(Ebook) Practical C++ Programming by Steve Oualline ISBN 9780596004194, 0596004192 download
(Ebook) Practical C++ Programming by Steve Oualline ISBN 9780596004194, 0596004192 download
https://ebooknice.com/product/practical-c-programming-7318304
https://ebooknice.com/product/bare-metal-c-44395990
https://ebooknice.com/product/primary-mathematics-workbook-2b-23520620
https://ebooknice.com/product/primary-mathematics-textbook-2b-23519854
https://ebooknice.com/product/my-pals-are-here-maths-pupil-s-
book-2b-55756818
(Ebook) Bare metal C : Embedded Programming for the Real world by
Stephen Oualline
https://ebooknice.com/product/bare-metal-c-embedded-programming-for-
the-real-world-43526224
https://ebooknice.com/product/handbook-of-macroeconomics-
volume-2a-2b-set-5706664
(Ebook) Final FRCR 2B Long Cases: A Survival Guide by Jessie Aw, John
Curtis ISBN 9780521740692, 052174069X
https://ebooknice.com/product/final-frcr-2b-long-cases-a-survival-
guide-1828512
https://ebooknice.com/product/smart-grammar-and-vocabulary-split-
edition-2b-student-s-book-23340516
https://ebooknice.com/product/vi-improved-vim-980698
• Table of C ontents
• Index
• Reviews
• Examples
• Reader Reviews
• Errata
Publisher : O'Reilly
Pub Date : December 2002
ISBN : 0-596-00419-2
Pages : 574
Publisher : O'Reilly
Pub Date : December 2002
ISBN : 0-596-00419-2
Pages : 574
C opyright
Preface
Scope of This Handbook
How This Book Is Organized
How to Read This Book If You Already Know C
Font C onventions
How to C ontact Us
Acknowledgments for the First Edition
Acknowledgments for the Second Edition
C hapter 3. Style
Section 3.1. C omments
C olophon
Index
Copyright
Copyright © 2003, 1995 O'Reilly & Associates, Inc.
Nutshell Handbook, the Nutshell Handbook logo, and the O'Reilly logo are
registered trademarks of O'Reilly & Associates, Inc. Many of the designations
used by manufacturers and sellers to distinguish their products are claimed as
trademarks. Where those designations appear in this book, and O'Reilly &
Associates, Inc. was aware of a trademark claim, the designations have been
printed in caps or initial caps. The association between the image of an Eastern
chipmunk and the topic of C++ programming is a trademark of O'Reilly &
Associates, Inc.
While every precaution has been taken in the preparation of this book, the
publisher and authors assume no responsibility for errors or omissions, or for
damages resulting from the use of the information contained herein.
Preface
This book is devoted to practical C++ programming. It teaches you not only
the mechanics of the language, but also style and debugging. The entire life
cycle of a program is discussed, including conception, design, writing,
debugging, release, documentation, maintenance, and revision.
Style is emphasized. Creating a good program involves more than just typing
code. It is an art in which writing and programming skills blend to form a
masterpiece. A well-written program not only functions correctly, but also is
simple and easy to understand. Comments allow programmers to include
descriptive text in their programs. Clearly written, well-commented programs
are highly prized.
Consider two programs. One was written by a clever programmer, using all the
tricks. The program contains no comments, but it works. The other is nicely
commented and well structured, but doesn't work. Which program is more
useful? In the long run, the "broken" one is more useful because it can be
fixed and maintained easily. Although the clever one works now, sooner or
later it will have to be modified. The hardest work you will ever have to do is
modifying a cleverly written program.
Scope of This Handbook
The GNU C++ compiler, named g++ (available for most Unix systems[1])
As far as standard C++ is concerned, there are only minor differences among
the various compilers. This book clearly indicates where compiler differences
can affect the programmer. Specific instructions are given for producing and
running programs using each of these compilers. The book also gives examples
of using the programming utility make for automated program production.
How This Book Is Organized
You must crawl before you walk. In Part I, you learn how to crawl. These
chapters teach you enough to write very simple programs. You start with the
mechanics of programming and programming style. Next, you learn how to use
variables and very simple decision and control statements.
