“Here we are!” Steve joyously exclaimed, as the last one of the plotters arrived at the rendezvous in Mr. Lawrence’s garden. “And now, then, let us go to work.”

“Are you perfectly sure this Marmaduke will believe the letter is genuine, and fly to the rescue?” Henry asked dubiously.

[288]

“He would believe anything, Henry,” Charles rejoined “And the more romantic the letter is, the more he will believe it.”

“Why,” said Steve, “I shouldn’t be surprised if he falls in love when he meets you all tricked up—tricked out—as a heroine!”

Henry smiled grimly, but said nothing.

“Oh, no,” said George dogmatically. “Henry’s eyes are blue, and so are Marmaduke’s; and you know—at least, I’ve often read—that people alike in that respect seldom fall in love with each other.”

Oh, how indignant Henry was! Who was this impertinent little boy, who had opinions (and such opinions!) on all topics?

“Are you in the habit of reading love-stories?” he asked curiously.

“No,” said the Sage slowly, “I’ve never read many genuine love-stories; I don’t care much for them; they’re not solid enough.”

“You’ll see the day when you’ll care to read nothing else,” said Henry, melodramatically.

Perceiving that the plotters were looking at him intently, he said hurriedly, for he did not wish these boys to guess his secret, “You haven’t told me yet when the plot is to come off.”

“We never settled that ourselves; but if to-morrow evening is pleasant, let us go then,” said Will.

“We have had so many unfortunate expeditions in the night that I think we had better set some other time,” the Sage observed.

“The evening is the time, of course;” said Henry decisively. “We can take care of ourselves, I think, if we try. To-morrow forenoon I must disguise myself and go and see this old house with some of you; and then, as we are coming back, if the rest of you could come up with Marmaduke, I could hide, and look on while he ‘finds’ the letter. Have you settled that point yet?”

“Yes,” said Charles, “we planned to fix the letter in a bottle, and fling it into the river a few rods above him. The river, you know, flows past the house; so that when[289] he reads the letter he’ll think the prisoner threw the concern into the river, and that it floated down. Marmaduke will think that is romance itself.”

“I understand,” Henry commented; “and when we write the letter we can say something to that effect. Now, what do you say to mixing up a priest in the plot?”

“A priest?” they asked, at a loss to guess his intent.

“Yes, a poor old priest, that found out the villain in his capturing schemes, and had to be seized and brought along, or else made away with.

“I—I don’t—see why,” Charles stammered.

“Will tells me that Marmaduke is to suppose I’m the captive, and that I’m to be dressed accordingly,” Henry said lazily. “Now, if you boys can’t see what I mean, keep your eyes and ears open, and when the time comes, there will be so much the more sport for you.”

The plotters did not see what Henry was driving at; but, thinking it must be an “improvement” that had suggested itself to him, they were content to wait.

“Now, we must all swear that none of us will laugh, no matter how droll things may be,” Will observed.

Henry could never be guilty of such a misdemeanor. He was a boy who could do and say the most absurdly ridiculous things without the slightest smile on his face; and the others had tolerable control over their facial muscles.

“Don’t be too hard on Marmaduke, Henry;” said Charles, still at a loss to conjecture to what use the imaginary priest was to be put, and beginning to fear that some great danger menaced hapless Marmaduke.

“I will be careful,” Henry replied.

“About the letter—let us write it,” Steve cried, impatiently.

“I have the materials to write it in the rough,” said Henry. “To-night I shall polish it, and write it off on French note paper, and to-morrow I shall hand it over to you.”

“Make the letter very strong,” Charles suggested. “The more extraordinary and whimsical it is, the more[290] poor deluded Marmaduke will be delighted. Poor fellow, if it is hard to make it out, he will stammer over it till his face and hands get damp with sweat.”

“Doesn’t he understand French very well?” Henry asked.

“None of us do,” Charles dolefully acknowledged.

“Well, is he in the habit of wandering through the dictionary?”

“I—don’t—know,” said Charles, wondering what Henry was driving at now.

“Well, then, I will run the risk,” said the master-plotter, like the hero he was.

Not allowing the curious boys to ask any questions, he continued: “As you don’t understand French very well, I must read the letter carefully to you to-morrow, for it would be jolly fun if none of you could make it out. Well, fire ahead, and I’ll write; but after I polish it, your letter may be very different from the original draft.”

