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} + + div.clearpage, div.cleardoublepage + { margin: 10% 0; border: none; border-top: 1px solid gray; } + + .vfill { margin: 5% 10% } +} + +@media print { + div.clearpage { page-break-before: always; padding-top: 10% } + div.cleardoublepage { page-break-before: right; padding-top: 10% } + + .vfill { margin-top: 20% } + h2.title { margin-top: 20% } +} + +/* DIV */ +pre { font-family: monospace; font-size: 0.9em; white-space: pre-wrap } +</style> +<title>BEAU BROCADE</title> +<meta name="DC.Title" content="Beau Brocade A Romance" /> +<meta name="PG.Released" content="2012-05-24" /> +<meta name="DC.Language" content="en" /> +<meta name="PG.Producer" content="Al Haines" /> +<meta name="PG.Rights" content="Public Domain" /> +<meta name="PG.Id" content="39786" /> +<meta name="MARCREL.ill" content="H. M. Brock" /> +<link rel="coverpage" href="images/img-cover.jpg" /> +<meta name="PG.Title" content="Beau Brocade" /> +<meta name="DC.Created" content="1912" /> +<meta name="DC.Creator" content="Baroness Orczy" /> + +<link href="http://purl.org/dc/terms/" rel="schema.DCTERMS" /> +<link href="http://id.loc.gov/vocabulary/relators/" rel="schema.MARCREL" /> +<meta name="DCTERMS.title" content="Beau Brocade A Romance" /> +<meta name="DCTERMS.source" content="/home/ajhaines/beau/beau.rst" /> +<meta name="DCTERMS.language" content="en" scheme="DCTERMS.RFC4646" /> +<meta name="DCTERMS.modified" content="2018-04-16T16:23:57.467579+00:00" scheme="DCTERMS.W3CDTF" /> +<meta name="DCTERMS.publisher" content="Project Gutenberg" /> +<meta name="DCTERMS.rights" content="Public Domain in the USA." /> +<link href="http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/39786" rel="DCTERMS.isFormatOf" /> +<meta name="DCTERMS.creator" content="Baroness Orczy" /> +<meta name="MARCREL.ill" content="H. M. Brock" /> +<meta name="DCTERMS.created" content="2012-05-24" scheme="DCTERMS.W3CDTF" /> +<meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width" /> +<meta name="generator" content="Ebookmaker 0.4.0a5 by Marcello Perathoner <webmaster@gutenberg.org>" /> +</head> +<body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 39786 ***</div> +<div class="document" id="beau-brocade"> +<h1 class="center document-title level-1 pfirst title"><span class="x-large">BEAU BROCADE</span></h1> + +<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> +</div> +<p class="noindent pfirst" id="pg-produced-by"><span>Produced by Al Haines.</span></p> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> +</div> +<p class="noindent pfirst"><span></span></p> +</div> +<div class="container coverpage"> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> +</div> +<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 55%" id="figure-21"> +<img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="Cover art" src="images/img-cover.jpg" /> +<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> +<span class="italics">Cover art</span></div> +</div> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> +</div> +</div> +<div class="container frontispiece"> +<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 60%" id="figure-22"> +<img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="THE FIGHT IN THE FORGE" src="images/img-front.jpg" /> +<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> +<span class="italics">THE FIGHT IN THE FORGE</span></div> +</div> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> +</div> +</div> +<div class="container titlepage"> +<p class="center pfirst"><span class="xx-large">BEAU BROCADE</span></p> +<p class="center pnext"><span class="large">A ROMANCE</span></p> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> +</div> +<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">BY THE</span></p> +<p class="center pnext"><span class="large">BARONESS ORCZY</span></p> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> +</div> +<p class="center pfirst"><em class="italics small">POPULAR EDITION</em></p> +<p class="center pnext"><em class="italics">WITH FRONTISPIECE BY H. M. BROCK</em></p> +<p class="center pnext"><span class="small">LONDON</span></p> +<p class="center pnext"><span>GREENING & CO. LTD.</span></p> +<p class="center pnext"><span>1912</span></p> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> +</div> +</div> +<div class="container verso"> +<p class="center pfirst"><span class="small">Copyright +<br />in the United Kingdom +<br />of +<br />Great Britain and Ireland +<br />in the +<br />Dominion of Canada +<br />and in the +<br />United States of America</span></p> +<p class="center pnext"><span class="small">All dramatic rights +<br />are strictly reserved +<br />and protected. Entered +<br />at Stationers' Hall, March 6th, 1906</span></p> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> +</div> +</div> +<div class="container plainpage"> +<p class="center pfirst"><span class="large">CONTENTS</span></p> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> +</div> +<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">PART I.—THE FORGE.</span></p> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> +</div> +<p class="left pfirst"><span class="small">CHAP.</span></p> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> +</div> +<ol class="upperroman simple"> +<li><p class="first left pfirst"><a class="medium reference internal" href="#by-act-of-parliament">BY ACT OF PARLIAMENT</a></p> +</li> +<li><p class="first left pfirst"><a class="medium reference internal" href="#the-forge-of-john-stich">THE FORGE OF JOHN STICH</a></p> +</li> +<li><p class="first left pfirst"><a class="medium reference internal" href="#the-fugitive">THE FUGITIVE</a></p> +</li> +<li><p class="first left pfirst"><a class="medium reference internal" href="#jock-miggs-the-shepherd">JOCK MIGGS, THE SHEPHERD</a></p> +</li> +<li><p class="first left pfirst"><a class="medium reference internal" href="#there-s-none-like-her-none">"THERE'S NONE LIKE HER, NONE!"</a></p> +</li> +<li><p class="first left pfirst"><a class="medium reference internal" href="#a-squire-of-high-degree">A SQUIRE OF HIGH DEGREE</a></p> +</li> +<li><p class="first left pfirst"><a class="medium reference internal" href="#the-halt-at-the-moorhen">THE HALT AT THE MOORHEN</a></p> +</li> +<li><p class="first left pfirst"><a class="medium reference internal" href="#the-rejected-suitor">THE REJECTED SUITOR</a></p> +</li> +<li><p class="first left pfirst"><a class="medium reference internal" href="#sir-humphrey-s-familiar">SIR HUMPHREY'S FAMILIAR</a></p> +</li> +<li><p class="first left pfirst"><a class="medium reference internal" href="#a-stranger-at-the-forge">A STRANGER AT THE FORGE</a></p> +</li> +<li><p class="first left pfirst"><a class="medium reference internal" href="#the-stranger-s-name">THE STRANGER'S NAME</a></p> +</li> +<li><p class="first left pfirst"><a class="medium reference internal" href="#the-beautiful-white-rose">THE BEAUTIFUL WHITE ROSE</a></p> +</li> +<li><p class="first left pfirst"><a class="medium reference internal" href="#a-proposal-and-a-threat">A PROPOSAL AND A THREAT</a></p> +</li> +<li><p class="first left pfirst"><a class="medium reference internal" href="#the-fight-in-the-forge">THE FIGHT IN THE FORGE</a></p> +</li> +</ol> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> +</div> +<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">PART II.—THE HEATH.</span></p> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> +</div> +<ol class="upperroman simple" start="15"> +<li><p class="first left pfirst"><a class="medium reference internal" href="#the-outlaw">THE OUTLAW</a></p> +</li> +<li><p class="first left pfirst"><a class="medium reference internal" href="#a-rencontre-on-the-heath">A RENCONTRE ON THE HEATH</a></p> +</li> +<li><p class="first left pfirst"><a class="medium reference internal" href="#a-faithful-friend">A FAITHFUL FRIEND</a></p> +</li> +<li><p class="first left pfirst"><a class="medium reference internal" href="#moonlight-on-the-heath">MOONLIGHT ON THE HEATH</a></p> +</li> +<li><p class="first left pfirst"><a class="medium reference internal" href="#his-oath">HIS OATH</a></p> +</li> +</ol> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> +</div> +<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">PART III.—BRASSINGTON.</span></p> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> +</div> +<ol class="upperroman simple" start="20"> +<li><p class="first left pfirst"><a class="medium reference internal" href="#a-thrilling-narrative">A THRILLING NARRATIVE</a></p> +</li> +<li><p class="first left pfirst"><a class="medium reference internal" href="#master-mittachip-s-idea">MASTER MITTACHIP'S IDEA</a></p> +</li> +<li><p class="first left pfirst"><a class="medium reference internal" href="#an-interlude">AN INTERLUDE</a></p> +</li> +<li><p class="first left pfirst"><a class="medium reference internal" href="#a-daring-plan">A DARING PLAN</a></p> +</li> +<li><p class="first left pfirst"><a class="medium reference internal" href="#his-honour-squire-west">HIS HONOUR, SQUIRE WEST</a></p> +</li> +<li><p class="first left pfirst"><a class="medium reference internal" href="#success-and-disappointment">SUCCESS AND DISAPPOINTMENT</a></p> +</li> +<li><p class="first left pfirst"><a class="medium reference internal" href="#the-man-hunt">THE MAN HUNT</a></p> +</li> +<li><p class="first left pfirst"><a class="medium reference internal" href="#jock-miggs-s-errand">JOCK MIGGS'S ERRAND</a></p> +</li> +<li><p class="first left pfirst"><a class="medium reference internal" href="#the-quarry">THE QUARRY</a></p> +</li> +<li><p class="first left pfirst"><a class="medium reference internal" href="#the-dawn">THE DAWN</a></p> +</li> +</ol> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> +</div> +<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">PART IV.—H.R.H. THE DUKE OF CUMBERLAND.</span></p> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> +</div> +<ol class="upperroman simple" start="30"> +<li><p class="first left pfirst"><a class="medium reference internal" href="#suspense">SUSPENSE</a></p> +</li> +<li><p class="first left pfirst"><a class="medium reference internal" href="#we-ve-gotten-beau-brocade">"WE'VE GOTTEN BEAU BROCADE"</a></p> +</li> +<li><p class="first left pfirst"><a class="medium reference internal" href="#a-painful-incident">A PAINFUL INCIDENT</a></p> +</li> +<li><p class="first left pfirst"><a class="medium reference internal" href="#the-awakening">THE AWAKENING</a></p> +</li> +<li><p class="first left pfirst"><a class="medium reference internal" href="#a-life-for-a-life">A LIFE FOR A LIFE</a></p> +</li> +<li><p class="first left pfirst"><a class="medium reference internal" href="#quits">QUITS</a></p> +</li> +<li><p class="first left pfirst"><a class="medium reference internal" href="#the-agony-of-parting">THE AGONY OF PARTING</a></p> +</li> +<li><p class="first left pfirst"><a class="medium reference internal" href="#reparation">REPARATION</a></p> +</li> +<li><p class="first left pfirst"><a class="medium reference internal" href="#the-joy-of-re-union">THE JOY OF RE-UNION</a></p> +</li> +</ol> +</div> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> +</div> +<p class="center pfirst" id="by-act-of-parliament"><span class="xx-large">BEAU BROCADE</span></p> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> +</div> +<p class="center pfirst"><span class="large">PART I</span></p> +<p class="center pnext"><span class="large">THE FORGE</span></p> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> +</div> +<p class="center pfirst"><span class="large">CHAPTER I</span></p> +<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">BY ACT OF PARLIAMENT</span></p> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> +</div> +<p class="pfirst"><span>The gaffers stood round and shook their heads.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>When the Corporal had finished reading the +Royal Proclamation, one or two of them sighed in a +desultory fashion, others murmured casually, +"Lordy! Lordy! to think on it! Dearie me!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The young ones neither sighed nor murmured. +They looked at one another furtively, then glanced +away again, as if afraid to read each other's thoughts, +and in a shamefaced manner wiped their moist hands +against their rough cord breeches.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>There were no women present fortunately: there +had been heavy rains on the Moor these last three +days, and what roads there were had become +well-nigh impassable. Only a few men—some +half-dozen perhaps—out of the lonely homesteads from +down Brassington way, had tramped in the wake of +the little squad of soldiers, in order to hear this Act +of Parliament read at the cross-roads, and to see the +document duly pinned to the old gallows-tree.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Fortunately the rain had ceased momentarily, +only a cool, brisk nor'-wester came blustering across +the Heath, making the older men shiver beneath their +thin, well-worn smocks.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>North and south, east and west, Brassing Moor +stretched its mournful lengths to the distant +framework of the Peak far away, with mile upon mile of +grey-green gorse and golden bracken and long +shoots of purple-stemmed bramble, and here and +there patches of vivid mauve, where the heather was +just bursting into bloom; or anon a clump of dark +firs, with ruddy trunks and gaunt arms stretched +menacingly over the sparse young life below.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>And here, at the cross-roads, the Heath seemed +more desolate than ever, despite that one cottage +with the blacksmith's shed beyond it. The roads +themselves, the one to Aldwark, the other from +Wirksworth, the third little more than a morass, a +short cut to Stretton, all bore mute testimony to the +remoteness, the aloofness of this forgotten corner of +eighteenth-century England.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Then there was the old gallows, whereon many a +foot-pad or sheep-stealer had paid full penalty for +his crimes! True, John Stich, the blacksmith, now +used it as a sign-post for his trade: a monster +horseshoe hung there where once the bones of Dick +Caldwell, the highwayman, had whitened in the +bleak air of the Moor: still, at moments like these, +when no one spoke, the wind seemed to bring an +echo of ghostly sighs and laughter, for Dick had +breathed his last with a coarse jest on his lips, and +the ears of the timid seemed still to catch the eerie +sound of his horse's hoofs ploughing the ruddy, +shallow soil of the Heath.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>For the moment, however, the cross-roads +presented a scene of quite unusual animation: the +Corporal and his squad looked resplendent in their +scarlet tunics and white buckskins, and Mr Inch, the +beadle from Brassington, was also there in his +gold-laced coat, bob-tailed wig and three-cornered hat: +he had lent the dignity of his presence to this +solemn occasion, and in high top-boots, bell in hand, +had tramped five miles with the soldiers, so that he +might shout a stentorian "Oyez! Oyez!" whenever +they passed one of the few cottages along the road.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But no one spoke. The Corporal handed the +Royal Proclamation to one of the soldiers; he too +seemed nervous and ill at ease. The nor'-wester, +with singular want of respect for King and +Parliament, commenced a vigorous attack upon the great +document, pulling at it in wanton frolic, almost +tearing it out of the hands of the young soldier, +who did his best to fix it against the shaft of the old +gallows.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The white parchment looked uncanny and ghost-like +fluttering in the wind; no doubt the nor'-wester +would soon tear it to rags.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Lordy! Lordy! to think on it!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>There it was, fixed up at last. Up, so that any +chance traveller who could might read. But those +who were now assembled there—shepherds, most of +them, on the Moor—viewed the written characters +with awe and misgiving. They had had Mr Inch's +assurance that it was all writ there, that the King +himself had put his name to it; and the young +Corporal, who had read it out, had received the +document from his own superior officer, who in his +turn had had it at the hands of His Grace the Duke +of Cumberland himself.</span></p> +<blockquote> +<div> +<p class="pfirst"><span>"It having come to the knowledge of His +Majesty's Parliament that certain subjects of the +King have lately raised the standard of rebellion, +setting up the Pretender, Charles Edward Stuart, +above the King's most lawful Majesty, it is hereby +enacted that these persons are guilty of high treason +and by the laws of the kingdom are therefore +condemned to death. It is further enacted that +it is unlawful for any loyal subject of the King to +shelter or harbour, clothe or feed any such persons +who are vile traitors and rebels to their King and +country: and that any subject of His Majesty who +kills such a traitor or rebel doth thereby commit an +act of justice and loyalty, for which he may be +rewarded by the sum of twenty guineas."</span></p> +</div> +</blockquote> +<p class="pfirst"><span>It was this last paragraph that made the gaffers +shake their heads and say "Lordy! Lordy! to +think on it! to think on it!" For it seemed but +yesterday that the old Moor, aye, and the hamlets +and villages of Derbyshire, were ringing with the +wild shouts of Prince Charlie's Highland Brigade, +but yesterday that his handsome face, his green +bonnet laced with gold, his Highland plaid and rich +accoutrements, had seemed to proclaim victory to +the Stuart cause from one end of the county to the +other.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>To be sure, that glorious, mad, merry time had +not lasted very long. All the wiseacres had foretold +disaster when the Prince's standard broke, just as it +was taken into my Lord Exeter's house in Full +Street. The shaft snapped clean in half. What +could that portend but humiliation and defeat?</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The retreat from Derby was still fresh in +everyone's memory, and there were those from +Wirksworth who remembered the rear-guard of Prince +Charlie's army, the hussars with their half-starved +horses and bedraggled finery, who had swept down +on the villages and homesteads round about +Ashbourne and had pillaged and plundered to their +hearts' content.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But then those were the fortunes of war; fighting, +rushing, running, plundering, wild huzzas, mad +cavalcades, noise, bustle, excitement, joy of victory, +and sorrow of defeat, but this!! ... this Proclamation +which the Corporal had brought all the way +from Derby, and which had been signed by King +George himself, this meant silence, hushed footsteps, +a hidden figure perhaps, pallid and gaunt, hiding +behind the boulders, or amidst the gorse on the +Moor, or perishing mayhap at night, lost in the +bog-land up Stretton way, whilst Judas-like treads crept +stealthily on the track. It meant treachery too, the +price of blood, a fellow-creature's life to be sold for +twenty guineas.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>No wonder the gaffers could think of nothing to +say; no wonder the young men looked at one another +shamefaced, and in fear.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Who knows? Any Derbyshire lad now might +become a human bloodhound, a tracker of his +fellow-creatures, a hunter of men. There were twenty +guineas to be earned, and out there on the Heath, +in the hut of the shepherd or the forge of the smith, +many a pale wan face had been seen of late, which...</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>It was terrible to think on; for even out here, on +Brassing Moor, there existed some knowledge of +Tyburn Gate, and of Tower Hill.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>At last the groups began to break up, the Corporal's +work was done. His Majesty's Proclamation would +flutter there in the cool September wind for awhile; +then presently the crows would peck at it, the rain +would dash it down, the last bit of dirty rag would +be torn away by an October gale, but in the +meanwhile the few inhabitants of Brassington and those +of Aldwark would know that they might deny a +starving fellow-creature bread and shelter, aye! and +shoot him too, like a wild beast in a ditch, and +have twenty guineas reward to boot.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I've seen nought of John Stich, Master Inch," +said the Corporal at last. "Be he from home?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>And he turned to where, just in the fork of the +road, the thatched cottage, with a glimpse of the +shed beyond it, stood solitary and still.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, I have not observated that fact, Master +Corporal," replied Master Inch, clearing his throat +for some of those fine words which had gained for +him wide-spread admiration for miles around. "I +had not observated that John Stich was from home. +Though in verity it behoves me to say that I do not +hear the sound of Master Stich's hammer upon his +anvil."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Then I'll go across at once," said the Corporal. +"Forward, my men! John Stich might have saved +me the trouble," he added, groping in his wallet for +another copy of His Majesty's Proclamation.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, Master Corporal, do not give yourself the +futile trouble of traversing the muddy road," said +Mr Inch, sententiously. "John Stich is a loyal +subject of King George, and by my faith! he would +not harbourgate a rebel, take my word for it. +Although, mind you, Mr Corporal, I have oft +suspicionated..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Mr Inch, the beadle, looked cautiously round; all +the pompousness of his manner had vanished in a +trice. His broad face beneath the bob-tailed wig +and three-cornered hat looked like a rosy receptacle +of mysterious information, as he laid his fat hand on +the Corporal's sleeve.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The straggling groups of yokels were fast +disappearing down the muddy tracks; some were +returning to Brassington, others were tramping +Aldwark way; one wizened, solitary figure was +slowly toiling up the road, little more than a +quagmire, that led northwards across the Heath towards +Stretton Hall.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The soldiers stood at attention some fifteen yards +away, mute and disinterested. From the shed +beyond the cottage there suddenly came the sound +of the blacksmith's hammer upon his anvil. Mr +Inch felt secure from observation.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I have oft suspicionated John Stich, the smith, +of befriending the foot-pads and highwaymen +that haunt this God-forsaken Moor," he said, with +an air of excited importance, rolling his beady +eyes.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay," laughed the Corporal, good-humouredly, +as he shook off Master Inch's fat hand. "You'd +best not whisper this confidence to John Stich +himself. As I live, he would crack your skull for you, +Master Beadle, aye, be it ever so full of dictionary +words. John Stich is an honest man, I tell you," +he added with a pleasant oath, "the most honest +this side of the county, and don't you forget it."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But Mr Inch did not approve of the young soldier's +tone of familiarity. He drew up his five feet of +broad stature to their full height.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, but I designated no harm," he said, with +offended dignity. "John Stich is a worthy fellow, +and I spoke of no ordinary foot-pads. My mind," +he added, dwelling upon that mysterious possession +with conscious pride, "my mind, I may say, was +dominating on Beau Brocade."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Beau Brocade!!!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>And the Corporal laughed with obvious incredulity, +which further nettled Mr Inch, the beadle.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye, Beau Brocade," he said hotly, "the +malicious, pernicious, damned rascal, who gives us, +that representate the majesty of the law, a mighty +deal of trouble."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Indeed?" sneered the Corporal.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I dare swear that down at Derby," retorted Mr +Inch, spitefully, "you have not even heard of that +personage."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh! we know well enough that Brassing Moor +harbours more miscreants than any corner of the +county," laughed the young soldier, "but +methought Beau Brocade only existed in the +imagination of your half-witted yokels about here."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"There you are in grave error, Master Corporal," +remarked the beadle with dignity. "Beau Brocade, +permit me to observe, does exist in the flesh. 'Twas +only last night Sir Humphrey Challoner's coach was +stopped not three miles from Hartington, and his +Honour robbed of fifty guineas, by that pernicious +highwayman."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Then you must lay this Beau Brocade by the +heels, Master Inch."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye! that's easily said. Lay him by the heels +forsooth, and who's going to do that, pray?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, that's your affair. You don't expect His +Grace the Duke of Cumberland to lend you a portion +of his army, do you?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"His Grace might do worse. Beau Brocade is a +dangerous rascal to the quality."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Only to the quality?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye, he'll not touch a poor man; 'tis only the +rich he is after, and uses but little of his ill-gotten +gain on himself."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"How so?" asked the Corporal, eagerly, for in +spite of the excitement of camp life round about +Derby, the fame of the daring highwayman had ere +now tickled the fancy of the young soldiers of the +Duke of Cumberland's army.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, I told you Sir Humphrey Challoner was +robbed on the Heath last night—robbed of fifty +guineas, eh?" said Master Inch, whispering in eager +confidence. "Well, this morning, when Squire +West arrived at the court-house, he found fifty guineas +in the poor box."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Well?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, that's not the first time nor yet the second +that such a matter has occurred. The dolts round +about here, the lads from Brassington or Aldwark, +or even from Wirksworth, would never willingly lay +a hand on Beau Brocade. The rascal knows it well +enough, and carries on his shameful trade with +impunity."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Odd's fish! but meseems the trade is not so +shameful after all. What is the fellow like?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, no one has ever seen his face, though his +figure on the Moor is familiar to many. He is +always dressed in the latest fashion, hence the +villagers have called him Beau Brocade. Some say +he is a royal prince in disguise—he always wears a +mask; some say he is the Pretender, Charles Stuart +himself; others declare his face is pitted with smallpox; +others that he has the face of a pig, and the ears +of a mule, that he is covered with hairs like a spaniel, +or has a blue skin like an ape. But no one knows, +and with half the villages on the Heath to aid and +abet him, he is not like to be laid by the heels."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"A fine story, Master Inch," laughed the Corporal. +"And is there no reward for the capture of your +pig-faced, hairy, blue-skinned royal prince disguised as +a common highwayman?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye, a reward of a hundred guineas," said Mr +Inch, in a whisper that was hardly audible above the +murmur of the wind. "A hundred guineas for the +capture of Beau Brocade."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The Corporal gave a long significant whistle.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"And no one bold enough to attempt the capture?" +he said derisively.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Mr Inch shook his head sadly.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"No one could do it single-handed; the rascal is +cunning as well as bold, and..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But at this point even Mr Inch's voluble tongue +was suddenly and summarily silenced. The words +died in his throat; his bell, the badge of his important +public office, fell with a mighty clatter on the ground.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>A laugh, a long, loud, joyous, mirthful laugh, +rang clear as a silver gong from across the lonely +Moor. Such a laugh as would make anyone's heart +glad to hear, the laugh of a free man, of a man who +is whole-hearted, of a man who has never ceased to +be a boy.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>And pompous Mr Inch slowly turned on his heel, +as did also the young Corporal, and both gazed out +upon the Heath; the patient little squad of soldiers +too, all fixed their eyes upon one spot, just beyond +John Stich's forge and cottage, not fifty yards away.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>There, clearly outlined against the cloud-laden +sky, was the graceful figure of a horse and rider; the +horse, a sleek chestnut thoroughbred, which filled all +the soldiers' hearts with envy and covetousness; the +rider, a youthful, upright figure, whose every +movement betokened strength of limb and elasticity of +muscle, the very pose a model of ease and grace, the +shoulders broad; the head, with a black mask worn +over the face, was carried high and erect.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>In truth it was a goodly picture to look upon, +with that massive bank of white clouds, and the +little patches of vivid blue as a rich, shimmering +dome above it, the gold-tipped bracken, the purple +heather all around, and far away, as a mist-covered +background, the green-clad hills and massive Tors +of Derbyshire.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>So good a picture was it that the tardy September +sun peeped through the clouds and had a look at that +fine specimen of eighteenth-century English +manhood, then paused awhile, perchance to hear again +that mirthful, happy laugh.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Then came a gust of wind, the sun retreated, the +soldiers gasped, and lo! before Mr Inch or Mr +Corporal had realised that the picture was made of +flesh and blood, horse and rider had disappeared, +there, far out across the Heath, beyond the gorse and +bramble and the budding heather, with not a +handful of dust to mark the way they went.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Only once from far, very far, almost from fairy-land, +there came, like the echo of a silver bell, the +sound of that mad, merry laugh.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Beau Brocade, as I live!" murmured Mr Inch, +under his breath.</span></p> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> +</div> +<p class="center pfirst" id="the-forge-of-john-stich"><span class="large">CHAPTER II</span></p> +<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">THE FORGE OF JOHN STICH</span></p> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> +</div> +<p class="pfirst"><span>John Stich too had heard that laugh; for a moment +he paused in his work, straightened his broad back +and leant his heavy hammer upon the anvil, whilst +a pleasant smile lit up his bronzed and rugged +countenance.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"There goes the Captain," he said, "I wonder +now what's tickling him. Ah!" he added with a +short sigh, "the soldiers, maybe. He doesn't like +soldiers much, doesn't the Captain."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>He sighed again and looked across to where, on a +rough wooden bench, sat a young man with head +resting on his hand, his blue eyes staring moodily +before him. The dress this young man wore was a +counterpart of that in which John himself was +arrayed; rough worsted stockings, thick flannel +shirt with sleeves well tucked up over fine, muscular +arms, and a large, greasy, well-worn leather apron, +denoting the blacksmith's trade. But though the +hands and face were covered with grime, a more than +casual observer would soon have noticed that those +same hands were slender and shapely, the fingers +long, the nails neatly trimmed, whilst the face, +anxious and careworn though it was, had in it a +look of habitual command, of pride not yet crushed +out of ken.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>John Stich gazed at him for awhile, whilst a look +of pity and anxiety saddened his honest face. The +smith was a man of few words, he said nothing then, +and presently the sound of his hammer upon the +anvil once more filled the forge with its pleasant +echo. But though John's tongue was slow, his ear +was quick, and in one moment he had perceived the +dull thud made by the Corporal's squad as, having +parted from Mr Inch at the cross-roads, the soldiers +ploughed their way through the mud round the +cottage and towards the forge.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Hist!" said John, in a rapid whisper, pointing +to the fire, "the bellows! quick!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The young man too had started in obvious alarm. +His ear—the ear of a fugitive, trained to every sound +that betokened danger—was as alert as that of the +smith. With a sudden effort he pulled himself +together, and quickly seized the heavy bellows with a +will. He forced his eyes to glance carelessly at the +door and his lips to whistle a lively country tune.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The Corporal paused a moment at the entrance, +taking a quick survey of the interior of the forge, his +men at attention behind him.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"In the King's name!" he said loudly, as he +unfolded the Proclamation of His Majesty's Parliament.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>His orders were to read it in every hamlet and +every homestead in the district; John Stich, the +blacksmith, was an important personage all around +Brassing Moor, and he had not heard it read from +beneath the old gallows at the cross-roads just now.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, Corporal," said the worthy smith, quietly, +as he put down his hammer out of respect for the +King's name. "Well, and what does His Majesty, +King George II., desire with John Stich, the +blacksmith, eh?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Not with you alone, John Stich," replied the +Corporal. "This is an Act of Parliament and +concerns all loyal subjects of the King. Who be +yon lad?" he asked, carelessly nodding towards the +young man at the bellows.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"My nephew Jim, out o' Nottingham," replied +John Stich, quietly, "my sister Hannah's child. +You recollect her, Corporal? She was in service +with my Lord Exeter up at Derby."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, aye! Mistress Hannah Stich, to be sure! +I didn't know she had such a fine lad of her own," +commented the Corporal, as the young man +straightened his tall figure and looked him fearlessly +in the face.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Lads grow up fast enough, don't they, Corporal?" +laughed honest Stich, pleasantly; "but come, let's +hear His Majesty's Proclamation since you've got +to read it. But you see I'm very busy and..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, 'tis my duty, John Stich, 'in every homestead +in Derbyshire' 'tis to be read, so says this Act +of Parliament. You might have saved this trouble +had you come down to the cross-roads just now."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I was busy," remarked John Stich, drily, and +the Corporal began to read:—</span></p> +<blockquote> +<div> +<p class="pfirst"><span>"'It having come to the knowledge of His +Majesty's Parliament that certain subjects of the +King have lately raised the standard of rebellion, +setting up the Pretender, Charles Edward Stuart, +above the King's most lawful Majesty, it is hereby +enacted that these persons are guilty of high +treason and by the laws of the kingdom are +therefore condemned to death. It is further enacted +that it is unlawful for any loyal subject of the +King to shelter or harbour, clothe or feed any such +persons who are vile traitors and rebels to their +King and country; and that any subject of His +Majesty who kills such a traitor or rebel doth +thereby commit an act of justice and loyalty, for which +he may be rewarded by the sum of twenty guineas.'"</span></p> +</div> +</blockquote> +<p class="pfirst"><span>There was a pause when the Corporal had finished +reading. John Stich was leaning upon his hammer, +the young man once more busied himself with the +bellows. Outside, the clearing shower of September +rain began pattering upon the thatched roof of the +forge.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," said John Stich at last, as the Corporal +put the heavy parchment away in his wallet. +"Well, and are you going to tell us who are those +persons, Corporal, whom our village lads are told to +murder by Act of Parliament? How shall we know +a rebel ... and shoot him ... when we see one?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"There were forty persons down on the list a few +weeks ago, persons who were known to be in hiding +in Derbyshire," said the young soldier, "but..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, what's your 'but,' Corporal? There +were forty persons whom 'twas lawful to murder a +few weeks ago.... What of them?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"They have been caught and hanged, most of +them," replied the soldier, quietly.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Jim, lad, mind that fire," commented John Stich, +turning to his "nephew out o' Nottingham," for the +latter was staring with glowing eyes and quivering +lips at the Corporal, who, not noticing him, continued +carelessly,—</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"There was Lord Lovat now, you must have +heard of him, John Stich, he was beheaded a few +days ago, and so was Lord Kilmarnock ... they +were lords, you see, and had a headsman all to +themselves on Tower Hill, that's up in London: +some lesser folk have been hanged, and now there +are only three rebels at large, and there are twenty +guineas waiting for anyone who will bring the head +of one of them to the nearest magistrate."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The smith grunted. "Well, and who are they?" +he asked roughly.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Sir Andrew Macdonald up from Tweedside, then +Squire Fairfield, you'd mind him, John Stich, over +Staffordshire way."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye, aye, I mind him well enough. His mother +was a Papist and he clung to the Stuart cause +... young man, too, and hiding for his life.... Well, +and who else?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"The young Earl of Stretton."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"What! him from Stretton Hall?" said John +Stich in open astonishment. "Jim, lad," he added +sternly, "thou art a clumsy fool."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The young man had started involuntarily at +sound of the last name mentioned by the Corporal; +and the bellows which he had tried to wield fell with +a clatter on the floor.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Be gy! but an Act of Parliament can make thee +a lawful assassin, it seems," added honest John, +with a laugh, "but let me perish if it can make thee a +good smith. What think you, Master Corporal?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Odd's life! the lad is too soft-hearted mayhap! +Our Derbyshire lads haven't much sense in their +heads, have they?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, you mind the saying, Corporal, 'Derbyshire +born and Derbyshire bred...' eh?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"'Strong i' the arm and weak i' th' head,'" +laughed the soldier, concluding the apt quotation. +"That's just it. Odd's buds! they want some +sense. What's a rebel or a traitor but vermin, +eh? and don't we kill vermin all of us, and don't call it +murder either—what?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>He laughed pleasantly and carelessly and tapped +the side of his wallet where rested His Majesty's +Proclamation. He was a young soldier, nothing +more, attentive to duty, ready to obey, neither +willing nor allowed to reason for himself. He had +been taught that rebels and traitors were vermin +... egad! vermin they were, and as such must be +got rid of for the sake of the rest of the kingdom and +the safety of His Majesty the King.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>John Stich made no comment on the Corporal's +profession of faith.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"We'll talk about all that some other time, +Corporal," he said at last, "but I am busy now, you +see..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"No offence, friend Stich.... Odd's life, duty +you know, John, duty, eh? His Majesty's +orders! and I had them from the Captain, who had them +from the Duke of Cumberland himself. So you +mind the Act, friend!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye! I mind it well enough."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Everyone knows </span><em class="italics">you</em><span> to be a loyal subject of +King George," added the Corporal in conciliatory +tones, for John was a power in the district, "and I'm +sure your nephew is the same, but duty is duty, and +no offence meant."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"That's right enough, Corporal," said John Stich, +impatiently.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"So good-morrow to you, John Stich."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Good-morrow."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The Corporal nodded to the young man, then +turned on his heel and presently his voice was +heard ringing out the word of command,—</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Attention!—Right turn—Quick march!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>John Stich and the young man watched the half-dozen +red-coated figures as they turned to skirt the +cottage: the dull thud of their feet quickly dying +away, as they wound their way slowly up the muddy +path which leads across the Heath to Aldwark village.</span></p> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> +</div> +<p class="center pfirst" id="the-fugitive"><span class="large">CHAPTER III</span></p> +<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">THE FUGITIVE</span></p> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> +</div> +<p class="pfirst"><span>Inside the forge all was still, whilst the last of the +muffled sounds died away in the distance. John +Stich had not resumed work. It was his turn now +to stare moodily before him.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The young man had thrown the bellows aside, +and was pacing the rough earthen floor of the forge +like some caged animal.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Tracked!" he murmured at last between +clenched teeth, "tracked like some wild beast! perhaps +shot anon like a dangerous cur behind a hedge!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>He sighed a long and bitter sigh, full of sorrow, +anxiety, disappointment. It had come to this +then! His name among the others—the traitors, +the rebels! and he an innocent man!</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, my lord!" said the smith, quietly, "not +while John Stich owns a roof that can shelter you."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The young man paused in his feverish walk; a +look of gentleness and gratitude softened the +care-worn expression on his face: with a boyish gesture +he threw back the fair hair which fell in curly +profusion over his forehead, and with a frank and +winning grace he sought and grasped the worthy +smith's rough brown hand.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Honest Stich!" he said at last, whilst his voice +shook a little as he spoke, "and to think that I +cannot even reward your devotion!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, my lord," retorted John Stich, drawing +up his burly figure to its full height, "don't talk +of reward. I would gladly give my life for you and +your family."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>And this was no idle talk. John Stich meant +every word he said. Honest, kind, simple-hearted +John! he loved those to whom he owed everything, +loved them with all the devotion of his strong, +faithful nature.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The late Lord Stretton had brought him up, cared +for him, given him a trade, and set him up in the +cottage and forge at the cross-roads, and honest +Stich felt that as everything that was good in life +had come from my lord and his family, so everything +he could give should be theirs in return.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah! I fear me," sighed the young man, "that +it is your life you risk now by sheltering me."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Yet it was all such a horrible mistake.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Philip James Gascoyne, eleventh Earl of Stretton, +was at this time not twenty-one years of age. There +is that fine portrait of him at Brassing Hall painted +by Hogarth just before this time. The artist has +well caught the proud features, the fine blue eyes, the +boyish, curly head, which have been the characteristics +of the Gascoynes for many generations. He +has also succeeded in indicating the sensitiveness of +the mouth, that somewhat feminine turn of the lips, +that all too-rounded curve of the chin and jaw, +which perhaps robs the handsome face of its virile +manliness. There certainly is a look of indecision, +of weakness of will about the lower part of the face, +but it is so frank, so young, so </span><em class="italics">insouciant</em><span>, that it +wins all hearts, even if it does not captivate the +judgment.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Of course, when he was very young, his sympathies +went out to the Stuart cause. Had not the +Gascoynes suffered and died for Charles Stuart but +a hundred years ago? Why the change? Why +this allegiance to an alien dynasty, to a king who +spoke the language of his subjects with a foreign +accent?</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>His father, the late Lord Stretton, a contented, +unargumentative British nobleman of the eighteenth +century, had not thought it worth his while to +explain to the growing lad the religious and political +questions involved in the upholding of this foreign +dynasty. Perhaps he did not understand them +altogether himself. The family motto is "Pour +le Roi." So the Gascoynes fought for a Stuart +when he was King, and against him when he was a +Pretender, and old Lord Stretton expected his +children to reverence the family motto, and to have +no opinions of their own.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>And yet to the hearts of many the Stuart cause +made a strong appeal. From Scotland came the +fame of the "bonnie Prince" who won all hearts +where'er he went. Philip was young, his father's +discipline was irksome, he had some friends among +the Highland lords: and while his father lived +there had as yet been no occasion in the English +Midlands to do anything very daring for the Stuart +Pretender.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>When the Earl of Stretton died, Philip, a mere +boy then, succeeded to title and estates. In the +first flush of new duties and new responsibilities his +old enthusiasm remained half forgotten. As a peer +of the realm he had registered his allegiance to King +George, and with his youthful romantic nature all +afire, he clung to that new oath of his, idealised +it and loyally resisted the blandishments and +lures held out to him from Scotland and from +France.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Then came the news that Charles Edward, backed +by French money and French influence, would +march upon London and would stop at Derby to +rally round his standard his friends in the Midlands.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Young Lord Stretton, torn between memories of +his boyhood and the duties of his new position, +feared to be inveigled into breaking his allegiance to +King George. The malevolent fairy who at his +birth had given him that weak mouth and softly +rounded chin, had stamped his worst characteristic +on the young handsome face. Philip's one hope at +this juncture was to flee from temptation; he knew +that Charles Edward, remembering his past ardour, +would demand his help and his adherence, and that +he, Philip, might be powerless to refuse.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>So he fled from the county: despising himself as a +coward, yet boyishly clinging to the idea that he +would keep the oath he had sworn to King George. +He wished to put miles of country between himself +and the possible breaking of that oath, the possible +yielding to the "bonnie Prince" whom none could +resist. He left his sister, Lady Patience, at Stretton +Hall, well cared for by old retainers, and he, a loyal +subject to his King, became a fugitive.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Then came the catastrophe: that miserable +retreat from Derby; the bedraggled remains of a +disappointed army; finally Culloden and complete +disaster; King George's soldiers scouring the +country for rebels, the bills of attainder, the quick +trials and swift executions.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Soon the suspicion grew into certainty that the +fugitive Earl of Stretton was one of the Pretender's +foremost adherents. On his weary way from Derby +Prince Charles Edward had asked and obtained a +night's shelter at Stretton Hall. When Philip tried +to communicate with his sister, and to return to his +home, he found that she was watched, and that he +was himself attainted by Act of Parliament.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Yet he felt himself guiltless and loyal. He </span><em class="italics">was</em><span> +guiltless and loyal: how his name came to be +included in the list of rebels was still a mystery to +him: someone must have lodged sworn information +against him. But who?—Surely not his old friends—the +adherents of Charles Edward—out of revenge +for his half-heartedness?</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>In the meanwhile, he, a mere lad, became an +outcast, condemned to death by Act of Parliament. +Presently all might be cleared, all would be well, +but for the moment he was like a wild beast, hiding +in hedges and ditches, with his life at the mercy of +any grasping Judas willing to sell his fellow-creature +for a few guineas.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>It was horrible! horrible! Philip vainly tried +all the day to rouse himself from his morbid reverie. +At intervals he would grasp the kind smith's hand +and mutter anxiously,—</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"My letter to my sister, John?—You are sure she had it?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>And patient John would repeat a dozen times the day,—</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I am quite sure, my lord."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But since the Corporal's visit Philip's mood had +become more feverish.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"My letter," he repeated, "has Patience had my +letter? Why doesn't she come?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>And spite of John's entreaties he would go to the +entrance which faced the lonely Heath, and with +burning eyes look out across the wilderness of furze +and bracken towards that distant horizon where +lay his home, where waited his patient, loving +sister.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I beg you, my lord, come away from the door, +it isn't safe, not really safe," urged John Stich again +and again.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Then why will you not tell me who took my letter +to Stretton Hall?" said the boy with feverish impatience.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"My lord..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Some stupid dolt mayhap, who has lost his way +... or ... perchance betrayed me..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"My lord," pleaded the smith, "have I not sworn +that your letter went by hands as faithful, as trusty +as my own?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"But I'll not rest an you do not tell me who took +it. I wish to know," he added with that sudden +look of command which all the Strettons have worn +for many generations past.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The old habitual deference of the retainer for his +lord was strong in the heart of John. He yielded.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, my lord, an you'll not be satisfied," he +said with a sigh, "I'll tell you, though Heaven +knows that his safety is as dear to me as +yours—both dearer than my own."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, who was it?" asked the young man, eagerly.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I entrusted your letter for Lady Patience to +Beau Brocade, the highwayman—"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>In a moment Philip was on his feet: danger, +amazement, horror, robbed him of speech for a few +seconds, but the next he had gripped the smith's +arm and like a furious, thoughtless, unreasoning +child, he gasped,—</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Beau Brocade!! ... the highwayman!!! +... My life, my honour to a highwayman!!! +Are you mad or drunk, John Stich?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Neither, my lord," said John with great respect, +but looking the young man fearlessly in the face. +"You don't know Beau Brocade, and there are no +safer hands than his. He knows every inch of the +Moor and fears neither man nor devil."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Touched in spite of himself by the smith's +earnestness, Philip's wrath abated somewhat; still he +seemed dazed, not understanding, vaguely scenting +danger, or treachery.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"But a highwayman!" he repeated mechanically.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye! and a gentleman!" retorted John with +quiet conviction. "A gentleman if ever there was +one! Aye! and not the only one who has ta'en to +the road these hard times," he added under his +breath.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"But a thief, John! A man who might sell my +letter, betray my whereabouts!..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"A man, my lord, who would die in torture sooner +than do that."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The smith's quiet and earnest conviction seemed +to chase away the last vestige of Philip's wrath. +Still he seemed unconvinced.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"A hero of romance, John, this highwayman of +yours," he laughed bitterly.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Honest John scratched the back of his curly black head.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Noa!" he said, somewhat puzzled. "I know +nought about that or what's a ... a hero of +romance. But I do know that Beau Brocade is a +friend of the poor, and that our village lads won't +lay their hands on him, even if they could. +No! not though the Government have offered a hundred +guineas as the price of his head."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Five times the value of mine, it seems," said +Philip with a sigh. "But," he added, with a sudden +return to feverish anxiety, "if he was caught last +night, with my letter in his hands..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Caught!!! Beau Brocade caught!" laughed +John Stich, "nay, all the soldiers of the Duke of +Cumberland's army couldn't do that, my lord! +Besides, I know he wasn't caught. I saw him on his +chestnut horse just before the Corporal came. I +heard him laughing, at the red coats, maybe. Nay! my +lord, I beg you have no fear, your letter is in her +ladyship's hand now, I'll lay my life on that."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I had to trust someone, my lord," he said after +awhile, as Lord Stretton once more relapsed into +gloomy silence. "I could do nothing for your +lordship single-handed, and you wanted that letter to +reach her ladyship. I scarce knew what to do. +But I did know I could trust Beau Brocade, and your +secret is as safe with him as it is with me."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Philip sighed wearily.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, well! I'll believe it all, friend John. I'll +trust you and your friend, and be grateful to you +both: have no fear of that! Who am I but a +wretched creature, whom any rascal may shoot by +Act of Parliament."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But John Stich had come to the end of his power +of argument. Never a man of many words, he had +only become voluble when speaking of his friend. +Philip tried to look cheerful and convinced, but he +was chafing under this enforced inactivity and the +dark, close atmosphere of the forge.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>He had spent two days under the smith's roof +and time seemed to creep with lead-weighted wings: +yet every sound, every strange footstep, made his +nerves quiver with morbid apprehension, and even +now at sound of a tremulous voice from the road, +shrank, moody and impatient, into the darkest +corner of the hut.</span></p> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> +</div> +<p class="center pfirst" id="jock-miggs-the-shepherd"><span class="large">CHAPTER IV</span></p> +<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">JOCK MIGGS, THE SHEPHERD</span></p> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> +</div> +<p class="pfirst"><span>"Be you at home, Master Stich?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>A curious, wizened little figure stood in the +doorway peering cautiously into the forge.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>In a moment John Stich was on the alert.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Sh!" he whispered quickly, "have no fear, my +lord, 'tis only some fool from the village."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Did ye say ye baint at home, Master Stich?" +queried the same tremulous voice again. "I didn't +quite hear ye."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, yes, I'm here all right, Jock Miggs," said +the smith, heartily. "Come in!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Jock Miggs came in, making as little noise, and +taking up as little room as possible. Dressed in a +well-worn smock and shabby corduroy breeches, +he had a curious shrunken, timid air about his whole +personality, as he removed his soft felt hat and began +scratching his scanty tow-coloured locks: he was a +youngish man too, probably not much more than +thirty, yet his brown face was a mass of ruts and +wrinkles like a furrowed path on Brassing Moor.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Morning, Mr Stich ... morning," he said with +a certain air of vagueness and apology, as with obvious +admiration he stopped to watch the broad back of +the smith and his strong arms wielding the heavy +hammer.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Morning, Miggs," retorted John, not looking up +from his work, "how's the old woman?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I dunno, Mr Stich," replied Miggs, with a dubious +shake of the head. "Badly, I expec' ... same as +yesterday," he added in a more cheerful spirit.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Why! what's the matter?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I dunno, Mr Stich, that there's anything the +matter," explained Jock Miggs with slow and sad +deliberation, "but she's dead ... same as yesterday."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Involuntarily Philip laughed at the quaint, +fatalistic statement.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Hello!" said Miggs, looking at him with the +same apathetic wonder, "who be yon lad?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"That's my nephew Jim, out o' Nottingham," +said John, "come to give me a hand."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Morning, lad," piped Miggs, in his high treble, +as he extended a wrinkled, bony hand to Stretton.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Lud, John Stich," he exclaimed, "any one'd +know he was one o' your family from the muscle +he's got."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>And gently, meditatively, he rubbed one shrivelled +hand against the other, looking with awe at the fine +figure of a man before him.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"A banging lad your nephew too," he added with +a chuckle; "he'll be turning the heads of all the girls +this side o' Brassington, maybe."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh! I'll warrant he's got a sweetheart at home, +eh, Jim lad?—or maybe more than one. But +what brings ye here this day, friend Miggs?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The wizened little face assumed a puzzled expression.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I dunno..." he said vaguely, "maybe I +wanted to tell ye about the soldiers I seed at the +Royal George over Brassington way."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"What about 'em, Miggs?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">I</em><span> dunno.... I see a corporal and lots of +fellers in red .... some say there's more o' them +... I dunno."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Ha!" said Stich, carelessly, "What are they after?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">I</em><span> dunno," commented Miggs, imperturbably. +"Some say they're after that chap Beau Brocade. +There was a coach stopped on the Heath 'gain last +night. Fifty guineas he took out of it, he did...." And +Jock Miggs chuckled feebly with apparent but +irresponsible delight. "Some folk say it were Sir +Humphrey Challoner's coach over from Hartington, +and no one's going to break their hearts over +that! he! he! he! ... but </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> dunno," he added with +sudden frightened vagueness.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Be they cavalry soldiers over at the Royal +George, Miggs?" asked John.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">I</em><span> dunno ... I seed no horses ... looks more +like foot soldiers ... but </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> dunno. The Corporal +he read out something just now about our getting +twenty guineas if we shoot one o' them rebels. I'd +be mighty glad to get twenty guineas, Master Stich," +he said reflectively, "but I dunno as how I could +handle a musket rightly ... and folks say them +traitors are mighty desperate fellows ... but I +dunno..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Then with sudden resolution Jock Miggs turned +to the doorway.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Morning, Master Stich," he said decisively. +"Morning, lad! ... morning."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Morning, Miggs."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>However, it seemed that Jock Miggs's visit to the +forge was not so purposeless as it at first appeared.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"He! he! he!" he chuckled, as if suddenly +recollecting his errand. "I'd almost forgot why I +came. Farmer Crabtree wanted to know, Master +Stich, if you'm got the wether's collar mended yet?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes, to be sure," replied the smith, pointing +to a rough bench on which lay a number of metal +articles. "You'll find it on that there bench, Jock. +Farmer Crabtree sold his sheep yet?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Jock toddled up to the bench and picked up the +wether's collar.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Noa!" he muttered, "not yet, worse luck! +And his temper is that hot! So don't 'ee charge him +too much for the collar, Master Stich, or it's me +that'll have to suffer."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>And Miggs rubbed his shoulder significantly. +Stich laughed. Philip himself, in spite of his anxiety, +could not help being amused at the quaint figure +of the little shepherd with his wizened face and gentle, +vaguely fatalistic manner.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Thus it was that no one in the forge had +perceived the patter of small feet on the mud outside, +and when Jock Miggs, with more elaborate +"Mornings" and final leave-takings, once more +reached the doorway, he came in violent collision +with a short, be-cloaked and closely-hooded figure +that was picking its way on very small, very +high-heeled shoes, through the maze of puddles which +guarded the entrance to the forge.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The impact sent Jock Miggs, scared and apologetic, +stumbling in one direction, whilst the grey hood flew +off the head of its wearer and disclosed in the setting +of its shell-pink lining a merry, pretty, impudent +little face, with brown eyes sparkling and red lips +pouting in obvious irritation.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Lud, man!" said the dainty young damsel, +withering the unfortunate shepherd with a scornful +glance, "why don't you look where you're going?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I dunno," replied Jock Miggs, with his usual +humble vagueness. "Morning, miss ... morning, +Master Stich ... morning."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>And still scared, still in obvious apology for his +existence, he pulled at his forelock, re-adjusted his +hat over his yellow curls, took his final leave, and +presently began to wend his way slowly back +towards the Heath.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But within the forge, at first bound of the young +girl's voice, Stretton had started in uncontrollable +excitement.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Betty!" he whispered, eagerly clutching John +Stich's arm.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye! aye!" replied the cautious smith, "but +I beg you, my lord, keep in the background until I +find out if all is safe."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Mistress Betty's saucy brown eyes followed Jock +Miggs's quaint, retreating figure.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Well! you're a pretty bit of sheep's wool, ain't +ye?" she shouted after him, with a laugh and a +shrug of her plump shoulders.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Then she peered into the forge.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Lud love you, Master Stich!" she said, "how +goes it with you?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>In obedience to counsels of prudence, Stretton had +retired into the remote corner of the forge. John +Stich too was masking the entrance with his burly +figure.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"All the better, Mistress Betty," he said, "for a +sight of your pretty face."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>He had become very red, had honest John, and +his rough manner seemed completely to have +deserted him. In fact, not to put too fine a point upon +it, the worthy smith looked distinctly shy and +sheepish.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>She looked up at him and laughed a pleased, +coquettish little laugh, the laugh of a woman who +has oft been told that she is pretty, and has not +tired of the hearing. John Stich, moreover, was so +big and burly, folks called him hard and rough, and +it vastly entertained the young damsel to see him +standing there before her, as awkward and +uncomfortable as Jock Miggs himself.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Am I not to step inside, Master Stich?" she asked.