 Chapter 7 of Boe Brocade by Baroness Emma Orksie This LibriVox recording is in the public domain, recording by Dionne Giants, Salt Lake City, Utah. The Halt at the Moorhan Patience herself would have been quite unable to explain why she mistrusted, almost feared, Sir Humphrey Chaliner. The fact that the squire of Hardington 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. Lady Patience Gascoyne was one of the richest gentle women 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. 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 and admiration for his constancy, if he be constant, make up a sum of friendship for him tempered with a gentle pity. 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. 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. She feared, and suspected him, she could scarce tell of what. Not open enmity towards Philip, since her reason told her that the squire of Hardington had nothing to gain by actively endangering her brother's life, let alone by doing him a grievous wrong. Yet she could not understand Sir Humphrey Chaloner's motive in counseling Philip to play so cowardly and foolish apart as the boy had done in the late rebellion. Fagely, 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 ought she knew, might know of the existence of the letters which would go to prove the boy's innocence. 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 should be proved. 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 crossroads and the village of Aldwark. 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 restarting on their way. The small bar parlor at the Moorhan 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. 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 bridal path back to Brassington. And now here was the quality putting up at the Moorhan, a most unheard of unexpected event. Mistress Potage, the sad-faced, weary-eyed landlady, had never known such a thing to happen before, although she had been mistress of the Moorhan for nigh on twenty years. Usually the quality from Stratton Hall, or from Hardington, or even Lady Rounds 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. Master Midditchip, attorney at law, who had ridden over from Worksworth with his clerk, Master Duffy, recognized her ladyship as she stepped out of her coach. Sir Humphrey will be astonished. He whispered to Master Duffy as he rubbed his ill-shaven chin with his long bony fingers. He echoed the clerk submissively. Master Midditchip, who transacted business for the squire of Hardington and also for old Lady Rounds 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 parlor and had the honor of bowing to her as she followed Mistress Potidge 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. Alone in the small dingy room, Patience almost fell upon the sofa in a stupor of intense fatigue. When Mistress Potidge brought the meager, 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. 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. But by and by, youth and health reasserted themselves. Patience, realizing 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 mass of Potidge, as she smilingly termed it, but her eyes were forever wandering to the clock, which ticked the hours. Oh, so slowly that separated her from her journey. As for Buxom little Betty, she had fallen too 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. After a while, 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. 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. 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. 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. The small lattice window gave upon the side of the house. She could not see the coach, or who this latest arrival at the moorhand was. But what mattered that? She knew well enough. For a moment she stopped to think, forcibly conquering excitement and alarm. She called to her reason to tell her what to do. Sir Humphrey Chaloner'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? Medichip, the lawyer, had seen and recognized 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? She roused Betty. Betty, child, she whispered, wake up. We must leave this place at once. Betty opened her eyes. She saw her mistresses pale, excited face, bending over her. And she jumped to her feet. Listen, Betty, continued patience. Sir Humphrey Chaloner has just come by coach. I want to leave this place before he knows that I am here. But the horses are not put to, my lady. 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 parlor and tell Thomas to have the horses put to directly they have had sufficient rest, and to let the coach be at the crossroads as soon as may be after that? Yes, my lady. 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? Oh yes, my lady. You are not afraid. Mistress Betty shrugged her plump shoulders in broad daylight. Oh no, my lady, and the forge is but a mile. 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 parlor. Moreover, the narrow passage at this end was quite dark. She had every chance of slipping out unperceived. She whispered to Betty as she opened the door. 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 traveling 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. 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 Chaloner. Chapter 8 of Bowe Brocade by Baroness Emma Orksy This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Dion Giants, Salt Lake City, Utah. The rejected suitor. 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. He made her a low and elaborate bow, and she responded with the deep curtsy the fashion of the time demanded. 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. I wish you well, Sir Humphrey. She said gently, but coldly, I had no thought of seeing you here. 