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The Inn at the Red Oak

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The two young men looked in the direction in which the marquis pointed,
and to their astonishment they saw, riding securely at her moorings in
the cove, a large sailing vessel. She was a three-masted schooner of
perhaps fifteen hundred tons, a larger ship than they had seen at anchor
in the Strathsey for many a year.

"By all that's good!" exclaimed Tom, "that is exactly the sort of ship my
father used to have in the West Indie trade, a dozen or fifteen years
ago. What is she? I wonder; and why is she anchored here instead of in
the Port?"

The Marquis shrugged his shoulders. "That I can tell you not, my friend;
but I am happy that she is anchored there for the hours of beauty she
has already given to me. On this strange coast of yours one so rarely
sees a sail."

"No, they go too far to the south... But what is she?" asked Dan. "We
must find out." He went to the cupboard, and got out his marine glass and
took a long look at the stranger.

"What do you make her out?" asked Tom.

"There are men on deck, some swabbing out the roundhouse. One of them is
lolling at the wheel. She flies the British flag."

"Do you, perhaps, make out the name?" asked the Marquis.

"I don't know--yes," Dan replied, twisting the lens to suit his eyes
better and spelling out the letters, "S,O,U,T,H,E,R,N,C,R--the
_Southern Cross_. By Jingo, Tom, we'll have to go down to the beach and
have a look at her."

Tom took the glasses; turning them over presently to the Marquis. "She is
a good fine boat, eh?" exclaimed M. de Boisdhyver, as he applied his eye
to the end of the glass.

"She certainly is," said Dan.

They sat down at length and resumed their breakfast. The ship had
diverted Tom's attention for the moment from the fact that Nancy had
not appeared.

"Where is Nance, Dan?" he asked at length, striving to conceal his
impatience.

"I don't know," Dan replied. "I think she has gone over to see Mrs. Meath
and stayed for breakfast."

"Madame Meath--?" enquired the Marquis.

"At the House on the Dunes," Dan answered, a trifle sharply.

"A long walk for Mademoiselle on a cold morning," commented Monsieur
Boisdhyver, as he sipped his coffee.

In a few moments Dan rose. "Going to the Port to-day, Tom?"

"Not till later, any way; I am going down to the beach to have a look at
that ship."

"Wait a little, and I'll go with you," He turned to the door and motioned
Tom to follow him.

Outside he took his friend's arm and drew him close. "Tom, something's
up; Nancy's not here."

"Nancy's not here;" exclaimed Pembroke. "What do you mean? Where is she?"

"To tell the truth, I don't know where she is; her bed has not been slept
in. I thought at first she had gone for a walk with the dogs as she does
sometimes, but Boy and Girl are both in the barn. It's half-past eight
now, and she ought to be back,"

"Good Lord! man, have you searched the house?"

"I've been over it from garret to cellar."

"And you can't find her?"

"Not a sign of her."

"Have you been through the north wing?"

"Yes, all over it. I have been in every room in the house, boy. Nance
isn't there. You heard nothing in the night, did you?"

"Nothing."

"When did you go to sleep?"

"Perhaps about half-past three. Come to think of it, I awoke at four
with a start, for I heard a sleigh on the Port Road. After that I
went to bed."

"The sleigh hadn't been at the Inn?"

"It couldn't have been--I'd have heard of it if it had; you see it woke
me up just going along the road."

"I don't suppose we need worry. But it is queer--none of the servants
have seen her since last night."

"My God, what can have happened to her?" cried Tom.

"Sh, boy! We have nothing to go on, but I wager that old French devil
knows more than he will tell."

"Then, we'll choke it out of him."

"No, no, don't be a fool! She may be back any minute. I'll get the sleigh
and go over to the House on the Dunes. In the meanwhile don't show that
you are anxious! I'll be back inside of an hour, and we can have a look
at the ship. If Nance isn't with Mrs. Meath, why I am sure I'll find her
here. Let's not worry till we have to."

Tom assented to this proposition somewhat unwillingly. Despite his
friend's reassuring words, he did not feel that Nancy would be found at
the House on the Dunes or that she would immediately return. He
remembered her telling him of her desire to go away. He remembered how
strangely she had received the declaration of his love, and he feared
almost as much that she had fled from him, as that the Marquis, weird and
evil as he began to think him, had any hand in her disappearance.

After Dan's departure in the sleigh, Tom wandered about restlessly. When
half an hour passed and Frost did not return, he went out to look down
the road and see if he were coming. The white open country was still and
empty, and the only sign of life was the great three-masted ship riding
at anchor in the cove, with seamen lolling about her deck.

