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diff --git a/old/68169-0.txt b/old/68169-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 1ff027e..0000000 --- a/old/68169-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,15292 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Sir John Dering, by Jeffery Farnol - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Sir John Dering - A romantic comedy - -Author: Jeffery Farnol - -Release Date: May 25, 2022 [eBook #68169] - -Language: English - -Produced by: Tim Lindell and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at - https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images - generously made available by The Internet Archive/Canadian - Libraries) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SIR JOHN DERING *** - - - - - - -SIR JOHN DERING - - - - -_BY THE SAME AUTHOR_ - - - The Broad Highway - The Amateur Gentleman - The Money Moon - The Hon. Mr. Tawnish - The Chronicles of the Imp - Beltane the Smith - The Definite Object - The Geste of Duke Jocelyn - Our Admirable Betty - Black Bartlemy’s Treasure - Martin Conisby’s Vengeance - Peregrine’s Progress - -_Sampson Low, Marston & Co., Ltd._ - - - - - SIR JOHN DERING - - A ROMANTIC COMEDY - - BY - JEFFERY FARNOL - AUTHOR OF “THE BROAD HIGHWAY” ETC. - - [Illustration] - - LONDON - SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON & CO. LTD. - - PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN BY PURNELL AND SONS - PAULTON, SOMERSET, ENGLAND - - - - - TO - - MY FRIEND OF YEARS - AND RIGHT TRUSTY COMRADE - - HERBERT LONDON POPE - - I DEDICATE THIS BOOK AS A SMALL TRIBUTE - TO HIS PATIENCE, FAITHFULNESS, AND UNFALTERING - LOYALTY: WITH THE EARNEST HOPE - THAT TIME MAY BUT KNIT US EVER MORE CLOSE - - JEFFERY FARNOL - - SUSSEX - - - - -CONTENTS - - - PAGE - - PROLOGUE 1 - - CHAP. - - I. WHICH INTRODUCES THE DOG WITH A BAD NAME 6 - - II. WHICH DESCRIBES A FORTUITOUS BUT FATEFUL MEETING 20 - - III. TELLETH OF MRS. ROSE, THE GUILEFUL INNOCENT 29 - - IV. SHEWETH THE WICKED DERING IN A NEW RÔLE 34 - - V. THE ALLURE OF SIMPLICITY: MOONLIGHT AND AN ELOPEMENT 39 - - VI. OF SOULS, SOLITUDE AND A DUSTY ROAD 46 - - VII. WHICH INTRODUCES MY LORD SAYLE AND THE CLASH OF STEEL 54 - - VIII. OF A POST-CHAISE, INIQUITY AND A GRANDMOTHER 65 - - IX. DESCRIBES THE ADVENTURES OF THE _TRUE BELIEVER_ 71 - - X. FURTHER CONCERNING THE SAME 79 - - XI. OF AN ALTRUISTIC SCOT 85 - - XII. DESCRIBETH THE DUPLICITY OF INNOCENCE 94 - - XIII. CONCERNING THE ADVENT OF JOHN DERWENT 99 - - XIV. HOW THE MAN OF SENTIMENT SENTIMENTALISED IN A DITCH 109 - - XV. WHICH INTRODUCES A FRIEZE COAT AND ITS WEARER, ONE - GEORGE POTTER 119 - - XVI. DESCRIBES A SCANDALOUS ITEM OF FASHIONABLE INTELLIGENCE - AND THE CONSEQUENCES THEREOF 129 - - XVII. HOW SIR JOHN DERING CAME BACK TO MAYFAIR 140 - - XVIII. HOW SIR JOHN DERING WENT A-WOOING 143 - - XIX. TELLS HOW SIR JOHN WENT “BEAR-BAITING” 149 - - XX. HOW SIR JOHN PLEDGED HIS WORD: WITH SOME DESCRIPTION OF - THE PROPERTIES OF SNUFF 156 - - XXI. OF GEORGE POTTER, HIS WHISTLE 163 - - XXII. MY LADY HERMINIA BARRASDAILE WEAVES WEBS FOR AN UNWARY HE 176 - - XXIII. HOW GEORGE POTTER CIRCUMVENTED THE PREVENTIVES 181 - - XXIV. OF MR. BUNKLE AND THE ROOM WITH FIVE DOORS 193 - - XXV. TELLETH HOW SIR JOHN BEHELD THE GHOST 200 - - XXVI. CONCERNS ITSELF MAINLY WITH THE “MORNING AFTER” 206 - - XXVII. TELLETH HOW MR. DERWENT BEGAN HIS WOOING 212 - - XXVIII. TELLETH HOW MY LADY ADOPTED A FAIRY GODMOTHER 223 - - XXIX. GIVETH SOME DESCRIPTIONS OF A TEA-DRINKING 228 - - XXX. IN WHICH SIR JOHN RECEIVES A WARNING 238 - - XXXI. BEING A CHAPTER OF NO GREAT CONSEQUENCE 243 - - XXXII. TELLETH HOW SIR JOHN DERWENT WENT A-WOOING 247 - - XXXIII. WHICH, AMONG OTHER SMALL MATTERS, TELLETH OF A SNUFF-BOX 251 - - XXXIV. CONCERNS ITSELF WITH ONE OF THE MANY MYSTERIES OF THE - ‘MARKET CROSS INN’ 258 - - XXXV. BEING THE SHORTEST IN THIS BOOK 271 - - XXXVI. WHICH CONTAINS FURTHER MENTION OF A CERTAIN SNUFF-BOX 273 - - XXXVII. WHICH GIVETH SOME DESCRIPTION OF A MURDERER’S HAT 281 - - XXXVIII. OF THE TERROR BY NIGHT 289 - - XXXIX. HOW THEY WARNED CAPTAIN SHARKIE NYE 299 - - XL. DESCRIBES, AMONG OTHER THINGS, HOW MY LADY TRAMPLED - TRIUMPHANTLY AT LAST 308 - - XLI. TELLETH OF THE DUEL ON DERING TYE 318 - - XLII. MR. DUMBRELL MEDIATES 325 - - XLIII. IN WHICH SIR JOHN DEVOTES HIMSELF TO THE MUSE 331 - - XLIV. IN WHICH THE GHOST FLITS TO GOOD PURPOSE 337 - - XLV. WHICH, AS THE READER OBSERVES, BEGINS AND ENDS WITH - MY LORD SAYLE 344 - - XLVI. TELLS HOW SIR JOHN DERING FLED THE DOWN-COUNTRY 352 - - XLVII. TELLETH HOW MY LADY HERMINIA BARRASDAILE WENT A-WOOING 360 - - XLVIII. WHICH IS, HAPPILY, THE LAST 366 - - - - -SIR JOHN DERING - - - - -PROLOGUE - - -The light of guttering candles fell upon the two small-swords where they -lay, the one glittering brightly, the other its murderous steel horribly -bent and dimmed; and no sound to hear except a whisper of stirring leaves -beyond the open window and the ominous murmur of hushed voices from the -inner chamber. - -Suddenly the door of this chamber opened and a man appeared, slender, -youthful and superlatively elegant from curled peruke to buckled shoes, -a young exquisite who leaned heavily, though gracefully, in the doorway, -glancing back over his shoulder while the slim fingers of one white hand -busied themselves to button his long, flowered waistcoat and made a -mighty business of it. - -“Dead?” he questioned at last in a tone high-pitched and imperious. “Dead -... is he?” - -Receiving an affirmative answer, his lounging figure grew tense and, -turning his head, he stared at the guttering candles. - -Wide eyes that glared in the deathly pale oval of a youthful face, pallid -lips compressed above a jut of white chin, nostrils that quivered with -every breath, sweat that trickled unheeded beneath the trim curls of his -great periwig; a face that grew aged even as he stood there. Presently, -with step a little uncertain, he crossed to the open lattice and leaned -to stare out and up into the deepening night-sky, and yet was conscious -that the others had followed him, men who whispered, held aloof from him -and peered back toward that quiet inner chamber; and, with his wide gaze -still upturned to the sombre heaven, he spoke in the same high, imperious -tone: - -“He died scarce ... ten minutes ago, I think?” - -“Aye, thereabouts, sir,” answered the surgeon, wiping podgy hands upon a -towel. “I did all that was possible, but he was beyond human aid when I -arrived. Æsculapius himself——” - -“Ten minutes!... I wonder where is now the merry soul of him?... He died -attempting a laugh, you’ll remember, sirs!” - -“And thereby hastened his end, sir,” added the surgeon; “the hæmorrhage——” - -“Aye ... aye,” quavered young Mr. Prescott. “Lord ... O Lord, Dering—he -laughed ... and his blood all a-bubbling ... laughed—and died ... O Lord!” - -“’Twas all so demned sudden!” exclaimed Captain Armitage—“so curst sudden -and unexpected, Dering.” - -“And that’s true enough!” wailed Lord Verrian. “’S life, Dering, you were -close engaged afore we had a chance to part ye!” - -“To be sure I ... have pinked my man!” retorted Sir John Dering a little -unsteadily and with so wild a look that Lord Verrian started. - -“Nay, Dering,” quoth he soothingly. “’Twas he drew first ... and you’d -scarce made a push at each other—and both o’ ye desperate fierce—than -poor Charles slips, d’ye see, and impales himself on your point ... -a devilish business altogether—never saw such hell-fire fury and -determination!” - -“I’ faith, my lord,” answered Sir John, dabbing daintily at pallid lips -with belaced handkerchief, “to hear you one might imagine that ... -Charles and I were ... the bitterest enemies i’ the world rather than -the ... best o’ friends—aye, the best! For it seems ... a man may love a -man and ... kill a man. So in yonder room lieth my poor friend Charles, -very still and silent, freed o’ debts and duns at last, and I——” Sir John -checked suddenly as from the stairs without stole a ripple of laughter. - -“By God—a woman!” gasped Lord Verrian. Young Mr. Prescott sank down into -the nearest chair, head between twitching hands; Captain Armitage sprang -to bar the door, but, as he did so, it swung open and a girl smiled in -upon them—a tall, handsome creature, black-eyed, full-lipped, dominant in -her beauty. - -“Lord, gentlemen!” she exclaimed, glancing swiftly from one face to -another; “I protest y’are very gloomily mum—as I were a ghost. Nay—what -is it? Are you all dumb? Where is Charles?... He was to meet me here! -You, my Lord Verrian ... Captain Armitage—where is Charles?” - -Lord Verrian turned his back, mumbling incoherencies; Mr. Prescott -groaned. And then her quick glance had caught the glitter of the swords -upon the table. “Charles!” she cried suddenly. “Charles! Ah—my God!” - -Captain Armitage made a feeble effort to stay her, but, brushing him -imperiously aside, she fled into the inner room. - -Ensued a moment of tense and painful stillness, and then upon the air -rose a dreadful strangled screaming, and she was back, the awful sound -still issuing from her quivering lips. - -“Who ... who,” she gasped at last, “which of you ... which of you ... did -it?” - -No one spoke, only Sir John Dering bowed, laced handkerchief to lip. - -“You—ah, ’twas you?” she questioned in hoarse whisper. “I ... do not know -you.... Your name, sir?” - -“I am called John Dering, madam.” - -“Dering,” she repeated in the same tense voice—“John Dering—I shall not -forget! And ’twas you killed him—’twas you murdered my Charles—you—you?” - -And now she broke out into a wild farrago of words, bitter reproaches -and passionate threats, while Sir John stood immobile, head bowed, -laced handkerchief to lip, mute beneath the lash of her tongue. Softly, -stealthily, one by one, the others crept from the room until the twain -were alone, unseen, unheard, save by one beyond the open casement who -stood so patiently in the gathering dusk, watching Sir John’s drooping -figure with such keen anxiety. - -“... God curse you!” she panted hoarsely. “God’s curse on you for the -murderer you are! Aye, but you shall suffer for it, I swear! You shall -rue this night’s work to the end of your life——” The passionate voice -broke upon a gasping sob, and then Sir John spoke, his head still bowed: - -“True, madam, I shall ... suffer and grieve for this ... to the end o’ my -days for ... Charles was ... my friend——” - -“And you are his murderer, John Dering—so am I your enemy!” she cried. -“Your sin may be soon forgot—the world may forgive you—even God may, but -I—never will! My vengeance shall follow you, to end only with your last -breath——” - -Sir John coughed suddenly, the handkerchief at his mouth became all -at once horribly crimson, and, sinking to his knees, he swayed over -sideways; lying thus, it chanced that the long, embroidered waistcoat -he had so vainly sought to button, fell open, discovering the great and -awful stains below. - -For a moment the girl stood rigid, staring down at the serene but -death-pale face at her feet; and then the door swung violently open to -admit a very tall man who ran to kneel and lift that slender form, to -chafe the nerveless hands and drop hot tears upon the pallid cheek. - -“John, John.... O John.... O lad—is this the end——” - -Sir John Dering’s eyes opened, and he stared up into the square, bronzed -face above him with a faint smile. - -“Hector ... is’t you, Hector?” he whispered. “Tell her ... the lady ... -that I think ... her vengeance will end ... to-night! Which is ... very -well—” - -“Woman,” cried the man Hector, lifting agonised face, “if ye be true -woman run for the surgeon quick, ere he die!” - -“Die?” she echoed. “Aye—’twere better he died, far better for him—and for -me!” So saying, she turned and sped from the room, laughing wildly as she -ran. - - - - -CHAPTER I - -WHICH INTRODUCES THE DOG WITH A BAD NAME - - -Sir John Dering, at loss for a rhyme, paused in the throes of composition -to flick a speck of dust from snowy ruffle, to glance from polished -floor to painted ceiling, to survey his own reflection in the mirror -opposite, noting with a critical eye all that pertained to his exquisite -self, the glossy curls of his great, black periwig, the graceful folds -of full-skirted, embroidered coat, his sleek silk stockings and dainty, -gold-buckled shoes; and discovering naught in his resplendent person to -cavil at, turned back to his unfinished manuscript, sighing plaintively. - -“‘Soul’!” he murmured; “a damnable word, so many rhymes to’t and none of -’em apt! Roll, coal, hole, foal, goal, pole ... a devilish word! Mole, -shoal, vole—pish!” - -It was at this precise juncture that the latch behind him was lifted -softly and upon the threshold stood a man whose height and breadth seemed -to fill the doorway, a man whose hard-worn clothes were dusty with -travel, whose long, unkempt periwig, set somewhat askew, framed a lean, -brown face notable for a pair of keen, blue eyes and the fierce jut of -brow, cheek-bone and jaw: a shabby person, indeed, and very much at odds -with the dainty luxury of the chamber before him. - -Thus, Hector MacLean, or more properly, General Sir Hector Lauchlan -MacLean, six foot four of Highland Scot, having surveyed painted walls, -polished floor and frescoed ceiling, folded mighty arms, scowled at Sir -John’s shapely, unconscious back and emitted a sound that none but a -true-born Scot may ever achieve. - -“Umph-humph!” exclaimed Hector MacLean; whereupon Sir John started, -dropped his quill and was upon his feet all in a moment, modish languor -and exquisite affectations all forgotten in eager welcome. - -“Hector!” he exclaimed, grasping the Scot’s two bony fists; “Hector man, -what should bring you all the way to Paris—and me—after all this time?” - -“Four years, John, four years and mair!” nodded Sir Hector. “Four years -and they might be eight, judging by y’r looks. Lad, I’d hardly know ye -... sic a mighty fine gentleman an’ sae pale——” - -“A delicate pallor is the mode, Hector,” smiled Sir John. “But what -brings you to Paris?” - -“Aye—what, John?” retorted Sir Hector, with a dour shake of the head. -“Who but yourself! What’s all this I’m hearing concerning ye, John?” - -“Evil beyond a doubt, Hector—evil, I’ll wager. But ’tis no reason you -should stand and scowl when you might sit and smile like the old friend -you are——” - -“Aye, always your friend, lad, if ’twere only for your father’s sake!” - -“And mine also, I hope, Hector?” - -“Aye, John, though you’re no the man your father was!” - -“I know it, Hector.” - -“And ’tis memory o’ him and the promise I made him to be ever mindful o’ -your welfare hath brought me these weary miles to Parus——” - -“And since you are here, you shall stay with me, Hector. Egad, ’twill be -like old times!” - -“No, no, John,” sighed MacLean, glancing round the luxurious apartment; -“you’ve grown too fine for me, these days! My dusty claes wad foul your -dainty chairs and silken cushions. No, no, lad, you’re become too grand a -gentleman for a poor, rough, old soldier——” - -“Tush and a fiddlestick!” exclaimed Sir John, forcing him down into the -nearest chair. “My home is yours whenever you will, Hector.” - -“Hame, John?” retorted MacLean. “Hame, d’ye call it? Look at this -room—all silken fripperies like a leddy’s boudoir.... And talkin’ o’ -ladies—look up yonder!”—and he stabbed a bony finger at the painted -ceiling where nude dryads sported against a flowery background. “Aye -... obsairve ’em!” snorted MacLean, forsaking precise English for broad -Scots—a true sign of mental perturbation. “Gude sakes, regaird yon -painted besoms wi’ ne’er a clout tae cover ’em—’tis no’ a sicht for -decent eyes!” - -“They were done by a famous painter, Hector, and represent the three -Graces——” - -“Dis-graces, I ca’ ’em! Man, they’re ... fair owerpowerin’!” - -“Then don’t heed ’em, Hector; regard me instead.” - -“Yourself, is it?” sighed MacLean. “O man, there’s enough o’ lace an’ -broidery aboot ye tae rig oot a’ three o’ y’r dis-graces frae top tae -tae. Ah, Johnnie lad, when I obsairve a’ y’r finery o’ claes an’ mind hoo -y’r father was dressed the day he panted his life oot in my arrms wi’ a -French bayonet in his wame ... an auld tattered sairvice coat.... Aweel, -aweel, he was a man, John ... dead before you were old enough to ken him, -mair’s the peety ... aye, mair’s the peety. An’ to-day, lad, here’s me -wi’ ane fut i’ the grave, and here’s yersel’ vera prone tae a’ manner o’ -follies an’ sic by reason as you’re wilfu’ and over-young——” - -“I’m twenty-seven, Hector!” - -“Aye, a wilfu’ bairn, John, and a’m an auld man ill able tae cope wi’ ye, -laddie, bein’ vera feeble and bowed wi’ years.” - -“Sink me, Hector, but you’re strong as a horse and straight as your -sword, and can’t be a day older than fifty-five or six——” - -“Feefty-ane, John, fifty-one, whateffer! But I was ever a quiet, plain, -simple body tae follow the skirl o’ the war-pipes ... battle, skirmish -an’ siege ... juist a puir, God-fearin’ soger-body——” - -“Though King William made you a knight and a General, Sir Hector!” - -“Och aye ... but best of a’—I was y’r father’s friend, his comrade an’ -brither-in-arms in camp an’ field, y’ ken!” Sir Hector was silent a -moment; when next he spoke, his English was more precise than usual. -“When your noble father died, John, he left you and your mother to my -care.... So soon as the wars were over I hasted to take up this sacred -charge and found your mother dying ... but you were alive enough—a -bonnie, braw, wee thing.... And since then, John, since then——” - -“You have been everything to me, Hector—my only true friend!” - -“God knoweth I have tried to be faithful to the trust, to keep my word to -your father and do my duty by his son——” - -“And, sir, indeed you have!” - -“Ah, but have I, John—have I so, indeed? Have I trained you up to be the -honourable gentleman your father would have been proud of calling son? -Have I, lad—have I?” - -“I trust so, sir.” - -“And yet, John—and yet——” Sir Hector rose, his grim lips twitching -strangely, and began to pace the floor in sudden agitation. Now, as he -turned, it chanced that the scabbard of his long, broad-bladed Andrea -Ferrara swept a dainty Sèvres ornament to the floor, whereupon he halted -to stare down at the fragments with eyes of horrified dismay. - -“Forgi’e me, John, forgi’e me!” he exclaimed, unheeding Sir John’s -reassurances; “but ye see, lad, a’m no juist the man tae be trusted amang -sic dainty trifles as yon. Look at it—shivered beyond repair ... ’tis -like a man’s honour! An’ talking of honour, John, your father was a noble -gentleman, proud of his honourable name, who kept that name unsullied -all his days.... Have you done as much, John? O lad, you that are my dead -friend’s son, you that I have bred from your youth up—have you done as -much?” - -“Do you doubt it, Hector?” - -“Aye, I do, John. God help me, I must—unless report lies.” - -Sir John’s pale cheek flushed, his sensitive nostrils quivered, but his -air and tone were placid as usual when he spoke: - -“To what do you refer, Hector?” - -“To your wild doings and devilments, John, your godless life and riotous -wickedness, your hell-fire and damnable practices generally——” - -“Sit down, Hector. Pray sit down and fetch your breath,” smiled Sir John. -“Egad, you’re so full o’ news concerning me that ’tis plain you have met -some friend o’ mine of late——” - -“Look’ee, John, scarce have I set foot in Parus than I hear some -scurrilous tale o’ yourself and some Marquise or other——” - -“Ah, the Marquise?” sighed Sir John, turning to glance at his unfinished -composition. “I was inditing an ode to her, but my muse halted for an apt -rhyme to ‘soul,’ Hector.” - -“’Twas a curst discreditable affair as I heard it, John!” - -“Why, to be sure, Hector, my affairs are always discreditable. But the -scandal being well-nigh a week old begins to grow stale, and the Marquise -will be out o’ the public eye already, poor soul, unless she hath -contrived some scheme to revive it, and she’s a clever creature, on my -soul she is—ah, and that reminds me! What the deuce rhymes with ‘soul,’ -Hector? There’s roll and poll and dole and goal and——” - -“Hoot-toot, man!” exclaimed MacLean. “The de’il awa’ wi’ y’r rhymes!” - -“With all my heart, Hector, for they’re bad enough, I fear,” sighed Sir -John. - -“Sic sinfu’ repoorts as I’ve been hearin’ o’ ye, John!” exclaimed -MacLean, striding up and down the room again. “Sic a gallimaufry o’ -waefu’ wickedness, sic lug-tingling tales.... O man, John, y’r reputation -fair stinks!” - -“It does, Hector!” nodded Sir John placidly. “Indeed, ’tis a reputation I -find something hard to maintain and live up to—though I do my best——” - -“Your best, whateffer? Aye, wi’ your gamblin’, your duellin’ an’ your -fine French hussies—like this Marquise—a feckless body and shameless——” - -“And therefore fashionable, Hector! Remember, this is Paris!” - -“Parus!” snorted MacLean; “O Parus! Edinb’ro’s a sinfu’ town, forbye -it hath its savin’ graces. Lon’non’s waur, but—Parus! Man, I’m no’ an -archangel, y’ ken, but—Parus! And this brings me back tae yoursel’, John.” - -“And pray what have you heard concerning me particularly, Hector? Come, -what are my latest sins? Whose wife have I lured from sorrowing spouse? -What young innocent is my latest victim? What hopeful youth have I ruined -at the gaming-table?... and in heaven’s name—smile, man!” - -“How, smile is it, and my heart waefu’ for ye, lad? Repoort speaks ye a -very deevil, John.” - -“Aye, but even the devil is never so black as he is painted, Hector!” - -“Ha, will ye be for tellin’ me repoort hath lied, John?” - -“Let us rather say it hath not spoke truth.” - -“Whaur’s the differ, lad?” - -“Report, Hector, doth trumpet me forth a very monster of politely-vicious -depravity. I am Sin manifest, perambulating Iniquity. Do I sit me down -to the gaming-table I am bound to ruin some poor wretch, do I but kiss a -woman’s finger-tips she is forthwith a mark for every scandalous tongue. -My sins, Hector, be all superlative and very pertinaciously come home to -roost. Egad, I befoul my own nest with a persistency that amazes me! But -then, it seems some are born to iniquity, some achieve iniquity, and some -have iniquity thrust upon ’em——” - -“How so, John lad, what d’ye mean?” - -“That I have an enemy—nay two, rather! The one being myself—and he is bad -enough o’ conscience—but the other—ah, Hector, this other one is more -implacable, more unrelenting and a thousand times more merciless!” - -“Who is he, lad, a God’s name?” - -“’Tis no he,” sighed Sir John. - -“Aha!” exclaimed Sir Hector, coming to an abrupt stand; “you mean—her?” - -“I do, Hector! ’Tis an ill thing to have an enemy, but if that enemy be -a woman, young, beautiful, of high estate and very wealthy—the situation -becomes desperate.” - -“A wumman!” repeated Sir Hector, rasping thumb and finger across bony -chin. “You mean ‘the Barrasdaile,’ of course, John?” - -“Aye, the Lady Herminia Barrasdaile.” - -“To be sure I mind weel how she raved and vowed vengeance on ye, lad, the -night Charles Tremayne was killed——” - -“Poor, reckless Charles ... I can see him now, Hector, as he laughed ... -and died——” - -“Tush, laddie, forget it! ’Twas he drew first, and himsel’ no better -than——” - -“He is dead, Hector! Sometimes I’ve thought you had been wiser, kinder, -to have let me die also, rather than ha’ dragged me back to this -emptiness we call ‘life’——” - -“Emptiness, laddie? Hoot-toot—and yersel’ the joy o’ the leddies, the -envy o’ the men! ‘The glass o’ fashion an’ mould o’ form,’ wi’ every -young sprig o’ gallantry to copy the cut o’ your waistcoats? And you -think, John, you think that my Lady Barrasdaile is actually carrying her -threat into execution?” - -“Well, these last few years, Hector, have proved singularly eventful to -me one way or another. I have been involved so often in so many unsavoury -affairs and had so many duels forced upon me that my reputation is grown -a little threadbare, as you know, and myself notorious.” - -“And now it seems you’ve another duel on your hands.” - -“A duel, Hector? Egad, and have I so? With whom, pray? - -“Losh, man, you should ken that weel enough.” - -“Hum!” quoth Sir John, pondering. - -“I caught but a snatch of idle gossip concerning you, John, and some -English Viscount or other——” - -“An Englishman, Hector, mark that! Ha,” mused Sir John, “I have a vague -recollection of throwing somebody’s hat out of some window some time or -other—but whose hat, or what window, or when, I cannot recall for the -life o’ me. We must look into this, Hector. Let us summon the Corporal -and hear what the perspicacious Robert hath to say.” - -“What, Corporal Bob? He’s still with you, then, John lad?” - -“To be sure, Hector,” answered Sir John, ringing the small silver bell -at his elbow. “He is my major-domo, my valet, my general factotum, and -will never be anything but a grenadier to the day of his death. Here he -is!” At this moment was a short, sharp double knock and the door opened -to admit a very square-shouldered, sharp-eyed man extremely precise as to -clothes, speech and gesture, who, beholding Sir Hector’s stalwart figure, -halted suddenly, whipped up right hand as if to touch neat wig but, -thinking better of it, bowed instead and immediately stood at attention. - -“Stiff and straight as though on parade, Hector!” murmured Sir John, -whereupon the Corporal flushed and immediately “stood easy.” - -“Ha, Corporal Robert!” exclaimed Sir Hector. “Dae ye mind the day we -stormed the barricades afore Maestricht, and me wi’ yon Frenchman’s -baggonet through me arrm? If ye hadna been there, I shouldna be here—so, -Corporal Bobbie, gi’e’s a grup o’ y’r hand.” The Corporal’s cheek flushed -again and his eyes glowed as their fingers gripped, but when he spoke it -was to his master. - -“You rang, Sir John?” - -“I did, Robert. I desire you to inform us if I was particularly drunk or -no last night?” - -“By no manner o’ means, Sir John.” - -“You are ready to swear that?” - -“Bible oath, Sir John!” - -“I am not often drunk, I believe, Bob?” - -“Never more than the occasion demands, sir—and then very genteelly!” - -“When was the last occasion, Bob?” - -“Two days ago, sir, being the night of the Marquise de Sauvray’s -reception.” - -“Was I—‘genteelly’ so, that night, Bob?” - -“Maybe a leetle—elevated, sir.” - -“Yes,” nodded Sir John, “I’ve a dim memory of breaking my cane over the -link-boy’s head!” - -“Link-boy was insolent, sir. Link-boy deserved it.” - -“I rejoice to know it, Robert. Was there aught else remarkable in my -home-coming on this occasion?” - -“Nothing at all, sir! Though to be sure—you sang——” - -“Sang, did I?” sighed Sir John. “Anything else, Bob?” - -“No, sir! Except for gentleman’s perook stuffed into your honour’s -right-hand coat-pocket.” - -“A peruke, Bob? Oh, begad! If we have it still, show it to me!” - -The imperturbable Robert vanished into Sir John’s bedchamber and -instantly returned with the article in question, turning it upon his hand -for his master’s inspection. - -“A brown Ramillie!” mused Sir John. “No, Bob, I don’t seem to know it—it -calls up no memory of its erstwhile owner. What sword did I wear that -night?” - -“Your favourite dress sword, sir, with the gold hilt.” - -“Fetch it, Bob.” The weapon was duly brought and, unsheathing it, Sir -John eyed it keenly from pierced shell to glittering point. “Ha!” sighed -he, returning blade and scabbard. “What has not been, will be, I fear! -A gentleman’s hat out of a window and a gentleman’s peruke in my pocket -would seem to indicate a meeting soon or late with some one or other!” - -“With Viscount Templemore, sir, as I am give to understand.... Young -gentleman has been taking of fencing lessons constant ever since,” -answered Robert imperturbably. - -“Templemore!” exclaimed Sir Hector. “Viscount Templemore, is it? Man -Jack, ye no can fecht wi’ him, he’s but a lad—a child—a bairn in breeks!” - -“And but lately from England, eh, Bob?” questioned Sir John. - -“He has been here scarce a week, sir, I am give to understand.” - -“Mark that, Hector!” - -“Man John, what d’ye mean?” - -“Robert, pray how many duels have I had forced upon me since we came to -Paris five years since?” - -“Twenty-three, Sir John.” - -“And most of ’em gentlemen newly arrived from England—mark that also, -Hector! Gentlemen, these, who ha’ scarce made my acquaintance than they -discover an urgent desire to cross steel with me. Some day I may have an -accident and kill one of them, which would grieve me, since he would die -in evil cause, Hector.” - -“Man Jack, what cause are ye meaning?” - -“The cause of my Lady Herminia Barrasdaile, Hector, beyond doubt!” - -Sir Hector made a turn up and down the room. - -“But save us a’,” he exclaimed, halting suddenly, “the wumman must be a -pairfict deevil!” - -“Nay, she’s merely a vengeful female, Hector.” - -“But this puir Templemore laddie. I kenned his father weel—man Jack, -ye’ll no’ fecht the boy?” - -“Pray, how may I avoid it, Hector? If he annoyed me t’other night—as -he must ha’ done, it seems that I affronted him in turn most -flagrantly—there is his wig to prove it! How, then, can I possibly -refuse him satisfaction? You have fought ere now and must appreciate the -delicacy of my position.” - -“Umph-humph!” exclaimed Sir Hector, and took another turn up and down the -room. - -“Do not distress yourself,” sighed Sir John; “if we must fight I shall -endeavour to disarm him merely——” - -“And may accidentally kill the lad, swordsman though ye be, John ... -remember Charles Tremayne! So, man Jack, ye’ll juist no’ fight the -laddie.” - -“Not fight?” echoed Sir John. - -“Having regaird tae his extreme youth and inexperience and y’r ain -reputation as a duellist and man o’ bluid....” - -“But, Hector, you must see that if I refuse on account of his youth -’twill make him the laughing-stock of all Paris.” - -“Why then, Johnnie lad, ye maun juist rin awa’——” - -“Run away, Hector?” - -“Juist that, John; ye maun gi’e Parus a chance tae laugh at -yersel’—howbeit you’ll rin awa’ fra’ the puir lad as a man of honour -should.” - -“Impossible, Hector.” - -“Man, there’s naething impossible tae the son o’ your father, I’m -thinkin’!” - -Sir John frowned and, crossing to the window, beheld a carriage drawn up -in front of the house. - -“Robert,” said he, “we’ve visitors, I think; pray show them up here.” -Robert departed forthwith and presently reappeared to announce: - -“My Lord Cheevely and Monsieur le Duc de Vaucelles.” And into the room -tripped two very fine gentlemen enormously bewigged and beruffled, who, -having been duly presented to Sir Hector, flourished laced hats and -fluttered perfumed handkerchiefs, bowing profoundly. - -“Let me die, Sir John,” piped Lord Cheevely. “’Od rabbit me, but ’tis -pure joy to see ya’, I vow ’tis! Pray forgive our dem’d sudden intrusion, -but our mission is delicate, sir, dooced, infinite delicate, and admits -o’ no delay, as my friend Vaucelles will tell ya’!” - -“Parfaitement!” quoth Monsieur le Duc, hat a-flourish. - -“Briefly and to the point, m’ dear Sir John,” continued his lordship, “we -come on behalf of our very good friend, Viscount Templemore, who, with -the utmost passible humility i’ the world, begs the honour of a meeting -with ya’ at the earliest passible moment.” - -“Templemore?” repeated Sir John, tapping smooth forehead with slender -finger. “Templemore? I have met him somewhere, I fancy. He is but lately -come to Paris, I think, my lord?” - -“A week ago or thereabouts, m’ dear Sir John.” - -“And he desires a meeting?” - -“Most ardently, Sir John; the point in question being, as ya’ remember, -of a distinctly—personal nature.” - -“Indeed,” nodded Sir John, “a brown Ramillie wig.” - -“Parfaitement!” answered Monsieur le Duc, with a flourish. - -“Precisely, Sir John!” answered Lord Cheevely. “’Twill be small-swords, I -presume?” - -“No, my lord,” sighed Sir John. - -“Ah, you decide for pistols, then?” - -“Nor pistols, my lord. I do not intend to fight with Viscount Templemore.” - -“Not—not fight?” gasped his lordship, while Monsieur le Duc started and -dropped his hat. - -“No, my lord,” answered Sir John. “I am returning Viscount Templemore’s -wig with my sincerest regrets so soon as ’tis combed and ironed——” - -“D’ye mean, sir, that—that you actually refuse Viscount Templemore’s -challenge?” - -“Actually and positively, my lord!” - -“But—but,” stammered Lord Cheevely. “Oh, demme, such action is -impossible—was not—cannot be!” - -“That is why I do it, my lord.” - -“Oh, rat me!” murmured his lordship, goggling. “Oh, split me ... not -fight! Dooce take and burn me—this from you, Sir John! You that ha’ never -baulked ... had so many affairs ... gone out so frequently—oh, smite me -dumb!” - -“My lord,” sighed Sir John, “I have been out so very frequently that I am -grown a little weary. You will therefore pray tell Viscount Templemore -that I have given up duelling as a pastime for the present, and purpose -rusticating awhile——” - -“If—if you are serious, sir,” exclaimed Lord Cheevely, rolling his eyes, -“demme, sir, if you are serious, permit me to tell ya’ ya’ conduct is -dem’d strange, devilish queer and most dooced, dem’d irregular!” - -“Parfaitement!” added Monsieur le Duc. - -Sir John smiled faintly, though his dreamy blue eyes grew suddenly very -keen and piercing. - -“Gentlemen,” he retorted, “I am about to leave Paris for an indefinite -period; when I return, should you have any strictures to make upon my -conduct, I shall be charmed to notice ’em. Until then, sirs, I have the -honour to bid you adieu.” - -And so Sir John bowed, the gentlemen bowed and betook themselves away -with never another word. - -“Man Jack,” exclaimed Sir Hector, as the door closed, “leave Parus, is -it? O John, laddie—d’ye mean it?” - -“Aye, I do, Hector. What with one thing and another, I begin to find -Paris a little wearing.” - -“Is it hame at last, Johnnie—hame tae England?” - -“Where else, Hector?” - -“When dae we start, lad?” - -“Sure, no time were better than the present. We ride to-day, Hector.” - -“Ou aye—yet bide a wee! Wha’ bee’s in y’r bonnet, now, laddie?” - -“I go to find my enemy, Hector.” - -“Save us a’! D’ye mean the leddy?” - -“Herminia!” nodded Sir John. “’Tis a pretty name! Indeed, Hector, ’tis a -sweet, pretty name—though vastly difficult to find a rhyme for——” - -“And what’ll ye be after wi’ the deevilish jade?” - -“To exact a just and lasting vengeance, Hector.” - -“Hoot awa’, Johnnie—hoot-toot, ye canna fecht a wumman——” - -“I can do worse, Hector!” - -“Man John, wha’ dae ye mean?” - -“I can marry her, Hector.” - - - - -CHAPTER II - -WHICH DESCRIBES A FORTUITOUS BUT FATEFUL MEETING - - -The Fates, those mysterious, unearthly sisters who are for ever busied -upon the destinies of poor, finite humanity—the Fates, it seems, decreed -that my Lady Herminia Barrasdaile, travelling full speed for Paris, -should be suddenly precipitated upon the soft, resilient form of her -devoted maid, Mrs. Betty, to that buxom creature’s gasping dismay and her -own vast indignation; wherefore, the huge vehicle coming to an abrupt -standstill, down fell the window and out went my lady’s angry, albeit -lovely, countenance to demand instant explanation from coachmen, footmen -and the world in general. - -“Why, ye see, my lady,” answered red-faced