, a few hours after

the raids, were nothing but smoking ruins, the onlooker might well

have believed that, instead of a natural vault originally fashioned by

Nature's own hands, he stood within the hall of some ancient feudal

castle, such as the De Rohans or the Ruvignys had once possessed in

the vicinity. Also he might have thought that the table at which those

two sat was one prepared for the reception of guests at Versailles.

A table covered with the whitest napery, on which sparkled many pieces

of the prized _vaisselles_ of the _noblesse_ and the _haut-monde_, so

prized, indeed, that laws and edicts had been passed preventing the

sale of such things or their transposition from one family to another;

adorned as well with _verres-fins_, and with silver-handled knives and

silver forks. Also for provisions there were upon this table a

_poularde_ and the remains of a choice ham, a bottle of Ginestoux and

another of Lunel, a silver basketful of delicate, white chipped bread,

and a crystal bowl of mountain fruit. Yet the glass and the silver

bore no two crests alike. The arms that were broidered on the napery

represented still a third family. All was spoil torn from half a dozen

ruined and sacked mansions.

"I pray God, mademoiselle," Martin said, after having in vain pressed

his companion to eat more than the shred of _poularde_ she had trifled

with, and to drink at least one glass of the Ginestoux, "that this

task on which I go may end all your grief. You know that Cavalier

promises on my return, our object accomplished, to allow me to take

you away from here, to return you in safety to your father's--to M.

Baville's arms."

"Yes," she answered, looking up at him, "yes, to return me to my

father's arms."

"You will pray, therefore, for my success? It means all you can most

desire, all that you can hope for till these troubles are past. Once

back in his house, no further harm can come near you; you are safe

with him. Nay, even though he were in danger through any further

success of theirs, you are still safe. They deem you one of

themselves."

"I will pray," she said, "for your success, your prosperity, now and

forever--for all that you may undertake. Yet--yet--do you know?--I

have almost ceased to pray at all now."

"Oh, oh, God forbid!" he exclaimed, his heart wrung by her words.

"To whom am I to pray? What am I, how am I to approach Him? If I am a

Protestant I must pray for his, my father's, downfall; if a Catholic,

for the destruction of what I----" She did not finish her sentence,

but added instead: "Best never utter prayer at all; forget that from

my childhood I have been taught to worship humbly and to never know a

petition unheard. Oh," she said, thrusting her hands through the great

coils of golden hair that adorned her head, "oh, that I had died on

the day you saved my life, that the bullet which pierced my poor

_gouvernante's_ breast had found mine instead!"

Profoundly touched, moved to the deepest pity and sympathy by

her words--the words of one so young and fair, yet, alas! so

distraught--he moved nearer to her and, unaware even, perhaps, of his

action, took her hand.

"Why," he said, speaking very low, yet with a voice that seemed as

music in her ears, "why feel thus, suffer thus? In spite of all

the dissensions between our faiths--grant even that you are no

Protestant--we worship the same God though we see him with different

eyes. Urbaine," he whispered, forgetting as he spoke that he had

broken down the barrier of formality which had been between them until

now, "if you can not pray for me to-night, can not pray that my

efforts may meet with success, how can I depart and leave you here?

How go, knowing that your heart is not with me?"

"Not with you?" she whispered in her turn. "Not with you? Alas----"

and again broke off, saying no more.

"Urbaine," he continued, emboldened now to repeat softly her name, and

perhaps not understanding her repetition of his words, deeming, it may

be, that the repetition confirmed them, "Urbaine, your heart, your

wishes must go with me, with the cause I undertake. It is the cause of

peace and reconciliation, of strengthening your king's hands by

winning back his subjects to him. For if this fleet can but get a

foothold for its men on shore, Louis must make terms with all who are

now beating him down; not only in this fair Languedoc, but over all

Europe a lasting peace may ensue. A peace," he continued, still gently

yet impressively, "between your land and mine. Yours and mine," he

repeated, dwelling, it seemed to her, pleasantly on the coupling of

their interests together--"yours and mine."

For answer she only sighed, then she said a moment later:

"Yet to go on this mission may mean death to you. If Montrevel or

Julien caught you--O God! it sickens me to think of your peril. They

might not know, might not even believe, all that you have done for me.

The end would be awful."

"Yet remember also that they would not know, can not know, that I am a

Protestant--worse than all else within their eyes, an Englishman. And,

not knowing, nothing would be suspected."

"Still I fear," she answered. "Am overcome with horror and anxiety.

Oh!" she exclaimed again, "oh! if your reward for your noble chivalry

to me should be nothing but disaster. If--if we should never meet

again."

"Fear not," he said. "We shall meet again. I know it; it is borne in

upon me. We shall meet again. I shall restore you to your father's

arms."

Yet, even as he spoke, he remembered the words that Cavalier had

uttered under the seal of confidence, the words: "When she has heard

what is to be told, it may be she will never seek to return to him, to

set eyes on her beloved Intendant again." Remembered them and wondered

what they might portend.

As he did so there came into the cavern one of the Camisards, a man

who had been deputed to lead him at a given time to where Cavalier was

to await his coming. A guide who said briefly that the horses were

prepared and ready to set forth at monsieur's pleasure, then went

outside to wait for him.

"Farewell, Urbaine," Martin said. "Adieu. Nay, do not weep. All will,

all must be, well with you, otherwise I would not leave you. And,

remember, once my task is accomplished you are free. It is for that,

as for other things, in other hopes, that I go. Bid me Godspeed."