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 forced me to spend the night in this unhallowed tavern. But I little guessed what compensation the fates had in store for me. I was in alike plight, Sir Humphrey. She said, trying to speak with perfect indifference. You were not robbed, surely? Nay, not that, but I hoped to reach derby sooner by taking the shortcut across the heath. And the state of the roads has so tired the horses I was forced to turn off at the crossroads and put up at this inn. Your ladyship is on your way to London. On a visit to my aunt, Lady Edbrook, will you honour me by accepting my protection? Tis scarce fit for your ladyship to be travelling all that way alone. 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 Worxworth. I shall not be alone. But I pray you, Sir, my time is somewhat short. I had started out for a little fresh air and exercise before reentering my coach. The inn was so stifling, and surely your ladyship will spend the night here. You cannot reach Worxworth before nightfall now. I am told the road is well nigh impassable. Nay, tis two hours before sunset now and three before dark. I hope to reach Worxworth by nine o'clock tonight. My horses have had a good rest. Surely you will allow me to escort you thus far, at least. Your horses need arrest, Sir Humphrey, she said impatiently, and I beg you to believe that I have sufficient escort. 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 Stitches Forge, and she had caught sight of Betty's trim little figure stepping briskly along. 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 laboring under strong excitement. He forced his harsh voice to gentleness, even to tenderness, as he said, I have not dared to speak to your ladyship on the subject that lay nearest my heart. Sir Humphrey, Nay, I pray you do not misunderstand me. I was thinking of Philip, and hoped you were not too unhappy about him. There is no cause for unhappiness just yet, she said guardedly, and every cause for hope. 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. My faith and trust are in God, Sir Humphrey, and in my brother's innocence she replied quietly. 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. End of Chapter 8. Chapter 9 of Bo Brocade by Baroness Emma Orksy. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain, recording by Dionne Jines, Salt Lake City, Utah. Sir Humphrey's familiar. Mistress Potage, sad-eyed melancholy and forever sighing, had been patiently waiting to receive Sir Humphrey Chaloner's orders. She had understood from his man that his honor 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. It was really quite fortunate that Lady Patience had gone, leaving this smaller parlor, which was Miss Potage's own private sanctum ready for the use of his honor. Sir Humphrey's mind, however, was far too busy with thoughts and plans to dwell on the melancholy landlady and her meager 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. 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, colorless eyes fixed upon his employer, sat Master Midditchip, attorney at law, and man of business to sundry of the quality who owned property on or about the more. Master Midditchip'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. Just now he was fixing a pair of very pale but very shrewd eyes upon the heavy, somewhat coarse person of his distinguished patron. Her ladyship passed me quite close. He explained, speaking in a low, somewhat apologetic voice. I was standing in the door of—or the parlor, and she graciously nodded to me as she passed. Yes, yes, get on, man, quote Sir Humphrey, impatiently. The door was open. Your honor, continued Master Midditchip in a weak voice. There was a draft. Her ladyship's cloak flew open. He paused a moment, noting with evident satisfaction the increasing interest in Sir Humphrey's face. 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. Letters A. commented Sir Humphrey eagerly. A bundle of them, your honor. One of them had a large seal attached to it. I might almost have seen the device. It was that of Charles Edward Stewart, the pretender. Well, I could not say for certain, your honor, murmured Master Midditchip humbly. There was silence for a few moments. Sir Humphrey Chaloner had produced a silver toothpick and was using it as an adjunct to deep meditation. Master Midditchip was contemplating the floor with rapt attention. Harky, Master Midditchip, said Sir Humphrey at last. Lady Patience is taking those letters to London. That was the impression created in my mind, your honor. 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 Midditchip 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, abradings on the part of the disappointed rebels, obvious proofs that Philip had held aloof. He pushed his chair noisily away from the table and began pacing the narrow room with great impatient strides. But while he spoke, Master Midditchip began to lose his placid air of apologetic deference and a look of alarm suddenly lighted his meek, colorless eyes. Good luck, he murmured. Then my Lord Stratton is no rebel. Rebel, not he, asserted Sir Humphrey. His sympathies were thought to be with the stewards, but he went south during the rebellion. Twas I, who advised him that he might avoid being drawn within its net. But at this Master Midditchip's terror became more tangible. But your honor, he stammered, whilst his thin cheeks assumed a leaden hue, and his eyes sought appealingly those of his employer. Your honor laid sworn information against Lord Stratton, and I drew up the papers and signed them with my name as your honor commanded. Well, I paid you well for it, didn't I? said Sir Humphrey roughly. But if the accusation was false, Sir Humphrey, I shall be disgraced, struck off the rolls, perhaps hanged. Sir Humphrey laughed, one of those loud jovial laughs which those in his