As Tom stood under the Red Oak, the Marquis stepped out of the front
door. He was wrapped in his great coat, about to take his morning walk up
and down the gallery.

"Why so pensive, Monsieur Pembroke? Is it that you are moved by the
beauty of the scene--, the land so white, the sea so blue, and the
_Southern Cross_ shining as it were in a northern sky!"

Tom grunted a scarcely civil reply, and turning away to avoid further
conversation, strolled down the avenue of maples toward the road.

Monsieur de Boisdhyver raised his eyebrows slightly, and began his walk.
By and by, still more impatient, Pembroke walked back toward the house.
If Dan did not return soon, he determined he would go after him. As he
came up to the gallery again the Marquis paused and spoke to him. "And
Mademoiselle, she has not returned?" he asked.

"No!" Pembroke replied sharply. "She has gone to the House on the Dunes
and her brother has driven over to fetch her."

"Ah! pardon," exclaimed Monsieur de Boisdhyver; "I did not know... But it
is cold for me, Monsieur Pembroke; I seek the fire."

Tom did not reply. The Marquis went inside, and presently Tom could see
him standing at the window, the marine glass in his hands, sweeping the
countryside.

Pembroke passed an anxious morning. Ten o'clock came; half-past; eleven
struck. Nancy had not appeared, or was there a sign of Dan. Unable to be
patient longer, he set out on the Port Road to meet his friend.



CHAPTER VIII

GREEN LIGHTS


The smoke was curling from the chimneys of the House on the Dunes as Dan
drove up the long marsh road from the beach. He had half convinced
himself that Nancy would be there, and he hoped that she herself would
answer his knock. When at length the door was opened it was not by Nancy
nor by Mrs. Meath, but by a stranger whom he had never seen before.

"Yes?" a pleasant voice questioned, but giving an accent to the
monosyllable that made Dan think instantly of France.

He found himself facing a charming woman, her bright blue eyes looking
into his with a smile that instantly attracted him. She was well-dressed,
with a different air from the women he knew. And she was undeniably
pretty--of that Dan was convinced, and the conviction overwhelmed him
with shyness. He stood awkward and ill-at-ease; for the moment forgetting
his errand. "I suppose," he stammered, "--I beg your pardon--but I
suppose you are Mrs. Heath's new boarder,--Mrs. Fountain?"

"Yes," replied the strange lady with an amused smile, "that is what I
imagine that I am called. My name is Madame de La Fontaine. And you--?"

"I?--Oh, yes--of course--I am Dan Frost from the Inn over yonder. I came
to see Mrs. Meath to ask if my sister Nancy is here."

"Alas!" replied Madame de La Fontaine, "poor Mrs. Meath she this morning
is quite unwell. She is in her room, so that I am afraid you cannot see
her. But, I may tell you, there is no one else here, just myself and my
servants."

"You have not seen or heard anything then of my sister, Nancy Frost?"
repeated Dan.

"Nancy Frost?--your sister?--No, monsieur. I am arrived only last night
and have seen no one."

"I had hoped my sister would be here. I am sorry about Mrs. Meath;
perhaps I can be of some service. If you should need me at any time, I
can almost always be found at the Inn at the Red Oak."

"The Inn at the Red Oak?" repeated Madame de La Fontaine, "and is
that near by?"

"It is about a mile and a half by the road," Frost replied, "but you can
see it plainly from the doorstep here."

The foreign lady stepped out in the crisp February air. "Can you point it
out to me? I may need your assistance some time."

"You see the woods and the oak at the edge of them," said Dan, pointing
across the Dunes. "That great tree is the Red Oak, the rambling old
building beneath it is the Inn."

"Ah! one can see quite plainly from one house to the other, is it not
so?"

"Quite," Dan replied.

"Thank you, monsieur. I trust there will be no need for assistance. But
it makes one glad to know where are neighbours, especially--" she added,
"while poor Mrs. Meath is ill."

As she spoke she turned to the door with the air of dismissing him, but
on second thoughts she faced him again. "I wonder, Mr. Frost, will you do
me a favour?"

"I shall be delighted," Dan exclaimed.

"My luggage arrived last night," said Madame de La Fontaine, "upon the
ship that is at anchor in the bay. They are to bring my boxes ashore. But
before that I desire to give directions to the captain at the beach, and
I cannot well do so by my servant. Will you be kind enough to walk with
me and show me the way?"