At this point you will have learned enough to create very simple programs;
therefore, in Chapter 7, you embark on a complete tour of the programming
process that shows you how real programs are created.
Chapter 1 gives you an overview of C++, describes its history and uses,
and explains how the language is organized.
Chapter 2 explains the basic programming process and gives you enough
information to write a very simple program.
Chapter 6 explains simple decision statements including if, else, and for.
The problem of == versus = is discussed.
Chapter 7 takes you through the steps required for creating a simple
program, from specification through release. Fast prototyping and
debugging are discussed.
Part II describes all the other simple statements and operators that are used in
programming. You also learn how to organize these statements into simple
functions.
In Part III you learn how basic declarations and statements can be used in the
construction of advanced types such as structures, unions, and classes. You
also learn about the concept of pointers.
Advanced programming techniques are explored in Part IV. In this section, you
explore a number of C++ features that let you create complex, yet easy-to-
use objects or classes.
Chapter 23 shows how to split a program into several files and use
modular programming techniques. The make utility is explained in more
detail.
Chapter 25 describes the template library that comes with C++. This
library consists of a number of "container templates" and related data
structures which let you create very complex and robust data structures
with very little work.
Chapter 28 describes how to turn C code into C++ code and addresses
many of the traps lurking in C code that bite the C++ programmer.
Chapter 30 lists programming adages that will help you construct good
C++ programs.
Appendix C lists the rules that determine the order in which operators are
evaluated.
Appendix D contains a program that shows how the computer can compute
the value of the sine function.
C++ is built on the C language. If you know C, you will find much of the
material presented in Chapter 2 through Chapter 12 familiar.
An entirely new I/O system. (The basics are described in Chapter 4. The
new file system is discussed in detail in Chapter 16.)
So you can use C++ as a better C. But C++ has added some entirely new
features such as objects, templates, and exceptions. So starting with Chapter
13, you will begin to learn entirely new concepts.
Exploring the Variety of Random
Documents with Different Content
"Then thou shalt share our humble fare this night, and then thou
shalt on the morrow take the vow and receive the Cross from my
own hands, after the Mass which follows Terce."
Osric bowed in joyful assent. And that night he dined at the
monastic table of Lollingdune Grange. The humble fare was the most
sumptuous he had ever known; for at Wallingford Castle they paid
small attention to the culinary art—quantity, not quality, was their
motto; they ate of meat half raw, thinking it increased their ferocity;
and "drank the red wine through the helmet barred."
But it was not so here; the weakness of the monastic orders, if it
was a weakness, was good cooking.
"Why should we waste or spoil the good things God has given us?"
they asked.
We wish our space permitted us to relate the conversation which
had place at that table. The Abbot of Reading was devoted more or
less to King Stephen, for Maude, in one of her progresses, had
spoiled the abbey and irritated the brethren by exacting heavy
tribute. So they told many stories of the misdeeds of the party of the
Empress, and many more of the cruelties of Brian Fitz-Count, whose
lordly towers were visible in the distance.
Osric sat at table next to the lord Abbot, which was meant for a
great distinction.
"In what school, my son, hast thou studied the warlike art and the
science of chivalry?" asked the Abbot.
"In the Castle of Wallingford, my lord."
"I could have wished thee a better school, but doubtless thou art
leaving them in disgust with their evil deeds of which we hear daily;
in fact, we are told that the townspeople cannot sleep for the shrieks
of the captives in the towers."
"It is in order to atone for ever having shared in their deeds that I
have left them, and the very penance laid on me is to fight for the
Cross of Christ in atonement for my error."
"And what will Brian think of it?"
"I must not let him get hold of me."
"Then tarry here till I return to Reading, and assuming the palmer's
dress, travel in our train out of his country; he will not dare to assail
us."
It was wise counsel.
On the morrow Mass was said in the chapel, which occupied the
upper story of the house, over the dormitories, under a high arched
roof, which was the general arrangement in such country houses of
the monks;[28] and at the offertory Osric offered himself to God as
a Crusader, took the vow, and the Abbot bound the red cross on his
arm.