Giles, the coachman, his -Sussex calm entirely unruffled, “it do so ’appen as our off-side rear -spring’s gone, mam.” - -“Gone, man, gone? Who’s stolen it? What a plague d’you mean, Giles?” -demanded her ladyship. - -“I means broke, my lady, snapped, mam, parted-loike. We’m down on our -back-axle—an’ theer y’are, mam!” - -“Why then, mend it, Giles; mend it at once and let us get on—I must reach -Paris to-night if possible.” - -“Aye, we’ll mend it, my lady, sure to goodness—in toime——” - -“How long?” - -“Why, it du all depend, my lady—maybe an hour, maybe tu——” - -Wide swung the heavy coach-door and forth sprang her ladyship, a slim -and graceful fury who, perceiving the damage and necessary delay, swore -as only a very fine lady might, with a tripping comprehensiveness and -passionate directness that reduced Giles and the two footmen to awed -silence. - -“Hush, mam!” pleaded Mrs. Betty, as her lady paused for breath. “Don’t -’ee now, there’s a duck——” - -“But, zounds, wench,” cried her mistress, “you know ’tis a case o’ life -and death ... to be delayed thus....” - -“Aye, I know, mem—but do ’ee take a sniff at your vinaigrette, my lady——” - -“Tush!” exclaimed her ladyship. “Hold your silly tongue, do!” - -“Yes, my lady ... but there’s a light yonder among the trees—an inn, I -think, mam——” - -“Ha—an inn? Thomas, go, see—and bring help instantly—and order another -coach if there be one! Run, oaf, run!” Away sped Thomas, a long-barrelled -pistol protruding from either side-pocket, while my lady paced to and -fro, fuming with impatience, until back he scurried with two chattering -French ostlers at his heels, to say it was an inn, sure enough, but that -no manner of conveyance was to be had. - -“We’ll see about that!” exclaimed my lady. “Come, Betty!” And off she -hasted forthwith, the meek and obedient Betty attendant. It was a small, -drowsy inn, but at my lady’s advent it awoke to sudden life and bustle, -its every chamber seemed full of stir, tripping feet and chattering -voices; and all for the English Miladi’s comfort and welfare. - -Insomuch that, embarrassed by attentions so pervading and multifarious, -my Lady Barrasdaile caught up Betty’s cloak of homespun, a hooded garment -for country wear, and, muffled in its ample folds, went a-walking. - -The road, bordered by shady trees, led up a hill, and, lured by the -sunset glory, and joying, moreover, to stretch her limbs, cramped by -the long journey, my lady ascended the hill and, reaching the top, -had paused to admire the view, when she became aware of two horsemen -approaching from the opposite direction, and instantly apprehending them -to be highwaymen, she slipped aside into an adjacent thicket, waiting for -them to pass. - -Now as she stood thus, seeing but unseen, the mysterious Fates decreed -that Sir John Dering, reaching the hilltop in turn, should rein in his -horse within a yard of her, to glance round about him upon the peaceful -countryside, little dreaming of the bright eyes that watched him so -keenly, or the ears that hearkened so inquisitively. - -“A sweet prospect, Hector!” he exclaimed; “fair and chaste and yet a -little sad. ’Tis like looking deep into the eyes of a good woman—if there -be such! It fills the soul with a sense of unworthiness and sorrow for -the folly o’ the wasted years.” - -“Aye, John! An’ fower pistols in oor holsters an’ twa in my pockets gi’e -us six shot in case o’ eeventualities.” - -“The wasted years!” murmured Sir John, musing gaze upon the distant -horizon. “’Tis a night to grieve in, Hector, to yearn for better things.” - -“Aye! And though six shot is fair I’m wishin’ ye carried a rale sword -like my Andrew here,’stead o’ yon bodkin!” - -“How then,” smiled Sir John, rousing; “are you expecting battle, murder -and sudden death, Hector?” - -“A dinna say no or aye t’ that, Johnnie man, forbye these French roads be -aye ill-travellin’, an’ I was ever a cautious body, y’ ken. ’Tis peety ye -left Corporal Rob behind; he’s a fair hand wi’ pistol or whinger, I mind. -However, let us push on ere it be dark.” - -“Nay, there’s the moon rising yonder, Hector.” - -“The moon—and what o’t, John? I’m for having my legs under a table and -something savoury on’t, lad.” - -“Then do you ride forward, Hector, and order supper—there is an inn down -yonder, I remember; I’ll wait for the moon to rise——” - -“Mune-rise? I’fegs, lad, she’ll do’t very weel wi’ oot ye, I’m thinkin’!” - -“Aye, but I’m minded to dream awhile, Hector; the moon ever stirs my -imagination——” - -“Hoot-toot! De’il awa’ wi’ y’r dreamin’ an’ imaginationin’! ’Tis mysel’ -wad tak’ ye for a puir, moonstruck daftie if I didna ken ye for John -Dering and son o’ your father!” - -“If,” sighed Sir John, “if, Hector, you could suggest an apt rhyme for -‘soul,’ now, I should take it kindly ... though, to be sure, ‘dole’ might -do at a pinch.” - -“Umph-humph!” snorted General Sir Hector MacLean, and urged his horse on -down the hill. - -Being alone, Sir John dismounted, and tethering his animal, seated -himself on grassy bank and gave himself up to introspective reverie. - -The awesome, brooding stillness, the splendour of the rising moon, the -mystery of the surrounding landscape, and all the magic of this early -midsummer night wrought in him a pensive melancholy, a growing discontent -of himself and the latter years, and he luxuriated in a consciousness of -his infinite unworthiness. - -Thus, with wistful gaze upon the full-orbed moon, Sir John had already -mentally forsworn the world, the flesh and the devil, when he was roused -suddenly by a rustling of leaves near by and the sharp crack of a dried -twig; next moment he was beside his horse and had whipped forth, cocked -and levelled one of his travelling pistols. - -“Qui va la?” he demanded, and then in English: “Come out! Show yourself, -or I fire!” - -“Don’t!” cried a voice. “Don’t!” The leaves parted suddenly, and Sir -John beheld a woman within a yard of him; majestically tall she was, and -muffled in the long folds of a coarse cloak, beneath whose shadowy hood -he glimpsed the pale oval of a face and a single strand of curling hair -darkly innocent of powder. - -Sir John lowered the pistol and, removing his hat, bowed. - -“Welcome, Phyllida!” said he. - -“That ain’t my name,” she answered. - -“Then it should be, for ’tis a charming name and suits you.” - -“You—you’m English, sir?” she questioned. - -“I thank God!” he answered gravely. - -“Then—oh, I am safe!” she sighed, and sinking upon the grassy bank, hid -her face in her hands. - -“Safe?” he repeated, touching her bowed head very gently. “Never doubt -it, child—all heaven be my witness. ’Tis easy to guess you English also, -and of the sweet south country, I think?” - -At this she raised her head and he saw a handsome face framed in dark, -rebellious curls, eyes wide and innocent, and a vivid, full-lipped mouth. - -“O sir, ye du be a mortal clever guesser—I were born in Sussex!” she -answered. - -“Sussex?” murmured Sir John. “Seely Sussex! I was born there too, ’twixt -the sheltering arms of Firle and Windover.... The gentle South Downs ... -I loved every velvet slope of them! I mind the sweet, warm scent of the -wild thyme, and the dance of the scabious flowers in the wind ... ’tis -years since I saw them last.” - -“But the wild thyme is still sweet i’ the sun, sir, an’ the scabious -flowers do be a-noddin’ an’ beckonin’ as we sit here.” - -“Beckoning, child? ’Tis a sweet thought! Beckoning me back to England ... -to the reverent stillness of the immemorial hills ... my loved Downs! -Beckoning me back to the old house that has stood empty so long! Paris -behind me, London before me ... but deep in my heart a memory of the -silent Downs ... and of a better living.” - -“’Ee du talk tur’ble strange, sir!” she exclaimed, her wide gaze -searching his wistful features. - -“’Tis the moon, child—blame the moon! Though her Lunatic Majesty -doth usually afflict me with a poetic fervour that erupts in somewhat -indifferent verse. But what o’ yourself, child? Whence are you—what do -you so far from home?” - -“Nay, sir,” she retorted, shaking her head, “you’m so clever you must -guess if ye can.” - -“Agreed!” smiled Sir John. “Suffer me to sit beside you—thus, and whiles -we gaze up at stately Luna, Chaste Dian, Isis the mysterious, I, her most -humble votary, will strive to rede thee thy past, present and future. And -first—thy name? It should be sweet and simple like thyself and breathe of -England. And if it is not Phyllida, it should be Rosamond or Lettice or -Anthea or——” - -“Nay, sir,” she sighed, “’tis only Rose!” - -“Aye, and what better!” quoth he. “’Tis a sweet English name and easy to -rhyme with. Let us try.” And with his gaze uplift to the moon, Sir John -extemporised thus: - - “O flower of Love, thou fragrant Rose - Thy love methinks should be - A balm to soothe all earthly woes - A sweetness that unfading blows - Through all eternity—— - -“Hum! ’Tis not so bad, though ’faith it might be better. That last line -is something trite perhaps! Aye, I may better it with a little thought!” - -“Nay—nay,’tis well as ’tis!” she exclaimed. “’Tis excellent, I ... ’deed, -sir, I do think you’m a tur’ble clever gentleman!” - -“Though no poet, Rose, I fear! So much for thy name! Now as to thyself. -Thou’rt a woman and young, and hast therefore dreamed o’ love——” - -“La, sir, how should’ee know that? ’Ee du make me blush!” - -“And have you loved often, child?” - -“Oh, fie and no, sir! I’m no fine lady——” - -“Heaven be praised!” exclaimed Sir John fervently, and lowered his gaze -to the face so near his own, which was immediately averted. - -“Pray won’t your honour please tell me some more about myself?” she -pleaded. - -“As what, child?” - -“What I am, what I do for a livin’—an’ all about me?” - -“Why, then,” pursued Sir John, “you are maid to serve some prideful, -painted creature——” - -“Oh,’tis wonderful!” she murmured. - -“Some haughty, ineffective she who perchance rails at thee, pinches and -slaps thee, pulls thy pretty hair, envying thy sweet, fresh beauty.” - -“Oh, ’tis like witchcraft!” she murmured in awestruck tones. - -“And thou’rt in France, child, because she is here and travels belike to -Paris.” Sir John turned to find her regarding him in speechless wonder. - -“Well, child?” he questioned. - -“O sir!” she whispered. “’Tis all—so—marvellous true. Now tell me, oh, -please your honour—tell me o’ the future. Shall I ever be a fine, grand -lady—shall I?” - -“God forbid!” he answered. “Nature formed thee a better thing! Thou’rt -artless as the flowers that bloom, and the birds that sing because they -must, for pure joy of it. Thou’rt sweet and fresh as the breath of -Spring—heaven keep thee so, if ’tis indeed to Paris you journey, child.” - -“Indeed, sir, and so ’tis.” - -“Ha—Paris!” quoth he and scowled. “Alas, child, you shall find there -no fragrance of wild thyme, no dancing scabious flowers.... And your -mistress drags you to Paris, because she is a fine lady, an exotic, -blooming best in an atmosphere that for thee ... ah, child ... alas, -sweet Rose! Heaven send a clean wind to cherish thee lest thy sweetness -languish ... fade and wither.... Ha, the devil! Why must she drag you to -Paris?” - -“O, your worship, ’tis on a matter o’ life an’ death. We should be -a-galloping at this moment but that the coach broke down, and my lady in -a mighty pet—such tantrums! So after I’d put her to bed—and such a bed! I -crept out o’ the inn—and such an inn! And lost my way ... and a man ... -ran after me and so I ... I found you, sir. An’ now I must be a-goin’ -back an’t please you, sir, for I must be on my road to Paris, along o’ my -lady an’ all to stop two gentlemen fightin’ each other!” - -“Ha, a duel, child? Do you chance to know these gentlemen’s names?” - -“For sure, sir, my lady talks o’ naught beside! One’s Viscount -Templemore, an’ t’other’s Sir John Dering—‘the Wicked Dering,’ as they -call him at home.” - -“Humph!” said Sir John, staring up at the moon again. “Ha!” And in a -little, turning to regard his companion, he found her watching him -bright-eyed from the shadow of her hood. “So they call him ‘the Wicked -Dering’ at home, do they, Rose?” - -“Oh yes, sir, ever an’ always.” - -“Ah, well!” sighed Sir John. “Howbeit, child, you can assure your lady -that her journey to Paris is wholly unnecessary.” - -“How, sir.... Oh, d’ye mean she is ... too late? Have they fought -already?” - -“I mean they cannot fight, because Sir John Dering hath run away.” - -“Run away ... Sir John Dering? Without fighting?” she questioned -breathlessly. “Oh, ’tis impossible!” - -“’Tis very truth—upon my honour.” - -“You ... you are sure, sir?” - -“Absolutely, child! I happen to know Sir John Dering and something of his -concerns.” - -“Oh ... you are ... his friend, sir?” - -“Nay, hardly that, Rose,” sighed Sir John; “indeed, some might call me -his most inveterate enemy.... But for Sir John Dering I might have been -a ... happier man.” - -“And so ... you hate him?” - -“Let us rather say—I grieve for him.” - -“But they say he is very wicked—a devil!” - -“Nay, child, he is merely a very human man and something melancholy.” -After this they sat side by side in silence for a while, Sir John gazing -up at the moon and she at him. - -“However,” said he suddenly, “your lady need no longer drag you to Paris, -seeing her journey is unnecessary. So soon as we reach the inn, I myself -will make this sufficiently manifest to her.” - -“You—you will see my lady, sir?” - -“Aye, I will, child.” - -“Then an’t please your honour—’tis time I found the inn.” - -“Found it, child?” - -“Alack, yes, sir, for I’ve lost it! But if your honour will only help me -find it ... your honour is so marvellous clever!” - -“Nay, Rose, our wiser course were to sit here and let it find us—or -rather, my friend will come a-searching me so soon as supper be ready and -... indeed, yonder he comes, I fear! Yes,” sighed Sir John, as the huge -form of Sir Hector loomed nearer, “I grieve to say he is here already!” - -Perceiving Sir John’s companion, MacLean halted suddenly. - -“Losh, man Jack!” he exclaimed. - -“’Tis I, Hector. Have you ordered supper?” - -“I hae that!” - -“Then pray mount my horse and lead the way. Rose and I follow.” - -“Umph-humph!” quoth Sir Hector, and, mounting forthwith, he trotted down -the hill, but profound reprobation was in the cock of his weatherbeaten -hat and the set of his broad shoulders as he went. - - - - -CHAPTER III - -TELLETH OF MRS. ROSE, THE GUILEFUL INNOCENT - - -“Strip, wench, strip!” cried Lady Herminia Barrasdaile, tossing the -disguising cloak into a corner of the bedchamber. “Off with your clothes, -girl, off with ’em—we’re both of a size, thank heavens—so strip, Betty, -strip, as I’m a-doing!” - -“Yes, my lady,” sighed comely Betty, large and patient and calmly -indulgent to the unexpected whims and caprices of her imperious mistress. -“But pray, mam, why should us undress afore bedtime?” - -“That we may dress again, sure, Bet; to-night I am you and you are me -... except that my name is ‘Rose—Rose,’ you’ll remember!” admonished her -ladyship, kicking off her fine gown. - -“Yes, mam,” answered placid Mrs. Betty; “but why for ‘Rose’?” - -“Because ’twas the first name occurred to me. Come, tie me these strings, -wench! Sir John Dering is below, and if he should demand to see me—I mean -you——” - -“Sir John, my lady? Dering? O lud, not—not _the_ Sir John Dering—not -_him_, my lady?” - -“Himself at last, face to face, Bet. Help me into this gown o’ yours.... -O gad, what an infinity of buttons! Fasten me in, child! See, you are -bigger in the waist than I, Bet ... and devilish tight above here ... I -vow I can scarce breathe! Nay, button away, girl, I’ll endure it.... I -must breathe prettily, pantingly. My Lady Felicity Flyte hath the trick -on’t and ’tis much admired, so I’ll e’en pant and endure! Now, one o’ -your mobs, girl, a cap with ribbands to’t ... aye, this shall serve—so! -Now, how am I?” - -“Ravishing, my lady! O mam!” - -“Why, your things become me, I think.” - -“Vastly, mem! O my lady!” - -“Now,’tis thy turn, Bet. Shalt wear my yellow lute-string wi’ the -panniers.” - -“O my lady, but you ha’ wore it but once!” - -“No matter,’tis thine, Betty. Come, out with it and on with it. Nay, -first your hair must be powdered and pomatumed, your cheeks smeared wi’ -rouge—yourself sufficiently pulvilled——” - -“But, O mam, why must I——” - -“In case Sir John desires speech with you—that is to say, with me. He may -not and yet again he may, and you must be prepared.” - -“O mem,” quavered Betty. “O my lady—suppose he stare at me?” - -“Stare back at him, for sure—like any other lady o’ fashion!” - -“But what must I say?” - -“As little as possible! So long as you look sufficiently handsome and -stare bold enough, ’twill serve. Now, let me look at you! Cock your chin, -girl—so! Gad’s life, but you’re a handsome creature and look as haughty a -fine city-madam as need be. Now mind to be sufficiently disdainful of all -and sundry and especially of me——” - -“Nay, my lady, ’twere impossible! I shall be calling you mam and madam, -for sure.” - -“Zounds no, Bet, ’twould ruin all! You must be mighty short with me, rap -my knuckles with your fan and rail on me if possible——” - -“Rail on thee, my dear lady—oh, I couldn’t!” - -“You must, girl! And if you could swear a little ’twould be pure!” - -“Swear, mem—me? Who at?” - -“At Sir John Dering if possible.” - -“But I don’t know how to swear, mem.” - -“You’ve heard me often enough!” - -“Aye, but I could never swear so sweet and ladylike as you, mem.” - -“Why, then,” sighed her ladyship, “we must forgo your swearing, I -suppose, though ’tis pity. But hark’ee, Bet, and mark this well! Should -Sir John come endeavouring to persuade you to return to England, you will -raise your eyebrows—so! Droop your eyelids—thus! and say: ‘Howbeit, sir, -’tis my pleasure to journey on to Paris!’ Then turn your back on him and -send me to command your coach to the door——” - -“Aye—and when it comes, my lady?” - -“Why, get in and drive away, sure!” - -“But where to, mem?” - -“Towards Paris, silly wench—or anywhere you choose——” - -“And you, madam? You will come along o’ me?” - -“Perchance I may and perchance not. Mayhap I shall run away—disappear at -the last moment—I’m not decided on this yet——” - -“O my dear lady——” - -“If I should think fit to run away, you will drive as far as St. Pol, -then turn back to Dieppe, where you shall probably find me at the ‘Eperon -d’Or’—Giles knows it——” - -“But, my lady—O mem—what o’ yourself?” - -“So long as I am myself I shall be safe, child. I’ll play my part, do -you play yours! Remember, should you meet the gentlemen below, swim -in your walk, tilt your chin, say nothing—and stare. Stare above ’em, -below ’em and through ’em, but never at ’em. And now I’ll go order -supper—in private, for thy sake, Bet. Lud, but I’m famished!” And a-down -the creaking stair tripped my Lady Herminia Barrasdaile, as dainty a -waiting-maid as ever was or ever will be. - -Then it chanced that Sir John, rolling his eyes in the throes of poetical -composition, suddenly beheld her standing radiant in the doorway, all -fresh, shapely young womanhood from ribbanded cap to trim shoe; and -struck by her air of modesty and all the shy-sweet beauty of her, he -sighed, closed his tablets and slipped them into his pocket. - -“Ah, Rose,” said he, “thou flower of innocence, sure no words of mine may -do thee justice; thou’rt beyond my poor poesy. Come hither, child, and -tell me, is your mistress still for Paris?” - -“’Deed, yes, sir, she seems mighty set on’t.” - -“Alas, sweet Rose!” - -“Is Paris so tur’ble wicked, sir?” - -“’Tis no place for the like o’ thee—thou gentle innocent!” At this, my -Lady Herminia glanced at him shy-eyed, drooped her lashes, pleated a fold -in her neat apron and contrived to become the very perfect embodiment of -all that ever had been, was or possibly could be virginally shy and sweet -and innocent. - -“But I do hear ’tis a mighty fine place, sir,” said she softly, “and I -do yearn to see the ladies and grand gentlemen. And, if ’tis so wicked, -naught harmful can come anigh me by reason I do ever wear this—night and -day, your honour!” And she drew from her bosom a small, plain gold cross -suspended about her shapely throat by a ribband. “’Twas my mother’s, sir, -and ’tis good against all evil ... and I shall say my prayers!” - -Now at this, Sir John must needs call to mind certain unworthy episodes -of the last five years: his keen gaze wavered and he sat, chin on breast, -staring into the smouldering fire. - -“And so d’ye see, sir,” she continued, finding him silent, “I shall not -fear anything, nor any one—no, not even though he be wicked as—as the -‘wicked Sir John Dering’ himself!” - -“Child,” said Sir John at last, “go ask your lady to favour me with five -minutes’ conversation.” - -“Yes, your honour!” she answered, curtsying, and departed obediently -forthwith. - -Thus Sir John was presently ushered upstairs and into the presence of -a tall, handsome creature, magnificently attired, who acknowledged his -profound obeisance with a curt nod, and thereafter stared at him from -head to foot and sniffed. - -“Madam,” quoth he, a little startled, “I come to reassure you as to the -welfare of Viscount Templemore.” - -The lady stared haughtily at his dusty boots. “I am happy to tell you,” -continued Sir John, “that the meeting will not take place——” The lady, -tilting dimpled chin, stared fixedly at the topmost curls of Sir John’s -peruke. “If, therefore,” he proceeded, “you contemplate returning -immediately to England, my friend and I shall be honoured to escort you.” - -The lady shook her handsome head, shrugged her dimpled shoulders and -sniffed louder than ever, so much so that Sir John retreated somewhat -precipitately. - -“Tush, sir, fie and no!” she exclaimed. “I’m minded to go to Paris an’ to -Paris I’ll go!” - -Sir John opened his eyes a little wider than usual and bowed himself out -forthwith. - -“O my lady,” cried Betty so soon as the door had closed, “O mem, did I do -it right?” - -“’Twas admirable, Bet! Didst see him blench and flush? You dear, clever -creature! There is that taffety gown—’tis thine, child—aye, and the -neck-chain with the pearl pendant! He flushed—he blenched! Come kiss me, -Betty!” - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -SHEWETH THE WICKED DERING IN A NEW RÔLE - - -Sir John, deep-plunged in gloomy abstraction, was suddenly aroused by the -noisy entrance of two travellers, very elegant gentlemen who, cramped -from their chaise, stamped and yawned and stretched, and damned the dust, -the road, the inn, the landlord and all creation save themselves. Loudest -of the twain was a tall, youngish man who wore a stupendous periwig, -a gentleman very small as to eyes and large as to teeth that gleamed -between the lips of a heavy mouth. - -To them presently came the landlord, who, with many profound obeisances -and servile excuses, begged them to follow him to a chamber more suited -to their nobilities. - -Left alone, Sir John sat legs outstretched, chin on breast, staring -at the toes of his dusty riding-boots, lost once more in gloomy -retrospection of the last five years, his dejection ever deepening, -until he was aroused for the second time, as from the other side of the -partition behind his chair rose a man’s chuckling laugh, the sound of -desperate struggling, a woman’s scream. - -Sir John arose and, stepping out into the passage, threw open the door of -an adjoining chamber and saw this: Upon a roomy settle the gentleman in -the large toupet and upon his knees, struggling wildly in the merciless -clasp of his arms, the girl Rose. Sir John’s serenity vanished, his -habitual languor changed to vehement action: ensued the quick, light -stamp of a foot, a glitter of darting steel and the gentleman’s lofty -periwig, transfixed upon Sir John’s unerring sword-point, was whisked -into a distant corner. Then Sir John spoke: - -“Monsieur,” said he softly, “favour me by releasing your so charming -captive.” Next moment she was free, and, shrinking to the wall, saw Sir -John’s face quite transfigured, the mobile lips grimly set, the delicate -nostrils a-quiver, eyes fierce and threatening as his sword. “Sir,” he -continued in the same gentle tone, “permit me to tell you that I do not -like your face—it irritates me! Pray have the kindness to remove it, -therefore—take it hence or——” - -“What the devil!” exclaimed the wigless gentleman, getting upon his legs. - -“Rose,” said Sir John, “child, pray leave us!” For a moment she hesitated -then, uttering an inarticulate cry, fled from the room, and Sir John -closed the door. “Now, sir,” quoth he, saluting the gentleman with an -airy flourish of his weapon, “if your friend yonder will be so obliging -as to help push this table into the corner we can settle our little -affair quite comfortably, I think.” - -“Damnation!” exclaimed the wigless gallant, and, clapping hand to sword, -half drew it, then checked and stood at gaze. When next he spoke his tone -was altogether different: “You ... I think I have the honour to address -Sir John Dering?” - -“The same, sir.” - -The gentleman sheathed his sword and bowed. - -“My name is Scarsdale, sir,” said he. “I had the pleasure of meeting you -in Paris lately—at the Marquise de Sauvray’s rout, if you remember?” - -“I do not, sir.” - -Mr. Scarsdale took out his snuff-box, stared at it, tapped it, fumbled -with it and bowed. - -“My dear Sir John,” said he, “if I had the curst misfortune to ... ah ... -to cross you in the matter of ... an ... Yon rustic Venus ... poach on -your preserves, ’twas done all unwitting and I apologise.... A delicious -creature; I felicitate you.” - -“Mr. Scarsdale,” answered Sir John, “I accept your explanation. At the -same time, I take leave to point you to the fact that this inn is small -and I detest being crowded. May I then venture to suggest that you and -your friend seek accommodation—elsewhere?” - -“How, sir—how, Sir John?” stammered Mr. Scarsdale, running nervous hand -over wigless, close-cropped head. “You ... you ask us to—to——” - -“Favour me with your absence, sir.” - -For a moment Mr. Scarsdale stood mute; his face grew suddenly red and as -swiftly pale, his eyes glared, his large teeth gleamed evilly, but noting -Sir John’s resolute air, his piercing gaze, the serene assurance of his -pose, Mr. Scarsdale commanded himself sufficiently to bow with a flourish. - -“Tom,” quoth he to his silent companion, “ha’ the goodness to pick up my -wig.” Receiving which indispensable article, he clapped it on somewhat at -random and, hurrying from the room with the silent Tom at his heels, was -presently heard calling for horses and chaise and damning all and sundry -louder than ever until, with a stamp of hoofs and rattle of wheels, he -was borne damning on his way. - -Sir John was in the act of sheathing his sword, when he turned at sound -of a light footstep. - -“Ah, Rose,” sighed he, gazing into her troubled eyes, “yonder go two of -your ‘grand gentlemen’—Paris teems with such! Better surely an honest -English lover in homespun than be hunted by Brutality in lace and velvet. -Did they fright thee, child ... and despite thy prayers and little -cross?” Here she hid her face in her hands. “Nay, Rose, if they reverence -not thy virgin purity how should they revere aught else! And Paris reeks -of such as they ... to hunt thy fresh young beauty! And thou ... in thy -pretty innocence—alas! Wilt thou to Paris, child?” - -“Your honour knows my lady is determined on’t” - -“Then be you determined also. You have a chin—let me look at it.” - -Unwillingly she raised her head, eyes abased yet very conscious of his -scrutiny. - -“Pray what o’ my chin, sir?” she questioned. - -“Firmly round and with a dimple in’t!” he answered. “’Tis a chin speaks -thee resolute to choose and act for thyself. So—if your lady will to -Paris let her go without you, child.” - -“Without me?” she repeated, innocent eyes upraised to his. “O sir, do you -mean me to bide here—with your honour?” - -At this direct question Sir John was silent a moment, and, meeting the -intensity of her gaze, felt his cheeks burn unwontedly. - -“Could you trust yourself to—my honour, child?” - -For a long moment she made no reply, and Sir John marvelled to find -himself awaiting her answer with a feeling akin to anxiety. “Well, -child?” he demanded at length. - -“I ... think so, sir.” - -“You are not sure, then?” - -“Ah, sir,” she sighed, “I be only a poor maid and you’m a grand gentleman -like—like them as you druv’ away.” - -“Ha, d’ye think so, girl!” he exclaimed pettishly. “Confound me, but you -are not flattering! Can you indeed think me of such base, material clay, -Rose? Are you so addle-witted, so dense, so dull to suppose ’tis your -pink-and-white prettiness lures me?” - -“La, no, your honour—indeed, no!” she answered humbly, her voice a -little uncertain and her face hid beneath the laces of her mob-cap. -“Though—though your honour do think I be—pretty?” she added questioningly. - -“Pretty?” he repeated scornfully. “Tush, child! What hath your prettiness -to do with it? ’Tis your natural goodness draweth me, your fresh -simplicity your purity and unstained innocence! I needs must reverence -the white soul of you——” - -Here, Sir John chancing to look down and she to look up, their glances -met and he was abruptly silent; wherefore she curtsied demurely an -murmured: - -“Yes, your honour!” But Sir John was silent so long that she began to tap -with fidgeting foot and to pleat a fold in her apron. - -“Rose,” said he at last, “look at me!” Her eyes were raised in instant -obedience, eyes deep and dark and heavy-lashed, that met his keen -scrutiny unwavering and wholly unabashed. - -“You laughed, I think?” he challenged. - -“Who—me, sir?” she cried, eyes wider than ever. - -“Do any women possess souls, I wonder!” said he bitterly. - -“Parson do think so, your honour.” - -“Then perchance you may find yours some day, for, until you do, child, -you must remain and never know or appreciate the great, good things of -life——” - -“Tripe an’ pig’s-trotters, John!” exclaimed Sir Hector, bursting in upon -them, brandishing a long-handled fork. “Par-boiled, ye ken, an’ crisped -in a brisk oven——” - -A rush of flying feet; the bang of closing door; a sound of stifled, -hysterical laughter. - -“Losh, man Jack,” exclaimed Sir Hector, staring into his companion’s -scowling visage, “was yon that Rose creature?” - -“Yon was!” answered Sir John grimly. “And what then, Hector?” - -“Umph-humph!” snorted General Sir Hector Lauchlan MacLean. - -“Pray, Hector, what might you mean?” - -“Supper, John! Tripe an’ pig’s-trotters—aye, an’ cooked by my ain hand, -whateffer—the smell o’ yon wad mak’ Lucullus watter i’ the mou’! Sae -dinna froon, lad, but come an’ eat!” - - - - -CHAPTER V - -THE ALLURE OF SIMPLICITY: MOONLIGHT AND AN ELOPEMENT - - -“Betty lass,” exclaimed my Lady Herminia, surveying her handsome -features in the travelling-mirror, “Old Drury hath lost a notable and -vastly clever actress in me! I ha’ played the innocent country wench to -such infinite perfection of admiration that the poor fool languishes -already ... ogles my charms and talks—of my soul! Oh, a dangerous man, -Bet, a wicked wretch—one o’ your soft-spoke, smooth-tongued, dove-eyed, -silky, seducing monsters—a very serpent of iniquity, child! But I’m no -poor, meek, bread-and-butter miss to be lured to shame or whispered to -destruction by any such perfidious and patent villain, not I, Bet!” - -“Oh no, my lady!” nodded placid Betty. “No, indeed, mam, heaven knows -you’m a sight too clever an’ knowin’——” - -“Knowing, woman! Ha, what d’ye mean by ‘knowing,’ pray?” - -“La, I don’t know, my lady ... I only know as you know yourself a match -for any fine gentleman, villain or no, ever and always, mam——” - -“’S bud, but I should hope so, Bet, especially this poor creature!” - -“Aye, to be sure, but ... O my lady, if he be truly dangerous——” - -“Tush! I know the breed, and forewarned is forearmed. And he mistaketh me -for a country simpleton dazzled by his fine airs! So I intend to make it -my duty to teach him a shrewd lesson, Betty.” - -“Yes, mem, but how?” - -“I intend to lower his pride, girl—to shame him cruelly.” - -“Why, then, ’tis as good as done, mam. But——” - -“I’ll drag his insufferable self-esteem in the dust ... through the mud -... trample it ’neath my feet ... make him a mock—a jest and byword.” - -“I’m sure you will, my lady, but how?” - -“How, Bet? Why, by running away with him to begin with, for sure.” - -“O mem!” ejaculated Betty, lifting imploring hands. “O my dear lady——” - -“Woman, don’t wail—’tis useless! I regard this as a sacred duty, girl!” - -“But ... O lud, my lady ... think o’ your ladyship’s good name ... the -scandal——” - -“One must be prepared to suffer in the high cause of duty, Betty child -... and, besides, my name will be Rose Ashton!” - -“But, O my lady, if you run away—what o’ me?” - -“You will proceed towards Paris in the coach as I ha’ told you, child! -You will be quite safe with Giles and the footmen. And this minds me, -the coach should be ready, and the sooner you start the better. Go down -and bid Giles prepare for the road immediately. Stay, you cannot in all -that finery! We’ll send Rose instead!” And away sped my lady accordingly, -quite deaf to Betty’s reproachful wailings. - -Thus Sir John, toying gloomily with knife and fork, was presently aware -of stir and bustle within the house and of stamping hoofs and rumbling -wheels without: wherefore he arose and crossed to the window in time -to see Rose’s mistress, muffled to the eyes, clamber into the great -four-horsed travelling-chariot, followed by Rose herself similarly -attired; he watched the footmen close the door, put up the steps and -swing themselves into the rumble, heard the hoarse command of the driver, -a sudden clatter of straining hoofs, and away rolled the cumbrous -vehicle towards Paris. - -“And despite her chin!” sighed Sir John within himself. “Poor, silly, -innocent child! Ah well, perchance her prayers and little cross may -avail. Heaven send it so——” - -Here he was roused by a huge hand on his shoulder and Sir Hector’s voice -in his ear: - -“Och-heigh! Are ye wearyin’ for Parus—sae sune, John?” - -“Paris? Ha—’tis a sink of iniquity!” he retorted so fiercely that Sir -Hector peered. - -“Oo aye,” he nodded. “’Tis a’ that, laddie, and yet ye contrived tae pit -up wi’t for five lang year.” At this Sir John frowned and was silent. -“Aweel, aweel,” quoth Sir Hector, “there’s England waitin’ ye, aye, and -happiness, I trust——” - -“Happiness!” repeated Sir John scornfully. - -“Why not, lad? ’Tis time ye married and settled doon——” - -“Horrific thought!” growled Sir John. - -“Why, then, John,” quoth Sir Hector, his English suddenly very precise, -“you might begin to take an interest in your own affairs, particularly -your estates; they are damnably mismanaged, I hear, more especially at -High Dering ... where you were born and your mother died ... sweet soul!” - -“High Dering!” repeated Sir John. “I’ faith it seems a far cry to the old -house—the green slopes of Firle and our good South Downs! ’Tis long since -we saw ’em together, Hector?” - -“Yes, John, it is seven years and more since you left High Dering for -London and the modish world. And to-day, lad, instead of being a plain -country gentleman