employ soon learnt to dread. Adds bud, he said, and one of us is to hang old Scarecrow, I prefer it shall be you. And he gave Master Midditchip a vigorous slap on the shoulder, which nearly precipitated the lean shanked attorney on the floor. Good Sir Humphrey, he murmured piteously. But what was the reason of the information against Lord Stratton, since the letters can so easily prove it to be false? Silence, you fool, said his honor impatiently. I did not know of the letters then. I wished to place Lord Stratton 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 her gratitude thereby. I was journeying to London for the purpose, and now his language became such that it wholly disconcerted Master Midditchip, 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. And now you've gained nothing, he moaned, whilst I — oh, oh, I — his condition was pitiable, his honor 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. Easy, easy, you old coward, he said pleasantly. Things are not so bad as that, adds, but you're not hanged yet, are you? And he added significantly, Lord Stratton is still attainted and in peril of his life. But, but, but, 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 meager little creature before him, steadfastly and seriously. Can't you see that if I can only get hold of those letters now, I could force Lady Patience into accepting my suit? A. With them in my possession I can go to her and say, and you marry me, those proofs of your brother's innocence shall be laid before the king, and you refuse they shall be destroyed. Oh, was Master Middiship's involuntary comment a mere gasp of amazement of terror at the enormity of the proposal? 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. Truly, he murmured vaguely, as his honor seemed to be waiting for him to speak. Truly, those letters mean the lady's fortune to your honor. And on the day of my marriage with her, two hundred guineas for you, Master Middiship, said Chaliner, very slowly and significantly, looking his man of business squarely in the face. Master Middiship literally lost his head. Two hundred guineas was more than he had 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 Middiship 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. The visions which these imaginary two hundred guineas had conjured up in his mind almost made his attenuated senses real. There was that bit of freehold property at Worxworth, which he had long coveted, I, or perhaps that partnership with Master Lutworth at Derby, or toer worth your while, Master Middiship, to get those letters for me, eh? His honor's pleasant words brought the poor man back from the land of dreams. I, I, Sir Humphrey, he murmured dejectedly, how can I, a poor attorney at law, sounds, but that's your affair, said his honor, with a careless shrug of his broad shoulders. Me thought, you'd gladly earn two hundred guineas, and I offer you a way to do it. But how, Sir Humphrey, how? 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 highwaymen, put on a mask, and stop her ladyship's coach, shout lustily, stand and deliver, take the letters from her, and it is done in a trice. The idea of that meager little creature playing the highwaymen 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. But as his honor spoke this pleasant conceit, master Mitichip's thin bloodless face assumed an air of deep thought, immediately followed by one of eager excitement. The idea of the highwaymen 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 not 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. What do you mean? I was, but justing. But I was not, Sir Humphrey, I was thinking of Bo Brocade, the highwayman. Why not? He lives by robbery and hates all the quality, whom he plunders when error he has a chance. Your honor has had experience only last night, eh? Well, what of it? Curse you, man, for a daughtard, why don't you explain? Tis simple enough, your honor, you give him the news that her ladyship's coach will cross the heath tonight, 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. Master Midditchip rubbed his bony hands together, his colorless eyes were twinkling, his thin lips quivering with excitement. Dreams of that freehold bit of property became tangible once more. Sir Humphrey looked at him quietly for a moment or two. The little man's excitement was contagious, and his honor 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. Tush, man, he said after a while, with the calmness of intense excitement, you talk errant 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? Midditchip chuckled inwardly. His honor, then, was not a verse to the plan. Already he was prepared to discuss the means of carrying it out. To the 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. How? John Stitch, the blacksmith over at the crossroads, is his ally and his friend. Most folk think tis he always gives news to the rogue when error a coach happened to cross the moor. But that's as it may be. If your honor will call at the forge just before sunset, you'll may help see a chestnut horse tethered there, and there'll be a stranger talking to John Stitch, a stranger young and well-looking. He's off 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 ridge 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. 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. Midditship viewed him with ill-concealed satisfaction. The plan had indeed found favor with his honor. 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. I'd not have her hurt, was the first comment he made after a few minutes' silent cogitation. Hurt rejoined Midditship. 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. I, and blackmail me after that, to the end of my days. My good name would be at the mercy of so damned a rascal. 