CHAPTER XXXI.

BETRAYED.

They had met again. Were together, never more to part unless parted by

one thing, Death! Death that was imminent at any moment, that might

overtake them that very night, or to-morrow, or the next day; for

Cavalier was on his way down to the plains to make those reprisals of

which Montbonneux had spoken. God only knew what might be the end of

all.

She, riding on the captured little mule and enveloped in costly

furs--as usual, part of a spoil of a successful foray made by the

Camisards on a more or less unprotected _manoir_--had seen him as the

large body of Cavalier's followers had rounded a point in the mountain

pass, and, springing from the animal's back, had thrown herself into

his outstretched arms, unheeding those who came behind her and the

Cévenole chief, thinking of naught at the moment but that he was safe

and with her again, deeming all else insignificant beside that one

supreme mercy vouchsafed by God. For she knew in what awful danger he

had stood not many hours before; knew that, not more for the purpose

of exacting vengeance than for that of rescuing him, was this descent

from the mountains being made. And now he was safe, by her side again.

He drew her apart from where Cavalier stood with all his followers

behind him; drew her apart and whispered words of love and

thankfulness at seeing her once more. Then suddenly, observing on the

fair young face and in the clear, pure eyes a look that he had never

seen before, he murmured:

"What--what is it, Urbaine, my sweet?"

But she would not answer him, only contenting herself with saying,

"Not now, not now," while even as she did so he saw beneath the light

of the full moon that her eyes were full of tears. Felt, too, the warm

hand which he held quiver in his grasp.

And as he noticed those symptoms of unhappiness he wondered if she had

learned while among these Camisards that secret which one at least of

them knew--that secret which, to prevent her from ever learning, had

caused Baville to bid him fly with her out of France, away, anywhere,

so that she might never know it. Never know that her father's death

lay at his door.

"Come," said Cavalier, approaching them and speaking very quietly,

after having carried on a hurried conversation for some moments with

Montbonneux and the other two men, "come, we must move forward. Thank

God, you are free, out of the tiger's claws; for your sake and ours as

well, if what my followers report of the news you bring is true. _Is_

it?" and he looked piercingly at the other in the moonbeam's light.

"It is true if they have told you that a large force is making its way

toward these mountains. They must have left Nîmes some time before me,

since I followed them a considerable distance before coming up with

their rear, and I have outstripped them by perhaps two hours, though

not longer, I think."

Then he told Cavalier that Baville had himself released him.

"Baville released you! Because of my threat?"

"Because of----" yet since Urbaine was by his side he paused and told

no more, or only with a look which Cavalier understood sufficiently

well, for he also now knew of the Intendant's part in the death of

Urbain Ducaire, understood that his love for Urbaine had grown out of

his remorse.

"Come," he said shortly, after meditating for a moment with his eyes

fixed on the ground, "come, we must go forward now. Best meet this

force and check it, or part of it. How many strong are they, do you

suppose?"

"At least a thousand. Perhaps more. Composed of dragoons,

_chevaux-légers_, and Miquelets. Can you cope with those?"

"If we are united, yes. But Roland is away, ahead, with half our men;

yet, stay. We have to meet at the Tour de Bellot. If we can join them

before these soldiers reach that, then we can win. If not, if they

catch Roland's force alone, then God help Roland!"

As he spoke, from afar off there came a sound that none in all the

vast band which had descended from the mountains could have mistaken,

unless it were Urbaine alone. A sound deep, muffled, roaring. That of

cannons firing. Heard first down in the valley, then reverberating

high up amid the clouds that capped the summits of the cold mountain

tops.

"You hear?" he said. "You hear? We must on at once. On, on! What will

you do with the lady? She is yours now. You see, I remembered my

promise. I was bringing her to you, knowing full well that either by

threats or siege we would have you out of the hands of Baville. Yet I

thought not you could have been free to-night, so soon."

