hom he promised to devote
himself until he should see them safe in friendly hands. Both
letters were addressed, as best they might be, between Eustacie's
dim comprehension of the word Thistlewood, and M. Gardon's notion of
spelling. 'Jadis, Baronne de Ribaumont' was the securest part of the
direction.

And for a token, Eustacie looked over her jewels to find one that would
serve for a token; but the only ones she knew would be recognized, were
the brooch that had fastened the plume in Berenger's bloody cap, and the
chaplet of pearls. To part with the first, or to risk the second in the
pirate-ship, was impossible, but Eustacie at last decided upon detaching
the pear-shaped pearl which was nearest the clasp, and which was so
remarkable in form and tint that there was no doubt of its being well
known.

CHAPTER XXI. UNDER THE WALNUT-TREE

Mistress Jean was making the elder-flower wine--
'And what brings the
Laird at sic a like time?'
LADY NAIRN, THE LAIRD OF COCKPEN

Summer was nearly ended, and Lucy Thistlewood was presiding in the great
kitchen of the Manor-house, standing under the latticed window near
the large oak-table, a white apron over her dress, presiding over the
collecting of elder-berries for the brew of household-wine for the
winter. The maids stood round her with an array of beechen bowls or red
and yellow crocks, while barefooted, bareheaded children came thronging
in with rush or wicker baskets of the crimson fruit, which the maids
poured in sanguine cascades into their earthenware; and Lucy requited
with substantial slices of bread and cheese, and stout homely garment
mostly of her own sewing.

Lucy was altogether an inmate of her father's house. She had not even
been at Hurst Walwyn for many months; for her step-mother's reiterated
hopes that Berenger would make her his consolation for all he had
suffered from his French spouse rendered it impossible to her to meet
him with sisterly unconsciousness; and she therefore kept out of the
way, and made herself so useful at home, that Dame Annora only wondered
how it had been possible to spare her so long, and always wound up her
praises by saying, that Berenger would learn in time how lucky he had
been to lose the French puppet, and win the good English housewife.

If only tidings would have come that the puppet was safe married. That
was the crisis which all the family desired yet feared for Berenger,
s