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. Sir Humphrey ceased to argue. Chivalry and honor had long been on the losing side. Moreover, Sir Humphrey added the crafty attorney, slyly, once you have the letters, you can denounce the rogue yourself and get him hanged safely out of your way. He'd denounce me. And who'd believe the rascal's word against your honor's flat denial? Not Squire West, for sure, before whom he'd be tried. And your honor can have him kept in prison until after your marriage with Lady Patience. 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 and that rascal bobrocade would but consent. He would, asserted middichip, and your honor told him that the coach, the money, and the letters belonged to Lady Rounds and the young lady traveling in the coach but a niece of her ladyship. Lady Rounds 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 honor. 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. Middichip evidently was satisfied with his day's work. 200 guineas he looked upon as a certainty already. After a while, noting the look of stern determination upon his honor'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 Rounds and would have to return to Worksworth to bank the money. Since Sir Humphrey Chaloner was occupying the only available bedroom at the Moorhan, there would be no room for Master Middichip and Master Duffy, his clerk. He hoped to reach Brassington by the bridal path before the footpaths were a stirrer fence at dawn on to Worksworth. 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 Stitch's forge again. But when he had bowed and scraped himself out of his honor's presence, and was sitting once more beside Master Duffy in the bar parlor, there was a world of satisfaction in his pale watery eyes. End of Chapter 9 Chapter 10 of Beau Brocade by Baroness Emma Orksy. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain, recording by Dion Jines, Salt Lake City, Utah. A stranger at the forge. 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. A sudden turn of the path brought her within sight of the crossways and of the old gallows on which a fragment of rain-spattered rag still fluttered ghostlike in the wind. 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 worksworth to Ward Stitch's cottage were some half-dozen red-coated figures, the foremost man among them wearing three stripes upon his sleeve. Soldiers, with a sergeant at the forge, what could it mean but awful peril for the fugitive? 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. She glanced within and gave a quick sigh of relief. There was no sign of her brother, and John was busy at his anvil. Already the Smith had caught sight of her. Hush, he whispered reassuringly, have no fear, my lady, I've had soldiers here before. But they'll recognize me, perhaps, or gas. 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. There was not a moment to be lost. Patients realized this, together with the certainty that her own coolness and presence of mind might prove the one chance of safety for her brother. Halt came in loud accents from the sergeant outside. The lock master-stitch said patients 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 crossroads anon. 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. The latter took a rapid survey of the interior of the forge, then said politely, you're pardoned, ladies. Well, and what is it now, sergeant? queried John with affected impatience. 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 just like to have a talk with him. One moment, sergeant, said John, interposing his burly figure between patients and the prying eyes of the young soldier. 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. No stranger, sergeant rejoined the Smith once more turning with well assumed indifference to the soldier, only my nephew out of Nottingham. Your corporal was a derby man and knew the lad's mother, my sister Hannah. Quite so, quite so, Smith, quote the sergeant pleasantly, then you won't mind my searching your forge and cottage just for form's sake. Even then, patients did not betray herself either by a look or a quiver of the voice. Lad, 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. Nay, mistress, you need not be disturbed, said the Smith jovially. The sergeant is by justing a friend, he added, turning to the soldier. There I give you my word, master sergeant, that there is not here for you to find. I've my orders, Smith, said the sergeant more curtly. Nay, friend, interposed lady patients, surely you overstep your orders. John Stitch is honest and loyal. You do him indignity by such unjust suspicions. You're 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 Gascoigne, Earl of Stratton, who is known to be in these parts. John Stitch interrupted him with a loud guffaw. Ludman, he said, there's no room for a noble lord in a wayside Smithy. You waste your time. My orders say I've the right to search, quote the sergeant firmly, and search I'm going to. Then he turned to his squad, who were standing at attention outside. Follow me, men, he said, as he stepped forward into the forge. Fortunately, the remote corners of the shed were dark, and patients 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. But honest John was standing in the way of the sergeant. Lucky here, sergeant, he said quietly, I'm a man of few words, but I'm a freeborn 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 shall not enter, so you take yourself off before you come by a broken head. Smith, you're a fool, commented the sergeant, with a shrug of the shoulders, and you do yourself no good. That's as it may be, friend, quote John. There are fools in every walk in life. You be a stranger in these parts, and don't know me, but focal tell you that what John Stitch once says that he'll stick to. So forewarned is forearmed, friend, Sergeant A, but to this the sergeant had but one reply, and that was directed to his own squad. Now then, my men, he said, follow me, and you, John Stitch, he added loudly and peremptorily, stand aside in the name of the king. The men were ranged round the sergeant with muskets grasped, ready to rush in the next moment at word of command. John Stitch stood between them and a small wooden door little more than a partition behind which Philip, Earl of Stratton, was preparing to sell his life dearly. 