"My place is by her side forever now. Where she is, there am I."

"Be it so. Will you go back with her? Yet I know not, if they gain the

passes, the caverns will be surrounded and--and--if they succeed we

shall not be there to help or succour. God, he knows what is best!"

"Can they do that, gain the summits?"

"Scarce can I say. Yet now at last I fear. The prophets see visions,

speak of rebuffs at last. The _extasées_, the woman seers, the female

children--all foretell disaster. Even I, who have ere now believed

that I could read the future, am shaken, not in my courage, but my

hopes."

His last words were lost, or almost lost, in the dead muffled roar

that rose once more from far down in the valley, and as the sound was

heard again Cavalier started.

"We must not tarry, even for her. Decide, therefore, and decide

quickly," while, as he spoke, he gave orders briefly to all who

surrounded them and commanded that they should be transmitted along

the line of Camisards which stretched far behind and up to where the

great plateau was.

"I have decided," Martin answered. "That firing is some distance off,

some five or six miles at least. At the foot of the mountains there

are many side-paths leading east and west. I can convey her by one of

those to some haven of shelter, out of harm. Let us accompany you to

the valley; then, Cavalier, we part."

"Do as you will," the other answered. "I gave you my word that all

should be as you desired when you returned from Cette. I keep it to

the last. We part to-night forever. Remember me in years to come as

one who was an honourable man."

Then, as though he wished no more said, he gave another order for the

band under his command to set forth again upon its descent, and,

quitting Martin, went forward and placed himself at its head.

And now Martin took his place by the side of her he loved, walking by

the little mule, holding her hand in his beneath the richly-furred

cloak. Also he told her what was decided on as best for her safety.

Once, too, he asked, after he had informed her of the arranged plan:

"You do not fear? Are content?"

"Content! To be with you!"

And the glance that rested on him, and plainly to be seen beneath the

ray of the moon, told more than further words could have done.

"We shall be together forever and always now," he continued, speaking

clearly though low, so that she might catch his words above the deep

thud of the Camisards' tread as they swept down the mountain road.

Above, too, the roar of the cannon that grew louder as they approached

nearer and nearer to the spot whence it proceeded. "Forever and

always, once we are across the frontier and in the Duke of Savoy's

dominions. Man and wife, _ma mie_, in a week's time if we escape

to-night. Will that suffice?"

And once more she answered with a glance.

They were descending fast now toward the plain, yet, as they neared

it, it almost seemed as though the booming of the cannon grew less

continuous, as if the pauses were longer between each roar. What did

it mean? the Camisards asked each other. Was the cannon becoming

silent because Julien and his detachments had been caught in some

trap, or had the royalist troops been driven back again as they had

been so often driven back before? Were the outcasts, the _attroupés_,

again successful, still invincible? Above all else, above that thud of

mountaineers' heavy feet and the clatter of musketoon and fusil

shifted from shoulder to shoulder; above, too, sword scabbards

clanging on the ground, Cavalier's voice arose now.

"Down to meet them!" he cried. "Down! Down! Faster and faster, to join

Roland and sweep the tyrant's soldier from out our land, or perish

beneath their glaives. On, my brethren, on!" and as he spoke the tramp

of the men was swifter and heavier, the march of the band more

swinging.

The plain was reached. They poured out upon it, no longer a long, thin

line, but a compact body now which marched not only on the straight,

white road that gleamed a thread beneath the moon's rays, but spread

itself over the sodden marshy lands bordering that road; went on swift

and fast, while as they almost ran they saw to the priming of their

firelocks, and buckled rough goatskin baudriers and bandoleers,

wrenched from many a dying royalist, tighter round them, and loosened

swords and knives in their sheaths.

Yet, as they went, the firing ceased or rather rolled farther away

from them, sounded now as if coming from where, beneath the moonlit

sky, the cathedral spire of Nîmes lifted its head. Surely, all

thought, the enemy must be driven back. Otherwise the booming of the

cannon would not have ceased altogether; at least would not become

more distant, farther off.