FOOTNOTES:
[27] This cruelly ingenious contrivance of thumbscrew, lock, and
steel chain may be seen at the house of John Knox, at Edinburgh,
amongst other similar curiosities.
[28] The author has twice seen the remains of such chapels in the
upper stories of farmhouses—once monastic granges.
CHAPTER XXVI
SWEET SISTER DEATH[29]
The reader may feel quite sure that such a nature as Evroult's was
not easily conquered by the gentle influences of Christianity; indeed,
humanly speaking, it might never have yielded had not the weapon
used against it been Love.
One day, as he sat rapt in thought on the sunny bank outside the
hermitage, the hermit and Richard talking quietly at a short distance,
he seemed to receive a sudden inspiration,—he walked up to
Meinhold.
"Father, tell me, do you think you can recover of the leprosy you
have caught from us?"
"I do not expect to do so."
"And do you not wish we had never come here?"
"By no means; God sent you."
"And you give your life perhaps for us?"
"The Good Shepherd gave His life for me."
"Father, I have tried not to listen to you, but I can fight against it no
longer. You are right in all you say, and always have been, only—only
——"
A pause. The hermit waited in silent joy.
"Only it was so hard to flesh and blood."
"And can you yield yourself to His Will now?"
"I am trying—very hard; I do not even yet know whether I quite
can."
"He will help you, dear boy; He knows how hard it is for us weak
mortals to overcome self."
"I knew if I had kept well I should have grown up violent, wicked,
and cruel, and no doubt have lost my soul. Do you not think so,
father?"
"Very likely, indeed."
"And yet I have repined and murmured against Him Who brought
me here to save me."
"But He will forgive all that, now you truly turn to Him and submit to
His Will."
"I try to give myself to Him to do as He pleases."
"And you believe He has done all things well?"
"Yes."
"Even the leprosy?"
"Yes, even that."
"You are right, my dear son; we must all be purified through
suffering, for what son is he whom the Father chasteneth not? and if
we are not partakers thereof, then are we bastards and not sons. All
true children of God have their Purgatory here or hereafter—far
better here. He suffered more for us."
A few days passed away after this conversation, and a rapid change
for the worse took place in poor Evroult's physical condition. The fell
disease, which had already disfigured him beyond recognition,
attacked the brain. His brother and the hermit could not desire his
life to be prolonged in such affliction, and they silently prayed for his
release, grievous although the pang of separation would be to them
both—one out of their little number of three.
One day he had been delirious since the morning, and at eventide
they stood still watching him. It had been a dark cloudy day, but
now at sunset a broad vivid glory appeared in the west, which was
lighted up with glorious crimson, azure, and gold, beneath the edge
of the curtain of cloud.
"'At eventide it shall be light,'" quoted Meinhold.
"See, he revives," said Richard.
He looked on their faces.
"Oh brother, oh dear father, I have seen Him; I have heard with the
hearing of the ear, but now mine eye hath seen Him."
They thought he spake of a vision, but it may have been, probably
was, but a revelation to the inward soul.
"And now, dear father, give me the Viaticum; I am going, and want
my provision for the way."
He spoke of the Holy Communion, to which this name was given
when administered to the dying.
Then followed the Last Anointing, and ere it was over they saw the
great change pass upon him. They saw Death, sometimes called the
grim King of Terrors, all despoiled of his sting; they saw the feeble
hand strive to make the Holy Sign, then fall back; while over his face
a mysterious light played as if the door of Paradise had been left ajar
when the redeemed soul passed in.
"Beati qui in Domino morinutur," said Meinhold; "his Purgatory was
here. Do not cry, Richard; the happy day will soon come when we
shall rejoin him."
They laid him out before the altar in their rude chapel, and prepared
for the last funeral rite.
Voices might have been heard in the cave the next day—sweet
sounds sometimes as if of hymns of praise.