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 Stratton by sight, and was not likely to forget that 20 guineas, a large sum in those days, was the price the Hanoverian government was prepared to pay for the head of a rebel. 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 courthouse and 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. No doubt John Stitch was equally aware of the eminence 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 a while or giving the final word of command. Thus there was an instance, deadly silence, whilst so many hearts were wildly beating in tumultuous emotion. Just one instant, a few seconds may have, whilst even nature seemed to stand still, and time to pause before the next fateful minute. And then a voice, a fresh, young, happy voice, was suddenly heard to sing, my beautiful white rose. It was not very distant, but twenty yards at most, and even now seemed to be making for the forge, drawing nearer and nearer. 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. 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 as 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. Patience, too, catching at this happy interruption, like a drowning man does at a straw, turned to look at the approaching stranger. 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. Then he burst out laughing. Ho, ho, ho! But here's a pretty to-do. Why, John Stitch, my friend, you look a bit out of temper. 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. John Stitch, at first sound of the stranger's voice, had relaxed from his defiant attitude, and array of hope had chased away the threatening look in his eyes. So would you be, Captain, he said gruffly, with these red coats inside your house and all their talk of rebels. Captain murmured the sergeant, I, 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. And I'll go bail, sergeant, that John Stitch is no rebel. He's far too big of fool, he added, in an audible whisper and with a merry twinkle in his gray eyes. Patience still stood rigid, expectant, terrified, in the darker corner of the shed. She had not yet realized whether she dared to hope, whether this young stranger, with his pleasant boyish voice and debonair manner, would have the power to stay the hand of fate, which was even now raised against her brother. Betty, behind her mistress, was too terrified to speak. 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 tricorn hat. Now he was ready to perform his duty and gladly noted the Smith's less aggressive attitude. At your service, Captain, he said, and now I have my orders. I've a right of search and, but like veritable quicksilver, Captain Bathurst was upon him in a moment. A right of search, he said excitedly. A right of search, did you say, Sergeant? Odds my life, but I'm in luck. Sergeant, you're the very man for me. And he pulled the sergeant by the sleeve. I pray you, sir, protested the latter. But the young man was not to be denied. Sergeant, he whispered significantly, would you like to earn a hundred guineas? One hundred guineas rejoined the soldier readily enough that I would, sir, if you'll tell me how. He kept an eye on the little wooden door behind John Stitch, 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. Listen then, said Bathurst. Mysteriously, you've heard of Beau Brocade, the highwayman, haven't you? I, I, nodded the sergeant. Who hasn't? 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? The sergeant's eyes twinkled at the thought. The soldier's 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. 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. And yet there did not seem much gained by averting the fearful catastrophe for the span of a few brief minutes. I, a fortune indeed, sighed the sergeant with obvious longing. And I have sworn to lay that daredevil, 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. How so? The house is private, worse luck. I have no right of search. The sergeant gave a knowing wink. Hum! he said. I understand. Then he added significantly. But the reward? Odds 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 honor'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 Burrowdale, five hundred guineas aside, that I'll bring about the rogue's capture. 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. Hum! muttered the latter with a knowing wink. Perhaps that highwayman is a personal enemy of yours as well. Sir, I sighed, Captain Bathurst, pathetically, the worst I ever had. And you'd be mightily glad to see him hanged, and I mistake not. What? 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. I understand. Then the reward? 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. 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 Stitch and the very problematical rebel to look after themselves. Now, quicks the word, said the young man briskly, there's not a moment to be lost. At your service, Captain, replied the sergeant, turning once more towards the inner door, before which John Stitch still held guard, as soon as I've searched this forge. Nay, man, and you waste a minute, you and your men will miss Bobrocade 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. But you'll see a lonely cottage about half a mile from here, then a bridal 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. But the rebel captain feebly protested the sergeant, my duty. Nay, sergeant, as you will, said Bathurst Cooley, with a great show of complete indifference. But while you parley here, Bobrocade will slip through your fingers. He is at the house now. He may be gone by sunset, odds life, search for your rebels, go on, waste time, and the hundred guineas are lost to you and your men forever. It was obvious that both sergeant and men were determined not to lose this opportunity of a bold bid for fortune. 