Dan forgot about Nancy in his eagerness to assure this unusually
attractive lady that he was at her disposal. She disappeared within, and
he heard her give some quick, sharp directions in French to a maid. Then
in a moment she reappeared on the little porch, bonneted and wrapped for
a walk in the cold.

As they set out across the Dunes, she kept up a rapid fire of questions
that might have seemed inquisitive to one more accustomed to the world
than Dan. He found himself in the course of that quarter of an hour
talking quite freely with the charming stranger.

"No, I did not make the journey from France in the _Southern Cross_," she
replied to one of his interrogations, "that would have been
uncomfortable, I fear. But she brings over my boxes. She is arrived
somewhat sooner than I was promised."

"Do you expect to signal her from the beach?"

"But yes."

"How will they know who you are?"

"Oh, they have instructions. You must think all this curious!" she
commented with a smile. "You must think me an odd person."

The possible oddness of Madame de La Fontaine made less impression upon
Dan than did her charm. He was conversing easily with a very lovely
woman, and all else was forgotten in that agreeable sensation.

As they emerged from the Dunes upon the little beach of the Cove, Dan
observed on the deck of the _Southern Cross_ a sailor watching them
through a glass. Madame de La Fontaine drew her handkerchief from beneath
her cloak and waved it toward the ship.

"This is the signal," she explained, "that they were instructed to look
out for. If I am not mistaken Captain Bonhomme will come to the shore for
my directions. You speak French, monsieur?"

"Not at all," Dan replied.

"Ah!" sighed the lady, "you lose a great deal."

"I might have learned some this winter," said Dan; "for we have had a
French gentleman as our guest at the Inn."

"Indeed! And who, may I ask, is your French gentleman?"

"His name is the Marquis de Boisdhyver. Do you, by any chance, know him?"

"The Marquis de Boisdhyver?" repeated Madame de La Fontaine. "I know the
name certainly; it is an old family with us, monsieur. But I do not
recall that I have ever had the pleasure of meeting any one who bore
it... But see! they are lowering the boat."

They were now at the edge of the surf. Madame de La Fontaine again waved
a hand in the direction of the clipper. Dan saw a small boat alongside
her, into which several sailors and an officer, as it seemed, were
clambering over the rail. They pushed off, and began to row vigorously
for the shore.

The French lady stood watching them intently. Within a few moments the
little boat was beached, the officer sprang out, advanced to Madame de La
Fontaine, and saluted. She exchanged sentences with him in French of
which Dan understood nothing. Then the seaman touched his cap, got into
his small boat, and gave orders to push off.

"He understands no English," remarked Madame de La Fontaine. "I gave
directions about my boxes. We may return now, monsieur; or doubtless I am
able to find my way back alone."

"Oh no," exclaimed Dan gallantly, "I will go with you."

The lady smiled graciously. As they walked back across the Dunes, she
kept up a lively conversation, no longer asking him questions, nor, he
observed, giving him the opportunity to ask any.

At the door of the House on the Dunes she dismissed him finally. "I am
but too grateful, Monsieur, for your kindness. I hope that we shall meet
again while I dwell in your beautiful country. In the meantime, I trust
you will find your sister."

Dan flushed, how could he have forgotten Nancy! Taking the hand that his
new acquaintance offered, he hurried away. He met Tom on the Port Road
about half a mile from the Inn and was truly worried to find that Nancy
had not returned; he explained briefly his own delay in his expedition
with the strange lady to the beach.

"It is certainly odd, though perhaps not so odd as stupid, that they
should have anchored in the Cove just to disembark one woman's boxes. It
would have been much simpler to go to the Port, as every well-bred
skipper does, and had the French woman's stuff carted out. At any rate,
we'll go down this afternoon and have a look at her."

By the time they reached the Inn it was noon, and still there was no word
of Nancy. The dinner was a silent one, as the Marquis tactfully did not
disturb his companions' preoccupation, and Mrs. Frost, who was unusually
nervous, did not appear.

After the meal the two young men started for the beach. At Tom's
suggestion they got a little dory from the boathouse and rowed out to the
clipper. The wind had shifted to the southeast, but still there was not
enough of a sea to give them any trouble; and in a few minutes they were
under the bows of _The Southern Cross_. Dan hailed a seaman who was
leaning over the gunwale and watching them with idle curiosity. If the
man replied in French, it was in a variety of that tongue that Tom's
limited attainments did not understand, and, annoyed by the
incomprehensible replies, he asked for "le captaine". At
length,--possibly attracted by the altercation at the bows,--the
authoritative-looking person who had come ashore in the morning in
response to Madame de La Fontaine's signal, now appeared at the gunwale
and glanced below at the two young men in the dory. His expression
betrayed no sign that he recognized Frost. Indeed he vouchsafed no
syllable of reply to the questions Dan asked in English or to those that
Tom ventured to phrase in Dr. Watson's French.