The birds and beasts came to the hermit's cave, and marvelled that
none came out to feed them—that no crumbs were thrown to them,
no food brought forth. A bold robin even ventured in, but came out
as if affrighted, and flew right away.
They sang their sweet songs to each other. No human ear heard
them; but the valley was lovely still.
Who shall go into that cave and wake the sleepers? Who?
Then came discordant noises, spoiling nature's sweet harmony—the
baying of hounds, the cries of men sometimes loud and discordant,
sometimes of those who struggled, sometimes of those in pain.
Louder and louder—the hunt is up—the horse and hound invade the
glen.
A troop of affrighted-looking men hasten down the valley.
Look, they are lepers.
They have cause to fear; the deep baying of the mastiffs is
deepening, drawing near.
They espy the cave—they rush towards it up the slope—in they
dash.
Out again.
Another group of fugitives follow.
"The cave! the cave! we may defend the mouth."
"There are three there already," said the first.
"Three?"
"Dead of the Plague."
And they would have run away had not the hunters and dogs come
upon them, both ways, up and down the glen.
They are driven in—some two score in all.
The leaders of the pursuing party pause.
"I think," says a dark baron, "I see a way out of our difficulty
without touching a leper."
"Send the dogs in."
"In vain; they will not go; they scent something amiss."
"This cave has but one opening."
"I have heard that a hermit lived here with two young lepers."
"Call him."
"Meinhold! Meinhold!"
No reply.
"He is dead long ago, I daresay."
"If he does not come out it is his own fault."
"There were two young lepers who dwelt with him."
"What business had he with lepers?"
"All the world knew it, and he had caught it himself."
"Then we will delay no longer. God will know His own." And then he
gave the fatal order.
"Gather brushwood, sticks, reeds, all that will burn, and pile it in the
mouth of the cave."
They did so.
"Fire it."
The dense clouds of smoke arose, and as they hoped in their cruelty,
were sucked inward.
"There must be a through draught."
"Can they get out?"
"No, lord baron."
"Watch carefully lest there be other outlets. We must stamp this foul
plague out of the land."
Then they stood and watched.
The flames crackled and roared; dense volumes of smoke arose,
now arising above the trees, now entering the cave; the birds
screamed overhead; the fierce men looked on with cruel curiosity;
but no sound was heard from within.
At this moment the galloping of horsemen was heard. "Our brother
of Kenilworth, doubtless."
But it was not. A rider in dark armour appeared at the head of a
hundred horsemen.
"What are you doing?" cried a stern voice.
"Smoking lepers out."
"Charge them! cut them down! slay all!"
And the Wallingford men charged the incendiaries as one man. Like
a thunderbolt, slaying, hewing, hacking, chopping, cleaving heads
and limbs from trunks, with all the more deadly facility as their more
numerous antagonists lacked armour, having only come out to slay
lepers.
The Baron of Hanwell Castle was a corpse; so was the knight of
Cropredy Towers; so was the young lord of Southam; others were
writhing in mortal agony, but within a quarter of an hour more, only
the dead and dying disputed the field with the Wallingford men. The
rest had fled, finding the truth of the proverb, "There be many that
come out to shear and go back shorn."
"Drag the branches away! pull out the faggots! extinguish the fire!
scatter it! fight fire as ye have fought men!"
That was done too. They dispersed the fuel, they scattered the
embers; and hardly was this done than Brian rushed in the cave,
through the hot ashes. But scarce could he stay in a moment, the
smoke blinded—choked him.
Out again, almost beside himself with rage, fear for his boys, and
vexation.
In again. Out again.
So three or four abortive attempts.
At last the smoke partially dispersed, and he could enter.
The outer cave was empty.
But in the next subterranean chamber lay a black corpse—a full-
grown man. Brian knew him not. He crossed this cave and entered
the next one, and by the altar knew it was their rude chapel.
Before the altar lay two figures; their hands clasped in the attitude
of prayer; bent to the earth; still—motionless.
Their faces, too, were of the same dark hue.
The one wore the dress of a hermit, the other was a boy of some
sixteen years.
