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Updated: June 9, 2025
"I surrender," he said; then in an undertone: "He yonder with the plume, now that De Castro lies dead, is your fittest quarry. Drag him down and the herd is yours." Ferne stared, then curled his lip. "Gramercy for your hint," he said. "I pray you that henceforth we become the best of strangers."
The voice had the soft, slow intonation of the South, and it held some quality that haunted the memory. Or so Melissy thought afterward, but that may have been because of its owner's appeal to sympathy. "If you are Miss Yarnell." "Ferne Yarnell is my name." "Mr. Bellamy asked me to call on you. He sent this letter of introduction." A faint wave of color beat into the cheek of the stranger.
He turned from the window, and the two again stood face to face. "I am a child at school," said Ferne. "There was a time when I thought to keep for bed-fellow pride as well as shame; when I said, 'I am coward, I am traitor, and put to my lips the cup of gall, but yet I drank it not with humility and a bowed heart.... I do not think, John, that I ever asked you to forgive me.... Forgive me!"
Down the hillside come those to whom I can speak can speak as well as thou, Sir Mortimer Ferne!" The door was flung open, and Ambrose Wynch, a mighty man in a battered breastplate and morion, looked joyfully in upon them. "The Dons supped so well last night, Sir John, that now they're coming to breakfast! 'Tis just a flourish no great sortie. Shall a handful of us go out against them?"
The story that Ferne Yarnell told them in the parlor of the hotel had its beginnings far back in the days before the great war. They had been neighbors, these three families, had settled side by side in this new land of Arkansas, had hunted and feasted together in amity. In an hour had arisen the rift between them that was to widen to a chasm into which much blood had since been spilt.
Behind him came Robin-a-dale, slipped beneath his outstretched arm, then with head thrown back and wild defiant eyes faced the little throng of adventurers. "He's mad!" he shrilled. "My master's mad! He says strange things but don't you mind them, gentles.... Oh! Sir John Nevil, don't you mind them " "Robin!" said Ferne, and the boy was silent.
Ferne, attacking it with his sword, thrust aside a heavy curtain of broad-leaved vine, came upon a network of thorn and spike and prickly leaf, hewed this away, to find behind it a like barrier.
That same afternoon, when the rays of the sun were lower, Ferne went into his garden and lifted his bared brow, that perchance the air might cool it. It was the quiet hour when the goal of the sun is in view, and the shadows of the fruit trees lay long upon the grass.
Dr Adams, master of Pembroke College, Oxford, where he was educated for some time, he obtained a servitorship for young M'Aulay. We had not time to accept of his invitation. He gave us a letter of introduction to Mr Ferne, master of stores at Fort George. He shewed it to me.
Here they halted, while Henry Sedley and ten men went on to the tunal as, the night before, one man had gone. By the signs that Ferne had given them they found the entrance which they sought, and when they had thrust aside the curtain of branch and vine, saw the clearing through the tunal. It lay beneath the stars, a narrow defile much overgrown, walled on either side by impenetrable wood.
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