He was not, they thought, an attractive person; his countenance was
swarthy, his eyes were black his hair was black, his heavy jaw was
shadowed by an enormous black mustachio. A kerchief of brilliant red tied
about his throat gave him the appearance of the matador in a Spanish
bullfight rather than the officer of an English merchantman. He glanced
at the dory occasionally, shook his head silently in response to the
requests to go aboard, and at length when that did not serve to put an
end to them, he shrugged his shoulders and disappeared. The seaman
continued to lean over the gunwale and spat nonchalantly as though that
were the measure of their appreciation of this unasked-for visit.

"I move we skip up the rope," said Tom, "and explain ourselves at close
quarters."

"Thanks, no," replied Dan. "Either of those two amiable gentlemen
looks capable and willing of pitching us overboard. The water is too
cold for bathing."

"Very well," said Tom, "I will yield to your sober judgment for the
moment; but I propose to see the inside of that ship sooner or later
unless she weighs anchor in the hour and sails away. But we ought to be
getting to town to make enquiries about Nancy. For Heavens' sake, Dan,
where do you suppose she can be?"

They rowed back to the beach, stowed the dory in the boathouse, and set
out in the sleigh for Monday Port. Diligent enquiry there, in likely and
unlikely places, proved fruitless. It was nightfall when they returned
to the Inn.

They were greeted by the Marquis in the bar. "Mademoiselle Nancy, she has
not been found?"

"No," said Dan. "I take it from your question that she has not come home
yet either."

"She is not come, no. Perhaps she stays at the House on the Dunes?"

"I do not know," Dan answered tartly. "I expect her every moment, but it
is idle to conceal from you, Monsieur, that we are much concerned as to
her absence."

The Marquis grew sympathetic,--optimistically sympathetic. Tom clutched
at his re-assuring words, but Dan was even more irritated by the silence
that Monsieur de Boisdhyver had maintained throughout the day.

Directly after supper Dan went into his mother's parlour, leaving the
others to their own devices. The Marquis settled himself near the fire
and was soon absorbed in reading an old folio; Tom wandered restlessly
about, now up and down the long bar, now in the corridors, now on the
gallery and in the court without.

The night, after the bright day, had set in raw and cold; a damp breeze
blew from the southwest, and gave promise both of wind and rain. From his
position under the Red Oak, Tom could see the red and green lights of
_The Southern Cross_ at her moorings in the Cove below, and across the
Neck the lighted windows of the House on the Dunes. Over all else the
night had cast its black damp mantle.

As he stood watching, deeply anxious for the welfare of the girl he
loved, he noticed a new light appear in one of the upper windows of the
House on the Dunes--not yellow as is the light of candles, but green like
the light on the port side of the clipper in the Cove. Had he not seen
the lights from the other windows he could have thought it was another
ship on the ocean side of the Neck.

He looked for a long time at the tiny spark in the distance, wondering
what whim had induced Mrs. Meath to shade her candles with so deep a
green. As he strolled back toward the Inn, he glanced through the windows
of the bar where the Marquis still read by the fireside. Suddenly the
old gentleman, as Tom curiously watched him, laid his book down on the
table and rose from his chair. He looked about the room and then advanced
to the window. Tom instinctively slipped behind the trunk of the great
oak. Monsieur de Boisdhyver stood for several moments peering into the
darkness. Then he turned away and crossed the room to the door into the
front hall. It flashed through Tom's mind that possibly the Marquis had
started on another of his mysterious tours. He ran down again into the
court far enough from the house to command a view of the entire facade,
and watched curiously, particularly the north wing. All was dark, save
for the lights below.

Suddenly he saw the flicker of a candle in one of the windows, not of the
north wing, but of the south. A moment's glance, and he made sure that it
was the room occupied as a sleeping apartment by Monsieur de Boisdhyver.