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, yes, Mistress Betty," murmured John, +who seemed to have lost himself in admiration of a +pair of tiny buckled shoes muddy to the ankles—such +ankles!—which showed to great advantage +beneath Betty's short green kirtle.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>An angry, impatient movement behind him, +however, quickly recalled his scattered senses.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Did her ladyship receive a letter, mistress?" +he asked eagerly.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes! a stranger brought it," replied Betty, +with a pout, for she preferred John's mute appreciation +of her small person to his interest in other +matters. However, the demon of mischief no +doubt whispered something in her ear for the +further undoing of the worthy smith, for she put on +a demure, mysterious little air, turned up her brown +eyes, sighed with affectation, and murmured +ecstatically,—</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh! such a stranger! the fine eyes of him, +Master Stich! and such an air, and oh!" added little +madam with unction, "such clothes!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But though no doubt all these fine airs and graces +wrought deadly havoc in poor John's heart, he +concealed it well enough under a show of eager impatience.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes! yes! the stranger," he said, casting a +furtive glance behind him, "he gave you a letter +for my lady?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"La! you needn't be in such a hurry, Master +Stich!" retorted Mistress Betty, adding with all +the artifice of which she was capable, "the stranger +wasn't."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But this was too much for John. There had +been such a wealth of meaning in Betty's brown eyes.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh! he wasn't? was he?" he asked with a +jealous frown, "and pray what had he to say to +you? There was no message except the letter."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But the demon of mischief was satisfied and Betty +was disposed to be kind, even if slightly mysterious.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, never mind!" she rejoined archly, "he +gave me a letter which I gave to my lady. That +was early this morning."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Well? ... and?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But matters were progressing too slowly at +anyrate for one feverish, anxious heart. Philip had +tried to hold himself in check, though he was literally +hanging on pretty Mistress Betty's lips. Now he +could contain himself no longer. Lady Patience had +had his letter. The mysterious highwayman had +not failed in his trust, and the news Betty had +brought meant life or death to him.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Throwing prudence to the winds, he pushed John +Stich aside, and seizing the young girl by the wrist, +he asked excitedly,—</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes? this morning, Betty? ... then +... then ... what did her ladyship do?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Betty was frightened, and like a child was ready to +drown her fright in tears. She had not recognised +my lord in those dirty clothes.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't you know me, Betty?" asked Philip, +a little more quietly.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Betty cast a timid glance at the two men before +her, and smiled through the coming tears.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course, my lord ... I ..." she murmured shyly.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"'Tis my nephew Jim out o' Nottingham, mistress," +said John, sternly, "try and remember that: and +now tell us what did her ladyship do?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"She had the horses put to, not an hour after the +stranger had been. Thomas is driving and Timothy +is our only other escort. But we've not drawn rein +since we left the Hall!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes! yes!" came from two pairs of eager lips.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"And my lady stopped the coach about two +hundred yards from here," continued Betty with +great volubility, "and she told me to run on here, +to see that the coast was clear. She knew I could +find my way, and she wouldn't trust Timothy as she +trusts me," added the young girl with a pretty +touch of pride.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"But where is she, Betty? where is she?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Betty pointed to the clump of firs, which stood like +ghostly sentinels on the crest of the hill, just where +the road turns sharply to the east.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Just beyond those trees, my lord, and she made +Timothy watch until I came round the bend and in +sight of the forge. But la! the mud on the +roads! 'tis fit to drown you."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But already John Stich was outside, beckoning to +Mistress Betty.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Come, mistress, quick!" he said excitedly, +"her ladyship must be nigh crazy with impatience. +By your leave, my lord, I'll help Mistress Betty on +her way, and I'll keep this place in sight. I'll go +no further..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, yes," rejoined Philip, feverishly, "go, go, +fly if you can! I'll be safe! I'll not show myself. +God give you both wings, for I'll not live now till I +see my sister."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Eager, boyish, full of wild gaiety, he seemed to +have thrown off his morbid anxiety as he would a +mantle. He even laughed whole-heartedly as he +watched Betty, with many airs and graces, "Luds!" +and "I vows!" making great pretence at being +unable to walk in the mud, and leaning heavily on +honest Stich's arm.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>He watched them as they picked their way up the +so-called road, a perfect quagmire after the heavy +September rains.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The air seemed so different now, the Heath smelt +good, there was vigour and life in the keen +nor'-wester; how green the bracken looked, and how +harmoniously it seemed to blend with the purple +shoots of the bramble laden with ripening fruit! how +delicate the more tender green of the gorse, and +there that vivid patch of mauve, the first glimpse +of opening heather! the heavy clouds too were +rolling away; the September sun was going to have +his own way after all and spread his kingdom of blue +and gold over the distant Derbyshire hills.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Hope had come like the divine magician to chase +away all that was grey and sad and dreary, and Hope +had met Youth and shaken him by the hand: they +are such friends, such inseparable companions, these +two!</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>What mattered it that some few yards away the +old gallows, like some eerie witch, still spread its +gaunt arm over that fluttering bit of parchment: +the Proclamation of His Majesty's Parliament? +What though it spoke of death, of treachery, of +bills of attainder, of Tower Hill?</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Did not the good nor'-wester from the Moor +flutter round it, and in wanton frolic attack it now +with madcap fury and a shrill whistle, and now with +a long-drawn-out sigh. The parchment resisted +with vigour, it bore the onslaught of the wind twice, +thrice, and once again. But the nor'-wester was not +to be outdone, and again it renewed the attack, +took the parchment by the corner, pulled and twisted +at it, until at last with one terrific blast it tore the +Royal Proclamation off the old gallows, and sent it +whirling in a mad gallop across the Moor, far, very +far away on to Derby, to London, to the place where +all winds go.</span></p> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> +</div> +<p class="center pfirst" id="there-s-none-like-her-none"><span class="large">CHAPTER V</span></p> +<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">"THERE'S NONE LIKE HER, NONE!"</span></p> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> +</div> +<p class="pfirst"><span>There was something more than ordinary affection +between Philip, Earl of Stretton, and his sister, Lady +Patience Gascoyne. Those who knew them in the +days of their happiness said they seemed more like +lovers than brother and sister, so tender, so true was +their clinging devotion to one another.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But those who knew them both intimately said +that they were more like mother and son together; +though Philip was only a year or two younger than +Patience, she had all a mother's fondness, a mother's +indulgence and sweet pity for him, he all a son's +deference, a son's trust in her.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Even now, as he instinctively felt her dear presence +nigh, hope took a more firm, more lasting hold upon +him. He knew that she would act wisely and +prudently for him. For the first time for many days +and weeks he felt safe, less morbidly afraid of +treachery, more ready to fight adverse fate.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The heavy coach came lumbering along the quaggy +road, the old coachman's "Whoa! whoa! there! there!" +as he tried to encourage his horses in the +heavy task of pulling the cumbersome vehicle +through the morass, sounded like sweetest music in +Philip's ear.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>He did not dare go to meet them, but he watched +the coach as it drew nearer and nearer, very slowly, +the horses going step by step urged on by the +coachman and by Timothy, who rode close at their heads, +spurring them with whip and kind words, the wheels +creaking as they slowly turned on their mud-laden axles.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Thus Patience had travelled since dawn, ever since +the stranger had brought her the letter which told +her that her brother had succeeded in reaching this +secluded corner of Derbyshire, and was now in hiding +with faithful John Stich, waiting for her guidance +and help to establish his innocence.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Leaning back against the cushions of the coach, +she had sat with eyes closed and hands tightly +clutched. Anxious, wearied, at times hopeful, she +had borne the terrible fatigue of this lumbering +journey from Stretton Hall, along the unmade roads +of Brassing Moor, with all the fortitude the +Gascoynes had always shown for any cause they +had at heart.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>At the cross-roads Thomas, the driver, brought +his horses to a standstill. Already, as the coach had +passed some fifty yards from the forge, Patience had +leaned out of the window trying to get a glimpse of +the dear face which she knew would be on the lookout for her.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>John Stich had escorted Betty as far as the bend +in the road, and within sight of Timothy waiting +some hundred yards further on, then he had retraced +his steps, and was now back at the cross-roads ready +to help Lady Patience to alight.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Let the coach wait here," she said to the driver, +"we may sleep at Wirksworth to-night."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah! my good Stich," she added, grasping the +smith's hand eagerly, "my brother, how is he?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"All the better since he knows your ladyship has +come," replied Stich.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>A few moments later brother and sister were +locked in each other's arms.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"My sweet sister! My dear, dear Patience!" +was all Philip could say at first.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But she placed one hand on his shoulder and with +a gentle motherly gesture brushed with the other the +unruly curls from the white, moist forehead. He +looked haggard and careworn, although his eyes now +gleamed with feverish hope, and hers, in spite of +herself, began to fill with tears.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Dear, dear one," she murmured, trying to look +cheerful, to push back the tears. All would be well +now that she could get to him, that they could talk +things over, that she could </span><em class="italics">do</em><span> something for him and +with him, instead of sitting—weary and inactive—alone +at Stretton Hall, without news, a prey to +devouring anxiety.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"That awful Proclamation," he said at last—"you +have heard of it?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye!" she replied sadly, "even before you did, +I think. Sir Humphrey Challoner sent a courier +across to tell me of it."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"And my name amongst those attainted by Act +of Parliament!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>She nodded, her lips were quivering, and she would +not break down, now that he needed all her courage +as well as his own.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"But I am innocent, dear," he said, taking both +her tiny hands in his own, and looking firmly, +steadfastly into her face. "You believe me, don't +you?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course, Philip, I believe you. But it is all so +hard, so horrible, and 'tis Heaven alone who knows +which was the just cause."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"There is no doubt as to which was the stronger +cause, at anyrate in England," said Stretton, with +some bitterness. "Charles Edward was very ill-advised +to cross the border at all, and in the Midlands +no one cares about the Stuarts now. But that's all +ancient history," he added with a weary sigh, "it's +no use dwelling over all the wretched mistakes that +were committed last year, 'tis only the misery that +has abided until now."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Why did you run away, Philip?" she asked.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Because I was a fool ... and a coward," he +added, while a blush of shame darkened his young +Saxon face.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I thought if I remained at Stretton Charles +Edward would demand my help ... and you +know," he said with a quaint boyish smile, "I was +never very good at saying 'Nay!' I knew they +would persuade me. Lovat and Kilmarnock were +such friends, and..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"So you preferred to run away?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"It was cowardly, wasn't it?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I am afraid it was," she said reluctantly, her +tenderness and her conviction fighting an even battle +in her heart. "But why wouldn't you tell me, dear?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Because I was a fool," he said, cursing himself +for that same folly. "You were away in London +just then, you remember?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>She nodded.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"And there was no one to advise me, except Challoner."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Sir Humphrey? Then it was he?..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Philip looked at her in astonishment. There was +such a strange quiver in her voice; a note of deep +anxiety, of almost hysterical alarm. But she +checked herself quickly, and said more calmly,—</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"What did Sir Humphrey Challoner advise you to do?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"He said that Charles Edward would surely +persuade me to join his standard, that he would +demand shelter at Stretton Hall, and claim my +allegiance."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, yes?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"And he thought that it would be wiser for me to +put two or three counties between myself and the +temptation of becoming a rebel."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"He thought!..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>There was a world of bitter contempt in those +two words she uttered. Even Philip, absorbed as +he was in his own affairs, could not fail to notice it.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Challoner has always been my friend," he said +almost reproachfully. "I fancy, little sister," he +added with his boyish smile, "that it rests with you +that he should become my brother."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Hush, dear, don't speak of that."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Why not?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>She did not reply, and there was a moment's +silence between them. She was evidently hesitating +whether to tell him of the fears, the suspicions which +the mention of Sir Humphrey Challoner's name had +aroused in her heart, or to leave the subject alone. +At last she said quite gently,—</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"But when I came home, dear, and found you had +left the Hall without a message, without a word for +me, why did you not tell me then?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The boy hung his head. He felt the tender +reproach, and there was nothing to be said.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I would have stood by you," she continued +softly. "I think I might have helped you. There +was no disgrace in refusing to join a doomed cause, +and you were a mere child when you made friends +with Lovat."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I know all that now, dear," he said with some +impatience. "Heaven knows I am paying dearly +enough for my cowardice and my folly. But even +now I cannot understand how my name became +mixed up with those of the rebels. Somebody must +have sworn false information against me. But who? +I haven't an enemy in the world, have I, dear?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no," she said quickly, but even as she spoke +the look of involuntary alarm in her face belied the +assurance of her lips.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But this was not the moment to add to his anxiety +by futile, worrying conjectures. He had sent for +her because he wanted her, and she was here to do +for him, to help and support him in every way that +her strength of will and her energy would dictate.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"You sent for me, Philip," she said with a +cheerful, hopeful smile.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Her look seemed to put fresh life into his veins. +In a moment he tried to conquer his despondency, +and with a quick gesture he tore open the rough, +woollen shirt he wore, and from beneath it drew a +packet of letters. Not only his hand now, but his +whole figure seemed to quiver with excitement as he +gazed at this packet with glowing eyes.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"These letters, dear," he said in a whisper, "are +my one hope of safety. They have not left my body +day or night ever since I first understood my position +and realised my danger, and now, with them, I place +my life in your hands."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Philip?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"They prove my innocence," he continued, as +nervously he pulled at the string that held the letters +together. "Here is one from Lovat," he added, +handing one of these to Patience, "read it, dear, +quickly. You will see he begs me to join the +Pretender's standard. Here's another from +Kilmarnock—that was after the retreat from Derby—he +upbraids me for holding aloof. I was in hiding at +Nottingham then, but </span><em class="italics">they</em><span> knew where I was, and +would not leave me alone. They would have +followed me if they could. And here ... better +still ... is one from Charles Edward himself, just +before he fled to France, calling me a traitor for my +loyalty to King George."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Feverishly he tore open letter after letter, +thrusting them into her hand, scanning them with burning, +eager eyes. She took them from him one by one, +glanced at them, then quietly folded each precious +piece of paper, and tied the packet together again. +Her hand did not shake, but beneath her cloak she +pressed the letters to her heart, the letters that meant +the safety of her dear one's life.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh! if I had known all this sooner!" she sighed +involuntarily.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But that was the only reproach that escaped her +lips for his want of confidence in her.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I nearly yielded to Lovat's letter," said the boy, +hesitatingly.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I know, I know, dear," she said with an infinity +of indulgence in her gentle smile. "We won't speak +of the past any more. Now let us arrange the future."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>He tried to master his excitement, throwing off +with an effort of will his feverishness and his morbid +self-condemnation.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>He had done a foolish and a cowardly thing; he +knew that well enough. Fate had dealt him one of +those cruel blows with which she sometimes strikes +the venial offender, letting so often the more hardened +criminal go scatheless.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>For months now Philip had been a fugitive, +disguised in rough clothes, hiding in barns and inns of +doubtful fame, knowing no one whom he could really +trust, to whom he dared disclose his place of +temporary refuge, or confide a message for his sister. +Treachery was in the air; he suspected everyone. +The bill of attainder had condemned so many men to +death, and rebel-hunting and swift executions were +in that year of grace the order of the day.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I could do nothing without you, dear," he said +more quietly. "I must hide now like a hunted +beast, and must be grateful for the sheltering roof +of honest Stich. I have been branded as a traitor +by Act of Parliament, my life is forfeit, and it is even +a crime for any man to give me food and shelter. +The lowest footpad who haunts the Moor has the +right to shoot me like a mad dog."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't! don't, dear!" she pleaded.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I only wished you to understand that I was not +such an abject coward as I seemed. I could not get +to you or reach the Hall."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I quite understood that, dear. Now, tell me, +you wish me to take these letters to London?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"At once. The sooner they are laid before the +King and Council the better. I must get to the +fountain head as quickly as possible. Once I am +caught they will give me no chance of proving my +innocence. I have been tried by Act of Parliament, +found guilty and condemned to death. You realise +that, dear, don't you?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Philip, I do," she replied very quietly.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Once in London, who do you think can best help you?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Lady Edbrooke, of course. Her husband has +just been appointed equerry to the King."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah! that's well! Aunt Charlotte was always +fond of me. She'll be kind to you, I know."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I think you should write to her. I'd take that +letter too."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"When can you start?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Not for a few hours unfortunately. The horses +must be put up. We have been on the road since +dawn."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>They were both quite calm now, and discussed +these few details as if life or death were not the +outcome of the journey.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Patience was glad to see that the boy had entirely +shaken off the almost hysterical horror he had of his +unfortunate position.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>They were suddenly interrupted by John Stich's +cautious voice at the entrance of the shed.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Your ladyship's pardon," said John, respectfully, +"but there's a coach coming up the road from +Hartington way. I thought perhaps it might be +more prudent..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Hartington!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Brother and sister had uttered the exclamation +simultaneously. He in astonishment, she in obvious +alarm.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Who can it be, John, think you?" she asked +with quivering lips.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, it couldn't very well be anyone except Sir +Humphrey Challoner, my lady. No one else'd have +occasion to come down these God-forsaken roads. +But they are some way off yet," he added +reassuringly, "I saw them first on the crest of the +further hill. Maybe his Honour is on his way to +Derby."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Patience was trying to conquer her agitation, but +it was her turn now to seem nervous and excited.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh! I didn't want him to find me here!" she +said quickly. "I ... I mistrust that man, Philip +... foolishly perhaps, and ... if he sees me +... he might guess ... he might suspect..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, my lady, there's not much fear of that, +craving your pardon," hazarded John Stich, cheerfully. +"If 'tis Sir Humphrey 'twill take his driver +some time yet to walk down the incline, and then up +again to the cross-roads. 'Tis a mile and a half for +sure, and the horses'll have to go foot pace. There's +plenty of time for your ladyship to be well on your +way before they get here."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>She felt reassured evidently, for she said more calmly,—</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll have to put up somewhere, John, for a few +hours, for the sake of the horses. Where had that +best be?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Up at Aldwark, I should say, my lady, at the Moorhen."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps I could get fresh horses there, and make +a start at once."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, my lady, they have no horses at the +Moorhen fit for your ladyship to drive. 'Tis only +a country inn. But they'd give your horses and +men a feed and rest, and if your ladyship'll pardon +the liberty, you'll need both yourself."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, yes," said Philip, anxiously regarding the +beautiful face which looked so pale and weary. +"You must rest, dear. The journey to London will +be long and tedious ..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"But Aldwark is not on my way," she said with +a slight frown of impatience.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"The inn is but a mile from here, your ladyship," +rejoined Stich, "and your horses could never reach +Wirksworth without a long rest. 'Tis the best plan, +an your ladyship would trust me!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Trust you, John!" she said with a sweet smile, +as she extended one tiny hand to the faithful smith. +"I trust you implicitly, and you shall give me your +advice. What is it?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"To put up at the Moorhen for the night, your +ladyship," explained John, whose kindly eyes had +dropped a tear over the gracious hand held out +to him, "then to start for London to-morrow morning."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no! I must start to-night. I could not +bear to wait even until dawn."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"But the footpads on the Heath, your ladyship..." +hazarded John.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, I fear no footpads. They're welcome to +what money I have, and they'd not care to rob me of +my letters," she said eagerly. "But I'll put up at the +Moorhen, John. We all need a rest. I suppose +there's no way across the Heath from thence to +Wirksworth."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"None, your ladyship. This is the only possible +way. Back here to the cross-roads and on to +Wirksworth from here."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Then I'll see you again, dear," she said tenderly, +clinging to Stretton, "at sunset mayhap. I'll start +as soon as I can. You may be sure of that."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"And guard the letters, little sister," he said as he +held her closely, closely to his heart. "Guard them +jealously, they are my only hope."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"You'll write the letter to Lady Edbrooke," she +added. "Have it ready when I return, and perhaps +write out your own petition to the King—I'll use +that or not as Lord Edbrooke advises."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Then once more, womanlike, she clung to him, +hating to part from him even for a few hours.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"In the meanwhile you will be prudent, Philip," +she pleaded tenderly. "Trust </span><em class="italics">nobody</em><span> but John +Stich. </span><em class="italics">Any</em><span> man may prove an enemy," she added +with earnest emphasis, "and if you were found +before I could reach the King..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>She tore herself away from him. Her eyes now +were swimming in tears, and she meant to seem brave +to the end. Stich was urging her to hurry. After +all she would see Philip again before sunset, before +she started on the long journey which would mean +life and safety to him.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Two minutes later, having parted from her brother, +Lady Patience Gascoyne entered her coach at the +cross-roads, where Mistress Betty had been waiting +for her ladyship with as much patience as she could +muster.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>By the time Sir Humphrey Challoner's coach had +reached the bottom of the decline on the Hartington +Road, and begun the weary ascent up to the blacksmith's +forge, Lady Patience's carriage was well out +of sight beyond the bend that led eastward to +Aldwark village.</span></p> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> +</div> +<p class="center pfirst" id="a-squire-of-high-degree"><span class="large">CHAPTER VI</span></p> +<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">A SQUIRE OF HIGH DEGREE</span></p> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> +</div> +<p class="pfirst"><span>The Challoners claimed direct descent from that +Sieur de Challonier who escorted Coeur de Lion to +the crusade against Saladin.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Be that as it may, there is no doubt that a De +Challonier figures in the Domesday Book, as owning +considerable property in the neighbourhood of the Peak.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>That they had been very influential and wealthy +people at one time, there could be no doubt. There +was a room at Old Hartington Manor where James I. had +slept for seven nights, a gracious guest of Mr +Ilbert Challoner, in the year 1612. The baronetcy +then conferred upon the family dates from that same +year, probably as an act of recognition to his host on +the part of the royal guest.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Since that memorable time, however, the Challoners +have not made history. They took no part whatever +in the great turmoil which, in the middle of the +seventeenth century, shook the country to its very +foundations, lighting the lurid torch of civil war, +setting brother against brother, friend against friend, +threatening a constitution and murdering a king.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The Challoners had held aloof throughout all that +time, intent on preserving their property and in +amassing wealth. The later conflict between a +Catholic King and his Protestant people touched +them even less. Neither Pretender could boast of +a Challoner for an adherent. They remained people +of substance, even of importance, in their own +county, but nothing more.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Sir Humphrey Challoner was about this time not +more than thirty-five years of age. Hale, hearty, +boisterous, he might have been described as a typical +example of an English squire of those days, but for +a certain taint of parsimoniousness, of greed and love +of money in his constitution, which had gained for +him a not too enviable reputation in the Midlands.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>He was thought to be wealthy. No doubt he was, +but at the cost of a good deal of harshness towards +the tenants on his estates, and he was famed throughout +Staffordshire for driving a harder bargain than +anyone else this country side.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Any traveller—let alone one of such consequence +as the Squire of Hartington—was indeed rare in these +out-of-the-way parts, that were on the way to +nowhere. Sir Humphrey himself was but little +known in the neighbourhood of Aldwark and +Wirksworth, and only from time to time passed +through the latter village on his way to Derby.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>John Stich, the blacksmith, however, knew every +one of consequence for a great many miles around, +and undoubtedly next to the Earls of Stretton the +Challoners were the most important family in the +sister counties. Therefore when Sir Humphrey's +coach stopped at the cross-roads, and the Squire +himself alighted therefrom and walked towards the +smith's cottage, the latter came forward with all the +deference due to a personage of such consequence, +and asked respectfully what he might do for his Honour.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Only repair this pistol for me, master smith," +said Sir Humphrey; "you might also examine the +lock of its fellow. One needs them in these parts."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>He laughed a not unpleasant boisterous laugh as +he handed a pair of silver-mounted pistols to John +Stich.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Will your Honour wait while I get them done?" +asked John, with some hesitation. "They won't +take long."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay! I'll be down this way again to-morrow," +replied his Honour. "I am putting up at Aldwark +for the night."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>John said nothing. Probably he mistrusted the +language which rose to his lips at this announcement +of Sir Humphrey's plans. In a moment he +remembered Lady Patience's look of terror when the +squire's coach first came into view on the crest of the +distant hill, and his faithful, honest heart quivered +with apprehension at the thought that a man whom +she so obviously mistrusted was so close upon her track.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I suppose there is a decent inn in that +God-forsaken hole, eh?" asked the Squire, jovially. +"I've arranged to meet my man of business there, +that old scarecrow, Mittachip, but I'd wish to +spend the night."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"There's only a small wayside inn, your +Honour..." murmured John.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Better than this abode of cut-throats, this +Brassing Moor, anyway," laughed his Honour. +"Begad! night overtook me some ten miles from +Hartington, and I was attacked by a damned rascal +who robbed me of fifty guineas. My men were a +pair of cowards, and I was helpless inside my coach."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>John tried to repress a smile. The story of Sir +Humphrey Challoner's midnight adventure had +culminated in fifty guineas being found in the poor +box at Brassington court-house, and Mr Inch, the +beadle, had brought the news of it even as far as +the cross-roads.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I must see Squire West about this business," +muttered Sir Humphrey, whilst John stood silent, +apparently intent on examining the pistols. "'Tis +a scandal to the whole country, this constant +highway robbery on Brassing Moor. The impudent +rascal who attacked me was dressed like a prince, +and rode a horse worth eighty guineas at the least. +I suspect him to be the man they call Beau Brocade."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Did your Honour see him plainly?" asked +John, somewhat anxiously.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"See him?" laughed Sir Humphrey. "Does one +ever see these rascals? Begad! he had stopped my +coach, plundered me and had galloped off ere I could +shout 'Damn you' thrice. Just for one moment, +though, one of my lanterns flashed upon the +impudent thief. He was masked, of course, but I tell +thee, honest friend, he had on a coat the Prince of +Wales might envy; as for his horse, 'twas a +thorough-bred I'd have given eighty guineas to possess."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"And everyone knows your Honour is clever at +a bargain," said John, with a suspicion of malice.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Humph!" grunted the Squire. "By Gad!" +he added, with his usual jovial laugh, "the rogue +does not belie his name—'Beau Brocade' forsooth! +Faith! he dresses like a lord, and cuts your purse +with an air of gallantry, an he were doing you a +favour."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>It was difficult to tell what went on in Sir +Humphrey Challoner's mind behind that handsome, +somewhat florid face of his. The task was in any +case quite beyond the powers of honest John Stich, +though he would have given quite a good deal of +his worldly wealth to know for certain whether his +Honour's journey across Brassing Moor and on to +Aldwark had anything to do with that of Lady +Patience along the same road.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Nothing the Squire said, however, helped John +towards making a guess in that direction. Just as +Sir Humphrey, having left the pistols in the smith's +hands, turned to go back to his coach, he said quite +casually,—</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Whose was the coach that passed here about +half an hour before mine?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"The coach, your Honour?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye! when we reached the crest of the hill my +man told me he could see a coach standing at the +cross-roads, whose was it?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>For one moment John hesitated. The situation +was just a little too delicate for the worthy smith to +handle. But he felt, as Sir Humphrey was going to +Aldwark and therefore would surely meet Lady +Patience, that lying would be worse than useless, +and might even arouse unpleasant suspicions.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"'Twas Lady Patience Gascoyne's coach," he +said at last.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah!" said the Squire, with the same obvious +indifference. "Whither did she go?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I was at work in my forge, your Honour, and +her ladyship did not stop. I fancy she drove down +Wirksworth way, but I did not see or hear for I was +very busy."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Hm!" commented his Honour, whilst a shrewd +and somewhat sarcastic smile played round the +corners of his full lips.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll stay the night at Aldwark," he said, nodding +to the smith. "Faith! no more travelling after +dark for me on this unhallowed Moor; and for sure +my horses could not reach Wirksworth now before +nightfall. So have the pistols ready for me by seven +o'clock to-morrow morning, eh, mine honest friend?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Then he entered his carriage, and slowly, with +many a creak and a groan, the cumbersome vehicle +turned down the road to Aldwark, whilst John +Stich, with a dubious, anxious sigh, went back into +his forge.</span></p> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> +</div> +<p class="center pfirst" id="the-halt-at-the-moorhen"><span class="large">CHAPTER VII</span></p> +<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">THE HALT AT THE MOORHEN</span></p> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> +</div> +<p class="pfirst"><span>Patience herself would have been quite unable to +explain why she mistrusted, almost feared, Sir +Humphrey Challoner.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The fact that the Squire of Hartington had openly +declared his admiration for her, surely gave her no +cause for suspecting him of enmity towards her +brother. She knew that Sir Humphrey hoped to +win her hand in marriage—this he had intimated +to her on more than one occasion, and had spoken +of his love for her in no measured terms.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Lady Patience Gascoyne was one of the richest +gentlewomen in the Midlands, having inherited vast +wealth from her mother, who was sister and +co-heiress of the rich Grantham of Grantham Priory. +No doubt her rent-roll added considerably to her +attractions in the eyes of Sir Humphrey; that she +was more than beautiful only helped to enhance the +ardour of his suit.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Women as a rule—women of all times and of every +nation—keep a kindly feeling in their heart for the +suitor whom they reject. A certain regard for his +sense of discrimination, an admiration for his +constancy—if he be constant—make up a sum of +friendship for him tempered with a gentle pity.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But in most women too there is a subtle sense +which for want of a more scientific term has been +called an instinct: the sense of protection over those +whom they love.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>In Patience Gascoyne that sense was abnormally +developed: Philip was so boyish, so young, she so +much older in wisdom and prudence. It made her +fear Sir Humphrey, not for herself but for her +brother: her baby, as in her tender motherly heart +she loved to call him.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>She feared and suspected him, she scarce could +tell of what. Not open enmity towards Philip, +since her reason told her that the Squire of Hartington +had nothing to gain by actively endangering her +brother's life, let alone by doing him a grievous +wrong.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Yet she could not understand Sir Humphrey +Challoner's motive in counselling Philip to play so +cowardly and foolish a part, as the boy had done in +the late rebellion. Vaguely she trembled at the +idea that he should know of her journey to London, +or worse still, guess its purpose. Philip, she feared, +might have confided in him unbeknown to her: Sir +Humphrey, for aught she knew, might know of the +existence of the letters which would go to prove the +boy's innocence.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Well! and what then? Surely the Squire could +have no object in wishing those letters to be +suppressed: he could but desire that Philip's innocence +</span><em class="italics">should</em><span> be proved.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Thus reason and instinct fought their battle in +her brain as the heavy coach went lumbering along +the muddy road to the little wayside inn, which +stood midway between the cross-roads and the +village of Aldwark.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Here her man Timothy made arrangements for +the resting and feeding of himself, the horses and +Thomas, the driver, whilst Lady Patience asked for +a private room wherein she and her maid, Betty, +could get something to eat and perhaps an hour's +sleep before re-starting on their way.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The small bar-parlour at the Moorhen was full to +overflowing when her ladyship's coach drove up. +Already there had been a general air of excitement +there throughout the day, for the Corporal in his +red coat, followed by his little squad, had halted at +the inn, and there once more read aloud the +Proclamation of His Majesty's Parliament.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The soldiers had stayed half an hour or so, +consuming large quantities of ale the while, then they +had marched up to the village, read the Proclamation +out on the green, and finally tramped along the +bridle-path back to Brassington.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>And now here was the quality putting up at the +Moorhen. A most unheard-of, unexpected event. +Mistress Pottage, the sad-faced, weary-eyed +landlady, had never known such a thing to happen +before, although she had been mistress of the +Moorhen for nigh on twenty years. Usually the +quality from Stretton Hall or from Hartington, or +even Lady Rounce from the Pike, preferred to drive +a long way round to get to Derby, sooner than +trust to the lonely Heath, with its roads almost +impassable four days out of five.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Master Mittachip, attorney-at-law, who had ridden +over from Wirksworth with his clerk, Master Duffy, +recognised her ladyship as she stepped out of her +coach.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Sir Humphrey will be astonished," he whispered +to Master Duffy, as he rubbed his ill-shaven chin +with his long bony fingers.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"He! he! he!" echoed the clerk, submissively.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Master Mittachip, who transacted business for the +Squire of Hartington, and also for old Lady Rounce +and Squire West, knew the exact shade of deference +due to so great a lady as Lady Patience Gascoyne. +He stood at the door of the parlour and had the +honour of bowing to her as she followed Mistress +Pottage quickly along the passage to the inner room +beyond, her long cloak flying out behind her, owing +to the draught caused by the open doors.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Alone in the small, dingy room, Patience almost +fell upon the sofa in a stupor of intense fatigue. +When Mistress Pottage brought the meagre, +ill-cooked food, she felt at first quite unable to eat. +She lay back against the hard pillows with eyes +closed, and hands tightly clutching that bundle of +precious letters.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Betty tried to make her comfortable. She took +off her mistress's shoes and stockings and began +rubbing the cold, numb feet between her warm hands.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But by-and-by youth and health reasserted +themselves. Patience, realising all the time how +much depended upon her own strength and energy, +roused herself with an effort of will. She tried to eat +some of the food, "the mess of pottage" as she +smilingly termed it, but her eyes were for ever +wandering to the clock which ticked the hours—oh! so +slowly!—that separated her from her journey.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>As for buxom little Betty, she had fallen to with +the vigorous appetite of youth and a happy heart, +and presently, like a tired child, she curled herself +up at the foot of the couch and soon dropped +peacefully to sleep.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>After awhile, Patience too, feeling numb and +drowsy with the weariness of this long afternoon, +closed her eyes and fell into a kind of stupor. She +lay on the sofa like a log, tired out, dreamless, her +senses numbed, in a kind of wakeful sleep.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>How long she lay there she could not have told, +but all of a sudden she sat up, her eyes dilated, her +heart beating fast; she was fully awake now.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Something had suddenly roused her. What was +it? She glanced at the clock; it was just half-past +three. She must have slept nearly half an hour. Betty, +on the floor beside her, still slumbered peacefully.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Then all her senses woke. She knew what had +aroused her: the rumbling of wheels, a coach pulling +up, the shouts of the driver. And now she could +hear men running, more shouting, the jingle of +harness and horses being led round the house to the +shed beyond.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The small lattice window gave upon the side of +the house, she could not see the coach or who this +latest arrival at the Moorhen was; but what mattered +that? she knew well enough.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>For a moment she stopped to think; forcibly +conquering excitement and alarm, she called to her +reason to tell her what to do.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Sir Humphrey Challoner's presence here might be +a coincidence, she had no cause to suspect that he +was purposely following her. But in any case she +wished to avoid him. How could that best be done?</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Mittachip, the lawyer, had seen and recognised +her. Within the next few moments the Squire +would hear of her presence at the inn. He too, +obviously, had come to rest his horses here. How +long would he stay?</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>She roused Betty.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Betty! child!" she whispered. "Wake up! +We must leave this place at once."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Betty opened her eyes: she saw her mistress's +pale, excited face bending over her, and she jumped +to her feet.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Listen, Betty," continued Patience. "Sir +Humphrey Challoner has just come by coach. I +want to leave this place before he knows that I am +here."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"But the horses are not put to, my lady."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Sh! don't talk so loud, child. I am going to +slip out along the passage, there is a door at the end +of it which must give upon the back of the house. +As soon as I am gone, do you go to the parlour and +tell Thomas to have the horses put to directly they +have had sufficient rest, and to let the coach be at +the cross-roads as soon as may be after that."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, my lady."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Then as quickly as you can, slip out of the house +and follow the road that leads to the forge. I'll be +on the lookout for you. I'll not have gone far. You +quite understand?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes! my lady!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"You are not afraid?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Mistress Betty shrugged her plump shoulders.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"In broad daylight? Oh, no, my lady! and the +forge is but a mile."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Even as she spoke Patience had wrapped her dark +cloak and hood round her. She listened intently +for a few seconds. The sound of voices seemed to +come from the more remote bar-parlour: moreover, +the narrow passage at this end was quite dark: she +had every chance of slipping out unperceived.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Sh! sh!" she whispered to Betty as she opened +the door.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The passage was deserted: almost holding her +breath, lest it should betray her, Patience reached +the door at the further end of it, Betty anxiously +watching her from the inner room. Quickly she +slipped the bolt, and the next instant she found +herself looking out upon a dingy unfenced yard, +which for the moment was hopelessly encumbered +with the two huge travelling coaches: beyond these +was a long wooden shed whence proceeded the noise +of voices and laughter, and the stamping and +snorting of horses: and far away the Moor to the right +and left of her stretched out in all the majesty of its +awesome loneliness.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The wind caught her cloak as she stepped out into +the yard: she clutched it tightly and held it close to +her. She hoped the two coaches, which stood +between her and the shed, would effectively hide her +from view until she was past the house. The next +moment, however, she heard an exclamation behind +her, then the sound of firm steps upon the flagstones, +and a second or two later she stood face to face with +Sir Humphrey Challoner.</span></p> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> +</div> +<p class="center pfirst" id="the-rejected-suitor"><span class="large">CHAPTER VIII</span></p> +<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">THE REJECTED SUITOR</span></p> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> +</div> +<p class="pfirst"><span>Whether he was surprised or not at finding her +there, she could not say: she was trying with all +her might to appear astonished and unconcerned.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>He made her a low and elaborate bow, and she +responded with the deep curtsey the fashion of the +time demanded.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Begad! the gods do indeed favour me!" he +said, his good-looking, jovial face expressing +unalloyed delight. "I come to this forsaken spot on +God's earth, and find the fairest in all England +treading its unworthy soil."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I wish you well, Sir Humphrey," she said gently, +but coldly. "I had no thought of seeing you here."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Faith!" he laughed with some bitterness, "I +had no hope that the thought of seeing me had +troubled your ladyship much. I am on my way to +Derby and foolishly thought to take this shorter +way across the Moor. Odd's life! I was well-nigh +regretting it. I was attacked and robbed last +evening, and the heavy roads force me to spend the +night in this unhallowed tavern. But I little guessed +what compensation the Fates had in store for me."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I was in a like plight, Sir Humphrey," she said, +trying to speak with perfect indifference.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"You were not robbed, surely?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, not that, but I hoped to reach Derby +sooner by taking the short cut across the Heath, and +the state of the roads has so tired the horses, I was +forced to turn off at the cross-roads and to put up at +this inn."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Your ladyship is on your way to London?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"On a visit to my aunt, Lady Edbrooke."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Will you honour me by accepting my protection? +'Tis scarce fit for your ladyship to be travelling all +that way alone."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I thank you, Sir Humphrey," she rejoined +coldly. "My man, Timothy, is with me, besides +the driver. Both are old and trusted servants. I +meet some friends at Wirksworth. I shall not be +alone."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"But..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I pray you, sir, my time is somewhat short. I +had started out for a little fresh air and exercise +before re-entering my coach. The inn was so stifling +and..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Surely your ladyship will spend the night here. +You cannot reach Wirksworth before nightfall now. +I am told the road is well-nigh impassable."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay! 'tis two hours before sunset now, and +three before dark. I hope to reach Wirksworth +by nine o'clock to-night. My horses have had a +good rest."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Surely you will allow me to escort you thus far, +at least?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Your horses need a rest, Sir Humphrey," she +said impatiently, "and I beg you to believe that I +have sufficient escort."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>With a slight inclination of the head she now turned +to go. From where she stood she could just see the +road winding down towards Stich's forge, and she +had caught sight of Betty's trim little figure stepping +briskly along.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Sir Humphrey, thus obviously dismissed, could say +no more for the present. To force his escort upon +her openly was unfitting the manners of a gentleman. +He bit his lip and tried to look gallantly disappointed. +His keen dark eyes had already perceived that in +spite of her self-control she was labouring under +strong excitement. He forced his harsh voice to +gentleness, even to tenderness, as he said,—</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I have not dared to speak to your ladyship on +the subject that lay nearest my heart."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Sir Humphrey..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay! I pray you do not misunderstand me. I +was thinking of Philip, and hoped you were not too +unhappy about him."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"There is no cause for unhappiness just yet," +she said guardedly, "and every cause for hope."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah! that's well!" he said cheerfully. "I +entreat you not to give up hope, and to keep some faith +and trust in your humble servant, who would give +his life for you and yours."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"My faith and trust are in God, Sir Humphrey, +and in my brother's innocence," she replied quietly.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Then she turned and left him standing there, with +a frown upon his good-looking face, and a muttered +curse upon his lips. He watched her as she went +down the road, until a sharp declivity hid her from +his view.</span></p> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> +</div> +<p class="center pfirst" id="sir-humphrey-s-familiar"><span class="large">CHAPTER IX</span></p> +<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">SIR HUMPHREY'S FAMILIAR</span></p> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> +</div> +<p class="pfirst"><span>Mistress Pottage, sad-eyed, melancholy, and for +ever sighing, had been patiently waiting to receive +Sir Humphrey Challoner's orders. She had +understood from his man that his Honour meant to spend +the night, and she stood anxiously in the passage, +wondering if he would consider her best bedroom +good enough, or condescend to eat the meals she +would have to cook for him.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>It was really quite fortunate that Lady Patience +had gone, leaving the smaller parlour, which was +Mistress Pottage's own private sanctum, ready for +the use of his Honour.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Sir Humphrey's mind, however, was far too busy +with thoughts and plans to dwell on the melancholy +landlady and her meagre fare, but he was glad of the +private room, and was gracious enough to express +himself quite satisfied with the prospect of the best +bedroom.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Some ten minutes after his brief interview with +Lady Patience he was closeted in the same little +dingy room where she had been spending such weary +hours. With the healthy appetite of a burly +English squire, he was consuming large slabs of +meat and innumerable tankards of small ale, whilst +opposite to him, poised on the extreme edge of a +very hard oak chair, his watery, colourless eyes fixed +upon his employer, sat Master Mittachip, attorney-at-law +and man of business to sundry of the quality +who owned property on or about the Moor.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Master Mittachip's voice was thin, he was thin, +his coat looked thin: there was in fact a general +air of attenuation about the man's whole personality.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Just now he was fixing a pair of very pale, but +very shrewd eyes upon the heavy, somewhat coarse +person of his distinguished patron.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Her ladyship passed me quite close," he +explained, speaking in a low, somewhat apologetic +voice. "I was standing in the door of—er—the +parlour, and she graciously nodded to me as she +passed."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes! yes! get on, man," quoth Sir Humphrey, +impatiently.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"The door was open, your Honour," continued +Master Mittachip in a weak voice, "there was a +draught; her ladyship's cloak flew open."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>He paused a moment, noting with evident satisfaction +the increasing interest in Sir Humphrey's face.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Beneath her cloak," he continued, speaking very +slowly, like an actor measuring his effects, "beneath +her cloak her ladyship was holding a bundle of +letters, tightly clutched in her hand."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Letters, eh?" commented Sir Humphrey, eagerly.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"A bundle of them, your Honour. One of them +had a large seal attached to it. I might almost have +seen the device: it was that of..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Charles Edward Stuart, the Pretender?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Well! I could not say for certain, your Honour," +murmured Master Mittachip, humbly.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>There was silence for a few moments. Sir +Humphrey Challoner had produced a silver tooth-pick, +and was using it as an adjunct to deep meditation. +Master Mittachip was contemplating the +floor with rapt attention.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Harkee, Master Mittachip," said Sir Humphrey +at last. "Lady Patience is taking those letters to +London."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"That was the impression created in my mind, +your Honour."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"And why does she take those letters to London?" +said Sir Humphrey, bringing his heavy fist crashing +down upon the table, and causing glasses and dishes +to rattle, whilst Master Mittachip almost lost his +balance. "Why does she take them to London, I +say? Because they are the proofs of her brother's +innocence. It is easy to guess their contents. +Requests, admonitions, upbraidings on the part of +the disappointed rebels, obvious proofs that Philip +had held aloof."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>He pushed his chair noisily away from the table, +and began pacing the narrow room with great, +impatient strides.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But while he spoke Master Mittachip began to lose +his placid air of apologetic deference, and a look of +alarm suddenly lighted his meek, colourless eyes.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Good lack," he murmured, "then my Lord +Stretton is no rebel?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Rebel?—not he!" asserted Sir Humphrey. +"His sympathies were thought to be with the +Stuarts, but he went south during the rebellion—'twas +I who advised him—that he might avoid being +drawn within its net."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But at this Master Mittachip's terror became more +tangible.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"But your Honour," he stammered, whilst his +thin cheeks assumed a leaden hue, and his eyes +sought appealingly those of his employer, "your +Honour laid sworn information against Lord +Stretton ... and ... and ... I drew up the +papers ... and signed them with my name as +your Honour commanded..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Well! I paid you well for it, didn't I?" said Sir +Humphrey, roughly.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"But if the accusation was false, Sir Humphrey +... I shall be disgraced ... struck off the rolls +... perhaps hanged..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Sir Humphrey laughed; one of those loud, jovial, +laughs which those in his employ soon learnt to dread.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Adsbud!" he said, "an one of us is to hang, old +scarecrow, I prefer it shall be you."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>And he gave Master Mittachip a vigorous slap on +the shoulder, which nearly precipitated the +lean-shanked attorney on the floor.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Good Sir Humphrey..." he murmured +piteously, "b ... b ... b ... but what was +the reason of the information against Lord Stretton, +since the letters can so easily prove it to be false?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Silence, you fool!" said his Honour, impatiently, +"I did not know of the letters then. I wished to +place Lord Stretton in a perilous position, then hoped +to succeed in establishing his innocence in certain +ways I had in my mind. I wished to be the one to +save him," he added, muttering a curse of angry +disappointment, "and gain </span><em class="italics">her</em><span> gratitude thereby. +I was journeying to London for the purpose, and now..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>His language became such that it wholly +disconcerted Master Mittachip, accustomed though he +was to the somewhat uncertain tempers of the great +folk he had to deal with. Moreover, the worthy +attorney was fully conscious of his own precarious +position in this matter.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"And now you've gained nothing," he moaned; +"whilst I ... oh! oh! I..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>His condition was pitiable. His Honour viewed +him with no small measure of contempt. Then +suddenly Sir Humphrey's face lighted up with +animation. The scowl disappeared, and a shrewd, +almost triumphant smile parted the jovial, somewhat +sensuous lips.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Easy! easy! you old coward," he said pleasantly, +"things are not so bad as that.... Adsbud! you're +not hanged yet, are you? and," he added +significantly, "Lord Stretton is still attainted and +in peril of his life."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"B ... b ... b ... but..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Can't you see, you fool," said Sir Humphrey with +sudden earnestness, drawing a chair opposite the +attorney, and sitting astride upon it, he viewed the +meagre little creature before him steadfastly and +seriously; "can't you see that if I can only get hold +of those letters now, I could </span><em class="italics">force</em><span> Lady Patience into +accepting my suit?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Eh?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"With them in my possession I can go to her +and say, 'An you marry me, those proofs of your +brother's innocence shall be laid before the King: +an you refuse they shall be destroyed.'"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh!" was Master Mittachip's involuntary +comment: a mere gasp of amazement, of terror at the +enormity of the proposal.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>He ventured to raise his timid eyes to the strong +florid face before him, and in it saw such a firm +will, such unbendable determination, that he thought +it prudent for the moment to refrain from adverse +comment.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Truly," he murmured vaguely, as his Honour +seemed to be waiting for him to speak, "truly those +letters mean the lady's fortune to your Honour."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"And on the day of my marriage with her, two +hundred guineas for you, Master Mittachip," said +Challoner, very slowly and significantly, looking his +man of business squarely in the face.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Master Mittachip literally lost his head. Two +hundred guineas! 'twas more than he earned in four +years, and that at the cost of hard work, many +kicks and constant abuse. A receiver of rents has +from time immemorial never been a popular figure. +Master Mittachip found life hard, and in those days +two hundred guineas was quite a comfortable little +fortune. The attorney passed his moist tongue over +his thin, parched lips.