And now they were near the Tour de Bellot, the rendezvous, the spot

where Roland was to have joined forces with them, if all was well. So

near that the solitary and lofty structure--once the round tower of an

ancient feudal castle that had stood many a siege in days as far off

as those of the Albigensian crusade, but on to which, in later years,

had been built a farmhouse, now a ruin also--could be seen rising

clear and pointed to the heavens; clearer than the more distant spire

of Nîmes itself.

And Roland was not there, nor any of his force. One glance showed

that, long ere they reached it, the battle which had been going on for

now more than two hours was farther off than they had at first

supposed.

The place was deserted, except for the shepherd who dwelt within it, a

man holding the creed of the outcasts, one who had also at that time

two sons in their ranks.

"Where is Roland?" demanded Cavalier of this man as they all streamed

into the place, leaping over the stone walls which surrounded the

pasturage and rushing hastily into grange and granary, there to snatch

some rest, even though but half an hour's, ere they might have to set

forth again. "Where? Where?"

"Forward toward Nîmes," the fellow answered, speaking stolidly and, as

it seemed to Martin, who stood by, stupidly; "toward Nîmes. He has

driven them back."

"God be praised!" exclaimed Cavalier and many who stood around. Then

the former asked: "And followed them toward Nîmes? Is that so?"

"Nay, I know not," the other replied, seeming even more stupid than

before. "I know not. They are not here. The battle was afar. I did but

hear it."

"We can do nothing as yet," Cavalier said, "nothing. Can but wait and

abide events. Yet 'tis strange, strange that of all his force he could

not send back one messenger to tell me of his doings, his whereabouts.

Our rendezvous was to be ten of the clock; 'tis past that now.

Strange!" he repeated, "strange!" And his eyes followed the shepherd

searchingly as he moved about preparing rough, coarse food for as many

of the band as he could supply. He had been warned that the descent

was to be made that night from the mountains, and also to prepare as

much bread and wine as possible; and now he produced all that he had,

he said, been able to obtain without arousing suspicions.

At this time Martin was standing beside Urbaine, she having been

placed in a rude armchair possessing neither pillow nor covering,

which had been set in front of the fire for her; and to them Cavalier

now addressed himself, saying:

"For you to go forward now would be madness; nay, madness even to quit

this house and seek any road either to right or left. For--for--Heaven

forgive me if I am wrong, yet I misdoubt me of this man, one of us as

he is and the father of two others."

"I have Baville's pass; they would respect that. Would not harm her.

Even though the men in command have never seen her, they would

understand. And--and--it is imperative that I convey her across the

frontier to Savoy without loss of time." Then, drawing the banished

chief away from the close neighbourhood of Urbaine, he said in a lower

tone, "He dreads that she should learn from any here that he caused

her father, Urbain Ducaire's death!"

With a swift glance the other looked up into Martin's face, far above

his own; looked up with a glance that was almost a mocking one.

"He dreads that, does he?" Cavalier replied. "_Malheureusement pour

lui!_ he dreads too late. He should have taken steps bef----"

"What?"

"She knows it."

"Great God! 'Tis from that her fresh sorrow springs. How--how did

she----?"

But ere he could finish his question there came an interruption which

prevented it from ever being answered.

Across the broken flags of the farmhouse kitchen there came a man, one

of the prophets, known as _Le Léopard_, because of his fierce staring

eyes, a man in whose belt there was a long knife, the hilt of which he

fingered savagely, and on whose back was strapped a long military

carabine, another spoil of the enemy. And, reaching Cavalier's side,

he muttered hoarsely from beneath his ragged, dishevelled mustache:

"We are betrayed. There has been no battle. Roland is not within

leagues of this spot. The cannon was a snare, a lure. And--and--come

forth into the moonlight and see what is without."