Brian recognised his younger son in the latter, rather by instinct and
by knowledge of the circumstances than otherwise.
"It is my Richard. But where is Evroult?"
"Here," said a voice,—"read."
Upon the wall was a rude inscription, scratched thereon by Meinhold,
his last labour of love—
EVROULT IN PACE.
Little as he possessed the power of reading, Brian recognised his
son's name, and understood all. The strong man fell before that
altar, and for the first time in many years recognised the Hand which
had stricken him.
They dragged him away, as they felt that the atmosphere was
dangerous to them all—as indeed it was.
"Leave them where they are—better tomb could they not have; only
wall up the entrance."
And they set to work, and built huge stones into the mouth of the
cave—
"Leaving them to rest in hope—
Till the Resurrection Day."
FOOTNOTE:
[29] So called by St. Francis of Assisi.
CHAPTER XXVII
FRUSTRATED
Had the Abbot of Reading seen fit, or rather had the business on
which he came to Lollingdune allowed him to return home on the
day in which he had decorated Osric with the red cross, it had been
well for all parties, save the writer; for the entangled web of
circumstance which arose will give him scope for another chapter or
two, he trusts, of some interest to the reader.
As it was, Osric was thrown upon his own resources for the rest of
that day, after the Mass was over; and his thoughts not unnaturally
turned to his old home, where the innocent days of his childhood
had been spent, and to his old nurse Judith, sole relict of that
hallowed past.
Could he not bid her farewell? He had an eye, and he could heed; he
had a foot, and he could speed—let Brian's spies watch ever so
narrowly.
Yes, he must see her. Besides, Osric loved adventure: it was to him
the salt of life. He loved the sensation of danger and of risk. So,
although he knew that there must be a keen hunt on foot from
Wallingford Castle after the fugitives, and that the old cottage might
be watched, he determined to risk it all for the purpose of saying
good-bye to his dear old nurse.
So, without confiding his purpose to any one, he started on foot. He
passed the old church of Aston Upthorpe, where his grandfather lay
buried, breathing a prayer for the old man, as also a thanksgiving for
the teaching which had at last borne fruit, for he felt that he was
reconciled to God and man, now that he had taken the Holy Vow,
and abandoned his godless life at Wallingford Castle. Then passing
between the outlying fort of Blewburton and the downs, he entered
the maze of forest.
But as he approached the spot, he took every precaution. He
scanned each avenue of approach from Wallingford; he looked warily
into each glade; anon, he paused and listened, but all was still, save
the usual sounds of the forest, never buried in absolute silence.
At length he crossed the stream and stood before the door of the
hut. He paused one moment; then he heard the well-known voice
crooning a snatch of an old ballad; he hesitated no longer.
"Judith!"
"My darling," said the fond old nurse, "thou hast come again to see
me. Tell me, is it all right? Hast thou found thy father?"
"I have."
"Where? Tell me?"
"At Dorchester Abbey of course."
Judith sighed.
"And what did he say to thee?"
"Bade me go on the Crusades. And so I have taken the vow, and to-
morrow I leave these parts perhaps, for ever."
"Alas! it is too bad. Why has he not told thee the whole truth? Woe
is me! the light of mine eyes is taken from me. I shall never see thee
again."
"That is in God's hands."
"How good thou hast grown, my boy! Thou didst not talk like this
when thou camest home from the castle."
"Well, perhaps I have learnt better;" and he sighed, for there was a
reproach, as if the old dame had said, "Is Saul also amongst the
prophets?"
"But, my boy," she continued, "is this all? Did not Wulfnoth—I mean
Father Alphege—tell thee more than this?"
"What more could he tell me?"
She rocked herself to and fro.
"I must tell him; but oh, my vow——"
"Osric, my child, my bonnie boy, thou dost not even yet know all,
and I am bound not to tell thee. But I was here when thou wast
brought home by Wulfnoth, a baby-boy; and—and I know what I
found out—I saw—God help me: but I swore by the Black Cross of
Abingdon I would not tell."
"Judith, what can you mean?"
"If you only knew, perhaps you would not go on this crusade."