With that he produced pencil and paper, and then slowly, like a blood-thirsty author hatching his plot, a draught was made of the letter; each particular, as it occurred to the boys, being set down at random. When finished, it was, like Will’s letter, so incoherent that it would give a person a headache to read it. But in their own room that night Henry wrote and “polished,” whilst Will looked for words and phrases in his dictionary. They worked long and carefully, and about midnight the letter was transcribed for the last time; and with dizzy head and heavy, blinking eyes, poor Henry tumbled into bed, saying, drowsily, “I have portentous ap—apprehensions that by—by to-morrow night—I shall need—need some—some Cayenne pepper mixture.”

But he slept long and well, and felt himself again the next morning.

We give the letter in French, just as Henry wrote it. This is not done because of a morbid love of writing something in a foreign language—which seems to be so strong in some people, whether they understand it or not—but because of three very good reasons: First, to show[291] the length to which the boys went in carrying out their plot; secondly, to give the good-natured reader an insight into Henry’s character—for a man is best known by his writings; thirdly, because it is a well-known fact that intelligent youths who are studying a foreign language have an eager desire to read, or attempt to read, whatever they can find in that language; and it is well to gratify such healthy desires.

After holding forth in this strain, perhaps it will be as well to observe, that the youth who expects to perfect himself in French by a careful perusal of this letter will be most bitterly deceived.

One word more: Henry, and Henry only, is responsible for this letter, therefore all the praise must be given to him. But is it reasonable to suppose that the French Academy will survive the publication of this letter?

The envelope enclosing the letter bore the following superscription:

“A celui qui trouvera: Lisez le contenu de cette lettre sans délai!”

“To the finder: Read the contents of this letter without delay!” as Henry read it to the boys.

That is good; that is orthodox.

The letter ran as follows:

O lecteur, je suis prisonnière! Un méchant homme m’a prise, et m’a emportée de mon pays. Je suis la fille d’un des seigneurs de la France, le Duc de la Chaloupe en Poitou. Un des ennemis de mon père—quoiqu’il soit le meilleur homme du monde, il ne laisse pas d’avoir ses adversaires, mais c’est parce qu’il est favori de notre empereur puissant, Napoléon trois—je répète, un de ses ennemis, un faquin impitoyable—un misérable—un DéMON, considéra tous les moyens de le perdre.

Enfin, voyant qu’il n’a pas d’autre moyen de blesser mon papa, ce monstre résout de lui dérober sa fille. Il ourdit finement sa trame, et conspire à dresser des emb?ches pour m’attraper. Il fait emplette d’un yacht à vapeur, un vaisseau bon voilier, et il l’équipe. Puis il ancre dans une petite crique, près du chateau de mon père.[292] Ne songeant pas au danger, mon précepteur et moi nous sortons pour voir ce vaisseau étranger; et en nous promenant le long du rivage le capitaine nous prie d’aller à bord, pour en faire le tour. Nous le font; mais à peine sommes-nous montés sur la tillée, qu’on nous saisit et nous enferme dans deux petites cabines! O perfide! il s’empare facilement de sa prise! Et moi! Depuis ce moment j’ai éprouvé beaucoup de malheurs.

Ses dr?les ingambes se mettent en train; l’équipage lève tout de suite l’ancre; le pompier vole à sa pompe à feu; les matelots déferlent les voiles; bient?t le yacht vogue; tout à l’heure il marche à pleines voiles. La fenêtre treillissée de ma cabine, ou prison, donne sur la demeure de mes ancêtres, et je vois courir ?a et là nos serviteurs, avec des cris aigres de chagrin et d’horreur. Trop tard! le maroufle s’évade avec sa captive! Oh, mon cher père et ma chère mère! Qu’êtes-vous devenus!

Le yacht a marché quelques heures quand il entre un homme dans ma cabine, suivi de mon précepteur, le bon prêtre. Je reconnais Bél?tre Scélérat, l’ennemi de mon papa! C’est lui qui m’a captivée. “Tranquillisez-vous,” me dit-il; “je ne vous ferai pas de mal. Je suis l’ennemi de votre père le duc, mais je ne suis point votre ennemi. J’en userai bien avec vous, tant que vous n’essaierez pas de vous échapper. Ce prêtre sera votre instituteur comme a l’ordinaire; et vous pouvez y être aussi heureuse que si vous étiez chez vos parents.” Je le prie de me rendre, mais j’ai beau supplier. Le prêtre, à son tour, raisonne avec lui, mais le monstre hausse les épaules et il est sourd à nos prières.

Après un voyage de long cours nous abordons en Amérique—c’est-à-dire, je crois que c’est ce pays. Un complice de mon capteur l’aide a transporter le prêtre et moi dans le sein du pays, où l’............