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The visions which these imaginary two hundred +guineas had conjured up in his mind almost made +his attenuated senses reel. There was that bit of +freehold property at Wirksworth which he had long +coveted, aye, or perhaps that partnership with +Master Lutworth at Derby, or...</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"'Twere worth your while, Master Mittachip, to +get those letters for me, eh?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>His Honour's pleasant words brought the poor +man back from the land of dreams.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I? I, Sir Humphrey?" he murmured dejectedly, +"how can I, a poor attorney-at-law...?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Zounds! but that's your affair," said his +Honour with a careless shrug of his broad shoulders, +"Methought you'd gladly earn two hundred guineas, +and I offer you a way to do it."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"But how, Sir Humphrey, how?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"That's for you to think on, my man. Two +hundred guineas is a tidy sum. What? I have it," +he said, slapping his own broad thigh and laughing +heartily. "You shall play the daring highwayman! put +on a mask and stop her ladyship's coach, shout +lustily: 'Stand and deliver!' take the letters from +her and 'tis done in a trice!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The idea of that meagre little creature playing the +highwayman greatly tickled Sir Humphrey's fancy, +for the moment he even forgot the grave issues he +himself had at stake, and his boisterous laugh went +echoing through the old silent building.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But as his Honour spoke this pleasant conceit, +Master Mittachip's thin, bloodless face assumed an +air of deep thought, immediately followed by one of +eager excitement.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"The idea of the highwayman is not a bad one, +Sir Humphrey," he said with a quiet chuckle, as soon +as his patron's hilarity had somewhat subsided, +"but I am not happy astride a horse, and I know +nought of pistols, but there's no reason why we +should not get a footpad to steal those letters for +you. 'Tis their trade after all."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you mean? I was but jesting."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"But I was not, Sir Humphrey. I was thinking +of Beau Brocade."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"The highwayman?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Why not? He lives by robbery and hates all +the quality, whom he plunders whene'er he has a +chance. Your Honour has had experience, only +last night ... eh?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Well? What of it? Curse you, man, for a +dotard! Why don't you explain?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"'Tis simple enough, your Honour. You give +him the news that her ladyship's coach will cross +the Heath to-night, tell him of her money and her +jewels, offer him a hundred guineas more for the +packet of letters.... He! he! he! He'll do +the rest, never fear!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Master Mittachip rubbed his bony hands together, +his colourless eyes were twinkling, his thin lips +quivering with excitement, dreams of that freehold +bit of property became tangible once more.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Sir Humphrey looked at him quietly for a moment +or two: the little man's excitement was contagious +and his Honour had a great deal at stake: a +beautiful woman whom he loved and her large fortune to +boot. But reason and common-sense—not chivalry—were +still fighting their battle against his daring +spirit of adventure.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Tush, man!" he said after awhile, with the +calmness of intense excitement, "you talk arrant +nonsense when you say I'm to give a highwayman +news of her ladyship's coach and offer him money +for the letters. Where am I to find him? How +speak with him?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Mittachip chuckled inwardly. His Honour then +was not averse to the plan. Already he was +prepared to discuss the means of carrying it out.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"'Tis a lawyer's business to ferret out what goes +on around him, Sir Humphrey. You can send any +news you please to Beau Brocade within an hour +from now."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"How?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"John Stich, the blacksmith over at the crossroads, +is his ally and his friend. Most folk think 'tis +he always gives news to the rogue whene'er a coach +happen to cross the Moor. But that's as it may be. +If your Honour will call at the forge just before +sunset, you'll mayhap see a chestnut horse tethered +there and there'll be a stranger talking to John +Stich; a stranger young and well-looking. He's +oft to be seen at the forge. The folk about here +never ask who the stranger is, for all have heard of +the chivalrous highwayman who robs the rich and +gives to the poor. He! he! he! Do you call at +the forge, Sir Humphrey, you can arrange this +little matter there.... Your news and offer of +money will get to Beau Brocade, never fear."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Sir Humphrey was silent. All the boisterous +jollity had gone out of his face, leaving only a dark +scowl behind, which made the ruddy face look +almost evil in its ugliness. Mittachip viewed him +with ill-concealed satisfaction. The plan had +indeed found favour with his Honour; it was quick, +daring, sure: the fortune of a lifetime upon one +throw. Sir Humphrey, even before the attorney +had finished speaking, had resolved to take the risk. +He himself was safe in any case, nothing could +connect his name with that of the notorious +highwayman who had cut his purse but the night before.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I'd not have her hurt," was the first comment +he made after a few minutes' silent cogitation.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Hurt?" rejoined Mittachip. "Why should +she be hurt? Beau Brocade would not hurt a +pretty woman. He'll get the letters from her, I'll +stake my oath on that."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye! and blackmail me after that to the end of +my days. My good name would be at the mercy of +so damned a rascal."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"What matter, Sir Humphrey, once Lady +Patience is your wife and her fortune in your pocket? +Everything is fair in love, so I've been told."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Sir Humphrey ceased to argue. Chivalry and +honour had long been on the losing side.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Moreover, Sir Humphrey," added the crafty +attorney, slily, "once you have the letters, you can +denounce the rogue yourself, and get him hanged +safely out of your way."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"He'd denounce me."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"And who'd believe the rascal's word against +your Honour's flat denial? Not Squire West, for +sure, before whom he'd be tried, and your Honour +can have him kept in prison until after your +marriage with Lady Patience."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>It seemed as if even reason would range herself +on the side of this daring plan. There seemed +practically no risk as far as Sir Humphrey himself +was concerned, and every chance of success, an that +rascal Beau Brocade would but consent.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"He would," asserted Mittachip, "an your +Honour told him that the coach, the money, and the +letters belonged to Lady Rounce, and the young +lady travelling in the coach but a niece of her +ladyship. Lady Rounce is a hard woman who takes no +excuse from a debtor. He! he! he! she has the +worst reputation in the two counties, save your Honour!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The lawyer chuckled at this little joke, but Sir +Humphrey was too absorbed to note the impertinence. +He was pacing up and down the narrow +room in a last agony of indecision.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Mittachip evidently was satisfied with his day's +work. The two hundred guineas he looked upon as +a certainty already. After a while, noting the look +of stern determination upon his Honour's face, he +turned the conversation to matters of business. He +had been collecting some rents for Sir Humphrey and +also for Squire West and Lady Rounce, and would +have to return to Wirksworth to bank the money.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Since Sir Humphrey Challoner was occupying the +only available bedroom at the Moorhen, there +would be no room for Master Mittachip and Master +Duffy, his clerk. He hoped to reach Brassington +by the bridle path before the footpads were astir, +thence at dawn on to Wirksworth.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>He had shot his poisonous arrow and did not stop +to ascertain how far it had gone home. He bade +farewell to his employer, with all the deference +which many years of intercourse with the quality +had taught him, and never mentioned Beau Brocade, +Lady Patience or John Stich's forge again. But +when he had bowed and scraped himself out of his +Honour's presence, and was sitting once more beside +Master Duffy in the bar-parlour, there was a world +of satisfaction in his pale, watery eyes.</span></p> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> +</div> +<p class="center pfirst" id="a-stranger-at-the-forge"><span class="large">CHAPTER X</span></p> +<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">A STRANGER AT THE FORGE</span></p> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> +</div> +<p class="pfirst"><span>In the meanwhile Lady Patience, with Betty by her +side, had been walking towards the forge as rapidly +as the state of the road permitted.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>A sudden turn of the path brought her within +sight of the cross-ways and of the old gallows, on +which a fragment of rain-spattered rag still fluttered +ghostlike in the wind.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But here, within a few yards of her goal, she +stopped suddenly, with eyes dilated, and hands +pressed convulsively to her heart, in an agony of +terror. Walking quickly on the road from Wirksworth +towards Stich's cottage were some half-dozen +red-coated figures, the foremost man amongst them +wearing three stripes upon his sleeve.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Soldiers with a sergeant at the forge! What +could it mean but awful peril for the fugitive?</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Her halt had been but momentary, the next +instant she was flying down the pathway closely +followed by Betty, and had reached the shed just +as the soldiers were skirting the cottage towards it.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>She glanced within, and gave a quick sigh of +relief: there was no sign of her brother, and John +was busy at his anvil.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Already the smith had caught sight of her.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Hush!" he whispered reassuringly, "have no +fear, my lady. I've had soldiers here before."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"But they'll recognise me, perhaps ... or guess..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no! my lady! Do you pretend to be a +waiting wench. They are men from Derby mostly, +and not like to know your face."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>There was not a moment to be lost. Patience +realised this, together with the certainty that her +own coolness and presence of mind might prove the +one chance of safety for her brother.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Halt!" came in loud accents from the sergeant outside.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"The lock, Master Stich," said Patience, loudly +and carelessly, as the sergeant stepped into the +doorway, "is it ready? Her ladyship's coach is +following me from Aldwark, and will be at the cross-roads +anon."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Quite ready, mistress," replied the smith, casting +a rapid glance at the soldier, who stood in the +entrance with hand to hat in military salute.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The latter took a rapid survey of the interior of +the forge, then said politely,—</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Your pardon, ladies!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, and what is it now, Sergeant?" queried +John, with affected impatience.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I have heard that there's a stranger at your +forge, smith," replied the soldier. "My corporal +came down from Aldwark early this afternoon and +told me about him. I'd like just to have a talk +with him."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"One moment, Sergeant," said John, interposing +his burly figure between Patience and the prying +eyes of the young soldier.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I think you'll find the lock quite secure now, +mistress," he said, trying, good, honest fellow that +he was, to put as much meaning into the careless +sentence as he dared. She mutely thanked him +with her eyes, took the padlock from his hands, and +gave him over some money for his pains, the while her +heart was nearly bursting with the agony of suspense.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"No stranger, Sergeant," rejoined the smith, +once more turning with well-assumed indifference +to the soldier, "only my nephew out o' Nottingham. +Your corporal was a Derby man, and knew the lad's +mother, my sister Hannah!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Quite so, quite so, smith," quoth the Sergeant, +pleasantly; "then you won't mind my searching +your forge and cottage just for form's sake."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Even then Patience did not betray herself either +by a look or a quiver of the voice.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Lud! how tiresome be those soldiers," she said +with an affected pout. "I'd hoped to wait here in +peace, friend smith, until the arrival of her +ladyship's coach."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, mistress, you need not be disturbed," said +the smith, jovially, "the Sergeant is but jesting, eh, +friend?" he added, turning to the soldier. "There! +I give you my word, Master Sergeant, that there is +nought here for you to find."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I've my orders, smith," said the Sergeant, more curtly.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, friend," interposed Lady Patience, +"surely you overstep your orders. John Stich is +honest and loyal, you do him indignity by such +unjust suspicions."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Your pardon, ma'am, but I know my duty. +There's no suspicion against the smith, but there are +many rebels in hiding about here, and I've strict +orders to be on the lookout for one in particular, +Philip Gascoyne, Earl of Stretton, who is known to +be in these parts."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>John Stich interrupted him with a loud guffaw.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Lud, man!" he said, "there's no room for a +noble lord in a wayside smithy; you waste your time."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"My orders say I've the right to search," quoth +the Sergeant, firmly, "and search I'm going to."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Then he turned to his squad, who were standing +at attention outside.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Follow me, men," he said, as he stepped forward +into the forge.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Fortunately the remote corners of the shed were +dark, and Patience still had her hood and cloak +wrapped closely round her, or her deathlike pallor, +the wild, terrified look in her eyes, would at this +moment have betrayed her in spite of herself.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But honest John was standing in the way of the +Sergeant.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Look'ee here, Sergeant," he said quietly, "I'm +a man of few words, but I'm a free-born Englishman, +and my home is my castle. It's an insult to a free +and loyal citizen for soldiers to search his home, as +if he were a felon. I say you </span><em class="italics">shall not</em><span> enter, so you +take yourself off, before you come by a broken head."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Smith, you're a fool," commented the Sergeant +with a shrug of the shoulders, "and do yourself no +good."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"That's as it may be, friend," quoth John. +"There are fools in every walk in life. You be a +stranger in these parts and don't know me, but +folk'll tell you that what John Stich once says, that +he'll stick to. So forewarned is forearmed, friend +Sergeant. Eh?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But to this the Sergeant had but one reply, and +that was directed to his own squad.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Now then, my men," he said, "follow me! and +you, John Stich," he added loudly and peremptorily, +"stand aside in the name of the King!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The men were ranged round the Sergeant with +muskets grasped, ready to rush in the next moment +at word of command. John Stich stood between +them and a small wooden door, little more than a +partition, behind which Philip, Earl of Stretton, was +preparing to sell his life dearly.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>That death would immediately follow capture was +absolutely clear both to him and to his devoted +sister, who with almost superhuman effort of will +was making heroic efforts to keep all outward show +of alarm in check. Even amongst these half-dozen +soldiers any one of them might know Lord Stretton +by sight, and was not likely to forget that twenty +guineas—a large sum in those days—was the price +the Hanoverian Government was prepared to pay +for the head of a rebel.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Philip was a man condemned to death by Act of +Parliament. If he were captured now, neither +prayer, nor bribes, nor even proofs of innocence +would avail him before an officious magistrate +intent on doing his duty. A brief halt at Brassington +court-house, an execution in the early dawn!... these +were the awesome visions which passed +before Patience's eyes, as with a last thought of +anguish and despair she turned to God for help!</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>No doubt John Stich was equally aware of the +imminence of the peril, and, determined to fight for +the life of his lord, he brandished his mighty hammer +over his head, and there was a look in the powerful +man's eyes that made even the Sergeant pause +awhile ere giving the final word of command.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Thus there was an instant's deadly silence whilst +so many hearts were wildly beating in tumultuous +emotion. Just one instant—a few seconds, mayhap, +whilst even Nature seemed to stand still, and Time +to pause before the next fateful minute.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>And then a voice—a fresh, young, happy voice—was +suddenly heard to sing, "My beautiful white rose."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>It was not very distant: but twenty yards at +most, and even now seemed to be making for the +forge, drawing nearer and nearer.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Instinctively—what else could they do?—soldiers +and Sergeant turned to look out upon the Heath. +There was such magic in that merry, boyish voice, +clear as that of the skylark, singing the quaint old +ditty.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>They looked and saw a stranger dressed in elegant, +almost foppish fashion, his brown hair free from +powder, tied with a large bow at the nape of the neck, +dainty lace at his throat and wrists, scarce a speck +of mud upon his fine, well-cut coat. He was leading +a beautiful chestnut horse by the bridle and had +been singing as he walked.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Patience, too, catching at this happy interruption +like a drowning man does at a straw, turned to look +at the approaching stranger.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Her eyes were the first to meet his as he reached +the entrance of the forge, and with an elaborate, +courtly gesture he raised his three-cornered hat and +made her a respectful bow.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Then he burst out laughing.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Ho! ho! ho! but here's a pretty to-do. Why, +John Stich, my friend, you look a bit out of temper."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>He stood there framed in the doorway, with the +golden light of the afternoon sun throwing into bold +silhouette his easy, graceful stature, and the pleasant +picture of him, with one arm round the beautiful +horse's neck and his slender fingers gently fondling +its soft, quivering nose.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>John Stich, at first sound of the stranger's voice, +had relaxed from his defiant attitude, and a ray of +hope had chased away the threatening look in his eyes.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"So would you be, Captain," he said gruffly, +"with these red coats inside your house, and all +their talk of rebels."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Captain?" murmured the Sergeant.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye, Captain Bathurst, my man, of His +Majesty's White Dragoons," said the stranger, +carelessly, as without more ado he led his horse +within the forge and tethered it close to the entrance. +Then he came forward and slapped the Sergeant +vigorously on the back.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"And I'll go bail, Sergeant, that John Stich is no +rebel. He's far too big a fool!" he added in an +audible whisper, and with a merry twinkle in his +grey eyes.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Patience still stood rigid, expectant, terrified in +the darker corner of the shed. She had not yet +realised whether she dared to hope, whether this +young stranger, with his pleasant, boyish voice and +debonnair manner, would have the power to stay +the hand of Fate, which was even now raised +against her brother.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Betty, behind her mistress, was too terrified to speak.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But already the Sergeant had recovered from his +momentary surprise. At mention of the stranger's +military rank he had raised his hand to his tricorne +hat. Now he was ready to perform his duty, +and gladly noted the smith's less aggressive attitude.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"At your service, Captain," he said, "and now I +have my orders. I've a right o' search and..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But like veritable quicksilver, Captain Bathurst +was upon him in a moment.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"A right o' search!" he said excitedly. "A +right o' search, did you say, Sergeant? Odd's my +life, but I'm in luck! Sergeant, you're the very +man for me."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>And he pulled the Sergeant by the sleeve.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I pray you, sir..." protested the latter.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But the young man was not to be denied.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Sergeant," he whispered significantly, "would +you like to earn a hundred guineas?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"One hundred guineas," rejoined the soldier +readily enough; "that I would, sir, if you'll tell me +how."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>He kept an eye on the little wooden door behind +John Stich, but his ear leaned towards the stranger; +the bait was a tempting one, a hundred guineas was +something of a fortune to a soldier of King George II.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Listen then," said Bathurst, mysteriously. +"You've heard of Beau Brocade, the highwayman, +haven't you?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye, aye," nodded the Sergeant, "who hasn't?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Well then you know that there is a price of a +hundred guineas for his capture, eh? ... Think +of it, Sergeant! ... A hundred guineas! ... a +little fortune, eh?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The Sergeant's eyes twinkled at the thought. +The soldiers too listened with eager interest, for the +stranger was no longer talking in a whisper. A +hundred guineas! three little words of wondrous +magic, which had the power to rouse most men to +excitement in those days of penury.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Lady Patience's whole soul seemed to have taken +refuge in her eyes. Her body leaning forward, her +lips parted with a quick-drawn breath, she gazed +upon the stranger, wondering what he would do. +That he was purposely diverting the Sergeant's +attention from his purpose she did not dare to think, +that he was succeeding beyond her wildest hopes +was not in doubt for a moment.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>And yet there did not seem much gained by +averting the fearful catastrophe for the span of a few +brief minutes.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye! a fortune indeed!" sighed the Sergeant, +with obvious longing.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"And I have sworn to lay that dare-devil +highwayman by the heels," continued the young man. +"I know where he lies hidden at this very moment, +but, by Satan and all his crew, I cannot lay hands +upon the rascal."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"How so?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"The house is private! worse luck! </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> have no +right of search!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The Sergeant gave a knowing wink.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Hm!" he said. "I understand."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Then he added significantly,—</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"But the reward?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Odd's life! you shall have the whole of that, +Sergeant, and, if your men will help me, there shall +be another hundred to divide between them. I +have sworn to lay the rogue by the heels for my +honour's sake. Would you believe me, Sergeant, +'tis but a week ago that rascally highwayman robbed +me in broad daylight! ... fifty guineas he took +from me. Now I've a bet with Captain Borrowdale, +five hundred guineas aside, that I'll bring about the +rogue's capture."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>There was no doubt now that the Sergeant's +interest was fully aroused; the soldiers, at mention +of the reward which was to be theirs, hung upon their +Sergeant's lips, hoping for the order to march on this +very lucrative errand.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Hm!" muttered the latter, with a knowing +wink, "perhaps that highwayman is a personal +enemy of yours as well, sir!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye!" sighed Captain Bathurst, pathetically, +"the worst I ever had."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"And you'd be mightily glad to see him hanged, +an I mistake not. What?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Zounds! but I wouldn't say that exactly, +Sergeant, but ... I have no love for him ... 'tis +many an ill turn he has done me of late."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I understand! Then the reward?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"You shall have every penny of it, friend, and a +hundred guineas for your men. What say you, +gallant soldiers?" And he turned gaily to the +little squad, who had stood at very close attention +all this while.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But there was no need to make this direct appeal. +The men were only too ready to be up and doing, to +earn the reward and leave John Stich and the very +problematical rebel to look after themselves.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, quick's the word," said the young man, +briskly, "there's not a moment to be lost."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"At your service, Captain," replied the Sergeant, +turning once more towards the inner door before +which John Stich still held guard, "as soon as I've +searched this forge..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, man, an you waste a minute, you and your +men will miss Beau Brocade and the hundred guineas +reward. Quick, man!" he added hurriedly, seeing +that the soldier had paused irresolute, "quick! with +your fellows straight up the road that leads +northward. I'm on horseback—I'll overtake you +as soon as may be."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"But..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"You'll see a lonely cottage about half a mile +from here, then a bridle path on the left; follow +that, you'll come to a house that was once an inn. +The rascal is there. I saw him not half an hour ago."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"But the rebel, Captain..." feebly protested +the Sergeant, "my duty..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, Sergeant, as you will," said Bathurst, +coolly, with a great show of complete indifference; +"but while you parley here, Beau Brocade will slip +through your fingers. He is at the house now: +he may be gone by sunset. Odd's life! search for +your rebels! go on! waste time! and the hundred +guineas are lost to you and your men for ever."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>It was obvious that both sergeant and men were +determined not to lose this opportunity of a bold bid +for fortune.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Done with you, sir," he said resolutely. "After +all," he added, as a concession to his own sense of +duty, "I can always come back and search the +forge afterwards."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>All the soldiers seemed as one man to be uttering +a sigh of relief and eager anticipation, and even +before the Sergeant had spoken the word, they +turned to go.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"You are a wise man, Sergeant," said Bathurst, +jovially. "Off with you! straight along that road +you see before you. The cottage is just beyond that +clump of distant firs, there you'll see the bridle path. +But I'll overtake you before then, never fear. Time +to give my horse a handful of oats..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But even while he spoke the Sergeant had called +"Attention!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll not fail you, sir," he shouted excitedly. +"A hundred guineas! odd's my life! 'tis a fortune! +Left turn! Quick march!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The young man stood in the doorway and watched +the little squad as, preceded by their Sergeant, they +plodded their way northwards in quest of fortune. +John Stich too followed them with his eyes, until +the bend in the road hid the red coats from view. +Then both turned and came within.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But Lady Patience through it all never looked at +the soldiers; her eyes, large, glowing, magnetic, +were fixed upon the stranger in the forge, as if in a +trance of joy and gratitude.</span></p> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> +</div> +<p class="center pfirst" id="the-stranger-s-name"><span class="large">CHAPTER XI</span></p> +<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">THE STRANGER'S NAME</span></p> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> +</div> +<p class="pfirst"><span>Mistress Betty was the first to recover from terror +and surprise. She too had fixed a pair of large +and wondering eyes upon the stranger.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"'Tis the gentleman who brought the letter from +his lordship last night," she whispered to her +mistress.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Patience closed her eyes for a moment: her spirit, +which had gone a-roaming into the land of dreams, +where dwell heroes and proud knights of old, came +back to earth once more.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Then he must have guessed my brother was +here," she murmured, "and did it to save him."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But the tension being relaxed, already the bright +and sunny nature, which appeared to be the chief +characteristic of the stranger, quickly re-asserted +itself, and soon he was laughing merrily.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh! ho! gone, by my faith!" he said to John. +"Odd's life! but he swallowed that, clean as a +mullet after bait, eh, friend Stich?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>It seemed as if he purposely avoided looking at +Patience: perhaps, with the innate delicacy of a +kindly nature, he wished to give her time to recover +her composure. But now she came forward, turning +to him with a gentle smile that had an infinity of +pathos in it.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Sir," she said, "I would wish to thank you..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>He put up his hand, with a gesture of self-deprecation.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"To thank me, madam?" he said, with profound +deference. "Nay! you do but jest. I have done +nothing to deserve so great a favour."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>He bowed to her with perfect courtly grace, but +she would not be gainsaid. She wished to think +that he had acted thus for her.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Sir, you wrong your own most noble deed," she +said. "Will you not allow me to keep the sweet +illusion, that what you did just now, you did from +the kindness of your heart, and because you saw +that we were all anxious ... and that ... I +was unhappy..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>She looked divinely fair as she stood there beside +him, with the rays of the slanting September sun +touching the halo of her hair with a wand of gold. +Her voice was musical and low, and there was a catch +in her throat as she held out one tiny, trembling +hand to him.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>He took it in his own strong grasp, and kept it a +prisoner therein for awhile, then he bent his slim +young figure and touched her finger-tips with his +lips.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Faith, madam!" he said, "by that sweet +illusion, an it dwell awhile in your memory, I am +more than repaid."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>In the meanwhile John had pushed open the small +door which led to the inner shed.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Quite safe, my lord!" he shouted gaily, "only +friends present."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Brother and sister, regardless of all save their own +joy in this averted peril, were soon locked in each +other's arms. Captain Bathurst had heard her +happy cry: "Philip!" had seen the look of +gladness brighten her tear-dimmed eyes, and a curious +feeling of wrath, which he could not explain, caused +him to turn away with a frown and a sigh.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Patience was clinging to her brother, half +hysterical, nervous, excited.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"You are safe, dear," she murmured, touching +with trembling motherly hands the dear head so +lately in peril, "quite safe ... let me feel your +precious hands ... oh! it was so horrible! ... another +moment and you were discovered! ... Sir!" +she added once more, turning to the stranger +with the sweet impulse of her gratitude, "my thanks +just now must have seemed so poor ... I was +nervous and excited ... but see! here is one who +owes you his life, and who, I know, would wish to +join his thanks to mine."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But there was a change in his manner now. He +bowed slightly before her and said very coldly,—</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, madam! let me assure you once again +that I have done naught to deserve your thanks. +John Stich is my friend, and he seemed in trouble +... if I have had the honour to serve you at the +same time, 'tis I who should render thanks."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>She sighed, somewhat disappointed at his coldness. +But Philip, with boyish impulse, held out +both hands to him.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, sir," he said, "I know not who you are, +but I heard everything from behind that door, and +I know that I owe you my life..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I beg you, sir..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Another moment and I had rushed out and sold +my life dearly. Your noble effort, sir, did more than +save that life," he added, taking Patience's hand in +his, "it spared a deep sorrow to one who is +infinitely dear to me ... my only sister."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Your ... your sister?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye! my sister, Lady Patience Gascoyne, I am +the Earl of Stretton, unjustly attainted by Act of +Parliament. The life you have just saved, sir, is +henceforth at your command."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Indeed, Philip," added Patience, gently, "we +already are deeply in this gentleman's debt. Betty, +who saw him, tells me that it was he who brought +me your letter yester night."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"You, sir!" exclaimed Stretton in profound +astonishment, "then you are..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>He paused instinctively, for he had remembered +his conversation with John Stich earlier in the day; +he remembered the anger, the wonder, which he +had felt when the smith told him that he had +entrusted the precious letter for Lady Patience to +Beau Brocade, the highwayman ...</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Then you are...?" repeated Philip, mechanically.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Patience was clinging to her brother, with her +back towards the stranger, so she did not see the +swift look of appeal the slender finger put up in a +mute, earnest prayer for silence. But now she +turned and looked inquiringly at him, her eyes asking +for a name by which she could remember him.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Captain Jack Bathurst," he said, bowing low, +"at your command."</span></p> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> +</div> +<p class="center pfirst" id="the-beautiful-white-rose"><span class="large">CHAPTER XII</span></p> +<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">THE BEAUTIFUL WHITE ROSE</span></p> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> +</div> +<p class="pfirst"><span>But of course there was no time to be lost. Captain +Jack Bathurst was the first to give the alarm.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Those gallant lobsters won't be long in finding +out that they've been hoodwinked," he said, "an I +mistake not, they'll return here anon with a temper +slightly the worse for wear. They must not find your +lordship here at anyrate," he added earnestly.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"But what's to be done?" asked Patience, all +her anxiety returning in a trice, and instinctively +turning for guidance to the man who already had +done so much for her.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"For the next hour or two at anyrate his lordship +would undoubtedly be safer on the open Moor," +said Bathurst, decisively. "'Tis nigh on sunset, and +the shepherds are busy gathering in their flocks. +There'll be no one about, and 'twould be safer."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"On the open Moor?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye! 'tis not a bad place," he said, with a touch +of sadness in his fresh young voice. "I myself..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>He checked himself and continued more quietly,—</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Your lordship could return here after sundown. +You'd be safe enough for the night. After that, an +you'll grant me leave, my friend Stich and I will +venture to devise some better plan for your safety. +For the moment, I pray you, be guided by this good +advice, and seek the protection of the open Moor."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>He had spoken so earnestly, with such obvious +heartfelt concern, and at the same time with such +quiet firmness, that instinctively Philip felt inclined +to obey; the weaker nature turned for support to the +stronger one, to whose dominating influence it felt +compelled to yield. He turned to Patience, and her +eyes seemed to tell him that she was ready to trust +this stranger.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye! I'll go, sir!" he sighed wearily.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>He kissed his sister with all the fondness of his +aching heart. All his hopes for the future were +centred in her and in the long journey she was about +to undertake for his sake.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Bathurst discreetly left brother and sister alone. +He knew nothing of their affairs, of their plans, their +hopes. Stich was too loyal to speak of his lord, even +to a man whom he trusted and respected as he did the +Captain. The latter knew that a hunted man was in +hiding in the smith's forge, he had taken a message +from the man to the lady at Stretton Hall, now he +knew for certain that the fugitive was the Earl of +Stretton. But that was all.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Being outside the pale of the law himself, his +sympathies at once ranged themselves on the side of +the fugitive. Whether the latter were guilty or +innocent mattered little to Jack Bathurst; what did +matter to him was that the most beautiful woman +he had ever set eyes on was unhappy and in tears.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Philip, seeing that he could talk to his sister +unobserved, whispered eagerly,—</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"The letters, dear, have a care; how will you +carry them?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"In the drawer underneath the seat of the coach," +she whispered in reply. "I'll not leave the coach +day or night until I've reached London. From +Wirksworth onwards I'll be travelling with relays: +I need neither spare horses nor waste a moment's +time. I can be in town in less than six days."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"When will your coach be ready?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"In a few minutes now, and I'll start at once: +but go, go now, dear," she urged tenderly, "since +Captain Bathurst thinks it better that you should."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>She kissed him again and again, her heart full of +hope and excitement at thought of what she could +do for him, yet aching because of this parting. It +was terrible to leave him in this awful peril, to be far +away if danger once again became imminent!</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>When at last he had torn himself away from her, +he made quickly for the door, where Bathurst had +been waiting for him.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, sir!" sighed Philip, bitterly, "'tis a sorry +plight for a soldier and a gentleman to hide for his +life like a coward and a thief."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But Bathurst before leaving was looking back at +the beautiful picture of Patience's sweet face bathed +in tears.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Like a thief?" he murmured. "Nay, sir, +thieves have no angels to guard and love them: +methinks you have no cause to complain of your fate."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>There was perhaps just a thought of bitterness in +his voice as he said this, and Patience turned to him, +and gazed at him in tender womanly pity through +her tears. At once the electrical, sunny nature +within him again gained the upper hand. Laughter +and gaiety seemed with him to be always close to the +surface, ready to ripple out at any moment, and +calling forth hope and confidence in those around.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"An you'll accept my escort, sir," he said cheerfully +to Philip, "I'll show you a sheltered spot +known only to myself ... and to Jack o' Lantern," +he added, giving a passing tender tap to his beautiful +horse. "He and I are very fond of the Moor, eh, +Jack, old friend? ... We are the two Jacks, you +see, sir, and seldom are seen apart. Together we +discovered the spot which I will show you, sir, and +where you can lie </span><em class="italics">perdu</em><span> until nightfall. 'Tis safe +and lonely and but a step from this forge."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Philip accepted the offer gratefully. Like his +sister, he too felt that he could trust Jack Bathurst. +As he walked by his side along the unbeaten track +on the Heath, he viewed with some curiosity, not +unmixed with boyish admiration, the tall, well-knit +figure of his gallant rescuer. He tried to think of +him as the notorious highwayman, Beau Brocade, +on whose head the Government had put the price of +a hundred guineas.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>A hero of romance he was in the hearts of the +whole country-side, yet a felon in the eyes of the law. +Philip could just see his noble profile, with the +well-cut features, the boyish, sensitive mouth, firm chin +and straight, massive brow, over which a mass of +heavy brown curls clustered in unruly profusion.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>A brave man, surely—Philip had experienced +that; a wise one too in spite of his youth. Stretton +guessed his companion to be still under thirty years +of age, and yet there was at times, in spite of the +inherently sunny disposition below, a look of +melancholy, of disappointment, in the deep, grey eyes, +which spoke of a wasted life, of opportunities lost +perhaps, or of persistent adverse fate.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Through it all there was that quaint air of foppishness, +the manners and appearance of a dandy about +the Court. The caped coat was dark and serviceable, +but it was of the finest cloth and of the latest, most +fashionable cut, and beneath it peeped a dainty silk +waistcoat, delicately embroidered.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The lace at throat and wrists was of the finest +Mechlin, and the boots, though stout and heavy, +betrayed the smallness and the arch of the foot. +Though Jack Bathurst had obviously been riding, he +carried neither whip nor cane.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>All that Philip observed in this rapid walk to the +place of shelter which Bathurst had thought out for +him, Patience, with a woman's quick perception, had +noted from the first. To her, of course, the Captain +was but a gallant stranger, good to look at and +replete with all the chivalrous attributes this troublous +century called forth in the hearts of her sons. She +knew naught of Beau Brocade the highwayman, and +probably would have recoiled in horror at thought of +connecting the name of a thief with that of her +newly-found hero of romance.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>She stood in the doorway for some time, watching +with glowing eyes the figures of the two men, until +they disappeared behind a high clump of gorse: then +with a curious little sigh she turned and went within.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>John Stich and Mistress Betty were carrying on an +animated conversation in a remote corner of the +forge. Patience did not wish to disturb them: she +was deeply grateful to John, and felt kindly disposed +towards the suggestion of romance conveyed by the +smith's obvious appreciation of pretty Mistress Betty.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>She crossed the shed, and opening the door at the +further end of it, she found that it gave upon a small +yard which separated the forge from the cottage, +and in which Stich and his mother, who kept house +for him, had with tender care succeeded in cultivating +a few flowers: only one or two tall hollyhocks, +some gay-looking sunflowers, and a few +sweet-scented herbs. And on the south aspect a lovely +trail of creeping white rose, the kind known as "Five +Sisters," threw its delicate fragrance over this little +oasis in the wilderness of the Moor.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>And, almost mechanically, whilst her fancy once +more went a-roaming in the land of dreams, Patience +began to hum the quaint old ditty: "My beautiful +white rose."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Suddenly—at a quick thought mayhap—her eyes +grew dim, her cheeks began to burn: she drew +towards her a cluster of snowy blossoms, on which the +earlier rains had left a mantle of glittering diamonds, +and buried her glowing face in its pure, cool depths. +Then she detached one lovely white rose from the +parent bough, and, sighing, pinned it to her belt.</span></p> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> +</div> +<p class="center pfirst" id="a-proposal-and-a-threat"><span class="large">CHAPTER XIII</span></p> +<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">A PROPOSAL AND A THREAT</span></p> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> +</div> +<p class="pfirst"><span>Sir Humphrey Challoner had not been long in +making up his mind to take Master Mittachip's +pernicious advice. He twisted the old adage that +"everything is fair in love" to a justification of his +own evil purpose. He was not by any means a bad +man. Save for his somewhat inordinate love of +money, he had none of the outrageous vices which +were looked upon with leniency in the quality in +those days.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>He drank hard, and exacted his pound of flesh +equally from all his tenants, but neither of these +characteristics was unusual in an English squire +of the early eighteenth century: a great many of +them were impecunious, and all were fond of good +cheer. Originally he had meant no harm to the +young Earl of Stretton. His plan, as he clumsily +conceived it, was to get Philip into trouble first, then +to extricate him from it, for the sake of earning the +gratitude of the richest heiress in the Midlands and +the most beautiful woman in England to boot.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Sir Humphrey Challoner was not a diplomatist: +he was a rough country gentleman of that time, with +but scant notions of abstract right and wrong where +his own desires were at stake.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>His original plan had failed through that very +Act of Parliament which placed Philip's life in +immediate and imminent peril. Sir Humphrey did not +desire the lad's death: of course not. He had nothing +to gain thereby, and only wished for the sister's hand +in marriage. He started for London post-haste, +hoping still to use what influence he had, and also +what knowledge he possessed of Philip's attitude at +the time of the rebellion, in order to bring about the +boy's justification and release.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>That Patience had evidently found a means of +proving her brother's innocence without his help was +a bitter disappointment to Sir Humphrey. He knew +that she would never marry him of her own free will, +but only on compulsion or from gratitude.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The latter was now out of the question. He could +do nothing to earn it. Compulsion was the only +course, and Mittachip, with crafty persuasion, had +shown him the possible way; therefore he went to +the forge of John Stich to carry through the plan to +that end.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>It was close on sunset. On the Moor, gorse, +bramble and heather were bathed in ruddy gold, the +brilliant aftermath of this glowing September afternoon.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Sir Humphrey had walked over from the Moorhen; +as soon as he entered the forge, the first thing he +noticed was the beautiful chestnut horse tethered +against the door-post, the same which he himself +had declared that very day to be worth a small +fortune. Fate was obviously playing into his hands. +Mittachip had neither deceived him nor lured him +with false hopes.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Otherwise the shed was empty: there was no sign +of John Stich, or of the stranger who rode the +chestnut horse. Sir Humphrey went within and, as +patiently as he could, set himself to wait.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>When therefore Jack Bathurst returned to the +forge some few minutes later, he found that her +ladyship, Betty and Stich had gone, whilst, sitting on +the edge of the rough deal table, and impatiently +tapping his boot with a riding-whip, was no less a +personage than the Squire of Hartington.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Jack had caught a glimpse of his Honour the night +before on the Heath, under circumstances which even +now brought a smile to his lips, and which incidentally +had made the poor of Brassington richer by fifty +guineas.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>For a moment he hesitated whether he would go in +or no. He had been masked during that incident, +of course, and knew not even the ABC of fear. His +dare-devil spirit of fun and adventure quickly gained +the upper hand, and the next moment he had greeted +his Honour with all the courtly grace he had at +command.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Sir Humphrey looked at him keenly for a moment +or two. Young and well-looking! Oft to be seen +at the forge at sundown! ... Odd's life but...</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Your servant, sir!" he said, returning the salutation.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Sir Humphrey was in no hurry. He firmly +believed that Fate had decided to be kind to him in +this matter, but he feared to brusque the situation, +and thereby to imperil the successful issue of his +scheme.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Therefore he passed the time of day with this +well-looking stranger, he talked of the weather and the +rains on the Moors, the bad state of the roads and the +insufficiency of police in the county, of the late +rebellion and the newest fashion in coats.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Jack Bathurst seemed to fall into his mood. He +was shrewd enough to perceive that Sir Humphrey +Challoner was in his own estimation playing a +diplomatic game of cat and mouse, and it much intrigued +Bathurst to know what his ultimate purpose might +be. He had not long to wait; after some five +minutes of casual conversation, Sir Humphrey went +straight for his goal.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Odd's life!" he said suddenly, interrupting his +own flow of small talk, "it wonders me how long that +rascally smith'll stay away from his work. Adsbud! but +he's a lazy vagabond. What say you, sir?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay! you, sir, wrong an honest man," replied +Bathurst. "John Stich is a steady worker. Shall +I call him for you? I know my way about his +cottage."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, I thank you, sir! my purpose can wait. +Truth to tell," added his Honour, carelessly, "'twas +not the blacksmith's work I needed, but his help in +a trifling matter of business."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Indeed?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"You'll be surprised perhaps at my question, sir, +but have you ever heard mention of that fellow, +Beau Brocade?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh! ... vaguely..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"A highwayman, sir, and a consummate rogue, +yet your honest John Stich is said to be his friend."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Indeed?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, an you'll believe me, sir, I have a mind to +speak with the rascal."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Indeed? then you are bolder than most, sir," +said Jack, cheerfully. He was really beginning to +wonder what the Squire of Hartington was driving at.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"It seems strange, doesn't it? but to be frank with +you, I'm in two minds about that rogue."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"How so?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Well! I have a score to settle with him, and a +business to propose; and I cannot decide which +course to adopt."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"You, sir, being so clever, might perhaps manage +both," said Bathurst with a touch of sarcasm.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Hm! I wonder now," continued Sir Humphrey, +not wishing to notice the slight impertinence. "I +wonder now what an independent gentleman like +yourself would advise me to do. I have not the +honour of knowing who you are," he added with +grave condescension, "but I can see that you </span><em class="italics">are</em><span>, +like myself, a gentleman."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Bathurst bowed in polite acknowledgment.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I should be proud to serve you with advice, sir, +since you desire it."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Well! as I have said, I have a score to settle with +the rogue. He stole fifty guineas from me last night."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah me!" sighed Jack, with a melancholy shake +of the head, "then I fear me he'll never haunt the +Heath again."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"What mean you, sir?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay! I can picture the rascal now, after you, sir, +had punished him for his impudence! A mangled, +bleeding wreck! But there! I have no pity for him! +Daring to measure his valour against your noted +prowess!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Quite so! quite so!" quoth his Honour, whilst +smothering a curse at this more obvious piece of +insolence.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"But I entreat your pardon. I was interrupting +the story."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I saw the rogue, sir," said Sir Humphrey, +glancing significantly at the young man, "saw him +clearly by the light of my carriage lanthorns. He +was masked, of course, but I'd know him anywhere, +and could denounce him to-morrow."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>He had risen to his feet, and with legs apart, +standing face to face with Bathurst, he spoke every +word as if he meant them to act as a threat.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"There are plenty of soldiers about these parts +now, even if the country folk won't touch their +vaunted hero of romance. I could get him hanged, +sir, within a week. A cordon of soldiers round this +Heath, my word to swear his identity, and.... But +there!" he added with a jovial laugh, "'tis no +concern of yours is it, sir? You were kind enough to +promise me your advice. This is one of my alternatives, +the score I'd wish to settle; there's still the +business I could offer the rogue."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Sir Humphrey had looked the young man squarely +in the face whilst he uttered his threat, but had seen +nothing there, save the merriest, the most +light-hearted of smiles.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I can scarce advise you, sir," said Bathurst, +still smiling, "unless I know the business as well."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, sir, you know of old Lady Rounce, do you +not? the meanest, ugliest old witch in the county, eh? +Well! she is on her way to London, and carries with +her a mass of money, wrung from her miserable tenants."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Faith, sir! you paint a most entrancing picture +of the lady."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, an that rascal Beau Brocade were willing +to serve me, he could at one stroke save his own neck +from the gallows, enrich himself, right the innocent +and confound a wicked old woman."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"And how could this galaxy of noble deeds be +accomplished at one stroke, sir?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Her ladyship's coach will pass over the Heath +to-night. It should be at the cross-roads soon. +There will be all the old harridan's money and jewels +to be got out of it."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"And also a packet of love-letters, which doubtless +will be hidden away in the receptacle beneath the seat."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Letters?" queried Bathurst. "Hm! I doubt +me if love-letters would tempt a gentleman of the +road."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, sir," replied his Honour, now dropping his +voice to a confidential whisper, "these are letters +which, if published, would compromise an artless +young lady, whom old Lady Rounce pursues with +her hatred and spite. Now I would give a hundred +guineas to any person who will bring me those letters +at the Moorhen to-morrow. Surely to a gentleman +of the road the game would be worth the candle. +Lady Rounce carries money with her besides, and +her diamonds. What think you of it, sir?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"'Tis somewhat difficult to advise," said Bathurst, +meditatively.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah well!" said Sir Humphrey with affected +indifference, "'tis really not much to me. On the +whole perhaps I would prefer to deliver the rascal +into the hands of my friend Squire West at Brassington. +Anyway, I have the night to think the matter +over; 'tis too late now to wait for that lout, John +Stich. I would have preferred to have had your +advice, sir. I daresay 'tis difficult to give. And you +a stranger too. I would have liked to save a young +girl from the clutches of that old witch, Lady Rounce, +and if Beau Brocade rendered me that service, I'd +be tempted to hold my tongue about him.... He +should have the hundred guineas to-morrow and +have nought to fear from me, if he brought me those +letters. If not ... well! ... well! ... we shall +see.... The old gallows here have long been idle +... we shall see ... we shall see.... Good-day +to you, sir ... proud to have met you.... +No ... I'll not wait for John Stich. Is this your +horse? ... pretty creature! ... Good-day, sir +... good-day."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>His Honour was extremely condescending and +pleasant. He bowed very politely to Bathurst, +patted the beautiful chestnut horse, and showed no +further desire to talk with John Stich.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Bathurst, with a frown on his handsome face, +watched the Squire of Hartington's burly figure +disappear round the bend in the road.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I wonder now," he mused, "what mischief he's +brewing. He seemed to me up to no good. I +suppose he guessed who I was."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>While he stood there watching, John Stich quickly +entered the forge from the rear.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I was in the cottage, Captain," he said, "my +mother was serving the ladies with some milk. But +just now I saw Sir Humphrey Challoner walking +away from the forge. I feared he might see you."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"He did see me, honest friend," said Jack, lightly. +"His Honour and I have just had a long and +animated conversation together."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Great Heavens! the man is furious with you, +Captain!" said the smith, with genuine anxiety in +his gruff voice, "he saw you distinctly on the +Heath last night. He may have recognised you to-day."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"He did recognise me."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"And may be brewing the devil's own mischief +against you."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, ho!" laughed the young man, with a +careless shrug of the shoulders, "against me? ... +Well! you know, honest John, I am bound to end +on the gallows..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Sooner or later! Sooner or later!" he added +merrily, noting John's look of sorrowful alarm. +"They've not got me yet, though there are so many +soldiers about, as that piece of underdone roast-beef +said just now."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"You'll not tell me what Sir Humphrey Challoner +spoke to you about?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"No, friend, I will not," said Jack, with a look of +infinite kindness and placing a slender white hand on +the smith's broad shoulder. "You are my friend, +you know, you shoe and care after my horse, you +shelter and comfort me. May Heaven's legions of +angels bless you for that. Of my life on the Heath +I'll never tell you aught, whatever you may guess. +'Tis better so. I'll not have you compromised, or +implicated in my adventures. In case ... well! ... if +they do catch me, you know, friend, 'tis +better for your sake that you should know nothing."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"But you'll not go on the Heath to-night, +Captain," pleaded the smith, with a tremor in his +voice.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye! that I will, John Stich," rejoined Bathurst, +with a careless laugh, which now had an unmistakable +ring of bitterness in it, "to stop a coach, to lift a +purse! that's my business.... Aye! I'll to the +Heath, friend, 'tis my only home, you know, ere I +find a resting-place on the gallows yonder."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>John sighed and turned away, and thus did not +hear the faint murmur that came of a great and good +heart over-full with longing and disappointment.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"My beautiful white rose! ... how pale she +looked ... and how exquisitely fair! ... Ah! me +... if only.... Jack! Jack! don't be a fool!" +he added with a short, deep sigh, "'tis too late; +remember, for Beau Brocade to go galloping after an +illusion!"</span></p> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> +</div> +<p class="center pfirst" id="the-fight-in-the-forge"><span class="large">CHAPTER XIV</span></p> +<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">THE FIGHT IN THE FORGE</span></p> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> +</div> +<p class="pfirst"><span>John Stich ventured no further opposition, well +knowing the reckless spirit which his own quiet +devotion was powerless to keep in check; moreover, +Lady Patience, closely followed by the ever-faithful +Betty, had just entered by the door that gave from +the yard.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I was wondering, honest Stich," she said, "if +my coach were yet in sight. Meseems the horses +must have had sufficient rest by now."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll just see, my lady," said John.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>At first sound of her low, musical voice, Bathurst +had turned to her, and now his eyes rested with +undisguised admiration on her graceful figure, dimly +outlined in the fast-gathering shadows. She too +caught sight of him, and sorely against her will a +vivid blush mounted to her cheeks. She pulled her +cloak close to her, partly to hide the bunch of white +roses that nestled in her belt.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Thus there was an instant's silent pause, during +which two hearts, both young, both ardent, and +imbued with the spirit of romance, beat—unknown +to one another—in perfect unison.