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. 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. You are a wise man, sergeant, said Bathurst Cooley, off with you, straight along that road you see before you. The cottage is just beyond that clump of distant furs. There you'll see the bridal path. But I'll overtake you before then, never fear, time to give my horse a handful of oats. But even while he spoke, the sergeant had called attention. I'll not fail you, sir. He shouted excitedly. A hundred guineas, odds my life, tis a fortune. Left turn, quick march. The young men stood in the doorway and watched the little squad as preceded by their sergeant. They plotted their way northwards in quest of fortune. John Stitch, too, followed them with his eyes until the bend in the road hid the red coats from view. Then both turned and came within. But lady patience threw 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. End of Chapter 10 Chapter 11 of Bow Brocade by Baroness Emma Orksey This LibriVox recording is in the public domain, recording by Dion Giants Salt Lake City, Utah. The Stranger's Name 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. Tis the gentleman who brought the letter from his lordship last night, she whispered to her mistress. Patience closed her eyes for a moment. Her spirit, which had gone aroming into the land of dreams, where dwell heroes and proud knights of old came back to earth once more. Then he must have guessed my brother was here, she murmured, and did it to save him. But the tension being relaxed, already the bright and sunny nature, which appeared to be the chief characteristic of the Stranger, quickly reasserted itself, and soon he was laughing merrily. Oh, ho, gone, by my faith, he said to John, odds life, but he swallowed that, clean as a mullet after bait, a friend stitch. 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. Sir, she said, I would wish to thank you. He put up his hand with a gesture of self-deprecation. To thank me, madam, he said, with profound deference, nay, you do, but just, I have done nothing to deserve so great a favour. 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. Sir, you wronged 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, because you saw that we were all anxious, and that I was unhappy. 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. He took it in his own strong grasp, and kept it a prisoner therein for a while. Then he bent his slim young figure, and touched her fingertips with his lips. Faith, madam, he said, buy that sweet illusion, and it dwell a while in your memory, I am more than repaid. In the meanwhile John had pushed open the small door, which led to the inner shed. Quite safe, my lord, he shouted gaily, only friends present. 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, and seen the look of gladness brighten her tear-dammed eyes, and a curious feeling of wrath, which he could not explain, caused him to turn away with a frown and a sigh. Patience was clinging to her brother, half hysterical, nervous, excited. You are safe, dear, she murmured, touching with trembling motherly hands the deer had 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. But there was a change in his manner now. He bowed slightly before her and said very coldly, Nay, Madame, let me assure you once again that I have done not to deserve your thanks. John Stitch is my friend, and he seemed in trouble. If I have had the honor to serve you at the same time, tis I who should render thanks. She sighed, somewhat disappointed, at his coldness. But Philip, with boyish impulse, held out both hands to him. 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. I beg you, sir. 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, your sister. I, my sister, Lady Patience Gascoigne, I am the Earl of Stratton, unjustly attainted by act of parliament. The life you have just saved, sir, is henceforth at your command. 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 yesterday night. You, sir, exclaimed Stratton, in profound astonishment, then you are. He paused instinctively, for he had remembered his conversation with John Stitch 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. Then you are, repeated Philip mechanically. 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. Captain Jack Bathurst, he said, bowing low at your command. Rose. But, of course, there was no time to be lost. Captain Jack Bathurst was the first to give the alarm. Those gallant lobsters won't be long in finding out that they've been hoodwinked, he said, and I mistake not, they'll return here anon with a temper slightly the worse for where. They must not find your lordship here at any rate, he added earnestly. 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. For the next hour or two at any rate 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 twid be safer on the open moor. I, tis not a bad place, he said, with a touch of sadness in his fresh, young voice. I myself, he checked himself and continued more quietly. Your lordship could return here after sundown. You'd be safe enough for the night. After that, and you'll grant me leave, my friend Stitch 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. 