"Whither then? I must go."
"To Wallingford."
"But that I can never do. I have broken with them and their den of
darkness for ever."
"Nay, nay; it may be all thine own one day, and thou mayst let light
into it."
"What can you mean? You distract me."
"I cannot say. Ah!—a good thought. You may look—I didn't say I
wouldn't show. See, Osric, I will show thee what things were on thy
baby-person when thou wast brought home. Here—look."
She rummaged in her old chest and brought forth—a ring with a
seal, a few articles of baby attire, a little red shoe, a small frock, and
a lock of maiden's hair.
"Look at the ring."
It bore a crest upon a stone of opal.
The crest was the crest of Brian Fitz-Count.
"Well, what does this mean?" said Osric. "How came this ring on my
baby-self?"
"Dost thou not see? Blind! blind! blind!"
"And deaf too—deaf! deaf! deaf!" said a voice. "Dost thou not hear
the tread of horses, the bay of the hound, the clamour of men who
seek thee for no good?"
It was young Ulric who stood in the doorway.
"Good-bye, nurse; they are after me; I must go."
"What hast thou done?"
"Let all their captives loose. Farewell, dear nurse;" and he embraced
her.
"Haste, Osric, haste," said the youthful outlaw, "or thou wilt be
taken."
They dashed from the hut.
"This way," said Ulric.
And they crossed the stream in the opposite direction to the
advancing sounds.
"I lay hid in the forest and heard them say they would seek thee in
thine old home, as they passed my lurking-place."
"Now, away."
"But they may hurt Judith. Nay, Brian has not yet returned, cannot
yet have come back, and without his orders they would not dare. He
forbade them once before even to touch the cottage."
They pressed onward through the woods.
"Whither do we go?" said Osric, who had allowed his young
preserver to lead.
"To our haunt in the swamp."
"You have saved me, Ulric."
"Then it has been measure for measure, for didst thou not save me
when in direful dumps? Wilt thou not tarry with us, and be a merry
man of the greenwood?"
"Nay, I am pledged to the Crusades."
Ulric was about to reply, when he stopped to listen.
"There is the bay of that hound again: it is one of a breed they have
trained to hunt men."
"I know him—it is old Pluto; I have often fed him: he would not hurt
me."
"But he would discover thee, nevertheless, and I should not be safe
from his fangs."
"Well, we are as swift of foot as they—swifter, I should think. Come,
we must jump this brook."
Alas! in jumping, Osric's foot slipped from a stone on which he most
unhappily alighted, and he sank on the ground with a momentary
thrill of intense pain, which made him quite faint.
He had sprained his ankle badly.
Ulric turned pale.
Osric got up, made several attempts to move onward, but could only
limp painfully forward.
"Ulric, I should only destroy both thee and me by perseverance in
this course."
"Never mind about me."
"But I do. See this umbrageous oak—how thick its branches; it is
hollow too. I know it well. I will hide in the tree, as I have often
done when a boy in mere sport. You run on."
"I will; and make the trail so wide that they will come after me."
"But will not this lead them to the haunt?"
"Water will throw them when I come to the swamps. I can take
care."
"Farewell, then, my Ulric; the Saints have thee in their holy keeping."
The two embraced as those who might never meet again—but as
those who part in haste—and Ulric plunged into the thicket and
disappeared.
Osric lay hidden in the branches of the hollow tree. There was a
comfortable seat about ten feet from the ground, the feet hidden in
the hollow of the oak, the head and shoulders by the thick foliage.
He did not notice that Ulric had divested himself of an upper
garment he wore, and left it accidentally or otherwise on the ground.
All was now still. The sound of the boy's passage through the thick
bushes had ceased. The scream of the jay, the tap of the
woodpecker, the whirr of an occasional flight of birds alone broke the
silence of the forest day.
Then came a change. The crackling of dry leaves, the low whisper of
hunters, and that sound—that bell-like sound—the bay of the hound,
like a staunch murderer, steady to his purpose, pursuing his prey
relentlessly, unerringly, guided by that marvellous instinct of scent,
which to the pursued seemed even diabolical.