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>And yet at this supreme moment in their lives—supreme +though they themselves knew it not—neither +of them had begun to think of love. In her +there was just that delightful feeling of feminine +curiosity, mingled with the subtle homage of a proud +woman for the man who, in her presence, and for her +sake, had proved himself brave, resourceful, full of +invention and of pluck: there was also an +unexplainable sense of the magnetism caused by the real +</span><em class="italics">personality</em><span>, by the unmistakable </span><em class="italics">vitality</em><span> of the man. +He lived, he felt, he thought differently to anyone +else, in a world quite apart and entirely his own, +and she felt the magic of this sunny nature, of the +merry, almost boyish laugh, overlying as it were the +undercurrent of disappointment and melancholy +which had never degenerated into cynicism.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But in him? Ah! in him there was above all a +wild, passionate longing! the longing of an intensely +human, aching heart, when it is brought nigh to its +own highest ideal, and knows that that ideal is +infinitely beyond his reach.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The broken-down gentleman! the notorious hero +of midnight adventures! highwayman! robber! thief! what +right had he even to look upon her, the +perfect embodiment of exquisite womanhood, the +beautiful realisation of man's tenderest dreams?</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Perhaps at this one supreme moment in his reckless +career the wild adventurer felt the first pang of +humbled pride, of that pride which had defied +existing laws and built up a code of its own. He +understood then all at once the stern, iron-bound +rule which makes of man—free lord of creation +though he be—the slave of those same laws which +he himself has set up for his own protection.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Beau Brocade, the highwayman, closed his eyes, +and no longer dared to look on his dream.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>He turned to his horse, and with great tenderness +began stroking Jack o' Lantern's soft, responsive nose.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The next moment Stich, who had been busy with +his work, looked up in sudden alarm.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"The soldiers!" he said briefly, "all running +... the Sergeant's at the head o' them, and some of +the shepherds at their heels."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>At first Patience did not understand where the +actual danger lay.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"My brother!" she gasped, terrified.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But a look from Bathurst reassured her.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Absolutely safe," he said quickly and decisively, +"a hiding-place known to no one but me. I give your +ladyship my word of honour that there is not the +remotest danger for him."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>She felt all her terrors vanishing. But these few +words spoken to comfort her went nigh to costing +Bathurst dear. In those few brief seconds he had +lost the opportunity of jumping on Jack o' Lantern's +back and getting well away before the soldiers had +reached the entrance of the forge, and had effectually +barred his chance of escape.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>As it was, he had only just undone the halter, and +before he had time to lead Jack o' Lantern out, the +voice of the Sergeant was heard quite close to the +doorway, shouting breathlessly,—</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Forward! quick! Arrest that man!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"My sword, John! for your life!" was Bathurst's +ready answer to the challenge.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Stich darted to a corner of the forge. Lady +Patience gave a quick, short gasp, she had suddenly +realised that for some reason which she could not +quite fathom, the man who had so pluckily saved her +brother from the soldiers an hour ago, was now +himself in imminent danger.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Jack snatched the sword eagerly which the smith +was holding out to him, and resting the point of the +blade on the ground before him, he tested with evident +satisfaction the temper of the steel. Not a moment too +soon this, for already the Sergeant, running, panting, +infuriated by the trick played upon him, had appeared +in the doorway, closely followed by two of his men.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Caught like a rat in a hole, Jack was prepared to +fight. Perhaps at bottom he was glad that circumstances +had not compelled him to show a clean pair +of heels before this new danger to himself. Alone, he +might have liked to flee, before </span><em class="italics">her</em><span> he preferred to fight.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Odd's my life!" he said merrily, "'tis my +friend, the Sergeant."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"You sent me on a fool's errand," shouted the +latter as loudly as his scant breath would allow, +"and 'tis my belief you are one of them rebel lords +yourself: at anyrate you shall give an account of +yourself before the magistrate. And if the smith +dares to interfere, he does so at his peril," he added, +seeing that John Stich had seized his hammer, and +was handling it ominously, fully prepared to resist +the established authority on behalf of his friend.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But whilst the Sergeant parleyed, Jack, with the +rapid keen eye of a practised fencer, and the wary +glance of a child of the Moor, had taken note of every +advantage, however slight, which his present +precarious position had left him.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The Sergeant and two men were in the doorway, +momentarily pausing in order to recover their breath. +Three more of the squad were running forward along +the road, but were still some little distance off, and +would be a few minutes before they reached the smithy.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Further on still there were the others, at present only +appearing as scarlet dots on the Heath. Close on +the heels of the Sergeant, two or three shepherds, +with Jock Miggs in their rear, had come to see what +was happening in the forge.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>It had taken Jack Bathurst only a couple of +seconds to note all these details. Luck so far +favoured him that, for the next minute or two at +least, he would only have to deal with the Sergeant +and two soldiers.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Into it, my men! Arrest him in the name of the +King!" shouted the Sergeant, and the two soldiers, +grasping their bayonets, made a rush for the interior +of the shed, ready to surround Jack and his horse.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But quick as a lightning flash, Bathurst gave Jack +o' Lantern a slight prick in the ribs with his sword; +the nervous creature, already rendered restive by the +sudden noise, began to plunge and rear, and thus, +as his master had hoped, scattered the compact +group of assailants momentarily away from the +vicinity of his hoofs.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>This gave the young man the desired opportunity. +Nimble as a fox when hotly pursued, he stepped +back and with one bound took up a position on the +top of a solid oak table, which stood in the deep +shadow caused by the doorway, thus, for the moment, +leaving Jack o' Lantern as a barrier between himself +and his enemies.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Friend Stich," he shouted from this exalted +height, "do you stand by the ladies. Stir not from +their side whatever happens, nor interfere 'tween me +and the soldiers at your peril."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The lust of battle was upon him now. He was +satisfied with his position and longed to begin the +fight. On his left was the outside wall of the shed, +and guarding his right was the huge furnace of the +smithy, out of which the burning embers cast fitful +flickering lights upon his tall, slim figure, and drew +from his blade sparks of blood-red gold.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>He had wrapped the thick capes of his heavy cloth +coat round his left arm: the folds of it hung down to +his feet, forming a shield round the lower part of his +figure.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Already the soldiers had recovered from the short +panic caused by Jack o' Lantern's timely rearing. +One of them now seized the horse by the bridle and +led him out into the open, thus exposing Bathurst +more fully to the onslaught of their bayonets.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Jack was fully prepared for them, and as soon as +the Sergeant had given the order to attack, his steel +began to dart in and out of the gloom like some live +snake, with tongue of steel; illumined by the fitful +embers of the furnace fire, it seemed to give forth a +thousand sparks of witch-like flame with every turn +of the cunning wrist. The outline of his head and +shoulders was lost in the dense shadows above, whilst +his assailants stood in the full glare of the setting sun, +which, hot and blinding, came streaming into the shed.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Dazed by the flickering light of the furnace and +the sunset glow beyond, the soldiers made very +ineffectual plunges into the dark shadow, whence, +fencing and parrying, and with many a quip and sally, +Jack had at first an easy task in keeping them at bay.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>This was mere child's play to him; already one of +the men had an ugly gash in his cheek, and the next +moment saw the Sergeant reeling backwards, with +a well-directed thrust through his right arm.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But easy and exciting as was this brilliant +sword-play, it could not in the long run be of much +avail. Hardly had the Sergeant fallen back than +three more soldiers, also hot and furious, came +rushing in to reinforce their comrades. Bathurst had in +his day been counted the finest fencer in England, +his wrist was as fresh and strong as the steel which +he held, but the odds were beginning to accumulate +against him.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Five men in the shed, and the others could not be +very far away!</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>John Stich felt his muscles nearly cracking with +the vigorous effort to maintain his quiescent position +and not to come to the rescue of his hard-pressed +friend.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Suddenly one of the soldiers levelled his musket.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Patience saw it and gave a cry of horror. Stich, +throwing prudence to the winds, would have rushed +forward, to prevent this awful thing at any cost, +but the Sergeant, though wounded, had lost none +of his zest, and his eye had been fixed on the smith.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Keep back the smith!" he shouted, "use your +bayonets! quick!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>And as two of his men obeyed him, he himself +threw his full weight against John, and together the +three men succeeded in rendering the worthy fellow +momentarily powerless.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Captain! Captain!" he shouted desperately, +"have a care!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Of course Jack had realised his danger. The +group of his assailants stood out in every detail +before him, like a clear-cut sunlit picture. But +against the musket levelled at him he could do +nothing, it was Luck's chance to do him a good turn; +he himself was hard pressed by two men close to his +knees.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Patience felt as if her heart would cease to beat, +her impulse was to rush blindly, stupidly forward, +when suddenly a piping voice, vague and uncertain, +was heard above the click of Jack's sword.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't 'ee let 'em get 'ee, sir!" and Jock Miggs, +with trembling, yet determined hands, gave a +vigorous tug to the coat tails of the soldier, who was +even now pulling the trigger of his musket. The +latter, who had been aiming very deliberately for the +one bright patch on Jack's person caused by the red +glow of the furnace, lost his aim: there was a loud +report, and a bullet went whizzing high above +Bathurst's head, and buried itself in the woodwork +above him.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>This was the signal for a new phase of this curious +and unequal struggle. The shepherds, at first, +knowing nothing of the cause of this quarrel, had +stood open-mouthed, somewhat frightened and +awaiting events, at a short distance from the scene of +the scuffle.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But when the chestnut horse had been led out into +the open, they suddenly had an inkling as to who its +owner was. Jack o' Lantern, bearing the masked +highwayman on his back, was well known to the poor +folk on Brassing Moor.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Beau Brocade, who but yesterday had left fifty +guineas in the Brassington poor box! Beau Brocade, +the hero of the Heath! He! to be caught by a +parcel of red coats?</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Never! Jock Miggs but voiced the feeling of the +majority.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Noa! Noa!" they shouted lustily. "Don't +'ee let 'em get 'ee, sir!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Not if I can help it, friends!" rejoined Bathurst +in gay response.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>They did not resist the soldiers; not they! Your +Derbyshire yokel is too cautious an individual to +run absolutely counter to established authority, but +they saw their friend, their helper and benefactor, +in trouble and they did what they could to help him. +They got in the way, jostled the soldiers when they +dared, kept the attention of one or two occupied, +preventing a general onslaught on the oak table, on +which Bathurst, still alert, still keen, was holding his +own against such terrible odds.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"There's for you, my gallant lobster," quoth Jack, +gaily.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>He was standing far back on the table, entrenched +between the wall on one side and the furnace on +the other, and every time one of the soldiers ventured +too near, his sword would dart out of the gloom: +it seemed like a living creature of fire and steel, so +quick and bold were his feints and parries, his sudden +attacks in quarte and sixte, and all the while he kept +one eye on the open Moor, where Jack o' Lantern, +quivering with impatience, stood pawing the ground, +and sniffing the keen evening air, ready to carry his +master away, out upon the Heath, out of sight and +out of danger.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Obviously the unequal contest could not last much +longer. Jack knew that as well as any one. Already +the red dots in the far distance had drawn considerably +nearer, the next few minutes would bring this +fresh reinforcement to the wearied, exhausted +assailants.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The Sergeant too was ready to seize his best +opportunity. He still kept two men on guard over +the smith, but he soon saw that the two, who were +storming Bathurst's improvised citadel, were no +match with their clumsy bayonets against a brilliant +fencer who, moreover, had the advantage of light +and shadow, and of his elevated position.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Though he was wounded, and bleeding profusely, +he had set his heart on the capture of this mysterious +stranger, and having cast a glance on the open Moor +beyond, he saw with renewed zest two more of his +men hurrying along. With all the strength he had +left he shouted to them to come on, and then turned +to encourage the others.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Take it easy, my men! Hold out a moment +longer. We've got the rebel at last."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But Jack too had seen and understood. He was +neither tired nor hurt, but two more men against +him would inevitably prove his undoing. Already +he could hear the shouts of the soldiers hurrying in +response to their Sergeant's call. The next minute +they would be in the forge.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>A sudden change of tactics led his two assailants to +venture nearer than they had done hitherto; he drew +back into the shadows, and they, fired by the lust of +capture, under the impression that he was at last +exhausted, ventured nearer and nearer still; already +they were leaning over the edge of the table, one man +was thrusting at Bathurst's legs, when the latter, +with a rapidity that seemed quicker than a flash of +lightning, disengaged his left arm from his heavy +coat, and with both hands threw it right over the +heads of the two men. Before they had time to +release themselves from its folds, Jack, with one bound +was off the table, and the next instant he had torn +open the door of the furnace and dragged out the +huge iron poker with which the smith raked his fire, +and with a cry of triumph slung this new and +formidable weapon high over his head.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The effect of this sudden move was one of +uncontrollable panic: the red-hot metal, as he swung it +over his head, dropped a far-reaching shower of +burning sparks; soldiers and Sergeant all drew back +instinctively, and Jack, still brandishing his weapon, +reached the entrance and was out in the open before +any one dared to stop him.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>There he flung the great glowing thing in the +direction of his assailants, who even now were +rallying to the attack.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But the moment had been precious to Bathurst, +and Jack o' Lantern was a king among horses. +Without use of stirrup or rein, Jack, like the true child +of the wild Moor that he was, flung himself upon the +beautiful creature's back.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Thus Patience saw him for one brief second, +framed in the doorway of the forge, the last rays of +the setting sun forming a background of crimson and +gold for his slim, upright figure, and the brown curls +on his head.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>It was but a moment's vision, but one she would +carry enshrined in her memory through all the years +to come. His eyes, large, glowing, magnetic, met +hers in a flash, and hers, bright with unshed tears, +met his in quick response.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Soldiers!" he shouted, as he rode away, "an +you think I am a rebel lord, then after me, +quick! whilst I ride towards the sunset."</span></p> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> +</div> +<p class="center pfirst" id="the-outlaw"><span class="medium">PART II</span></p> +<p class="center pnext"><span class="large">THE HEATH</span></p> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> +</div> +<p class="center pfirst"><span class="large">CHAPTER XV</span></p> +<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">THE OUTLAW</span></p> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> +</div> +<p class="pfirst"><span>Beau Brocade drew rein on the spur of the hill. +He had galloped all the way from the forge, out +towards the sunset, then on, ever on, over gorse and +bracken, on red sandy soil and soft carpet of ling, on, +still on!</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Overhead, on the blue-green dome of the evening +sky, a giant comet, made up of myriads of tiny, +rose-tipped clouds, formed a fairy way, ever diminishing, +ever more radiant, pointing westwards to the setting +sun, where orange and crimson and blue melted in +one glorious mist of gold.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Out far away, the distant Tors glowed in the +evening light, like great barriers to some mystic +elusive land beyond.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Jack o' Lantern had responded to his master's +mood. The reins falling loosely on his neck, needing +neither guide nor spur, save the excitement of his +own mad career, he had continued his wild gallop +on the Heath, until a sudden jerk of the reins brought +him to a standstill on the very edge of a steep +declivity, with quivering flanks and sensitive nerves all +a-tremble, even as the last ruddy glow died out in the +western sky.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>One by one the myriads of rose-tipped clouds now +put on their grey cloaks of evening. From the +rain-soaked ground and dripping branches of bramble or +fern, a blue mist was rising upwards, blending deep +shadows and tender lights in one hazy monotone.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Gradually every sound died out upon the Heath, +only from afar came intermittently the mournful +booming of a solitary bittern, astray from its nest, or +now and then the sudden quaking of a tuft of grass, +a tremor amidst the young fronds of the bracken, +there, where a melancholy toad was seeking shelter +for the night.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Awesome, silent, majestic, the great Moor was at +peace. The passions, the strife, the turmoil of +mankind seemed far, very far away: further than that +twinkling star which peeped down, shy and solitary, +from across the rolling billows of boundless universe.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Beau Brocade stretched out both arms, and sighed +in an agony of longing. Fire was in his veins, a +burning thirst in his heart, for something he dared +not define.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>How empty seemed his life! how wrecked! how +hopelessly wasted!</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Yet he loved the Moor, the peace, the solitude: +he loved the sunset on the Heath and every sound of +animal life in this lonesome vastness.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But to-night!...</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>One smile from a woman's lips, a glow of pride in +her eyes, just one cluster of snow-white roses at her +breast, and all the glories of Nature in her most lavish +mood seemed tame, empty, oh! unutterably poor.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Nay! he would have bartered his very soul at +this moment to undo the past few years. To be +once more Jack Bathurst of His Majesty's regiment +of Guards, before one evening's mistake ruined the +whole of his life. A quarrel over a game of cards, a +sudden blind, unreasoning rage, a blow against his +superior officer, and this same Jack Bathurst, the +dandy about town, the gallant, enthusiastic, +promising young soldier, was degraded from his military +rank and thrown, resourceless, disgraced, banished, +upon a merciless world, that has neither pity nor +pardon for failures or mistakes.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But, quite unlike the young Earl of Stretton, +Jack Bathurst indulged in no morbid self-condemnation. +Fate and he had thrown the dice, and he had +lost. But there was too much of the untamed devil +in him, too much spirit of wild adventure, to allow +him to stoop to the thousand and one expedients, +the shifts, the humiliations which the world holds +in store for the broken-down gentleman.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Moneyless, friendless, with his career irretrievably +ruined, he yet scorned the life of the outcast or the +pariah, of that wretched fragment of humanity that +hangs on the fringe of society, envying the pleasures +it can no longer share, haunting the gambling booths +or noisy brothels of the towns, grateful for a nod, a +handshake, from some other fragment less miserable +than itself.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>No! a thousand times no!</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Jack Bathurst looked the future that was before +him squarely in the face, then chose the life of the +outlaw with a price upon his head. Aye! and forced +that life to yield to him its full measure of delights: +the rough, stormy nights on the Moor! the wild +gallops over gorse and bramble, with the keen +nor'-wester lashing his face and whipping up his blood, +and with a posse of soldiers at his heels! the +devil-may-care, mad, merry existence of the outlaw, who +cuts a purse by night, and carries his life on his +saddle-bow!</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>That he chose and more! for he chose the love of +the poor for miles around! the blessings spoken by +suffering and patient lips upon the name of the +highwayman, of Beau Brocade, who took from the rich +at risk of his life in order to give to the needy.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>And now at even, on Brassing Moor, when a lonely +shepherd caught sight of a chestnut horse bearing a +slim, masked figure on its back, or heard in the +distance a young voice, fresh as a skylark, singing +some half-sad, half-lively ditty, he would turn his +weary eyes in simple faith upwards to the stars and +murmur gently,—</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"God bless Beau Brocade!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Perhaps He had!</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The stars knew, but they did not tell!</span></p> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> +</div> +<p class="center pfirst" id="a-rencontre-on-the-heath"><span class="large">CHAPTER XVI</span></p> +<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">A RENCONTRE ON THE HEATH</span></p> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> +</div> +<p class="pfirst"><span>Master Mittachip, on his lean nag, with his clerk, +Master Duffy, on the pillion behind him, was on his +way to Brassington.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Sir Humphrey Challoner had not returned to the +Moorhen after his visit to the forge until the sun was +very low down in the west. He had bidden the +attorney to await him at the inn, and Master +Mittachip had not dared to disobey.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Yet the delay meant the crossing of the Heath +along the bridle path to Brassington, well after the +shadows of evening had lent the lonely Moor an air +of awesome desolation. There were the footpads, +and the pixies, the human and fairy midnight +marauders, who all found the steep declivities, the +clumps of gorse and bracken, the hollows and the +pits, safe resting-places by day, but who were wont to +emerge from their lair after dark for the terror and +better undoing of the unfortunate, belated traveller.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Then there was Beau Brocade!</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Master Duffy too was very timid, and clung with +trembling arms to the meagre figure of the attorney.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay! Master Duffy!" quoth Mittachip, with +affected firmness, "why do you pry about so? Are +you afraid?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay! nay! Master Mittachip," replied the clerk, +whose teeth were chattering audibly, "I am +... n ... n ... not af ... f ... f ... fraid."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Tush, man, you have me near you," rejoined +Mittachip, boldly. "See! I am armed! Look at my +pistols!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>And he leant back in the saddle, so as to give +Master Duffy a good view of a pair of huge pistols +that protruded ostentatiously from his belt.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Yet all around the air was still, the solitary Heath +was at peace, even the breezy nor'-wester, that had +blustered throughout the day, seemed to have lain +down to rest.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Far out eastwards, the moon, behind a fast dispersing +bank of clouds, was casting a silver radiance +that was not yet a light, but only a herald of the +glittering radiance to come.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The Moor was silent and at peace: only at times +there came the sound of a gentle flutter, a moorhen +perhaps within its nest, or a belated lizard seeking its +home.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Whenever these slight sounds occurred, Master +Mittachip's hands that held the reins trembled +visibly, and his clerk clung more closely to him.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"What was that?" said the attorney in an awed +whisper, as his frightened ears caught a more distinct +noise.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"W ... w ... why don't you draw your +p ... p ... pistols, Master Mittachip?" +murmured Duffy, in mad alarm.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The noise was hushed again, but to the overwrought +nerves of the two men in terror, there came +the certain, awful perception that someone was on +the Heath besides themselves, someone not far off, +whom the mist hid from their view, but who knew +that they were travelling along the bridle path, who +could see and perhaps hear them.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Truth to tell, Master Duffy," whispered the +attorney, whose teeth too had begun to chatter. +"Truth to tell, it's no use my drawing them +... they ... they are not loaded."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Master Duffy nearly fell off the pillion in his fright.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"What?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"There's neither powder nor shot in them," +continued Master Mittachip, ruefully.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Th ... th ... then we are lost!" was +Master Duffy's ejaculation of woe.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Eh?—what?" quoth Mittachip, "but your +pistols are charged."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>And his pointed elbow sought behind it for the +handles of two formidable weapons, which were +stuck in Master Duffy's belt.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"N ... n ... nay!" whispered the clerk, who +now was blue with terror. "I dared not carry the +weapons loaded.... I trusted to your valour, +Master Mittachip, to protect us."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"What was that?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Again that noise! this time a good deal nearer, +and it seemed to Master Mittachip's affrighted eyes +as if he saw something moving on the bridle path +before him. But he would not show too many signs +of fear before his own clerk.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Tush, man!" he said with as much boldness as +he could command. "'Tis only a lizard in the grass +mayhap. We'll ride on quite boldly. We can't be +far from Brassington now, and no footpads would +dare to attack two lusty fellows on horseback, with +pistols showing in their belts! ... Lord!" he +added with a shudder, "how lonely this place appears!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"And that rascal, Beau Brocade, haunts this +Heath every night, I'm told," murmured Master +Duffy, who felt more dead than alive.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Sh! sh! sh! speak not of the devil, Master +Duffy, lest he appear!..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Hark!!!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The two men now clung trembling to one another; +not ten paces from them there came the sound of a +horse's snorting, then suddenly a voice rang out +clearly through the mist-laden air,—</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Hello! who goes there!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"The Lord have mercy upon us!" whispered Mittachip.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"It must be Beau Brocade himself," echoed the clerk.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The next moment a horse and rider came into view. +Master Mittachip and his clerk were too terrified even +to look. The former had jerked the reins and brought +his lean nag to a standstill, and both men now sat +with eyes closed, teeth chattering, their very faces +distorted with fear.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Beau Brocade had reined his horse quite close to +them, and was peering through his black mask at the +two terror-stricken faces. Evidently they amused +him vastly, for he burst out laughing.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Odd's my life! here's a pretty pair of scarecrows! +... Well! I see you can stand, so now let's see +what you've got to deliver!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>At this Master Mittachip contrived to open his eyes +for a second; but the black mask, and the heavily +cloaked figure looked so ghostlike, so awful in the +mist, that he promptly closed them again, and +murmured with a shudder.—</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Mercy, oh, noble sir! We ... we are poor men!..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Poor-spirited men, you mean?" quoth Beau +Brocade, giving the trembling figure a quick, vigorous +shake. "Now then! off that nag of yours! Quick's +the word!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But even before this word of command Master +Mittachip, dragging his clerk after him, had tumbled, +quaking, off his horse. They now stood clinging to +each other, a miserable bundle of frightened humanity.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Come!" said Beau Brocade, looking down with +some amusement at the spectacle. "I'm not going +to hurt you—I never shoot at snipe! But you'll +have to turn out your pockets and sharp too, an you +want to resume your journey to-night."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>He had seized Master Duffy by the collar. The +clerk was an all too-ready prey for any highwayman, +and stooping from his saddle, Beau Brocade had +quickly extracted a leather bag from the pocket of his +coat.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Oho! guineas, as I live!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Kind sir," began Duffy, tremblingly.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, listen to me, both of you," said Beau +Brocade, trying to hide his enjoyment of the scene +under an air of great sternness. "I know who you +are. I know what work you've been doing this +afternoon. Extorting rents barely due from a few +wretched people, for your employers as hard-hearted +as yourselves."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Kind sir..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Silence! or I shoot! Besides, 'twere no use to +tell me lies. The people about here know me. They +call me Beau Brocade. I know them and their +troubles. I happened to hear, for instance, that you +extracted two guineas from the Widow Coggins, +threatening her with a process for dilapidations +unless she gave you hush money."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"'Twas not our fault, kind sir..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Then there was Mistress Haddakin, from whom +you extracted fifty shillings for a new gate, which you +don't intend to put up for her: and this, although +she has only just buried her husband, and had a +baby sick at home. You put on finer airs with the +poor people than you do with me, eh?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"'Tis not our money, sir," protested Master +Mittachip, humbly.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Some of it goes into your own pockets. Hush +money, blood money, I call it. That's what I want +from you, and then a bit over for the poor box on +behalf of your employers."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>He weighed the leather bag which he had taken +out of Master Duffy's pocket.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"This'll do for the poor box. Now I want the +five pounds you extorted from Widow Coggins and +Mistress Haddakin. The poor women'll be glad +of it on the morrow."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I haven't a penny more than that bagful, sir," +protested Master Mittachip. "My employers took +all the money from me. 'Twere their rents I was +collecting. I swear it, sir, kind sir! on my word of +honour! And I am an honest man!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Come here!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>And Beau Brocade reined his horse back a few paces.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Come here!" he repeated.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Mittachip was too frightened to disobey. He +came forward, limping very perceptibly.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Why do you walk like that?" asked Beau Brocade.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm a feeble old man and rheumatic," whined +Mittachip, despondently.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Then 'twere better to ease the load out of your +boot, friend. Sit down here and take it off."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>And he pointed to a piece of boulder projecting +through the shallow earth.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But this Master Mittachip seemed very loth to do.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Kind sir..." he protested again.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Sit down and take off the right boot!" repeated +Beau Brocade more peremptorily, and with a gay +laugh and mock threatening gesture he pointed the +muzzle of his pistol at the terror-stricken attorney.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>There was naught to do but to obey: and quickly +too. Master Mittachip cursed the rascally +highwayman under his breath, and even consigned him to +eternal damnation, before he finally handed him up +his boot.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Beau Brocade turned it over, shook it, and a bag +of jingling guineas fell at Jack o' Lantern's feet.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Give me that bag!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Sir! kind sir!" moaned Master Mittachip, as +he obediently handed up the bag of gold to his +merciless assailant. "Have pity! I am a ruined +man! 'Tis Sir Humphrey Challoner's money. I've +been collecting it for him ... and he's a hard man!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh!" said Beau Brocade, "'tis Sir Humphrey +Challoner's money, is it? Nay! you old scarecrow, +but 'tis his Honour himself sent me on the Heath +to-night. Oho!" he added, whilst his merry, +boyish laugh went echoing through the evening air, +"methinks Sir Humphrey will enjoy the joke. Do +you tell him, friend—an you see him in the morn—that +you've met Beau Brocade and that he'll do his +Honour's bidding."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>He counted some of the money out of the bag and +put it in his pocket: the remainder he handed back +to the astonished lawyer.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"There!" he said with sudden earnestness, "I'll +only make restitution to the poor whom you have +robbed. You may thank your stars that an angel +came down from heaven to-day and cast eyes of +tender pity upon me, so that I care not to rob you, +save for those in dire want. You may mount that +nag of yours now, and continue your journey to +Brassington. No turning aside, remember, and +answer me when I challenge your good-night."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Master Mittachip and his clerk had no call to be +told twice. They mounted with as much agility +as their trembling limbs would allow. Truly they +considered themselves lucky in having saved some +money out of the clutches of the rogue, and did not +care to speculate on the cause of their good fortune.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>A few minutes later their lean horse was once more +on its way, bearing its double burden. At first they +had both looked back, attracted—now that their +terror was gone—by the sight of that tall, youthful +figure on the beautiful thoroughbred standing there +on the crest of the hill and gradually growing more +and more dim in the fast-gathering mist.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The bridle path at this point dips very suddenly +and a sharp declivity leads thence, straight on to +Brassington.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Beau Brocade's sharp eyes, accustomed to the +gloom, watched horse and riders until the mist +enveloped them and hid them from his view. Then +he called loudly,—</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Good-night!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>And faintly echoing came the quaking reply,—</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Good-night!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>After that there was silence again. The outlaw +was alone upon the Heath once more, the Heath +which had been his home for so long.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>For him it had no cruelty and held no terror: the +tall gorse and bracken oft sheltered him from the +rain! Wrapped in his greatcoat, he had oft watched +the tiny lizards darting to and fro in the grass, or +listened to the melancholy cry of moorhen or +heron. The tiny rough branches of the heather +had been a warm carpet on which he had slept on +lazy afternoons.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The outlaw found a friend in great and lonely +Nature, and when he was aweary he laid his head +on her motherly breast, and like a child found rest.</span></p> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> +</div> +<p class="center pfirst" id="a-faithful-friend"><span class="large">CHAPTER XVII</span></p> +<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">A FAITHFUL FRIEND</span></p> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> +</div> +<p class="pfirst"><span>How long he stood there on the spur of the hill he +could not afterwards have told. It may have been +a few seconds, perhaps it was an eternity.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>During those few seconds or that eternity, the +world was re-created for him: for him it became +more beautiful than he had ever conceived it in his +dreams. A woman's smile had changed it into an +earthly paradise. A new and strange happiness +filled his being, and set brain and sinews on fire. +A happiness so great that his heart well nigh broke +with the burden of it, and the bitter longing for what +could never be.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The cry of a moorhen thrice repeated at intervals +roused him from his dreams.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"John Stich," he murmured, "I wonder now +what brings him out to-night!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>And with a final sigh of deep regret, a defiant toss +of the head, Beau Brocade turned Jack o' Lantern's +head northwards whence the cry had come.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>There a rough track, scarce perceptible amongst +the bracken, led straight up to the forge of John +Stich. Horse and rider knew every inch of the way, +although for the moment the fitful moon still hid her +light behind a bank of clouds, and the mist now +enveloped the Moor in a thick mantle of gloom.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Soon the sensitive ears of the highwayman, +accustomed to every sound, had perceived heavy +footsteps on the unbeaten track, and presently a +burly figure detached itself from the darkness beyond +and came rapidly forward.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Odd's my life! but it's friend John!" said +Beau Brocade, with a great show of severity. +"Zounds! but this is rank insubordination! How +dare you follow me on the Heath, you villain, and +leave your noble guest unprotected? What?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"His lordship is safe enough, Captain," said the +smith, who at sight of the young man had heaved an +obvious sigh of relief, "and I could not rest until +I'd seen you again."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Faith! you can't do that in this confounded +mist, eh, John?" quoth Bathurst, lightly. But +his fresh young voice had softened with a quaint +tenderness, whilst he looked down, smiling, at the +upturned face of his devoted friend.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Well! what about my friend, the Sergeant and +the soldiers, eh?" he added gaily.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh! the Sergeant is too sick to speak," rejoined +the smith, earnestly, "but the men vow you're a +rebel lord. Those that were fit walked down to +Brassington directly after you left: one man, who +was wounded in the arm, started for Aldwark: they've +gone to get help, Captain; either more soldiers, or +loafers from the villages who may be tempted by the +reward. They'll scour this Heath for you, from +Aldwark to the cross-roads, and from Brassington to +Wirksworth, and..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"And so much the better, friend Stich, for while +they hunt for me his lordship will be safe."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"But have a care, Captain! they're determined +men, now, for you've fooled them twice. Be gy! but +you've never been in so tight a corner before."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Pshaw!" quoth Beau Brocade, lightly, "life +is none too precious a boon for me that I should +make an effort to save it."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Captain..." murmured Stich, reproachfully.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"There, friend John," added the young man, with +that same touch of almost womanly tenderness, that +had endeared him to the heart of honest Stich, +"there! there! have no fear for me! I tell thee, +man, they'll not get me on this Heath! Think you +the furze and bracken, the heron or peewit would +betray me? Me, their friend! Not they! I am +safe enough!" he continued, while a strange ring +of excitement made his young voice quiver. "Let +them after me, and leave </span><em class="italics">her</em><span> brother in peace! +And then, John! when he is safe ... perhaps I +may see her smile once more! ... Heigh-ho! A +fool am I, friend! A fool, I tell thee! fit for the +gallows-tree outside thy forge!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>John said nothing: he could not see Jack's face +in the gloom, and did not understand his wild, mad +mood, but his faithful heart ached to hear the ring of +bitter longing in the voice of his friend.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>There was a moment's pause, whilst Bathurst +made a visible effort to control his excitement. Then +he said more calmly,—</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Here, John! take this money, friend!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>He dived in the pocket of his big caped coat and +then placed in John's hand the two bags of money +he had extracted from Master Mittachip and his clerk.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I've just got it from a blood-sucking agent of +Sir Humphrey Challoner's: 'tis money wrung from +poor people, who can ill afford it."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye! aye!" quoth John, with a sigh.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I want two guineas to go to Mistress Haddakin, +who has just lost her husband: the poor wretch is +nigh to starving. Then thirty shillings are for the +Widow Coggins, up Hartington way: those blood-suckers +took her last shilling yesterday. Wilt see to +it, friend John?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye! aye!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"The rest is for the poor box at Aldwark this +time. Perhaps there'll be more before the morn."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Captain..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Hush! don't begin to lecture, John!" said +Beau Brocade, with curious earnestness. "I tell +thee, friend, there's madness in my veins to-night. +I pray thee go back home, and leave me to myself."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't send me away, Captain," pleaded John, +"I ... I ... am uneasy, and..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Dear, kind, faithful John," murmured Bathurst. +"Zounds! but I'm an ungrateful wretch, for I vow +thou dost love me, friend."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"You know I do, Captain. I ... I ... I'd give..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay ... nothing!" interrupted Jack, quickly, +"give me nothing but that love of thine, friend +... it is more precious than life ... but I pray thee, +let me be to-night ... I swear to thee I'll do no +harm.... I'll see thee in the morn, John.... +I'll be safe ... never fear!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>John Stich sighed. He knew that further protest +was useless. Already Beau Brocade had turned +Jack o' Lantern's head once more towards the crest +of the hill. The smith waited awhile, listening +while he could to the sound of the horse's hoofs on +the rain-sodden earth. His honest heart was +devoured with anxiety both for his friend and for the +brave young lady who was journeying townwards +to-night.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Suddenly it seemed to him as if far away he could +hear the creaking of wheels on the distant Wirksworth +road. The air was so still, that presently he +could hear it quite distinctly. 'Twas her ladyship's +coach, no doubt, plying its slow, wearying way along +the quaggy road.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>It would be midway to the little town by now. +The narrow track on which John stood cut the road +at right angles, about a mile and a half away. The +smith took to blaming himself that he had kept her +ladyship's journey a secret from Beau Brocade. +The latter was a monarch on the Heath: he would +have kept footpads at bay, watched and guarded the +coach, and seen it, mayhap, safely as far as Wirksworth.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Never for a moment did the slightest fear cross the +smith's mind that the notorious highwayman would +stop Lady Patience's coach. Still, a warning would +not have come amiss. Perhaps it was not too late. +The road wound in and out a good deal, skirting +bogland or massive boulders. John hoped that on +the path he might yet come across Jack o' Lantern +and his master, before they had met the coach.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>He started to run and had covered nearly a mile when +suddenly he heard a shout, which made his honest +heart almost stop in its beating, a shout, followed +by two pistol shots in rapid succession.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The shout had rung out clear and distinct in the +fresh, lusty voice of Beau Brocade.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Stand and deliver!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>John dared not think what the pistol shots had meant.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>With elbows now pressed to his sides, he began +running at a wild gallop along the rough, unbeaten +track, towards the point whence shots and shout had come.</span></p> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> +</div> +<p class="center pfirst" id="moonlight-on-the-heath"><span class="large">CHAPTER XVIII</span></p> +<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">MOONLIGHT ON THE HEATH</span></p> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> +</div> +<p class="pfirst"><span>The jolting of the carriage along the quaggy road +had been well nigh unendurable. Mistress Betty +was groaning audibly. But Lady Patience, with her +fair head resting against the cushions, was forgetting +all bodily ailments, whilst absorbed in mental +visions that flitted, swift and ever-changing, before +her excited brain.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>There was the dear brother in peril of his life, his +young face looking wan and anxious, then Sir +Humphrey Challoner, the man she instinctively, +unreasonably dreaded, and John Stich, the faithful +retainer, brave and burly, guarding his lord's life +with his own. These faces and figures wandered +ghostlike before her eyes, and then vanished, leaving +before her mental vision but one form and face, a +pair of merry, deep-set grey eyes, that at times +looked so inexpressibly sad, a head crowned with a +mass of unruly curls, a figure, lithe and active, sitting +upon a chestnut horse and riding away towards the sunset.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>It was a pleasant picture: no wonder Patience +allowed her mind to dwell on it, and in fancy to hear +that full-toned voice either in lively song or gay +repartee, or at times with that ring of tenderness +in it, which had brought the tears of pity to her eyes.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The hours sped slowly on, the cumbrous vehicle +jostled onwards, plunging and creaking, whilst +Thomas urged the burdened horses along.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Suddenly a jerk, more vigorous than before, roused +Patience from her half-wakeful dreams. The heavy +coach had seemed to take a plunge on its side, there +was fearful creaking, and much swearing from the +driver's box, a shout or two, panting efforts on the +part of the horses, and finally the vehicle came to a +complete standstill.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Mistress Betty had started up in alarm.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Lud preserve us!" she shouted, putting a very +sleepy head out of the carriage window, "what's +the matter now, Thomas?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"We be stuck in a quagmire," muttered the latter +worthy, vainly trying to smother more forcible +language, out of respect for her ladyship's presence.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Timothy, the groom, had dismounted: lanthorn +in hand, he was examining the cause of the catastrophe.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Get the other lanthorn, Thomas!" he shouted +to the driver, "and come and give me a hand, else +we'll have to spend the night on this God-forsaken heath."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Is it serious, Timothy?" queried Lady Patience, +anxiously.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I hope not, my lady. The axle is caked with +mud on this side, and we do seem stuck in some kind +of morass, but if Thomas'll hurry himself..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The latter, with many more suppressed oaths, had +at last got down from his box, and had brought a +second lanthorn round to the back of the coach, +where Timothy had already started scraping shovelfuls +of inky mud from the axle of the off-wheel.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>It was at this moment, and when the two men +were intent upon their work, that a voice, loud and +distinct, suddenly shouted behind them,—</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Stand and deliver!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Thomas, who was of a timorous disposition, +dropped the lanthorn he held, and in his fright +knocked over the other which was on the ground. He +was a man of peace, and knew from past experience +that 'tis safer not to resist these gentlemen of the +roads.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>When therefore the highwayman's well-known +challenge rang out in the night, he threw up both +hands in order to testify to his peaceful intentions; +but Timothy, who was younger and more audacious, +drew a couple of pistols from his belt, and at all +hazards fired them off, one after the other, in the +direction whence had come the challenge. The next +moment he felt a vigorous blow on his wrists and the +pistols flew out of his hand.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Hands up or I shoot!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Thomas was already on his knees. Timothy, thus +disarmed, thought it more prudent to follow suit.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>From within the coach could be heard Mistress +Betty's shrill and terrified voice,—</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay! nay! your ladyship shall not go!" +followed by her ladyship's peremptory command,—</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Silence, child! Let me go! Stay you within +an you are afraid!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>There was a moment's silence, for at sound of her +voice Beau Brocade had started, then he leaned +forward on his horse, listening with all his might, +wondering if indeed his ears had not misled him, +if 'twas not a dream-voice that came to him out of +the gloom.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Have I the honour of addressing Lady Rounce?" +he murmured mechanically.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>At this moment the darkness, which up to now had +been intense, began slowly to give place to a faint, +silvery light. The moon, pale and hazy, tried to +pierce the mist that still enveloped her as with a cold, +blue mantle, and one by one tipped blackthorn and +gorse with a cluster of shimmering diamonds.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Like a ghostly panorama the heath revealed its +thousand beauties, its many mysteries: the deep, +dark tangle of bramble and ling, beneath which hide +the gnomes and ghouls, the tiny blue cups of the +harebells, wherein the pixies have their home; the +fairy rings in the grass, where the sprites dance their +wild saraband on nights such as this, with the crickets +to play the tunes, and the glow-worms to light them +in their revels.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But to Beau Brocade the dim radiance of the moon, +shy and golden through her veil of mist, only revealed +one great, one wonderful picture: that of his dream +made real, of his heavenly vision come down to earth, +the picture of </span><em class="italics">her</em><span> stepping out of the coach that she +might speak to him.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>She came forward quickly, and the hood flew back +from her face. She was looking at him with a +half-puzzled, half-haughty expression in her eyes, and +Beau Brocade thought he had never seen eyes that +were so deeply blue. He murmured her name,—</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"The Lady Patience!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, sir, since you know my name," she said, +with a quaint, almost defiant toss of her small, +graceful head. "I pray you, whoever you may be, to let +me depart in peace. See," she added, holding a +heavy purse out to him, "I have brought you what +money I have. Will you take it and let me go?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But he dared not speak. He longed to turn Jack +o' Lantern's head and to gallop away quickly out of +her sight, before she had recognised him and learnt +that the man on whom she had looked with such +tender pity, and with such glowing admiration, was +the highway robber, the outlaw, the notorious thief. +Yet so potent was the spell of her voice, the moist +shimmer of her lips, the depth and glitter of her blue +eyes, that he felt as if iron fetters held him fast to the +ground, there enchained before her, until at least she +should speak again.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>He dismounted and she stepped a little closer to +him, so close now that, had he stretched out his hand, +he might have touched her cloak, or even those white +finger-tips which...</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Believe me, sir," she said a little impatiently, +seeing that he did not speak, "I give you all I have +freely an you molest me no more. I have urgent, +very urgent business in London, which brooks of no +delay. Kindly allow my men to go free."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>She was pleading now, all the haughtiness vanished +from her face. Her voice, too, shook perceptibly; +the tall, silent figure before her was beginning to +frighten her.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Yet he dared not trust himself to speak, lest by a +word he should dispel this dream. This golden +vision of paradise that heaven had so unaccountably +sent to him this night! it might vanish again amidst +the stars and leave the poor outlaw to his loneliness.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>This moment was so precious, so wonderful.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Madly he longed for the god-like power to stop +Time in its relentless way, to make sun, moon and +stars, the earth and all eternity pause awhile, whilst +he looked upon her, as she stood there, with the +pleading look in her eyes, the honey-coloured moon above +throwing a dim and flickering light upon her +upturned face ... her golden hair ... that tiny +hand stretched out to him.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>She seemed to wait for his reply, and at last in a +low voice, which he tried to disguise, he murmured,—</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Madam, I entreat you, have no fear! Believe +me, I would sooner never see the sun set again than +cause you even one short moment's anxiety."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Again that quaint puzzled look came into her eyes, +she looked at the black mask that hid his face, as if +she would penetrate the secret which it kept.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Will you not take this purse?" she asked.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay! I will not take the purse, fair lady," he +said, still speaking very low, "but I would fain, an +you would permit it, hold but for one instant your +hand in mine. Will you not let me?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The impulse was irresistible, the desire to hold her +hand so strong that he had no power to combat it. +She seemed puzzled and not a little frightened, but +neither haughty nor resentful at his presumption: +perhaps she felt the influence of the mystery which +surrounded the dark, cloaked figure before her, or +the more subtle spell of the mist-covered moon. She +made no movement towards him, her hand which he +craved to hold had dropped to her side.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>There was magic in the vast stillness of the Moor; +on each dew-tipped point of grey-green gorse, from +every frond of emerald bracken, there glistened a tiny +crystal. Timothy and Thomas had retreated to a +safer position, out of sight behind the huge vehicle, +and inside the coach Betty was cowering in terror. +They stood alone, these two, away from all the world, +in a land all their own, a land of dreams, of poetry, +and romance, where men died for a look from +women's eyes, and conquered the universe for a smile.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>How silent was the Heath while he looked at her, +and she returned his gaze half-trembling, wholly +puzzled.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Will you not let me?" he pleaded. And +instinctively his voice trembled in the pleading, and +there came back to her mind the memory of this +same voice, young and tender, as she had heard it in +the forge. But she would not let him know that she +had guessed.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Sir," she said with sudden, unaccountable +shyness, "you have overpowered my men, they are but +loutish cowards, and you are heavily armed. I am +a defenceless woman.... How can I refuse if you +command?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>He took the pistols from his belt and laid them on +the ground at her feet.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, fair lady!" he said, "there is no question +of command. See! I am unarmed now, and your +men are free. Give them the word and I'll not stir +hand or foot till you have worked your will with me. +You see, 'tis I am at your mercy ... yet I still +crave to hold your hand ... for one moment +... in mine..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>For one second more she hesitated: not because +she was afraid, but because there was a subtle +sweetness in this moment of suspense, a delicious feeling +of expectancy for the joy that was to come.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Then she gave him her hand.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Why! ... how it trembles," he said, "like +some tiny frightened bird. See how white it looks +in my rough brown hand. You are not afraid?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Afraid? ... oh, no! ... but ... but the +hour is late ... I pray you let me depart ... I +must not tarry ... for so much depends upon my +journey.... I pray you let me go."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no! don't go," he pleaded, clinging to the +little hand whose cool touch had made his very +senses reel, "don't go ... not just yet.... See +how glorious is the moon above those distant hills +... and the mist-laden air which makes your hair +glisten with a thousand diamonds, whilst I, poor fool, +holding your cool, white hand in mine, stand here +gazing on a vision that whispers to me of things +which can never, never be.... No! no, don't go +just yet ... let the moon hide her light once more +behind the mist ... let the Heath sink into +darkness ... let me live in my dream one moment +longer ... it will be dispelled all too soon."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>He had spoken so low, she scarce could hear, but +she could feel his hand scorching hers with its +fever-heat, and when he ceased speaking she heard a sigh, +like a sob, a sigh of bitter longing, of hopeless regret, +that made her heart ache with a new pain which was +greater, more holy than pity.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>A strange excitement seemed to pervade him. +Madness was in his veins. He longed to seize her, +to lift her up on Jack o' Lantern's back and gallop +away with her over the Moor, far, far out beyond +bracken and heather, over those distant Tors, on, +on to the mountains of the moon, to the valley of the +shadows, she lying passive in his arms, whilst he +looked for ever into the clear blue depths of her eyes. +Perhaps she too felt this excitement gradually +creeping over her; she tried to withdraw her hand, +but he would not let it go. To her also there came +the sense of unreality, of a vision of dreamland, +wherein no one dwelt but she and this one man, +where no sound came save that of his voice, rugged +and tender, which brought tears of joy and pity to +her eyes.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>In the grass at her feet a cricket began to chirp, +and suddenly from a little distance there came the +quaint, sweet sound of a shepherd's pipe, playing an +old-time rigadoon.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Hark!" she whispered.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The sound came nearer and nearer: she loved to +hear the faint, elusive echo, the fairy accompaniment +to her own dreamlike mood.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"What a sweet tune," she murmured, as instinctively +her foot began tapping the measure on the +ground. "I mind it well! How oft have I danced +to it beneath the Maypole!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Will you then dance it with me to-night?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, sir ... you do but jest..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But his excitement was at fever-point now. The +outlaw at least could work his will upon this Heath, +of which he alone was king. He could not carry her +away on Jack o' Lantern's back, but he could make +her stay with him a while longer, dance with him, +here in the moonlight, her hand in his, his arm at +times round her waist in the mazes of the dance, her +cheeks flushed, her eyes bright, her breath panting, +aye! for she should feel too that reckless fire that +scorched him. All the fierce, untamed blood in him +ran like molten lava in his veins. Aye! for one more +brief half-hour he—the lonely dweller on the Moor—the +pariah, the outcast, would taste the joys of the gods.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I was never more earnest in my life!" he +vowed, with that gay, mad, merry laugh of his, +"a dance with you here in the moonlight! Aye! a +dance in the midst of my dreams!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"But indeed, indeed, sir," she pleaded, "the hour +is late and my business in London is very urgent."