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. I, I'll go, sir, he sighed wearily. He kissed his sister with all the fondness of his aching heart. All his hopes for the future were centered in her, and in the long journey she was about to undertake for his sake. Bathurst discreetly left brother and sister alone. He knew nothing of their affairs, of their plans, their hopes. Stitch 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 Stratton Hall. Now he knew for certain that the fugitive was the Earl of Stratton, but that was all. 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. Philip, seeing that he could talk to his sister unobserved, whispered eagerly, The letters, dear, have a care. How will you carry them? 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 worksworth onwards I'll be traveling with relays. I need neither spare horses nor waste a moment's time. I can be in town in less than six days. When will your coach be ready? 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. 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. When at last he had torn himself away from her, he made quickly for the door where Bathurst had been waiting for him. 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. But Bathurst before leaving was looking back at the beautiful picture of patience's sweet face bathed in tears. Like a thief, he murmured, nay, sir, thieves have no angels to guard and love them. Me thinks you have no cause to complain of your fate. 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. And you'll accept my escort, sir, he said cheerfully to Philip. I'll show you a sheltered spot known only to myself. And to Jackalentern he added giving a passing tender tap to his beautiful horse. He and I are very fond of the more a 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 Purdue until nightfall, to safe and lonely and but a step from this forge. 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 heaths, 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, Bo Brocade, on whose head the government had put the price of a hundred guineas, a hero of romance he was in the hearts of the whole countryside, 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. A brave man surely Philip had experienced that. A wise one too, in spite of his youth, threatened Gast 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 gray eyes which spoke of a wasted life, of opportunities lost perhaps, or of persistent adverse fate. 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. The lace at throat and wrists was of the finest mucklin, 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. 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 not of Boe 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. 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. John Stitch 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. 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 Stitch 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 rows, the kind known as Five Sisters, through its delicate fragrance over this little oasis in the wilderness of the moor, and almost mechanically whilst her fancy once more went aroming in the land of dreams, patience began to home the quaint old ditty, my beautiful white rose. Suddenly, at a quick thought, may have 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 bow, and sighing pinned it to her belt. Chapter 13 of Bow Brocade by Baroness Emma Orksy This LibriVox recording is in the public domain, recording by Dion Giants, Salt Lake City, Utah. A proposal and a threat. Sir Humphrey Chaloner had not been long in making up his mind to take mastermitage ships 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. 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 18th century. A great many of them were impicuneous and all were fond of good cheer. Originally he had meant no harm to the young Earl of Stratton. 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. Sir Humphrey Chaloner 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. 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. 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. The latter was now out of the question. He could do nothing to earn it. Compulsion was the only course and middichip with crafty persuasion had shown him the possible way. Therefore he went to the forage of John Stitch to carry through the plan to that end. 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. Sir Humphrey had walked over from the moorhand. As soon as he entered the forage, the first thing he noticed was the beautiful chestnut horse tethered against the doorpost, the same which he himself had declared that very day to be worth a small fortune. Fate was obviously playing into his hands. Middichip had neither deceived him nor lured him with false hopes. Otherwise the shed was empty. There was no sign of John Stitch or of the stranger who rode the chestnut horse. Sir Humphrey went within and as patiently as he could set himself to wait. When therefore Jack Bathurst returned to the forage some few minutes later he found that her ladyship, Betty and Stitch, 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 Hardington. 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. 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 daredevil 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. Sir Humphrey looked at him keenly for a moment or two, young and well-looking, off to be seen at the forage at sundown. Odd's life, but your servant, sir, he said, returning the salutation. 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. 