At last they broke through the bushes and passed beneath the tree
—seven mounted pursuers.
"See, here is the trail; it is as plain as it can be," cried Malebouche;
for it was he, summoned in the emergency from Shirburne, the
Baron not having yet returned—six men in company.
But the dog hesitated. They had given him a piece of Osric's raiment
to smell before starting, and he pointed at the tree.
Luckily the men did not see it; for they saw on the ground the tunic
Ulric had thrown off to run, with the unselfish intention that that
should take place which now happened, confident he could throw off
the hound.
The men thrust it to the dog's nose, thinking it Osric's,—they knew
not there were two—and old Pluto growled, and took the new scent
with far keener avidity than before, for now he was bidden to chase
one he might tear. Before it was a friend, the scent of whose raiment
he knew full well. They were off again.
All was silence once more around the hollow tree for a brief space,
and Osric was just about to depart and try to limp to Lollingdune,
when steps were heard again in the distance, along the brook,
where the path from the outlaws' cave lay.
Osric peered from his covert: they were passing about a hundred
yards off.
Oh, horror! they had got Ulric.
"How had it chanced?"
Osric never knew whether the dog had overtaken him, or what
accident had happened; all he saw was that they had the lad, and
were taking him, as he judged, to Wallingford, when they halted and
sat down on some fallen trees, about a hundred yards from his
concealment. They had wine, flesh, and bread, and were going to
enjoy a mediæval picnic; but first they tied the boy carefully to a
tree, so tightly and cruelly that he must have suffered much
unnecessary pain; but little recked they.
The men ate and drank, the latter copiously. So much the worse for
Ulric—drink sometimes inflames the passions of cruelty and violence.
"Why should we take him home? our prey is about here
somewhere."
"Why not try a little torture, Sir Squire—a knotted string round the
brain? we will make him tell all he knows, or make the young villain's
eyes start out of his forehead."
The suggestion pleased Malebouche.
"Yes," he said, "we may as well settle his business here. I have a
little persuader in my pocket, which I generally carry on these
errands; it often comes useful;" and he produced a small
thumbscrew.
Enough; we will spare the details. They began to carry out their
intention, and soon forced a cry from their victim—although, judging
from his previous constancy, I doubt whether they would have got
more—when they heard a sound—a voice—
"Stop! let the lad go; he shall not be tortured for me. I yield myself
in his place."
"Osric! Osric!"
And the men almost leapt for joy.
"Malebouche, I am he you seek—I am your prisoner; but let the boy
go, and take me to Wallingford."
"Oh, why hast thou betrayed thyself?" said Ulric.
"Not so fast, my young lord, for lord thou didst think thyself—thou
bastard, brought up as a falcon. Why should I let him go? I have you
both."
But the boy had been partially untied to facilitate their late
operations, which necessitated that the hands cruelly bound behind
the back should be released; and while every eye was fixed on Osric,
he shook off the loosened cord which attached him to the tree, and
was off like a bird.
He had almost escaped—another minute and he had been beyond
arrow-shot—when Malebouche, snatching up a bow, sent a long
arrow after him. Alas! it was aimed with Norman skill, and it pierced
through the back of the unfortunate boy, who fell dead on the grass,
the blood gushing from mouth and nose.
Osric uttered a plaintive cry of horror, and would have hurried to his
assistance, but they detained him rudely.
"Nay, leave him to rot in the woods—if the wolves and wild cats do
not bury him first."
And they took their course for Wallingford, placing their prisoner
behind a horseman, to whom they bound him, binding also his legs
beneath the belly of the horse.
After a little while Malebouche turned to Osric—
"What dost thou expect when our lord returns?"
"Death. It is not the worst evil."
"But what manner of death?"
"Such as may chance; but thou knowest he will not torture me."
"He may hang thee."
"Wait and see. Thou art a murderer thyself, for whom hanging is
perhaps too good. God may have worse things in store for thee.
Thou hast committed murder and sacrilege to-day."
"Sacrilege?"