The Marquis was standing by the window, with his face pressed close to
the pane, peering out into the night. He still held the candle in his
hand. To Dan's surprise, he placed it carefully on the broad window-sill,
and drew down the dark shade to within a foot of the sill, blotting out
all save a narrow band of light. Then the Marquis disappeared for several
moments into the interior of the room. Dan was about to turn back into
the house, when again Monsieur de Boisdhyver came to the window. He did
not raise the shade, but inserted between the windowpane and the candle a
strip of dark green paper. It was translucent and had the effect of
sending a beam of green light southward, across the meadows and the
dunes, to meet--Tom suddenly realized--the rays of the green light from
the House on the Dunes.

Was it a signal being exchanged, and between whom? The coincidence of
green lights from the Inn and the House on the Dunes, at the same moment,
was too marked to be without significance. To what end was the Marquis de
Boisdhyver exchanging mysterious signals with some one in that lonely
farmhouse, and what did they mean?

Tom repressed his agitation and remained for some time watching the two
green lights that glowed toward one another over the dark landscape.

Suddenly the light in the House on the Dunes was extinguished; then,
momentarily it shone again, but quickly went out and left the great sweep
of dunes in darkness. Two minutes later the same thing took place in the
window of the south chamber of the Inn. The light flashed and was gone,
flashed again and shone no more.

Tom went in, by a rear entrance, to the bar. The Marquis was seated by a
table, absorbed in reading. He started as Tom entered. "Still no word of
Mademoiselle?" he piped.

"Still no word, monsieur," Pembroke answered laconically. He also
seated himself in the candle light and took up the last issue of the
_Port News_.

"Do you know what has become of Dan?" Pembroke asked presently.

"Monsieur Frost he has been closeted with madame his mother for the past
half-hour. You have no further plans for seeking Mademoiselle? For
myself, I grow alarmed."

"I know nothing but what you know, monsieur. Nancy has not returned.
There has been no word of her. We shall have to wait." With tremendous
effort to conceal his agitation and annoyance, Tom resumed his reading.

Monsieur de Boisdhyver glanced at him for a moment with a little air of
interrogation, then shrugged his shoulders slightly and turned again to
his French paper.



CHAPTER IX

MRS. FROST'S RECOLLECTIONS OF A FRENCH EXILE


After the long day of fruitless search and enquiry for the vanished
Nancy, supper being over and Tom having gone outside, Dan joined his
mother in the blue parlour.

Mrs. Frost was weary with waiting and anxiety, but as Dan threw himself
on a couch near her chair, she watched him patiently.

"There is no clue, Dan?" she ventured at last.

"No clue, mother, not the slightest. Nancy seems to have vanished as
completely as if she had dissolved into air. As you know, the house has
been thoroughly searched; the servants carefully questioned; and
enquiries have been made at every conceivable place in Monday Port. I
have been to the House on the Dunes, and to the farmhouses on every road
round about. No one has seen or heard of her. She has taken French leave,
but for what reason I can't imagine."

"Nancy has not been happy for some time, Dan," said Mrs. Frost.

"No, I have fancied that she was not. But why? Do you suppose she has
left us deliberately? or--". He paused uncertain whether or not to give
voice to his suspicions.

"Or what?" asked his mother.

"Or she has been forced away against her will."

"Against her will!" the old lady exclaimed. "Who could have forced her?
and for what reason? Do you think she may have been kidnapped?"

"Either kidnapped or decoyed away."

"But who could have designs upon Nancy? It is more reasonable to suppose
that she left of her own accord. I confess that would not altogether
surprise me."

"I don't know, mother, but I have my fears and suspicions. There may be
some one who has a deep interest in Nancy, who for reasons of his own,
which I don't yet understand, may wish to control her movements. I wish
you would tell me all you know of Nancy's origin. You have never told
me;--you have never told her, I fancy,--who she really is and how you
came to adopt her as your own child. I have never been curious to know,
in fact I have not wanted to know, for she has always been to me
precisely what a sister of my own blood would be. But now, it may help
me to understand certain strange things that have happened in the last
few days."

For a moment Mrs. Frost was silent. "No, I have never spoken to you or
to Nancy of her early history, Dan; simply because, to all intent she
has been our own. I have always wished that she should feel absolutely
one with us; and I think she always has, until this winter. But of late
I have noticed her discontent, her growing restlessness, and I have
sometimes wondered if she could be brooding over the mystery of her
early years. But she has never asked me a direct question; and I have
kept silent."

"I think now, mother," Dan replied, "it is your duty to tell me all
you know."

"I have no reason, my dear, to keep anything from you. I should have told
you years ago, if you had asked me. There is not much to tell. You may
remember when you were a boy about six or seven years old, a French exile
came to the Inn, a military gentleman, who had left France in consequence
of the fall of the great Napoleon."

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