content in the prosperity of your tenants, here you -stand a man of fashion, a town gallant full of polite airs and tricks and -graces, but curst unhappy by your looks—while High Dering is going to the -devil!” - -“’Tis mismanaged, you say, Hector? And yet Sturton, my bailiff, seems to -do very well——” - -“Oh, excellent well, John, for you—and himself! But ’tis vastly otherwise -with your tenantry, I hear.” - -“You contrive to hear a great deal, Hector, one way or another!” - -“No, just in the one way, lad, with my ears. Ye see, Nature gi’e me eyes -an’ lugs an’ I use ’em——” - -“And you tell me Sturton is a rogue?” - -“I say go and see for yourself, John. Get ye to High Dering and look, -John, listen—and act!” - -“I will, Hector. The peace and quiet of the place will be grateful, -besides.” - -“Ye’ll no’ find it sae peaceful, lad, nor yet sae quiet whateffer!” - -“Why, pray?” demanded Sir John, with sudden interest. - -“Well, John, ye’ll ken the name o’ Lord Sayle, I’m thinkin’?” - -“Aye, I do!” nodded Sir John, his interest deepening. “I’ve heard he has -‘been out’ rather frequently——” - -“Losh, man, he has that! A wild, desp’rit, duelling body wi’ reputation -as unsavoury as—as y’r ain, John, but wi’ this difference—he fights -tae kill an’ generally pinks his man. He’s ane o’ y’r gentlemanly -rapscallions wha’ll insult ye vera politely, y’ ken, an’ kill ye vera -genteelly into the bargain if ye dare tae tak’ offence.” - -“So I’ve heard; and what then, Hector?” - -“John, the man’s leeving within half an hour’s ride o’ y’r ain park -gates. After killing the young Marquis of Torwood last year, London grew -too hot, so my lord marched bag and baggage to his Sussex estate, and -there he’s lived ever since—aye, and a place of unholy riot he keeps -there, as I hear. An’ what’s more, John, what wi’ his desp’rit proneness -tae bluidshed, there’s few tae gainsay him, y’ ken—his will is law in the -South Country these days.” - -“’S bud!” murmured Sir John. “’S life, but begin to yearn for the country -more than ever!” - -“Hoot, laddie, hoot-toot, ye’ll no’ be sic a fule tae pick a quarrel -juist for y’r ain vanity an’ vainglory, Johnnie? The man’s good a sworder -as ye’sel’——” - -Sir John laughed and, reaching up, straightened Sir Hector’s periwig that -had worked itself rather more askew than usual. - -“Tush, man!” said he. “Sure you know that your true duellists take most -particular pains to avoid each other. Shall dog eat dog? And I detest -bloodshed, Hector. I prefer pen to sword—and that reminds me we have not -as yet determined on an apt rhyme to ‘soul!’” And out came Sir John’s -unfinished script. “The work is in ode form, and, so far as it goes, is -well enough. Pray sit down, Hector; the night is young—listen and judge -for yourself.” - -“Na, na, John!” answered Sir Hector, retreating to the door. “I hae no -ear for po’try, ye ken—so I’ll awa’ tae bed and leave ye to’t, lad. But -dinna sit too long—for we maun be up betimes. Guid-night.” - -Left alone, Sir John tossed the unfinished ode into the fire and, having -watched it flare to ash and vanish up the wide chimney, sat awhile in -thought. Gradually the place above and around him grew hushed, voices -died away, busy feet grew still; the inn sank to rest. But Sir John sat -on staring into the dying fire, deep-plunged in brooding thought. So lost -was he that he heard no sound of opening door, of light footstep, until -roused by a soft touch; he started and glanced up, to behold her of whom -he was thinking. - -Meekly she stood before him, clad for the road in a long, hooded cloak, -with a bundle in her hand, a very small bundle tied up in a neckerchief. - -“Rose!” he murmured. - -“Here I be, sir,” she answered timidly. “An’ now what will your honour -please to do wi’ me?” - -Instinctively Sir John arose, but stood mumchance, for once in his life -speechlessly perplexed; perceiving which, she continued demurely: - -“If your honour is ready to go, I am.” - -“To go?” he repeated. “Aye, but whither, child?” - -“I ... I thought you would know best, sir,” she answered. “But wherever -it be, the sooner we start the better.” - -“What’s your hurry, Rose?” - -“’Tis my mistress, sir—the moment she misses me, she’ll come a-galloping -back to find me, y’ see; she do rely on me for her curls an’ complexion, -your honour.” - -“Ah,” murmured Sir John, “two highly necessary things to any woman o’ -fashion! She will doubtless fly back in quest of ’em.” - -“Then pray let us go, sir.” - -“Aye, but how? Here is no sort of conveyance unless it be a posting nag. -Can you ride, girl?” - -“No, sir.” - -“A-pillion?” - -“I should tumble off, sir.... But we’ve got legs, your honour——” - -“Limbs, child!” - -“An’ I be a good walker an’ main strong, sir——” - -“Aye, as a goddess o’ the groves and fountains, Rose.” - -“An’ ’tis a mortal fine night, your honour! And look at the moon—so -splendid an’ all!” - -“Splendid indeed, Rose!” And, opening the lattice, Sir John leaned -out into a radiant night very calm and still—breathed an air soft and -fragrant, saw the gleaming highway barred and fretted by the black -shadows of the sombre trees—a magically alluring road, a way mysterious -to woo the adventurous. - -Sir John sighed and drew in his head. - -“Y’ are very right, child; the sooner we start the better! In the corner -yonder you will find my cloak and pistols; pray bring ’em whiles I -scribble a line to my friend.” And sitting down forthwith he took pen and -paper and indited the following epistle: - - “MY DEAR HECTOR,—I have departed for England, but will meet you - in High Dering at the earliest moment, where you shall inquire - for one, John Derwent. Meanwhile I am, as ever, thy wholly - devoted, loving - - “JOHN DERWENT. - - “P.S.—I have taken the girl Rose with me.” - -Having duly sealed and directed which missive, he arose, took up his -pistols, examined flint, charge and priming and thrust them into the -capacious pockets of his riding-coat; then he enveloped himself in the -cloak, softly unbarred and opened the door and, hat in hand, bowed his -companion out of the silent inn. - -“Come, child,” said he, “let us, confident in Fate and each other, seek -the unknown together, nothing doubting.” - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -OF SOULS, SOLITUDE AND A DUSTY ROAD - - -Very soon they had lost sight of the inn and the magic of the night -was all about them, a night of vasty stillness wherein the leaves hung -motionless and none moved but themselves, and with no sound to break the -slumberous quiet save the tread of their feet. Before them stretched -the tree-bordered road leading away and away to distances vague and -mysterious, a silvery causeway fretted by purple-black shadows, with, to -right and left, a wide prospect of rolling, wooded country. - -Sir John walked in serene and silent contemplation of earth and heaven -until his companion, as though awed by the all-pervading stillness, drew -a little nearer and spoke in hushed voice: - -“’Tis dreadful solitary, sir!” - -“It is, child,” he answered, his gaze still wandering; “but mine is a -nature that craves solitude and, at times, I am possessed of a very -passion for silence.” - -“Is this why your honour went and lived in Paris?” she questioned softly. - -Sir John’s wandering gaze fixed itself rather hastily upon the speaker, -but her face was hidden in enveloping hood. - -“One can find solitude anywhere, Rose,” he retorted. - -“Can one, sir?” - -“To be sure, child! ’Mid the busiest throng, the gayest crowd, one’s soul -may sit immune, abstracted, in solitary communion with the Infinite.” - -“Aye, but—can souls sit, your honour?” she questioned. - -Once again Sir John’s roaming gaze focused itself upon his companion, -and when he spoke his voice sounded a trifle pettish. - -“’Twas but a figure of speech, girl! Souls, being abstractions, ha’ -no need to—tush! Why a plague should we puzzle your pretty head with -metaphysics? What know you o’ the soul, child—or I, for that matter?” - -“Not much, your honour,” she answered submissively. “Though parson do say -the soul is more precious than much fine gold.” - -“Have you a soul, I wonder, Rose?” - -“I ... hope so, sir.” - -“Then look before you, child, and tell me what you see.” - -“A dusty road!” she sighed. - -“And is it nothing more to you, girl? Doth it strike no deeper note? Do -you not see it as a path mysterious, leading to the unknown—the very -symbol of life itself? And yet, poor child, how should you?” he sighed. -“Let us talk of simpler things.” - -“Oh, thank ye kindly, sir,” she sighed. “An’ I should like to hear about -yourself, an’t please your honour.” - -“Rose!” he exclaimed in sudden dubiety. - -“Yes, your honour?” - -“I ... I wish to heaven you would not muffle your face in that pestilent -hood!” - -Mutely obedient, she pushed back the offending headgear, and Sir John, -beholding the stolid placidity of her, the serene eyes and grave, -unsmiling mouth, grew a little reassured. - -“Pray what would you learn of so simple a creature as myself?” he -demanded. - -“As much as you’ll tell me, sir. ’Deed, I don’t even know your honour’s -name—except that ’tis John.” - -“Then call me John.” - -“Nay, sir, I couldn’t be so bold to take such liberty! You a grand -gentleman an’ me a poor maid in service!” - -“But I’m in service also, Rose,” he answered. “Indeed we all are, more or -less. I particularly so.” - -“You!” she exclaimed, turning to stare at him. “You in service! Who with?” - -“A rather difficult, very exacting person named Sir John Dering.” - -“Him!” she cried, and immediately began to walk faster than before. -“But,” she questioned suddenly, stopping to view him up and down, -“but—your grand clothes?” - -“His, Rose! Sir John’s—borrowed for the occasion!” - -“Oh!” she exclaimed, and walked on again. - -“As for my name, you’ll find I shall answer readily to John Derwent.” - -“John?” she repeated. “’Tis the same as your master’s!” - -“You may call me ‘Jack,’” he suggested. - -“Being Sir John Dering’s servant, you will know all about him and his -evil ways?” - -“None better, child.” - -“Is he so wicked as they tell?” - -“Faith, child, no man could be; ’twere beyond all finite achievement, and -Sir John is only human!” - -“But,” said she, her eyes fiercely accusing, “he—murders men!” - -“Not often, child,” he answered lightly. - -“He fights duels!” - -“But only when necessary.” - -“He hath broke poor women’s hearts!” - -“Only such as were cracked.” - -“You are his champion, it seems?” - -“Because he hath none other—a poor, lonely dog with a bad name, child, a -solitary creature for the kicks and buffets o’ the world! Doth not your -woman’s heart yearn to such?” - -But instead of answering she clasped his arm in sudden terror. - -“Look!” she whispered. “There’s something there ... moving in the -shadows—a man!” - -“Two men, child!” he whispered back. “I’ve been watching ’em for some -time.” - -“What ... what will they do to us?” - -“That depends. Art afraid, child?” - -“Yes ... yes——” she gasped. - -“Then pretend you are not—as I do! Come, step out, and go on talking.” - -As they walked on thus she, stealing terrified glances, saw how these -vague yet sinister shapes began gradually edging towards them, nearer and -nearer, crouching forms that moved on soundless feet—closer and closer, -until she had a vision of sordid, skulking, ragged misery, of murderous -desperation, hunger-fierce eyes, the grim silhouette of a bludgeon, the -evil gleam of a stealthy knife—— - -And then, with sudden, swift leap, Sir John was upon them, and she saw -him fronting them, a pistol thrust into each pallid, shrinking face—— - -“Rose!” he called. “Rose, come hither, child!” - -Instinctively, and despite the terror that shook her, she obeyed. “Good -girl!” quoth he, with an approving nod. “I’ the right-hand pocket o’ my -waistcoat you will find five or six guineas; take two and bestow ’em upon -the poor rascals for affording us a sensation.” Trembling still, she -carried out Sir John’s instructions, who, with a brief word and imperious -gesture, commanded the astonished rogues begone. Nor did they need a -second bidding, but flitted away on silent feet, though oft turning -pallid faces to stare their amazement ere they vanished into the shadows -whence they came. - -“Rose, child,” quoth Sir John, uncocking and repocketing his pistols, “I -am pleased with thee. ’S heart, I’m vastly pleased with thee! I rejoice -that being fearful you commanded your fear and neither shrieked, swooned, -squeaked, moaned, laughed, wept or fell to a fit o’ the vapours. Thank -God, child, that thou’rt a fine, buxom, lusty country wench, sound o’ -wind and limb, all wholesome flesh and blood and bone——” - -“Oh, fie—hush and ha’ done!” she exclaimed, tossing her handsome head. -“You make me sound as I were a prize cow!” - -“Tush!” he laughed. “I do but take your body first. As to your mind——” - -“I ha’ none—so never mind!” she retorted bitterly, and making the most of -her stately height. - -“Aye, but I do mind,” he answered seriously. “I mind infinitely, because -’tis your mind needeth a great deal o’ painful care. ’S life, girl, were -your mind the peer o’ your body you’d be a creature without peer. The -which, sounding paradoxical, is yet very truth.” - -“’Stead of which,” she retorted angrily, “I am only a buxom country wench -... a poor maid, as you think, all body an’ no soul, an’ talk of as she -were a piece o’ cattle! Oh, I could cry wi’ shame, I could!” - -“Then I shall kiss you, Rose!” - -“You—ah, you wouldn’t dare!” - -“Not unless you cry, child. I can endure a woman’s scorn, her fleerings, -even her caresses—but her tears melt my adamantine fortitude quite. -So pray do not weep, Rose. And as for your sweet country ways, your -rustic simplicity, God bless you for ’em, child. With your goddess-form -uncramped by cursed, ’prisoning whalebone—with no rusks or busks or such -damned contrivances to pinch your figure to the prevailing mode you -are as the hand of Nature moulded you, a woman apt to motherhood, and -therefore to be reverenced ... and a curse on all rusks.” - -“They are called busks, your honour, and I wear ’em!” she retorted. - -“Howbeit, as you walk beside me now, Rose, free-limbed as a nymph, -fragrant with naught but health, you are a thousand times more alluring -than any modish lady laced to suffocation and ready to sink, to swoon, to -languish and vapour accordingly on the least provocation.” - -“I ’spose you’ve endured a vast deal o’ such ladylike weaknesses, sir?” -she questioned. - -“To an infinity o’ weariness!” sighed Sir John. “That is to say, my -master hath, and I ha’ suffered with him.” - -“Your master be a great beau, my mistress says, and mighty successful wi’ -the ladies—French ladies! But my mistress do say as Sir John Dering’s -nothing in particular to look at—a plain, insignificant little man!” - -“Insignificant, girl!” Sir John nearly tripped over one of his spurs. -“Insignificant!” he repeated. “Oh, begad! But then, child, ’twas easy to -recognise your mistress for a person of little taste and no discernment, -poor soul! An insignificant little man!” he repeated for the second time, -and then laughed joyously. “And yet, Rose, sink me but she’s right!” -quoth he. “For in many particulars you behold in me the very reverse and -opposite of Sir John Dering.” - -“And yet his clothes do fit ’ee to admiration!” she added. - -“Hum!” quoth Sir John, and walked in silence awhile and, beholding the -moon near to setting, sighed; as her tender light waned, his gloom waxed, -for the countryside seemed to lose something of its magic allurement; -moreover, his long riding-boots, elegantly light though they were, began -to irk him, and the faint, monotonous jingle of his spurs irritated him -so that at last he must needs pause to unbuckle them. - -“A pedestrian in spurs is a pitiable object, Rose,” he explained, “and -their jingle upon a toilsome road is deuced dismal!” - -“An’ I be that weary I could weep!” she sighed. - -“Don’t!” he admonished. “Your weariness I can endure with an effort, but -your tears—— There, take my arm, child, lean on me—so!” - -“An’ I don’t know where you’m a-takin’ me.” - -“To England, sure!” he answered encouragingly. “To Sussex, to the gentle -Down-country—home!” - -“You can’t!” she sighed. “Ye see, I ha’ no home.” - -“Your mother—father?” - -“I—I’m an orphan wi’ no one in the world—except a grandmother.” - -“Then your grandmother be it.” - -“Her’ll only clout me for leaving my lady an’ losing a good place. And -you—you’d be glad to be quit o’ me already.” - -“My poor child,” said he in changed tone, becoming aware how painfully -she limped, “you are worn out!” - -“And your voice sounded kind!” she answered, turning to look at him; and -he saw the cold, austere beauty of her face transfigured by a sudden -tenderness so new and unexpected that he was amazed. - -“Why—why, Rose,” he stammered, “you can be more—much more than merely -handsome.” - -“See,” she whispered, “the moon’s a’most down—’twill be dark soon!” - -“Nay, child, in a little ’twill be dawn; you have walked with me all -night. And this is the most desolate part of the road as I remember—never -an inn, or cottage or bed for you, my poor girl!” - -“The ditch will serve,” she sighed, “for indeed I can go no farther.” - -“Nay, I will lodge you better than that ... there’s a haystack i’ the -field yonder, if you can walk so far?” - -“I’ll try!” said she between her teeth; but, catching her foot in a wheel -rut, she staggered and uttered a cry of pain. And then Sir John had -caught her up in his arms and bore her, albeit very unsteadily, across -the stretch of meadow. Reeling and stumbling, he reached the haystack at -last, and, setting her down, leaned to gasp and catch his breath. - -“A goddess is ... an awkward burden ... for a ... mere human man!” he -panted. - -“Especially if she be ‘buxom!’” she added, with a little unsteady laugh. -“Oh, but you are kind! And stronger than you look! I shouldn’t ha’ let -you ... but me so tired ... and the pain! I think I shall cry!” - -“Aye, do!” he pleaded, and reached for her hands. But she laughed -instead, and bade him show her where she must sleep. Therefore Sir John -tossed off his cloak, and by dint of some labour had soon burrowed a -niche in the stack where she might lie softly couched on fragrant hay. - -Being within this niche and Sir John going to cover her with his long -riding-cloak, she would have none of it unless he shared it with her; so -at last down they lay side by side. - -“Close your eyes and go to sleep, child!” he murmured. “Sleep you secure -... for I ... will watch ... awhile....” But, even as he spoke, his eyes -closed and he sank to heavenly slumber. Yet after some while he awoke, -conscious of an intolerable unease, and, groping for the cause, found -himself lying upon a pistol. The day was breaking, and by the gathering -light he saw this pistol for none of his; a small, silver-mounted weapon, -very apt for concealment—say in the folds of a long grey cloak. - -She lay deep-plunged in slumber, her face concealed by the hood of -this same grey cloak and naught to see of her save one hand, a slim, -shapely hand, very white and delicate; observing which hand, its pink, -soft palm, its long, taper fingers and rosy, polished nails, Sir John’s -eyes grew suddenly keen, his lips grim as, lying down again, he stared -on the brightening dawn; slowly his grim look vanished and, smiling -enigmatically, he fell asleep again. - -And presently up came the sun to transform a myriad dewdrops into so many -scintillating gems and make a glory of the world; to rouse the birds and -fill them with the gladness of a new day; to kiss the slumberous eyes of -her who stirred sighfully in the comfort of her grey cloak, and waking -to a glory of sunshine and carolling birds, sat up suddenly, peering -eager-eyed at him who lay beside her very fast asleep and with a faint, -enigmatic smile upon his lips. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -WHICH INTRODUCES MY LORD SAYLE AND THE CLASH OF STEEL - - -Sir John rubbed the sleep from his eyes to behold his companion -approaching, evidently fresh from her morning ablutions; moreover, her -sprigged petticoat, if a little rumpled, looked surprisingly trim, her -square-toed, flat-heeled shoes were innocent of dust and she had even -contrived to comb and dress her hair—black, glossy hair, he noticed, that -fell in wanton curls on either white temple. And, seeing her so neat and -trig from top to toe, he immediately became supremely conscious of his -own rumpled garments, his unshaven chin and the haystalks entwined in the -tangled ringlets of his peruke. None the less, he rose and bowed with his -usual grace, giving her a cheery “Good morning.” - -“’S heart, child!” he exclaimed, “you walk proud as Dian’s self or lady -o’ high degree, God save your ladyship!” And he bowed again with an -exaggerated flourish, at which she frowned and answered sullenly: - -“You’m asleep and dreaming, I think!” - -“Aye, belike I am, wench,” he answered gaily. “I dream you sweet, gentle -and great o’ soul—and dreams ever go by contrary, for thy looks are sour, -thy speech ungracious and thy soul—ha, thy soul, child!” - -“What of’t?” - -“’Tis the unknown quantity! How, dost frown yet, my Rose? Is it for anger -or hunger? - - “O Rose of love, O fragrant rose - Thy visage sheweth me - The source of all thy present woes - Is that thy stomach empty goes, - So filled it soon shall be. - -—bethink thee, Rose, the joys in store—ham, beef, beer ... base material -things to appal the soul and yet—how comfortable, how irresistible to -your human maid and man! So ha’ patience, sweet wench, ha’ patience till -I have laved me, combed me and found us an inn. Meantime sit ye and list -to the birds, commune you with Nature whiles I go wash in the brook -yonder.” - -And away he strode, blithe and debonair despite the straws in his wig, -leaving her to bite red underlip and frown after him until a clump of -willows hid him from view. Then, coming to the niche in the haystack, -she began to seek in angry haste, wholly unconscious that Sir John -was watching her from his screen of leaves, keen-eyed, and with the -enigmatical smile curling his grim mouth. Thereafter he proceeded with -his toilet at a leisured ease. - -So long was he indeed that she came thither impatiently at last, to find -him seated upon grassy bank, his great periwig upon one fist, doing his -best to smooth its rebellious disorder with an ivory pocket-comb of -pitifully inadequate proportions. - -“Are ye going to be all day?” she demanded. - -“I hope not,” he sighed, tugging at a refractory tangle. - -“You’ll never do it that way, fool!” she exclaimed. - -“Your pardon, madam,” he answered gravely, “but I shall, if I sit here -till the trump o’ doom——” - -“You’re a nice gentleman’s servant!” quoth she scornfully. “You don’t -even know how to use a comb——” - -“I have my own method!” he retorted. - -Her answer was to snatch the wig, pluck from him the comb and show him -with contemptuous elaboration how it should be done, while Sir John, -leaning back against a convenient tree, watched her with respectful -interest. - -“If I had only thought to bring a razor!” he murmured, feeling his -stubbly chin. - -“You look mighty ordinary without your wig!” said she, viewing him with -coldly disparaging glance. “Very ordinary ... and insignificant!” - -Sir John sighed and shook his head. - -“No man is a hero to his valet!” he answered, whereat she tossed wig and -comb at his feet and turned her back on him. - -Sir John put on his peruke, settled it with nicest care, stroked the -long, glossy curls, and rose. - -“Many thanks!” quoth he. “But for my chin I should feel well-nigh -respectable. And now permit me to return this trifle, which ’tis likely -you have been diligently a-seeking.” - -Glancing round, she saw that he was tendering the silver-mounted pistol. -“I found myself lying upon it as I slept,” he explained. “’Tis a pretty -toy, yet deadly enough—at close quarters. ’Twas vastly wise in you to -arm you before trusting yourself to—my honour. I commend your extreme -discretion. It must be a comfort to you to know you can blow my head -off whenever you think necessary, or feel so disposed! Come, take your -pistol, child—take it!” But, seeing she merely frowned, he thrust the -weapon into the pocket of her cloak whether she would or no. - -“So there you stand, Rose,” he smiled, “thrice, nay, four times armed—by -your prayers, your little cross, a pistol and ... your innocence! ’Faith, -child, you should be safe enough o’ conscience! Come, then, let us go -seek breakfast.” - -And now as they trudged along he talked of birds and the wayside flowers, -of which it seemed he knew much; but finding she only frowned or yawned -as the whim took her, he quickened his pace. - -“Why will ye hurry a body so—I be all breathless!” she protested at last. - -“I would haste to feed you, sweet Rose; ’twill render you less thorny, -mayhap—and a little better company.” At this she stopped to frown and -clench her fists, whereupon he promptly seized the nearest and patted it -kindly. - -“A pretty hand, Rose,” said he, “a slim, white, soft, shapely little -hand, and yet useful for all its idle looks.” - -“I hate you!” she exclaimed bitterly. - -“God bless you, child, I believe you do!” he answered. “But the birds -sing, the sun shines, and I shall enjoy my breakfast none the less, -which, if I remember this road aright, is none so far to seek!” - -Sure enough, rounding a bend, they presently espied a large posting-inn -astir with bustle and excitement; horses stamped, chains rattled, ostlers -ran to and fro, voices shouted; from all of which it was to be surmised -that important company had lately arrived or was about to depart. - -Threading his way through all this confusion, Sir John beckoned to a -large and somewhat pompous person. - -“Landlord,” quoth he, “three-quarters of an hour hence you will have a -coach and post-horses at the door. Meanwhile—breakfast!” - -Sir John was his usual gentle, imperious self—but his chin was unshaven, -his boots and clothes dusty; wherefore mine host’s bow was perfunctory -and his manner somewhat off-hand when he “regretted he was unable to -oblige Monsieur, as the only fresh team of horses was already commanded -for a great English milord—it was distressing, mais que voulez-vous! As -for breakfast, it was to be had within—Monsieur must pray excuse him, -he was busy!” Sir John, completely forgetful of clothes and chin, was -staring amazed and a little shocked by the landlord’s extraordinary lack -of respectful and instant obedience, when his companion twitched him by -embroidered cuff and, turning, he wondered to surprise a look on her face -that might have been exultation, and there was suppressed excitement in -her voice and gesture as she pointed to a coat-of-arms emblazoned upon -the panels of an elegant travelling-chariot that stood near by. - -“Look yonder!” said she. “Oh, ’tis small use you expecting horses if this -English lord wants ’em. Ye see, I know who he is—look there!” - -“A vulgar display of paint!” nodded Sir John, glancing at the -coat-of-arms. “Pray what of it?” - -“That coach belongs to my Lord Sayle!” - -“And pray, what then?” - -“When he wants anything he generally gets it,” she answered. - -“And why is he so cursed, child?” - -“Because nobody dare gainsay him!” - -Now hearing the taunt in her voice, reading it in her look, Sir John’s -blue eyes grew suddenly very keen and bright, then he laughed a little -bitterly. - -“You think ’tis time one dared the fellow, perhaps. Ah, Rose, had we Sir -John Dering with us, were my master here——” - -“’Twould be a new experience for him to meet—a dangerous man!” she -retorted. - -“Indeed, child, you grow a little bloodthirsty, I think!” he sighed. -“Rest you here a moment. I must speak a word with master landlord.” - -Left alone, she stood to stare after Sir John’s slender, light-treading -figure, then, turning about, entered the inn. - -The place was full of stir and bustle, so, pulling her hood about her -face, she mounted the stair, but paused at sound of riotous merriment -from a room near by; she was standing thus hesitant, when a vigorous -arm was clasped suddenly about her and, all in a moment, she was -half-carried, half-dragged to a certain door which, swinging wide, -discovered three gentlemen at their wine, chief among them one who sat at -the head of the table, resplendent in sky-blue coat and flaxen periwig -that framed a handsome, arrogant face, bold of eye, full-lipped and -square of chin; a gentleman who bore himself with a masterful air and -who now, setting down his glass, leant suddenly forward to stare at her -who stood shrinking beneath the fixity of his gaze. - -“By Venus and all the Loves!” he exclaimed. “Whom ha’ you there, Huntley?” - -“A bird o’ price, Sayle! Ha’n’t I caught a pretty bird, then?” - -“Smite me!” exclaimed his lordship, viewing the captive in growing -amaze. “Burn me if I ever saw such a resemblance! She might be the proud -Barrasdaile herself were she a little less vulgarly robust—less redundant -in her curves, d’ye see. Bring her hither, Huntley man!” - -“Damme, no, Sayle—she’s mine!” - -“Damme, yes, sir, she belongs to all! In her we greet her bewitching -prototype, in her rustical image we’ll adore and pay homage to her of -whom she is the very spit, the breathing likeness—‘the Barrasdaile’ -herself. Since the haughty beauty is beyond our reach, this countrified -semblance of her shall serve our turn ... she’s a dainty creature, I vow, -with ruddy lips ... a waist ... a shape! Bring her hither, man! Nay—up on -the table with her! Aye so, throned on the table she shall receive our -worship!” - -Despite struggles, supplications and bitter reproaches, she was hoisted -to the table amid a hubbub of cheers and laughter and, standing thus, -faced them—a wild creature, trembling with shame, rage and a growing fear. - -And it was now that Sir John chose to open the door, pausing on the -threshold, snuff-box in hand, to survey the scene with an expression of -cold and passionless disgust until the company, a little taken aback by -his sudden appearance, ceased their clamorous merriment to frown with one -accord upon the intruder, and fiercest of all, my Lord Sayle. - -“What the devil?” he demanded. “This is a private room, sir—get out and -be damned!” - -Sir John smiled, closed the door and leaned his back against it, whereat -were murmurs and mutterings of angry surprise, and my Lord Sayle rose to -his feet. - -“Damme, is the fellow drunk or mad!... What d’ye want?” he demanded. - -“Horses!” answered Sir John and, smiling affably at the angry company, -helped himself to a pinch of snuff. And now the trembling captive, -finding herself thus momentarily forgotten, sprang from the table and -was at Sir John’s elbow all in a moment; but he never so much as glanced -at her, all his interest centred apparently in the flaxen curls of my -Lord Sayle’s wig. “I am here, sir,” he went on, closing and fobbing his -snuff-box, “to inform you that, learning you had engaged the only horses -available, and deeming my own need of ’em the more urgent, I have taken -the liberty of countermanding the animals to my own use.” - -At this was a moment’s amazed stillness, then my lord laughed fiercely -and leaned across the table to glare, his nostrils unpleasantly dilated. - -“You are assuredly an ignorant fool, sir,” quoth he, “for ’tis certain -you do not—cannot know me!” - -“Nor desire to, sir!” murmured Sir John. - -“I am Sayle—Lord Sayle! You’ll have heard the name, I fancy?” - -“And mine, my lord, is Derwent, and you will never have heard it, I am -sure. But what has all this to do with horses, pray?” - -“This, my poor imbecile—and hark’ee, Mr. Derwent, I permit no man, or -woman either for that matter, to thwart my whims, much less an unshaven -young jackanapes like yourself! Therefore—and mark me! Unless you -apologise instantly for your unbelievable impertinence and undertake to -personally see that the horses are put to my chariot within the next ten -minutes, I shall give myself the pleasure of horse-whipping you, here -and now, before your trollop’s pretty face. Come, Mr. Derwent, what d’ye -say?” - -Sir John’s answer was characteristically gentle: “I say, my lord, that -your manners are as gross as your person, and your person is infinitely -offensive from any and every point o’ view!” - -Here ensued a moment of stupefied silence, a stillness wherein none -moved for a space; suddenly my lord’s chair went over with a crash, his -clenched fists smote the air. “Lock the door, Amberley, lock the door,” -he commanded in choking voice, “and give me a whip, somebody!” - -“A whip?” repeated Sir John, faintly surprised. “Nay, sir, you have a -sword, sure? And rumour says you can use it. Come, pray let us try what -you can do, though first we will ask the child here to be good enough to -leave us awhile——” - -“Ha, leave us, is it?” snarled my lord. “Damme, no; I say the handsome -baggage shall stay to see you squirm! The table, gentlemen ... give me -room!” - -Very soon, sufficient space having been cleared to satisfy his lordship, -he tugged off the sky-blue coat, tossed it aside, kicked off his shoes -and, laughing in arrogant assurance, drew his sword and stood waiting. -Sir John made his dispositions with a leisured ease that set my lord -swearing in vicious impatience, while his friends snuffed, nodded and -watched the victim prepare himself for the inevitable outcome with more -or less sympathy; in especial one, a long-legged, sleepy gentleman who, -unheeding Lord Sayle’s angry glare, approached Sir John and bowed. - -“Sir,” said he, “m’ name’s Amberley. It seems y’ave no friend t’act for -ye in case of—ah—of——” - -“My sudden demise?” smiled Sir John. - -“Precisely, sir. If you should wish any message d’livered t’any one—any -commission o’ the kind, shall be happy t’offer myself—name of Amberley, -sir.” - -“Mr. Amberley, pray receive my thanks, but I have no message for any -one——” - -“Damnation!” cried my lord. “Is he ready, Amberley?” - -“Quite!” murmured Sir John, and drawing his sword he tossed the scabbard -upon the table, and approaching Lord Sayle, saluted and fell to his guard. - -Slimmer than usual he looked as he stood thus gracefully poised, and of -no great stature, yet, in that moment, observing his eyes and mouth, -no one would have called him “insignificant”—especially one who leaned -against the door, hands clenched, eyes wide, waiting for what was to be. - -The narrow blades crossed, and immediately rose a thud of quick-moving, -purposeful feet and clink of murderous steel. Lord Sayle’s onset was -impetuous as usual, his attacks viciously direct and powerful; but time -and again his darting point was met, his lightning thrusts parried, -though only just in time, and as if more by accident than skill; noting -which, he laughed scornfully and pressed his attack more fiercely; twice -he forced Sir John to break ground until, espying an opening in his -antagonist’s defence after a wide parade, he lounged swiftly, gasped and, -dropping his weapon, staggered with Sir John’s blade transfixing his -sword-arm from wrist to elbow. - -And now was confusion: a wild ringing of bells, calling for water and -sponges, running for lint and bandages, while Sir John did on his shoes, -and eased himself into his tight-fitting riding-coat. - -My Lord Sayle, a-sprawl in arm-chair while his friends washed and -stanched his wounds, alternately cursed and groaned, heaping his late -antagonist with passionate revilings and bitter invective until, what -with anger and pain, his voice failed him at last. - -Then Sir John spoke in chilling scorn: - -“Thou contemptible thing! Thou man of straw! Egad, and can it be you -set all London by the ears? ’S life, my lord, your fencing is like your -manners, exceeding indifferent. I might ha’ killed you any time I wished!” - -My Lord Sayle struggled to his feet, raving like a madman and calling for -his sword, until, constrained by his friends, he sank back in the chair -and suffered their ministrations, but raving still. - -“You shall suffer for this.... Aye, burn me, but you shall! This is but -the beginning ... we meet again ... aye, by all the fiends in hell I’ll -ha’ your life for this ... you shall fight me again so soon as I am able!” - -“With joy, my lord!” answered Sir John, wiping his blade on his -lordship’s sky-blue coat that chanced to lie handy. “’Twas purely for -this reason that I suffered you to live. Indeed, my lord, I hope to -repeat the pleasure of this little _rencontre_ on every possible occasion -until I run you out of England. And you should soon be well, for your -wound, though painful, is nothing dangerous. One word more, my lord: as -regards your sword-play, I should advise a few lessons at your weapon -against our next meeting. Au revoir! Gentlemen, your servant!” Then, -having bowed to the silent company, Sir John reached out his hand to her -who stood leaning against the door. “Come, child!” said he, and led her -out of the room, closing the door behind them; then she stopped to face -him, her eyes bright, her ruddy lips a-quiver. - -“Why ... why did you fight—that beast?” she questioned breathlessly. - -“’Faith, Rose, you heard! ’Twas in the matter of post-horses.” - -“Horses!” she repeated. “And naught else?” - -“Naught i’ the world, child.” - -“Horses!” she panted, in sudden vehement scorn. “And you saw how he would -have shamed me! You saw! But then, to be sure, I am but a country wench -of none account.... I am merely a poor, friendless girl ... but horses -you can fight for, peril your life for, because——” - -“Because horses are—horses, child, and the horse, you’ll remember, is a -noble animal, man’s faithful friend and servant——” - -“Oh!” she cried, between clenched teeth. “Oh, I hate—despise you—Sir John -Dering!” - -“Ah, Rose child!” sighed he. “Hast found me out so soon? ‘What’s in a -name?’ quoth the bard. Alack, a vasty deal! say I. For, ‘Give a dog a bad -name and hang him!’ runs the proverb, and methinks ’tis true. So alack -for poor Sir John Dering, whose name and reputation are beyond repair and -might hang a thousand dogs. But thou’rt hungry, child, and so is poor Sir -John. Come, then, haste we to breakfast!” - -But she never stirred, only she turned her back suddenly. - -“What, Rose?” he exclaimed. “Why, child, you’re never going to weep?” - -“No!” she answered. “No!” and sobbed immediately. - -Then Sir John turned her to face him, took her bowed head between his -two hands, lifted it and kissed her upon the brow with a very reverent -gentleness. - -“Rose, child ... sweet innocence,” he sighed. “Never forget you ha’ been -kissed by the ‘Wicked Dering.’ And now, come your ways to breakfast!” - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -OF A POST-CHAISE, INIQUITY AND A GRANDMOTHER - - -From blazing noon to twilight, from twilight to dusky eve, the lumbering -coach had lurched and jolted its slow, laborious way, the ponderous -wheels now rumbling over some bridge or culvert, now rattling upon loose, -stony ways, now ploughing, well-nigh silent, through muffling dust. And -my Lady Herminia Barrasdaile, pushing back the hood of her grey cloak, -yawned frequently and unashamedly, for she was weary of it all and more -especially of her slumberous and annoyingly silent companion; the whole -adventure was become disappointingly ordinary, and she heartily wished -herself done with it. - -At last, from his shadowy corner, Sir John spoke, and his voice sounded -surprisingly wide awake: - -“Art still asleep, child?” - -“Is your honour pleased to be awake at last?” she retorted in bitter -irony. - -“Nay, Rose, whilst you slept I have sat here musing upon the mutability -o’ human affairs. We are straws i’ the wind, child, leaves a-whirl upon -the stream of life, borne hither and yon at Fate’s irrevocable decree. -What is to be, will be, let us strive and struggle how we will. And -’twill soon be dark, so ha’ your pistol ready——” - -“I—I do not fear the dark!” she answered, quite forgetting to yawn. - -“Nay, ’tis not of the dark I warn you but of myself, child!” he sighed. -“Great pity is it you should ha’ found me out so soon, for as John -Derwent I was in every sense a gentle, worthy and reverent soul, but—as -Sir John Dering, ’tis a vastly different matter, for the censorious -world expects me to live up to, or down to, my reputation, so ha’ your -pistol ready, girl!” - -“I do not—fear you either!” she retorted. - -“Aha, Rose? You think this bad dog’s bark is worse than his bite? You -mayhap think of me as——” - -“Of you, sir?” she exclaimed. “Nay, indeed, I think of—of my grandmother!” - -“Her grandmother!” murmured Sir John. “Stupendous! In a dark coach, on -a solitary road and with Iniquity threatening to pounce, she thinks -of her grandmother! Oh, admirable Rose! And a grandmother, moreover, -who will perchance clout the poor child! And yet the poor child should -benefit thereby, for a clout in time saves nine. And yet—her grandmother! -Iniquity, hide thy diminished head! Wickedness, abase thyself! John -Dering, thou merciless profligate, forget thy so innocent, trembling -victim and go to sleep; thy base designs are foiled by Innocence and a -grandmother! So droop Depravity, despair Debauchery—sleep, John, sleep!” -And Sir John yawned, stretched his legs, drew his cloak and, settling -himself to his comfort, forthwith composed himself to slumber. - -But it seemed my lady had no mind to permit this, for she tapped the -floor with insistent foot, fidgeted with the blind, let down the window -and closed it again noisily. But Sir John, having closed his eyes, kept -them fast shut; whereupon my lady turned her back upon him pettishly, -and frowned at the rising moon. But presently she stole a glance at her -companion, and judging him truly asleep, slipped back her hood, shook -her curls and slowly, gently, suffered herself to sway over towards him -until her head was pillowed beside his. And after some while Sir John, -vaguely conscious of a persistent tickling, opened drowsy eyes to find -this occasioned by a lock of hair that stirred upon his cheek. Slowly -and with infinite caution he drew a small leather case from his pocket, -whence he abstracted a pair of scissors and therewith deftly snipped off -this errant curl and, tucking it safely out of sight, returned the case -to his pocket and closed his eyes again. - -Was she asleep? Her breathing was deep and soft and regular, but—was she -truly asleep? To ascertain which fact he needs must edge himself round, -though with elaborate care not to disturb her. And surely no slumber ever -looked more unconsciously natural!... Yet she lay in the one and only -posture where the rising moon might show him the classic beauty of her -profile, the low brow, the delicate nose, vivid lips tenderly apart, the -softly rounded chin. - -Sir John scrutinised her, feature by feature, with such keen intensity -that it seemed to trouble her dreams, for she sighed plaintively at last, -stirred gracefully and finally, opening her eyes, sat up to smooth and -pat her rebellious hair. - -“Have I been asleep, sir?” - -“’Tis what I’m wondering, Rose,” he answered, seating himself opposite -to her. “Howbeit you did it charmingly well. And now, since we are both -awake, let us converse of your grandmother——” - -“Pray when shall we reach Dieppe?” she demanded. - -“Some time ’twixt now and dawn, if all goes well. But tell me of your -grandmother.” - -Instead of answering, she turned to stare out of the window, and became -so intensely unconscious of him that Sir John yawned again, and subsided -into lethargic silence. So they rumbled and jolted on their weary -way until the grind of wheels and creak of the leathern springs grew -unbearable. - -“Are ye asleep again?” she demanded at last. - -“Nay, m’ sweet creature,” he answered drowsily. “I ruminate upon thyself -and myself and will make thee a prophecy, as thus: Within the week, -Paris, aye, and London belike, will ring wi’ news of this my latest -infamy; the modish world will have its ears tickled by scandalous tale of -how the ‘Wicked Dering’ carried off to shameful purpose a poor, pretty, -sweet and innocent serving-wench.” - -“But how—how should any one know?” she questioned a little breathlessly. - -“Alas, my Rose,” he sighed, “do I but sneeze the world hears on’t. I am -dogged by a most unrelenting and scandal-mongering fate.” - -“What do you mean by fate?” - -“A woman, Rose, a lady o’ high degree who hath constituted herself my -determined though somewhat hysterical Nemesis. She dedicated me to -her vengeance five weary years ago, and ever since, when moved to by -splenetic humours, for she is a vaporish lady, she hath wrought to such -purpose that here am I fleeing back home to marry her——” - -“To ... oh ... to ... marry her?” - -“Precisely! Why d’ye gasp, child?” - -“But if she hath been ... is ... your enemy——” - -“I will make her wife to the ‘Wicked Dering’!” - -“Are you so—so sure you can?” - -“As sure as life, Rose!” - -“Life is a thing most uncertain, I’ve heard, Sir John!” - -“Aye, but not till we’re dead, Rose.” - -“But how if she refuse you?” - -“I ha’n’t troubled to think o’ that.” - -“Do you know her well?” - -“So little that I have small doubts.” - -“Indeed? And how if she utterly scorn and contemn you? How if she make a -mock o’ you? How if she bid her servants drive you from her presence?” - -“Don’t gnash your pretty teeth, child! And if she so despitefully use me -then should I come a-seeking thee, my Rose——” - -“Me?” she stammered. “You—you’d come—to me?” - -“’Tis most certain!” he answered. “But not as the notorious Sir John; -’twould be as the meek, the gentle and reverent John Derwent I should woo -until I won thee at last, sweet Rose o’ love. Do but think on me as John -Derwent and I will begin e’en now, humbly, tenderly, as only John Derwent -might woo thee, thou fragrant Innocency.” - -“And what of—her—your enemy?” - -“We would leave her to her vengeance, child, whiles thou and I——” Sir -John paused suddenly to listen. “Rose,” said he, “d’ye hear aught?” -And presently, sure enough, above the never-ceasing rumble of wheels, -creaking of springs and jingle of harness, they distinguished the -rhythmic throb of oncoming, galloping hoofs. - -“Horsemen!” she exclaimed. - -“One!” he corrected. “And do not be alarmed, it may be a friend—and yet -it may not!” - -Saying which, Sir John reached down one of his pistols from the slings -and, lowering the window, leaned out. - -The moon was sinking, but by her diminished light he descried a solitary -horseman who galloped hard in the dust of their wheels, and, dim-seen -though he was in consequence, it needed but one glance at his height and -width to reassure Sir John, who immediately called to his driver to stop; -and very soon the horseman was alongside. - -“What—Hector!” exclaimed Sir John joyously. “So you’ve caught us, have -ye? A thousand welcomes!” - -“Welcomes, is it?” quoth Sir Hector, reining nearer and shaking dust -from every fold of his riding-cloak. “Welcomes whateffer—an’ me nigh -choked wi’ your dust, and ye’sel’ up tae a’ manner o’ deevilish ploys and -riots—an’ wounded gentlemen cursin’ theirsel’s intae fevers all along the -road, and a’ on your account, Master John Derwent!” - -“Nay, merely one gentleman—of sorts, Hector! I had the fortune to meet -with my Lord Sayle, who was somewhat ill-mannered——” - -“Aye, but didna ye tak’ the man’s post-horses?” - -“I perceive you ha’ heard something of the matter, Hector.” - -“I hae that ... and o’ the lass, forbye! O John, John, is she wi’ ye yet?” - -“Indeed, Hector, safe and sound!” - -“O man, are ye rin clean daft?” - -“Never saner, Hector.” - -“A common, country serving-wench, puir lass.... O man John!” - -“Nay, Hector, the most uncommon serving-wench that ever served since -serving was or wenches were!” - -“Hoot-toot—dinna palter wi’ worrds, John! Think o’ y’r reputation!” - -“Nay, faith,” sighed Sir John; “’tis so devilish blown upon, so warped -and weatherbeaten, that I had fain forget it. And as for my Rose——” - -“Oh, shame, John, for shame!” exclaimed Sir Hector, falling into his -precise English. “I had hoped you had left such wickedness behind in -Paris with your scandalous marquises and such.” - -“Why, there it is, Hector; my Rose is such vast and welcome change -to your fine ladies, for instead o’ languishing, sinking or swooning -with mock-modesty as your great lady should, she talks to me of—her -grandmother! She is immaculate, Hector, Innocence incarnate—and I find -her vastly edifying. And, egad, I’ve kissed her but once, and that upon -the brow—in all these miles! Come—how d’ye say to that?” - -“Umph-humph!” exclaimed Sir Hector. - -“Pray,” questioned Sir John, “pray what might you mean exactly, Hector?” - -“That I’m no minded tae sit here choked wi’ dust hearkenin’ tae sermons -on ye’ ain virtues.... An’ high tide at twa o’clock! Push on, man, push -on, and ye s’all be in Sussex to-morrow’s morn.” - -“In heaven’s name, how?” - -“Whisht, lad! I happen to know of a boat—juist a wee bit fishin’-boat, y’ -ken—as sails the nicht.” - -“’Tis marvellous what you ‘happen’ to know. Hector!” - -“Tush, man! Are ye for Sussex an’ Cuckmere Haven to-morrow morn?” - -“With all my heart.” - -“Then ‘hurry’s’ the word, John.” - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -DESCRIBES THE ADVENTURES OF THE _TRUE BELIEVER_ - - -One o’clock was striking as they rumbled into the ancient town of Dieppe -and pulled up before the posting-inn. Here Sir John, having paid and feed -his driver, was for ordering supper, but Sir Hector would have none of it. - -“Come awa’, Johnnie,” he insisted, “an’ if ye’re hungry, I’ll find ye a -red herring—mebbe a couple. Come awa’!” - -“A herring? How say you, Rose child?” questioned Sir John, but my lady -not troubling to answer, he tucked her hand within his arm and bade Sir -Hector lead on. - -“Ha—but the girl, John—ye’ll no’ be for draggin’ the puir lassie awa’ wi’ -ye tae sea—at midnight?” - -“No, indeed, Hector; if she will not walk I must carry her. Howbeit, she -comes to share my herring!” - -“O John!” sighed Sir Hector; “O Johnnie man, I’m fair amazed at ye!” And -shaking gloomy head he turned and strode on before. - -Once out of the dim-lit innyard, darkness engulfed them, but Sir Hector -strode unhesitatingly; along narrow streets he led them, beneath the grim -shadow of frowning archways and buildings, through a maze of winding -alleys and ill-paved byways, turning sudden corners until, all at once, -they were treading firm sand and there met them a wind fresh and sweet -with the salt tang of the sea. Presently before them, vague in the gloom, -was a small bay or inlet with a jetty, and beyond this the dim bulk of -a ship, a very silent craft with never a glimmer of light from stem to -stern. - -“John, bide ye here!” said Sir Hector softly, and strode forward, to -vanish in the dark; then rose a sweet, flute-like whistle rendering the -first bars of “Blue Bonnets over the Border,” which was answered, after a -little, by a hoarse voice in English: - -“Be that your honour?” - -“Aye, aye, Sharkie man, wi’ twa friends. Send the boat!” - -“Nay, I be comin’ myself, sir!” - -Followed a scrambling, scuffling sound, the dip of oars, creak of -rowlocks and a mutter of voices, then Sir Hector called softly: - -“This way, John.” - -With his companion’s hand in his, Sir John advanced cautiously until, -above the stones of the jetty, at his very feet, he visioned the dim -outline of a human head that admonished him thus: - -“Gi’e’s a holt o’ the young ’ooman, sir, an’ easy it is!” - -Here my lady manifested very decided unwillingness to be taken a “holt -of”, but was swung suddenly aloft in compelling arms, passed below to -other arms and safely deposited in the stern-sheets of a swaying boat; -then the others followed in turn, and they pushed off. Half a dozen -strokes brought them to the side of a fair-sized vessel, and very soon -my lady found herself set on deck, her hand securely tucked within Sir -John’s arm. - -“Perfect!” he exclaimed, glancing aloft at dim-seen, raking masts. “But -wherefore all this stealth and secrecy, Hector?” - -“Whisht, man! Wha’ gars ye tae say sic things o’ honest fusher-folk? -Ye’re aboard the _True Believer_, Johnnie lad, juist a bit fushin’-boat -out o’ Newhaven.” - -“She’s something large and heavily sparred for a fishing-boat, isn’t she, -Hector?” - -“Gude sakes, John, and wha’ d’ye ken o’ fushin’-boats whateffer?” - -“The _True Believer_? ’Tis a strange name!” - -“’Tis a graund, godly name, John, an’ she’s owned by a godly man, a man -as sings bass in the church choir, a worthy fushin’-body, as I ken fine. -Dinna fash ye’self, John lad; wi’ luck an’ a favourin’ wind we should be -ashore a little after dawn.” - -“Why, then, this fishing-boat doth not fish to-night, Hector?” - -“I’m no’ tellin’ ye she will.” - -“But, Hector, if a fishing-boat fisheth not then fishing-boat she cannot -be except she fish for other than fish, and yet, so fishing, she fisheth -not truly, and truly can be no true fishing-boat——” But finding Sir -Hector had vanished, he drew his companion into a corner well screened -from the wind, and here, despite the dark, contrived a seat with canvas -and a coil of rope. - -“Rose,” said he, as they sat side by side, “it seems that some time -to-morrow we shall have reached our journey’s end and must say good-bye. -Shall you miss me, child ... grieve a little?” - -For a moment she was silent, and when she answered her tone was primly -demure. - -“Oh yes, sir, and indeed I shall, for your honour’s been mortal kind, I’m -sure!” - -“Ha’ done with your play-acting, girl!” said he so sharply that she -started and would have risen, but his grip on her arm restrained her. - -“Play-acting?” she repeated in altered voice. “How, sir? D’ye think——” - -“’Tis no matter, child,” he answered lightly; “my thoughts are my own. -But for a little space I would have you your best, most worthy self. -To-morrow we part and may meet again but rarely ... if ever. Shall you -bear in your mind a kindly memory of me, Rose?” - -“Yes,” she answered gravely. - -“When you shall hear wild tales of the ‘Wicked Dering,’ will you think of -him as ... as he is now ... a man perchance a little better than he is -painted?” - -“Yes,” she answered again, conscious of his dejected attitude though -she saw his face but a pale blur in the gloom. “And will your honour be -returning to Paris?” - -“No, child.” - -“To London?” - -“Nor London. I intend to live in the country for awhile.” - -“Then why can’t your honour see me now an’ then?” Here she was aware that -he had lifted his head and turned to peer at her. - -“I shall be very ... busy,” he answered, with a strange pause between the -two words. - -“And will your honour have time to miss me?” - -“Heaven knows it, child!” he answered, leaning nearer. - -“And shall you be—always busy, sir?” she questioned softly, swaying -towards him until, despite the darkness, he could behold all the witchery -of her look. “Shall you think of me sometimes?” - -“Often, Rose ... as the most wonderful ... of—serving-maids!” he -answered, turning suddenly away. - -“How wonderful?” she demanded. - -“Vastly wonderful, child.” - -“What d’you mean by wonderful?” - -“Just—wonderful; you fill me with wonder.” - -“What of, pray?” - -“Yourself.” - -“Why?” - -“Heavens, child! Just because you are a woman and possess a mind -feminine, which is the wonder of wonders since ’tis beyond the -understanding of man or woman. As saith the song: - - ‘The mind of a woman can never be known, - You never can tell it aright. - Shall I tell you the reason?—She knows not her own, - It changes so often ere night. - ’Twould puzzle Apollo - Her whimsies to follow, - His oracle would be a jest. - At first she’ll prove kind, - Then quickly you’ll find - She’ll change like the wind, - And often abuses - The man that she chooses; - And what she refuses, - Loves best!’ - -And there y’have it, child!” - -“Oh, indeed, sir! But when a woman makes up her mind to hate she can be -fiercely determined as any man——” - -“Aye—until she remembers she’s a woman!” - -“And what then, sir?” - -“Then, child, she becometh truly dangerous!” he answered. “Now here’s -you, my Rose, a sweet, simple, country maid that talks like Aspasia, -Sophonisba, Pallas Athene and the Three Wise Women of Hunsdon—or Hogsden, -or whatever it was—all rolled into one. Yet, child, thou couldst never -truly hate, thine eyes are too gentle, thy lips too tenderly full, -thyself too generously formed——” - -“Meaning ‘buxom,’ I s’pose?” - -“Juno-like, let us say.” - -“Pray, sir,” she inquired, after another pause, “if your honour marries -your enemy—the great lady——” - -“When I marry her, child!” - -“When your honour marries her—if she doth not wed another—will your -honour still think of poor Rose?” - -“My honour will, indeed!” - -“Then ’twill be wicked and dishonourable in your honour.” - -“But very natural! For indeed I think my honour might learn to love thee, -child, could we but find thee a soul.” - -“Love?” she repeated a little scornfully. “Could Sir John Dering love any -but Sir John Dering?” - -“’S heart, child, your speech improves very marvellously at times; and -let me perish, Rose, but you have an air that matches extreme ill with -your homespun!” - -“I ... I ha’n’t lived always i’ the country, sir!” she retorted. - -“And despite the mild innocence o’ thy look, thou hast a temper and a -tongue, Rose.” - -“I’d be a poor, helpless creature without ’em, sir.” - -“As to my capacity for loving, I think I might love as well and truly -as most, aye, even to the forgetting of John Dering. For, hid within -John Dering I am conscious of a soul, Rose, a soul so very much greater -than John Dering that ’tis great marvel John Dering is not greater than -John Dering, seeing John Dering is the outward though very imperfect -manifestation of John Dering’s soul—a soul that will live and love and go -marching on when poor John Dering is dust. And, look you! True love being -not passion of the flesh but virtue o’ the soul, ’tis therefore sure that -I, John Dering, shall some day love with a love exceeding great, a love -as imperishable as John Dering’s soul. How think you, my——” Here Sir -John, chancing to lift his gaze, descried amidst the pervading gloom a -solid, round object that projected itself immediately above him from the -roof of the deck-house behind; and, reaching up suddenly, he grasped a -shock of coarse hair. - -“Aha!” he exclaimed, and gave the dim head a shake; whereupon came a -groping hand to rend and smite, a hand that shrank and vanished at the -threatening click of Sir John’s ready pistol. - -“Who are you, rascal?” demanded Sir John. - -“Nobody ... only me!” quavered a voice in hoarse, wheedling tones. “So -put up your wepping, sir!” - -“What are you after?” - -“Nothin’, sir ... only a-layin’ by till all ’ands is turned up. So don’t -go shooting of a innocent wictim, sir.” - -“What d’ye mean by eavesdropping?” - -“No sech thing, y’r honour ... no, never in my life, sir. So away wi’ -your wepping.” - -“What’s your name, rogue?” - -“Jonas, y’r honour, Jonas Skag, as honest a innocent as ever trod plank. -So if y’r honour will put up y’r wepping and leggo my ’air kindly, I’ll -be obleeged to your honour ’umbly.” - -Sir John loosed the wheedling Jonas with a final shake, uncocked and -re-pocketed his pistol, and looked round to find his companion had risen. - -“The rogue disturbed us,” he sighed, “which is pity, for I was but -warming to my theme. When I am upon the soul, and especially my own, I -grow well-nigh lyrical. Let us sit down again and continue.” - -“Nay, I’m a-cold!” she answered, drawing her cloak. “Hark! I think theym -getting ready to sail.” - -All about them was a hushed stir, a murmurous whispering, a thud of -quick, soft feet, a flitting to and fro of dim forms, the faint sound of -well-greased blocks and rousing-gear, the scarce-heard rattle of a chain, -as the great yards rose slowly into the gloom above, and the anchor was -hove. - -“Yes,” answered Sir John, “we are stealing away to sea, and never surely -was it quieter done! Come, let us go forward and watch!” - -Now it chanced that as they went she tripped suddenly, fell against him, -and then he had her in his arms. Passive she lay in his clasp, her face -upturned to his, and, dark though it was, he saw the lure of those parted -lips so near his own, the down-sweeping lashes, felt all the urge and -coquetry of her. - -“O Rose of love!” he murmured. “Were I any other than John Dering and -thou any other than—thyself! O Innocence!” And uttering a strange, -harsh laugh, he set her upon her feet. “Stand up, Rose, stand up!” he -commanded. “And a heaven’s name be more wary o’ thy going. Come!” But she -neither stirred nor spoke. “I might have kissed thee and—did not!” said -he. “And for this, being very woman, thou’rt like to hate me more than -ever. Is’t not so?” - -But, giving utterance to an inarticulate exclamation, she turned swiftly -and left him. - -As he stood looking after her, he was presently aware of a gigantic form -looming beside him. - -“Aha!” sighed he, slipping his hand within Sir Hector’s arm. “Pray -now resolve me this riddle, friend, namely and to wit: Why doth this -‘True-believing’ fishing-boat steal forth so silently a-fishing? Is it, -think ye, that she may surprise the fish and take ’em in their sleep?” - -“Havers, Johnnie man, dinna fash me wi’ sic fule questions,” answered Sir -Hector. “B’my soul, I believe yo’ve fush on y’r brain, whateffer!” - -“Mayhap, Hector, but I’ve one or two other things as well,” sighed Sir -John, drawing his cloak against the freshening breeze. - - - - -CHAPTER X - -FURTHER CONCERNING THE SAME - - -“Yonder breaks the dawn, Hector!” - -“Aye, lad, and ’tis an unco’ inspirin’ sicht tae watch the sun rise -abune this weary waste o’ waters like the speerit o’ life. ’Tis mony a -sunrise I’ve watched syne I was a wee bit laddie ... an’ ’tis nae wonder -’twas worshipped by the ancients as a god.... See, yonder he comes, a -flamin’ majesty! Could ony human mind conceive anything sae glorious, sae -deevine, sae—— Ten thousand deevils! Look yonder! Ahoy, Sharkie—Sharkie -man!” - -Glancing whither Sir Hector’s long finger pointed, Sir John espied the -top-gallant sails of a ship uprearing from the mists of dawn, topsails of -radiant glory flushing from scarlet to pink, from pink to saffron, and so -at last to shining gold. Slowly the vessel herself came into view, her -high, clean bow, the line of her grinning gun-ports. - -Suddenly from her fore-chase gushed roaring flame, and round shot hissed -athwart the lugger’s forefoot. - -And now upon the _True Believer’s_ deck was a scurring of men, silent -no longer—men who cursed and laughed, shouting and pointing, yet never -in each other’s way, taking their appointed stations like the true -sailor-men they were, and who stared, one and all, from their pursuer to -the brown-faced, serene man who neither shouted nor pointed, but stood -with Sir Hector, gazing at the oncoming brig in dispassionate judgment of -her pace—and all voices were hushed awaiting his command. When at last he -spoke, his word was obeyed on the jump; reefs were loosed, shaken out -and hauled taut, lee-stays eased, and the _True Believer_, heeling to the -wind, drove hissing upon her course at increased speed. - -“What ship’s yon, Sharkie man?” inquired Sir Hector of the imperturbable -man beside him. - -“’Tis the _Seahorse_ brig, y’r honour ... ten guns out o’ Ryde.... Must -ha’ been layin’ hove-to hereabouts in the mist ... waitin’ for us, which -is strange ... strange! But there aren’t a craft anywheres along the -coast can forereach the _True Believer_ on a wind—aye, or goin’ free, -much less yon lubberly brig!” quoth the placid Sharkie, balancing himself -serenely upon the sloping deck. - -“John!” cried Sir Hector, clutching a weather-brace in one hand and -flourishing the other towards the speaker. “This is ma frien’, Sharkie -Nye, a man o’ sound judgment except i’ the doctrine o’ Predestination! -Sharkie man, this is Sir—umph!—John Derwent, wha I ha’ kenned from his -cradle, and moreover, Sharkie—— Losh, man—yon was nearish!” he exclaimed -as a round-shot hummed between their raking masts. - -“Aye, y’r honour, though I’ve ’ad ’em nearer afore now!” nodded Mr. Nye; -“but we’ll be out o’ reach in a bit if none o’ our gear is carried away -or——” A rending crash, a whirr of flying splinters and a gaping rent -appeared in the _True Believer’s_ bulwarks forward. - -“That,” quoth Mr. Nye, viewing the damage with calculating eye, “that -were a bit nearer, sir. Forward there!” he roared suddenly. “Any on ye -hurt?” - -“Nary a soul, Sharkie!” a cheery voice roared back; “us du be layin’ -low-like!” - -“The brig be gettin’ ’er range on us,” continued Mr. Nye, “which may -mak’ it a bit ark’ard for a minute or two, ’specially for the young -’ooman—best take ’er below, sirs.” And away he lurched for a word with -the steersman, while Sir John made his way to her who clung, staring -wide-eyed at their oncoming, relentless pursuer. - -“Rose,” said he, “I will see you below!” - -“Sir,” she answered, “you will no such thing!” - -“There is danger on deck here!” - -“So is there below.” - -“Will you obey me?” - -“Never!” - -“Then I shall carry you.” - -“Then I shall kick!” - -“Egad!” he exclaimed; “I believe you would!” - -“I’ faith, sir,” she nodded, “I vow I should!” - -Here, meeting each other’s glance, they laughed; then he was beside her -and had caught her hand. - -“Rose child, if I begged you to leave the deck——” - -“’Twould be of none avail!” she answered, her eyes very bright. “This is -life!” - -“And in the midst of life we are in death!” he retorted. - -“Then if death come I prefer to die here in the sun and wind.” - -“Ha’ you no fear, child?” - -“Not of death!” - -“Of what, then?” - -“Of myself!” she answered, turning to glance at their pursuer again. - -“Why of yourself?” But ere she could reply he had leapt and dragged -her beneath him to the deck as the guns roared again, followed by a -clamour of shouts and cries forward, a confusion of dismayed shouting -and a great flapping of rent canvas as the _True Believer_, swinging up -into the wind, lay a fair target for the Preventive brig’s gunnery. A -shot furrowed her deck abaft the mainmast, another crashed through her -bulwarks aft and, struck by a flying splinter, Sir Hector staggered and -brought up against the lee-rail grasping at torn and bloody sleeve. - -“Dinna fash ye’sel’, John lad!” he panted, as Sir John leapt to him. -“Toots, man, let be! ’Tis nae mair than a wee scratch—though painfu’ -forbye. But wha’s come tae a’ the lads? Sharkie!” he roared; “Sharkie -man, ye’ll no’ strike tae the de’ils yonder?” - -“Not me, y’r honour,” answered Mr. Nye, signalling to the steersman; -“leastways, not while I’ve a sail as will draw——” - -“An’ will ye let ’em shoot ye tae pieces an’ gi’e ’em nothing in return? -O man, hae ye no arteelery?” - -“Aye, sir, a tidy piece under the tarpaulin yonder. But Lord love ’ee, -sir, to fire agin a King’s ship is treason, piracy, murder, Execution -Dock and damnation——” - -“What o’ that, Sharkie? Wull ye look at me arrm?” - -“I’ll whip my neckerchief round it, y’r honour——” - -“Ye’ll no sic thing till I’ve tried a shot at yon deevils. Haul ye gun -aft, Sharkie; I was an arteelery officer, y’ ken——” - -“No, no, y’r honour; we’ll be on our course again so soon as we’ve rove -new running-gear and——” - -“Hoot, Sharkie—wull ye look at my arrm? An’ see yonder, they’re comin’ -up wi’ us fast ... their next broadside should sink us. Aft wi’ the gun, -Sharkie, and I’ll dae me best tae haud ’em off a while.” - -For a long moment Mr. Nye studied the oncoming brig, chewing placidly at -his quid of tobacco; finally he nodded, albeit unwillingly, whereupon -eager hands hasted to uncover, load and haul the gun aft; and there, -grovelling upon his knees, spattering blood all round him, Sir Hector -trained and sighted the long, deadly piece. - -“A smoothish sea, Sharkie!” he muttered. “’Tis a fair shot ... if my hand -has no’ lost its cunning ... so and so ... a thocht mair eleevation!” - -“And now, when you’m ready, sir,” said Mr. Nye, blowing upon the fuse he -had lighted, “if you’ll stand away I’ll give fire——” - -“You!” exclaimed Sir Hector fiercely. “You, Sharkie? Man, d’ye ken I’m -Hector Lauchlan MacLean o’ Duart? Gi’e’s the match afore I heave ye tae -the fushes!” So saying, he snatched the fuse, blew on it, glanced along -the piece and gave fire. Smoke, flame, a roar that seemed to shake the -_True Believer_ from stem to stern, and then, as the smoke cleared, every -man aboard cheered lustily and long as the brig’s fore-topmast was seen -to sway, totter and plunge over to leeward in flapping ruin. - -“O John!” exclaimed Sir Hector, staggering to the rail. “O Johnnie, am I -no’ ... juist a ... bonny gunner!” And then Sir John, with Sharkie Nye, -ran to catch him as he fell. - -They carried him below, and there, having bared the gash in mighty -forearm, they set about such rough surgery as they might; but to -them, swift footed and authoritative, came one who took over the ugly -business—one with hands far quicker and more capable than their own, and -who, finding all things to her purpose, bade them begone. - -Reaching the deck, they saw the _Seahorse_ brig, hampered by her wrecked -topmast, had brought to; and though her guns still flashed and roared, -their shot did no more harm, for the _True Believer_, her damage -repaired, was foaming upon her way once more. - -“Ecod, sir,” murmured Mr. Nye, rubbing at bristly chin, “but for that -shot ... ’twas touch an’ go wi’ us for a minute, d’ye see! That shot ... -was ... a shot! Aye, a shot as’ll be ’eer’d and talked on all along the -coast ... ’tis for us _True Believers_—all on us—to keep tight mouths or -some on us may swing. That young ’ooman now ... I be a cautious man by -natur’, sir, so what o’ the young ’ooman? Females talk, d’ye see!” - -“I can promise you that she will not,” answered Sir John, stretching -wearied limbs in the grateful sunshine. “You need be under no -apprehension on her account.” - -“And to be sure she’ve a proper masterful, damn-your-eyes way wi’ her, -drown’d me if she ain’t!” - -“Very true, Mr. Nye; you may ha’ noticed she has a chin!” - -“Aye, aye, sir ... but so ’ave I.” - -“Very bristly—like mine own, Mr. Nye, while hers is dimpled yet -determined.” - -“And her carries it like any grand lady!” - -“Exactly what I have thought, Mr. Nye!” - -“Though I don’t set much store by fe-males, sir, being a bachelor, very -determinated, d’ye see!” - -“My own case