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. Jack Bathurst seemed to fall into his mood. He was shrewd enough to perceive that Sir Humphrey Chaloner 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. Odd's life, he said suddenly interrupting his own flow of small talk, it wonders me how long that rascally smith will stay away from his work, Odd's bud, but he's a lazy vagabond. What say you, sir? Nay, you, sir, wrong and honest man, replied Bathurst. John Stitch is a steady worker. Shall I call him for you? I know my way about his cottage. Nay, I thank you, sir. My purpose can wait. Truth to tell, added his honor carelessly. Twas not the blacksmith's work I needed, but his help in a trifling matter of business. Indeed. You'll be surprised, perhaps, at my question, sir, but have you ever heard mention of that fellow, Bobrocade? Oh, vaguely. A highwayman, sir, and a consummate rogue. Yet your honest John Stitch is said to be his friend. Indeed. Now, and you'll believe me, sir, I have a mind to speak with the rascal. Indeed. Then you are bolder than most, sir, said Jack cheerfully. He was really beginning to wonder what the squire of Hardington was driving at. It seems strange, doesn't it? But to be frank with you, I'm in two minds about that rogue. How so? Well, I have a score to settle with him, and a business to propose, and I cannot decide which course to adopt. You, sir, being so clever, might perhaps manage both, said Bathurst, with a touch of sarcasm. Hum, 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 honor of knowing who you are. He added with grave condescension. But I can see that you are, like myself, a gentleman. Bathurst bowed in polite acknowledgement. I should be proud to serve you with advice, sir, since you desire it. Well, as I have said, I have a score to settle with the rogue. He stole fifty guineas from me last night. Ah, me, side Jack, with a melancholy shake of the head. Then I fear me he'll never haunt the heath again. What mean you, sir? 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 valor against your noted prowess. Quite so, quite so, quote his honor, while smothering a curse at this more obvious piece of insolence. But I entreat your pardon. I was interrupting the story. 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 would denounce him to-morrow. 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. 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. 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. I can scarce advise you, sir, said Bathurst, still smiling, unless I know the business as well. Well, sir, you know of old lady rounds, 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 rung from her miserable tenants. Faith, sir, you paint a most entrancing picture of the lady. Now, and that rascal Beau Brocade were willing to serve me, he could at one stroke save his own neck from the gallows, enrich himself, write the innocent, and confound a wicked old woman. And how could this galaxy of noble deeds be accomplished at one stroke, sir? Her ladyship's coach will pass over the heath tonight. It should be at the crossroads soon. There will be all the old Herodon's money and jewels to be got out of it. Of course, and also a packet of love letters which doubtless will be hidden away in the receptacle beneath the seat. Letters queried Bathurst, hum, I doubt me if love letters would tempt a gentleman of the road. Nay, sir, replied his honor, now dropping his voice to a confidential whisper. These are letters which, if published, would compromise an artless young lady whom old lady rounds pursues with her hatred and spite. Now, I would give a hundred guineas to any person who will bring me those letters at the moorhand tomorrow. Surely to a gentleman of the road this game would be worth the candle. Lady rounds carries money with her besides, and her diamonds. What think you of it, sir? Tis somewhat difficult to advise, said Bathurst meditatively. Ah, well, said Sir Humphrey, with effected 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 loud John Stitch. 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 Rounds, and if Beau Brocade rendered me that service I'd be tempted to hold my tongue about him. He should have the hundred guineas tomorrow and have not 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 Stitch. Is this your horse? Pretty creature. Good day, sir. Good day. His honor was extremely condescending and pleasant. He bowed very politely to Bathurst, padded the beautiful chestnut horse, and showed no further desire to talk with John Stitch. Bathurst, with a frown on his handsome face, watched the Squire of Hardington's burly figure disappear round the bend in the road. 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. While he stood there watching, John Stitch quickly entered the forge from the rear. I was in the cottage, Captain. He said, my mother was serving the ladies with some milk. But just now I saw Sir Humphrey Chaloner walking away from the forge. I feared he might see you. He did see me, honest friend, said Jack lightly. His honor and I have just had a long and animated conversation together. 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 recognized you today. He did recognize me, and may be brewing the devil's own mischief against you. Oh, ho! left 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. 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. You'll not tell me what Sir Humphrey Chaloner spoke to you about? 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 shoo 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 ought, 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. But you'll not go on the heath tonight, Captain, pleaded the Smith, with a tremor in his voice. I, that I will, John Stitch 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. I, I'll go to the heath, friend, tis my only home, you know, ere I find a resting place on the gallows yonder. John sighed and turned away, and thus did not hear the faint murmur that came of a great and good heart, overfull with longing and disappointment. 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. End of chapter 13