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, ten minutes for this dance will not much +delay your journey, and I swear by your sweet eyes +that after that you shall go unmolested."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"But if I refuse?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"An you refuse," he said, bending the knee before +her, and bowing humbly at her feet, "I will entreat +you on my knees..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"And if I still refuse?" she murmured.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Then will I uproot the trees, break the carriage +that bears you away, tear up the Heath and murder +yon knaves! God in heaven only knows what I +would </span><em class="italics">not</em><span> do an you refuse."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no, sir, I pray you..." she said, alarmed +at his vehemence, puzzled, fascinated, carried away +by his wild, reckless mood and the potent spell of +the witching moon. "Nay! how can I refuse? +... I am in your power ... and must do as you bid +me.... An you really wish for a dance..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>She allowed him to lead her away to a short distance +off the beaten track, there, where a carpet of ling and +grass, and walls of bramble and gorse formed a +ball-room fit for gods and goddesses to dance in. At the +further end of this clearing the quaint, shrivelled +figure of Jock Miggs, the shepherd, had just come +into view. At a little distance to the left, and close +to the roadside, there was a small wooden shed, and +beyond it a pen, used by the shepherds as a shelter on +rough nights when tending their sheep on the Heath.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>For the moment the pen was empty, and Jock +Miggs was evidently making his way to the hut for +a few hours' sleep, and had been playing his pipe for +the sake of company.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye! a dance here!" said Beau Brocade, "with +the moon and stars to light us, a shepherd to play +the tune, and the sprites that haunt the Heath for +company! What ho! there! friend shepherd!" he +shouted to Miggs.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The worthy Jock caught sight of the two figures +standing in the centre of the clearing, not twenty +paces away from him.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Lud have mercy upon me!" he gasped. +"Robbery! Violence! Murder!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, friend! only merry-making," quoth Beau +Brocade, gaily. "We want to dance upon this +Heath, and you to play the tune for us."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Eh? what?" muttered the shepherd, in his +vague, apologetic way, "dancing at this hour o' the +night?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"And me to play for a parcel of mad folk?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Well said, honest shepherd! Let us all be mad +to-night! but you shall play for us, and here!—here +is the wherewithal to set your pipe in tune."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>He threw a heavy purse across to Miggs, who, still +muttering something about lunatics on the Heath, +slowly stooped and picked it up.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Guineas!" he muttered, weighing it in his hand, +"guineas, as I live! Guineas for playing a dance +tune. Nay, sir, you're mad, sure enough."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Wilt play the tune, shepherd?" shouted Beau +Brocade in wild impatience.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Jock Miggs shook his head with a determined air.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay! your madness is nought to me. You've +paid for a tune, and you shall have the tune. But, +Lordy! Lordy! these be 'mazing times."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>He settled himself down on a clump of grass-covered +earth, and stolidly began piping the same +old-time rigadoon. These were a pair of lunatics, for +sure, but since the gentleman had paid for this +extraordinary pleasure, 'twas not for a poor shepherd +to refuse to earn a few honest guineas.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Beau Brocade bowed to his lady with all the +courtly grace of a town gallant.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Madam! your most humble, and most obedient servant."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>As in a dream Patience began to tread the measure. +It was all so strange, so unreal! surely this was a +dream, and she would wake anon.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>She turned and twisted in the mazes of the dance, +gradually the intoxication of it all had reached her +brain; she seemed to see round her in the grass pixie +faces gazing curiously upon her. All the harebells +seemed to tinkle, the shepherd's pipe sounded like +fairy bells. Through the holes in the black mask +she could see a pair of burning eyes watching her as +if entranced.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>She felt like a creature of some other world, a +witch mayhap, dancing a wild saraband with this +man, her lord and master, a mad, merry sprite who +had arranged this moonlight Sabbath.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Her cheeks began to glow, her eyes were sparkling +with the joy of this dance. Her breath came panting +through her parted lips.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Aye! mad were they both! what else? Their +madness was the intoxication which man alone can +feel when his joy equals that of the gods! Quicker, +shepherd! quicker! let thy pipe wake all the fairy +echoes of this mystic, ghostlike Moor! Let all the +ghouls and gnomes come running hither, let the stars +pale with envy, let fairies and sprites clap their hands +for joy, since one man in all this world was happier +than all the spirits in heaven!</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>How long it lasted neither of them could tell. +The honey-coloured moon lighted them all the while, +the blue mist wrapped them as in a mystic veil. +Still they danced on; at times she almost lay in his +arms, hot, panting, yet never weary, then she would +slip away, and with eyes aglow, cheeks in rosy flame, +beckon to him, evade, advance, then once more put +her hand in his and madden him with the touch.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Oh! that heaven-born hour! why did it ever cease?</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>A wild shriek, twice repeated, brought them both +to a standstill.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>She, with heart beating, and hand pressed to her +panting bosom, was unable to stir. Whilst the +excitement kept her up she had danced, but now, +with that piercing shriek, the dream had vanished +and she was back on earth once more.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"What was that?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Thomas and Timothy, attracted by the strange +spectacle, had gradually crept up to the clearing, and +through a clump of gorse and bracken had been +watching the weird, midnight dance. On the +further side, and close to Jock Miggs, John Stich had +been standing in the shadow of a thorn bush. He +had been running all the way, ever since he heard the +two pistol-shots. Amazed at the strange sight that +met his honest eyes, he had not dared to interfere. +Perhaps his honest faithful heart felt with, even if +it did not altogether comprehend, the wayward, +half-crazy mood of his friend.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Betty alone, terrified and not a little sulky, had +remained in the coach. It was her shriek that +roused the spectators and performers of this +phantasy on the Heath.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"My lady! my lady!" screamed Betty once +more at the top of her voice.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Then, all of a sudden, Patience understood. +Fairyland had indeed vanished. The awful reality +came upon her with appalling cruelty.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"My letters!" she gasped, and started running +towards the coach.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But already Jack Bathurst had bounded across +the clearing, closely followed by John Stich. +Patience's cry of mad, terror-stricken appeal had +gone straight to his brain, and dissipated in the +fraction of a second the reckless excitement of the +past hour.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The wild creature of one moment's wayward mood +was in that same fraction of time re-transformed into +the cool and daring dweller of the Moor, on whose +head the law had set a price, and who in revenge had +made every law his slave.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>His keen, quick eye had already sighted the smith.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"After me, John!" he commanded, "and run +for your life."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>When the two men had fought their way through +the clumps of gorse and bracken which screened the +clearing from the road, they were just in time to see +a man quickly mounting a dark brown horse, which +stood some twenty yards in front of the coach.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The carriage door nearest to them was open, and +poor Mistress Betty lay on the ground close beside +it, still screaming at the top of her voice.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>With one bound Beau Brocade had reached Jack +o' Lantern, who, accustomed to his unfettered life +on the Heath, had quietly roamed about at will, +patiently waiting for his master's call. The young +man was unarmed, since he had placed his pistols +awhile ago at Patience's feet, but Jack o' Lantern +was swift-footed as the deer, and would overtake any +strange horseman easily.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Beau Brocade's hand was on his horse's bridle +and there were barely a few yards between him and +the mysterious horseman, who was preparing to +gallop away, when the latter turned, and suddenly +pointing a pistol at his pursuer, fired two shots in +rapid succession.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The young man did not stop at once. He clutched +Jack o' Lantern's bridle and tried to mount, but he +staggered and almost fell.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"After him, John," he cried in a hoarse voice, as, +staggering once more, he fell upon one knee. "After +him! quick! take Jack o' Lantern, don't mind me!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>John had no need to be told twice. He seized the +horse's bridle and swung himself into the saddle as +quickly as he could.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But these few seconds had given the horseman a +sufficient start. Although the moon was bright the +mist was thick, and the bracken and thorn bushes +very dense on the other side of the road. Already +he had disappeared from view, and John's ears and +eyes were not so keen as those of Beau Brocade, the +highwayman, the wounded monarch of the Heath.</span></p> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> +</div> +<p class="center pfirst" id="his-oath"><span class="large">CHAPTER XIX</span></p> +<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">HIS OATH</span></p> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> +</div> +<p class="pfirst"><span>Patience's first thought as soon as she reached the +road was for Betty; she helped the poor girl to her +feet and tried to get some coherent explanation from her.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I was listening to the tune, my lady, and leaning +my head out of the window," moaned Mistress Betty, +who was more frightened than hurt, "when suddenly +the carriage door was torn open, I was dragged out +and left screaming on the ground.... That's all +I know."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But one glance at the interior of the coach had +revealed the whole awful truth. It had been +ransacked, and the receptacle beneath the cushions, +where had lain the all-important letters, was now +obviously empty.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"The letters! oh, the letters!" moaned Patience +in an agony of misery and remorse. "Philip, my +dear, dear one, you entrusted your precious life in my +hands, and I have proved unworthy of the trust."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Her spirit wholly broken by the agony of this +cruel thought, she cowered on the step of the carriage, +her head buried in her hands, in a passion of +heart-broken tears.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"My lady..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>She looked down, and by the dim light of the moon +she saw a figure on its knees, dragging itself with a +visibly painful effort slowly towards her.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>In a moment she was on her feet, tall, haughty, +a world of scorn in her eyes; she looked down with +horror at the prostrate figure before her.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, sir," she said with icy contempt, "an you +have a spark of honour left in you, take off that mask, +let me at least see who you are."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The agony of shame was more than she could bear. +She who had deemed herself so proud, so strong, that +she should have been thus fooled, duped, tricked, and +by this man! this thief! this low class robber who +had dared to touch her hand! All the pride of race +and caste rose in revolt within her. Who was he +that he should dare to have spoken to her as he did? +Her cheeks glowed with shame at the memory of that +voice which she had loved to hear, the tender accent +in it, and oh! she had been his plaything, his tool, +for this infamous trick which had placed her dear, +dear brother's life in peril worse than before.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Meekly he had obeyed her, his own proud spirit +bent before her grief. His face—ashy pale now and +drawn with pain and weakness—looked up in mute +appeal for forgiveness.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"A poor wretch," he murmured feebly, "whose +mad and foolish whim..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But she turned from him in bitter loathing, +drawing herself up to her full height, trying by every +means in her power to show the contempt which she +felt for him. So absorbed was she in her grief and +humiliation, in her agony of remorse for her broken +trust, that she did not realise that he was hurt, and +fainting with loss of blood.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"You ... you..." she murmured with horror +and contempt. "Nay! I pray you do not speak to +me.... You ... you have duped and tricked +me, and I ... I ... Oh!" she added with a +wealth of bitter reproach, "what wrong had I or my +dear brother done to you that you should wish to do +him so much harm? What price had his enemies set +upon his head that you should </span><em class="italics">sell</em><span> it to them?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>He tried to interrupt her, for her words hurt him +ten thousand times more than the wound in his +shoulder: with almost superhuman effort he dragged +himself to his feet, clinging to the bracken to hold +himself upright. He would not let her see how she +made him suffer. She! his beautiful white rose, +whom unwittingly he had, it seemed, so grievously +wronged. Her mind was distraught, she did not +understand, and oh! it was impossible that she </span><em class="italics">could</em><span> +realise the cruelty of her words, more hard to endure +than any torture the fiendish brain of man could +devise.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I'd have given you gold," she continued, whilst +heavy sobs choked the voice in her throat, "if 'twas +gold you wanted.... Here is the purse you did not +take just now! Two hundred guineas for you, sir, +an you bring me back those letters!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>And with a last gesture of infinite scorn she threw +the purse on the ground before him.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>A cry escaped him then: the terrible, heart-rending +cry of the wild beast wounded unto death. +But it was momentary; that great love he bore her +helped him to understand. Love is never +selfish—always kind. Love </span><em class="italics">always</em><span> understands.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>He could scarcely speak now, and the seconds were +very precious, but with infinite gentleness he +contrived to murmur faintly,—</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Madam! I swear by those sweet lips of yours now +turned in anger against me that you do me grievous +wrong. My fault, alas! is great! I cannot deny it, +since in this short, mad hour of the dance my eyes +were blind and mine ears deaf to all save to your own +dear presence."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye! 'twas a clever trick," she retorted, lashing +herself to scorn, wilfully deaf to the charm of that +faint voice, turning away from the tender appeal of +his eyes: "a trick from beginning to end! Your +chivalry at the forge! your </span><em class="italics">rôle</em><span> of gallant gentleman +of the road! the while you plotted with a boon +companion to rob me of the very letters that would have +saved my brother's life."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Letters? ... that would have saved your +brother's life? ... What letters?..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, sir! I pray you fool me no further. Heaven +only knows how you learnt our secret, for I'll vouch +that John Stich was no traitor. Those letters were +stolen, sir, by your accomplice, whilst you tricked me +into this dance."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>He pulled himself together with a vigorous effort +of will, forcing himself to speak quietly and firmly, +conquering the faintness and dizziness which was +rapidly overpowering him.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Madam!" he said gently, "dare I hope that you +will believe me when I say that I know naught of +those letters? ... John Stich, as you know, is +loyal and true ... not even to me would he have +revealed your secret ... nay, more! ... it seems +that I too have been tricked to further a villain's +ends. Will you not try and believe that had I +known what those letters were I would have guarded +them, for your sweet sake, with my last dying +breath?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>She did not reply: for the moment she could not, +for her tears choked her, and there was the magic of +that voice which she could not resist. Still she +would not look at him.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Sir!" she said a little more calmly, "Heaven +has given you a gentle voice, and the power of tender +words, with which to cajole women. I would wish +to believe you, but..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>She was interrupted by the sound of voices, those +of Thomas and Timothy, her men, who had kept a +lookout for John Stich. The next moment the +smith himself, breathless and panting, came into +view. He had ridden hard, for Jack o' Lantern's +flanks were dripping with sweat, but there was a +look of grave disappointment on the honest man's face.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Well?" queried Beau Brocade, excitedly, as +soon as John had dismounted.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm feared that I've lost the scoundrel's track," +muttered John, ruefully.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"No?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"At first I was in hot pursuit, he galloping towards +Brassington; suddenly he seemed to draw rein, and +the next moment a riderless horse came tearing past +me, and then disappeared in the direction of Aldwark."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"A riderless horse?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye! I thought at first that maybe he'd been +thrown; I scoured the Heath for half a mile around, +but ... the mist was so thick in the hollow, and +there was not a sound.... I'd have needed a +blood-hound to track the rascal down."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>An exclamation of intense disappointment escaped +from the lips of Lady Patience and of Beau +Brocade.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you know who it was, John?" queried the latter.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"No doubt of that, Captain. It was Sir Humphrey +Challoner right enough."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Sir Humphrey Challoner!" cried Patience, in +accents of hopeless despair, "the man who covets +my fortune now holds my brother's life in the hollow +of his hand."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Excitedly, defiantly, she once more turned to +Beau Brocade.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, sir," she said, "an you wish me to believe +that you had no part in this villainy, get those letters +back for me from Sir Humphrey Challoner!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>He drew himself up to his full height, his pride at +least was equal to her own.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Madam! I swear to you..." he began. He +staggered and would have fallen, but faithful Stich +was nigh, and caught him in his arms.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"You are hurt, Captain?" he whispered, a world +of anxiety in his kindly eyes.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay! nay!" murmured Beau Brocade, faintly, +"'tis nothing! ... help me up, John! ... I have +something to say ... and must say it ... standing!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But Nature at last would have her will with him, +the wild, brave spirit that had kept him up all this +while was like to break at last. He fell back dizzy +and faint against faithful John's stout breast.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Then only did she understand and realise. She +saw his young face, once so merry and boyish, now +pale with a hue almost of death; she saw his once +laughing eyes now dimmed with the keenness of his +suffering. Her woman's heart went out to him, she +loathed herself for her cruelty, her heart, +overburdened with grief, nearly broke at the thought of +what she had done.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"You are hurt, sir," she said, as she bent over +him, her eyes swimming in tears, "and I ... I +knew it not."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The spell of her voice brought his wandering spirit +back to earth and to her.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye, hurt, sweet dream!" he murmured feebly, +"deeply wounded by those dear lips, which spoke +such cruel words; but for the rest 'tis naught. See!" +he added, trying to raise himself and stretching a +yearning hand towards her, "the moon has hid her +face behind that veil of mist ... and I can no +longer see the glory of your hair! ... my eyes are +dim, or is it that the Heath is dark? ... I would +fain see your blue eyes once again.... By the +tender memory of my dream born this autumn +afternoon, I swear, sweet lady, that your brother's +life shall be safe! ... Whilst I have one drop of +blood left in my veins, I will protect him."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>With trembling hand he sought the white rose +which still lay close to her breast: she allowed him to +take it, and he pressed it to his lips.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Then, with a final effort he drew himself up once +more, and said loudly and clearly,—</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"By this dear token I swear that I will get those +letters back for you before the sun has risen twice +o'er our green-clad hills."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Sir ... I..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Tell me but once that you believe me ... and +I will have the strength that moves the +mountains."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I believe you, sir," she said simply. "I believe +you absolutely."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Then place your dear hand in mine," he whispered, +"and trust in me."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>And the last thought of which he was conscious +was of her cool, white fingers grasping his fevered +hand. Then the poor aching head fell back on John's +shoulder, the burning eyes were closed, kindly Nature +had taken the outlaw to her breast and spread her +beneficent mantle of oblivion over his weary senses +at last.</span></p> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> +</div> +<p class="center pfirst" id="a-thrilling-narrative"><span class="medium">PART III</span></p> +<p class="center pnext"><span class="large">BRASSINGTON</span></p> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> +</div> +<p class="center pfirst"><span class="large">CHAPTER XX</span></p> +<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">A THRILLING NARRATIVE</span></p> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> +</div> +<p class="pfirst"><span>Mr Inch, beadle of the parish of Brassington, was +altogether in his element.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Dressed in his gold-laced coat, bob-tail wig and +three-cornered hat, his fine calves encased in the +whitest of cotton stockings, his buckled shoes +veritable mirrors of shiny brilliancy, he was standing, +wand of office in hand, outside the door of the tiny +Court House, where Colonel West, Squire of Brassington, +was sitting in judgment on the poachers and +footpads of the neighbourhood.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Before Mr Inch stood no less a person than Master +Mittachip, attorney-at-law. Master Mittachip +desired to speak with Squire West, and the pompous +beadle was in the proud position of standing between +this presumptuous desire and the supreme Majesty +of the Law.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Them's my orders, sir," he said, with all the +solemnity which this extraordinary event demanded. +"Them's my orders. Squire West's own orders. +'Inch,' he says to me—my name being Jeremiah +Inch, sir—'Inch,' he says, 'the odours which +perambulate the court-room'—and mind ye, sir, he +didn't use such polite language either—'the odours +is more than I can endurate this hot morning!' As +a matter of fact, sir, truth compellates me to state +that Squire West's own words were: 'Inch, this +room stinks like hell! too many sweating yokels +about!' Then he gave me his orders: 'The room +is too full as it is, don't admit anyone else, on any +pretext or cause whatsoever.'"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Master Mittachip had made various misguided +efforts to interrupt Mr Inch's wonderful flow of +eloquence. It was only when the worthy beadle +paused to take breath, that the attorney got in a +word edgewise.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Harkee, my good man..." he began impatiently.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I am extra-ordinarily grieved, sir," interrupted +Master Inch, who had not nearly finished, "taking +into consideration that I am somewhat dubersome, +whether what his Honour said about the odours could +apply individually to you, but orders is orders, sir, and +the Squire as a legal luminosity must be obeyed in all +things."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Mr Inch heaved a deep sigh of satisfaction. It was +not often that he had the opportunity of showing off +his marvellous eloquence and wonderful flow of +language before so distinguished a gentleman as +Master Mittachip, attorney-at-law. But the latter +seemed not to appreciate the elegance of the worthy +beadle's diction; on the contrary, he had throughout +shown signs of the greatest impatience, and now, +directly Mr Inch heaved this one sigh, Master Mittachip +produced a silver half-crown, and toying with it, +in apparent indifference, said significantly,—</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I am sure, friend Beadle, that if you were to +acquaint Squire West that his Honour, Sir Humphrey +Challoner, desired to speak with him..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Mr Inch stroked his fat, clean-shaven chin, and +eyed the silver half-crown with an anxious air.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah! perhaps!" he suggested with as much +dignity as the new circumstance allowed, "perhaps +if I did so far contravene my orders..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I feel sure that Sir Humphrey would see fit to +reward you," suggested the attorney, still idly +fingering that tempting half-crown.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But Master Inch was still "dubersome."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"But then, you understand," he said, "it is +against the regulations that I should vacuate my +post until after the sitting is over ... so..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Sir Humphrey Challoner is partaking of breakfast +at the Royal George, Master Inch, he would +wish Squire West to know that he'll attend on him +here in half an hour."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Master Inch closed one eye, and with the other +keenly watched Master Mittachip's movements. +The attorney turned the half-crown over in his lean +hand once or twice, then he made as if he would put +it back in his pocket.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>This decided the beadle.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll go and reconnoitre-ate," he said, "and +perhaps I can despatch a menial to impart to the +Squire, Sir Humphrey's wishes and cognomen."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Thus the majestic beadle felt that his dignity had +not been impaired. With a magnificent turn of +his portly person, and an imposing flourish of his +wand of office, he disappeared within the precincts +of the Court.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Master Mittachip slipped the half-crown back in +his pocket, and did not wait for the beadle's return. +He was quite satisfied that Sir Humphrey's wishes +would be acceded to. He turned his back on the +Court House and slowly crossed the green.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Opposite to him was the Royal George, where he +and Master Duffy had put up for the night. In the +small hours of the morning he had been aroused from +peaceful slumbers by a great disturbance at the inn. +Sir Humphrey Challoner, booted and spurred, but +alone, on foot, and covered with mud, was +peremptorily demanding admittance.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Since then Master Mittachip had had an interview +with his employer, wherein his Honour had expressed +the desire to speak with Squire West after he, himself, +had partaken of late breakfast. That interview had +been a very brief one, but it had sufficed to show to +the lean attorney that Sir Humphrey's temper was +none of the best this morning.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>His Honour had desired Master Mittachip's presence +again, and the latter was now making his way slowly +back to the Royal George, his knees quaking under +him, his throat dry, and his tongue parched with +terror. Sir Humphrey Challoner was not pleasant +to deal with when his temper was up.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The attorney found his Honour installed at breakfast +in the private parlour of the inn, and consuming +large mugs full of ale and several rashers of fried bacon.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Well?" queried Sir Humphrey, impatiently, +as soon as the attorney's lean, bird-like face appeared +in the doorway.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I sent word to his Honour, Squire West," +explained the latter, coming forward timidly, "saying +that you would wish to see him at the Court House in +half an hour. And, unless your Honour would wish +me to speak to the Squire for you..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"No!" rejoined his Honour, curtly. "'Sdeath! don't +stand there fidgeting before me," he added. +"Sit down!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Master Mittachip meekly obeyed. He selected +the straightest chair in the room, placed it as far +away from his Honour as he could, and sat down on +the extreme edge of it.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Well! you lean-faced coward," began his Honour, +whose temper did not seem to have improved after +his substantial breakfast, "you allowed yourself to +be robbed of my money last night, eh?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Thus much Sir Humphrey knew already, for his +first inquiry on meeting Mittachip at the inn had been +after his rents. Since then the attorney had had +half an hour in which to reflect on what he would say +when his Honour once more broached the subject. +Therefore he began to protest with a certain degree +of assurance.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"On my honour, Sir Humphrey, you misjudge +me," he said deliberately. "As my clerk and I +passed the loneliest spot on the Heath, and without +any previous warning, two masked men leapt into +the path in front of us, and presented pistols. A +third man called to us to stand."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Here Master Mittachip made an effective pause, +the better to watch the impression which his narrative +was making on his employer. The latter was quietly +picking his teeth, and merely remarked quietly,—</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Well? and what did you do?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Thus encouraged Mittachip waxed more bold.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"In a flash I drew a pistol," he continued glibly, +"and so did Duffy ... for I must say he bore +himself bravely. We both fired and my ball knocked +the hat off the fellow nearest to me, but Master +Duffy's ball unfortunately missed. I was drawing +my other pistol, determined to make a desperate +fight, and I believe Duffy did as much.... I was +amazed that the fellows did not fire upon us in +return..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>He was distinctly warming up to his subject. +But here he was interrupted by a loud guffaw. Sir +Humphrey was evidently vastly amused at the +thrilling tale, and his boisterous laugh went echoing +along the blackened rafter of the old village inn.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Odd's my life! 'tis perfect! marvellous, I call +it! And tell me, Master Mittachip," added his +Honour, whose eyes were streaming and whose sides +were shaking with laughter, "tell me, why did they +not fire? Eh?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>From past experience Master Mittachip should +have known that when Sir Humphrey Challoner +laughed his loudest, then was he mostly to be dreaded. +Yet in this instance the attorney's delight at his own +realistic story drowned the wiser counsels of prudence. +He took his Honour's hilarity as a compliment to his +own valour, and continued proudly,—</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"The reason was not far to seek, for at that very +moment we were both seized upon from behind by +two big fellows. Then all five of them fell upon us +and dragged us aside into the darkness; they tied +scarves about our mouths, so that we could not cry +out.... Aye! and had some difficulty in doing +it, for believe me, Sir Humphrey, I fought like mad! +Then they rifled us of everything ... despoiled us +absolutely..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>At this point it struck Master Mittachip that his +Honour's continued gaiety was somewhat out of +place. The narrative had become thrilling surely, +exciting and blood-curdling too, and yet Sir +Humphrey was laughing more lustily than ever.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Go on, man! go on," he gasped between his +paroxysms of merriment. "Odd's fish! but 'tis +the best story I've heard for many a day!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I will swear to the truth o' it in any court of law," +protested the attorney with somewhat less assurance. +"The fifth man was Beau Brocade. I heard the others +address him so, while I was lying gagged and bound."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye! you would </span><em class="italics">lie</em><span> anywhere," commented his +Honour, "gagged and bound or not."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"From your observation, Sir Humphrey, I gather +that you somewhat ... er ... doubt my story!" +murmured Master Mittachip in a quavering voice.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Doubt it, man? ... doubt it?" laughed his +Honour, holding his sides, "nay! how can I doubt it? +I saw it all..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"You, Sir Humphrey?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I was there, man, on the Heath. I saw it all +... your vigorous defence, your noble valour, your +... your..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Master Mittachip's sallow face had assumed a +parchment-like hue. He passed his dry tongue over +his parched lips, great drops of moisture appeared +beneath his wig. That his fears were not unfounded +was presently proved by Sir Humphrey's sudden +change of manner.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The hilarious laugh died down in his Honour's +throat, an ugly frown gathered above his deep-set +eyes, and with a violent curse he brought his heavy +fist down crashing upon the table.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"And now, you lying, lumbering poltroon, where's +my money?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"B ... b ... but, Sir Humphrey..." +stammered the attorney, now pallid with terror.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"There's no 'but' about it. You collected some +rents for me, thirty guineas in all, that money must +lie to my account in the bank at Wirksworth +to-morrow, or by G—— I'll have you clapped in jail like +the thief that you are."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"B ... b ... but, your Honour..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Silence! I've said my last word. If that money +is not in the bank by noon to-morrow, I'll denounce +you to the Wirksworth magistrate as a fraudulent +agent. Now hold your tongue about that. I've +said my last word. The rest is your affair, not mine. +I've more important matters to think on."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Master Mittachip, half dead with fear, dared not +offer further argument or pleading. He knew his +employer well enough to realise that his honour +meant every word he said, and that he himself had +nothing more to hope for in the matter of the money. +The deficiency extracted from him by that rascal +Beau Brocade would have to be made good somehow, +and Master Mittachip bethought him ruefully of his +own savings, made up of sundry little commissions +extorted from his Honour's tenants.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>No wonder the attorney felt none too kindly +disposed towards the highwayman. He watched Sir +Humphrey's face as a hungry dog does his master's, +and noted with growing satisfaction that his Honour's +anger was cooling down gradually, and giving place +to harder and more cruel determination. As he +watched, the look of terror died out of his bony, +sallow face, and his pale, watery eyes began to twinkle +with keen and vengeful malice.</span></p> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> +</div> +<p class="center pfirst" id="master-mittachip-s-idea"><span class="large">CHAPTER XXI</span></p> +<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">MASTER MITTACHIP'S IDEA</span></p> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> +</div> +<p class="pfirst"><span>He waited a little while, and gradually a smile of the +deepest satisfaction spread over his bird-like +countenance; he rubbed his meagre knees up and down +with his thin hands, in obvious delight, and as soon +as he saw his opportunity, he remarked slily,—</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"An your Honour was on the Heath last night, +you can help me testify to highway robbery before +Squire West. There are plenty of soldiers in this +village. His Honour'll have out a posse or two; the +rascal can't escape hanging this time."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Sir Humphrey's florid, sensual face suddenly paled +with a curious intensity of hatred.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye! he shall hang sure enough," he muttered, +with a loud oath.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>He dragged a chair forward, facing Mittachip, +and sat astride on it, drumming a devil's tattoo on the +back.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Listen here, you old scarecrow," he said more +quietly, "for I've not done with you yet. You don't +understand, I suppose, what my presence here in +Brassington means?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I confess that I am somewhat puzzled, your +Honour," replied the attorney, meekly. "I remarked +on it to Master Duffy, just before he started off for +Wirksworth this morning. But he could offer no +suggestion."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Odd's life, man! couldn't you guess that having +made my proposal to that rascally highwayman I +could not rest at Aldwark unless I saw him carry it +through?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I got a horse at the Moorhen, and at nightfall +I rode out on the Heath. I feared to lose my way +on the bridle path, and moreover, I wished to keep +her ladyship's coach in view, so I kept to the road. +It must have been close on midnight when I sighted +it at last. It was at a standstill in the midst of a +quagmire, and as I drew near I could see neither +driver on the box, nor groom at the horses' heads."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Well?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Well! that's all! there was a wench inside the +coach; I threw her out and searched for the letters; +I found them! That rascally highwayman had +played me false. Some distance from the road I +spied him dancing a rigadoon in the moonlight with +her ladyship, whilst her men, the dolts, were watching +the spectacle! Ha! ha! ha! 'twas a fine sight too, +I tell you! So now the sooner I get that chivalrous +highwayman hanged, the better I shall like it."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Then ... am I to understand that your Honour +has the letters?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye! I have the letters right enough!" said Sir +Humphrey, with an oath between his clenched teeth, +"but I fear me her ladyship has cajoled the rogue +into her service. Else why this dance? I did not +know what to make of it. Madness, surely, or she +never would have left the letters unprotected. He +bewitched her mayhap, and the devil, his master, +lent him a helping hand. I'll see him hang, I tell +you.... Hang.... Hang!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Master Mittachip's attenuated frame quaked with +terror. There was so much hatred, so much lust for +revenge in Sir Humphrey's half-choked voice, that +instinctively the attorney cowered, as before some +great and evil thing which he only half understood. +After awhile Sir Humphrey managed to control +himself. He was ashamed of having allowed his +agent this one peep into the darkness of his soul. +His love for Patience, though brutish and grasping, +was as strong as his sensuous nature was capable of: +his jealousy and hatred had been aroused by the +strange scene he had witnessed on the Heath, and he +was as conscious now of the longing for revenge, as +of the desire to possess himself of Lady Patience and +her fortune.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"'Sdeath!" he said more calmly, "Beau Brocade +and that rascal John Stich were after me in a trice, +and they'd have had the letters back from me, had I +not put a bullet into the damned thief!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"And wounded him, your Honour?" queried +Mittachip, eagerly.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay! I could not wait to see! but I hoped I +had killed him, for 'twas John Stich who rode after +me, fortunately. He was too big a fool to do me +any harm and I quickly made him lose my track."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"And you've destroyed the letters, Sir Humphrey?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Destroyed them, you fool? Nay, it would ill +suit my purpose if Stretton were to die. Can't you +see that </span><em class="italics">now</em><span>," he said excitedly, "with those letters +in my hand, I can force Lady Patience's acceptance +of my suit? While her brother's life hangs in the +balance I can offer her the letters, on condition that +she consent to marry me, and threaten to destroy +them if she refuse!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye! aye!" murmured the attorney, "'twere +a powerful argument!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"And remember," added his Honour, significantly, +"there'll be two hundred guineas for you the day +that I wed Lady Patience. That is, </span><em class="italics">if</em><span> you render +me useful assistance to the end."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Two hundred guineas!!! Good lack, Sir +Humphrey, I hope you've got those letters safe!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye! safe enough for the present!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"About your person?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay! you idiot! about my person? With so +cunning a rascal as Beau Brocade at my heels!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Then in your valise, Sir Humphrey?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"What? in a strange inn? Think you the fellow +would be above breaking into my room? How do I +know that mine host is not one of his boon +companions? The rascal has many friends hereabouts."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"B ... b ... but what have you done with +them, Sir Humphrey?" queried the attorney, in +despair.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"In your ear, Master Mittachip," quoth his Honour, +instinctively lowering his voice, lest the walls of the +old inn had ears. "I thought the best plan was to +hide the letters there, where Lady Patience and her +chivalrous highwayman would least expect to find them."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"How so, good Sir Humphrey?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I was hard pressed, mind you, and had but a few +seconds in which to make up my mind. I dismounted, +then lashed my horse into a panic. As I expected +he made straight for his own stables, at anyrate, +he galloped off like mad in the direction of Aldwark, +whilst I remained cowering in the dense scrub, +grateful for the mist, which was very dense in the +hollow. There I remained hidden for about half an +hour, until all sound died away on the Heath. What +happened to that damned highwayman or to John +Stich I know not, but I did not feel that the letters +were safe whilst they were about my person. I knew +that I was some distance from this village, and still +further from Aldwark, and feared that I should be +pursued and overtaken. At any rate, I crept out +of my hiding-place and presently found myself close +to a wooden hut, not far from the roadside: and +there, underneath some bramble and thorny stuff, +I hid the letters well out of sight."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh! but they won't be safe there, Sir Humphrey," +moaned Mittachip, who seemed to see the golden +vision of two hundred guineas vanishing before his +eyes. "Think of it. Any moment they might be +unearthed by some dolt of a shepherd!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"'Sdeath! I know that, you fool! They're in a +dry place now, but I only mean them to remain there +until you can take them to your own house at +Wirksworth, and put them in your strong room till I have +need of them."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But this suggestion so alarmed Master Mittachip +that he lost his balance and nearly fell off the edge of +his chair.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I, Sir Humphrey? .... I ... cross that lonely +Heath again? ... and with those letters about my +person?..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Tush, man! the footpads wouldn't take letters +from you, and Beau Brocade will be keeping an eye +on me, and wouldn't again molest you..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye! but he knows I enjoy the honour of your +confidence, good Sir Humphrey! Believe me, the +letters would not be safe with me."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Adsbud!" said his Honour, firmly, "then I'll +have to find someone else to take care of those letters +for me, and," he added significantly, "to earn the +two hundred guineas."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Master Mittachip gave an anxious gasp. That +two hundred guineas!!! the ultimate ambition of +his sordid, miserable existence! No! he would not +miss that! ... and yet he dreaded the Heath +... and was in terror of Beau Brocade ... and he +dreaded his Honour's anger ten thousand times more +than either: that anger would be terrible if, having +taken charge of the letters, he should be robbed of +them.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The alternative was an awful one! He racked his +tortuous brain for a likely issue. Sir Humphrey +had risen, kicked his chair to one side, and made as +if he would go.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, harkee, friend Mittachip," he said firmly, +"I want those letters placed somewhere in absolute +safety, where neither Lady Patience's influence nor +her chivalrous highwayman could possibly get at +them. If you find a way and means of doing this +for me, the two hundred guineas are yours. But if +I have to manage this business myself, if I have to +take the almost certain risk of being robbed of the +letters, if I carry them about my own person, then +you shall not get another shilling from me. Now you +can think this matter over. I'll across to speak to +Squire West, and see if I can't get that rascally +highwayman captured and clapped into jail before the +day is done."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>He took up his hat, and threw his coat over his +arm. The situation was getting desperate.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Then suddenly Master Mittachip had an idea.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I have it, Sir Humphrey," he cried excitedly. +"I have it! A perfectly safe way of conveying +those letters to my strong room at Wirksworth!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Let's have it, then."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I have bought some sheep of a farmer from over +Aldwark way, for a client at Wirksworth. Here," +he added, pulling a paper out of his pocket and +handing it up to Sir Humphrey, "is the receipt and tally +for them. Jock Miggs—Master Crabtree's shepherd—is +taking the sheep to the town to-day. He'll +most likely put up for the night on the Heath."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Well?" queried Sir Humphrey.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Well! Jock Miggs can neither read nor write."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course not."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Let us send </span><em class="italics">him</em><span> to Wirksworth and tell him to +leave the packet of letters at my house in charge of +my clerk, Master Duffy, who will put it in the strong +room until you want them. Duffy started for +Wirksworth at daybreak this morning, and should be +there by nightfall."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Pshaw, man! would you have me trust such +valuable letters to a fool of a shepherd?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, Sir Humphrey, but that is our safeguard. +Beau Brocade never touches the poor or the peasantry, +and certainly would never suspect Jock Miggs of +being in your Honour's confidence, whilst the +ordinary footpads would take no count of him. He +is worth neither powder nor shot."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"That's true enough!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I should tell Miggs that the papers are accounts +for the sheep, and promise him a silver crown if he +delivers them safely at my door. We can put the +letters in a sealed packet; no one would ever suspect him."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>There was silence in the inn parlour for awhile. +His Honour stood with legs apart, opposite the tiny +leaded window, gazing out into vacancy, whilst +Master Mittachip fixed his eyes meditatively on the +broad back of his noble patron. What a deal +depended on what was going on at the present +moment in Sir Humphrey's active brain.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Suddenly his Honour turned on his heel.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Odd's fish, Master Mittachip," he said, "but +your plan is none so bad after all."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The attorney heaved a deep sigh of relief, and +began mopping his beady forehead. The tension +had been acute. This lengthy, agitating interview +had been extremely trying. So much hung in the +balance, and so much had depended upon that very +uncertain quantity, his Honour's temper. But now +the worst was over. Sir Humphrey was a man of +determination, who never changed his mind once +that mind was made up, and who carried any +undertaking through with set purpose and unflinching +will.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Well! and when can I see that shepherd you +speak of?" he asked.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"If your Honour would ride over on the Heath +with me this afternoon," suggested the attorney, +"I doubt not but we should come across Jock Miggs +and his sheep, and in any case he would be at the hut +by nightfall."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Very good!" rejoined his Honour. "Do you see +that a couple of horses be ready for us. We can start +as soon as I have spoken with Squire West and laid +my information against that d—d Beau Brocade. +With a posse of soldiers at his heels he's less likely +to worry us, eh, old scarecrow?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"We shall not be safe, your Honour," assented +worthy Master Mittachip, "until the rascal is +dangling six feet above the ground. In the meanwhile," +he added, seeing that Sir Humphrey was making for +the door, "your Honour will be pleased to give me +back that receipt and tally for the sheep I showed +you just now."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But already his Honour was hurrying down the +narrow passage, eager to get through the business +that would lay his enemy by the heels, and render +him safe in the possession of the important letters +which were to secure him Lady Patience's hand and +fortune.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"All right!" he shouted back lustily, "it's safe +enough in my pocket. I'll give it you back on my +return."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Left alone in the dingy, black-raftered parlour, +Master Mittachip sat pondering for awhile, his pale, +watery eyes blinking at times with the intensity of +his satisfaction. Now for a little good luck—and he +had no cause to fear the reverse—and that glorious +vision of two hundred golden guineas would become +a splendid reality. The advice he had given Sir +Humphrey was undoubtedly the safest which he +could offer. Beau Brocade, even with a posse of +soldiers at his heels, was still a potent personality +on the Heath, and it certainly looked as if her +ladyship had cajoled him into her service. No one knew +really who his friends and accomplices were: on and +about Brassing Moor he could reckon on the help of +most of the poorer villagers.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But Jock Miggs at any rate was safe, alike from +the daring highwayman and the more humble +footpad. The former would not suspect him, and the +latter would leave a poor shepherd severely alone. +The footpath from the hut by the roadside to the +town of Wirksworth was but a matter of three or +four miles, and for a silver crown the shepherd would +be ready enough to take a sealed packet to the house +of Master Mittachip in Fulsome Street.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Yes! it was all going to be for the best, in this best +possible world, and as Master Mittachip thought over +it all, he rubbed his thin, claw-like hands contentedly +together.</span></p> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> +</div> +<p class="center pfirst" id="an-interlude"><span class="large">CHAPTER XXII</span></p> +<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">AN INTERLUDE</span></p> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> +</div> +<p class="pfirst"><span>The Packhorse Inn, lower down the village, was not +nearly so frequented as was the Royal George. Its +meagre, dilapidated appearance frightened most +customers away. A few yokels only patronised it +to the extent of sipping their small ale there, in the +parlour when it was wet, or outside the porch when +it was fine.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The few—very few—travellers, whom accident +mostly brought to Brassington, invariably preferred +the more solid, substantial inn on the green, but +when it was a question of finding safe shelter for his +wounded friend, John Stich unhesitatingly chose +the Packhorse. He had improvised a rough kind +of stretcher, with the help of the cushions from Lady +Patience's coach, and on this, with the aid of Timothy +the groom, he had carried Bathurst all the way across +two miles of Heath into Brassington. The march +had been terribly wearisome: the wounded man, +fevered with past excitement, had become light-headed, +and during intervals of lucidity was suffering +acutely from his wound.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Lady Patience could not bring herself to leave him. +A feeling she could not have described seemed to +keep her enchained beside this man, whom but a +few hours ago she had never seen, but in whom she +felt now that all her hopes had centred. He had +asked her to trust him, and since then had only +recovered consciousness to plead to her with mute, +aching eyes not to take away that trust which she +had given him.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Fortunately, the noted bad state of the roads on +Brassing Moor, which at any time might prove +impassable for the coach, had caused her to take her +own saddle as part of her equipment for her journey +to London. This John Stich had fixed for her on +Jack o' Lantern's back, and the faithful beast, as if +guessing the sad plight of his master, carried her +ladyship, with Mistress Betty clinging on behind, +with lamb-like gentleness down the narrow +bridle-path to Brassington.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Thomas, the driver, had been left in charge of the +coach, with orders to find his way as quickly as may +be along the road to Wirksworth.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>It had been Bathurst's firmly-expressed wish that +they should put up at Brassington, at any rate for +the night. Besides being the nearest point, it was +also the most central, whence a sharp lookout +could be kept on Sir Humphrey Challoner's +movements. Everything depended now on how serious +the young man's wound turned out to be.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Patience felt that without his help she was indeed +powerless to fight her cunning enemy. She was +never for one moment in doubt as to the motive +which prompted Sir Humphrey Challoner to steal +the letters. He meant to hold them as a weapon +over her to enforce the acceptance of his suit; this +she knew well enough. Her instincts, rendered +doubly acute by the imminence of the peril, warned +her that the Squire of Harrington meant to throw +all scruples to the wind, and would in wanton revenge +sacrifice Philip by destroying the letters, if she fought +or defied him openly.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Patience bethought her of the scene at the forge, +when Bathurst's ready wit had saved her brother +from the officious and rapacious soldiers: now that +the terrible situation had to be met with keenness +and cunning, she once more turned, with hope in her +heart, to the one man who could save Philip again: +but he, alas! lay helpless. And all along the weary +way to Brassington she was listening with aching +heart and throbbing temples to his wild, delirious +words and occasional, quickly-suppressed moans.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>However, they reached the Packhorse at last in +the small hours of the morning: money, lavishly +distributed by Lady Patience, secured the one +comfortable room in the inn for the wounded man.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>As soon as the day broke John Stich went in quest +of Master Prosser, the leech, a gentleman famed for +his skill and learning. Already the rest on a good +bed, and Lady Patience's cool hand and gentle words, +had done much to soothe the patient. Youth and +an iron constitution quickly did the rest.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The leech pronounced the wound to be neither deep +nor serious, and the extraction of the ball caused +the sufferer much relief.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Within an hour after the worthy man's visit, Jack +Bathurst had fallen into a refreshing sleep, and at +John Stich's earnest pleading, Lady Patience had +thrown herself on a bed in the small room which she +had secured for herself and Mistress Betty, and had +at last managed to get some rest.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The sun was already well up in the heavens when +Jack awoke. His eyes, as soon as they opened, +sought anxiously for her dear presence in the room.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Feel better, Captain?" asked John Stich, who +had been watching faithfully by his side.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I feel a giant, honest friend," replied the young +man. "Help me up, will you?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"The leech said you ought to keep quiet for a bit, +Captain," protested the smith.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Oho! he did, did he?" laughed Jack, gaily. +"Well! go tell him, friend, from me, that he is an ass."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Where is she, John?" he asked quietly, after a +slight pause.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"In the next room, Captain."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Resting?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye! she never left your side since you fainted +on the Heath."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I know—I know, friend," said Jack, with a short, +deep sigh; "think you I could not feel her hand..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>He checked himself abruptly, and with the help of +John Stich raised himself from the bed. He looked +ruefully at his stained clothes, and a quaint, pleasant +smile chased away the last look of weariness and +suffering from his face.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay! what a plight for Beau Brocade in which +to meet the lady of his dreams, eh, John? Here, +help me to make myself presentable! Run down +quickly to mine host, borrow brushes and combs, +and anything you can lay hands on. I am not fit +to appear before her eyes."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Then will you keep quite still, Captain, until I +return? And keep your arm quietly in the sling? +The leech said..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Never mind what the leech said, run, John +... the sight of myself in that glass there causes me more +pain than this stupid scratch. Run quickly, John, +for I hear her footstep in the next room.... I'll +not move from the edge of this bed, I swear it, if +you'll only run."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>He kept his word and never stirred from where he +sat; but he strained his ears to listen, for through the +thin partition wall he could just hear her footstep on +the rough wooden floor, and occasionally her voice +when she spoke to Betty.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Half an hour later, when John Stich had done his +best to valet and dress him, he waited upon her +ladyship at breakfast in the parlour downstairs.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>She came forward to greet him, her dainty hand +outstretched, her eyes anxiously scanning his face.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"You should not have risen yet, sir," she said half +shyly as he pressed her finger-tips to his lips, "your +poor wounded shoulder..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, with your pardon, madam," he said lightly, +"'tis well already since your sweet hand has tended it."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"'Twas my desire to nurse you awhile longer, and +not allow you to risk your life for me again."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"My life? Nay! I'll trust that to mine old enemy, +Fortune: she has ta'en care of it all these years, +that I might better now place it at your service."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>She said nothing, for she felt unaccountably shy. +She, who had had half the gilded youth of England at +her feet, found no light bantering word with which +to meet this man; and beneath his ardent gaze she +felt herself blushing like a school miss at her first ball.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Will you honour me, sir," she said at last, "by +partaking of breakfast with me?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>All cares and troubles seemed forgotten. He sat +down at the table opposite to her, and together they +drank tea, and ate eggs and bread and butter: and +there was so much to talk about that often they +would both become quite silent, and say all there was +to say just with their eyes.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>He told her about the Heath which he knew +and loved so well, the beauty of the sunrise far +out behind the Tors, the birds and beasts and +their haunts and habits, the heron on the marshy +ground, the cheeky robins on the branches of the +bramble, the lizards and tiny frogs and toads: all +that enchanting world which peopled the Moor and +had made it a home for him.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>And she listened to it all, for he had a deep, tender, +caressing voice, which was always good to hear, and +she was happy, for she was young, and the world +in which she dwelt was very beautiful.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Yet she found this happiness which she felt, quite +incomprehensible: she even chid herself for feeling +it, for the outside world was still the same, and her +brother still in peril. He, the man, alone knew +whither he was drifting; he knew that he loved her +with every fibre of his being, and that she was as +immeasurably beyond him as the stars.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>He knew what this happiness meant, and that it +could but live a day, an hour. Therefore he drained +the cup to its full measure, enjoying each fraction of +a second of this one glorious hour, watching her as +she smiled, as she sipped her tea, as she blushed +when she met his eyes. And sometimes—for he +was clumsy with his one arm in a sling—sometimes as +she helped him in the thousand and one little ways of +which women alone possess the enchanting secret, +her hand would touch his, just for one moment, like +a bird on the wing, and he, the poor outlaw, saw +heaven open before him, and seeing it, was content.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Outside an early September sun was flooding the +little village street with its golden light. They did +not dare to show themselves at the window, lest +either of them should be recognised, so they had +drawn the thin muslin curtain across the casement, +and shut out the earth from this little kingdom of +their own.