precisely!” murmured Sir John. Then, with one accord, they -turned to glance back at the _Seahorse_ brig, now fast disappearing in -the haze of a hot, midsummer morning. - - - - -CHAPTER XI - -OF AN ALTRUISTIC SCOT - - -Despite her wounds, the _True Believer_ made a fair crossing, and the day -was still young when Sir John, stumbling up from the dark and noisome -hole Mr. Nye called his “state-room,” drank deep of the sweet morning air -and hasted to the rail, there to lean and gaze ecstatic upon the Sussex -shore. A coast of fair, green slopes, of snowy cliffs, just now all pink -and gold in the early sunshine, with, above and beyond, the blue swell of -the Downs. A coast that has known much of storm and battle since Roman -armour flashed beneath the resistless eagles, and William the Norman -landed on Pevensey Level to march his eager mercenaries against the -war-worn ranks of Saxon Harold. - -And yet it is a gentle coast of white and green and purple distances, -its every rock and headland seeming to beckon the weary, home-returning -traveller, speaking to him of remembered hamlets nestling amid the -green; of familiar roads, tree-shaded, a-wind between flowery banks and -hedgerows; of quiet villages and sleepy, ancient towns backed by the -swelling grandeur of the silent, mysterious Downs. - -The peep of clustered homesteads drowsing in sheltered cove, the majesty -of towering white cliffs soaring from boulder-strewn, foam-washed -foreshore; the wide beaches backed by the grey spires and towers of some -town—these are “home,” and their mere sight like the welcoming grip of -some friendly hand. - -Thus stood Sir John, scanning remembered hamlet and village glad-eyed: -Shoreham and Brighthelmstone, Rottingdean, Newhaven and Seaford, the -snowy cliffs of Cuckmere Bay, with the dim shape of mighty Beachy Head -afar. - -So lost was he in memories conjured up of these well-remembered, boyish -haunts that he started to feel a hand upon his shoulder, and turned to -find Sir Hector beside him; he bore a neatly bandaged arm in a sling -beneath his coat and was smoking the short, clay pipe he affected. - -“How are you now, Hector?” - -“Gey an’ bonny, thanks tae yon Rose. Faith. John, she’s by ordinar’, I’m -thinkin’!” - -“My own idea exactly, Hector——” - -“An’ the hand o’ her, John!” - -“Ah, so you have noticed them also, Hector? So white and shapely ... and -pretty——” - -“Pretty? Hoot awa’, ’tis their gentleness, their quickness——” - -“Such slender fingers, Hector, such pink palms——” - -“Umph-humph!” snorted Sir Hector, and turned to stare landwards. “A -fair prospect, John lad!” quoth he suddenly in his precise English. -“’Tis better than your perfumed salons in Paris, or the gilded pomp and -pageantry of Versailles. Aye, a sweet and homely prospect—though, mind -ye, ’tis no’ tae be compared wi’ Scotland, whateffer.” - -“Why did you leave Scotland, Hector? And how come you, of all men, to be -friends with Mr. Nye and his fellow-smugglers?” - -“Egad, ’tis a long story, John! But, briefly, you must know that chancing -to have the better o’ my good cousin Lauchlan—‘the MacLean’—(o’er a point -o’ strategy, if I mind rightly), I left the MacLean country and the hame -o’ my forefaythers, though my heart was sair waefu’, John, an’ became a -roofless wight—a hameless wanderer!” - -“And all by reason of a quarrel with your cousin, Hector?” - -“Aye, juist that! Ye see, Johnnie, it so happened the man was like tae -dee!” - -“To die, Hector? How so?” - -“Why, the puir gentleman misjudged his distance, and my Andrew here took -him a ding i’ the wame, Johnnie.” - -“Aha, a duel, was it? When was this, Hector?” - -“Twa-three years aboot, lad. So, bein’ a lone man and weary wi’ my -wandering, y’ ken, I minded you, Johnnie, an’ cam’ Sussex-wards a-seekin’ -ye. But, learnin’ ye were leevin’ in Parus an’ much too fine a gentleman -for Sussex, I bought me a wee bit hoosie ower Alfriston way—an’ there I’m -leevin’ yet, God be thankit.” - -“Why, then, Hector, since I intend living at High Dering henceforth, you -must live there too. You shall have your old rooms in the north wing ... -your study, Hector, with so few books and so very many weapons ... ’twas -there you gave me my first lesson in fencing. Do you remember?” - -“Aye, I do, lad. And you were ower fond o’ the ‘point’ even then, John. -But as for comin’ back yonder to live—whisht, laddie! Alfriston suits me -fine, an’ ma bit hoosie is nane sae bad for a lonely man, y’ ken!” - -“Tush!” exclaimed Sir John, a trifle pettishly. “High Dering won’t seem -home without you. And if you are so lonely——” - -“Why, I’m no’ juist solitary, John lad. I hae my company for a crack now -an’ then and to smoke a pipe wi’ of an evening; there’s Geordie Potter -an’ Peter Bunkle, an’ Joe Pursglove an’ Joe Muddle, an’ ane or two mair. -So y’ see I’m no’ juist solitary.” - -“But you live alone, I suppose?” - -“Aye, I dae that—leastways, there’s Wully Tamson sleeps i’ my kitchen -on account o’ his wife when he’s fu’—which is frequent.... But, -Johnnie”—here Sir Hector paused to stare very hard at his short clay -pipe—“I’ve lately had an idea—very lately! I’ve juist the noo come tae -a fixed determination.... ’Tis like enough I shall be a lonely man nae -longer, y’ ken.” - -“’S death, Hector man, you never think of marrying?” - -“Marryin’—me? Losh, man, dae I look like it? Dinna be sic a fule! I’m -fair amazed at ye! No, John,” continued Sir Hector, his English suddenly -precise, “I have, upon due consideration, determined to adopt the girl -Rose——” - -“Aha!” exclaimed Sir John, with sudden laugh, but meeting Sir Hector’s -glare of angered amazement, contrived to regain his gravity. “So you have -determined to ... to adopt my Rose child, have you, Hector?” - -“I hae that!” - -“Have you put the matter to her?” - -“I hae so!” - -“And what said she?” - -“The puir, preety soul fair turned her back an’ weepit, John.” - -“Aha!” exclaimed Sir John again. “Hum! Wept, did she, Hector?” - -“She did that!” - -“And you saw her tears down-distilling all crystalline woe, Hector?” - -“She had her back tae me, I’m tellin’ ye!” - -“Well, did she embrace your offer in humble, grateful thankfulness?” - -“She’s tae gi’e me her answer when she’s conseedered the matter.” - -“So, Hector, you offer her the comfort and shelter of a home, the secure -protection of your care ... merely because she tended the hurt in your -arm?” - -Sir Hector seemed to find some difficulty with the drawing of his pipe; -he examined it, tapped it, grew red in the face blowing down it, and -finally, giving it up in despair, spoke. - -“John, ye’ve a shrewd eye for a bonny lass. I’ll no’ deny she’s an unco’ -handsome creature. But, wha’s better, lad, she’s a gude lass, sweet an’ -pure, John ... and here’s mysel’, an auld sojer as kens little o’ women -except—t’other sort; here’s me, John, wad keep her gude and pure as she -is. Gin she’ll but trust tae my care, here’s me will shield her from -onything and onybody, aye, even from—from——” - -“Me, Hector?” - -“Aye—juist yersel’, John.” - -“Ha!” sighed Sir John, and turned to stare at the shore again, its sandy -bays and snowy cliffs much nearer now, while Sir Hector, eyeing him -a little askance, began to worry at his pipe again. And then she who -was the subject of their talk stepped out upon deck and stood gazing -shorewards beneath her hand. - -“You are quite sure, then, that I mean her evil?” inquired Sir John -softly, his glance upon her unconscious form. - -“Why, Jock ... why, Jock lad, ... ye see ... there’s y’r reputation!” - -“My reputation!” he repeated. “Ever and always my reputation. Aye, to -be sure, Hector, to be sure—my reputation dogs me and will do all my -days.... I am no fit companion for Innocence; my reputation forbids.... -It goes beside me like a shadow, and yet for the moment I had forgot -it. Rose!” he called suddenly. “Rose child, pray come hither!” Mutely -obedient she came and stood, glancing quick-eyed from one to the other. -“Rose,” he continued, “my old and most honoured friend, Sir Hector -MacLean, tells me he hath offered you the shelter of a father’s care?” - -“Yes, your honour.” - -“I have known and loved Sir Hector from my earliest years, and tell you -that in him you would find the most honourable, kindest, most generous -friend and guardian in all this big world——” - -“Hoot, John lad!” exclaimed Sir Hector. “Ha’ done; ye fair mak’ me -blush!” And away he strode, incontinent. - -“Knowing you as I do, child,” continued Sir John, his keen gaze upon her -down-bent face, “I fear that Sir Hector’s so altruistic offer may seem to -you a matter for laughter——” - -“Laughter?” she repeated in hot anger. “Oh, indeed, sir! Be this another -o’ your honour’s clever guesses?” - -“And so, Rose,” he went on placidly, “if you must laugh indeed, laugh -behind his back; do not let him see, for ’twould wound him deeply——” - -“And d’ye think I don’t know it!” she exclaimed furiously. “Do you think -I don’t see in him all that is lacking in yourself, Sir John Dering? -Simplicity, unselfishness, a noble innocence—the child in the man, -thinking no evil. And think you I shall laugh at such? Oh, by heaven, I -scorn you for so thinking——” - -“And by heaven, child, you swear as trippingly as any fine lady——” - -“Indeed, sir, my mistress is a pretty swearer, I’ve heard say!” - -“Howbeit, Rose, when you shall refuse Sir Hector’s generous and most -ridiculous offer, as you surely will——” - -“Oh, shall I, sir?” - -“Beyond doubt!” - -“You are sure, sir?” - -“Positive!” - -“And pray why is your honour so very certain?” - -“Because you could never mother an old man in a cottage—or any other -man, for that matter. The Spirit of Motherliness which is the true glory -of woman is not within you, Rose, or ... perchance it sleepeth. Who can -imagine you bringing a man his slippers, lighting his pipe, scheming out -and cooking some dish for the joy of seeing him eat, making his comfort -your happiness? Not I! For these are but everyday, small duties—very -humble things in themselves which yet, in the sum, make up that divine -Spirit of Motherhood, that self-sacrificing, patient, unwearying, humble -service that lifteth woman very nigh the angels.” - -“Faith, sir,” she exclaimed contemptuously, “you talk finer than any -parson and sound more sanctimonious than any good book that ever sent me -to sleep! And remembering your honour’s reputation, what d’you know of -angels, pray?” - -“Naught i’ the world, child! Yet even I have my dreams. Now as to -yourself——” - -“Oh, I’m all body an’ no soul!” she exclaimed bitterly. - -“You have a fine, shapely body, girl——” - -“Oh, your honour flatters me!” - -“But your soul, Rose, your soul is—let us say asleep, and its place -usurped by a wild spirit a-tiptoe for adventure, heedless of restraint, -passionate, unreasoning and apt to plunge you into all manner o’ follies -and dangers——” - -“And doth all this go to prove I shall refuse Sir Hector’s kind offer?” - -“And when you do, child, let your refusal be gentle; put on for him your -tenderest air, act for him your sweetest, most innocent self——” - -“Oh, thank’ee kindly, Sir John Dering, your honour!” she broke out -fiercely. “But when I give him my answer I shall speak, and act, and -think, and look exactly how I please!” - -He was regarding my lady’s retreating back somewhat wistfully when Sir -Hector joined him. - -“What hae ye done t’ offend th’ lassie, John?” he demanded. - -“I have been making up her mind to accept your offer, Hector.” - -“Eh—eh? You have, ye say, John—you?” - -“Myself, Hector! And yet, have I done right to influence the child, I -wonder? Are you sufficiently old and reverend with years to become the -guardian of a young and handsome girl?” - -“Old enough!” exclaimed Sir Hector indignantly. “Losh, man, am I no’ a -person full o’ years ... aye, and an elder o’ the kirk, forbye? Am I no’ -a puir auld sojer-man wi’ ane fut i’ the grave? Am I no’?” - -“Faith and indeed, Hector, you are the youngest old man in Christendom.” - -“John, juist what are ye suggestin’?” - -“Well, among other things, that you be duly prepared to eat more than is -good for you, to have your slippers brought to you o’ nights, your pipe -lighted, and, in fine, to be mothered morning, noon and night.” - -“Whisht, Johnnie man, ye’re talkin’ wild-like, I’m thinkin’, and——” - -“Axing y’r pardons, honours both,” said Captain Sharkie Nye, stepping -forward at this juncture to knuckle a bristly eyebrow at each in turn and -jerk a thumb shorewards, “but yonder lays Noohaven, an’ the ‘Anchor’ be -a fair, good inn. Y’ see, sirs, George Potter ain’t signalled us, which -do mean as us must stand off an’ on till it be dark. So if it be arl the -same to ye, sirs, we’ll set ye ashore so soon as you be ready.” - -Sir Hector assenting forthwith, the boat was got alongside, and they -prepared to descend. - -“Lord love us, Sir ’Ector, your honour!” exclaimed Captain Nye as they -shook hands, “’twas a woundy good shot o’ yourn, a shot as will be minded -an’ talked on fur many a day, aye—long arter we be dry bones, I reckon. -’Tidn’t often a King’s ship be ’andled so rough, an’ ’tis for arl on -us to keep tight mouths, I reckon. I’ll be into Alfriston one o’ these -nights in the dark o’ the moon to smoke a pipe wi’ your honour, ’cording -to custom.” - -And so, having got into the pitching boat with no small difficulty, -they were rowed ashore (discreetly outside the harbour), and were soon -tramping up the slope of pebbly beach, beyond which lay the town. -Presently they paused, as by mutual consent, and glanced back to see the -boat hauled aboard the lugger, whose sails were smartly trimmed, and -away foamed the _True Believer_ seawards, with Captain Sharkie Nye waving -his red cap to them from her rail. - -“And now,” sighed Sir John, “as regards that promised herring——” - -“Herring!” snorted Sir Hector. “My puir lass—are ye no’ hungry—famishing?” - -“Too hungry to tell, sir!” she answered. - -“After all, Hector,” quoth Sir John, “though undoubtedly nourishing, -perhaps a herring is not——” - -“Tae the de’il wi’ y’r herrin’, man! Tam Levitt at the ‘Anchor’ yonder -hath ay a ham tae cut at, wi’ a prime roast o’ beef ... by Andrew, the -thocht nigh unmans me! Gi’e’s y’r hand, Rose, an’ let’s rin for ’t!” -And off they raced forthwith, until my lady checked and bade Sir Hector -“remember his poor arm!” - -“And your hoary age, Hector!” added Sir John. - - - - -CHAPTER XII - -DESCRIBETH THE DUPLICITY OF INNOCENCE - - -Mr. Thomas Levitt, the landlord, received them beaming hearty welcome, -and with many nods and winks anent “true-believers” one and all; and -himself conducted them upstairs where, after sundry ablutions, they sat -down to viands that amply justified Sir Hector’s prophecy. And a very -excellent, though somewhat silent, meal they made of it; even when hunger -was appeased they spoke little—Sir Hector because he was comfortably -drowsy, my lady because she was far too busy scheming out her next -course of procedure, and Sir John because he was content to study her -half-averted face as she sat, staring out of the open lattice. Thus he -noted how her gaze turned suddenly from the sunny landscape without to -her cloak, where it hung across an adjacent chair-back, and thence once -more to the window, almost furtively, while her foot began to tap with -restless impatience. - -At last, Sir Hector chancing to snore gently, my lady started, glanced -swiftly from the sleeper to Sir John and, meeting his whimsical glance, -flushed suddenly and grew immediately angry in consequence. - -“Well, sir,” she demanded, frowning. - -“I rejoice to know it, my Rose, for I——” - -“I am not ‘your’ Rose!” she retorted petulantly, whereat he smiled -gently. Quoth he: - -“Nay, Rose, who knows what the future may disclose? Shy Rose, sly Rose, -though thou seek’st to fly, Rose——” - -“To fly?” she repeated, with startled look. “What—what do you mean?” - -“—Know, Rose, O Rose, love doth with thee go, Rose.” - -“Love, Sir John?” she questioned mockingly. “Indeed, and whose? And -whither doth it go, pray?” - -“Here and there, everywhere, this I vow to thee and swear—‘For though -thou flee, Rose, learn of me, Rose—what is to be will surely be, Rose——’” - -“Oh, ha’ done with your silly rhymes!” she cried in angry impatience. - -“O Petulance!” he sighed reproachfully. “Why must you interrupt the -prophetic muse?” - -“Prophetic?” she exclaimed scornfully. “Is this another o’ your -marvellous guesses?” - -“Even so, Rose. And here’s yet another! Regarding Sir Hector, his offer, -‘to be or not to be’—your mind is made up. Here, then, steal I away -leaving you to wake and tell him aye or no.” Saying which, Sir John -arose, tiptoed from the chamber with elaborate care and closed the door -softly behind him before she could find a suitable retort. - -It was perhaps some half-hour later that Sir Hector found him busied -inditing a letter; and Sir Hector’s wig was very much askew and his eyes -heavy with sleep. - -“Whaur is she, John?” he inquired, staring about the room. “Whaur’s the -lassie Rose?” - -“’Faith,” answered Sir John, glancing up from his writing, “she should be -safe enough. I left her with you.” - -“An’ me asleep! I waked but the noo an’ ne’er a sign o’ her. Whaur is -she, John?” - -“I don’t know.” - -“Man, I’ve sought all o’er the inn, aye, an’ the stables too, an’ never a -glimpse o’ her——” - -“Strange!” mused Sir John, brushing chin with the feather of his pen. -“Odd ... and yet quite comprehensible——” - -“Ha, d’ye think so? Well, I ask ye whaur’s the lass?” - -“And I answer that I do not know.” - -“John, is it the truth ye’re tellin’ me?” Sir John laid down his pen and -stared. “Well, can ye no’ speak? Whaur is she? What hae ye done wi’ her?” - -“Hector,” answered Sir John softly, “I am not in the habit of lying, nor -of permitting my word to be doubted by any man——” - -“Aye, but I’m no’ juist ‘ony man’—I’m Hector Lauchlan MacLean o’ Duart! -Aye, an’ I mind o’er weel y’r damnable reputation!” - -“My reputation again—aye, to be sure!” murmured Sir John. “My reputation -discredits me still, it seems—even with you!” - -“An’ why for no’? I’ve seen much o’ life—plenty evil an’ little good! -I’ve kenned men honourably born like ye’sel’ as hae lied—aye, tae their -best frien’, an’ a’ tae come at a wumman!” - -“And you believe that I am lying?” - -“Aye, I dae that!” cried Sir Hector in sudden fury, clapping hand to -sword. - -Sir John rose. - -“So you—you give me the lie?” he demanded, grim-lipped. - -“In y’r teeth, sir—in y’r teeth!” cried Sir Hector. “I believe that ye’ve -stolen the puir innocent lass awa’ for y’r ain base purposes!” And now, -despite wounded arm, out flashed his ponderous blade, and with point -advanced he stepped forward fierce and threatening; and so steel met -steel. Then Sir John let fall his sword. - -“My father’s friend and comrade ... God forbid!” quoth he. “Sir Hector, -if you judge me rogue so vile—strike, man, and have done!” For a long -moment Sir Hector stood irresolute, his great sword quivering in -fierce-griping hand. - -“Ye winna fecht?” he questioned hoarsely at last. - -“Never with you, Hector.” - -“An’ ye tell me ye’ve no’ hidden the lassie?” - -“I have not!” - -“An’ that you’ve no’ driven her awa’ wi’ y’r shameful offers?” - -“Most certainly not!” - -“An’ ye’ve had naething whateffer tae dae wi’ her disappearance?” - -“Nothing!” - -“Then—the guid God forgi’e ye—read that, an’ ken ye’sel’ for the false -leear y’ are!” So saying, Sir Hector slapped down an open letter on the -table, which, after a momentary hesitation, Sir John took up; and read as -follows: - - “_To the nobel and generous Sir Hector._ - - “HONORED SUR,—The memry of your extream and unselfish kindnes - will remane ever sweet to pore me that must leve you awhile, - perchance to return. If not arsk Sir John Dering the reason - he may gess being so clever and perchance explane all things - wherefore and why, Sir, I am your honor’s grateful - - “ROSE. - - “Are all wicked men so clever as wicked Sir John Dering I - wonder.” - -“An’ now will ye fecht?” cried Sir Hector. - -“No!” answered Sir John, flicking the letter to the floor. “Never with -you, Hector!” - -“Why, then—I’m done wi’ ye!” roared Sir Hector, and, turning his back, -stamped from the room, closing the door after him with a reverberating -bang. - -Left alone, Sir John reached for his sword, sheathed it, and, picking -up the letter, read it through a second time; and conning it over thus -he frowned a little, and his chin seemed a trifle more prominent than -usual. He was standing lost in thought when, hearing a clatter of hoofs -in the yard, he glanced through the window to behold Sir Hector mount -and ride away, his weatherbeaten hat cocked at a ferocious angle. Slowly -and carefully Sir John folded up the letter and thrust it into a leathern -wallet to keep company with a curl of black and glossy hair. Then he rang -and ordered a horse in his turn. - -“Pray, Mr. Levitt,” he inquired, “how many posting-inns are there in this -town?” - -“Only two, sir; there be the ‘Lion’ an’ there be the ‘Wheatsheaf,’ both -i’ the High Street, your honour.” - -So in due season, the saddle-horse being at the door, Sir John mounted, -bade Mr. Levitt a cheery “good-bye” and rode along the High Street. -Inquiring at the ‘Lion,’ he learned of an ostler the information he -sought, to wit: “That a young ’ooman—or lady—had ordered their fastest -chaise an’ druv’ away for Lon’on ’bout a hour ago!” Sir John thanked -his informant, bestowed on him a crown and rode upon his way, smiling a -little grimly. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - -CONCERNING THE ADVENT OF JOHN DERWENT - - -Sir John, who, it would seem, never did things by halves, had within -the week transformed that exquisite work of art, known at Paris and -Versailles as Sir John Dering, into a very ordinary-looking Mr. Derwent. -In place of flowing peruke, embroidered coat and perfumed silks and -laces, Mr. Derwent wore a small, unpowdered scratch-wig and a sober, -snuff-coloured suit extremely unpretentious, and instead of gold-hilted -small-sword, carried a serviceable holly-stick. Indeed, Mr. Derwent’s -whole appearance was so eminently unnoticeable and his bearing so -ordinary that he might have been termed “insignificant,” except perhaps -for a certain tilt of his chin and the brilliance of his long-lashed eyes. - -It was a hot, languorous afternoon, birds chirped drowsily, butterflies -hovered, and Sir John, or rather Mr. Derwent, seated upon the lofty -summit of Firle Beacon, breathed an air fresh from the sea yet fragrant -of the wild thyme of the Downs, and hearkened to the larks that soared -high above and all around him, filling that same air with their joyous, -trilling music: insomuch that he grew joyous also, since this was England -and home. Beneath him the majestic Beacon swept down to the wide vale -below in great, billowing, green curves of sweet, springy turf where -a myriad flowers bloomed; away to the south rose the mighty shape of -Windover, and between, a far-stretching vale where homestead and hamlet -nestled amid trees that bosomed time-worn tower and ancient spire, backed -by shady copse, denser wood and the dark, far-flung forest of Battle; a -fair and wide prospect where brooks sparkled, a winding river gleamed -and white roads ran between shady hedgerows and flowery banks; a vast -expanse where the unwearied gaze might rove from distant Lewes away to -Pevensey Level and a haze that was the sea. - -So lost was Sir John in the ever-changing wonder of the scene that he -started suddenly, beholding one who had approached unheard upon the -velvet ling, a man who also surveyed the widespread landscape with eyes -of awed delight. A man, this, of no great size yet of powerful build, -a man in weather-stained coat, open-kneed breeches and rough shoes and -stockings, yet who wore these garments with an unconscious ease, while -the face beneath shapeless hat was well-featured and arresting; indeed, -there was about his whole person an air of breeding and refinement -that Sir John was quick to heed: in one hand he bore a long-barrelled -musket, in the other a newly slain rabbit and upon his broad back a small -colour-box. - -“A glorious prospect, sir!” quoth Sir John. - -“Indeed!” nodded the stranger, his gaze still upon the distance. “’Tis a -sight to fill a man with wonder, a country to leave that a man may come -back to it, to paint because it is so unpaintable ... so simple that it -awes a man with its mystery ... a country to live in and die in ... ’tis -the Down-country, sir!” - -“You know it well, I perceive, sir.” - -“Aye,” answered the stranger, seating himself upon the grass. “I know -every ring, barrow and tumulus far as you can see—and farther. I have -fished every bend o’ yon river and have painted it all so often that I -begin to know that I never shall paint it ... no hand ever will! Though, -to be sure, I have come nigh doing so once or twice! But what brush can -suggest all the sublime majesty of these everlasting hills, yon sweep of -valley? So when I’m tempted to try again, I generally bring Brown Bess -here that my day be not wholly in vain.” And he patted the long weapon -across his knees. - -“Do you always shoot conies with a musket, sir?” - -“Always!” nodded the painter, with sudden smile. “’Tis a little -irregular, mayhap, but ’tis more sport to myself and fairer to the cony. -If I miss, which is seldom, my cony is unharmed; when I hit, which I -generally do, my cony is swiftly and very completely dead.... You are a -stranger hereabouts, I think, sir?” - -“Extremely!” answered Sir John. - -“Aye, to be sure,” nodded the painter, smiling grimly. “Folk in these -parts don’t take kindly to new faces——” - -“Being all staunch believers in—free trade.... ‘True-believers’?” -suggested Sir John. - -“Aha, you’ve heard o’ that elusive craft, then?” inquired the painter, -with a keen glance. - -“And sailed aboard her a week ago!” nodded Sir John. - -“What—the trip they crippled the _Seahorse_? Were this known ’twould make -you at home wi’ all the Down folk hereabouts. For, egad, sir, we’re all -smugglers, more or less, and are, on the whole, a very orderly, peaceable -community—with the exception of that damned scoundrel, my Lord Sayle, -whose life is a scandal in every way.” - -“I’ve heard of him, sir; he is said to be a dangerous fellow—an -inveterate duellist?” said Sir John. - -“Aye, as notorious as Dering of Dering, whose empty house stands in -the valley yonder. ’Twould be a blessing to the world in general if -these two fine gentlemen could meet and exterminate each other; they -have cumbered the earth too long—especially my Lord Sayle, one o’ your -merciless rake-hells ... a very masterful libertine of whom I’ve heard -such shameful tales—faugh!” and the painter spat in sheer disgust. - -“And is my lord a smuggler also?” - -“Why, at first he winked at ‘the trade’ and took many a bale and cask as -a bribe, but later he demanded a percentage on every cargo, and, being -refused, promptly ratted and set the law in motion, with the result that -there’s been wild doings hereabouts o’ late and may be wilder yet. The -excise officers will find theirs a hard task, for, as I say, we’re all -‘in it’ more or less. I’ve drank many a glass of right Nantzy, and even -Parson Hartop, godly soul, has smoked tobacco that hath paid no more duty -than the laces on my daughter’s petticoat. Are ye travelling far, sir?” - -“To High Dering.” - -“Ah, ’tis a village over yonder!” said the painter, with a jerk of his -head. “’Tis a village, sir, that labours under a blight, a disease, a -very effective curse.” - -“Indeed!” exclaimed Sir John, a little startled. - -“Yes, sir. The name of this particular disease is Dering—Sir John Dering.” - -“Ah,” sighed Sir John, “I have heard of him also——” - -“And little to his good, I’ll warrant!” quoth the painter. “Dering of -Dering is the biggest landlord in these parts—and the worst.” - -“How so, sir?” - -“Owning so much land, he consequently owes a duty to the county and to -his tenants—a debt he hath never paid and never will, being a poor fool, -sir, a miserable wretch who takes and gives nothing, who passes his life -in riot and debauchery shut up in Paris salons when he might be walking -these hills a free man, honoured by his tenantry.... Are you staying long -hereabouts?” - -“Yes, sir,” answered Sir John. “And my name is Derwent.” - -“Then, Mr. Derwent, should you find yourself Alfriston way, come and -see us. My daughter shall brew you a dish of such tea as you seldom -drank before and that never passed the excise ... and I’ve some French -brandy——We will smoke a friendly pipe and talk, sir, for to talk is to be -alive!” So saying, the painter got lightly to his feet and stood a moment -to survey the widespread prospect. - -“Look around you!” quoth he. “In the brooding silence of these -immemorial hills the long-forgotten dead may find voices to speak of -vanished peoples whiles here we stand, you and I, alive for a little -space, yet soon to pass and vanish, as they. How glorious, then, whiles -we have life, to worship the Infinite God within and around us, here amid -these fragrant solitudes ... and to poach an occasional rabbit!” saying -which, the painter laughed, shouldered his musket and strode off, leaving -Sir John to pursue his solitary and pensive way, filled with a strange -new sense of responsibility, until, having descended the Beacon, he -reached a stile and, seated thereon, fell to profound meditation. - -Across undulating park, shaded by ancient trees, rose the stately pile of -Dering Manor, his home; in the valley hard by, sheltered beneath lofty -Firle, nestled Dering village; all around him, far as eye could see, the -land was his: thus, as he surveyed this goodly heritage, his sense of -responsibility grew, a feeling unknown until now. - -From these reflections he was suddenly aroused by feeling a sharp prod in -the back, and, glancing sharply around, beheld an old man who peered up -at him from under a well-brushed, wide-eaved hat and poked at him with a -knotted stick; a small, wrinkled, rosy-cheeked, exquisitely neat old man -in spotless frock and highly polished boots, and who now addressed him in -querulous tones, though his bright eyes held a lurking twinkle. - -“Lord, young master, lordy-lord!” he quavered; “there ’ee du set s’ quiet -an’ still as Peter Bunkle’s ’og as was killed day afore yesterday ’s ever -was, that ’ee du!” - -“I was thinking,” answered Sir John, almost apologetically. - -“Well, I be thinkin’ tu ... I be thinkin’ ’tis toime ’ee comed off’n -stile an’ mak’ way fur a old, ancient man as wur a-buryin’ folk older’n -’ee afore ’ee was born, I reckon.” - -Down got Sir John forthwith and, seeing the old man so feeble, reached -out a hand in aid, whereupon the ancient man swore at him, though a -little breathlessly by reason of his exertions as he climbed. - -“Dang’ee—lemme be!” he gasped. “Du ’ee think as oi caan’t cloimb a little -bit of a stoile as I’ve clumb, man an’ bye, for seventy year? Lemme -be—an’ dang’ee twoice!” Gasping these words and with infinite exertions -the old man mounted the stile, seated himself on the top bar in Sir -John’s place and, mopping wrinkled brow with the end of a newly washed -and ironed neckerchief of vivid hue, nodded at Sir John in very fierce -and determined fashion. “Look’ee naow,” he panted. “I’ve set ’ere on -this yer stoile fur six-and-sixty year—ah, p’r’aps longer—every sunny -arternoon, off an’ on, and ’ere I be a-goin’ to set ’cording to custom, -so oi be—an’ dang you an’ arl! An’ what do ’ee say naow?” - -“That you are very welcome,” smiled Sir John. “I hope you live to sit -there for many a long day; you look hale and hearty——” - -“Wot—me?” croaked the old man fiercely. “Me ’ale an’ ’earty! Lordy-lord, -young man, ’ee must be a gert fule not t’see as oi du be waastin’ away -an’ perishin’ wi’ a disease no doctor nor ’poth’cary can cure. There be -’poth’cary Mayfield, over tu Lewes, sez tu me: ‘’Osea Dumbrell,’ ’e sez, -‘if I wuz tu give ’ee arl th’ drugs in my shop they wouldn’t do ’ee no -manner o’ good!’ ’e sez. An’ no wonder, for my disease bean’t no ordinary -disease—no! My disease, young man, be a musket-ball in my in’ards as -won’t come out no-’ow!” - -“A musket-ball!” exclaimed Sir John, staring. - -“Ah—in me in’ards!” nodded the old man triumphantly; “as won’t come out! -An’ ’twixt you an’ me, a preventive bullet it were. Ketched me ’ere -’twixt wind an’ watter, it did! Six-an’-fifty years ago come Martinmas, -an’ brings up agin me backbone wi’ a crack as nigh deafened me; ah, it be -gert wonder as it didn’t kill oi stone-dead!” - -“Indeed, yes!” murmured Sir John. - -“An’ theer it du bide ever since, young man. I can feel it! Whens’ever -oi walks tu fast or coughs a spell, that theer old musket-ball goes -a-rollin’ an’ a-rattlin’ about in me pore old in’ards summat crool, -lordy-lord! Las’ toime I seed Doctor Blake, t’ surgeon, about ’un, ’e -shook ’is ’ead solemn-loike: ‘You’m a-goin’ t’ die, ’Osea Dumbrell,’ ’e -sez. ‘Aye,’ I sez, ‘so be you, doctor, but as fur oi—when?’ ‘When ye du,’ -’e sez, ‘’twill be mortal sudden!’ ’e sez. That wur years an’ years ago, -an’ ’ere be I alive an’ kickin’.... Doan’t seem right some’ow, fur doctor -be mortal knowin’. But I doan’t look much loike dyin’, du I? - -“No, indeed!” answered Sir John. “And you are surely the neatest, -smartest——” - -“That’ll du—that’ll du!” croaked the ancient man angrily. “’Tidn’t my -fault! Don’t ’ee go a-blamin’ of oi—blame me granddarter Ann! Her du -be for ever a-washin’ an’ a-breshin’ an’ a-cleanin’ o’ me, till it be -gert wonder ’er don’t scrub me into me grave! Combed all th’ ’air off’n -me ’ead, she ’ave, an’ now combin’ out arl me whiskers—what be left of -’em! ’Tidn’t respectful—no! ’Ef ’ee du get dirty,’ ’er sez tu me, ‘no -baccy!’ ’er sez—a crool ’ard creeter be me granddarter Ann! Look at me -boots, so bright an’ shinin’—I dassent go a-nigh a bit o’ mud! An’ I -loike mud—leastways a bit o’ mud don’t nowise ’arm nobody, an’ when it be -forbid I could waller in it, j’yful—ah, an’ I will one o’ these days an’ -dang arl! A crool, flinty-’earted, brimstone witch be my granddart——” - -“Granfer!” called a soft voice at no great distance. “Granfer!” - -“By goles!” ejaculated the ancient; and skipping down from the stile -with surprising agility, he was in the act of brushing imaginary dust -from his immaculate smock-frock when round a bend in the lane there -appeared a shapely young woman who, coming thus unexpectedly upon Sir -John, blushed very prettily and dropped him a curtsy, then turned to -glance at one standing immediately behind her, a tall, square-shouldered, -powerful-looking fellow who, meeting Sir John’s quick, bright glance, -flushed also, from square chin to the curls of very neat wig that showed -beneath neat hat, and, flushing, bowed, though remarkably stiff in the -back about it. - -“Come, Granfer,” said the girl, “it be toime ye took your egg-an’-milk!” - -“Cruel and flinty-hearted?” murmured Sir John reproachfully. “O Mr. -Dumbrell!” - -“Hesh-hesh!” whispered the ancient fiercely. - -“Are ye catchin’ cold, Granfer deary?” - -“Brimstone witch? O Mr. Dumbrell!” - -“Who be the man ahint ye, Nan?” demanded the old man, pointing with his -stick. - -“Only the gentleman as took my part’s marnin’ agin Mr. Sturton, Granfer.” - -“Sturton!” snarled the ancient, flourishing stick in tremulous hand. -“Sturton—dang ’im! Ef I ketch ’im tryin’ t’ kiss ’ee, lass, I’ll break -’is ’ead for ’im so old as I be—aye, I will, an’ ’e can turn us out o’ -th’ ow’d cottage arter if ’e loikes—dang ’im! Doan’t ’ee forget pore Mary -Beal as drownded ’erself las’ year arl along o’ Sturton——” - -“There, there, Granfer, you be gettin’ arl of a shake! That’ll du now, -that’ll du or—no puddin’ fur your supper, mind that.” - -“Arl right, lass, arl right! Only when I du think o’ that Sturton——” - -“Then don’t ’ee, Granfer, or not a scrinch o’ sugar or nutmeg in y’r -egg-an’-milk an’ nary a spot o’ rum. So be a good lad an’ come ’long o’ -me!” - -“Well, Robert,” quoth Sir John, seating himself on the stile again so -soon as they were alone, “my letter reached you in time, then?” - -“And I’m here in conse-quence, sir!” - -“What is all this about Sturton?” - -Ex-Corporal Robert shifted his right foot slightly, and raising stiff -arm, coughed deprecatingly behind a discreet hand. - -“Sir,” he answered, “I regret to be obleeged to inform your honour that -I opened hostilities this morning without your honour’s orders, feeling -myself obligated thereto by reason of a young fe-male——” - -“I suggest ‘maid,’ Robert.” - -“Maid, your honour, which young female crying out——” - -“Damsel, Robert.” - -“Damsel, your honour ... crying out, sir, I observed said young fe——” - -“Nymph, Robert.” - -“Yes, sir. I ob-served same a-struggling with Mr. Sturton. Whereupon, -your honour, judging the ser-cumstances called for indi-vidual action, I -opened hos-tilities forthwith.” - -“Did Mr. Sturton receive any—injuries, Robert?” - -“Only super-facially, sir. His right ogle, your honour; otherwise he -retreated in fairly good order, sir.” - -“Whiles you comforted the distressed damsel, Bob?” - -“I did my endeavour, sir,” answered the ex-corporal, imperturbable as -ever. - -“Extreme commendable in you, Robert, for hitherto you have not been -precisely a ‘squire o’ dames.’” - -“Heretofore, sir, I have preferred horses.” - -“And egad,” sighed Sir John wistfully, “’twould almost seem you were -the wiser, Bob! For though horses may balk they cannot talk, they may -break your neck but they cannot break your heart.... ’S life, Bob, ’tis -subject suggestive for a lampoon on the Sex!... ‘The Jade Equine and -Feminine,’ or ‘The Horse the Nobler Animal.’ ... It promiseth, Robert, it -promiseth!... Hum! Though horses may balk, women will talk; break your -necks, falsest sex. Though horses unseat ye they cannot ill-treat ye. -What though they be glandered no fame ha’ they slandered. Though horses -go lame they never defame. Yes, it promiseth exceeding well!” and out -came Sir John’s memorandum. And after he had been thus busied for some -minutes, Robert the Imperturbable spoke: - -“Pray what are your honour’s orders?” - -“Orders?” repeated Sir John, glancing up a little vacantly. “Though they -be spavined ... spavined? ’Twon’t do—’tis a devilish awkward word—eh, -Bob?” - -“Yes, sir ... and your orders?” - -“Aye, to be sure,” sighed Sir John, “you will pursue every inquiry and -research in regard to Mr. James Sturton ... and inquire for me at the -‘Dering Arms’ about six o’clock this evening.” - -“As Mr. Derwent, your honour?” - -“As Mr. Derwent. And, by the way, Bob ... concerning the granddaughter of -our ancient Mr. Dumbrell—her name is Ann, I think?” - -“So I am give to understand, sir.” - -“She is a fine, handsome creature, Robert?” - -“Yes, your honour.” - -“With a neat foot and a low, sweet voice.” - -“Yes, your honour.” - -“Some sage philosopher hath it, Bob, that ‘a pretty foot is the one -element of beauty that defieth Time,’ but I, who pretend to some little -discernment in such matters, incline to the belief that a low, soft-sweet -voice may endure even longer.” - -“Indeed, your honour?” - -“Remembering which ... and Mr. Sturton’s apparently unwelcome attentions, -I think ’twere as well you should keep an eye on old Mr. Dumbrell’s -granddaughter, Robert.” - -“Very good, sir!” answered the ex-corporal, and with a movement that was -something between bow and salute, he wheeled and strode away, leaving Sir -John, perched upon the stile, hard at work upon his lampoon. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - -HOW THE MAN OF SENTIMENT SENTIMENTALISED IN A DITCH - - -He was not to remain long undisturbed, it seemed, for presently upon the -stilly air was the faint, regular tapping of a stick that drew gradually -nearer, and glancing up he saw an old woman approaching, one who trudged -sturdily with the aid of a formidable staff and bore a large wooden -basket on her arm; a tall old creature with a great jut of nose and -chin and fierce bright eyes that glittered beneath thick brows, whose -jetty-black contrasted very strangely with her snow-white hair. But just -now these fierce old eyes were dimmed with tears, and more than once -she sniffed loud and dolorously; perceiving which and noting how she -laboured with the heavy-laden basket, Sir John pocketed his tablets and -rose. But, quite lost in her grief, the old creature paused to sob and -sniff and wipe away her tears with a corner of her shawl, in the doing -of which she let fall her basket, scattering its contents broadcast in -the dust. At this calamity she wailed distressfully, and was in the act -of bending her old joints to collect her property when she was aware of -one who did this for her, a slender, very nimble young man, at sight of -whom she forgot her troubles a while, watching him in mute surprise, yet -quick to heed the white delicacy of these hands as they darted here and -there collecting the bundles of herbs and simples with the other more -homely vegetables that lay so widely scattered. Thus Sir John, happening -to glance up as he stooped for a large cabbage, met the fixed scrutiny of -a pair of black eyes, so fierce and keenly direct beneath their jutting -brows that he stared back, surprised and a little disconcerted. - -“My good dame, why d’ye stare so?” he questioned. - -“I dream, young sir! Your bright eyes do ha’ set me a-dreamin’ o’ other -days ... better days ... when the world was younger ... an’ kinder. Old I -be an’ tur’ble lonesome, but I ha’ my dreams ... ’tis arl the years ha’ -left me.... But why must ye meddle wi’ the likes o’ me?” ... she demanded -in sudden ferocity. “Why don’t ’ee cross y’r fingers or mak’ ‘the horns’ -agin me?” - -“Why should I?” he inquired, wondering. - -“Because they du say as I’ve the ‘evil eye’ an’ can blight a man wi’ a -look as easy as I can a pig ... or a cow.” - -“To be sure your eyes are very strange and bright,” he answered gently, -“and must have been very beautiful once, like yourself—when the world was -younger.” - -“Beautiful,” she repeated in changed tone; and her eyes grew less -keen, the harsh lines of her fierce, old face softening wonderfully. -“Beautiful?” said she again. “Aye, so I was, years agone ... though there -be few as would believe it o’ me now an’ fewer eyes sharp enough t’ -see.... An’ you bean’t fruttened o’ me then, young man?” - -“No, I am not frightened,” answered Sir John. - -“Why then,” quoth she, “when you’m done wi’ that cabbage o’ mine, there -be an onion over yonder, agin the dik!” Sir John deposited the cabbage, -and having retrieved the errant onion, added this also to the well-laden -basket. - -“That is all, I think?” said he, glancing about. - -“Aye!” she nodded. “An’ it be plain t’ know you be a stranger hereabouts. -There bean’t a man nor bye, aye, an’ mortal few o’ the women, would ha’ -stooped to du so much for poor old Penelope Haryott, I reckon.” - -“And pray why not?” - -“Because they say I be a witch, an’ they be arl main fruttened o’ me, an’ -them as say they ain’t, du hate me most. Aye, me! I’ve been thrattened -wi’ the fire afore now; an’ only las’ March, an’ main cold it were, they -was for a-duckin’ o’ me in the Cuckmere.... Ah, an’ they’d ha’ done it tu -if Passon Hartop ’adn’t galloped over tu Alfriston an’ fetched Sir Hector -MacLean as knew me years ago, an’ Jarge Potter as I’ve dandled a babe on -my knee. Sir Hector were main fierce again the crowd an’ swore t’ cut any -man’s throat as dared tetch me, an’ Jarge Potter ’ad on his old frieze -coat—so the crowd let me go ... they ain’t tried to harm me since.... But -’tis very sure you be a stranger in these parts, young man.” - -“Indeed, yes!” sighed Sir John, once more oppressed by the sense of his -responsibility and of the duties left undone. - -“An’ yet there be a look about ’ee, young man, as do whisper me you was -barn here in Sussex an’ not s’ fur away, I reckon.” - -“Oh ... begad!” he exclaimed, starting. “What should make you think so, -pray?” - -“Y’r hands, young sir, the high cock o’ your chin, y’r pretty eyes ... -they do mind me of other eyes as looked into mine ... long afore you -was barn ... when the world was happier.... Though ’e were bigger’n -you, young man ... so tall an’ noble-lookin’! Alack, ’twas long ago an’ -the world be changed for the worse since then—’specially High Dering! -Aye, me! I’ll be a-goin’, young sir, thankin’ ye for your kindness to a -solitary old woman.” - -“How far are you going?” he questioned. - -“Only to the village yonder.” - -“This basket is much too heavy for you.” - -“Lud, young master, I do be stronger than I look!” she answered, with a -mirthless laugh. “Aye, tur’ble strong I be or I should ha’ died years -agone, I reckon. So doan’t ’ee trouble, sir ... besides, folk ’ud stare -t’ see s’fine a young man along o’ me, an’ a-carryin’ my old trug an’ arl -... so let be!” - -Sir John smiled, took up the basket, reached his stick whence it leaned -against the stile and set off with old Penelope Haryott, suiting his pace -to hers and talking with such blithe ease that old Penelope, forgetting -her rustic pride at last, talked in her turn, as she might have done -“when the world was younger and better.” - -“Ah yes, I mind Sir Hector years agone, when he were jest Mr. Hector an’ -friend t’ Sir John Dering—him as was the ‘real’ Sir John as lived at ‘the -gert house’ yonder an’ married here ... an’ marched away t’ the wars wi’ -Mr. Hector, both s’fine in their red coats, and him s’handsome an’ gay -... him as was killed an’ never come marchin’ back.” - -“Ah!” exclaimed Sir John as she paused. “So you knew Sir John Dering, the -Sir John who was killed years ago in Flanders? Pray tell me of him.” - -“An’ why should I?” quoth the old woman in sudden anger. “He’s been dead -long years an’ forgot, I reckon. But when he lived the world was a better -place ... ’specially High Dering! Aye, he was ... a man!” - -“And what,” questioned Sir John wistfully, “what of the new Sir John -Dering?” - -Old Penelope spat contemptuously and trudged on a little faster. - -“Take care o’ my old trug, young man,” she admonished; “the ’andle be -main loose! Aye, me, if my troubles was no ’eavier than that theer trug -I’d bear’em j’yful!” - -“Are you so greatly troubled, then?” he asked gently. - -“Ah, more’n my share, I reckon! And an old woman so solitary as I be must -allus go full o’ sorrow!” - -“Will you tell me some of your sorrows, old Penelope?” - -“Why should I?” - -“Because I ask reverently and respect you.” - -“Respect! Me?” she muttered. “Respect? O kind Lord, ’tis a strange word -in my old ears! Folks mostly curse me ... the children throws stones at -me! ’Tis an ill thing to be named a witch ... an’ all because I can see -deeper and further than most fules, can read the good an’ evil in faces -an’ know a sight about yarbs an’ simples. An’ they’re fruttened o’ me, -the fules ... ah, an’ they need be, some on ’em—’specially one!” - -“You were weeping when I saw you first, Penelope; yet tears do not come -easily with you, I judge.” - -“Tears?” she exclaimed fiercely. “An’ yet I’ve shed s’ many ’tis gert -wonder there be any left. ’Tis wonnerful how much one woman can weep in -one lifetime, I reckon.” - -“And why did you weep to-day?” - -“’Tidn’t no manner o’ business o’ yourn, young man!” she exclaimed -bitterly. - -“Why, then, pray forgive me!” he answered, with a little bow; at this she -stared and immediately spoke in changed voice. - -“I wep’, sir, because this day week I’m to be turned out o’ doors wi’ -never a roof to shelter me—unless some o’ the neighbours offers—which -they won’t ... Lord, tak’ care o’ the trug, young man, if ye swing it so -fierce ’twill go to pieces!” - -“Why are you being turned out?” - -“Because they be arl fruttened o’ me—an’ him most of arl——” - -“Whom do you mean by ‘him’?” - -But old Penelope tramped on unheeding, only she muttered to herself -fiercely. - -“Do you dread the future so greatly, Penelope?” - -“No!” she answered sturdily. “I bean’t fruttened o’ now’t but fire ... -an’ dogs!” - -“Dogs?” he questioned. - -“Aye, young man, they du set ’em on me sometimes, ’tis why I carry this -gert staff ... killed a dog wi’ it once, I did—though I were badly -bit! So they clapped me in the stocks, the dog was valleyble, y’ see, -an’ chanced to belong to Lord Sayle, him as du live at the great ’ouse -’Friston way.” - -Talking thus, they became aware of leisured hoof-strokes behind them, -and, turning to stare, old Penelope pointed suddenly at the approaching -rider with her long staff. - -“Yonder ’e comes!” she whispered fiercely; “him as ought t’ be dead an’ -gibbeted ... him as be afeart o’ me!” - -Glancing round in turn, Sir John beheld a man bestriding a large, plump -steed, a man who rode at a hand-pace, apparently lost in thought; thus -Sir John had full time to observe him narrowly as he approached. - -He seemed a prosperous and highly respectable man, for he went in -broadcloth and fine linen; but his garments, devoid of all embellishings, -were of sober hue, so that, looked at from behind, he might have been an -itinerant preacher with a hint of the Quaker, but seen from in front, the -narrow eyes, predatory nose, vulperine mouth and fleshy chin stamped him -as being like nothing in life but himself. - -Slowly he approached, until, suddenly espying the old woman, he urged his -somnolent horse to quicker gait and rode towards her, brandishing the -stick he carried. - -“Damned hag,” cried he, “you ought to burn!” - -“Dirty twoad,” she retorted, “you’d ought to hang!” At this, the man -struck at her passionately, and, being out of reach, spurred his powerful -horse as if to ride her down; but Sir John, setting by the basket, sprang -and caught the bridle. - -“Steady, sir, steady!” quoth he mildly. - -“Mind your own business!” cried the horseman. - -“Faith, sir,” answered Sir John ruefully, “’tis high time I did, ’twould -seem. And indeed I propose doing so, but in my own fashion. And first I -desire to learn why you ride the king’s highway to the common danger——” - -“Oh, and who the devil might you be?” - -“One who hath played divers rôles, sir,” answered Sir John. “Just at -present I find myself a Man o’ Sentiment, full o’ loving-kindness, -especially to sorrowful old age——” - -“What the devil!” exclaimed the horseman, staring. - -“Come then, sir, let us together bare our heads in homage to Age, Sorrow -and Womanhood in the person of this much-enduring Mistress Haryott!” and -off came Sir John’s hat forthwith. - -“Are ye mad?” demanded the other scornfully. “Are ye mad or drunk, my -lad?” - -“Sir, a Man of Sentiment is never——” - -“Curse your sentiment! Let me warn ye that yon hag is a notorious -evil-liver and a damned witch——” - -“Which as a Man of Sentiment——” - -“Hold y’r tongue, d’ye hear! She’s a witch, I tell ye, so tak’ my advice, -my lad, throw that old trug o’ her’n over the hedge and leave her to the -devil! And now loose my bridle; I’m done.” - -“But I am not, sir!” answered Sir John. “You attempted to strike a woman -in my presence, and have dared allude to me twice as your ‘lad’—two very -heinous offences——” - -“Loose my bridle or ’twill be the worse for ye. D’ye know who I am?” - -“Judging by your right eye, sir, its rainbow colouring, I opine you must -be Mr. James Sturton——” - -“Damn your insolence—leggo my bridle!” - -But instead of complying, Sir John gave a sudden twist to the bit, -whereupon the plump and somnolent steed waked to sudden action, insomuch -that Mr. Sturton was nearly unseated and his hat tumbled off; whereupon -Sir John deftly skewered it upon the end of his stick and tossed it over -the hedge; and old Penelope, watching its brief flight, uttered a single -screech of laughter and was immediately silent again. - -Mr. Sturton, having quieted his horse, raised his stick and struck -viciously, but Sir John, deftly parrying the blow, answered it with a -thrust, a lightning riposte that took his aggressor full upon fleshy -chin. Mr. Sturton dropped his stick, clapped hand to chin and, seeing -his own blood, spurred madly upon Sir John, who, in escaping the lashing -hoofs, tripped and fell into the ditch. - -“Let that learn ye!” cried Mr. Sturton, exultantly shaking his fist. “A -ditch is the proper place for you, my lad.... I only hope as you’ve broke -a bone.” - -“Thank you,” answered Sir John, sitting up, and groping for his hat, “I -find myself very well, for: - - Though in posture unheroic - You behold me still a stoic. - And, further, here’s a truth, sir, which is: - There are places worse than ditches! - -Indeed, Mr. Sturton,” he added, leaning back in the ditch and folding his -arms, “’tis in my mind that you may find yourself yearning passionately -for a good, dry ditch one o’ these days.” - -“Bah!” cried the other contemptuously. “If ye can crawl—crawl and bring -me my hat.” - -“The heavens,” answered Sir John, pointing thither with graceful -flourish, “the heavens shall fall first, sir.” - -“Ha, now—look’ee! You’ll bring me my hat, young man, or I’ll march you -and yon vile old beldam into Dering and ha’ ye clapped into the stocks -together for assault on the highway! D’ye hear?” - -“Sir,” answered Sir John, “a fiddlestick!” - -Uttering an angry exclamation, Mr. Sturton whipped a pistol from his -holster, but as he did so, old Penelope whirled her long staff which, -missing him by a fraction, took effect upon his horse, whereupon this -much-enduring animal promptly bolted and galloped furiously away with Mr. -Sturton in a cloud of dust. - -“Lord ha’ mercy!” gasped old Penelope as the galloping hoof-beats -blurred and died away. “Lord, what ’ave I done?” - -“Removed an offence by a mere flourish o’ your magic wand, like the fairy -godmother you are!” answered Sir John. “Mistress Penelope, accept my -thanks—I salute you!” And, standing up in the ditch, he bowed gravely. - -“Ha’ done, young man, ha’ done!” she cried distressfully. “He’ll raise -the village again’ me ... he’ll ha’ me in the stocks again—an’ arl along -o’ you! An’ I can’t bear they stocks like I used to ... they cramps my -old bones s’cruel.... O Lord ha’ mercy! The stocks!” And, leaning on her -staff, she bowed her white head and sobbed miserably. - -In a moment Sir John was out of the ditch and, standing beside her, laid -one white hand upon her shoulder, patting it gently. - -“Penelope,” said he softly, “don’t weep! No man shall do you violence.... -I swear none shall harm you any more ... so be comforted!” - -“An’ who be you t’ promise s’much?” she demanded fiercely. - -“One who will keep his word——” - -“I be so old,” she wailed—“so old an’ lonesome an’ weary of ’t all.” - -“But very courageous!” he added gently. “And I think, Penelope, nay, I’m -sure there are better days coming for you—and me. So come, let us go on, -confident in ourselves and the future.” - -And taking stick and basket in one hand, he slipped the other within his -aged companion’s arm and they tramped on again. - -“You speak mighty bold, young man!” said she after a while, with another -of her keen glances. “Aye, an’ look mighty bold—why?” - -“Perhaps because I feel mighty bold!” he answered lightly. - -“Aye, like ye did when he knocked ye into the ditch, young man!” - -“The ditch?” repeated Sir John. “Aye, begad, the ditch! ’S heart, it -needed but this!” And here he laughed so blithely that old Penelope -stared and, forgetting her recent tears, presently smiled. - -“Ye tumbled so ’mazin’ sudden, young man,” she nodded. “An’ then I never -’eerd no one talk po’try in a dik’ afore.” - -“And you probably never will again, Penelope. The occasion was unique and -my extempore rhymes none too bad.” - -“Eh—eh, young man, did ye mak’ ’em up ... a-settin’ in t’ dik’ ... arl -out o’ y’r head? Lord!” - -So they reached the village at last, its deep-thatched cottages nestled -beneath the sheltering down; a quiet, sleepy place where a brook gurgled -pleasantly and rooks cawed lazily amid lofty, ancient trees; a place of -peace, it seemed, very remote from the world. - -But, as they went, rose a stir, a flutter, a growing bustle; heads peered -from casements, from open doorways and dim interiors; children ceased -their play to point, a woman laughed shrilly, men, home-coming from the -fields, stood to stare, to laugh, to hoot and jeer; and foremost, among a -group of loungers before the ancient inn, Sir John espied Mr. Sturton. - -And thus amid hoots, jeers and derisive laughter came Sir John to High -Dering. - - - - -CHAPTER XV - -WHICH INTRODUCES A FRIEZE COAT AND ITS WEARER, ONE GEORGE POTTER - - -“Old gammer du ha’ found ’ersen a man at last!” cried a voice. - -“Ah, the danged owd witch du ha’ ’witched hersel’ a sweet’eart fur sure!” -roared another. - -“An’ sech a nice-lookin’ young man an’ arl!” quoth a matron with a fat -baby in her arms, whom Sir John saluted with a bow, whereupon she hid -blushing face behind her plump baby. - -But as they progressed the crowd grew and, with increasing number, their -attitude waxed more threatening; laughter changed to angry mutterings, -clods and stones began to fly. - -“I waarned ’ee ’ow ’twould be!” quoth old Penelope bitterly. “You’d -best leave me an’ run, young man, quick—up the twitten yonder!” Even as -she spoke, Sir John was staggered by a well-aimed clod and his hat spun -from his head. Setting down the basket, he turned and stood fronting the -crowd frowning a little, chin uptilted, serene of eye. Foremost among -their assailants was a burly young fellow, chiefly remarkable for a very -wide mouth and narrow-set eyes, towards whom Sir John pointed with his -holly-stick. - -“Pray, Mistress Haryott,” he inquired in his clear, ringing tones, “who -is yonder ill-conditioned wight?” - -“That?” cried old Penelope in fierce scorn. “It be Tom Simpson, a Lon’on -lad ... one o’ th’ Excise as creeps an’ crawls an’ spies on better men——” - -“Oh, do I, then!” snarled the burly young man. “I’ll knock your dummed -eye out for that, I will!” And he reached for a stone, but checked -suddenly as Sir John strode towards him carrying the holly-stick much as -if it had been a small-sword. - -“Talking of eyes,” quoth Sir John, with a graceful flourish of the stick, -“drop that stone, lest I feel it necessary to blind you!” and he made an -airy pass at the face of the young man, who leapt back so precipitately -that he stumbled and fell, whereupon the crowd, roaring with laughter at -his discomfiture, pressed nearer, eager for diversion. - -“Doan’t let ’un bloind ’ee, lad!” cried one. - -“’E bean’t so big as ’ee, Tom! Tak’ a ’edge-stake tu un!” - -“Noa, tak’ my ol’ bat; it du be a good ’eavy ’un, Tom!” cried a second. - -The burly young man, finding himself thus the centre of observation, -snatched the proffered stick, squared his shoulders and approached Sir -John in very ferocious and determined manner, but halted, just out of -reach, to spit upon his palm and take fresh hold upon his bludgeon; -whereupon the crowd encouraged him on this wise: - -“Knock ’is little wig off, Tom!” - -“Poke ’is eye out, lad!” - -“Aim at ’is nob!” - -“Go fur ’is legs!” - -Suddenly the burly young man sprang, aiming a terrific blow, but, instead -of attempting a parry, Sir John leapt nimbly aside, and the young man, -impelled by the force of his stroke, once more stumbled and fell; and -then before he could rise, old Penelope commenced to belabour him with -her long staff as he lay, panting out maledictions with every blow until -the crowd, laughing, shouting, cursing, surged forward to the rescue. -Drawing the fierce and breathless old creature behind him, Sir John, -seeing escape impossible, faced the oncoming menace strung and quivering -for desperate action, while the crowd lashed itself to fury by such cries -as: - -“Down wi’ the young cock!” - -“Scrag the owd witch, lads: to the watter wi’ ’er!” - -“Aye, to the river with ’em—both of ’em!” cried Mr. Sturton, loudest of -all. - -And then forth from one of those narrow lanes, or rather passages that -are known as “twittens,” sauntered a man in a short, frieze coat, vast -of pocket and button, a wide-shouldered, comely man whose face, framed -between neatly trimmed whiskers, wore an air of guileless good-nature. -Guilelessness indeed! It was in his eyes despite their lurking twinkle, -in the uptrend of his firm lips, the tilt of his nose, his close-cropped -whiskers and square chin. Guilelessness beamed in the brass buttons -of his short-skirted frieze coat, it was in the very creases of his -garments, it seemed to enfold him from boots and gaiters to the crown of -his weather-worn hat, it was in the tones of his soft yet resonant voice -when he spoke: - -“Lor’ love Potter, Mr. Sturton, sir, but ’oo’s been an’ give ye that -theer tur’ble eye? Arl black it be, sir, leastways where it bean’t -black ’tis green. An’ swole, sir! Lor’ love George Potter’s limbs, it -du be a-swellin’ an’ a-puffin’ of itself up that proud, sir! ’Tis most -alarmin’, Mr. Sturton! Shame on ye, neighbours; can’t none on ye du -nothin’ fur poor Mr. Sturton’s ogle—look at ’ee——” But, uttering a fierce -imprecation, Mr. Sturton turned his back, pushed his way angrily into the -inn, and slammed the door behind him. - -“I never seen a blacker eye, never——” - -“Don’t go fur to blame we, Jarge Potter!” quoth a greybeard. “’Tidn’t -none o’ our doin’—no!” - -“Then what be the trouble, neighbours? What’s to du, good folk?” inquired -Mr. Potter. - -“It ain’t none o’ your business anyway!” retorted the burly young man -sullenly. “We be honest folks, which be more than some can say with y’r -poachin’, ah, an’ smugglin’!” - -“Hold thy tongue, lad!” cried the greybeard, plucking the burly young -man’s arm. “Don’t ’ee see as Jarge be wearin’ ’is ol’ frieze coat?” - -“What do I care for ’is old coat!” - -“That’s because ye be fullish an’ strange ’ereabouts an’ doan’t know -Jarge.” - -“Neighbours,” said Mr. Potter in his deep, leisured tones, his placid -gaze roving from face to face, “you arl do know as Potter be a peaceable -man, so here’s Potter a-beggin’ an’ a-pleadin’ o’ ye to leave old Pen -alone—or I’m afeard some on ye might get ’urted—bad, I reckon!” As he -spoke, Mr. Potter’s powerful hands disappeared into the deep pockets -of his frieze coat, and he took a leisurely pace forward. “Simpson, my -lad,” quoth he, nodding kindly at the burly young man, “your mouth’s so -oncommon large as you’ll swaller yourself, boots an’ arl, one of these -days if ye open it s’wide! So run along, my lad! ’Ome be the word, -neighbours; off wi’ ye now—arl on ye. I bean’t a-goin’ t’ plead twice wi’ -no one.” - -Mr. Potter’s brow was smooth, guilelessness seemed to radiate and beam -from his person, but, seeing how the crowd forthwith scattered and melted -away, the burly young man betook himself off likewise, muttering darkly. - -Then Mr. Potter turned in his unhurried fashion to look at Sir John, and -the smile that lurked in the corners of his mouth slowly broadened. - -“Young sir,” said he, touching his hat, “who you be or what, bean’t no -consarn o’ mine nohow, but, sir, you stood up for a old ’ooman as aren’t -got many to tak’ ’er part, d’ye see, an’ so ’ere’s Potter a-thankin’ of -you—an’ that is my business, I rackon.” - -“Indeed, Mr. Potter, ’twould seem I have to thank you also, you—or your -coat——” - -“Coat?” repeated Mr. Potter, glancing down at the garment in question as -if mildly surprised to behold it. “Aye, to be sure—’tis a old jacket as I -use in my trade, d’ye see——” - -“A free-trade, I think?” added Sir John. - -“Lor’ love ’ee, sir,” sighed Mr. Potter, opening his guileless eyes a -trifle wider, “doan’t ’ee tak’ no ’eed o’ what that theer young Simpson -says——” - -“Mr. Potter,” quoth Sir John, smiling, “a week ago I was shaking hands -with Captain Sharkie Nye aboard the _True Believer_, and I should like to -shake yours.” - -“What, be you the young gen’leman as crossed wi’ Sir Hector?” - -“That same. And my name is Derwent.” - -“Why, Mr. Derwent, sir, that du alter the case, I rackon. So theer -be Potter’s ’and, sir, and heartily! Ah, an’ yonder be old Penelope -a-beckonin’ ... her will curse we shameful if us du keep her waitin’ ... -so come ’long, sir.” - -“Aye, come y’r ways, du—both on ye!” cried the old creature imperiously. -“’Tidn’t often I ’as comp’ny, so I’ll brew ye a dish o’ tay——” - -“Tea?” exclaimed Sir John. - -“Aye, all the way from Chaney, young man! Tay as costes forty shillin’ -a pound an’ more up to Lunnon—tak’ care o’ my old trug! This way—down -twitten!” - -She led them down a narrow way between the walls of cottages and gardens, -and at last to a very small cottage indeed, a forlorn little structure, -its garden trampled, its broken window-panes stuffed with old rags to -exclude the elements, itself all dilapidation from rotting thatch to -crumbling doorstep. - -“And is this your home?” cried Sir John, very much aghast. - -“It be, young man. They bruk’ all my lattices months agone, an’ Mr. -Sturton won’t put in no more. The chimbley smokes an’ the thatch leaks -an’ I gets the ager bad, but it be my home an’ I love every brick. For -’twas here I were born, here I loved and lost, here I hoped to die, -but Maaster Sturton be fur turning o’ me out next month ... bean’t ’e, -Jarge?” - -“’E be,” answered Mr. Potter softly, “dang ’im!” - -“Come in, young man, an’ you tu, Jarge—come in; it du be better-lookin’ -inside than out.” And indeed, once the door was shut—a particularly stout -and ponderous door, Sir John noticed—the small, heavily beamed chamber -was cosy and homelike, very orderly and clean, from the polished copper -kettle on the hob to the china ornaments upon the mantel. - -And now Mr. Potter reached a hand within the mysteries of the frieze coat -and drew thence a couple of plump rabbits. - -“Found ’em s’marnin’, Pen,” he nodded. “An’ here,” he continued, groping -deeper within vast pocket, “’ere be a—no, that be wire ... ’ere—no, that -be ’baccy for ’Osea ... ah, ’ere be a lump o’ pork t’ go wi’ ’em, Pen.” - -“Thank’ee kindly, Jarge! An’ would ’ee moind a-skinnin’ of ’em whiles I -tidies myself up a bit?” - -“Heartily, Pen.” - -“An’ you, young man, poke up the fire an’ put on the kittle t’ bile ... -there be a pump in the yard.” - -Having performed these duties, Sir John, seating himself on a bucket -beside the pump, watched Mr. Potter deftly operate upon the rabbits, and -there ensued the following conversation: - - MR. POTTER: Stayin’ ’ereabouts, sir? - - SIR JOHN: At the ‘Dering Arms.’ - - MR. POTTER: Stayin’ long, sir? - - SIR JOHN: I hope so. - - MR. POTTER: Why, so du I ... seein’ as you be known to Sharkie - an’ Sir ’Ector. And, besides, old Pen du ha’ took to ye fair - amazin’ ... an’ she’s an eye like a nawk ’as old Pen, aye, - sharp as a gimblet it be. An’ she’s took to ye, d’ye see, sir. - - SIR JOHN: I feel truly and deeply honoured. - - MR. POTTER: Well, you stood up for ’er s’arternoon agin them - fules as meant mischief. - - SIR JOHN: She seems to have suffered more than her share. - - MR. POTTER: Suffered? Sir, Potter be a peaceable man an’ - bloodshed contrariwise to ’is natur’ ... no matter what you - ’appen to hear ... but there be some folk as I’d tak’ a deal o’ - j’y to skin, d’ye see, like this ’ere! (Mr. Potter held up a - newly skinned and pinkly nude rabbit.) - - SIR JOHN: Whom do you mean? - - MR. POTTER: Ah! ’oo indeed, sir? Potter knows, but Potter’s mum! - - SIR JOHN: And yet I think I could guess, if I tried. - - MR. POTTER: Why, ye may guess, sir—this be a free - country—leastways, fules say so. - - SIR JOHN: One, I think, must be Mr. James Sturton. Am I right? - - MR. POTTER: Why, as to that, sir, I answers plain and to the - point as there be nobody nowhere breathin’ as can get s’much - flavour into a jugged ’are ekal to old Pen—except Peter Bunkle - as keeps the ‘Cross’ over tu Alfriston. - - SIR JOHN: And the second is Lord Sayle. Am I wrong? - - MR. POTTER: Why, as to that, sir, Potter don’t say nothing. Du - ’ee know Lord Sayle? - - SIR JOHN: I have met him. - - MR. POTTER: Friend o’ yourn, sir? - - SIR JOHN: So much so that I have determined to drive him out of - the country, or kill him. - - (Here Mr. Potter dropped the rabbit.) - - MR. POTTER: Well ... love my limbs! Kill—hist! But ... but you, - sir? Axing your pardon, but you aren’t got the look of a killer. - - SIR JOHN: Thank you, Mr. Potter, I rejoice to hear it. - - MR. POTTER: But—ki—hist! He be pretty big and pretty fierce, - sir, an’ you, axing y’r pardon, ain’t exactly—— - - SIR JOHN: An elephant or a tiger—and yet I feel myself - perfectly able to accomplish one or the other, Mr. Potter. - - MR. POTTER: Well, love my eyes! He be a fightin’ man too, sir! - Somebody stuck a sword into him lately, I hear, but it didn’t - do no good; he be as well and ’earty as ever. Now if—hist! - - (Here Mr. Potter paused, finger on lip, to glance stealthily - around.) - - SIR JOHN: If what, Mr. Potter? - - MR. POTTER: (Drawing near and speaking in hushed voice) If you - be ... set on a-doin’ of it ... very determined on ... the - deed, sir, your best way is to—hist! A pistol ... no, a musket - ... some good dark night. Hist—Potter’s mum! - - SIR JOHN: You don’t love him, I think? - - MR. POTTER: Love him? Well, there be things ’as ’appened - ’ereabouts as no one can’t swear agin nobody, d’ye see, an’ - yet ... old Pen knows more than she dare speak, I rackon, an’ - Potter ain’t blind nor yet deaf. - - SIR JOHN: What kind of things? - - MR. POTTER: Well, theer was poor Dick Hobden as went a-walkin’ - one evenin’ Windover way wi’ Lucy Price, a rare handsome lass. - Poor Dick were found stone dead next day, but the lass vanished - an’ nobody never seen her no more, nor never will, I reckon. - - SIR JOHN: Vanished? - - MR. POTTER: Ay, like Mary Beal as disappeared and came back - and drownded of ’erself, pore lass. There was Ruth Wicks as - likewise vanished an’ was found weeks arterwards singin’ in the - dark atop o’ Windover ... died mad, she did. There was other - lasses as disappeared from Wilmington an’ Litlin’ton an’ never - come back. - - SIR JOHN: A hateful tale! - - MR. POTTER: It be, sir. - - SIR JOHN: And whom do you suspect? - - MR. POTTER: Mum for that, sir! But there be folk as Potter - would be j’yful to ’ave the skinnin’ of—— - - SIR JOHN: You mean my Lord Sayle and Sturton—— - - MR. POTTER: Hist—sir! Speak soft! I don’t mean nothin’. Only - what one bids t’other obeys.... And now Lord Sayle swears he’ll - ruin all on us—every man an’ bye, ah, wumman, maid an’ babe, - not forgettin’ wives an’ widders. - - SIR JOHN: How so? - - MR. POTTER: He’s took an oath to put down “the trade,” d’ye - see. Potter be a inoffensive creater’ as never drawed steel in - his life—except mebbe now and then—I prefers a short bat ... - and never fired a shot in all my days—except p’r’aps once or - twice an’ then only when com-pelled.... Ah, a peaceable man be - Potter, but.... - -Here Mr. Potter laid finger to lip and looked slantwise at Sir John -beneath lifted eyebrow. And then old Penelope called them; and, glancing -round, Sir John was amazed to behold her clad in a sumptuous gown whose -voluminous silken folds lent her a strangely arresting dignity, while -upon her snowy hair was a mob cap marvellously belaced. - -“Aye, it be real silk, young man!” quoth she, with a little shake in her -voice. “List to it rustle!” And sighing ecstatically, she spread out the -rich folds with her gnarled old fingers. “There bean’t a grander dress -nowhere.... Jarge give it me las’ Christmas. ’Tidn’t often I wears it, no -... but when I die, I’ll be buried in it—won’t I, Jarge?” - -“Aye, aye, Pen!” nodded Mr. Potter. “But, Lord—’oo’s a-talkin’ o’ dyin’! -Be the kittle abilin’?” - -“Aye, lad, tea’s ready. As for you, young man, if you’ll drink wi’ me as -they name witch, an’ bean’t fruttened lest I blast ’ee wi’ a look o’ my -eye—come your ways to tea.” - -Following her into the cottage, Sir John beheld yet other unexpected -wonders, as the handleless cups of exquisite ware, the beautiful Chinese -teapot, the tray of priceless Chinese lacquer. - -“Aha, you may stare, young man!” nodded old Penelope. “There bean’t a -lady in arl the land can show ’ee sech chaney as mine.... Jarge give it -tu me!” - -“Why, ye see, sir,” added Mr. Potter apologetically, “I bean’t married!” - -“An’ look at the lace in my cap, young man ... real French point—arl from -Jarge.” - -“Why, ye see, sir,” quoth Mr. Potter again, “I aren’t got no sweet’eart!” - -And thus Sir John Dering, sitting between old Penelope Haryott the witch, -and Mr. George Potter the guileless, drank smuggled tea out of smuggled -china, talked and listened, asked questions and answered them, and -enjoyed it all uncommonly well. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - -DESCRIBES A SCANDALOUS ITEM OF FASHIONABLE INTELLIGENCE AND THE -CONSEQUENCES THEREOF - - -“The Barrasdaile” was back in town and all the beaux of Mayfair were -agog, and forthwith hasted to give her welcome. They came by coach, -in sedan chairs, on horseback and afoot; battered beaux wise in wine -and women, sprightly beaux wise in town gossip and the latest mode, -youthful beaux wise in nothing as yet; but one and all they gathered -from every point of the compass and clad in all the colours of the -spectrum, passioning for her wealth, eager for her rank, allured by her -youth, or smitten by her beauty, agreeable to their own respective ages -and conditions; they came to flourish hats gracefully, shoot ruffles -languidly, flutter handkerchiefs daintily, tap snuff-boxes dreamily, -to stare, ogle, smile, frown, sigh and languish, each according to his -nature. And chief amongst these, my Lord Sayle, more completely assured -of himself than usual, if it were possible; and this by reason that His -Majesty (so gossip had it) was about to reinstate him in the royal favour -and make him Lord-Lieutenant of his county besides, on condition that -he put down the damnable practice of smuggling in his neighbourhood. -Be this as it may, it was an indisputable fact (rumour was positive on -this point) that His Majesty had received him, deigned him a nod, and -chattered at him in German, whereupon other gentlemen immediately bowed -to him, renewed acquaintance and congratulated him in English. Thus my -Lord Sayle found himself in very excellent spirits. - -Now upon the very morning of my Lady Barrasdaile’s so triumphant return, -it befell that _The Satyric Spy, or Polite Monitor_, most scandalous and -(consequently) most carefully perused of journals, came out with the -following items of fashionable intelligence: - - LADY H——a B——e, whose sudden and inexplicable desertion so - lately made of Mayfair a dreary waste, hath been seen driving - post for Paris. Paris doubtless awaited her with yearning - expectation, but yearned vainly. For, upon the highway this - bewitching she (_mirabile dictu_) vanished utterly away. Paris - received her not, Dieppe knew her not! Whither she vanished, by - what means, to what end, at what precise minute of the day or - night, or precisely where this astounding disappearance took - place, these be questions answerable but by her bewitching self. - - BUT - - It is furthermore credibly reported that Sir J——n D——g, whose - triumphs in the PAPHIAN FIELDS have made him NOTORIOUS and the - ENVY of lesser humans not so fortunate, left Paris abruptly - two or three days ago, and hath been observed in company with - a pretty SERVING-MAID, a BUXOM WAITING-WENCH whose humble - situation in life is completely off-set by the potency of - her peerless charms. Sir J——n D——g, quick to recognise the - goddess despite her HOMESPUN, is become her very devoted slave - and adorer. It is thought that he may carry her eventually - London-wards to out-rival the unrivalled BARRASDAILE. - - _Nota Bene_: He that runs may read! Who seeth through a brick - wall cannot be blind. Yet whoso addeth two and two and maketh - of them five must be a bad arithmetician. _Verl. Sap._ - - THE WENCH SUPREME: OR A LAMENT FOR LANGUISHING LADIES - - Sir J——n D——g who in smug world censorious - Hath, wooing, won himself a fame notorious. - E’en from one scene of triumphs late hath flown - Triumphant still, since flees he not alone; - But with him (let not Scandal from Truth blench) - Doth bear away a STRAPPING WAITING-WENCH, - A wench of wenches she (come aid me, Muse, - And teach me what just synonyms to use!) - A wench, a maid, a nymph, nay, goddess rather, - Though smutty chimney-sweep perchance her father! - Thus hath Sir J——n the latest fashion showed - And mating so, made serving-maids the mode! - Ye sprightlies proud! Ye high-born dames despair, - Weep pearly tears and rend your powdered hair. - Forgo that fond, that secret-cherished hope - That ye yourselves might, one day, thus elope: - Since FASHION and Sir J——n do both decree - No LADY may, except a WENCH she be! - -Mayfair was powerfully and profoundly stirred: elegant gentlemen, having -perused these extracts from _The Polite Monitor_ hurriedly to themselves, -forthwith hasted to read them aloud, and with due deliberation, to -all who would listen; they were the main topic of discussion in every -fashionable club and coffee-house. Fine ladies, old and young, becked -and nodded over their Bohea, etc., lifted censorious eyebrows, whispered -behind their fans, and, learning my lady was in town, promptly ordered -coach or chair and were borne incontinent to my lady’s house in St. -James’s Square, each and every armed with a copy of _The Polite Monitor_, -and all eager to pour oil on the flames as lovingly as possible. - -Meanwhile, Herminia, Lady Barrasdaile, that spoiled child of fortune, -having sworn at her meek maid and snubbed her doting Aunt Lucinda into -angry revolt, sat scowling at the reflection of her beauteous self in -the mirror, with this same scandalous “hateful” journal crumpled in -passionate fist. - -“O mem,” wailed the faithful Betty, “if you’d only took my advice——” - -“Hold your tongue, creature!” - -“Yes, my lady! But if you’d only not run away——” - -“Peace, devilish female!” - -“Yes, mem! But I told you how ’twould——” - -Here my lady launched a hairbrush, whereat Betty squealed and vanished. - -“Thou’rt so wild, Herminia!” exclaimed her diminutive aunt—“so woefully, -wilfully wild! Such a masterful madcap like thy poor father before thee!” - -“Would he were alive this day to ... cram this hateful thing down -somebody’s throat!” cried my lady, hurling _The Polite Monitor_ to the -floor and stamping on it. - -“Aye, but whose throat, child? ’Tis what all the world will be -asking—whose?” - -“Whose, indeed!” repeated my lady between white teeth. “Let me but find -him—let me but be sure!” - -“Heavens, Herminia!—and what then?” - -“Then, if I could find no better champion, I’d ... thrash or fight him -myself!” - -“Cease, child, cease! Remit thy ravings; ’tis merest madness! Horrors, -Herminia, how——” - -“O Aunt Lucy, a Gad’s name cease gasping out alliterations on me—do!” - -“Fie, miss! And you with your profane oaths and vulgar swearing indeed! -Look at ye, with your great, strong body and hugeous powerful limbs! I -protest thou’rt positively——” - -“Aunt, dare to call me ‘strapping’ or ‘buxom’ and I’ll set you atop of -the armoire yonder!” - -“Nothing so feminine, Herminia!” retorted her very small aunt, with the -utmost courage. “Brawny’s the word! Thou’rt positively brawny, a brawn——” -Here a pantherine leap, a muffled scream, and my lady’s aunt, clasped -in my lady’s arms, was whirled to the top of a tall press in adjacent -corner, there to dangle two very small and pretty feet helplessly, to -clutch and cower and whimper to be taken down. - -“’Faith, aunt,” quoth my lady, “to see you so, none would ever believe -you were a duchess and so great a lady.” - -“And I don’t feel like one!” wailed the Duchess miserably. “How can I? O -Herminia ... child ... my dear, prithee take me down. If I fall——” - -“You won’t fall, dear aunt—you never do!” - -“I nearly did last time, minx!” - -“Because you wriggled, aunt.” - -“I’ll ha’ this hateful thing destroyed!” cried the Duchess, striking the -huge piece of furniture with a ridiculously small, white hand. - -“Then I shall buy a bigger!” quoth my lady. - -“Then I’ll leave thee, thou vixenish child!” - -“But you’d come back to me, thou dear little loved aunt.” - -“Aye, I should, thou great amiable wretch. Now pray lift me down like the -sweet, gentle soul thou art, Herminia.” - -“Am I brawny, aunt?” - -“Thou’rt a fairy elf! Take me down, child.” - -“As for fighting, aunt——” - -“Thou couldst not, wouldst not, thou’rt too maidenly, too tender, too -gentle ... take me down!” - -“But indeed, aunt, you know I can fence better than most men—aye, as well -as Sir John Dering himself, I’ll wager.” - -“That wretch! Pray lift me down, Herminia, dear.” - -“’Faith, aunt, perched so, you look like a girl o’ fifteen!” - -“And I’m woman of forty-five——” - -“With scarce a white hair and never a wrinkle!” - -“Indeed, child, I can feel ’em growing as I sit here, so prithee, my -sweet love, lift me——” - -But at this moment was a hurried knock and Mrs. Betty entered, cheeks -flushed and mild eyes wider than usual. - -“O my lady!” she exclaimed—“Company!” - -“Betty,” cried the Duchess, “come and take me down—this moment!” - -“Oh, I dessent, your Grace.... O mem, there be company below ... ladies, -mem—crowds, and gentlemen!” - -“Ah!” cried my lady between clenched teeth, “so they’re here already—to -tear and rend me, dammem!” - -“Herminia!” cried the Duchess, scandalised. “Herminia, fie! Herminia, for -shame! I gasp, child! Such language, miss——” - -“Fits the occasion, aunt, so tush—and hush! Who’s below, Betty—the women, -I mean?” - -“Well, mem, I only got a glimp’, but I ’spied my Lady Belinda Chalmers -for one——” - -“That detestable rattle! Who else?” - -“My Lady Prudence Bassett was with her, mem.” - -“That backbiting vixen! And Mrs. Joyce Mildmay is with ’em, I’ll vow?” - -“Yes, mem——” - -“’Tis this devilish _Monitor_ hath brought ’em upon me, and they’re here -to condole with me—the wretches!” - -“But I’m with ye, child!” quoth the Duchess from her lofty perch, whence -my lady hasted to lift her forthwith, holding her suspended in mid-air a -moment to kiss her furiously ere she set her gently down. - -“God bless you, aunt, for a sweet, kind little soul! But I’ll not see -’em—yes, I will, and you shall come too! Yet no,” sighed my lady, “no, -’twere better I front their claws alone—the cats. Come you to my rescue -should they inflict themselves on me too long, dearest.” And having, with -Mrs. Betty’s deft aid, smoothed her silks and laces, having patted and -pulled at rebellious curls, my lady descended the broad stair and swept -into the great reception-room, where a group of chattering ladies rose -with one accord, chattering fond epithets, to embrace her, kiss, fondle -and stare at her with eyes that took in for future reference every item -of her apparel, every gesture, glance and flicker of her eyelash. - -“My dearest Herminia, welcome back to town!” cried Lady Belinda, with a -pouncing kiss. “How vastly well you’re looking ... though a little worn, -of course ... a trifle pale, my love!” - -“Pale, indeed!” sighed Lady Prudence, “and small wonder, my sweet soul, -for who would not look pale and haggard under the circumstances?” - -“And such circumstances, Herminia love!” gasped Mistress Joyce, -shuddering and turning up her large blue eyes soulfully. “To think thy -fair, unblemished name should be even remotely associated with that—that -monster, Sir John Dering! My heart bleeds for thee, thou poor, injured -dear!” At this, every other lady sighed also and shuddered in unanimous -horror, while the gentlemen scowled, nodded, rapped snuff-boxes loudly, -snuffed ferociously and voiced their sentiments of indignant abhorrence. - -“A dem’d, lying scandal, by heaven!” exclaimed Lord Verrian. - -“A dooced scandalous lie, on my soul!” ejaculated Mr. Prescott. - -“Such infernal, audacious, dem’d impertinence should not be permitted for -a dem’d moment, by Gad!” quavered fierce old Lord Aldbourne. - -“Paper should be publicly burned!” quoth Captain Armitage. - -“And the impudent editor-fellow instantly hanged!” added my Lord Sayle -fiercely, while divers other gentlemen said much the same and quite as -ferociously. - -“You are alluding to the report in _The Monitor_, I think?” inquired my -lady serenely. - -“Indeed, yes, my dearest!” answered Lady Belinda languishing. “To the—the -scandalous notice concerning you, my love, and that—that infamous Dering -creature! Needless to say, dear Herminia, we are all positively sure that -’tis basely false—a most wicked invention not worthy a moment’s credit, -though, to be sure—you was in France very lately, my sweet soul, was you -not?” - -“Yes, dear Herminia,” sighed Lady Prudence, “and Mr. Scarsdale here -assures us that he met and spoke with Sir John Dering on the road between -Dieppe and Paris! Is it not so, sir?” - -“Beyond all question, ladies!” answered Mr. Scarsdale, stepping forward -and bowing with a flourish. “Not only did I see Sir John, but conversed -with him——” - -“Eh—eh?” cried old Lord Aldbourne pettishly, curving talon-like fingers -about his ear. “Eh, sir—cursed with him, d’ye say? What about, pray?” - -“I said ‘conversed,’ my lord,” answered Mr. Scarsdale, flushing a little. - -“Then dammit, sir, speak up, sir!” commanded his ancient lordship. “Be -good enough to remember that my dem’d ears are not so young as they were!” - -“As I was saying,” pursued Mr. Scarsdale, making the most of the -occasion, “I met Sir John Dering by chance at a wayside inn, not twenty -miles from Paris, and had some conversation with him.” - -“Why then, sir,” quoth my lady, “’tis like you saw this ‘wench,’ this -‘nymph,’ this ‘goddess in homespun’?” - -“Egad, my lady,” smirked Mr. Scarsdale, “now you mention it, I did——” - -“Hid?” cried Lord Aldbourne. “What did ye hide for, sir, and where?” - -“My lord, I say that I caught a brief glimpse of Sir John Dering’s ‘buxom -wench’!” - -“Oh, rat me, but did ye so, Scarsdale?” piped Mr. Prescott. “And was she -handsome indeed—come?” - -“Let me parish, sir, if she wasn’t!” cried Mr. Scarsdale, ecstatic. “A -magnificent crayture, on my life! A plum, sir, a glorious piece——” - -“We believe you, sir!” quoth Captain Armitage. “Dering ever had an -infallible eye, a most exact judgment!” - -“And pray, sir, what was she like?” demanded my lady, rising and -approaching the speaker. “Be very particular. Was she dark or fair? And -her features ... her face, sir, was it round or oval——” - -“She was dark, my lady, dark as night!” answered Mr. Scarsdale. “As to -her face ... her face, my lady....” Here, meeting my lady’s glance, he -faltered suddenly, his eyes opened wider, his heavy mouth gaped slightly, -and he seemed to experience some difficulty with his breath. - -“Well, sir!” demanded my lady. “What was she like?” - -“She was ... very beautiful ... beyond description ...” mumbled Mr. -Scarsdale, heedless of Lord Aldbourne’s vociferous demands that he would -“speak up and be dem’d!” - -“Was I there?” questioned my lady relentlessly. - -“No, no ... no, indeed, madam.” - -“And yet you saw me!” She laughed scornfully and turned her back upon his -pitiable discomfiture. “For, O dear friends,” she cried, “dear my loving -friends, for once our _Monitor_ doth not lie! Aye, indeed, ’tis all -true—every word on’t. I was the serving-wench Mr. Scarsdale was so kind -to favour with his notice—’tis all true!” - -“Heaven save us!” ejaculated Lady Belinda faintly, then uttered a -stifled scream and closed her eyes. “I sink!” she gasped. “I swoon! O my -poor Herminia, beware! Think, mem, think what you are saying! Oh, I am -shocked.... ’Tis dreadful!” - -But here my lady laughed joyously, while all watched her in more or less -scandalised amaze—all save Mr. Scarsdale, who was mopping damp brow in -corner remote. - -Her merriment subsiding, my lady arose and, standing before them, proud -head aloft, told her tale. - -“Some of you know that I have long entertained the deepest animosity -against Sir John Dering, and with just cause——” - -“We did!” quoth Lady Belinda, tossing her head. - -“We do, madam!” answered Captain Armitage gravely. - -“And most of you are, I think, acquainted with that impetuous boy, -Viscount Templemore, who, inspired by some rash word of mine concerning -Sir John Dering, started for Paris with some wild notion of becoming my -champion and forcing Sir John to fight him. Hearing of this madness, I -set off in immediate pursuit, but my coach broke down and, thus delayed, -and to while away a dreary hour, I wrapped myself in my maid’s cloak -and walked out to watch the moon rise, and thus, by the merest chance, -met Sir John himself, who, it seemed, had left Paris ere the duel could -take place. All of you, I think, are aware of Sir John’s overweening -pride and arrogance, and I determined to make this fortuitous meeting a -means of humbling his pride and trampling his lofty self-esteem in the -dust. Judge now if I have succeeded or no! Sir John mistook me for a -serving-maid, whereupon I acted the part of shy, country simpleton to -such perfection—Mr. Scarsdale saw me in the part, you’ll remember, and -was equally deceived—were you not, Mr. Scarsdale?” - -But that gentleman had softly and discreetly taken his departure. - -“Well, dear my friends, the end of it was, I very soon had Sir John -sighing and languishing to such degree that I ran away with him——” - -“Madam!” exclaimed Lady Belinda. - -“O heavens!” gasped Lady Prudence. - -“Until he thought me safe, and then—I ran away from him—left him, with -a flea in his ear, disconsolate—to mourn and seek his shy, humble, -rustical wench as he is doubtless doing at this very moment——” - -“Tee-hee!” laughed ancient Lord Aldbourne, slapping feeble knee with -veinous hand. “Dering—that terror o’ husbands! Hee-he! Oh, sink me! -Jilted, bilked and made a dem’d, everlasting fool of by a serving-wench! -Oh, split me!” And my lord laughed until he choked, and would have rolled -to the floor but for the Captain’s ready arm. - -And now, as she turned, my lady found my Lord Sayle beside her. - -“By heaven, madam,” he exclaimed, his assurance no whit abated, “I -protest ’twas marvellous well done, egad! We entertained an angel -unawares; ’twas your divine self that honoured us, after all, then.” - -“Indeed, sir!” she retorted in fierce scorn, “and ’twas your base self -that I scorned then, as I do now—and ever shall!” And she left him to -scowl after her while the room buzzed with talk and laughter. - -“That Dering, of all men, should be so flammed! O monstrous rich!” - -“When this gets round ... alas, poor Sir John! Ha, ha!” - -“Poor Dering ... every coffee-house in town will ring with the tale!” - -“He will never dare show his face in London after this!” etc. etc., until -the long room echoed again. - -Then the tall, folding doors were opened almost unnoticed, and a gorgeous -menial solemnly announced: - -“Sir John Dering!” - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - -HOW SIR JOHN DERING CAME BACK TO MAYFAIR - - -For a moment, it seemed, none spoke or moved; all faces turned towards -the slender, elegant figure on the threshold, where stood Sir John, his -most exquisite self. Thus he entered amid a strange hush, a silence -broken only by the tap of his high-heeled shoes; and, aware of the -many staring eyes, saw only those of her who stood drawn to her noble -height, in all the dignity of laces and brocade; and, very conscious of -the latent hostility all about him, advanced down the long room with a -leisured ease, apparently totally unconscious of all save my lady and his -serene and placid self. - -Haughty and unbending she stood to meet him, with no smile of greeting, -no hand to welcome him. Thus his bow was of the deepest and his voice of -the gentlest when he spoke. - -“My Lady Barrasdaile, this is a moment I have oft dreamed on, and, by my -soul, madam, now that I see you at last, your face and form remind me -powerfully of one whom I found—and have lost awhile! My lady, behold your -most faithful, obedient, grateful servant!” - -For a long moment she viewed him with a vague disquiet, then, as she thus -hesitated, the doors were thrown wide to admit the diminutive Duchess, -very dignified as became her rank, and mounted upon a pair of extremely -high-heeled shoes; at whose advent went up a murmur of polite salutation, -backs were dutifully bent, handkerchiefs fluttered, and gowns billowed to -elaborate curtsys; in the midst of which my lady spoke: - -“Dear aunt, you come pat to the occasion as usual! Permit me to present -to you Sir John Dering. Sir John, the Duchess of Connington!” - -A moment of utter stillness—a dramatic moment wherein noble gentlemen -gazed dumbly expectant and fair ladies thrilled and palpitated in -delightful suspense while the Duchess, that small yet potent arbiter, -scrutinised Sir John in silent appraisement; at last, smiling, she -reached forth her hand. - -“Welcome to town, Sir John!” said she as he bowed low above her very -small fingers. - -Gentlemen breathed again, ladies fanned themselves and chattered; the -fiat had gone forth: Her Grace of Connington had received the “dreadful -creature,” who consequently could not be too dreadful for Mayfair. - -Thus Sir John was duly presented to ladies who blushed and simpered, -drooped tremulous lashes, languished soulfully or frowned austerely -according to which best became her particular type of beauty; and to -gentlemen who bowed and protested themselves his devoted, humble, etc., -until he found himself confronted by one, a fierce-eyed gentleman with -one arm in a sling, this, who surveyed him from head to foot with an -expression of arrogant contempt. - -“Sir John Dering, is it,” he demanded, “or Mr. Derwent—which?” - -“You may have your choice, sir,” answered Sir John pleasantly, “for -each of ’em is equally at your service the moment you feel yourself -sufficiently recovered, my lord!” And Sir John made to pass on, but Lord -Sayle interposed, his air more threatening than ever. Quoth he: - -“Sir John Dering, or Derwent, or whatever name you happen to be -using—last time we met, sir——” - -“To be sure,” smiled Sir John amiably, “I advised your lordship to take -fencing lessons——” - -“Tee-hee!” screeched old Lord Aldbourne suddenly. “Hee-ha! Fencing -lessons! Oh, smite me!” - -Sir John slipped nimbly aside just in time to escape my Lord Sayle’s -passionate fist; then the two were borne apart amid an indignant whirl of -embroidered coat-skirts. - -“Shame, my lord, shame!” cried half a dozen voices, while ladies -screamed, moaned, grew hysterical, and made instant preparation to swoon -in their most becoming attitudes. - -“O Ged!” screeched Lord Aldbourne above the hubbub, “I never saw such a -dem’d disgraceful exhibition in all my dem’d life! Sayle, you must be -mad or dem’d drunk, sir ... in a ladies’ drawing-room full o’ the dear -creeters ... oh, dem!” And then, high-pitched, cold and merciless rose my -lady’s voice. - -“My Lord Sayle, pray have the goodness to retire. Your manners are better -suited to your country taverns. Begone, sir, ere I summon my servants!” - -In the awful silence that ensued, my Lord Sayle stared vaguely about him -like one stupefied with amazement, then, striding to the open door, he -stood striving for coherent speech, and when at last utterance came, he -stammered thickly: - -“You ... you shall regret ... bitterly ... bitterly! Aye, let me perish -but you shall!” Then, flinging up his uninjured arm in passionate menace, -he turned and was gone. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - -HOW SIR JOHN DERING WENT A-WOOING - - -My Lord Sayle’s abrupt departure sufficed to break up the assembly; -my lords and ladies having been very delightfully amused, interested, -thrilled and shocked by the varied incidents of the last crowded hour, -hasted to be gone, eager to recapitulate the whole story (with numerous -additions, to be sure) to the astounded ears of those unfortunates who -had missed so singular an occasion. - -Thus, while my lady bade adieu to her guests (each and all more her -doting friends and obedient humble servants than ever), Sir John -presently found himself alone with the Duchess in a curtained alcove, and -stooping, took her so small hand ere she was aware to kiss it with such -reverence that she actually flushed. - -“O heavens, sir!” she exclaimed. “Pray, why so—so infinite impressive?” - -“Madam,” he answered gravely, “despite the evil that is told of me, with -more or less truth, alas, you were generous! Having the power to abase -me, you mercifully chose to lift me up. Pray believe that my gratitude is -yours, now and ever!” - -“Indeed,” said she, noting his earnest face, “you are strangely unlike -the Sir John Dering I anticipated. Your—your reputation, sir——” - -“Aye, my reputation!” he repeated wearily. “’Faith, madam,’tis my incubus -that hath me in a strangle-gripe. For years I have endured it with a -fool’s content, but now when I would be rid on’t I may not. ’Tis a -haunting shadow, a demon mocking my best endeavours. Evil is naturally -expected of me, virtue—never. Indeed, you behold in me the poor victim -of a relentless fate——” - -“Fate, sir?” cried a scornful voice, and my Lady Herminia stepped into -the alcove. - -“Even so, madam!” he answered, rising to bow. - -“Heaven preserve us!” she exclaimed. “Do you dare put the onus of your -own misdemeanours upon Fate?” - -“Nay, then,” he answered, “let us call it Fortune, madame, since Fortune -is—feminine, and esteemed ever a fickle jade!” - -“So, sir, having contrived yourself an evil notoriety, you would turn -cynic and rail upon Fate, it seems!” - -“Nay, madam, cursed by cruel Fortune, I am become a Man o’ Sentiment and -find in simple things the great and good content: the carolling bird, the -springing flower, the rippling brook, these have charms the which——” - -“Tush, sir, you grow lyrical, which becometh you most vilely.” - -“Fie, Herminia!” cried the Duchess. “Hold thy teasing tongue, miss. -Sir John is right, indeed—I myself love to hear the carolling brook—I -mean the rippling bird—— There, see how you ha’ fluttered me! Sit down, -Herminia—do! And you, Sir John! Be seated—both o’ you, instead of -standing to stare on each other like—like two fond fools foolishly fond! -So! Now, surely, Sir John, a man’s reputation is his own, to make or mar?” - -“Nay, ’faith, your Grace, doth not a man’s reputation make or mar him, -rather? And whence cometh reputation but of our friends and enemies who -judge us accordingly. So the world knows us but as they report. Thus, he -or she that would be held immaculate should consort solely with dogs or -horses that ha’ not the curse of speech.” - -Here my lady sighed wearily and began to tap with impatient foot. - -“Herminia, hush!” exclaimed the Duchess. “Hush and flap not fidgeting -foot, miss. How think you of Sir John’s argument?” - -“I think, aunt, that Sir John, according to Sir John, doth make of Sir -John a creature so unjustly defamed that one might look to see Sir -John sprout wings to waft good Sir John from this so wicked world. And -pray, Sir John, may we ask to what we owe the unexpected honour of your -presence here?” - -“Alas, madam,” he sighed, “to what but matrimony! I am here in the matter -of marriage.” - -The Duchess gasped and strove to rise, but her niece’s compelling hand -restrained her. - -“Pray, sir, whose marriage?” - -“My own, madam. You behold me ready to wed you how, when and where you -will.” - -“Oh, then,” quavered the Duchess, “oh, pray, sir, ere you continue—I’ll -begone.... Herminia, suffer me to rise——” - -“Nay, dear aunt, rather shall you suffer along with me——” - -“Loose me, love!” implored the Duchess. “Unhand me, Herminia; I will not -remain.... I cannot—so awkward for Sir John ... for me! Oh, horrors, -Herminia!” - -“Horrors indeed, dear aunt, but we’ll bear ’em together.” - -“But—O child! A proposal—and I here! So indelicate! I’m all of a twitter, -I vow!” - -“So am I, aunt. So shalt thou sit here with me and hear Sir John’s -comedy out, poor though it be. And Sir John ever performs better with an -audience, I’ll vow!” - -“O sir,” wailed the little Duchess helplessly, “you see how I’m -constrained! Herminia is so—so strapping and strong! I may not stir, -indeed!” - -“Aunt!” - -“And brutishly brawny, sir.” - -“Aunt Lucinda!” - -“Ha!” exclaimed Sir John. “A most excellent phrase, your Grace!” And out -came his memorandum forthwith. “‘Bewitching but brutishly brawny is she!’ -Here is metre with an alliterative descriptiveness very delightfully -arresting! And now, mesdames, I am hither come most solemnly to sue the -hand of my Lady Barrasdaile in marriage——” - -“Then,” she retorted angrily, “all things considered, sir, I demand to -know how you dare?” - -“Not lightly, madam, believe me,” he answered gravely; “but matrimony -no longer daunts me. Having made up my mind to’t, I am ready to face it -undismayed, to endure unflinching——” - -“Sir, you insult me!” - -“Madam, if I do, you are the first and only woman I have so insulted.” - -“Remember the past, sir—its horrors——” - -“Think of the future, madam, its joys. As my wife——” - -“Heaven save and deliver me, sir!” she exclaimed scornfully. “Do you for -one moment imagine I would contemplate a situation so extreme horrid?” - -“But indeed, my lady, despite what the cynics say, marriage hath much to -commend it. More especially a union ’twixt you and me, our natures being -so extreme the opposite of each other.” - -“That, indeed, is true, I thank heaven!” she nodded. - -“Alas, yes, my lady. You being of a somewhat violent, shall we -say—ungovernable temper——” - -“Too tragically true!” murmured the Duchess behind her fan. - -“Aunt, pray be silent!” - -“The _armoire_, child!” - -“Do not distract me, aunt. Sir, you are an insolent impertinent!” - -“But of a nature serenely calm, madam, to temper your excessive cholers. -Indeed, we are each other’s opposites, for whiles you are something -ungentle, very headstrong, extreme capricious and vastly vindictive, I -am——” - -“Utterly detestable, sir!” she cried indignantly. “Enough—enough! Good -Gad! must I sit and hear you thus abuse me? Forbid it, heaven! Is it -not enough affliction that my name should be coupled with yours in the -scandalous columns of an infamous journal?” - -“Can you possibly mean _The Polite Monitor_, madam?” he sighed. - -“What else, sir? And you ha’ read the hateful thing as a matter of -course!” - -“No, my lady. I wrote it.” - -“You, Sir John!” exclaimed the Duchess. - -“You—’twas you?” cried my lady. - -“Myself!” quoth Sir John. “’Twas writ in haste and hath small merit, I -fear, and little to commend it, but such as ’tis——” - -“Commend it!” cried my lady. “Commend it! Oh, this is too much; you -are insufferable! Sir John Dering, you weary me; you may retire!” And -magnificently disdainful, she arose. - -Sir John’s bow was Humility manifest. - -“Madam,” sighed he, “I am now as ever your ladyship’s most obedient, -humble servant. I go—yet first o’ your mercy and in justice to myself, -pray tell us when ’twill be?” - -“What, sir, in heaven’s name?” - -“Our wedding. When will you marry me, Herminia?” - -“Never—oh, never!” she cried passionately. “I had rather die first!” - -“Alas, Herminia, for your so passionate refusal!” he mourned. “Tush, my -lady, for your choice o’ death! And for thy so arrogant, unruly self—fare -thee well. So must I to the country there to seek my Rose.... O Rose o’ -love, my fragrant Rose.... God keep thee, my Lady Herminia, and teach -thee more of gentleness. Duchess, most generous of women—adieu!” - -So saying, Sir John bowed, and, wistful and despondent, took his -departure. - -“Aunt,” cried her ladyship, when they were alone, “in heaven’s name, why -did you?” - -“Why did I what, miss?” - -“Receive that—that—man?” - -“Perhaps because he—is a man, Herminia. Perhaps because he is the man to -mould and master you. Perhaps because of his wistful, wondering, woman’s -eyes. Perhaps because you—wished me to—ha! Why must ye blush, child, pink -as a peony, I vow?” - - - - -CHAPTER XIX - -TELLS HOW SIR JOHN WENT “BEAR-BAITING” - - -From St. James’s Square Sir John directed his chair to an address in -Mount Street, and was so fortunate as to meet Captain Armitage stepping -forth to take the air; hereupon they flourished their hats at each other, -bowed, and thereafter stood at gaze. - -“Armitage,” quoth Sir John, “time worketh change and five years is a long -time!” - -“Dering,” answered the Captain, with his pleasant smile, “five years -shall be as many hours—minutes, if ye’ll have it so!” - -“Tommy!” exclaimed Sir John, and held out his hand. - -“Jack!” exclaimed the Captain, and shook it heartily. “’S life!” cried -he. “’S death! Egad!... ’od rat me but this is infinite well, upon my -soul it is! Are ye home for good?” - -“I hope so, Tom.” Then, having paid his chairmen, Sir John slipped a hand -within the Captain’s arm and they walked on together. - -“Tom,” said he, gently interrupting his companion’s joyous reminiscences -of their schoolboy escapades and later follies—“Tommy, art minded for a -little gentle sport?” - -“Anything ye will, Jack,” answered the Captain eagerly, “for, demme, the -town’s dead at this hour ... a curst dog-hole, rat me! Say the word and -I’m yours. What’s to do?” - -“Bear-baiting, Tom.” - -“Hey? Bear-baiting? What the——” - -“D’ye happen to know which particular coffee-house my Lord Sayle -affects?” - -“Eh—Sayle?” repeated the Captain, halting suddenly. “Sayle, is it? Oh, -demme! D’ye mean——” - -“My Lord Sayle!” nodded Sir John. - -“But ... bear-baiting, Jack? O man, Lord love ye, ’tis pure to ha’ ye -back; the town’s alive again, or will be, burn me if ’twon’t! Sayle, eh? -So soon, Jack! Egad, ’tis like ye!... Bear-baiting. Oh, demme!” And the -Captain halted again to laugh. - -“And which coffee-house, Tom——” - -“Why, y’ see, Jack, the fellow’s not dared show his face in town o’ late -in consequence o’ that last ‘affair’ of his with poor young Torwood ... -but ... I remember him at Will’s, last year, aye, and Lockett’s.” - -To Will’s