"Yes; thou hast seized a Crusader. Dost not see my red cross?"
"It is easy to bind a bit of red rag crossways upon one's shoulder.
Who took thy vows?"
"The Abbot of Reading; he is now at Lollingdune."
"Ah, ah! Brian Fitz-Count shall settle that little matter; he may not
approve of Crusaders who break open his castle. Take him to
Wallingford, my friends. I shall go back and get that deer we slew
just before we caught the boy; our larder is short."
So Malebouche rode back into the forest alone.
Let us follow him.
It was drawing near nightfall. The light fleecy clouds which floated
above were fast losing the hues of the departing sun, which had
tinted their western edges with crimson; the woods were getting dim
and dark; but Malebouche persisted in his course. He had brought
down a fine young buck with his bow, and had intended to send for
it, being at that moment eager in pursuit of his human prey; but
now he had leisure, and might throw it across his horse, and bring it
home in triumph.
Before reaching the place the road became very ill-defined, and
speedily ceased to be a road at all; but Malebouche could still see
the broken branches and trampled ground along which they had
pursued their prey earlier in the day.
At last he reached the deer, and tying the horse to a branch of a
tree, proceeded to disembowel it ere he placed it across the steed,
as was the fashion; but as he was doing this, the horse made a
violent plunge, and uttered a scream of terror. Malebouche turned—
a pair of vivid eyes were glaring in the darkness.
It was a wolf, attracted by the scent of the butchery.
Malebouche rushed to the aid of his horse, but before he could
reach the poor beast it broke through all restraint in its agony of fear
that the wolf might prefer horse-flesh to venison, and tearing away
the branch and all, galloped for dear life away, away, towards distant
Wallingford, the wolf after it; for when man or horse runs, the
savage beast, whether dog or wolf, seems bound to follow.
So Malebouche was left alone with his deer in the worst possible
humour.
It was useless now to think of carrying the whole carcass home; so
he cut off the haunch only, and throwing it over his shoulder,
started.
A storm came drifting up and obscured the rising moon—the woods
grew very dark.
Onward he tramped—wearily, wearily, tramp! tramp! splash! splash!
He had got into a bog.
How to get out of it was the question. He had heard there was a
quagmire somewhere about this part of the forest, of bottomless
depth, men said.
So he strove to get back to firm ground, but in the darkness went
wrong; and the farther he went the deeper he sank.
Up to the knees.
Now he became seriously alarmed, and abandoned his venison.
Up to the middle.
"Help! help!" he cried.
Was there none to hear?
Yes. At this moment the clouds parted, and the moon shone forth
through a gap in their canopy—a full moon, bright and clear.
Before him walked a boy, about fifty yards ahead.
"Boy! boy! stop! help me!"
The boy did not turn, but walked on, seemingly on firm ground.
But Malebouche was intensely relieved.
"Where he can walk I can follow;" and he exerted all his strength to
overtake the boy, but he sank deeper and deeper.
The boy seemed to linger, as if he heard the cry, and beckoned to
Malebouche to come to him.
The squire strove to do so, when all at once he found no footing,
and sank slowly.
He was in the fatal quagmire of which he had heard.
Slowly, slowly, up to the middle—up to the neck.
"Boy, help! help! for Heaven's sake!"
The boy stood, as it seemed, yet on firm ground. And now he threw
aside the hood that had hitherto concealed his features, and looked
Malebouche in the face.
It was the face of the murdered Ulric upon which Malebouche gazed!
and the whole figure vanished into empty air as he looked.
One last despairing scream—then a sound of choking—then the
head disappeared beneath the mud—then a bubble or two of air
breaking the surface of the bog—then all was still. And the mud kept
its secret for ever.
CHAPTER XXVIII
FATHER AND SON
Our website is not just a platform for buying books, but a bridge
connecting readers to the timeless values of culture and wisdom. With
an elegant, user-friendly interface and an intelligent search system,
we are committed to providing a quick and convenient shopping
experience. Additionally, our special promotions and home delivery
services ensure that you save time and fully enjoy the joy of reading.
ebooknice.com