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[Illustration: THE GIRL’S OWN PAPER

VOL. XX.—NO. 1002.]      MARCH 11, 1899.      [PRICE ONE PENNY.]

[Illustration: A YOUTHFUL PIANIST.]

_All rights reserved._]




“OUR HERO.”

A TALE OF THE FRANCO-ENGLISH WAR NINETY YEARS AGO.

BY AGNES GIBERNE, Author of “Sun, Moon and Stars,” “The Girl at the
Dower House,” etc.


CHAPTER XXIV.

A BARRED WINDOW.

How the next fortnight passed, Roy never afterwards could recall. He
was sick and dazed with the shock he had had, grieving for Will Peirce,
and all but hopeless. He had ceased to care for food, and, though he
slept much, passing hours at a time in heavy doze, it was not the kind
of sleep to rest him. Life at this time seemed awfully hard to live.
Sometimes he envied little Will.

The Colonel, who had spoken to him that day, spoke to him again often
when they met in the yard; and Roy was grateful, but he could not rouse
himself. He had lost all interest in what went on around him. He hated
the yard, and he always kept as far as possible from the spot where
that terrible exposure had taken place.

His one longing was to know how the other poor boys in the hospital
were; but accounts in that direction were uncertain and not to be
relied upon.

About a fortnight later, one cold afternoon, he was leaning against the
wall at the further end, hardly thinking, only drearily enduring. He
became aware of a man coming across the yard, carrying a large basket,
or _hotte_, piled up with loose wood—not a gendarme, but evidently one
employed in the fortress on manual work.

Something about the fellow arrested Roy’s attention, though why it
should be so Roy had no idea. He was of medium height, broad-shouldered
and long-limbed, and he walked in a slouching manner. As he drew near
the basket tilted over, raining the whole mass of wood at Roy’s feet.

“Hallo!” exclaimed Roy.

The man muttered something, and went slowly down upon his knees to pick
up the wood. No one else was near. A body of prisoners had been that
morning removed elsewhere, and the yard was not so full as usual. Roy,
after a moment’s hesitation, good-naturedly bent to help; and as he did
so, their faces came close together.

“Hist!” was whispered cautiously.

Roy started.

“Hist!”—again. “Does monsieur know me? But not a word—hist!”

Roy drew one quick breath. Then he picked up more pieces of wood,
tossing them into the _hotte_. He cast another glance at the man,
his whole being on the alert. In an instant he saw again the small
French town, the crowd in front of the _hôtel de ville_, the released
conscript, the old mother clinging to Denham’s hands, and Denham’s
compassionate face. All was clear.

“Jean Paulet,” he breathed.

“Hist!”—softly.

“But—you are he?”

“Oui, M’sieu.”

Jean piled some of the wood together, with unnecessary fuss and noise.

“Will M’sieu not betray that he has seen me before? It is important.”

“Oui.”

Roy tossed two more bits of wood into the _hotte_. Then he stood up,
yawned, and stared listlessly in another direction. After which he hung
lazily over the _hotte_, as if to play with the wood, and under cover
of it a touch of cold steel came against his left hand.

“Hist!”—at the same instant.

Roy grasped and slipped the something securely out of reach and out of
sight, without a moment’s hesitation. His right hand still turned over
the wood.

“Bon!” Jean murmured, making a considerable clatter. Then, low and
clearly—“Listen! If M’sieu will file away the bar of his window—ready
to be removed—I will be there outside, to-morrow night after dark. When
M’sieu hears a whistle—hist! But truly this weight is considerable—oui,
M’sieu—and a poor man like me may not complain.”

Jean hitched up the big _hotte_, now full, and passed on, grumbling
audibly, while Roy strolled back to his former position. His heart was
beating like a hammer, and he dreaded lest he might betray his change
of mood in his face. To return to his former dejected attitude was not
easy when new life was stirring in every vein; but he managed to shirk
observation, and when two o’clock came it was a relief to be alone in
his cell. He could safely there fling his arms aloft in a frenzy of
delight.

If only little Will might have escaped with him! That thought lay as a
weight of sorrow in his joy.

But there was little leisure for regrets. He had a task to accomplish
in a given time, and it might not be an easy task. Many