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Only at times the bleating of a flock of sheep, or the +melancholy lowing of cattle would come to them +from afar, or from the window-sill the sweet fragrance +of a pot of mignonette.</span></p> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> +</div> +<p class="center pfirst" id="a-daring-plan"><span class="large">CHAPTER XXIII</span></p> +<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">A DARING PLAN</span></p> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> +</div> +<p class="pfirst"><span>It was close on ten o'clock when they came back to +earth once more.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>A peremptory knock at the door had roused them +both from their dreams.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Bathurst rose to open, and there stood John Stich +and Mistress Betty, both looking somewhat flurried +and guilty, and both obviously brimming over with news.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"My lady! my lady!" cried Betty, excitedly, as +soon as she caught her mistress's eye, "I have just +spied Sir Humphrey Challoner at the window of the +Royal George, just over the green yonder."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Give me leave, Captain," added John Stich, who +was busy rolling up his sleeves above his powerful +arms, "give me leave, and I'll make the rogue +disgorge those letters in a trice."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"You'd not succeed, honest friend," mused +Bathurst, "and might get yourself in a devil of a +hole to boot."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, Captain," asserted John, emphatically, +"'tis no time now for the wearing of kid gloves. I +was on the green a moment ago, and spied that +ravenous scarecrow, Mittachip, conversing with the +beadle outside the Court House, where Squire West +is sitting."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Well?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"When the beadle had gone, Master Mittachip +walked across the green and went straight to the +Royal George. Be gy! what does that mean, Captain?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Oho!" laughed Jack, much amused at the +smith's earnestness, "it means that Sir Humphrey +Challoner intends to lay information against one +Beau Brocade, the noted highwayman, and to see +how nice he'll look with a rope round his neck and +dangling six foot from the ground."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>An involuntary cry from Lady Patience, however +drowned the laughter on his lips.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Tush, man!" he added seriously, "here's a +mighty fine piece of work we're doing, frightening her +ladyship..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But John Stich was scowling more heavily than ever.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"If the scoundrel should dare..." he muttered, +clenching his huge fists.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>His attitude was so threatening, and his expression +so menacing, that in the midst of her new anxiety +Lady Patience herself could not help smiling. Beau +Brocade laughed outright.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Dare?..." he said lightly. "Why, of course +he'll dare. He's eager enough in the pursuit of +mischief, and must save the devil all the trouble of +showing him the way. But now," he added more +seriously, and turning to Mistress Betty, "tell me, +child, saw you Sir Humphrey clearly?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye! clear as daylight," she retorted, "the old +beast..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"How was he dressed?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Just like he was yesterday, sir. A brown coat, +embroidered waistcoat, buff breeches, riding-boots, +three-cornered hat, and he had in his hand a +gold-headed riding-crop."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Child!—child!" cried Bathurst, joyfully, "an +those bright eyes of yours have not deceived you, +yours'll be the glory of having saved us all."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"What are you going to do?" asked Patience, eagerly.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Pit my poor wits against those of Sir Humphrey +Challoner," he replied gaily.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't quite understand."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>He came up quite close to her and tried to meet +her eyes.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"But you trust me?" he asked.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>And she murmured,—</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Absolutely."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"May Heaven bless you for that word!" he said +earnestly. "Then will you deign to do as I shall +direct?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Entirely."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Very well! Then whilst friend Stich will fetch +my hat for me, will you write out a formal plaint, +signed with your full name, stating that last night on +the Heath you were waylaid and robbed by a man, +whom I, your courier, saw quite plainly, and whom +you have desired me to denounce?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"But..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I entreat you there's not a moment to be lost," +he urged, taking pen, ink and paper from the +old-fashioned desk close by, and placing them before her.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll do as you wish, of course," she said, "but +what is your purpose?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"For the present to take your ladyship's plaint +over to his Honour, Squire West, at the Court House."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"You'll be seen and recognised and..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Not I. One or two of the yokels may perhaps +guess who I am, but they'd do me no harm. I +entreat you, do as I bid you. Every second wasted +may imperil our chance of safety."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>He had such an air of quiet command about him +that she instinctively obeyed him and wrote out the +plaint as he directed, then gave it in his charge. He +seemed buoyant and full of hope, and though her +heart misgave her, she managed to smile cheerfully +when he took leave of her.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I humbly beg of you," he said finally, as having +kissed her finger-tips he prepared to go, "to wait +here against my return, and on no account to take +heed of anything you may see or hear for the next +half-hour. An I mistake not," he added with a +merry twinkle in his grey eyes, "there'll be strange +doings at Brassington this noon."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"But you...?" she cried anxiously.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay! I pray you have no fear for me. In your +sweet cause I would challenge the world, and, if you +desired it, would remained unscathed."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>When he had gone, she sighed, and obedient to his +wish, sat waiting patiently for his return in the dingy +little parlour which awhile ago his presence had +made so bright.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>It was at this moment that Master Mittachip, after +his interview with the beadle, was in close +conversation with Sir Humphrey Challoner at the Royal +George.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Outside the inn, Bathurst turned to John Stich, +who had closely followed him.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"How's my Jack o' Lantern?" he asked quickly.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"As fresh as a daisy, Captain," replied the smith. +"I've rubbed him down myself, and he has had a +lovely feed."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"That's good. You have my saddle with you?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, aye! I knew you'd want it soon enough. +Jack o' Lantern carried it for you himself, bless 'is +'eart, along with her ladyship and Mistress Betty."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Then do you see at once to his being saddled, +friend, and bring him along to the Court House as +soon as may be. Hold him in readiness for me, so +that I may mount at a second's notice. You understand?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Captain. I understand that you are +running your head into a d——d noose, and..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Easy, easy, friend! Remember..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay! I'll not forget for whose sake you do it. +But you are at a disadvantage, Captain, with only +one good arm."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, friend," rejoined Bathurst, lightly, "there's +many a thing a man can do with one arm: he can +embrace his mistress ... or shoot his enemy."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The sleepy little village of Brassington lay silent +and deserted in the warmth of the noon-day sun, as +Bathurst, having parted from John Stich, hurried +across its narrow streets. As he had passed quickly +through the outer passage of the Packhorse he had +caught sight of a few red coats at the dingy bar of +the inn, and presently, when he emerged on the green, +he perceived another lot of them over at the Royal +George yonder.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But at this hour the worthy soldiers of His Majesty, +King George, were having their midday rest and +their customary glasses of ale, and were far too busy +recounting their adventure with the mysterious +stranger at the forge to the gaffers of Brassington, +to take heed of anyone hurrying along its street.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>And thus Bathurst passed quickly and unperceived; +the one or two yokels whom he met gave him +a rapid glance. Only the women turned round, as he +went along, to have another look at the handsome +stranger with one arm in a sling.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Outside the Court House he came face to face with +Master Inch, whose pompous dignity seemed at this +moment to be severely ruffled.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Hey, sir! Hey!" he was shouting, and craning +his fat neck in search of Master Mittachip, who had +incontinently disappeared, "the Court is determinating—Squire +West will grant you the interview which +you seek.... Lud preserve me!" he added in +noble and gigantic wrath, "I do believe the impious +malapert was trying to fool me ... sending me on a +fool's errand ... </span><em class="italics">me</em><span> ... Jeremiah Inch, beadle +of this parish!..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Bathurst waited a moment or two until the worst +of the beadle's anger had cooled down a little, then +he took a silver crown from his pocket, and pushed +past the worthy into the precincts of the house.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"The interview you've arranged for, friend," +he said quietly; "will do equally well for her +ladyship's courier."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Master Inch was somewhat taken off his balance. +Mittachip's disappearance and this stranger's +impertinence had taken his breath away. Before he +had time to recover it, Bathurst had pressed the +silver crown into his capacious palm.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Now tell Squire West, friend," he said with that +pleasant air of authority which he knew so well how +to assume, "that I am here by the command of Lady +Patience Gascoyne and am waiting to speak with him."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Master Inch was so astonished that he found no +word either of protest or of offended dignity. He +looked doubtfully at the crown for a second or two, +weighed it in his mind against the problematical +half-crown promised by the defaulting attorney, and +then said majestically,—</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I will impart her ladyship's cognomen to his +Honour myself."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The next moment Jack Bathurst found himself +alone in a small private room of the Court House, +looking forward with suppressed excitement to the +interview with Squire West, which in a moment of +dare-devil, madcap frolic, yet with absolute coolness +and firm determination, he had already arranged +in his mind.</span></p> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> +</div> +<p class="center pfirst" id="his-honour-squire-west"><span class="large">CHAPTER XXIV</span></p> +<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">HIS HONOUR, SQUIRE WEST</span></p> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> +</div> +<p class="pfirst"><span>Squire West was an elderly man, with a fine military +presence and a pleasant countenance beneath his +bob-tail wig: in his youth he had been reckoned +well-favoured, and had been much petted by the +ladies at the county balls. Owing to this he had +retained a certain polish of manner not often met +with in the English country gentry of those times.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>He came forward very politely to greet the courier +of Lady Patience Gascoyne.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"What hath procured to Brassington the honour +of a message from Lady Patience Gascoyne?" he +asked, motioning Bathurst to a chair, and seating +himself behind his desk.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Her ladyship herself is staying in the village," +replied Jack, "but would desire her presence to +remain unknown for awhile."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, indeed!" said the Squire, a little flurried at +this unexpected event, "but ... but there is no +inn fitting to harbour her ladyship in this village, +and ... and ... if her ladyship would honour +me and my poor house..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I thank you, sir, but her ladyship only remains +here for an hour or so, and has despatched me to +you on an important errand which brooks of no delay."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I am entirely at her ladyship's service."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Lady Patience was on her way from Stretton Hall, +your Honour," continued Bathurst, imperturbably, +"when her coach was stopped on the Heath, not very +far from here, and her jewels, money, and also certain +valuable papers were stolen from her."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Squire West hemmed and hawed, and fidgeted in +his chair: the matter seemed, strangely enough, to be +causing him more annoyance than surprise.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Dear! dear!" he muttered deprecatingly.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Her ladyship has written out her formal plaint," +said Jack, laying the paper before his Honour. "She +has sent her coach on to Wirksworth, but thought +your Honour's help here at Brassington would be +more useful in capturing the rogue."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye!" murmured the worthy Squire, still +somewhat doubtfully, and with a frown of perplexity on his +jovial face. "We certainly have a posse of soldiers—a +dozen or so at most—quartered in the village just +now, but..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"But what, your Honour?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"But to be frank with you, sir, I fear me that 'twill +be no good. An I mistake not, 'tis another exploit of +that rascal, Beau Brocade, and the rogue is so +cunning! ... Ah!" he added with a sigh, "we +shall have no peace in this district until we've laid +him by the heels."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>It was certainly quite obvious that the Squire was +none too eager to send a posse of soldiers after the +notorious highwayman. He had himself enjoyed +immunity on the Heath up to now, and feared that +it would be his turn to suffer if he started an active +campaign against Beau Brocade. But Bathurst, +from where he sat, had a good view through the +casement window of the village green, and of the Royal +George beyond it. Every moment he expected to +see Sir Humphrey Challoner emerging from under +the porch and entering this Court House, when +certainly the situation would become distinctly +critical. The Squire's hesitancy nearly drove him +frantic with impatience, yet perforce he had to keep +a glib tongue in his head, and not to betray more +than a natural interest in the subject which he was +discussing.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye!" he said gaily, "an it was that rogue +Beau Brocade, your Honour, he's the most daring +rascal I've ever met. The whole thing was done in +a trice. Odd's fish! but the fellow would steal +your front tooth whilst he parleyed with you. He +fired at me and hit me," he added ruefully, pointing +to his wounded shoulder.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"You were her ladyship's escort on the Heath, sir?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye! and would wish to be of assistance in the +recovery of her property: more particularly of a +packet of letters on which her ladyship sets great +store. If the rogue were captured now, these might +be found about his person."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah! I fear me," quoth his Honour, with singular +lack of enthusiasm, "that 'twill not be so easy, sir, +as you imagine."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"How so?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Beau Brocade is in league with half the +country-side and..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay! you say you have a posse of soldiers +quartered here! Gadzooks! if I had the chance +with these and a few lusty fellows from the village, +I'd soon give an account of any highwayman on this +Heath!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Dear! dear!" repeated Squire West, sorely +puzzled, "a very regrettable incident indeed."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Can I so far trespass on your Honour's time," +queried Bathurst, with a slight show of impatience, +"as to ask you at least to take note of her ladyship's +plaint?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Certainly ... sir, certainly ... hem! ... er.... +Of course we must after the rogue ... the +beadle shall cry him out on the green at once, and..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>It was easy to see that the worthy Squire would +far sooner have left the well-known hero of Brassing +Moor severely alone; still, in his official capacity +he was bound to take note of her ladyship's plaint, +and to act as justice demanded.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"'Tis a pity, sir," he said, whilst he sat fidgeting +among his papers, "that you, or perhaps her +ladyship, did not see the rogue's face. I suppose he was +masked as usual?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Faix! he'd have frightened the sheep on the +Heath, maybe, if he was not. But her ladyship and I +noted his hair and stature, and also the cut and +colour of his clothes."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"What was he like?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Tall and stout of build, with dark hair turning to grey."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay!" ejaculated Squire West, in obvious +relief, "then it was not Beau Brocade, who is young +and slim, so I'm told, though I've never seen him. +You saw him plainly, sir, did you say?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye! quite plainly, your Honour! And what's +more," added Jack, emphatically, "her ladyship and +I both caught sight of him in Brassington this very +morning."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"In Brassington?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Outside the Royal George," asserted Bathurst, +imperturbably.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, sir!" cried Squire West, who seemed to +have quite lost his air of indecision, now that he no +longer feared to come in direct conflict with Beau +Brocade, "why did you not say this before? Here, +Inch! Inch!" he added, going to the door and +shouting lustily across the passage, "where is that +cursed beadle? In Brassington, did you say, sir?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I'd almost swear to it, your Honour."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay! then with a bit of good luck, we may at +least lay </span><em class="italics">this</em><span> rascal by the heels. I would I could rid +this neighbourhood of these rogues. Here, Inch," +he continued, as soon as that worthy appeared in the +doorway, "do you listen to what this gentleman has +got to say. There's a d——d rascal in this village and +you'll have to cry out his description at once, and +then collar him as soon as may be."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Master Inch placed himself in a posture that was +alike dignified and expectant. His Honour, Squire +West, too, was listening eagerly, whilst Jack Bathurst +with perfect </span><em class="italics">sang-froid</em><span> gave forth the description of +the supposed highwayman.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"He wore a brown coat," he said calmly, "embroidered +waistcoat, buff breeches, riding-boots and +three-cornered hat. He is tall and stout of build, +has dark hair slightly turning to grey, and was last +seen carrying a gold-headed riding-crop."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"That's clear enough, Inch, is it not?" queried +his Honour.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"It is marvellously pellucid, sir," replied the beadle.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"You may add, friend Beadle," continued Jack, +carelessly, "that her ladyship offers a reward of +twenty guineas for that person's immediate apprehension."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>And Master Inch, beadle of the parish of Brassington, +flew out of the door, and out of the Court House, +bell in hand, for with a little bit of good luck it might +be that he would be the first to lay his hand on the +tall, stout rascal in a brown coat, and would be the +one to earn the twenty guineas offered for his +immediate apprehension.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Squire West himself was over pleased. It was +indeed satisfactory to render service to so great a +lady as Lady Patience Gascoyne without interfering +over much with that dare-devil Beau Brocade. The +depredations on Brassing Moor had long been a +scandal in the county: it had oft been thought that +Squire West had not been sufficiently active in trying +to rid the Heath of the notorious highwayman, +whose exploits now were famed far and wide. But +here was a chance of laying a cursed rascal by the +heels and of showing his zeal in the administration +of the county.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The Squire, in the interim, busied himself with his +papers, whilst Bathurst, who was vainly trying to +appear serious and only casually interested, stood by +the open window, watching Master Inch's progress +across the green.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Outside the Court House faithful John Stich stood +waiting, with Jack o' Lantern pawing the ground by +his side.</span></p> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> +</div> +<p class="center pfirst" id="success-and-disappointment"><span class="large">CHAPTER XXV</span></p> +<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">SUCCESS AND DISAPPOINTMENT</span></p> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> +</div> +<p class="pfirst"><span>Thus it was that when Sir Humphrey Challoner, +after his lengthy interview with Mittachip, stepped +out of the porch of the Royal George on his way to +the Court House, he found the village green singularly +animated.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>A number of yokels, including quite a goodly +contingent of women and youngsters, were crowding +round Master Inch, the beadle, who was ringing his +bell violently and shouting at the top of his lusty +voice,—</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Oyez! Oyez! Oyez! Take note that a robber, +vagabond and thief is in hiding in this village."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Interested in the scene, Sir Humphrey had paused +a moment, watching the pompous beadle and the +crowd of gaffers and women. He still carried his +riding-crop, and flicked it with a certain pleasurable +satisfaction against his boot, eagerly anticipating +the moment when the village crier would be giving +forth in the same stentorian tones the description +of Beau Brocade, the highwayman.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Oyez! Oyez! Oyez!" continued Master Inch, +with ever-increasing vigour. "Take note that this +vagabond is apparelled in a brown coat, embroidered +waistcoat, buff nether garments and riding-boots. +Oyez! Oyez! Oyez! take note that he carried with +him this morning a gold-headed riding-whip, that he +is tall and slightly rotund in his corporation and has +raven hair slightly attenuated with grey.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Oyez! Oyez! Oyez! take note that if any of you +observate such a person as I have just descriptioned, +you are to apprise me of this instantaneously, so that +I may take him by force and violence even into the +presence of his Honour.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Oyez! Oyez! Oyez!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The gaffers were putting their heads together, +whilst the young ones whispered eagerly,—</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Brown coat! ... embroidered waistcoat! ... a +gold-headed whip!..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Nay, 'twas often enough that Master Inch had to +cry out the description of some wretched vagabond +in hiding in the village, but it was not usual that such +an one was attired in the clothes of a gentleman.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>It even struck Sir Humphrey as very strange, and +he pushed through the group of yokels to hear more +clearly Master Inch's renewed description of the rogue.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Oyez! Oyez! Oyez!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>At first the interest in Master Inch's pompous +words was so keen that Sir Humphrey remained +practically unnoticed. One or two villagers, noting +that a gentleman was amongst them, respectfully +made way for him, then one youngster, struck by a +sudden idea, stared at him and whispered to his +neighbour,—</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"He's got a brown coat on..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye!" whispered the other in reply, "and an +embroiderated waistcoat too."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Some of them began crowding around Sir Humphrey, +so that he raised his whip and muttered angrily,—</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"What the devil are ye all staring at?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>It was at this very moment that Master Inch +suddenly caught sight of him, just in the very middle +of a stentorian,—</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Oyez!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>He gave one tremendous gasp, the bell dropped out +of his hand, his jaw fell, his round, beady eyes nearly +bulged out of his head.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"'Tis him!" murmured the yokel, who stood +close to his ear.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>This remark brought back Master Inch to his +senses and to the importance of his position. He +raised his large hand above his head and brought it +down with a tremendous clap on Sir Humphrey +Challoner's shoulder.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye! 'tis him!" he shouted lustily, "and be gy! he's +got guilt writ all over his face, and 'tis a mighty +ugly surface!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Sir Humphrey, taken completely by surprise, was +positively purple with rage.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Death and hell!" he cried, clutching his riding-whip +significantly. "What's the meaning of this?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But already the younger men, full of excitement +and eagerness, had closed round him, impeding his +movements, whilst two more lusty fellows incontinently +seized him by the collar. They felt neither +respect nor sympathy for a vagabond attired in +gentleman's clothes.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Sir Humphrey tried to shake himself free, whilst +the beadle majestically replied,—</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"You'll have it explanated to you, friend, before +his Honour!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The excitement and lust of capture was growing apace.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Got him!" shouted most of the men.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Showin' his ugly face in broad daylight!" +commented the women.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Hold him tight, beadle," was the universal +admonition.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"You rascal! you dare!..." gasped Sir Humphrey, +struggling violently, and shaking a menacing +fist in the beadle's face.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Silence!" commanded Master Inch, with supreme +dignity.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll have you whipped for this!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But this aroused the beadle's most awesome ire.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"To the stocks with him!" he ordered, "he +insultates the Majesty of the Law!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"You low-born knave! Aye! you'll hang for this!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>It was all this clamour that at last aroused Master +Mittachip in the parlour of the Royal George from +the happy day-dreams in which he was indulging. +At first he took no count of it, then he quietly strolled +up to the window and undid the casement, to +ascertain what all the tumult was about.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>What he did see nearly froze the thin blood +within his veins. He would have cried out, but his +very throat contracted with the horror of the +spectacle which he beheld.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>There! across the village green, he saw Sir +Humphrey Challoner, his noble patron, the Squire of +Hartington, being clapped into the village stocks, +whilst a crowd of yokels, the clumsy, ignorant d——d +louts! were actually pelting his Honour with carrots, +turnips and potatoes!</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Oh! was the world coming to an end? There! a +peck of peas hit Sir Humphrey straight in the eye. +No wonder his Honour was purple, he would have a +stroke of apoplexy for sure within the next five +minutes.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>At last Master Mittachip recovered the use of his +limbs. With one bound he was out of the inn +parlour, and had pushed past mine host and hostess, who, +as ignorant as were all the other villagers of their +guest's name and quality, were watching the scene +from the porch, and holding their sides with laughter.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Jack Bathurst had watched it all from the window +of the Court House: his dare-devil, madcap scheme +had succeeded beyond his most sanguine hopes. +When he saw Sir Humphrey Challoner actually +clapped in the village stocks, with the pompous +beadle towering over him, like the sumptuous +Majesty of the Law, he could have cried out in wild +merry glee.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But Jack was above all a man of prompt decision +and quick action. For his own life he cared not one +jot, and would gladly have laid it down for the sake +of the woman he loved with all the passionate ardour +of his romantic temperament, but with him, as with +every other human being, self-preservation was the +greatest and most irresistible law. He had readily +imperilled his safety in order to obtain possession of the +letters, which meant so much happiness to his +beautiful white rose: but this done, he was ready to do +battle for his own life, and to sell his freedom as +dearly as may be.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>He hoped that he had effectually accomplished his +purpose through the arrest of Sir Humphrey +Challoner, whose pockets Master Inch was even now +deliberately searching, in spite of vigorous protests +and terrible language from his Honour. His heart +gave a wild leap of joy when he saw the beadle +presently hurrying across the green and holding a +paper in his hand. It looked small enough—not a +packet, only a single letter: but if it were the +momentous one, then indeed would all risks, all +perils seem as nothing when weighed against the +happiness of having rendered </span><em class="italics">her</em><span> this service.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But Jack also saw Master Mittachip darting +panic-stricken out of the inn opposite. He knew of course +that within the next few moments—seconds perhaps—the +fraud would be discovered and Sir Humphrey +Challoner liberated, amidst a shower of abject +apologies from the Squire and parish of Brassington +combined. What the further consequences of it all +would be to himself was not difficult to foresee.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>He looked behind him. The Squire was sitting at +his desk, apparently taking no notice of the noise and +shouting outside. Down below, John Stich, who +had been watching the scene on the green with the +utmost delight, stood ready, holding Jack o' Lantern +by the bridle. In a moment, with a few courteous +words to the Squire, Bathurst had hurried out of the +Court House. He met the beadle at the door, who, +paper in hand, conscious of his own importance and +flurried with wrath, was hurrying to report the +important arrest to Squire West.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Bathurst stopped him with a quick,—</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"'Twas well done, Master Inch!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>And pressing a couple of guineas into the beadle's +hand, he added,—</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Her ladyship will further repay when you've +found the rest of her property. In the meanwhile, +these, I presume, are the letters she lost."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Only one letter, sir," said Master Inch, as +somewhat taken off his pompous guard he allowed Jack +to take the paper from him.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>There was not a minute to be lost. Master +Mittachip, having vainly tried to harangue the +yokels, who were still pelting his Honour with +miscellaneous vegetables, was now hurrying to the +Court House as fast as his thin legs would carry him.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Bathurst took one glance at the paper which +Master Inch had given him. A cry of the keenest +disappointment escaped his lips.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"What is it, Captain?" asked John Stich, who +had anxiously been watching his friend's face.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing, friend," replied Bathurst, "only a +receipt and tally for some sheep."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>John Stich uttered a violent oath.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"And the scoundrel'll escape with a shower of +potatoes and no more punishment than the stocks. +And you've risked your life, Captain, for nothing!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay! not for nothing, honest friend," said Jack, +in a hurried whisper, as he mounted Jack o' Lantern +with all the speed his helpless arm would allow. "Do +you go back to her ladyship as fast as you can. Beg +her from me not to give up hope, but to feign an +illness and on no account speak to anyone about the +events of to-day until she has seen me again. You +understand?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye! aye! Captain!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>At this moment there came a wild cry from the +precincts of the Court House, and Master Mittachip, +accompanied by Squire West himself, and closely +followed by the beadle, were seen tearing across the +green towards the village stocks.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"The truth is out, friend," shouted Jack, as +pressing his knees against Jack o' Lantern's sides, and +giving the gallant beast one cry of encouragement, he +galloped away at break-neck speed out towards the Moor.</span></p> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> +</div> +<p class="center pfirst" id="the-man-hunt"><span class="large">CHAPTER XXVI</span></p> +<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">THE MAN HUNT</span></p> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> +</div> +<p class="pfirst"><span>By the time Squire West and the whole of the parish +of Brassington had realised what a terrible practical +joke had been perpetrated on them by the stranger, +the latter was far out of sight, with not even a cloud +of dust to mark the way he went.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But the hue-and-cry after him had never ceased +the whole of that day. Squire West, profuse and +abject in his apologies, had told off all the soldiers +who were quartered in the village to scour the Heath +day and night, until that rogue was found and brought +before him. The Sergeant, who was in command of +the squad, and the Corporal too, had a score of their +own to settle with the mysterious stranger, whom the +general consensus of opinion declared to have been +none other than that scoundrel unhung, the notorious +highwayman, Beau Brocade.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Master Inch, as soon as he had recovered his +breath, distinctly recollected now seeing a beautiful +chestnut horse pawing the ground outside the Court +House during the course of the morning: he blamed +himself severely for not having guessed the identity +of the creature, so closely associated in every one's +mind with the exploits of the highwayman.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The yokels, however, at this juncture, entrenched +themselves behind a barrier of impenetrable density. +In those days, just as even now, it is beyond human +capacity to obtain information from a Derbyshire +countryman if he do not choose to give it. Whether +some of those who had pelted Sir Humphrey +Challoner with vegetables had or had not known who +his Honour was, whether some of them had or had +not guessed Beau Brocade's presence in the village, +remained, in spite of rigorous cross-examination a +complete mystery to the perplexed Squire and to his +valiant henchman, the beadle.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Promises, threats, bribes were alike ineffectual.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I dunno!" was the stolid, perpetual reply to +every question put on either subject.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Her ladyship, on the other hand, overcome with +fatigue, was too ill to see anyone.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The posse of soldiers, a score or so by now, had +however been reinforced as the day wore on by a +contingent of Squire West's own indoor and outdoor +servants, also by a few loafers from Brassington +itself, of the sort that are to be found in every corner +of the world where there is an ale-house, the idlers, +the toadies, those who had nothing to lose and +something to gain by running counter to popular feeling +and taking up cudgels against Beau Brocade, for the +sake of the reward lavishly promised by Squire West +and Sir Humphrey Challoner.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The latter's temper had not even begun to simmer +down at this late hour of the day when, all +arrangements for the battue after the highwayman being +completed, he at last found himself on horseback, +ambling along the bridle-path towards the shepherd's +hut, with Master Mittachip beside him.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>It had been a glorious day, and the evening now +gave promise of a balmy night to come, but the +Heath's majestic repose was disturbed by the doings +of man. Beneath the gorse and bracken lizards +and toads had gone to rest in the marshy land +beyond, waterhen and lapwing were asleep, but all +the while on the great Moor, through the scrub and +blackthorn, along path and ravine, man was hunting +man and finding enjoyment in the sport.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>As Sir Humphrey Challoner and the attorney rode +slowly along, they could hear from time to time the +rallying cry of the various parties stalking the Heath +for their big game. The hunt was close on the heels +of Beau Brocade. Earlier in the afternoon his horse +had been seen to make its way, riderless, towards +the forge of John Stich.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The quarry was on foot, he was known to be +wounded, he must fall an easy prey to his trackers +soon enough: sometimes in the distance there would +come a shout of triumph, when the human blood-hounds +had at last found a scent, then Sir Humphrey +would rouse himself from his moody silence, a look +of keen malice would light up his deep-set eyes, and +reining in his horse, he would strain his ears to hear +that shout of triumph again.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"He'll not escape this time, Sir Humphrey," +whispered Mittachip, falling obsequiously into his +employer's mood.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"No! curse him!" muttered his Honour with a +string of violent oaths, "I shall see him hang before +two days are over, unless these dolts let him escape +again."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, nay, Sir Humphrey! that's not likely!" +chuckled Master Mittachip. "Squire West has pressed +all his own able-bodied men into the service, and the +posse of soldiers were most keen for the chase. Nay, +nay, he'll not escape this time."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"'Sdeath!" swore his Honour under his breath, +"but I do feel stiff!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"A dreadful indignity," moaned the attorney.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay! but Squire West was most distressed, and his +apologies were profuse! Indeed he seemed to feel +it as much as if it had happened to himself."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye! but not in the same place, I'll warrant! +Odd's life, I had no notion how much a turnip could +hurt when flung into one's eye," added his Honour, +with one of those laughs that never boded any good.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"A most painful incident, Sir Humphrey!" sighed +Mittachip, brimming over with sympathy.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"'Twas not the incident that was painful! +Zounds! I am bruised all over. But I'll have the +law of every one of those dolts, aye! and make that +fool West administer it on all of them! As for +that ape, the beadle, he shall be publicly whipped. +Death and hell! they'll have to pay for this!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye! aye! Sir Humphrey! your anger is quite +natural, and Squire West assured me that that +rascal Beau Brocade, who played you this impudent +trick, cannot fail to be caught. The hunt is well +organised, he cannot escape."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>As if to confirm the attorney's words, there rose +at this moment from afar a weird and eerie sound, +which caused Master Mittachip's shrivelled flesh to +creep along his bones.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"What was that?" he whispered, horror-struck.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"A blood-hound, the better to track that rascal," +muttered Sir Humphrey, savagely.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The attorney shivered; there had been so much +devilish malice in his Honour's voice, that suddenly +his puny heart misgave him. He took to wishing +himself well out of this unmanly business. The +horror of it seemed to grip him by the throat: he +was superstitious too, and firmly believed in a +material hell; the sound of that distant snarl, +followed by the significant yelping of a hound upon +the scent, made him think of the cries the devils +would utter at sight of the damned.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"The dog belongs to one of Squire West's grooms," +remarked his Honour, carelessly, "a savage beast +enough, by the look of him. Luck was in our favour, +for our gallant highwayman had carried Lady +Patience's plaint inside his coat for quite a long time, +and then left it on his Honour's table ... quite +enough for any self-respecting blood-hound, and this +one is said to be very keen on the scent.... Squire +West tried to protest, but set a dog to catch a dog, +say I."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Master Mittachip tried to shut his ears to the +terrible sound. Fortunately it was getting fainter +now, and Sir Humphrey did not give him time for +much reflection.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>His Honour had stopped for awhile listening, with +a chuckle of intense satisfaction, to the yelping of +the dog straining on the leash, then when the sound +died away, he said abruptly,—</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Are we still far from the hut?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"No, Sir Humphrey," stammered Mittachip, +whose very soul was quaking with horror.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"We'll find the shepherd there, think you?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Y ... y ... yes, your Honour!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Harkee, Master Mittachip. I'll run no risk. +That d——d highwayman must be desperate to-night. +We'll adhere to our original plan, and let the shepherd +take the letters to Wirksworth."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"You ... you ... you'll not let them bide +to-night where they are, Sir Humphrey?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"No, you fool, I won't. They are but just below the +surface, under cover of some bramble, and once those +fellows come scouring round the hut, any one of them +may unearth the letters with a kick of his boot. +There's been a lot of talk of a reward for the recovery +of a packet of letters! ... No, no, no! I'll not +risk it."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Sir Humphrey Challoner had thought the matter +well out, and knew that he ran two distinct risks in the +matter of the letters. To one he had alluded just +now when he spoke of the probability—remote +perhaps—of the packet being accidentally unearthed +by one of the scouring parties. Any man who found +it would naturally at once take it to Squire West, in +the hope of getting the reward promised by her ladyship +for its recovery. The idea, therefore, of leaving +the letters in their hiding-place for awhile did not +commend itself to him. On the other hand, there +was the more obvious risk of keeping them about his +own person. Sir Humphrey thanked his stars that +he had not done so the day before, and even now +kept in his mind a certain superstitious belief that +Beau Brocade—wounded, hunted and desperate—would +make a final effort, which might prove successful, +to wrench the letters from him on the Heath.</span></p> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> +</div> +<p class="center pfirst" id="jock-miggs-s-errand"><span class="large">CHAPTER XXVII</span></p> +<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">JOCK MIGGS'S ERRAND</span></p> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> +</div> +<p class="pfirst"><span>Master Mittachip had tried to utter one or two +feeble protests, but Sir Humphrey had interrupted +him emphatically,—</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"The rascal may hope to win his pardon through +the Gascoyne influence, by rendering her ladyship +this service. Where'er he may be at this moment, +I am quite sure that his eye is upon me and my doings."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Mittachip shuddered and closed his eyes: he dared +not peer into the dark scrub beside him, and drew his +horse in as close to Sir Humphrey's as he could.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"If you're afraid, you lumbering old coward," +added his Honour, "go back and leave me in peace. +I'll arrange my own affairs as I think best."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But the prospect of returning to Brassington alone +across this awful Heath sent Master Mittachip into +a renewed agony of terror: though his noble patron +seemed suddenly to have become uncanny in this +inordinate lust for revenge, he preferred his Honour's +company to his own, and therefore made a violent +effort to silence his worst fears. The Moor just now +was comparatively calm: the shouts of the hunters +and the yelping of the hound had altogether ceased; +perhaps they had lost the scent.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Another half-hour's silent ride brought them to +the spur of the hill, along the top of which ran the +Wirksworth Road, and as they left the steep declivity +behind them, their ears were pleasantly tickled by +the welcome and bucolic sound of the bleating of sheep.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Your friend the shepherd seems to be at his +post," quoth Sir Humphrey with a sigh of satisfaction.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>They were close to the point where on the previous +night Lady Patience's coach had come to a halt, and +the next moment brought them in sight of the +shepherd's hut, with the pen beyond it, vaguely +discernible in the gloom.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Sir Humphrey gave the order to dismount. Master +Mittachip, feeling more dead than alive, had perforce +to obey. They tied their horses loosely to a clump of +blackthorn by the roadside and then crept cautiously +towards the hut.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>It suited their purpose well that the night was a +dark one. The moon was not yet high in the heavens, +and was still half-veiled by a thin film of fleecy clouds, +leaving the whole vista of the Moor wrapped in +mysterious grey-blue semitones.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"You have brought the lanthorn," whispered Sir +Humphrey, hurriedly.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Y ... y ... y ... yes, your Honour," +stammered Mittachip.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Then quick's the word," said his Honour, pointing +to a thick clump of gorse and bramble quite close +to the shed. "The letters are in the very centre of +that clump, and only just below the surface. Do you +creep in there and get them."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>There was nothing for Master Mittachip to do but +to obey, and that with as much alacrity as his terror +would allow. His teeth were chattering in his head, +and his hands were trembling so violently that he was +some time in striking a light for the lanthorn.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Sir Humphrey suppressed an oath of angry impatience.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Lud preserve me," murmured the poor attorney, +"if that highwayman should come upon me whilst I +am engaged in the task! ... You ... you'll not +leave me, Sir Humphrey?..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll lay my stick across your cowardly shoulders +if you don't hurry," was his Honour's only comment.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>He watched Mittachip crawling on his hands and +knees underneath the bramble, and his deep +stertorous breathing testified to the anxiety which was +raging within him. A few moments of intense +suspense, and then Master Mittachip reappeared +from beneath the scrub, covered with wet earth, still +trembling, but holding the packet of letters +triumphantly in his hand.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Sir Humphrey snatched it from him.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Quick! find the shepherd now! Don't waste +time!" he whispered, pushing the cowering attorney +roughly before him. "One feels as if every blade of +grass had a pair of ears on this damned Heath!" he +muttered under his breath.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Jock Miggs, the shepherd, had counted over his +sheep, closed the gate of the pen, and was just turning +into the hut for the night, when he was hailed by +Master Mittachip.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Shepherd! hey! shepherd!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Miggs looked about him, vaguely astonished.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Since his adventure of the previous night, when he +had been made to play a tune for mad folks to dance +to, he felt that nothing would seriously surprise him.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>When therefore he felt himself seized by the arm +without more ado and dragged into the darkest +corner of the hut, he did not even protest.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Did you wish to speak with me, sir?" he asked +plaintively, rubbing his arm, for Sir Humphrey's +impatient grip had been very strong and hard.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes!" said the latter, speaking in a rapid +whisper, "here's Master Mittachip, attorney-at-law, +whom you know well, eh?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye, aye," murmured Jock Miggs, pulling at his +forelock, "t' sheep belong to his Honour Oi believe."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Exactly, Miggs," interposed Master Mittachip, +spurred to activity by a vigorous kick from Sir +Humphrey, "and I have come out here on purpose +to see you, for it is very important that you should go +at once on to Wirksworth for me, with a packet and +a note for Master Duffy, my clerk."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"What, now? This time o' night?" quoth Jock, vaguely.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye, aye, Miggs ... you are not afraid, are you?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Sir Humphrey had taken up his stand outside the +hut, leaving Mittachip to arrange this matter with +the shepherd. He had leaned his powerful frame +against the wall of the shed, and was grasping his +heavily-weighted riding-crop, ready and alert in case +of attack. The darkness round him at this moment +was intense, and his sharp eyes vainly tried to pierce +the gloom, which seemed to be closing in upon him, +but his ears were keenly alive to every sound which +came to him out of the blackness of the night.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>And all the while he tried not to lose one word of +the conversation between Mittachip and the shepherd.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"That's true, Jock," the attorney was saying. +"Well! then if you'll go to Wirksworth for me, now, +at once, there'll be a guinea for you."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"A guinea!" came in bewildered accents from the +worthy shepherd, "Lordy! Lordy! but these be +'mazing times!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"All I want you to do, Jock, is to take a packet for +me to my house in Fulsome Street. You understand?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But here there was a pause. Miggs was evidently +hesitating.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Well?" queried Mittachip.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Oi'm thinking, sir..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"What?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"How can Oi go on your errand when Oi've got +to guard this 'ere sheep for you?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, damn the sheep!" quoth Master Mittachip, +emphatically.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, sir! if you be satisfied..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"You know my house at Wirksworth?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye, aye, sir."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll give you a packet. You are to take it to +Wirksworth now at once, and to give it to my clerk, +Master Duffy, at my house in Fulsome Street. You +are quite sure you understand?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I dunno as I do!" quoth Jock, vaguely.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But with an impatient oath Sir Humphrey turned +into the hut: matters were progressing much too +slowly for his impatient temperament. He pushed +Mittachip aside, and said peremptorily,—</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Look here, shepherd, you want to earn a guinea, +don't you?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye, sir, that I do."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, here's the packet, and here's a letter for +Master Duffy at Master Mittachip's house in Fulsome +Street. When Master Duffy has the packet and reads +the letter he will give you a guinea. Is that +clear?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>And he handed the packet of letters, and also a +small note, to Jock Miggs, who seemed to have done +with hesitation, for he took them with alacrity.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh! aye! that's clear enough," he said, "'tis +writ in this paper that I'm to get the guinea?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"In Master Mittachip's own hand. But mind! no +gossiping, and no loitering. You must get to +Wirksworth before cock-crow."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Jock Miggs slipped the packet and the note into +the pocket of his smock. The matter of the guinea +having been satisfactorily explained to him, he was +quite ready to start.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Noa, for sure!" he said, patting the papers +affectionately. "Mum's the word! I'll do your +bidding, sir, and the papers'll be safe with me, seeing +it's writ on them that I'm to get a guinea."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Exactly. So you mustn't lose them, you know."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Noa! noa! I bain't afeeard o' that, nor of the +highwaymen; and Beau Brocade wouldn't touch the +loikes o' me, bless 'im. But Lordy! Lordy! these +be 'mazing times."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Already Sir Humphrey was pushing him +impatiently out of the hut.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"And here," added his Honour, pressing a piece +of money into the shepherd's hand, "here's half-a-crown +to keep you on the go."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank 'ee, sir, and if you think t' sheep will be +all right..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, hang the sheep!..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"All right, sir ... if Master Mittachip be satisfied +... and I'll leave t' dog to look after t' sheep."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>He took up his long, knotted stick, and still shaking +his head and muttering "Lordy! Lordy!" the +worthy shepherd slowly began to wend his way along +the footpath, which from this point leads straight to +Wirksworth.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Sir Humphrey watched the quaint, wizened figure +for a few seconds, until it disappeared in the gloom, +then he listened for awhile.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>All round him the Heath was silent and at peace, +the plaintive bleating of the sheep in the pen added a +note of subdued melancholy to the vast and impressive +stillness. Only from far there came the weird +echo of hound and men on the hunt.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>His Honour swore a round oath.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Zounds!" he muttered, "the rogue must be hard +pressed, and he's not like to give us further trouble. +Even if he come on us now, eh, you old scarecrow? ... the +letters are safe at last! What?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Lud preserve me!" sighed the attorney, "but +I hope so."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Back to Brassington then," quoth Sir Humphrey, +lustily. "Beau Brocade can attack us now, eh? +Ha! ha! ha!" he laughed in his wonted boisterous +way, "methinks we have outwitted that gallant +highwayman after all."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"For sure, Sir Humphrey," echoed Mittachip, who +was meekly following his Honour's lead across the +road to where their horses were in readiness for them.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"As for my Lady Patience! ... Ha!" said his +Honour, jovially, "her brother's life is ... well! ... in +my hands, to save or to destroy, according as +she will frown on me or smile. But meseems her +ladyship will have to smile, eh?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>He laughed pleasantly, for he was in exceedingly +good temper just now.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"As for that chivalrous Beau Brocade," he added +as he hoisted himself into the saddle, "he shall, an +I mistake not, dangle on a gibbet before another +nightfall."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Hark!" he added, as the yelping of the bloodhound +once more woke the silent Moor with its eerie echo.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Mittachip's scanty locks literally stood up beneath +his bob-tail wig. Even Sir Humphrey could not +altogether repress a shudder as he listened to the +shouts, the cries, the snarls, which were rapidly +drawing nearer.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"We should have waited to be in at the death," he +said, with enforced gaiety. "Meseems our fox is +being run to earth at last."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>He tried to laugh, but his laughter sounded eerie +and unnatural, and suddenly it was interrupted by +the loud report of a pistol shot, followed by what +seemed like prolonged yells of triumph.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Master Mittachip could bear it no longer; with the +desperation of intense and unreasoning terror he +dug his spurs into his horse's flanks, and like a +madman galloped at breakneck speed down the hillside +into the valley below.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Sir Humphrey followed more leisurely. He had +gained his end and was satisfied.</span></p> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> +</div> +<p class="center pfirst" id="the-quarry"><span class="large">CHAPTER XXVIII</span></p> +<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">THE QUARRY</span></p> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> +</div> +<p class="pfirst"><span>Some few minutes before this the hunted man had +emerged upon the road.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>As, worn-out, pallid, aching in every limb, he +dragged himself wearily forward on hands and knees, +it would have been difficult to recognise in this poor, +suffering fragment of humanity the brilliant, dashing +gentleman of the road, the foppish, light-hearted +dandy, whom the countryside had nicknamed Beau Brocade.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The wound in his shoulder, inflamed and throbbing +after the breakneck ride from the Court House to the +Heath, had caused him almost unendurable agony, +against which he had at first resolutely set his teeth. +But now his whole body had become numb to every +physical sensation. Covered with mud and grime, +his hair matted against his damp forehead, the lines +of pain and exhaustion strongly marked round his +quivering mouth, he seemed only to live through his +two senses: his sight and his hearing.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The spirit was there though, indomitable, strong, +the dogged obstinacy of the man who has nothing +more to lose. And with it all the memory of the oath +he had sworn to her.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>All else was a blank.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Hunted by men, and with a hound on his track, he +had—physically—become like the beasts of the Moor, +alert to every sound, keen only on eluding his +pursuers, on putting off momentarily the inevitable +instant of capture and of death.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Early in the day he had been forced to part from +his faithful companion. Jack o' Lantern was +exhausted and might have proved an additional source +of danger. The gallant beast, accustomed to every +bush and every corner of the Heath, knew its way +well to its habitual home: the forge of John Stich. +Jack Bathurst watched it out of sight, content that +it would look after itself, and that being riderless it +would be allowed to wend its way unmolested whither +it pleased, on the Moor.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>And thus he had seen the long hours of this +glorious September afternoon drag on their weary +course; he had seen the beautiful day turn to late, +glowing afternoon, then the sun gradually set in its +mantle of purple and gold, and finally the grey dusk +throw its elusive and mysterious veil over Tors and +Moor. And he, like the hunted beast, crept from +gorse bush to scrub, hiding for his life, driven out of +one stronghold into another, gasping with thirst, +panting with fatigue, determined in spirit, but broken +down in body at last.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>By instinct and temperament Jack Bathurst was +essentially a brave man. Physical fear was entirely +alien to his nature: he had never known it, never +felt it. During the earlier part of the afternoon, with +a score of men at his heels, some soldiers, others but +indifferently-equipped louts, he had really enjoyed +the game of hide-and-seek on the Heath: to him, at +first, it had been nothing more. It was but a part of +that wild, mad life he had chosen, the easily-endured +punishment for the breaking of conventional laws.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>He knew every shrub and crag on this wild corner +of the earth which had become his home, and could +have defied a small army, when hidden in the natural +strongholds known only to himself.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But when he first heard the yelping of the bloodhound +set upon his track by the fiendish cunning of +an avowed enemy, an icy horror seemed to creep into +his very marrow: a horror born of the feeling of +powerlessness, of the inevitableness of it all. His one +thought now was lest his hand, trembling and numb +with fatigue, would refuse him service when he would +wish to turn the muzzle of his pistol against his own +temple, in time to evade actual capture.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The dog would not miss him. It was practically +useless to hide: flight alone, constant, ceaseless +flight, might help him for a while, but it was bound +to end one way, and one way only: the scent of blood +would lead the cur on his track, and his pursuers +would find and seize him! bind him like a felon, and +hang him! Aye! hang him like a common thief!</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>He had oft laughed and joked with John Stich +about his ultimate probable fate. He knew that his +wild, unlawful career would come to an end sooner or +later, but he always carried pistols in his belt, and +had not even remotely dreamt of capture.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>... Until now!</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But now he was tired, ill, half-paralysed with pain +and exhaustion. His trembling hand crept longingly +round the heavy silver handle of the precious weapon. +Every natural instinct in him clamoured for death, +now, at this very moment before that yelping cur +drew nearer, before those shouts of triumph were +raised over his downfall.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Only ... after that ... what would happen? +He would be asleep and at peace ... but she? ... what +would she think? ... that like a coward he +had deserted his post ... like a felon he had broken +his oath, whilst there was one single chance of +fulfilling it ... that he had left her at the mercy of +that same enemy who had already devised so much +cruel treachery.