It seemed, however, as if she could not let him depart. Weeping, she

clung to his arm, her cheeks bedashed with the tears that ran down

them, her hands clasping his. And then, overmastered by her misery, he

said that to her which he had never meant to say until, at least,

happier days had dawned for both--if, as he sometimes thought, he

should ever dare to say it.

"Urbaine," he whispered, "Urbaine, be brave; take heart; pray for me.

Listen, hear my last words ere I go. I love you--have loved you since

that night we sat beneath the acacias after I had saved you. I shall

love you ever--till I die."

* * * * * * *

The moon shone out through deep inky clouds that scurried swiftly

beneath her face as Martin and the guide set forth to descend to the

spot where Cavalier was to await them. Up here there were no

precautions necessary to be taken, since to the higher portions of the

Cévennes it was impossible that any enemy could have penetrated from

below. The paths that led up to the caves which formed the barracks

and dwelling places of the two thousand men who now kept all Languedoc

in dread and two of Louis' armies at check were of so narrow and

impassable a nature that Thermopylæ itself might have acknowledged

them as worthy rivals; and, even had they been less close and

tortuous, were so guarded at intervals by pickets of Camisards that

none could have surmounted them. Also in many places the route had

been made to pass specially over terrible chasms and ravines, since,

by so doing, it enabled the defenders of the passes to construct

drawbridges which could be lowered or raised at their own pleasure,

or, in case of necessity, destroyed altogether.

Yet one precaution had been taken for their journey--a precaution

never neglected by those dwellers of the mountains, in case they

were forced to take to flight and desired to leave no trace behind

them--their animals were shod _backward_ on their fore feet, a method

which, in conjunction with the usual shoeing of the hind feet, was

almost certain to baffle those who should endeavour to follow their

tracks.

Beneath that moon which shone fitfully from the deep masses of

rain-charged clouds the two men paced in Indian file down the narrow

passes, seeing as they went that which, for now many weeks, had been

visible to all eyes in the province--namely, the flames of villages on

fire at different points of the compass; hearing, too, as they were

borne on the winds, the distant ringing of alarm bells and tocsins

from many a beleaguered church and monastery. For not only did those

flames spring from edifices wherein the old faith was still

maintained, but also from the villages and hamlets where some

Protestants continued to dwell and worship in their own manner, hoping

ever for better, happier days. Already it was calculated that more

than forty Romish churches had been destroyed, with, in many cases,

the bourgs in which they stood; ere all was over the number was

doubled. And already, also, more than that number of Protestant places

of worship, with the villages around them, had been pillaged, sacked,

and burned by Montrevel and Julien, while, in their case, ere all was

over the number was almost trebled.

Thinking of his newly declared love for Urbaine, thinking, too, of

how, in whispered words, she had declared her love for him in return,

of how in their last hasty embrace, which had been also their first,

they had sworn deathless fidelity to each other, Martin took but

little heed of those midnight sights telling of happy homes ruined

forever which he had now been forced so often to gaze upon from the

heights where the Camisards dwelt. He had grown accustomed to these

beacons of horror, in spite of the unhappiness they caused him.

But now he saw a new phase of stern justice and punishment at which he

could not fail to shudder.

High up upon three gibbets at the wayside by which they

passed--gibbets so placed that, when their ghastly burdens should

rot from the chains which held them now, they would fall down and

down until they reached the bottom of the ravine a thousand feet

below--there hung three corpses; swung waving to the mountain air,

while ever and anon upon their white but blood-stained faces the moon

glinted now and again, making those faces look as though they

perspired in her rays, were clammy with sweat. And two grinned

hideously in those rays, a bullet wound which had shattered the mouth

of one giving to his face the appearance of a man convulsed with

laughter, while the smirk of the other face was, in truth, the last

grimace of the death agony. The features of the third told naught,

since, from a wound in his forehead, there had run out the blood which

was now caked and hardened to a mask, hiding all below.

"My God!" exclaimed Martin, with a shiver, "who are they? Men caught

here and executed as spys, troopers made prisoners and done to death

by the avengers?"

"Nay," replied the man, while he made a contemptuous gesture at the

loathsome things that at the moment executed a weird fantastic

movement in unison as a fresh gust of wind swept down from the

mountains above, making them sway and dance to its cold breath, "nay,

vagabonds, _marauds_. Murderers these, not soldiers. Those men are of

our number--were of our number--Protestants--ourselves."

"What, traitors?"

"Ay, traitors--to humanity. Listen! They caught one, a good woman,

Madame de Miramand, a Papist, yet a kindly creature who succoured all

alike. Also she was young, not twenty, and beautiful. She was _en

voyage_"--again Martin shuddered, thinking of another woman young and

beautiful who had also been _en voyage_, and almost caught--"had with

her her jewels, also her _vaisselles_. Well they slew her even as she

knelt before them, stabbed her, left her to die, left her thus as she

prayed God to pardon them."

"Go on," Martin said, seeing that he paused.

"God may pardon them," the guide said. "One, however, would not.

Cavalier! We caught them, tried them; you see the sentence. It is not

women _we_ war upon."

As he finished, again the loathsome figures swung to the breeze, again

they danced and pirouetted in their chains, while from behind a rock

Cavalier himself strode forward.

It was the spot that had been the meeting place appointed with the

guide.

"It is true," he said. "We war not with women. Let Montrevel or Julien

do that. Or their master--Louis!"