CHAPTER XXIX.
THE SERPENT IN A NEW SKIN.
The result of our solemn council of war, held over certain cans of Odenzee beer, under the Green-Tree at Hesinge, was, first—that Gabrielle should be freed from Merodé, if she was still his prisoner; secondly, if not, that he should account for her body for body; thirdly, that her freedom should be obtained, if possible, by diplomacy, or threats, as we had strict orders to proceed to Elsineur, without detour or fighting under any consideration; fourthly, that no ransom should be paid (because we had none to pay), and fifthly, that if all means failed, we should risk the king's displeasure, storm Helnœsland, and knock all the Merodeurs on the head.
Attended by Phadrig, Ian departed to examine the castle before supper, and had just satisfied himself that it was a large square fortified tower, with grated windows, a battlement bristling with brass pateraroes, a barbican wall lined by six pound guns, well loopholed, and full of men, when several shots warned him to retire, and he and Phadrig, baffling the Merodeurs, reached our cantonments at Hesinge about nightfall. There, after guards were posted, and the soldiers billeted, the officers sat down to a jovial supper, at the large table under the Green-Tree.
Ernestine had the best apartment in the inn apportioned to her; I had command of the quarter-guard that night, with the task of posting, every two hours, twelve new sentinels round Hesinge; and (as the Merodeurs were in our vicinity) our soldiers had strict orders from Ian to sleep accoutred, in case of a surprise.
The night was moonless and cloudy, and my duty, as captain of the quarter-guard, kept me wakeful and anxious. The street was unlighted, unpaved, full of mud, and encumbered by rubbish and pools of water, where ducks, crows, and storks squattered by day; and where prowling dogs burrowed and snarled by night.
About the twelfth hour, when returning from visiting my sentinels, I paused for a moment in the middle of the street, to observe the dense bank of cloud that arched the sky from east to west, enclosing it on all sides save the north, where there lingered a warm yellow flush, that in so northern a region would never darken, but would brighten with the coming day. It shed a clear cold light on the gable-ends of the little street, on the sharp ridges of the roofs and chimney-tops, while their shadows, and all between me and them, were sunk in blackness and obscurity.
Ian occupied the house of the Herredsfoged, and, as the colours were deposited there, it had a special guard of twelve pikemen under Sergeant Phadrig Mhor. It stood without the village, and, to visit it, I had to pass through a narrow lane between two privet hedges, one of which enclosed the yard at the back of the inn, and where our baggage-waggons stood.
A faint light that burned in Ernestine's room arrested me.
The shutter was half closed, the light was subdued, and placed in the shade, so that I knew she had retired to rest; yet, with that sentiment so natural to a lover, I stood for a minute gazing at that light, the rays of which were probably falling on the fair and sleeping face of her I loved so well.
At that instant I became aware suddenly that other personages were similarly occupied. Between two of our baggage-wains, two men, like peasants, gazed intently at the solitary ray which shone into the inn-yard. They were evidently lurkers. My suspicions were roused, and, instead of challenging them, I resolved to watch, and loosened the loaded pair of good Doune pistols which hung at my girdle.