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>And like a beast he crept back within his lair, and +watched and listened for that one chance of serving +her before the end.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>He had seen Sir Humphrey Challoner and Mittachip +ambling up the hillside. He tried not to lose +sight of them, and, if possible, to keep within earshot, +but he was driven back by a posse of his pursuers, +close upon his heels, and now having succeeded in +reaching the road at last, he had the terrible chagrin +of seeing that he was too late; the two men were +remounting their horses and turning back towards +Brassington.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Methinks we have outwitted that gallant +highwayman after all," Sir Humphrey was saying with +one of those boisterous outbursts of merriment, +which to Bathurst's sensitive ears had a ring of the +devil's own glee in it.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"What hellish mischief have those two reprobates +been brewing, I wonder?" he mused. "If those +fellows at my heels hadn't cut me off I might have +known..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>He crept nearer to the two men, but they set their +horses at a sharp trot down the road: Jack vainly +strained his ears to hear their talk.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>For the last eight hours he had practically covered +every corner of the Heath, backwards and forwards, +across boulders and through morass; the hound had +had some difficulty in finding and keeping the trail, +but now it seemed suddenly to have found it, the +yelping drew nearer, but the shouts had altogether +ceased.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>What was to be done? God in heaven, what was +to be done?</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>It was at this moment that the plaintive bleating +of one or two of the penned-up sheep suddenly aroused +every instinct of vitality in him.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"The sheep!..." he murmured. "A receipt +and tally for some sheep!..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Fresh excitement had in the space of a few seconds +given him a new lease of strength. He dragged +himself up to his feet and walked almost upright as +far as the hut.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>There certainly was a flock of sheep in the pen: the +dog was watching close by the gate, but the shepherd +was nowhere to be seen.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"The sheep! ... A receipt and tally for some +sheep! ... In Sir Humphrey Challoner's coat +pocket! ..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Oh! for one calm moment in which to think ... to think!</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"The sheep!..." This one thought went on +hammering in the poor tired brain, like the +tantalising, elusive whisper of a mischievous sprite.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>And with it all there was scarce a second to be lost.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The hound, yelping and straining on the leash, was +not half a mile away; the next ten or perhaps fifteen +minutes would see the end of this awful man-hunt on +the Moor. And yet there close by, behind those +clumps of gorse and the thickset hedge of bramble, +was the clearing, where just twenty-four hours ago +he had danced that mad rigadoon, with her almost in +his arms.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Instinctively, in the wild agony of this supreme +moment, Beau Brocade turned his steps thither. +This clearing had but two approaches, there where +the tough branches of furze had once been vigorously +cut into. Last night he had led her through the +one whilst Jock Miggs sat beside the other, piping the +quaint sad tune.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>For one moment the hunted man seemed to live +that mad, merry hour again, and from out the +darkness fairy fingers seemed to beckon: and her face—just +for one brief second—smiled at him out of the gloom.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Surely this was not to be the end! Something +would happen, something </span><em class="italics">must</em><span> happen to enable him +to render her the great service he had sworn to do.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Oh! if that yelping dog were not quite so close +upon his track! Within the next few minutes, +seconds even, he would surely think of something +that would guide him towards that great goal: </span><em class="italics">her +service</em><span>. Oh! for just a brief respite in which to +think! a way to evade his captors for a short while—a +means to hide! a disguise! anything.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But for once the Moor—his happy home, his +friend, his mother—was silent, save for the sound of +hunters on his trail, of his doom drawing nearer and +nearer, whilst he stood and remembered his dream.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>It was madness surely, or else a continuance of +that fairy vision, but now it seemed to him, as he +stood just there, where yesterday her foot had +plied the dear old measure, that his ear suddenly +caught once more the sound of that self-same rigadoon.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>It was a dream of course. He knew that, and +paused awhile, although every second now meant +life or death to him.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The tune seemed to evade him. It had been close +to his ear a moment ago, now it was growing fainter +and fainter, gradually vanishing away: soon he +could scarce hear it, yet it seemed something tangible, +something belonging to her: it was the tune which +she had loved, to which her foot had danced so +gladsomely, so he ran after it, ran as fast as his weary +body would take him, to the further end of the +clearing, whither the sweet, sad tune was leading +him with its tender, plaintive echo.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>There, just where the clearing debouched upon the +narrow path which leads to Wirksworth, he overtook +Jock Miggs who was slowly wending his way along, +and who just now must have passed quite close to +him, blowing on his tiny pipe, as was his wont.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"The shepherd! ... Chorus of angels in paradise +lend me your aid now!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>With a supreme effort he pulled his scattered +senses together: the mighty fever of self-defence was +upon him, that tower of strength which some +overwhelming danger will give to a brave man once +perhaps in his lifetime. The veil of semi-consciousness, +of utter physical prostration, was lifted from his +dull brain for this short brief while. The exhausted, +suffering, hunted creature had once more given place +to the keen, alert son of the Moor, the mad, free child +of Nature, with a resourceful head and a daring hand. +And for that same brief while the great and mighty +power whom men have termed Fate, but whom +saints have called God, allowed his untamed spirit +to conquer his body and to hold it in bondage, +chasing pain away, trampling down exhaustion, +whilst disclosing to his burning eyes, amidst the +dark and deadly gloom, the magic, golden vision of a +newly-awakened hope.</span></p> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> +</div> +<p class="center pfirst" id="the-dawn"><span class="large">CHAPTER XXIX</span></p> +<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">THE DAWN</span></p> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> +</div> +<p class="pfirst"><span>A while ago, in an agony of longing, he had cried out +for a moment's respite! for a disguise! and now +there stood before him Jock Miggs in smock and +broad-brimmed hat, with pipe and shepherd's staff. +His pursuers, headed by the yelping dog, were still a +quarter of a mile away. Five minutes in which to +do battle for his life, for his freedom, for the power +to keep his oath! The plan of action had surged in +his mind at first sight of the wizened little figure of +the shepherd beside the further approach to the +clearing.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Beau Brocade drew himself up to his full height, +sought and found in the pocket of his coat the black +mask which he habitually wore; this he fixed to his +face, then drawing a pistol from his belt, he overtook +Jock Miggs, clapped him vigorously on the shoulder, +and shouted lustily,—</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Stand and deliver!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Jock Miggs, aroused from his pleasant meditations, +threw up his hands in terror.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"The Lud have mercy on my soul!" he ejaculated +as he fell on his knees.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Stand and deliver!" repeated Beau Brocade, in +as gruff a voice as he could command.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Jock Miggs was trying to collect his scattered wits.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"B ... b ... but ... kind sir!" he +murmured, "y ... y ... you wouldn't harm Jock +Miggs, the shepherd ... would you?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Quick's the word! Now then..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"But, good sir ... Oi ... Oi ... Oi've got +nowt to deliver..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Jock Miggs was pitiful to behold: at any other +moment of his life Bathurst would have felt very +sorry for the poor, scared creature, but that yelping +hound was drawing desperately near and he had only +a few minutes at his command.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Naught to deliver?" he said with a great show +of roughness, and seizing poor Jock by the collar.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Look at your smock!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"My smock, kind sir?..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye! I've a fancy for your smock ... so off +with it ... quick!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Jock Miggs struggled up to his feet, he was +beginning to gather a small modicum of courage. He +had lived all his life on Brassing Moor and it was his +first serious encounter with an armed gentleman of +the road. Whether 'twas Beau Brocade or no he was +too scared to conjecture, but he had enough +experience of the Heath to know that poor folk like +himself had little bodily hurt to fear from highwaymen.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But of course it was always wisest to obey. As to +his old smock...</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"He! he! he! my old smock, sir!" he laughed +vaguely and nervously, "why..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't want to knock the poor old cuckoo down," +murmured Bathurst to himself, "but I've just got +three minutes before that cur reaches the top of the +clearing and ... Off with your smock, man, or I +fire," he added peremptorily, and pointing the muzzle +of his pistol at the trembling shepherd.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Miggs had in the meanwhile fully realised that the +masked stranger was in deadly earnest. Why he +should want the old smock was more than any +shepherd could conceive, but that he meant to have +it was very clear. Jock uttered a final plaintive +word of protest.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Kind sir ... but if Oi take off my smock ... I +sha'nt be quite d ... d ... decent ... sir +... wi' only my shirt."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"You shall have my coat," replied Bathurst, +decisively.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Lud preserve me! ... Your coat, sir!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes! it's old and shabby, and my waistcoat too.... +Now off with that smock, or..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Once more the muzzle of the pistol gleamed close +to Jock Miggs's head. Without further protest he +began to divest himself of his smock. The process +was slow and laborious, and Jack set his teeth not to +scream with the agony of the suspense.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>He himself had had little difficulty in taking off his +own coat and waistcoat, for earlier in the day, before +he had been so hard pressed, the pain in his shoulder +had caused him to slip his left arm out of its sleeve.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Moreover, the excitement of these last fateful +moments kept him at fever pitch: he was absolutely +unconscious of aught save of the rapid flight of the +seconds and the steady approach of dog and men +towards the clearing.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Even Jock Miggs, who up to now had been too +intent on his own adventure to take much heed of +what went on in the gloom beyond, even he +perceived that something unusual was happening on the Moor.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"What's that?" he asked with renewed terror.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"A posse of soldiers at my heels," said Beau +Brocade, decisively, "that's why I want your smock, +my man, and if I don't get it there'll be just time to +blow out your dull brains before I fall into their hands."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>This last argument was sufficiently convincing. +Miggs thought it decidedly best to obey; he helped +his mysterious assailant on with his own smock, cap +and kerchief, and not unwillingly attired himself in +Beau Brocade's discarded coat and waistcoat.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"A pistol in your belt in case you need it, friend," +whispered Bathurst, rapidly, as he slipped one of the +weapons in Miggs's belt, keeping the other firmly +grasped in his own hand.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>There was no doubt that the hound was on the +scent now: the men had ceased shouting but their +rapid footsteps could be heard following closely upon +the dog, whose master was muttering a few words of +encouragement.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Anon there came a whisper, louder than the rest,—</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"This way!..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Then another,—</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"There's a path here!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Be gy! this confounded darkness!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Steady, Roy! steady, old man! Eh? What?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"This way!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Can't you find the trail, old Roy?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>And the gorse was crackling beneath rapid and +stealthy footsteps. There was now just the width +of the clearing between Beau Brocade and his +pursuers.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"This way, Sergeant. Roy's got the trail again."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Neither Jock Miggs nor yet Beau Brocade could +see what was going on at the further end of the clearing. +The dog, wildly straining against the leash, was +quivering with intense excitement, his master +hanging on to him with all his might.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Miggs, scared like some sheep lost among a herd of +cows, was standing half-dazed, smoothing down with +appreciative fingers the fine cloth of his new apparel, +terrified every time his hand came in contact with the +pistol in his belt.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But Beau Brocade had crept underneath a heavy +clump of gorse and bramble, and with his finger on +the trigger of his weapon he cowered there, ready for +action, his eyes fixed upon the blackness before him.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The next moment the outline of the hound's head +and shoulders became faintly discernible in the +gloom. With nose close to the ground, powerful +jaws dropping and parched tongue hanging out of its +mouth, it was heading straight for the clump of +gorse where cowered the hunted man.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Beau Brocade took rapid aim and fired. The dog, +without a howl, rolled over on its side, whilst Jock +Miggs uttered a cry of terror.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Then there was an instant's pause. The pursuers, +silenced and awed, had stopped dead, for they had +been taken wholly unawares, and for a second or two +waited, expecting and dreading yet another shot.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Then a mild, trembling voice came to them from +the darkness.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"There 'e is, Sergeant! Just afore you—standing +... see!..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The Sergeant and soldiers had no need to be told +twice. Their pause had only been momentary and +already they had perceived the outline of Jock Miggs's +figure, standing motionless not far from the body of +the dead dog.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>With a shout of triumph Sergeant and soldiers fell +on the astonished shepherd, whilst the same mild, +trembling voice continued to pipe excitedly,—</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Hold 'un tight, Sergeant! Jump on 'im! Tie +'is legs! Sure, an' 'tis he, the rascal!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Jock Miggs had had no chance of uttering one word +of protest, for one of the soldiers, remembering a lesson +learnt the day before at the smithy, had thrown his +own heavy coat right over the poor fellow's head, +effectually smothering his screams. Another man +had picked up the still smoking pistol from the +ground close to Miggs's feet.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Pistols!" said the Sergeant, excitedly. "The +pair o' them too," he added, pulling the other +silver-mounted weapon out of Miggs's belt, and the black +mask out of the pocket of his coat: "and silver-mounted, +be gy! ... And his mask! ... Now, +my men, off with him.... Tie his legs together—off +with your belts, quick! ... and you, Corporal, +keep that coat tied well over his head ... the +rascal's like an eel, and'll wriggle out of your hands +if you don't hold him tight.... Remember +there's a hundred guineas reward for the capture of +Beau Brocade."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Poor old Miggs, smothered within the thick folds +of the soldier's coat, could scarce manage to breathe. +The men were fastening his knees and ankles together +with their leather belts, his arms too were pinioned +behind his back. Thus trussed and spitted like a +goose ready for roasting, he felt himself being hauled +up on the shoulders of some of the men and then +borne triumphantly away.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"We've gotten Beau Brocade!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Hip! hip! hurray!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>And so they marched away, shouting lustily, +whilst Beau Brocade remained alone on the Heath.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The excitement was over now. He was safe for +the moment and free. But the hour of victory +seemed like the hour of death; as the last shouts of +triumph, the last cry of "Hurrah!" died away in the +distance, he fell back against the wet earth; his senses +were reeling, the very ground seemed to be giving +way beneath his feet, a lurid, red film to be rising +before his closing lids, blotting out the darkness of +the Moor, and that faint, very faint, streak of grey +which had just appeared in the east.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>God, to whom he had cried out in his agony, had +given him the respite for which he had craved. He +was safe and free to think ... to think of her ... and +yet now his one longing seemed to be to lie down +and rest ... and rest ... and sleep...</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Many a night he had lain thus on the open Moor, +with the soft, sweet-scented earth for his bed, and the +tender buds of heather as a pillow for his head. But +to-night he was only conscious of infinite peace, and +his trembling hands drew the worthy shepherd's +smock closer round him.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>His wandering spirit paused awhile to dwell on +poor Miggs in his sorry plight.... Ah, well! the +morning would see Jock free again, but in the meanwhile...</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Then all of a sudden the spirit was back on +earth, back to life and to a mad, scarce +understandable hope. His hand had come in contact +with a packet of letters in the pocket of Miggs's +smock.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Far away in the sky the eastern stars had paled +before the morning light. One by one the distant +peaks of the Derbyshire hills emerged from the black +mantle of the night, and peeped down on the valley +below, blushing a rosy red. Upon the Heath animal +life began to be astir—in the morass beyond a lazy +frog started to croak.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Beau Brocade had clasped the letters with cold, +numb fingers: he drew them forth and held them +before his dimmed eyes.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"The letters!..." he murmured, trembling +with the agony of this great unlooked-for joy. "The +letters!..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>How they came there, he could not tell. He was +too weary, too ill to guess. But that they were her +letters he could not for a moment doubt. He had +found them! God and His angels had placed them +in his hands!</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Ah, Fortune! fickle Fortune! the wilful jade and +the poor outlaw were to be even then after all. And +'twas Beau Brocade, highwayman, thief, who was +destined in a few hours to bring her this great happiness.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Will she ... will she smile, I wonder..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>He loved to see her smile, and to watch the soft +tell-tale blush slowly mounting to her cheek. Ah! now +he was dreaming ... dreams that never, never +could be. He would bring her back the letters, for +he had sworn to her that she should have them ere +the sun had risen twice o'er yon green-clad hills. +And then all would be over, and she would pass out +of his life like a beautiful comet gliding across the +firmament of his destiny.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>A moment but not to stay.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>In the east, far away, rose had changed to gold. +From Moor and Heath and Bogland came the sound +of innumerable bird-throats singing the great and +wonderful hymn of praise, hosanna to awakening +Nature.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The outlaw had kept his oath; he turned to where +the first rays of the rising sun shed their shimmering +mantle over the distant Tors, and in one great +uplifting of his soul to his Maker he prayed that sweet +death might kiss him when he placed the letters at +her feet.</span></p> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> +</div> +<p class="center pfirst" id="suspense"><span class="medium">PART IV</span></p> +<p class="center pnext"><span class="large">H.R.H. THE DUKE OF CUMBERLAND</span></p> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> +</div> +<p class="center pfirst"><span class="large">CHAPTER XXX</span></p> +<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">SUSPENSE</span></p> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> +</div> +<p class="pfirst"><span>Throughout the whole range of suffering which +humanity is called upon to endure, there is perhaps +nothing so hard to bear as suspense.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The uncertainty of what the immediate future +might bring, the fast-sinking hope, the slowly-creeping +despair, the agony of dull, weary hours: Patience +had gone through the whole miserable gamut +during that long and terrible day when, obedient to +Bathurst's wishes, she had shut herself up in the +dingy little parlour of the Packhorse and refused to +see anyone save the faithful smith.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>And the news which John Stich brought to her +from time to time was horrible enough to hear.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>He tried to palliate as much as possible the account +of that awful battue organised against Beau Brocade, +but she guessed from the troubled look on the honest +smith's face, and from the furtive, anxious glance of +his eyes, that the man whom she had trusted with +her whole heart was now in peril, even more deadly +than that which had assailed her brother.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>And with the innate sympathy born of a true and +loving heart, she guessed too how John Stich's simple, +faithful soul went out in passionate longing to his +friend, who, alone, wounded, perhaps helpless, was +fighting his last battle on the Heath.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Yet the trust within her had not died out. Beau +Brocade had sworn to do her service and to bring +her back the letters ere the sun had risen twice o'er +the green-clad hills. To her overwrought mind it +seemed impossible that he should fail. He was not +the type of man whom fate or adverse circumstance +ever succeeded in conquering, and on his whole +magnetic personality, on the intense vitality of his +being, Nature had omitted to put the mark of failure.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But the hours wore on and she was without +further news. Her terror for her brother increased +the agony of her suspense. She could see that John +Stich too had become anxious about Philip. There +was no doubt that with an organised man-hunt on the +Moor the lonely forge by the cross-roads would no +longer be a safe hiding-place for the Earl of Stretton. +The smithy was already marked as a suspected house, +and John Stich was known to be a firm adherent of +the Gascoynes and a faithful friend of Beau Brocade.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>During the course of this eventful day the attention +of the Sergeant and soldiers had been distracted, +through Bathurst's daring actions, from Stich's +supposed nephew out o' Nottingham, but as the +beautiful September afternoon turned to twilight +and then to dusk, and band after band of hunters set +out to scour the Heath, it became quite clear both to +Patience and to the smith that Philip must be got +away from the forge at any cost.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>He could remain in temporary shelter at the +Packhorse, under the guise of one of Lady Patience's +serving-men, at anyrate until another nightfall, when +a fresh refuge could be found for him, according as +the events would shape themselves within the next +few hours.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Therefore, as soon as the shadows of evening began +to creep over Brassing Moor, Stich set out for the +cross-roads. He walked at a brisk pace along the +narrow footpath which led up to his forge, his honest +heart heavy at thought of his friend, all alone out +there on the Heath.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The weird echo of the man-hunt did not reach this +western boundary of the Moor, but even in its +stillness the vast immensity looked hard and cruel in the +gloom: the outlines of gorse bush and blackthorn +seemed akin to gaunt, Cassandra-like spectres +foreshadowing some awful disaster.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Within the forge Philip too had waited in an agony +of suspense, whilst twice the glorious sunset had +clothed the Tors with gold.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Driven by hunger and cold out of the hiding-place +on the Moor which Bathurst had found for him, he +had returned to the smithy the first night, only to find +John Stich gone and no trace of his newly-found +friend. His sister, he knew, must have started for +London, but he was without any news as to what had +happened in the forge, and ignorant of the gallant +fight made therein by the notorious highwayman.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The hour was late then, and Philip was loth to +disturb old Mistress Stich, John's mother, who kept +house for him at the cottage. Moreover, he had the +firm belief in his heart that neither Bathurst nor +Stich would have deserted him, had they thought +that he was in imminent danger.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Tired out with the excitement of the day, and with +a certain amount of hope renewed in his buoyant +young heart, he curled himself up in a corner of the +shed and forgot all his troubles in a sound sleep.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The next morning found him under the care of old +Mistress Stich at the cottage. She had had no news +of John, who had wandered out, so she said, about +two hours after sunset, possibly to find the Captain; +but she thrilled the young man's ears with the account +of the daring fight in the forge.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay! but they'll never get our Captain!" said +the worthy dame, with a break in her gentle old +voice, "and if the whole countryside was after him +they'd never get him. Leastways so says my John."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"God grant he may speak truly," replied the +young man, fervently; "'tis shame enough on me +that a brave man should risk his life for me, whilst +I have to stand idly behind a cupboard door."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The absence of definite news weighed heavily upon +his spirits, and as the day wore on and neither John +Stich nor Bathurst reappeared, his hopes very +quickly began to give way to anxiety and then to +despair. Philip always had a touch of morbid +self-analysis in his nature: unlike Jack Bathurst, he was +ever ready to bend the neck before untoward fate, +heaping self-accusation on self-reproach, and thus +allowing his spirit to bow to circumstance, rather +than to attempt to defy it.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>And throughout the whole of this day he sat, +moody and silent, with the ever-recurring thought +hammering in his brain,—</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I ought not to have allowed a stranger to risk his +life for me. I should have given myself up. 'Twas +unworthy a soldier and a gentleman."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>By the time the shadows had lengthened on the +Moor, and Jack o' Lantern covered with sweat had +arrived riderless at the forge, Philip was formulating +wild plans of going to Wirksworth and there +surrendering himself to the local magistrate. He +worked himself up into a fever of heroic self-sacrifice, +and had just resolved only to wait until dawn to +carry out his purpose, when John Stich appeared in +the doorway of his smithy.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>One look in the honest fellow's face told the young +Earl of Stretton that most things in his world were +amiss just now. A few eager questions, and as +briefly as possible Stich told him exactly how matters +stood: the letters stolen by Sir Humphrey Challoner, +Bathurst's determination to re-capture them and the +organized hunt proceeding this very night against him.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Her ladyship and I both think, my lord, that +this place is not safe for you just now," added John, +finally, "and she begs you to come to her at Brassington +as soon as you can. The road is safe enough," +added the smith, with a heavy sigh, "no one'd notice +us—they are all after the Captain, and God knows +but perhaps they've got him by now."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Philip could say nothing, for his miserable +self-reproaches had broken his spirit of obstinacy. His +boyish heart was overflowing with sympathy for the +kindly smith. How gladly now would he have given +his own life to save that of his gallant rescuer!</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Obediently he prepared to accede to his sister's +wishes. He knew what agony she must have endured +when the letters were filched from her; he guessed +that she would wish to have him near her, and in any +case he wanted to be on the spot, hoping that yet he +could offer his own life in exchange for the one which +was being so nobly risked for him.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Quite quietly, therefore, and without a murmur, he +prepared to accompany Stich back to Brassington. +At the Packhorse a serving-man's suit could easily +be found for him, and he would be safe enough there, +for a little while at least.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>John Stich, having tended Jack o' Lantern with +loving care, took a hasty farewell of his mother. +While his friend's fate and that of his young lord hung +in the balance he was not like to get back quietly to +his work.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"The Captain may come back here for shelter +mayhap," he said, with a catch in his throat, as he +kissed the old dame "good-bye"; "you'll tend to him, +mother?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye! you may be sure o' that, John," replied +Mistress Stich, fervently.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"He'll need a rest mayhap, and some nice warm +water; he's such a dandy, mother, you know."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye! aye!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"And you might lay out his best clothes for him; +he may need 'em mayhap."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye! I've got 'em laid in lavender for him. +That nice sky-blue coat, think you, John?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye, and the fine 'broidered waistcoat, and the +black silk bow for his hair, and the lace ruffles for his +wrists, and..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Stich broke down, a great lump had risen in his +throat. Would the foppish young dandy, the handsome, +light-hearted gallant, ever gladden the eyes of +honest John again?</span></p> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> +</div> +<p class="center pfirst" id="we-ve-gotten-beau-brocade"><span class="large">CHAPTER XXXI</span></p> +<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">"WE'VE GOTTEN BEAU BROCADE!"</span></p> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> +</div> +<p class="pfirst"><span>The presence of Philip at the inn had done much to +cheer Patience in her weary waiting. He and John +Stich had reached the Packhorse some time before +cockcrow, and the landlord had been only too ready +to do anything in reason to further the safety of the +fugitive, so long as his own interests were not +imperilled thereby.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>This meant that he would give Philip a serving-man's +suit and afford him shelter in the inn, for as +long as the authorities did not suspect him of +harbouring a rebel; beyond that he would not go.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Lady Patience had paid him lavishly for this help +and his subsequent silence. It was understood that +the fugitive would only make a brief halt at Brassington: +some more secluded shelter would have to be +found for him on the morrow.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>For the moment, of course, the thoughts of everyone +in the village would be centred in the capture of +Beau Brocade. The highwayman had many friends +and adherents in the village, people whom his careless +and open-handed generosity had often saved from +penury. To a man almost, the village folk hoped to +see him come out victorious from the awful and +unequal struggle which was going on on the Heath. +So strong was this feeling that the beadle, who was +known to entertain revengeful thoughts against the +man who had played him so impudent a trick the +day before, did not dare to show his rubicund face +in the bar-parlour of either inn on that memorable +night.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>No one had gone to bed. The men waited about, +consuming tankards of small ale, whilst discussing +the possibility of their hero's capture. The women +sat at home with streaming eyes, plaintively wondering +who would help them in future in their distress, +if Beau Brocade ceased to haunt the Heath.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Patience herself did not close an eye. Her hand +clinging to that of Philip, she sat throughout that +long, weary night watching and waiting, dreading the +awful dawn, with the terrible news it would bring.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>And it was when the first rosy light shed its +delicate hue over the tiny old-world village, that the +sweet-scented morning air was suddenly filled with +the hoarse triumphal cry,—</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"We have gotten Beau Brocade!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Hip! hip! hip! hurray!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Wearied and dazed with the fatigue of her long +vigil, Patience had sunk into a torpor when those +shouts, rapidly drawing nearer to the village, roused +her from this state of semi-consciousness.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>She hardly knew what she had hoped during these +past anxious hours: now that the awful certainty had +come, it seemed to stun her with the unexpectedness +of the blow.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"We've gotten Beau Brocade!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The village folk turned out in melancholy groups +from the parlour of the inn; they too had entertained +vague hopes that their hero would emerge unscathed +from the perils which encompassed him; to them too +the news of his capture came as that of a sad, +irretrievable catastrophe. They congregated in small, +excited numbers on the village green, their stolid +heads shaking sadly at sight of the squad of soldiers, +who were bringing in a swathed-up bundle of +humanity, smothered about the head in a scarlet +coat, and with hands and legs securely strapped down +with a couple of military belts. Only the fine brown +cloth coat, the beautifully-embroidered waistcoat +and silver-mounted pistol proclaimed that miserable, +helpless bundle to be the gallant Beau Brocade.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The soldiers themselves were in a wild state of +glee; they had carried their prisoner in triumph all +the way from the Heath, and had never ceased +shouting until they had deposited him on the green. +Owing to the unusual hour, and to the absence of +His Honour, Squire West, the pinioned highwayman +was to be locked up in the pound until noon.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>In the small private parlour of the Packhorse +Patience had sat rigid as a statue, while those shouts +of triumph seemed to strike her heart as with a +hammer. Her fist pressed against her burning +mouth, she was making desperate efforts to smother +the scream of agony which would have rent her throat.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But with one bound John Stich was soon out of the +Packhorse, where he, too, with aching heart and mind +devoured with anxiety, had watched and waited +through the night.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>It did not take him long to reach the green, and +using his stalwart elbows to some purpose, he +quickly made a way for himself through the small +crowd and was presently looking down on the huddled +figure which lay helpless on the ground.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>There was the Captain's fine brown coat sure +enough, with its ample, silk-lined, full skirts, and +rich, cut-steel buttons; there was the long, +richly-embroidered waistcoat; the lace cuffs at the wrists, +and the handsome sword-belt, through which the +finely-chased silver handle of the pistol still +protruded. But John Stich had need but to cast one +glance at the hands, and another at the feet encased +in rough countryman's boots, to realise with a sudden, +wild exultation of his honest heart that in some way +or other his Captain had succeeded in once more +playing a trick on his pursuers, and that the man +who lay there muffled on the ground was certainly not +Beau Brocade.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But even in the suddenness of this intense joy and +relief, John Stich was shrewd enough not to betray +himself. Obviously every moment, during which +the captors enjoyed their mistaken triumph, was a +respite gained for the hunted man out on the Heath. +Therefore when the Sergeant ordered the rascal to be +locked up in the pound awaiting his Honour's orders, +and gave Stich a vigorous rap on the shoulder, saying +lustily,—</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, Master Stich, we've got your friend after +all, you see?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The smith quietly replied,—</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye! aye! you've gotten him right enough. +No offence, Sergeant! Have a small ale with me +before we all go to bed?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"'Tis nowt to me," he added, seeing with intense +satisfaction the heavy bolts of the pound securely +pushed home on the unfortunate Jock Miggs.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The Sergeant was nothing loth, and eagerly +followed Stich to the bar of the Royal George, where +small ale now flowed freely until the sun was high in +the heavens.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But as soon as the smith had seen the soldiers +safely installed before their huge tankards, he rushed +out of the inn and across the green, back to the +Packhorse, to bring the joyful news to Lady Patience +and her brother.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>In the privacy of the little back parlour he was able +to give free rein to his joy.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"They'll never get the Captain," he shouted, +tossing his cap in the air, "and, saving your ladyship's +presence, we was all fools to think they would."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Patience had said nothing when the smith first +brought the news. She smiled kindly and somewhat +mechanically at the exuberance of his joy, but when +honest John once more left her, to glean more detailed +account of the great man-hunt on the Heath, she +turned to her brother, and falling on her knees she +buried her fair head against the lad's shoulder and +sobbed in the fulness of her joy as if her heart would +break.</span></p> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> +</div> +<p class="center pfirst" id="a-painful-incident"><span class="large">CHAPTER XXXII</span></p> +<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">A PAINFUL INCIDENT</span></p> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> +</div> +<p class="pfirst"><span>A few hours later, when hunters and watchers had +had a little rest, came the rude awakening after the +hour of triumph.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Jock Miggs, still trussed and pinioned, had been +hauled out of the pound. Master Inch, the beadle, +resplendent in gold-laced coat and the majesty of his +own importance, had taken the order of ceremony +into his own hands.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>His Honour, Squire West, would be round at the +Court House about noon, and Inch, still smarting +under the indignity put upon him through the +instrumentality of the highwayman, had devised an +additional little plan of revenge.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Sir Humphrey Challoner had emphatically +declared that the beadle should be publicly whipped +for having dared to lay hands on the Squire of +Hartington's person. Master Inch remembered this +possible and appalling indignity, which mayhap he +would be called upon to suffer, and therefore when +the bolts of the pound were first drawn, disclosing +the swathed-up bundle of humanity which was +supposed to be the highwayman, the beadle shouted +in his most stentorian, most pompous tones,—</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"To the pond with him!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The soldiers—most of them lads recruited from the +Midland counties, and a pretty rough lot to boot—were +only too ready for this additional bit of horseplay.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>'Twas fun enough to sit an old scold in the +ducking-stool, but to carry on the same game with Beau +Brocade, the notorious highwayman, who had defied +the four counties and set every posse of soldiers by +the ears, would be rare sport indeed.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>With a shout of joy they seized Jock Miggs by the +legs and shoulders, and with much laughter and many +a lively sally they carried him to the shallow +duck-pond at the further end of the green. Very sadly, +and with many an anxious shake of the head, the +village folk followed the little procession, which was +headed by the Sergeant and pompous Master Inch.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>At the moment when the unfortunate shepherd was +being swung in mid-air, preparatory to his immersion +in the water, one of the soldiers laughingly dragged +away the coat which swathed poor Miggs's head and +shoulders, and was near suffocating him.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"We don't want 'im to drown, do we?" he said, +just as his comrades dropped the wretched man +straight into the pond.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Immediately there was a loud cry from beadle and +spectators,—</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Lud love us all! that bain't Beau Brocade!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>And one timid voice added,—</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Why! 'tis Jock Miggs, the shepherd!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The beadle nearly had a fit of apoplectic rage. +That cursed highwayman surely must be in league +with the devil himself. The soldiers were gasping +with astonishment, and staring open-mouthed at +the dripping figure of Jock Miggs, who with unruffled +stolidity was quietly struggling out of the water.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Lordy! Lordy! these be 'mazing times," he +muttered in his vague, fatalistic way as he shook +himself dry in the sunshine, after the manner of his +own woolly sheep-dog.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Oho! ho! ha! ha! ha!" came in merry chorus +from the crowd of village folk, "look at Jock Miggs, +the highwayman!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The soldiers, were absolutely speechless. Master +Inch, the beadle, had said emphatically,—</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Damn!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Truly there was nothing more to be said: those +who were inclined to be superstitious felt convinced +that the devil himself had had something to do with +this amazing substitution.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>That it was Beau Brocade who had been captured +on the Heath last night none of those who were present +at the time doubted for a single instant. To their +minds the highwayman had been mysteriously +spirited away by the agency of Satan his friend, who +had quietly deposited Jock Miggs, the shepherd, in +his place.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>John Stich, with Mistress Betty beside him, had +watched these proceedings from the other end of the +green, fully prepared to come to Miggs's assistance +and to disclose the latter's identity at once if the +horse-play became at all too rough. He now pushed +his way through the group of soldiers, and +good-naturedly taking hold of the bewildered shepherd's +arm, he led him to the porch of the Royal George.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"You'd like to wet your gullet after this, eh, Jock?" +he said, as he ordered a tankard of steaming ale to be +brought forthwith to the dripping man.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The soldiers, somewhat shamefaced, had pressed +into the bar-parlour of the inn: presently there +would be a few broken heads in the village as a +result of the morning's work, but for the moment the +yokels had not begun to chaff: 'twas Jock who was +the centre of attraction outside in the porch, sitting on +a bench and sipping large quantities of hot ale.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Let's all drink a glass of ale to the health of Jock +Miggs, the highwayman!" came in merry accents +from one of the gaffers.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Hurrah for Jock Miggs, the highwayman!" was +the universal gleeful chorus.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Be gy! Don't he look formidable!" quoth +one of the villagers, pointing at the shepherd's scared +figure on the bench.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Let me perish!" said another in mock alarm, +"but I'se mightily afeeard o' him."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Mistress Betty too had mixed with the throng, and +was eyeing Jock, with irrepressible laughter dancing +in her saucy little face.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Lud! 'tis that funny bit of sheep's wool!" she +said gaily. "Faith! and you do look sadly, Jock +Miggs, and no mistake! Have you been in the pond?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"How did 'e foind that out?" queried Miggs, +vaguely. "Aye! they dumped Oi in t' pond, they +did ... and nearly throttled Oi ... 'tis a blamed +shame!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>He had sipped huge tankards of hot ale until he +felt thoroughly warm, and was steaming now like +a great loaf just out of the oven.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Dumped ye in the pond?" laughed Mistress +Betty. "You were no beauty before, Jock Miggs +... but now ... Oh! Gemini! ... Why, what had +you done?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I'd done nowt!" retorted the bewildered +shepherd. "A foine gentleman he took a fancy to +me old smock, he did ... he put a pistol to my +head ... then he give me his own beautiful coat +for to make me look decent ... and I were just +puttin' it on when them soldiers fell on me ... and +nigh throttled me, and clapped me in the pound they +did..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Ye seem to have had a rough time o' it, friend +Miggs," said John Stich, kindly.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye, that be so!" commented Jock, vaguely. +"'Mazing times these be!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"They mistook you in your fine clothes for Beau +Brocade," explained one of the villagers.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"May be so!" quoth Miggs. "I dunno."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But Mistress Betty held up a rosy finger at the +unfortunate shepherd, and said with grave severity,—</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Ye are not Beau Brocade, Jock Miggs, are ye?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I dunno!" replied Jock Miggs with imperturbable +vagueness. "I don't rightly know who Oi be! +I think them soldiers made a mistake, but I dunno."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>He was undoubtedly the hero of the hour, and the +rest of his morning was spent in pleasant conviviality +with all his friends in the village, until by about +noon the worthy shepherd was really hopelessly +at sea as to who he really was. At one o'clock he +became quite convinced that he was Beau Brocade +the highwayman—or at any rate a very dangerous +character—and had only escaped hanging through +his reputation of supernatural cunning and bravery.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The Sergeant and soldiers were drowning their +acute disappointment in the bar-parlour of the +Royal George. They certainly were not in luck, for +even at the very moment when egged on by the +Sergeant they were planning a fresh battue of the +Heath, there came into Brassington an advance +guard from the Duke of Cumberland, with the news +that His Royal Highness would pass through the +village with his army corps on his way to the north. +The Sergeant was requisitioned to arrange for His +Highness's quarters at the Royal George: the men +would not be allowed to go hunting after a highwayman, +in case their officers had need of them for other +purposes.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>All thoughts of a fresh hunt after their elusive +quarry would therefore have to be abandoned until +after the army had passed through Brassington, and +Sergeant and soldiers could but hope that they would +be left behind, in order that they might make one +more gigantic attempt to earn the hundred guineas +reward, offered for the capture of Beau Brocade.</span></p> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> +</div> +<p class="center pfirst" id="the-awakening"><span class="large">CHAPTER XXXIII</span></p> +<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">THE AWAKENING</span></p> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> +</div> +<p class="pfirst"><span>John Stich could scarce contain himself for joy. +Fate indeed and all the angels in heaven had ranged +themselves on the side of his Captain.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>That Beau Brocade should have emerged +unconquered after all out of the terrible position in +which he was placed last night, seemed to the worthy +smith nothing short of miraculous, and only +accomplished through the special agency of heaven, +whose most cherished child the gallant highwayman +most undoubtedly was, in his friend's enthusiastic +estimation.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>For the moment, therefore, the kindly smith felt +tolerably happy about his friend. The presence of +His Royal Highness the Duke of Cumberland with +his army corps in this part of the country would do +much towards keeping the Sergeant and soldiers' +attention away from the Heath, at any rate for a day +or two. Perhaps the squad now quartered at +Brassington would be drafted to one of the regiments, +and a fresh contingent, composed of men who'd have +no special bone to pick with the highwayman, left +behind for the still active hunt against the rebels.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But this train of thought brought the faithful +smith's mind back to the Earl of Stretton and the +stolen letters. Reassured momentarily as to his +friend, he was still aware of the grave peril which +threatened his young lord.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Neither he nor Lady Patience could conjecture +what had become of the letters. Sir Humphrey +Challoner, after his woeful adventure in Brassington, +had condescended to accept Squire West's hospitality +for the nonce. Stich had spied him in the course of +the morning, walking in the direction of the village +in close conversation with his familiar, Master +Mittachip, attorney-at-law. In spite of the momentary +respite in his anxiety, the smith felt that there +lay still the real danger to Beau Brocade and to Lord +Stretton. Moreover, by now he longed to see his +friend and to learn how he'd fared. Vaguely in his +honest heart he feared that the young man had +succumbed on the Heath to pain and fatigue, and +mayhap had failed to reach the forge.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>When he saw the entire population of Brassington +busy with Jock Miggs, and the soldiers intent on +the news from the Duke of Cumberland's advance +guard, he determined to set out for the crossroads, +in the hopes of finding the Captain at the forge.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>He had just crossed the green and turned into the +narrow bridle-path which led straight to his smithy, +when he spied a yokel, dressed in a long smock and +wearing a broad-brimmed hat, coming slowly towards +him. The man was leaning heavily on a thick +knotted stick and seemed to be walking with obvious +pain and fatigue.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Some unexplainable instinct caused the smith +to wait awhile until the yokel came a little nearer. +This corner of the village was quite deserted; the +laughter of the folk assembled round the Royal +George could be heard only as a distant echo from +across the green. The next moment the smith +uttered a quickly-suppressed cry of astonishment +as he recognised Bathurst's face underneath the +broad-brimmed hat.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Sh! ... sh ... sh!" whispered the young +man hurriedly—"her ladyship? ... can I see her?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes! yes!" replied John, whose honest eyes +were resting anxiously on his friend's pallid face, +"but you, Captain? ... you?..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>He did not like to formulate the question, and +Bathurst interrupted him quickly.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I've rested awhile at the forge, John ... your +mother was an angel ... and now I want to see +her ladyship."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>John's honest heart misgave him. His friend's +fresh young voice sounded hoarse and unnatural, +there was a restless, feverish glitter in his eyes, +and the slender, tapering hand which rested on the +stick trembled visibly.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"You ought to be in bed, Captain," he muttered +gruffly, "and well nursed too; you are ill..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I am sufficiently alive, friend, at any rate to +serve Lady Patience to the end."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll go tell her ladyship," said the smith, with a +sigh.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Say a man from the village would wish to speak +with her.... Don't mention my name, John +... she'll not know me, I think.... 'Tis best that she +should not.... And I look a miserable object +enough, don't I?" he added with a feeble laugh.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Her ladyship would command you to rest if she +knew..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't wish her to know, friend," said Jack, +smiling in spite of himself at the good fellow's +vehemence, "her tender pity would try to wean me from +my purpose, which is to serve her with the last +breath left in me. And now, quick, John.... +Don't worry about me, old friend.... I am only +a little tired after that scramble on the Heath +... and the wound that limb of Satan dealt me is at +times rather troublesome.... But I am very +tough, you know.... All my plans are made, +and I'll follow you at a little distance. Beg her +ladyship to speak with me in the passage of the inn +... 'twould excite too much attention if I went up +to her parlour.... No one'll know me, never fear."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>John knew of old how useless it was to argue with +the Captain once he had set his mind on a definite +course of action. Without further protest, therefore, +and yet with a heavy heart, he turned and quickly +walked back through the village to the Packhorse, +followed at some little distance by Bathurst.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>In order to arouse as little suspicion as possible, +it had been necessary for the young Earl of Stretton +to mix from time to time with the servant and the +barman of the inn. He was supposed to be an +additional serving-man, come to help at the +Packhorse in view of her ladyship's unexpected stay there. +In this out-of-the-way village of Brassington no one +knew him by sight, and he was in comparative safety +here, until nightfall, when he meant to strike up +country again for shelter.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>He was standing in the shadow behind the bar, +when John Stich entered the parlour, bearing the +message from Beau Brocade. The room was dark +and narrow, over-filled with heavy clouds of tobacco +smoke and with the deafening clamour of loud +discussions and exciting narratives carried on by two +or three soldiers and some half-dozen villagers over +profuse tankards of ale.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>John Stich managed to reach Philip's ear without +exciting attention. The young man at once slipped +out of the room, in order to tell his sister that a yokel +bearing important news would wish to speak with +her privately.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Her heart beating with eagerness and apprehension, +Patience hurried down the narrow stairs, and in the +passage found herself face to face with a man dressed +in a long, dingy smock, and whose features she could +not distinguish beneath the broad brim of his hat.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>He raised a respectful hand to his forelock as soon +as he was in her ladyship's presence, but did not +remove his hat.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"You wished to speak with me, my man?" asked +Lady Patience, eagerly.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I have a message for to deliver to Lady Patience +Gascoyne," said Bathurst, whose voice, hoarse and +quavering with fatigue, needed no assumption of +disguise. He kept his head well bent, and the +passage was very dark.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Patience, with her thoughts fixed on the gallant, +upright figure she had last seen so full of vitality and +joy in the little inn-parlour upstairs, scarce gave +more than a passing glance to the stooping form, +leaning heavily on a stick before her.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, yes," she said impatiently, "you have a +message? From whom?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't rightly know, my lady ... a gentleman +'twas ... on the Heath this morning ... he give +me this letter for your ladyship."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Burying his tell-tale, slender hand well inside the +capacious sleeve of Jock Miggs's smock, Bathurst +handed Patience a note written by himself. She +took it from him with a glad little cry, and when he +turned to go she put a restraining hand on his arm.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Wait till I've read the letter," she said, "I may +wish to send an answer."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>She unfolded the letter slowly, very slowly, he +standing close beside her and watching the tears +gathering in her eyes as she began to read, +murmuring the words half audibly to herself:—</span></p> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> +</div> +<p class="pfirst"><span>"Have no fear. I have the letters, and with your +permission will take them straight to London. I +have a powerful friend there who will help me to +place them before the King and Council without +delay. To carry this safely through it is important +that I should not be seen again in Brassington, as Sir +Humphrey Challoner luckily has lost track of me for +the moment, and I can be at Wirksworth before +nightfall, and on my way to London before another dawn. +Your enemy will keep watch on </span><em class="italics">you</em><span>, so I entreat you +to stay in Brassington so as to engage his attention, +whilst I go to London with the letters. His lordship +would be safest, I think, in the cottage of old Widow +Coggins at Aldwark. It has been my good fortune +to do her some small service; she'll befriend his +lordship for my sake. John Stich will convey him +thither as soon as maybe. I entreat you to be of +good cheer. A few days will see your brother a free +man, and rid you for ever of your enemy. Believe +me, the plan I have had the honour to set forth is +safe and quick, and on my knees I beg you to allow +me to carry it through in your service."</span></p> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> +</div> +<p class="pfirst"><span>She folded the letter and then slipped it into the +folds of her gown.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Through the open doorway behind her a ray of +sunshine came shyly peeping in, framing her graceful +figure with a narrow fillet of gold. They were alone +in the passage, and she, intent upon the precious +letter, was taking no notice of him: thus he could +feast his eyes once more upon his dream, his beautiful +white rose, drooping with the dew, the graceful +silhouette outlined against the sunlit picture beyond, +the queenly head, with its wealth of soft golden hair, +bent with rapt attention on the letter which trembled +in her hand.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>His whole being ached with mad passionate longing +for her, his lips burned with a desire to cover her +neck and throat with kisses, yet he would have knelt +on the flagstones before her and worshipped as did +the saints before Our Lady's shrine. In his heart +was a great joy that he could do her service, and a +strange, wild hope that he might die for her.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"The gentleman who gave you this letter..." +she said with a slight catch in her low, melodious +voice. "You saw him? ... He was well? ... How +did he look?..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Her eyes now were swimming in tears, and Bathurst +had much ado to still the mad beating of his heart, +and to force his voice to a natural tone.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Lud, my lady," he said, "but he was just like +any other body Oi thought."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Not ill?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Noa! noa! not that Oi could see."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Go back to him, friend," she said, with sudden +eagerness, "tell him that he must come to me at +once ... I ... I would speak with him."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>It required all Bathurst's firm strength of will not +to betray himself before her. The tender pleading +in her eyes, the gentle, womanly sympathy in her +voice, set all his pulses beating. But he had made up +his mind that she should not know him just then. A +look, a cry, might give him away, and there was but +one chance now to be of useful service to her, and +that was to take the letters at once to London, whilst +their joint enemy had for the nonce no thought of him.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Therefore he contrived to say quite stolidly,—</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Noa, noa, the gentleman said to Oi, 'You can +bring a message, but th' lady mustn't come nigh +me!'"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>She gave a quick little sigh of disappointment.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Then, my good fellow," she said, "try to +remember ... tell him ... tell him ... I would +wish to thank him ... tell him.... Nay! nay!" +she suddenly added, pulling a faded white +rose from her belt, "tell him nothing ... but give +him this flower ... in token that I have received +his letter ... and will act as he bids me.... +You'll remember?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>He dared not trust himself to speak, but as she +held out the rose to him he took it from her hand +and involuntarily his finger-tips came in contact with +hers just for a second ... long enough for the +divine magnetism of his great love to pass from him to her.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>She seized hold of his hand, for in that one magnetic +touch she had recognised him. Her heart gave a +great leap of joy, the joy of being near him once more, +of again feeling the tender, grey eyes resting with +passionate longing on her face. But she uttered +neither cry nor word, for it was a great, silent +and godlike moment—when at last she understood.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>He had stooped still lower and rested his burning +lips upon her cool fingers, and upon the rose which +she had worn at her breast.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Neither of them spoke, for their hearts were in +perfect unison, their whole being thrilled with the +wild, jubilant echo of a divine hosanna, and around +them the legions of God's angels made a rampart of +snow-white wings, to shut out all the universe from +them, leaving them alone with their love.</span></p> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> +</div> +<p class="center pfirst" id="a-life-for-a-life"><span class="large">CHAPTER XXXIV</span></p> +<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">A LIFE FOR A LIFE</span></p> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> +</div> +<p class="pfirst"><span>That moment was brief, as all such great and happy +moments are.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But a few seconds had passed since both her hands +had rested in his, and he forgot the world in that one +kiss upon her finger-tips.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The next instant a fast-approaching noise of +hurrying footsteps, accompanied by much shouting, +roused them from their dream.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Both through the back and the front door a crowd +of excited soldiers had pushed their way into the inn, +whilst the folk in the bar-parlour, attracted by the +sudden noise, pressed out into the narrow passage +to see what was happening.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>John Stich, foremost amongst these, made a rush +for Patience's side. She found herself suddenly +pressed back towards the foot of the stairs, and face +to face with a noisy group of village folk, through +which the Sergeant and some half-dozen soldiers +were roughly pushing their way.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>She looked round her, helpless and bewildered. +Jack Bathurst had disappeared.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The whole thing had occurred in the brief space of a +few seconds, even before Patience had had time to +realise that anything was amiss.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The narrow staircase, at the foot of which she now +stood, led straight up to the private parlour, where +Philip was even now awaiting her return.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Out of the way, you rascals," the Sergeant was +shouting, whilst elbowing his way through the small +group of gaping yokels, and pressing forward towards +the stairs.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Will your ladyship allow me the privilege of +conducting you out of this crowd?" said a suave voice +at Patience's elbow.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Sir Humphrey Challoner, closely followed by the +obsequious Mittachip, had pushed his way into the +inn, in the wake of the soldiers, and was now standing +between her and the crowd, bowing very deferentially +and offering her his arm, to conduct her upstairs.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But a few moments ago he had heard the startling +news that Jock Miggs had been captured on the +Heath, in mistake for Beau Brocade. As far as Sir +Humphrey could ascertain nothing of importance had +been found on the shepherd's person, and in a +moment he realised that, through almost +supernatural cunning, the highwayman must have +succeeded in filching the letters, and by now had no +doubt once more restored them to Lady Patience.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>All the scheming, the lying, the treachery of the +past few days had therefore been in vain; but Sir +Humphrey Challoner was not the man to give up a +definite purpose after the first material check to his +plans. If her ladyship was once more in possession +of the letters, they must be got away from her again. +That was all. And if that cursed highwayman was +still free to-day, 'sdeath but he'll have to hang on the +morrow.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>In the meanwhile Philip's momentary safety was +a matter of the greatest moment to Sir Humphrey +Challoner. If that clumsy lout of a Sergeant got +hold of the lad, all Sir Humphrey's schemes for forcing +Lady Patience's acceptance of his suit by means of +the precious letters would necessarily fall to the +ground.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But instinctively Patience recoiled from him; +his suave words, his presence near her at this terrible +crisis, frightened her more effectually than the +Sergeant's threatening attitude. She drew close to +John Stich, who had interposed his burly figure +between the soldiers and the foot of the stairs.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Out of the way, John Stich," shouted the Sergeant, +peremptorily, "this is not your forge, remember, +and by G—— I'll not be tricked again."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Those are her ladyship's private rooms," +retorted the smith, without yielding one inch of the +ground. "Landlord," he shouted at the top of his +voice, "I call upon you to protect her ladyship from +these ruffians."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"You insult His Majesty's uniform," quoth the +Sergeant, briefly, "and do yourself no good, smith. +As for the landlord of this inn, he interferes 'tween +me and my duty at his peril."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"But by what right do you interfere with me, +Master Sergeant?" here interposed Lady Patience, +trying to assume an indifferent air of calm +haughtiness. "Do you know who I am?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye! that I do, my lady!" responded the +Sergeant, gruffly, "and that's what's brought me +here this morning. Not half an hour ago I heard +that Lady Patience Gascoyne was staying at the +Packhorse, and now the folks say that a new +serving-man came to give a helping hand here. He arrived +in the middle of the night, it seems. Strange time +for a serving-man to turn up, ain't it?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I know nothing of any servant at this inn, and I +order you at once to withdraw your men, and not to +dare further to molest me."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Your pardon, my lady, but my orders is my +orders: I have been sent here by His Royal Highness +the Duke of Cumberland hisself to hunt out all the +rebels who are in hiding in these parts. I've strict +orders to be on the lookout for Philip James +Gascoyne, Earl of Stretton, who, I understand, is your +ladyship's own brother, and as I've a right o' search, +I mean to see who else is staying in those rooms +upstairs besides your ladyship."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"This is an outrage, Sergeant!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Maybe, my lady," he retorted drily, "but with +us soldiers orders is orders, saving your presence. I +was tricked at the smithy, and again on the Heath. +My belief is that we were hunting a bogey last night, +There may or mayn't be any highwayman called +Beau Brocade, but there was a fine young gallant at +the forge the day afore yesterday, who did for me and +my men, and I'll take my oath that he was none +other than the rebel, Philip Gascoyne, Earl of +Stretton."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"'Tis false and you talk like a madman, Sergeant."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Maybe! but your ladyship'll please stand aside +until I've searched those rooms upstairs, or I'll have +to order my men to lay hands on your ladyship. +Now then, John Stich, stand aside in the name of the +King!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>John Stich did not move, and Lady Patience still +stood defiant and haughty at the foot of the stairs. +The villagers, stolid and stupid, were staring +open-mouthed, not daring to interfere. But of course it +was only a question of seconds, the worthy smith +could not guard the staircase for long against the +Sergeant and a dozen soldiers, and in any case +nothing would be of any avail. Philip in the room +upstairs was trapped like a fox in its lair, and nothing +could save him now from falling into the soldiers' hands.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>In vain she sought for Bathurst among the crowd: +with wild, unreasoning agony she longed for him in +this moment of her greatest need, and he was not +there. She felt sure that if only he were near her +he would think of something, do something, to avert +the appalling catastrophe.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I give your ladyship one minute's time to stand +quietly aside," said the Sergeant, roughly. "After +that I give my men orders to lay hands on you, and +on any one who dares to interfere."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Give me the letters," whispered Sir Humphrey +Challoner, insinuatingly, in her ear. "I can yet save +your brother."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"How?" she murmured involuntarily.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>He looked up towards the top of the stairs.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Then he </span><em class="italics">is</em><span> up there?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>She did not reply. It was useless to deny it, the +next few moments would bring the inevitable.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Stand back, Sergeant," quoth John Stich, +defiantly. "I have the honour to protect her +ladyship's person against any outrage from you."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Good words, smith," retorted the Sergeant, +"but I tell ye I've been tricked twice by you and I +mean to know the reason why. Let her ladyship +allow me to search the room upstairs and I'll not lay +hands on her."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Ye shall not pass," repeated the smith, obstinately.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"The letters," whispered Sir Humphrey, "give +me the letters and I pledge you my honour that I can +save him yet."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But half mad with terror and misery, scornful, +defiant, she turned on him.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Your honour!" she said, with infinite contempt.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But in her inmost heart she murmured in agonised +despair,—</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"What's to be done? Oh, God, protect him!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Stand back, John Stich," repeated the Sergeant, +for the third time, "or I give my men the order to +charge. Now then, my men!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Ye shall not pass!" was the smith's persistent, +obstinate answer to the challenge.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Forward!" shouted the soldier in a loud voice. +"Into it, my men! Use your bayonets if anyone +interferes with ye!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The soldiers, nothing loth, were ready for the attack: +there had already been too much parleying to suit +their taste. They had been baffled too often in the +last few days to be in the mood to dally with a woman, +be she her ladyship or no.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>With a loud cry they made a dash for the stairway, +which behind Stich and Lady Patience lost itself in +the gloom above.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>And it was from out this darkness that at this +moment a light-hearted, fresh young voice struck +upon the astonished ears of all those present.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay! too much zeal, friend Stich. Stand aside, +I pray you. Faith! it'll give me great pleasure to +converse with these gallant lobsters."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>And Jack Bathurst, pushing the bewildered smith +gently to one side, came down the stairs with a smile +upon his face, calm, debonnair, dressed as for a feast.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>He had discarded Jock Miggs's long smock, +broad-brimmed hat and kerchief, and appeared in all the +gorgeous finery of the beautiful lavender-scented +clothes, he had donned at the forge with the kindly +aid of Mistress Stich. He was still very pale and +there were a few lines of weariness and of bodily pain +round the firm, sensitive mouth, but his grey eyes, +deep-sunk and magnetic, glowed with the keen fire +of intense excitement. The coat of fine blue cloth +set off his tall, trim figure to perfection. His left +hand was tucked into the opening of his exquisitely +embroidered waistcoat, and dainty ruffles of delicate +Mechlin lace adorned his neckcloth and wrists. As +he appeared there, handsome, foppish and smiling, +'twas no wonder that the countryside had nicknamed +him Beau Brocade.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Well! my gallant friend!" he said, addressing +the Sergeant, since the latter seemed too astonished +to speak, "what is it you want with me, eh?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The Sergeant was gradually recovering his breath. +Fate apparently was playing into his hands. It was +almost too bewildering for any bluff soldier to realise, +but it certainly seemed pretty clear that the rebel +Earl of Stretton and Beau Brocade the highwayman +were one and the same person.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"You are Philip Gascoyne, Earl of Stretton?" +he asked at last.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Faith! you've guessed that, have you?" +responded Bathurst, gaily. "Odd's life, 'tis marvellous +how much penetration lies hidden beneath that +becoming coat of yours."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Then, Philip Gascoyne, Earl of Stretton, you are +attainted by Parliament for high treason, and I +arrest you in the name of the King!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>There were indeed many conflicting emotions +raging in the hearts of all those present whilst this +brief colloquy was going on.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>John Stich, accustomed to implicit obedience +where his Captain's actions were concerned, had not +dared to speak or stir. Sir Humphrey Challoner, +completely thrown off his mental balance by the +unexpected appearance of Bathurst, was hastily +trying to make up his bewildered mind as to what +was now best to be done.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>As to Patience herself, at first a great, an +overwhelming joy and pride had seized her at the thought +that he was near her now, that he had not deserted +her in the hour of her greatest need, that once again +he had interposed his magnetic, powerful personality +between her and the danger which threatened her +and Philip.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>It was only when the Sergeant's momentous words, +"I arrest you in the name of the King!" rang out +clearly and decisively above the loud tumult which +was beating in her heart, that she became aware of +the deadly peril which threatened the man she loved.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>True, he had come once more between her and +danger, but once again he had done it at risk of his +life, and was like at last to lay it down for her.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>She had been standing a little to one side, turning, +as all had done, toward the elegant, foppish figure +in the fine clothes and dainty ruffles of lace, but now +she stepped forward with mad, unreasoning impulse, +thrusting herself between him and the Sergeant, and +trying to shield him behind the folds of her cloak.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"No! no! no! no!" she said excitedly. +"Sergeant, 'tis all a mistake! ... I swear..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But already Jack Bathurst had bent forward, +and had contrived to whisper, unheard by all save +her,—</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Hush—sh—your brother ... remember his danger..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Your pardon, lady," said the Sergeant, seeing +that she paused, irresolute, not knowing what to do +in face of this terrible alternative which was +confronting her. "Your pardon, lady, but this +gentleman is Philip, Earl of Stretton, is he not?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"For your brother's sake," whispered Bathurst +once more.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"No ... yes ... Oh! my God!" murmured +Patience, in the agony of this appalling misery.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Her brother or the man she loved. One or the +other betrayed by one word from her, now at this +moment, with no time to pray to God for help or +guidance, no chance of giving her own life for both!</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Out on you, friend," said Bathurst, lightly, "do +you not see her ladyship is upset. Nay! have no +fear, I'll follow you quietly!" he added, seeing that +the Sergeant and soldiers were making a motion to +surround him, "but you'll grant me leave to say +farewell to my sister?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The Sergeant could not very well refuse. He was +at heart a humane man, and now that he was sure +of this important capture, he would have done a +good deal to ingratiate himself, through little acts of +courtesy, with Lady Patience Gascoyne.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>However, he had no mind to be tricked again, and +in face of an almost immediate execution for high +treason, the prisoner seemed extraordinarily +self-possessed and cheerful. But for her ladyship's +obvious despair and sorrow, the worthy Sergeant +might even now have had some misgivings.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>As it was, he told off three men to mount the stairs, +and to stand on guard at the top of them, in case the +prisoner made a dash that way, in the hopes of +reaching the roof. The Sergeant still kept an idea +in his mind that some supernatural agency was at +work in favour of this extraordinary man, who up to +now had seemed to bear a charmed life. He had the +little narrow passage and hall of the inn cleared of the +gaping yokels, who went off one by one, scratching +their addled polls, wondering what it all meant, and +who was Beau Brocade. Was he the Earl of Stretton? was +he the highwayman? or some pixie from the +Heath with power to change himself at will?</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Sir Humphrey Challoner retired within the shadow +of the stairway. On the whole he preferred to leave +the events to shape their own course. In one way +Fate had befriended him. Whether hanged in his +own name or in that of the Earl of Stretton, the +highwayman would within the next few hours be +safely out of the way, and then it would be easier +no doubt to obtain possession of the letters once again.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>He too like the Sergeant and soldiers, felt an +instinctive dread of supernatural agency in connection +with Beau Brocade. In these days there existed +still a deeply-rooted belief in witchcraft, and the +educated classes were not altogether proof against +the popular superstitions.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Sir Humphrey had a curious, intense hatred for +the man who had so chivalrously championed Lady +Patience's cause. His own love for her was so +selfish and lustful that overpowering jealousy formed +its chief characteristic. He was frantically, madly +jealous of Jack Bathurst, for with the keen eyes of +the scorned suitor, he had noted the look of joy and +pride in her face when the young man first appeared +on the stairs, and he alone of all those present knew +how to interpret her obvious despair, her terrible +misery, when brought face to face with the awful +alternative of giving up her brother or the man she +loved.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Sir Humphrey swore some heavy oaths under his +breath at thought of the scorn with which she had +rejected him. Womanlike, she had yielded to the +blandishments of that thief, and proud Lady Patience +Gascoyne had fallen in love with a highwayman!</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But now Fate meant to be kind to Sir Humphrey. +With that chivalrous coxcomb out of the way, Lady +Patience would be once more at his mercy. Philip +was still a fugitive under the ban of attainder, and +the letters could be got hold of once again, unless +indeed the devil, with an army of witches and evil +sprites, came to the assistance of that rascal Beau +Brocade.</span></p> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> +</div> +<p class="center pfirst" id="quits"><span class="large">CHAPTER XXXV</span></p> +<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">QUITS</span></p> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> +</div> +<p class="pfirst"><span>Hemmed in by a compact little group of soldiers at +the foot of the stairs, and with three men on guard +at the head of it, Bathurst and Patience had but a +few minutes in which to live these last brief moments +of their love.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>She clung passionately to him, throwing aside all +the haughty reserve of her own proud nature: +conquered by her great love: a woman only, whose +very life was bound up in his.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"They shall not take you!" she moaned in the +agony of her despair. "They shall not.... I +will not let you go!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>And he held her in his arms now, savouring with +exquisite delight this happiest moment of his life, +the joy of feeling her tender form clinging to him in +passionate sorrow, to see the tears gathering in her +blue eyes, one by one, for him and to know that her +love—her great, measureless, divine love—was at +last wholly his.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But the moments were brief, and the Sergeant +below was already waxing impatient. He drew her +gently into a dark angle of the stairs, up against the +banisters, and taking the packet of letters from his +pocket, he pressed them into her hand.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"The letters! quick!" he whispered. "God +guard you and him!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"The letters?" she murmured mechanically.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye! I can do nothing now ... but try to see +the Duke of Cumberland before you go to London, +show him the letters.... He may be in this +village to-day ... if not, you can see him at +Wirksworth.... He has power to stay execution even +if your brother is arrested ... he might use it, +if he had seen the letters..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes! yes!" she murmured.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Sorrow seemed to have dazed her, she did not quite +know what she was doing, but her left hand closed +instinctively over the precious packet, then dropped +listlessly by her side.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Neither she nor Bathurst had perceived a thin, +attenuated figure hoisting itself monkey-wise over +the dark portion of the banisters.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Try and hear what those two are saying," Sir +Humphrey had whispered, and the attorney, obedient +and obsequious, had made a desperate effort to do as +he was bid. The staircase was but partially lighted +by a glimmer of daylight, which came slanting round +the corner from the passage. The banisters were in +complete shadow, and the Sergeant and soldiers were +too intent on watching their prisoner to notice Master +Mittachip or Sir Humphrey.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The next moment Patience felt a terrific wrench on +all her fingers; even as she uttered a cry of pain and +alarm, the packet of letters was torn out of her +hand from behind, and she was dimly conscious of a +dark figure clambering over the banisters and +disappearing into the darkness below.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But with a mad cry of rage Jack Bathurst had +bounded after that retreating figure; wholly taken +by surprise, he only saw the dim outline of Mittachip's +attenuated form, as the latter hastily dropped the +packet of letters at Sir Humphrey Challoner's feet, +who stooped to pick them up. Like an infuriated +wild beast Jack fell on Sir Humphrey.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"You limb of Satan!" he gasped. "You ... you.... +Give me back those letters! ... Stich! +Stich! quick!..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The force of the impact had thrown both men to +the ground. Bathurst was gripping his antagonist +by the throat with fingers of steel. But already the +Sergeant and his men had come to the rescue, dragging +Jack away from the prostrate figure of Sir Humphrey, +whilst the soldiers from above had run down and +were forcibly keeping John Stich in check.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Freed from his powerful antagonist, his Honour +quietly picked himself up, readjusted his crumpled +neckcloth and flicked the dust from off his coat. He +was calmly thrusting the packet of letters in his +pocket, whilst the Sergeant was giving orders to his +men to bind their prisoner securely, if he offered +further resistance.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Sergeant!" said Bathurst, despairingly, "that +miscreant has just stolen some letters belonging to +her ladyship."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Silence, prisoner!" commented the Sergeant. +"You do yourself no good by this violence."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>It seemed as if Fate meant to underline this terrible +situation with a final stroke of her ironical pen, for +just then the quiet village street beyond suddenly +became alive with repeated joyous shouts and noise +of tramping feet. In a moment the dull, monotonous +air of Brassington was filled with a magnetic +excitement which seemed to pervade all its inhabitants at +once, and even penetrated within the small dingy inn, +where the last act of a momentous drama was at this +moment being played.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"It must be the Duke of Cumberland's army!" +quoth the Sergeant, straining his ears to catch the +sound of a fast-approaching cavalcade.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Then you'll please His Royal Highness with the +smart capture you've made, Sergeant," said Sir +Humphrey, with easy condescension.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>This was indeed Fate's most bitter irony. "The +Duke has power to stay execution, and would use it +if you showed him the letters!" These were the last +words of counsel Bathurst had given Patience, and +now with freedom for her brother almost within her +grasp, she was powerless to do aught to save him.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"The letters, Sir Humphrey!" she murmured +imploringly, "an you've a spark of honour left in you."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay!" he retorted under his breath, with truly +savage triumph, "an you don't close your lover's +mouth, I'll hand your brother over to these soldiers +too, and then destroy the letters before your eyes."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>He turned, and for a moment regarded with an +almost devilish sneer the spectacle of his enemy +rendered helpless at last. Bathurst, like some +fettered lion caught in a trap, was still making frantic +efforts to free himself, until a violent wrench on his +wounded shoulder threw him half unconscious on his +knees.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Ha! ha! ha!" laughed Sir Humphrey, "I +think, my chivalrous friend, you and I are even at last."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Come, prisoner, you'd best follow me quietly +now," said the Sergeant, touched in spite of himself +by Patience's terrible sorrow.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But at Sir Humphrey's final taunt Jack Bathurst +had shaken off the deadly feeling of sickness which +was beginning to conquer him. He threw back his +head, and with the help of the soldiers struggled +again to his feet. The clamour outside was beginning +to be louder and more continuous: through it all +came the inspiriting sound of a fast-approaching +regimental band.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"The Duke of Cumberland, is it, Sergeant?" he +said suddenly.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Marching through the village on his way to +the north," assented the Sergeant. "Now then, +prisoner..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, then, Sergeant," shouted Jack in a loud +voice, as, wrenching his right arm from the grasp of +the soldier who held him, he pointed to Sir Humphrey +Challoner, "detain that man! ... An I am the +rebel Earl of Stretton, he was my accomplice, and +has all the papers relating to our great conspiracy +at this moment about his person ... the door!—the +door!" he added excitedly, "take care! ... he'll +escape you! ... and he has papers on him +now that would astonish the King."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Instinctively the soldiers had rushed for both the +doorways, and when Sir Humphrey, with a shrug of +the shoulders, made a movement as if to go, the +Sergeant barred the way and said,—</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"One moment, sir."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"You would dare?" retorted Sir Humphrey, +haughtily. "Are you such a consummate fool as not +to see that that man is raving mad?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Search him, Sergeant!" continued Bathurst, +excitedly, "you'll find the truth of what I say.... +Search him ... her ladyship knows he was my +accomplice.... Search him!—the loss of those +papers'd cost you your stripes."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The Sergeant was not a little perplexed. Already, +the day before, the seizure of Sir Humphrey +Challoner's person had been attended with disastrous +consequences for the beadle of Brassington, and now....</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>No doubt the Sergeant would never have ventured, +but the near approach of the Duke of Cumberland's +army, and of his own superior officers, gave the +worthy soldier a certain amount of confidence. He +had full rights and powers of search, and had been +sent to this part of the country to hunt for rebels. +He had been tricked and hoodwinked more often +than he cared to remember, and he knew that his +superior officers would never blame him for following +up a clue, even if thereby he was somewhat +overstepping his powers.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"The papers," continued Bathurst, "the papers +which'll prove his guilt ... the papers! or he'll +destroy them."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The Sergeant gave a last look at his prisoner. +He seemed secure enough guarded by three men, +who were even now strapping his hands behind his +back. The accusation therefore could be no trick +to save his own skin, and who knows? if the Earl of +Stretton was a rebel lord, then why not the Squire of +Hartington?</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Seize him, and search him!" commanded the +Sergeant, "in the name of the King!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Your pardon, sir," he added deferentially, "but +the Duke of Cumberland is within earshot almost, +and I should be cashiered if I neglected my duty."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"This is an outrage!" cried Sir Humphrey, who +had become purple with rage.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"It's doing your Honour no harm! and if I've +done wrong no doubt I shall be punished. Search +him, my men!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>It was Sir Humphrey's turn now to be helpless in +the hands of the soldiers. He knew quite well that +the Sergeant was within his duty and would certainly +not get punished for this. Worse outrages than this +attempt on his august person had been committed in +the Midlands on important personages, on women +and even children, during this terrible campaign +against fugitive rebels.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Less than five seconds had elapsed when the +soldier drew the packet of letters from Sir Humphrey's +pocket and handed it to his Sergeant.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"They'd best be for His Royal Highness's own +inspection," said the latter, quietly, as he slipped them +inside his scarlet coat.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye! for His Royal Highness!" quoth Jack +Bathurst in mad, wild, feverish glee. "Oh, now +is it that your Honour thought you could be even +with me? What?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Sir Humphrey was speechless with the hopelessness +of his baffled rage. But Patience, almost hysterical +with the intensity of her relief after the terrible +suspense which she had just endured, had fallen back +half fainting against the stairs, and murmuring,—</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"The letters! ... Before His Royal Highness! ... Thank +God! ... Thank God!..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Then suddenly she drew herself up, and laughing, +crying, joyous, happy, she flew upstairs shouting,—</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Philip!—Philip!—come down!—come down! ... you +are safe!..."</span></p> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> +</div> +<p class="center pfirst" id="the-agony-of-parting"><span class="large">CHAPTER XXXVI</span></p> +<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">THE AGONY OF PARTING</span></p> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> +</div> +<p class="pfirst"><span>About half an hour ago, when Jack Bathurst +suddenly burst in upon Lord Stretton in the dingy +little parlour upstairs, he gave the lad no inkling +of what was happening down below. He had +hastily discarded Jock Miggs's smock and hat and +extracted a solemn promise from Philip not to stir +from the parlour, whatever might be the tumult +downstairs.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Then he had left the boy chafing like a wild beast +in its cage. The heavy oak doors and thick walls +of the old-fashioned inn deadened all the sounds from +below, and Bathurst had taken the precaution of +locking the door behind him. But for this, no doubt +Philip would have broken his word, sooner than +allow his chivalrous friend once more to risk his life +for him.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>As the noise below grew louder and louder, Stretton +became more and more convinced that some such +scene as had been enacted a day or two ago at the +forge was being repeated in the hall of the +Packhorse. He tried with all his might to force open the +door which held him imprisoned, and threw his full +weight against it once or twice, in a vain endeavour +to break the thick oaken panels.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But the old door, fashioned of stout, well-seasoned +wood, resisted all his efforts, whilst the noise he made +thereby never reached the ears of the excited throng.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Like a fettered lion he paced up and down the +narrow floor of the dingy inn parlour, chafing under +restraint, humiliated at the thought of being unable +to join in the fight, that was being made for his +safety.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>His sister's cry came to him in this agonising +moment like the most joyful, the most welcome call +to arms.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"The door! ... quick!..." he shouted as +loudly as he could, "it is locked!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>She found the bolt and tore open the door, and the +next instant he was running downstairs, closely +followed by Patience.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The Sergeant and soldiers had been not a little +puzzled at hearing her ladyship suddenly calling in +mad exultation on her brother, whom they believed +they were even now holding prisoner.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The appearance of Philip at the foot of the stairs, +and dressed in a serving-man's suit, further enhanced +their bewilderment.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But already Patience stood proud, defiant, and +almost feverish in her excitement, confronting the +astonished group of soldiers.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"This, Sergeant!" she said, taking hold of her +brother's hand, "is Philip Gascoyne, Earl of Stretton, +my brother. Arrest </span><em class="italics">him</em><span> if you wish, he surrenders +to you willingly, but I call upon you to let your +prisoner go free."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The Sergeant was sorely perplexed. The affair +was certainly getting too complicated for his stolid, +unimaginative brain. He would have given much +to relinquish command of this puzzling business +altogether.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Then you, sir," he said, addressing Philip, "you +are the Earl of Stretton?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I am Philip James Gascoyne, Earl of Stretton, +your prisoner, Sergeant," replied the lad, proudly.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"But then, saving your ladyship's presence," +said the soldier, in hopeless bewilderment, "who the +devil is my prisoner?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Surely, Sergeant," quoth Sir Humphrey, with a +malicious sneer, "you've guessed that already?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Jack Bathurst, exhausted and faint after his long +fight and victory, had listened motionless and silent +to what was going on around him. With the letters +safely bestowed in the Sergeant's wallet and about +to be placed before His Royal Highness the Duke of +Cumberland himself, he felt that indeed his task was +accomplished.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Fate had allowed him the infinite happiness of +having served his beautiful white rose to some +purpose. Philip now would be practically safe; +what happened to himself after that he cared but +little.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>At sound of Sir Humphrey's malicious taunt, an +amused smile played round the corners of his +quivering mouth; but Patience, with a rapid movement, +had interposed herself between Sir Humphrey and +the Sergeant.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Your silence, Sir Humphrey," she commanded +excitedly, "an you've any chivalry left in you."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye!" he replied in her ear, "my silence now +... at a price."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Name it."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Your hand."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>So low and quick had been questions and answers +that the bewildered Sergeant and his soldiers had not +succeeded in catching the meaning of the words, but +Sir Humphrey's final eager whisper, "Your hand!" +reached Jack Bathurst's sensitive ear. The look too +in the Squire of Hartington's face had already enabled +him to guess the purport of the brief colloquy.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, Sir Humphrey Challoner," he said loudly, +"but 'tis not a marketable commodity you are +offering to this lady for sale. I'll break your silence +for you. What is the information that you would +impart to these gallant lobsters? ... That besides +being my mother's son I am also the highwayman, +Beau Brocade!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"No! no! no!" protested Patience, excitedly.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Odd's my life!" quoth the Sergeant, "but +methought..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye, Beau Brocade," said Sir Humphrey, with +a sneer, "robber, vagabond and thief, that's what +this ... </span><em class="italics">gentleman</em><span> means."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Faith! is that what I meant?" retorted Jack +Bathurst, lightly. "I didn't know it for sure!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But with a wild cry Patience had turned to the +Sergeant.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"It's a lie, Sergeant!" she repeated, "a lie, I +tell you. This gentleman is ... my friend ... my..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, whichever you are, sir," quoth the Sergeant, +turning to Beau Brocade decisively, "rebel, lord or +highwayman, you are my prisoner, and," he added +roughly, for many bitter remembrances of the past +two days had surged up in his stolid mind, "and +either way you hang for it."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye! hang for it!" continued Sir Humphrey, +savagely. "So, now methinks, my chivalrous young +friend, that we can cry quits at last. And now, +Sergeant," said his Honour, peremptorily, "that +you've found out the true character of your interesting +prisoner, you can restore me my letters, which he +caused you to filch from me."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But the Sergeant was not prepared to do that. +He had been tricked and hoodwinked so often, that +he would not yield one iota of the advantage which +he had contrived to gain.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Your pardon, sir," he said deferentially yet +firmly, "I don't exactly know the rights o' that. I +think I'd best show them to His Royal Highness, +and you, sir, will be good enough to explain yourself +before his Honour, Squire West."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"You'll suffer for this insolence, Sergeant," +retorted Sir Humphrey, purple with rage. "I command +you to return me those letters, and I warn you that +if you dare lay hands on me or hinder me in any way, +I'll have you degraded and publicly whipped along +with that ape the beadle."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But the Sergeant merely shrugged his shoulders +and ordered off three of his men to surround Sir +Humphrey Challoner and to secure his hands if he +attempted to resist. His Honour's wild threats of +revenge did not in the least frighten the soldier, now +that he felt himself on safe ground at last.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The rapid approach of the army gave him a sense +of security; he knew that if he had erred through +excess of zeal, a reprimand would be the only +punishment meted out to him, whilst he risked being +degraded if he neglected his duty. Whether the +Squire of Hartington had or had not been a party to +the late rebellion, he neither knew nor cared, but +certainly he was not going to give up a packet of +letters over which there had been so much heated +discussion on both sides.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The fast-approaching tumult in the street +confirmed him in his resolve. He turned a deaf ear to +all Sir Humphrey's protestations, and only laughed +at his threats.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Already the soldiers were chafing with eagerness to +see the entry of His Royal Highness with his staff: +the village folk one by one had gone out to see the +more joyful proceedings, and left the Sergeant and +his prisoners to continue their animated discussion.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you ready, my lord?" asked the Sergeant, +turning to Philip.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Quite ready!" replied the lad, cheerfully, as he +prepared to follow the soldiers. He gave his sister +a look of joy and hope, for he was going to temporary +imprisonment only; within a few moments perhaps +his safety would be assured. Lady Patience +Gascoyne, in virtue of her rank and position, could easily +obtain an audience of the Duke of Cumberland, and +in the meanwhile the letters proving Philip's innocence +would have been laid before His Royal Highness. +No wonder that as the lad, marching light-heartedly +between two soldiers, passed close to Jack Bathurst, +he held out his hand to his brave rescuer in gratitude +too deep for words.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you ready, sir?" quoth the Sergeant now, +as he turned to Beau Brocade.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But here there was no question of either joy or +hope: no defence, no proofs of innocence. The +daring outlaw had chosen his path in life, and being +conquered at the last, had to pay the extreme penalty +which his country demanded of him for having defied +its laws.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>As he too prepared to follow the soldiers out into +the open, Patience, heedless of the men around her, +clung passionately, despairingly to the man who had +sacrificed his brave life in her service, and whom she +had rewarded with the intensity, the magnitude of +her love.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"They shall not take you," she sobbed, throwing +her protecting arms round the dearly-loved form, +"they shall not ... they shall not..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The cry had been so bitter, so terribly pathetic +in its despair, that instinctively the soldiers stood +aside, awed in spite of their stolid hearts at the +majesty of this great sorrow; they turned respectfully +away, leaving a clear space round Patience and +Bathurst.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Thus for a moment he had her all to himself, +passive in her despair, half crazed with her grief, +clinging to him with all the passionate abandonment +of her great love for him.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"What? ... tears?" he whispered gently, as +with a tender hand he pressed back the graceful +drooping head, and looked into her eyes, "one +... two ... three ... four glittering diamonds +... and for me! ... My sweet dream!" he added, +the intensity of his passion causing his low, tender +voice to quiver in his throat, "my beautiful white +rose, but yesterday for one of those glittering tears +I'd gladly have endured hell's worst tortures, and +to-day they flow freely for me.... Why! I would +not change places with a King!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Your life ... your brave, noble life ... thus +sacrificed for me.... Oh, why did I ever cross +your path?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, my </span><em class="italics">dear</em><span>," he said with an infinity of +tenderness, and an infinity of joy. "Faith! it must +have been because God's angels took pity on a poor +vagabond and let him get this early glimpse of +paradise."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>His fingers wandered lovingly over her soft golden +hair, he held her close, very close to his heart, +drinking in every line of her exquisite loveliness, rendered +almost ethereal through the magnitude of her sorrow: +her eyes shining with passion through her tears, the +delicate curve of throat and chin, the sensitive, +quivering nostrils, the moist lips on which anon he +would dare to imprint a kiss.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"And life now to me," she whispered 'twixt +heart-broken sobs, "what will it be? ... how shall +I live but in one long memory?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"My life, my saint," he murmured. "Nay! lift +your dear face up to me again! let me take away as a +last memory the radiant vision of your eyes +... your hair ... your lips..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>His arms tightened round her, her head fell back +as if in a swoon, she closed her eyes and her soul went +out to him in the ecstasy of that first kiss.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah! it is a lovely dream I dreamt," he whispered, +"and 'tis meet that the awakening shall be only in +death!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>He tried to let her go but she clung to him passionately, +her arms round him, in the agony of her despair.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Take me with you," she sobbed, half fainting. +"I cannot bear it ... I cannot..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Gently he took hold of both her hands, and again +and again pressed them to his lips.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Farewell, sweet dream!" he said. "There! +dry those lovely tears! ... If you only knew how +happy I am, you would not mourn for me.... I +have spun the one thread in life which was worth the +spinning, the thread which binds me to your memory.... +Farewell!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The Sergeant stepped forward again. It was time +to go.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you ready, sir?" he asked kindly.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Quite ready, Sergeant."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>She slid out of his arms, her eyes quite dry now, +her hands pressed to her mouth to smother her +screams of misery. She watched the soldiers fall +into line, with their prisoner in their midst, and turn +to the doorway of the inn, through which the golden +sunshine came gaily peeping in.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Outside a roll of drums was heard and shouts of +"The Duke! The Duke!" The excitement had +become electrical. His Royal Highness, mounted +on a magnificent white charger, was making his entry +into the village at the head of his general staff, and +followed at some distance by the bulk of his army +corps, who would camp on the Heath for the night.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Squire West, his stiff old spine doubled in two, was +in attendance on the green, holding a parchment in +his hand, which contained his loyal address and that +of the inhabitants of Brassington: the beadle, more +pompous than ever, and resplendent in blue cloth +and gold lace, stood immediately behind his Honour.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>In the midst of all this gaiety and joyful excitement +the silent group, composed of the soldiers with +their three prisoners, appeared in strange and +melancholy contrast. Philip and Bathurst were to +be confined in the Court House, under a strong guard, +pending his Honour the Squire's decision, and as the +little squad emerged upon the green, 'twas small +wonder that they caught His Royal Highness's eye.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>He had been somewhat bored by Squire West's +long-winded harangue, and was quite glad of an +excuse for cutting it short.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Odd's buds!" he said, "and what have we here? Eh?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The Sergeant and soldiers stood still at attention, +some twenty yards away from the brilliant group of +His Highness's general staff. The little diversion +had caused Squire West to lose the thread of his +speech, and much relieved, the Duke beckoned the +Sergeant to draw nearer.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Who are your prisoners, Sergeant?" queried +His Highness, looking with some interest at the two +young men, one of whom was a mere lad, whilst the +other had a strange look of joy and pride in his pale +face, an air of aloofness and detachment from all +his surroundings, which puzzled and interested the +Duke not a little.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"'Tis a bit difficult to explain, your Royal Highness," +replied the Sergeant, making the stiff military +salute.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Difficult to explain who your prisoners are?" +laughed the Duke, incredulously.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Saving your Highness's presence," responded +the Sergeant, "one of these gentlemen is Philip +Gascoyne, Earl of Stretton."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Oho! the young reprobate rebel who was +hand-in-glove with the Pretender! I mind his case well, +Sergeant, and the capture does your zeal great +credit. Which of your prisoners is the Earl of +Stretton?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"That's just my trouble, your Royal Highness. +But I hope that these papers will explain."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>And the Sergeant drew from his wallet the precious +packet of letters and handed them respectfully to the +Duke.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"What are these letters?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"They were found on the person of that +gentleman, sir," replied the Sergeant, indicating Sir +Humphrey Challoner, who stood behind the two +younger men, silent and sulky, and nursing desperate +thoughts of revenge. "He is said to be an +accomplice and I thought 'twas my duty to bring him +before a magistrate. If I've done wrong...".</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"You've done quite right, Sergeant," said the +Duke, firmly. "You were sent here to rid the +country of rebels, whom an Act of Parliament has +convicted of high treason, and it had been gross +neglect of duty not to refer such a case to the nearest +magistrate. Give me the papers, I'll look through +them anon. See your prisoners safely under guard, +then come back to my quarters."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Damnation!" muttered Sir Humphrey, as he +saw the Duke take the packet of letters from the +Sergeant's hand, and then turn away to listen to the +fag end of Squire West's loyal address.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Throughout his chagrin, however, the Squire of +Hartington was able to gloat over one comforting +idea. He had now lost all chance of pressing his +suit on Lady Patience, his actions in the past three +days would inevitably cause her to look upon him +with utter hatred and contempt, but the man who +was the cause of his failure, the chivalrous and +meddlesome highwayman, Beau Brocade, would, as +sure as the sun would set this night, dangle on the +nearest gibbet to-morrow.</span></p> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> +</div> +<p class="center pfirst" id="reparation"><span class="large">CHAPTER XXXVII</span></p> +<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">REPARATION</span></p> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> +</div> +<p class="pfirst"><span>It was in the middle of the afternoon when His +Royal Highness, having attended to other important +affairs, and partaken of a hasty meal at the Royal +George, finally found leisure to look through the +letters handed up to him by the Sergeant.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>As he read one through, and then the other, Lord +Lovat's letter urging the Earl of Stretton to join the +rebellion, that of Kilmarnock upbraiding the lad +for holding aloof, and finally the autograph of Charles +Edward himself at the end of a long string of +reproaches, calling Philip a traitor for his loyalty to +King George,—</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"There has been a terrible blunder here!" quoth +His Royal Highness, emphatically. "Bring the +Earl of Stretton to me at once," he added, speaking to +his orderly.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Ten minutes later Philip, with Patience by his side, +was in the presence of the Duke of Cumberland, who, +on behalf of his country and its government, was +tendering apologies to the Earl of Stretton for grievous +blunders committed.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"It seems you have suffered unjustly, my lord," +said His Highness, with easy graciousness. "It will +be my privilege to keep you under my personal +protection until these letters have been placed before +the King and Council."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I myself will guarantee your brother's safety, +Lady Patience," he added, turning with a genial +smile to her; "you will entrust him to my care, will +you not? Your father and I were old friends, you +know. In my young days I had the pleasure of +staying at Stretton Hall, and the privilege of dandling +you on my knees, for you were quite a baby then. I +little thought I should have the honour of being of +service to you in later years."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>With courtly gallantry the Duke raised her cold +finger-tips to his lips. He looked at her keenly, for +he could not understand the almost dead look of +hopeless misery in her face which she bravely, but +all in vain, tried to hide from him. Evidently she +was quite unable to speak. When her brother had +been brought before His Highness she had begged for +and easily obtained the favour of being present at the +interview, but even at the Duke's most genial and +encouraging words she had not smiled.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"It was lucky," added His Royal Highness, kindly +patting her hand, "that so strange a Fate should +have placed these letters in my hand."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But at these gentle, almost fatherly words, +Patience's self-control entirely gave way. With a +heart-broken sob she threw herself at the Duke's +feet.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay! not Fate, your Royal Highness," she +moaned, "but the devotion of a brave man, who has +sacrificed his life to save my brother and me... +Save him, your Highness! ... save him! ... he +is noble, brave, loyal, and you are powerful +... save him! ... save him!..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>It was impossible to listen unmoved to the heart-rending +sorrow expressed in this appeal. The Duke +very gently raised her to her feet.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, fair lady ... I pray you rise," he said +respectfully. "Odd's my life! but 'tis not beauty's +place to kneel.... There! there!" he added, +leading her to a chair and sitting beside her, "you +know how to plead a cause; will you deign to confide +somewhat more fully in your humble servant? We +owe your family some reparation at anyrate, and you +some compensation for the sorrow you have endured."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>And speaking very low at first, then gradually +gaining confidence, Patience began to relate the +history of the past few days, the treachery, of which +she had been a victim, the heroic self-sacrifice of the +man who was about to lay down his life because of +his devotion to her and to her cause.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>His Highness listened quietly and very attentively, +whilst she, wrapped up in the bitter joy of memory, +lived through these last brief and happy days all over +again. Even before she had finished, he had sent +word to the Sergeant to bring both his other prisoners +before him at once.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Sir Humphrey and Jack Bathurst were actually in +the room before Patience had quite completed her +narrative. Bathurst ill and pale, but with that +strange air of aloofness still clinging about his whole +person. He seemed scarce to live, for his mind was +far away in the land of dreams, dwelling on that last +exquisite memory of his beautiful white rose lying +passive in his arms, the memory of that first and last, +divinely passionate kiss.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The Duke looked up when the prisoners entered the +room; although he knew neither of them by sight, he +had no need to ask whose cause the beautiful girl +beside him had been pleading so earnestly.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you wish to say, sir?" he said, addressing +Sir Humphrey Challoner first. "You are no doubt +aware of her ladyship's grievances against you. They +are outside my province, and unfortunately outside +the province of our country's justice. But I would +wish to know why you should have pursued the Earl +of Stretton and that gentleman, your fellow-prisoner, +with so much hatred and malice."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I have neither hatred nor malice against the +Earl of Stretton," replied Sir Humphrey, with a +shrug of the shoulders, "but no doubt her ladyship +would wish to arouse your Royal Highness's sympathy +for a notorious scoundrel. That gentleman is none +other than Beau Brocade, the most noted footpad +and most consummate thief that ever haunted +Brassing Moor."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The Duke of Cumberland looked with some +surprise, not altogether unmixed with kindliness, at +the slim, youthful figure of the most notorious +highwayman in England. He felt all a soldier's keen +delight in the proud bearing of the man, the straight, +clean limbs, the upright, gallant carriage of the head, +which neither physical pain nor adverse +circumstances had taught how to bend.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Then he remembered Lady Patience's enthusiastic +narrative, and said, smiling indulgently,—</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Odd's my life! but I did not know gentlemen +of the road were so chivalrous!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Your Royal Highness..." continued Sir Humphrey.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Silence, sir!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Then the Duke rose from his chair, and went up +close to Bathurst, who, half-dreaming, had listened +to all that was going on around him, but had scarce +heard, for he was looking at Patience and thinking +only of her.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Your name, sir?" asked the Duke very kindly, +for the look of love akin to worship which illumined +Jack Bathurst's face had made a strong appeal to +his own manly heart.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Jack Bathurst," replied the young man, almost +mechanically, and rousing himself with an effort in +response to the Duke's kind words, "formerly +captain in the White Dragoons."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Bathurst? ... Bathurst?" repeated the Duke, +not a little puzzled. "Ah, yes!" he added after a +slight pause, "who was condemned and cashiered +for striking his superior officer after a quarrel."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"The same, your Royal Highness."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"'Twas Colonel Otway, who, we found out afterwards, +was a scoundrel, a liar, and a cheat," said His +Highness with sudden eager enthusiasm, "and fully +deserving the punishment you, sir, had been brave +enough to give him."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye! he deserved all he got," replied Jack, with +a wistful sigh and smile, "I'll take my oath of that."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"But ... I remember now," continued the Duke, +"a tardy reparation was to have been offered you, +sir ... but you were nowhere to be found."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I'd become a scoundrel myself by then, and +moneyless, friendless, disgraced, had taken to the +road, like many another broken gentleman."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Then take to the field now, man," exclaimed +His Highness, gaily. "We want good soldiers and +gallant gentlemen such as you, and your country +still owes you reparation. You shall come with me, +and in the glorious future which I predict for you, +England shall forget your past."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>He extended a kindly hand to Bathurst, who, still +dreaming, still not quite realising what had happened, +instinctively bent the knee in gratitude.</span></p> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> +</div> +<p class="center pfirst" id="the-joy-of-re-union"><span class="large">CHAPTER XXXVIII</span></p> +<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">THE JOY OF RE-UNION</span></p> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> +</div> +<p class="pfirst"><span>On the green outside, the crowd of village folk were +shouting themselves hoarse,—</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Three cheers for the Duke of Cumberland!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Already the news had gone the round that Beau +Brocade, the highwayman, had been granted a +special pardon by His Royal Highness.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>John Stich, half crazy with joy, was tossing his cap +in the air, and in the fulness of his heart was stealing +a few kisses from Mistress Betty's pretty mouth.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The appearance of Sir Humphrey Challoner in the +porch of the Royal George, looking as black as +thunder and followed by his obsequious familiar, +Master Mittachip, was the signal for much merriment +and some quickly-suppressed chaff.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Stand aside, you fool!" quoth Sir Humphrey, +pushing Jock Miggs roughly out of his way.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, stand aside all of ye!" admonished John +Stich, solemnly, "and mind if any of ye've got any +turnips about ... be gy!..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>The Squire of Hartington raised his riding-crop +menacingly.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"You dare!" he muttered.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But Mistress Betty interposed her pretty person +'twixt her lover and his Honour's wrath.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Saving your presence, sir," she said pertly, "my +intent was only going to tell the lads to keep their +turnips for this old scarecrow."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>And laughing all over her dimpled little face she +pointed to Master Mittachip, who was clinging +terrified to Sir Humphrey's coat-tails.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Sir Humphrey..." he murmured anxiously, +as Betty's sally was received with a salvo of applause, +"good Sir Humphrey ... do not let them harm +me.... I've served you faithfully..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"You've served me like a fool," quoth Sir +Humphrey, savagely, shaking himself free from the +mealy-mouthed attorney. "Damn you," he added, +as he walked quickly out of the crowd and across the +green, "don't yap at my heels like a frightened cur."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"God speed your Honour," shouted Stich after him.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Think you, John, he'll come to our wedding?" +murmured Betty, saucily, at which honest John +hugged her with all his might before the entire +company.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Be gy! I marvel if the old fox'll go to her +ladyship's and the Captain's wedding, eh?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Lordy! Lordy! these be 'mazing times," +commented Jock Miggs, vaguely.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>——</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But within the small parlour of the Royal George +all this noise and gaiety only came as a faint, merry +echo.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>His Royal Highness had gone, followed by the +Sergeant and soldiers, and Bathurst was alone with +his beautiful white rose.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"And 'tis to you I owe my life," he whispered for +the twentieth time, as kneeling at her feet he buried +his head in the folds of her gown.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"I have done so little," she murmured, "one +poor prayer ... when you had done so much."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"And now," he said, looking straight into the +exquisite depths of her blue eyes, "now you have +robbed me of one great happiness, which may never +come to me again."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Robbed you? ... of happiness?..."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"The happiness of dying for you."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>But she looked down at him, smiling now through +a mist of happy tears.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, sir," she whispered, "and when the Duke +has no longer need of you, will you not live ... for me?"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>He folded her in his arms, and held her closely, +very closely to his strong, brave heart.</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Always at your feet," he murmured passionately, +"and as your humble slave, my dream."</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>And as his lips sought hers once more, she whispered +under her breath,—</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"My husband!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"My dream!—My wife!"</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>——</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>Outside the crowd of villagers were shouting +lustily,—</span></p> +<p class="pnext"><span>"Three cheers for the Duke of Cumberland!"</span></p> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> +</div> +<!-- class: center medium + +THE END --> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> +</div> +<ol class="upperalpha simple" start="12"> +<li><p class="center first pfirst"><span class="small">UPCOTT GILL, LONDON AND COUNTY, PRINTING WORKS, DRURY LANE, W.C.</span></p> +</li> +</ol> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> +</div> +<!-- -*- encoding: utf-8 -*- --> +<div class="backmatter"> +</div> +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 39786 ***</div> +</body> +</html> |