coffee-house accordingly they directed their steps, and here, -as luck would have it, found the unconscious object of their quest. - -My Lord Sayle was in a corner of the long room, his back to the door and -surrounded by gentlemen who sipped their various beverages, snuffed or -sucked at their long, clay pipes, while drawers hovered silently to and -fro, obedient to their commands; thus Sir John and the Captain entered -almost unnoticed, and, securing an adjacent table, Sir John ordered a -bottle of burgundy. - -“Burgundy—O Ged!” demurred the Captain. - -“You shan’t drink it, Tom!” murmured Sir John. - -My Lord Sayle, as one who had more than once killed “his man,” and was, -moreover, reputed to be in high favour at court just at present, was -assured of a respectfully attentive audience wheresoever he went. - -Behold him, then, the room being oppressively warm, ensconced beside an -open window and seated between his inseparable companions, Sir Roland -Lingley, slim and pallid, and Major Orme, red and a little corpulent, and -surrounded by divers other fine gentlemen who listened with more or less -languid interest while he held forth on the heinous crime of smuggling. - -“But, my lord,” ventured a mild gentleman in a Ramillie wig, “surely -there are worse sins than smuggling?” - -“Ha, d’ye think so, sir, d’ye think so?” demanded my lord pettishly. -“Then ’tis so much the less to your credit, sir. Damme, sir, how dare ye -think so! I say smuggling is a damnable crime and shall be put down with -a strong hand, sir! With relentless determination, and, begad, sir, I’m -the man to do it. I’ll purge Sussex yet ere I’m done, aye—I will so!” - -“But, my lord, I—I happen to know something of Sussex and——” - -“And what’s this to me, sir?” - -“Only that I understand the traffic is widespread and the Sussex -smugglers are accounted desperate fellows and very cunning, as——” - -“And I tell ye, sir, they are demn’d rogues and may be desperate as they -will, but I’ll break ’em! Aye, by heaven, I will if I have to call in the -soldiery and shoot ’em down!” - -“’Twould be a little arbitrary, sir!” ventured the mild gentleman again. - -“Arbitrary, sir—good! Such ha’ been my methods all my life and always -will be. Have ye any other observations to offer, sir?” - -“No, my lord,” answered the mild gentleman. - -“Then I’ll ha’ you know there are others besides smuggling rascals that -I’ll deal with ... others, aye ... just so soon as my arm permits. And my -method with them shall be just as arbitrary and—more to the point, sir, -the point!” And my lord tapped the hilt of his small-sword. - -“Tommy,” exclaimed Sir John at this juncture, “’tis devilish sour wine, -this! The properest place for’t is—out o’ the window!” And, with a -wide-armed, backward swing he sent the contents of his glass showering -over the flaxen wig, wide shoulders and broad back of my Lord Sayle. - -A gasping oath of angry amazement; a moment of horrified silence.... - -“What, have I sprinkled some one, Tom?” questioned Sir John and, glancing -over his shoulder, he seemed to notice my lord for the first time and -laughed. “Why, ’tis no matter, Tom,” quoth he lightly, “’twas only that -fellow Sayle. Shall we try another bottle?” - -My Lord Sayle’s chair was hurled aside, and he turned to leap at the -speaker, but recoiled before the thrust of a gold-mounted cane. - -“Sir,” said Sir John, stabbing him off, “since no ladies are present -you ha’ my permission to swear until you weary, but you will do it at a -distance—remain where you are—sir!” - -My lord promptly cursed and swore until he had raved himself breathless. - -“Tut, sir, tut-tut!” smiled Sir John. “Don’t bluster from the coward’s -castle of an injured arm; come to me when you can mishandle your sword -and I’ll send you back to bed again.... I think we’ll make it your right -leg next time——” - -At this, my lord’s frenzy broke forth anew, a wild torrent of oaths, -vituperations and murderous threats, while Sir John, holding him off with -his cane, watched him with a serene satisfaction until once again my lord -was constrained to pause for breath; whereupon Sir John continued: - -“Give me leave to tell you, my Lord Sayle, that I account you a thing -begotten in evil hour merely to cast a shadow i’ the sun ... hold off, my -lord! ... and esteem you of no more account. At the same time, I seize -this occasion to state publicly ... pray, keep your distance, my lord! -... that I, John Dering, being a man o’ sentiment and also of action, do -solemnly pledge myself to harass you on every available occasion until -I either ha’ the happiness of driving you out o’ the country or the -misfortune to kill you.” - -Here my lord, becoming articulate again, roared and shouted for his -sword, vowing he would fight left-handed. But now, despite the mad and -terrible fury that shook him and the fell purpose that glared in his eyes -as he raved thus, threatening death and damnation, clutching vainly at -Sir John’s elusive cane and stamping in baffled rage, the contrast was -so ludicrous that some one tittered nervously and then came laughter—an -hysterical roaring, peal on peal, that nothing might check or subdue. -Even the mild gentleman had caught the contagion and laughed until his -Ramillie wig was all askew and himself doubled up, groaning in helpless -mirth. - -Even when my Lord Sayle, reeling like a drunken man, was half led, half -carried out by his friends, the company rocked and howled, hooted and -groaned, slapped themselves and each other, wailing in faint, cracked -voices: thus their Gargantuan laughter waxed and grew until came the -drawers to peep and gape; until pedestrians in the street below paused to -stare and wonder. - -“O Jack ... O Jack!” wailed Captain Armitage. “Hold me ... hit me, a -mercy’s name.... Sayle ... vowing to ha’ y’r blood and ... clutching at -a cane that ... wasn’t there!... Swearing hell and fury and dancing ... -like a ... dem’d marionette! O Lord! ‘Begotten to be a shadow,’ says -you!... ‘We’ll make it your ... right leg ... next time!’ Oh, rat me, -Jack!...” - -“By heaven,” gasped the mild gentleman, “here’s a tale! Every -coffee-house will be ... cackling with’t. My lord’s loved none too well -... first on one leg, then ... on t’other....” - -Presently, taking advantage of the general uproar, Sir John hasted to -retire, followed by the Captain, still breathless but eager. - -“Ha’ ye any other bears to bait, Jack?” he inquired as they descended to -the street. - -“Not at present, Tom.” - -“So much the worse,” the Captain sighed. “Howbeit, I’ll not part with -thee; we’ll see the night out together. First, dinner at the Piazza, and -then——” - -“Thank’ee no, Tom! I’ve affairs——” - -“Aha—is she very fair?” - -“I’m a man o’ business, Tom, and am in town for but a short time.” - -“Why, then, where are ye living, Jack?” - -“At High Dering.” - -“Good Ged—the country!” exclaimed Captain Armitage, visibly shocked. “And -y’ are going back again to rusticate—you, of all men!” - -“Immediately.” - -“Cabbages and mangold-wurzels!” murmured the Captain. “Amazing! -Unless—aha, some rustic nymph, perchance—some village Venus, eh, Jack?” - -“Nay, Tom, smugglers and an ancient witch, rather. But what do you do -these days?” - -“Naught i’ the world since I inherited save play the fool generally and -make love to ‘the Barrasdaile,’ as the fashion is. And——” - -“Sounds lamentably dreary, Tom.” - -“It is, Jack, it is!” sighed the Captain. “One wearies of everything, and -‘the Barrasdaile’ hath no heart! And, talking of her, she flammed and -tricked thee finely, it seems!” - -“She did, Tom. You’ve heard the tale, then?” - -“Aye, Jack, who hasn’t? ’Twill be all over town by this, i’ faith, but -your ears should tingle, for ’twas demnably against you! Disguised, Jack -... dressed in her woman’s clothes and you all unsuspecting, ha-ha!” - -“And ’twas she told you, was it?” - -“Herself, Jack, this afternoon just before you made your dem’d dramatic -appearance. And, rat me, but ’twas pure! She had us all roaring with -laughter at thy expense, old lad ... demme, even the women forgot to -be scandalised. To ha’ flammed you of all men! She must ha’ played the -country innocent marvellous well!” - -“She must indeed, Tom.” - -“Ye see, Jack, she never forgives——” - -“A bad habit, Tom!” - -“Aye!” nodded the Captain. “And ’tis plain to see she hates thee—even -yet!” - -“And that is worse!” sighed Sir John. - -“And she’s dev’lish clever and quick—for all her size. Aye, a passionate -creeter ... a goddess ... all fire, Jack, or freezing cold ... she’ll -never”—here the Captain sighed heavily—“no, she’ll never marry me, ’tis -sure—although——” - -“Never, Tom!” - -“Oh, begad!” exclaimed the Captain, startled. “Sink me, but ye seem dem’d -sure about it!” - -“Tommy, I am!” - -“And why, pray?” - -“Because if she ever marries any one, that one will be me.” - -“You—you, Jack! You of all men?” stammered the Captain. - -“Myself!” - -“Good Ged!” gasped the Captain. “But——” - -“Good-bye!” quoth Sir John, and, seizing his companion’s hand, he shook -it heartily and went his airy way, leaving the Captain to stare after him -quite dumbfounded. - - - - -CHAPTER XX - -HOW SIR JOHN PLEDGED HIS WORD: WITH SOME DESCRIPTION OF THE PROPERTIES OF -SNUFF - - -The ancient town of Lewes was a-throng, its High Street full of cheery -bustle. Here were squires and gentry in lace and velvet, farmers and -yeomen in broadcloth and homespun, drovers and shepherds in smock-frocks -and leggings; spurs jingled, whips cracked, staves and crooks wagged and -flourished in salutation; horsemen and pedestrians jostled one another -good-naturedly, exchanging news or shouting jovial greetings; wains and -waggons creaked and rumbled, wheels rattled and hoofs stamped, a blithe -riot of sounds, for it was market-day. - -Now presently, down the hill from London, past the ancient church of -St. Mary Westout, drove an elegant travelling-carriage, its panels -resplendent with an escutcheon well known hereabouts, for, beholding -it, all folk, both gentle and peasant, hasted to make way; so the -blood-horses were reined up and the great chariot came to a stand before -the portals of the ‘White Hart’ inn, whereupon it was surrounded by a -crowd eager for sight of the grand personage whose rank and fame lifted -him so high above the vulgar herd. - -My Lord Sayle, being in a very black and evil humour, paid scant heed to -the shy and somewhat perfunctory greeting accorded him by the spectators, -but strode into the inn without deigning a glance right or left. - -Forth hasted the bowing landlord to usher his distinguished guest to the -best chamber; and my lord, scowling and mumchance, was about to mount -the wide stairway when a young gentleman, descending in somewhat of a -hurry, had the misfortune to jostle my Lord Sayle’s wounded arm, and -was murmuring an apology when my lord interrupted him with a roar that, -almost immediately, made them the centre of a curious, gaping crowd, the -which served but to inflame my lord the more, and he raged until the -place echoed of him. - -“Damn ye, sir,” he ended, “if ye were a man instead of a whey-faced lad -I’d give myself the joy of killing ye at the earliest moment!” - -“Sir,” retorted the unfortunate young gentleman, becoming paler still, “I -venture to regard myself as a man, none the less——” - -“Ha, do ye, sir—do ye, indeed?” sneered my lord. “Tell him who I am, -somebody!” This information being eagerly accorded, the young gentleman -appeared to quail, and was about to speak when down the stair sped a -young and beautiful woman. - -“Jasper—O Jasper!” she cried; then, facing the company wide-eyed and -pallid with terror, “Gentlemen,” she pleaded, “my Jasper meant no -offence—none, indeed——” - -“Then let him make suitable apology!” quoth my lord grimly. - -“You hear, Jasper—you hear?” - -“My lord,” said the pale young gentleman, his lips painfully a-tremble, -“I’ll see you damned first!” - -At this the lady screamed, the company murmured and my lord scowled. - -“Sir,” quoth he, “have the goodness to send your card to me upstairs! In -three weeks or a month, I shall call you to account for your ill-mannered -temerity—and your blood be on your own head!” So saying, my Lord Sayle -strode up the stair, leaving the unfortunate young gentleman to support -his half-swooning companion into an adjacent chamber amid the sympathetic -murmurs of the company. - -It was now that a second carriage drew up before the inn, an extremely -dusty vehicle this, and so very plain as to excite no more notice than -did the slender, soberly clad person who lightly descended therefrom, -a very ordinary-looking person indeed, except perhaps for a certain -arrogant tilt of the chin and the brilliance of his long-lashed eyes. - -Scarce had his foot touched pavement than he was greeted by a tall, -square-shouldered man, extremely neat and precise as to attire, who -escorted him forthwith into the inn. - -“Well, Robert,” said Sir John—or rather, Mr. Derwent—when they had found -a corner sufficiently sequestered, “I rejoice to be back; these few days -of town ha’ sufficed. To your true man o’ sentiment, Rusticity hath a -thousand charms, Bob. You agree, I think?” - -“I do, sir.” - -“Old Mr. Dumbrell, for instance. He is well, I trust, Robert, and——” - -“They are, your honour!” - -“And how go matters at High Dering?” - -“Fairly quiet, sir.” - -“You have persevered in the harassing tactics I suggested in regard to -our Mr. Sturton?” - -“With the utmost per-sistence, sir.” - -“You quite understand that I—ha! I hear a woman weeping, surely?” - -“Chamber in your rear, sir, door on your right,” answered Robert the -Imperturbable; and he briefly recounted the incident of the unfortunate -young gentleman. - -“Perfect!” sighed Sir John. “Not vainly have I driven these weary miles -in my Lord Sayle’s dust. Let us relieve the lady’s anxiety at once, -Robert!” With a gentle, perfunctory rap, Sir John opened the door in -question and beheld the unfortunate young gentleman on his knees beside -the settle, striving vainly to comfort her who lay there in tearful -misery. - -“If he kills thee, Jasper—if he should kill thee!” she sobbed. - -“Nay, dearest—beloved, he may not be so terrible as they say ... he may -but wound me——” Here the young gentleman sprang to his feet as Sir John -spoke. - -“Pray, forgive this intrusion, but I come to quell this lady’s -apprehensions, to bid her weep no more. For, sir, you cannot possibly -fight my Lord Sayle——” - -“But, sir—sir,” stammered the pale young gentleman, “I ... it seems I -must. I have already accepted——” - -“No matter, sir,” answered Sir John. “You cannot possibly cross steel -with my Lord Sayle until I have had that pleasure, since mine is the -prior claim, as I will instantly make apparent if you will trouble to -step upstairs with me.” - -“But, sir ... I ... I don’t understand,” murmured the young gentleman. -“Pray, whom have I the honour to address?” - -“My name is Dering, sir, John Dering—at your service.” - -“Dering!” exclaimed the young gentleman. “Sir John Dering of Dering?” - -“Oh!” cried the lady, clasping trembling hands. “The duellist?” - -Sir John bowed. - -“And my name is Markham, sir——” - -“Why, then, Mr. Markham, if you will accompany me upstairs——” - -“Willingly, sir,” answered Mr. Markham. - -“O Jasper!” cried the lady. “He ... you are not going to—fight?” - -“No, no, dearest!” - -“Madam,” said Sir John in his gentlest voice, “I pledge my word this -gentleman shall not fight my Lord Sayle now or at any other time——” - -“You—oh, you are sure, sir?” - -“Upon my soul and honour, madam!” - -“Then go, Jasper, if you must. But be not long or I shall swoon or run -mad!” - -“She ... my wife is ... is not ... very strong, sir,” stammered the young -gentleman as they ascended the broad stair with the imperturbable Robert -at their heels. - -“And so very young, sir!” said Sir John sympathetically. - -My Lord Sayle was at wine, supported by his two companions, Sir Roland -Lingley and Major Orme, and surrounded by young bloods and country beaux -who hearkened to his dicta eagerly and viewed with eyes of awesome envy -this man who had flashed his terrible steel so often. My lord, used to -such hero-worship, condescended to unbend, and was animadverting for -their behoof upon the delicate point as to how and when and why to take -up a quarrel, when he became aware of a stir at the door, of a quick, -light footstep, of a holly-stick that with sudden, graceful twirl swept -decanter and glasses crashing to the floor in splintered ruin, of a face -delicately pale and lighted by a pair of long-lashed eyes that glared -down at him, and of Sir John Dering’s high-pitched, drawling, hated voice: - -“If there is any one present who feels himself in the very least -affronted, I shall be most happy to accommodate him on the spot!” And, -dropping the holly-stick, Sir John drew sword, before whose glitter the -company drew back as one man. - -“And who the devil might you be?” demanded a voice. - -“My name, sirs, is John Dering, and I am here to tell Mr. Markham in your -presence that he cannot fight my Lord Sayle since I have the prior claim, -a claim I will forgo to no man breathing. I am here also to tell you, -gentlemen of Sussex, that I stand solemnly pledged to drive my Lord Sayle -out o’ the country or eventually kill him—whichsoever he desire, for——” - -Here my Lord Sayle, who had remained like one entranced, staring up into -the fiercely scornful eyes above him, succeeded in breaking the spell at -last, and, roaring a savage curse, picked up the first thing to hand, -which happened to be a snuff-box, and hurled it at his tormentor. But Sir -John, ever watchful, avoided the missile, which, striking an inoffensive -gentleman on the head, deluged him and those adjacent with snuff, a -choking, blinding shower. - -Hereupon, clapping perfumed handkerchief to nostrils, Sir John took up -the holly-stick, slipped his hand within Mr. Markham’s arm and sped from -the room, leaving wild tumult and uproar behind. - -Upon the landing, while he paused to sheathe his sword, the imperturbable -Robert took occasion to transfer the door-key from inside to out, and -having locked the gasping, groaning, cursing sufferers securely in, -followed his master downstairs. - -“Sir, how——” gasped Mr. Markham between his sneezes. “Sir John, how may I -... a-tish ... express my depths of—gratitude?” - -“By hastening back to her who will be growing anxious for you, sir——” - -“Aye, I will—I will, sir!” cried Mr. Markham. “You see, sir, she ... I -... we are hoping ... expecting ... a-tisha! ... d’you understand, Sir -John?” - -“And give ye joy o’ the event, Mr. Markham. My heartiest congratulations -and best ... asha!” Here Sir John sneezed violently in turn. “My -best—aho—wishes for you and her and—it, sir!” - -“Sir John,” quoth Mr. Markham, grasping his hand, “should it be ... -a-tish! ... a boy, sir, one of his names, if you’ll permit, shall be ... -a-hoosh! ... John, sir!” - -“Mr. Markham, I ... I feel myself extreme ... shassho ... honoured, sir. -My felicitations to your lady, and good-bye!” - -“Robert,” quoth Sir John, when his sneezing had somewhat abated, -“they seem to be making a confounded disturbance upstairs! What’s that -hammering, I wonder?” - -“Gentlemen a-trying to get out, I opine, sir!” - -“To get out, Bob?” - -“Precisely, sir. You see, I happened to lock ’em in, your honour.” - -“Oh, did you, egad? Then we’d best be off and away before they break out. -Are the horses ready?” - -“All ready, sir—this way!” - -So presently, having mounted in the yard, they rode off along the busy -street and, winning clear of the traffic, set spurs to their spirited -animals and had soon left the historic town of Lewes behind them. Yet -often Sir John must turn to view this ancient town, seeming to drowse -in the afternoon’s heat, its many-hued roofs of tile and thatch topped -here and there by grey church spires; and over all the castle, with its -embattled walls and towers, its mighty keep rising in grim majesty, hoary -with age but glorious in decay. - - - - -CHAPTER XXI - -OF GEORGE POTTER, HIS WHISTLE - - -“Regarding Mr. Sturton,” said Sir John, reining his horse to a walk when -the old town had sunk from view behind them, “you perfectly understand, -Robert, that I wish to give him sufficient rope to very thoroughly hang -himself?” - -“Pre-cisely, sir!” - -“He hath no suspicions as yet of our identity?” - -“None whatever, sir.” - -“’Tis pity I declared my name at the inn yonder, Robert.” - -“Why, I don’t see, sir, how Mr. Sturton is going to find out as you’re -Sir John Dering—I mean, that Mr. Derwent is Sir John Dering, or that Sir -John Dering is Mr. Derwent, or that your honour is ekally both and each -other, the very same i-dentical person both together at the very same, -pre-cise moment, sir.” - -“It certainly sounds sufficiently involved, Bob. But I will confess the -man puzzles me. I have even troubled to go through his accounts with my -lawyers and they seem perfectly in order—and yet I know him for a rogue -... and, moreover, he knocked me into a ditch and called me a ‘lad’!” - -“Lorramity!” exclaimed Robert, his imperturbability momentarily shaken. - -“The term ‘lad’ rankles, Bob: the ditch I heartily forgive him, -but—‘lad’!” - -“The ex-pression, sir, so applied strikes me as blass-phemious, your -honour!” Sir John laughed and became thoughtful, seeing which Robert -reined his horse respectfully to the rear, and so they rode on for a -while in silence, then: - -“Robert!” - -“Sir?” - -“Have you seen Sir Hector recently?” - -“Day afore yesterday, sir.” - -“How was he?” - -“Doleful, sir. ‘Doleful’ is the only word for it! And, sir, he said a -thing which, begging his pardon, I felt bound to deny.” - -“What was it, Bob?” - -“Sir, he sets staring at his horses y-ears, being mounted, sir, and, -‘Robbie,’ says he, and remarkable bitter, sir, ‘Robbie, women are the -devil!’ Whereupon, sir, I made so bold as to answer, ‘Saving your -presence, Sir Hector—some!’” - -“Highly discriminating, Bob!” said Sir John. “Anything more?” - -“Aye, sir, he did. ‘Robbie,’ says he, ‘women ha’ made fools o’ men from -the beginning!’ says he, ‘and so they will to the end! A plague on ’em!’ -says he, and spurs off at a gallop afore I could make retort ade-quate, -sir.” - -“Hum!” murmured Sir John pensively. “As to our Mr. Sturton, have you felt -yourself impelled to any further acts of—hostility, Bob?” - -“Only very slightly, your honour. To be particular, the day afore -yesterday, precise time three-thirty-five p.m., chancing to observe -certain young female in——” - -“Damsel, Robert!” - -“Yes, your honour ... in tears, sir, I stepped alongside of said young -fe——” - -“Maid, Robert!” - -“Exactly, sir ... and surprised Mr. S. addressing old Mr. Dumbrell with -extreme vin-dictiveness, your honour, and old Mr. Dumbrell’s hat in a -puddle, sir. Whereupon, felt it urgent to wipe Mr. S.’s face with said -hat, and so the action ended, sir. But, same evening, being approximately -fifteen or, say, twelve minutes to nine o’ the clock, observing Mr. S. -berating old Dame Haryott in fashion out-rageous, felt called upon to -re-monstrate with said Mr. S., who, there and then, sir, did call up two -fellows, very tough customers indeed, and ordered ’em to set about me, -which they immediately did. Being thus outnumbered three to one, sir, -attacked on both flanks and centre, I posted my rear agin a wall and was -preparing to maintain position to extremity when, at critical moment, -received reinforcements in shape of a man by name Potter, who played a -small bludgeon most determined and with so nice a dexterity as ’twas a -pleasure to witness, with the happy result, sir, that the enemy drew off, -leaving us masters o’ the field, your honour, which happened to be Dame -Haryott’s front garden.” - -“And what, Bob—what do you think of Mr. Potter?” - -“That he’s one as takes a deal o’ knowing, sir. But, your honour, he -happened to tell me a thing as set me wondering. He told me that Mr. S. -walks over to ‘The Black Horse’ at Wilmington very frequent, and there -meets or con-sorts with Christopher Oxham, Lord Sayle’s bailiff.” - -“Well, Robert?” - -“Well, sir, I determined to follow Mr. S. ... which I did ... -on-perceived, and got sight o’ this Oxham, a big chap, very bold and -loud-voiced. They seemed to have a deal to say, and, as they parted, -Oxham says: ‘My lord returns this week and the lads are all ready, so at -word from you we’ll act!’” - -“At word from Sturton!” repeated Sir John, and rode awhile musing. - -“Sir,” said Robert, at last, “begging your pardon, but do you happen to -believe in ghosts, spectres, phantoms and such-like apparitions?” - -“Why, no, Bob; I can’t say that I do. Why?” - -“Well, I thought I didn’t, sir, but that night I—saw one ... aye, -manifest, your honour!” - -“How?” questioned Sir John, glancing up sharply. “You actually saw a -ghost, Bob?” - -“‘Actually’ is the word, sir. All I know is, that I saw something leaning -over Wilmington Churchyard wall ... a thing, your honour ... as I don’t -want to see again!” - -“What sort of thing?” - -“Well, sir, ’tis hard to tell ... and the light was bad ... but it -looked about eight foot high and had a pair o’ horns a yard wide and -more ... tipped wi’ fire! Aye, sir, I know it sounds outrageous, but -it looked worse than it sounds! Mr. S. see it too ... he was walking -p’r’aps a dozen yards or so in my front and me creeping in his rear ... -and suddenly he gives a kind o’ groan and dropped to his knees, then -scrambles to his feet and away he goes at a run, gasping and groaning -’till he was out o’ sight.” - -“And what did you, Bob?” - -“Well, sir, chancing to have a pistol handy, I let fly ... but though -I’ll swear my bullet took it clean through the head ... it didn’t do no -good, sir, not a bit—quite the re-verse, your honour; the thing got up -and danced at me, sir ... aye, jigged it did—Lord!” - -“And then, Bob?” - -“Why, then, sir, I took to my heels and bolted, ah—a sight faster than -Mr. S.” - -“Hum!” quoth Sir John. “I don’t think you should have fired, Bob.” - -“No, sir?” - -“No, you might have injured it! Besides, ghosts are supposed to be -impervious to bullets, I believe. And the thing had horns, you say?” - -“Sir, I’ll lay my oath on its horns ... ah, and fiery horns at that! And -there’s others have seen it too, before me.” - -“Who, Bob?” - -“Well, there’s Peter Bunkle for one, sir, as keeps ‘The Market Cross -Inn’ over at Alfriston; there’s Mr. Levitt, and Tom Burgess and others -besides.... There’s not a man of ’em dare stir out after dark.” - -“I wonder!” murmured Sir John musingly. “I wonder!” - -“You believe me, sir, I hope?” - -“Implicitly, Bob! I do but cast about for a reasonable explanation.” -And here fell silence again save for the plodding hoof-strokes of their -horses, and an occasional gusty sigh from the ex-corporal, who, it -seemed, was also busied with his thoughts. It was after a somewhat louder -sigh than usual that Sir John addressed him suddenly: “How old are ye, -Bob?” - -“My age, sir,” answered Robert gloomily, “is forty-five, your honour.” - -“I remember you were a boy when you marched to the wars with my father -and Sir Hector.” - -“Drummer in Sir Hector’s regiment, sir.” - -“And a corporal when he bought you out. You ha’ been with me a good many -years now, Bob.” - -“Twenty-two, sir ... ever since you was a very small boy ... a lifetime! -And during said time, your honour has treated me more like a ... a -friend, sir, than a servant. Consequently I am to-day more your honour’s -servant than ever. And I’m ... forty-five, sir!” - -“What o’ that, Bob? So were you months ago, but it didn’t seem to grieve -you then.” - -“Why, d’ye see, sir, the years march on a man at the double, but he never -heeds until one day he wakes up to find as he is ... forty-five!” - -“And her name is Ann!” quoth Sir John. - -Here, once again, the ex-corporal’s immutable calm was gravely -threatened; he flushed from shaven chin to neat wig, he blinked and -swallowed hard, but when he answered his voice was as steady and -unemotional as ever: - -“Cor-rect, sir!” - -“I’m monstrous glad to hear it, Bob. She hath a slender ankle, a low -voice, and is, I hazard, as good as she looks! ’Tis high time you thought -o’ marrying.” - -At this the ex-corporal stared hard at his horse’s ears, from these to -the hedges, right and left; finally he spoke: - -“Saving your presence, sir, ’tis not to be thought of—not for a moment, -your honour. Said young person being scarce turned of twenty years and -consequently out o’ the question——” - -“Have you mentioned the question to her, Bob?” - -“No, sir! Nor intend so to do ... ’twouldn’t be ... be ... ’twouldn’t ... -well—’twouldn’t, sir!” - -“Still, I wonder what she would think?” - -“Aye, your honour, so do I—vastly! But I don’t know ... never shall know, -so—can’t say, sir.” - -Here they fell silent once more, and presently, rounding a bend in the -road, the glory of the Downs burst upon them; range upon range of noble -hills whose smooth slopes and gentle undulations have in them something -sublimely restful, something suggestive of that beneficent quietude, that -reposeful, kindly silence which is infinitely greater and better than any -speech. - -Sir John, having paused awhile to behold this, now set his animal to a -trot, when he heard a rattle of wheels behind him and a piping, querulous -voice raised in loud complaint: - -“Hi—theer! Hey! Caan’t ’ee see as oi be a-comin’ so faast as oi may? -Boide a bit, boide for oi, young man, ’tidn’t neighbourly t’ roide awaay -an’ never a word fur nobody nor no one!” And, glancing round, Sir John -espied Mr. Dumbrell, that ancient person, perched in a light cart beside -Mr. Potter, who drove a very likely-looking horse. - -“How are you, Mr. Dumbrell? And you, Potter?” inquired Sir John as they -came up. - -“Middlin’ bad, I be!” answered the Ancient One. “Oi be generally-allus -ailin’, oi be! What wi’ that theer ol’ bullet in my innards, an’ my -chacketin’ an’ barkin’, an’ me granddarter, an’ the axey—’tis gurt wonder -as oi doan’t vade an’ wither into my grave, that it be! An’ to-day I be -mighty cuss an’ cluck arl-through-along-on-account-of ’im a-comin’ back! -Means trouble ’e du—dannel ’im, oi sez!” - -“Whom do you mean?” - -“’Oo should oi mean ’cept ’im! Soon’sever ’e comes, along comes trouble, -so dannel ’e twoice, I sez.” - -“Gaffer do mean Lord Sayle, sir,” explained Mr. Potter. - -“Aye, ’im!” nodded the Ancient One fiercely. “I seen ’im, I did, lookin’ -so black an’ gloomy-glum! ’E be a man as bean’t no account no’ow at arl, -as I’d up an’ tell ’un to ’is ’ead, I would! Ah, an’ t’other ’un’s as -bad.” - -“Who is t’other one?” - -“’Oo? Why, ’im fur sure! ’Im as bean’t nohow s’good as ’is feäther was -afore ’im—that’s ’oo, young man.” - -“’E do mean Sir John Dering, sir,” explained Mr. Potter again. - -“Ah!” snarled the Ancient One, shaking bony fist. “They be both on ’em -come back again to plague the country an’ the loikes o’ we!” - -“Did you happen to see Sir John Dering, Potter?” inquired Sir John. - -“No, sir, but they say ’e’s back in Sussex at last.” - -“An’ ’ardly a mile awaay be ‘The Acorn’!” added the Ancient One; “an’ -Ed’ard an’ ’is mistus’ brews good ale! An’ I be that tur’ble dry. What -wi’ me a-chacketin’ an’ Old Johnny a-tormentin’ o’ me!” - -“Old Johnny?” inquired Sir John. - -“Gaffer means the axey, sir,” quoth Mr. Potter. - -“And pray what is the axey?” - -“Don’t tell ’im, Jarge!” snarled Mr. Dumbrell. “’E mus’ be a barn fule.” - -“’Tis the ager, sir,” explained the patient Potter. - -“Is your ague indeed so bad, Mr. Dumbrell?” - -“Bad?” screeched the old man—“worse’n bad it be, ah, a sight worse! -Nobody never ’ad it so worse as oi, nowhen! Shook arl to liddle bits oi -be——” - -“Why, then, let us haste to ‘The Acorn’ forthwith.” - -Thither they repaired in company, and found it to be a small, yet -cheery-looking hedge-tavern set at a bend of the tree-shaded road and -presided over by a large and cheery man remarkable for the width of his -smile and a pair of huge, hairy arms; a man who greeted them cheerily and -at whom Mr. Potter, in the act of aiding the Ancient One to earth, cocked -an eyebrow and lightly caressed his left whisker; whereupon the cheery -landlord nodded. - -“Aye, aye, Jarge!” quoth he. “Same time, I reckon?” - -“Near as mebbe, Ed’ard!” nodded Mr. Potter. - -“Wind doo sou’-westerly, Jarge?” - -“It be, Ben!” answered Mr. Potter, as they followed the cheery man into a -sunny, sand-strewn tap. - -“Mr. Dumbrell,” said Sir John, “having regard to your ague, may I -suggest——” - -“Ale!” snapped that Ancient Person. “I never drinks naum but ale, young -man, ’cept, p’r’aps a mug o’ gumboo now an’ then when ’tis to be ’ad, but -no sperrits for oi!” - -The cheery Ed’ard, having attended duly to their several wants, forthwith -returned to smile at the road again. - -“Talking of spirits,” said Sir John as they sat, all four, with their -foaming tankards before them, “ex-Corporal Robert Doubleday here tells me -that he saw a ghost the other night——” - -“Well, what o’ that?” piped the Ancient One. “Theer be ’ostesses o’ -ghostesses ’ereabouts in Sussex, I rackon. What the rabbits, young man! -I du tell ’ee as I’ve seed ghostesses galore, wi’ corpse-candles, an’ -willy-wipsies, aye, an’ fairieses afore noo! Wait till I’ve blowed the -fob off’n my ale, an’ I’ll tell ’ee.” - -“Fairieses?” questioned Sir John. - -“Some folk do call ’em fairies, sir,” explained Mr. Potter. - -“Aye, young man,” cried Mr. Dumbrell, wiping his mouth, “fairieses—liddle -bits o’ creeters bigger’n a squrrel an’ not so gurt as Mus’ Reynolds——” - -“’E means a fox, sir,” quoth the explanatory Potter, observing Sir John’s -puzzled look. - -“’Old y’r tongue, Jarge, du!” snarled the old man. “Keep y’r mouth shet, -Jarge, an’ gi’e me a chanct to spik, will ’ee? I be a bit oldish, mebbe, -but I bean’t nowise doddlish!” - -“Not you, Gaffer, not you!” answered Mr. Potter soothingly. - -“Well, then, young man,” continued Mr. Dumbrell, “dappen ye sh’uld be -a-walkin’ along-about the four-wents, Wilmington way, arter dark, you’d -see the ghost o’ pore Tom Stickley as were shot ’longside o’ me whiles we -was landin’ tubs over tu Cuckmere ’aven, one night thirty year agone an’ -more! Pore Tom wears a sheet, ’e du, all mucked wi’ gore an’ gubber ... -though why e’ should walk Wilmington way, I dunno.” - -“But this ghost, Mr. Dumbrell, wore a pair of horns—eh, Bob?” - -“Horns, indeed, sirs!” quoth Robert—“horns a yard wide, I’ll lay my oath, -and all afire!” - -“’Orns!” exclaimed the Ancient One scornfully. “I’ve seed ’em wi’ ’orns -a-shootin’ out sparks an’ flame afore now, I ’ave! ’Orns? If ye was to go -up-along Windover, aye, or Furrel at midnight—which nobody don’t never -nowise du—you’d see more on ’em wi’ ’orns than ye could count in a month -o’ Sundays, aye, that ye would!” - -“Allus s’posin’ as they’ve got the ‘sight,’ gaffer!” added Mr. Potter. -“Some ’as the gift o’ seem’ an’ some ’asn’t!” - -“Do you believe in ghosts, Potter?” inquired Sir John. - -“Why, sir, I do—an’ then again—I doan’t. Ye see, sir, it do ’appen as -I’ve never ackcherly seen one, prexactly, as ye might say, but that be -because I ain’t got the gift o’ seein’, but I ain’t consequently agoin’ -for to deny the fac’.” - -“I dunno,” quoth the Ancient One thoughtfully—“I dunno as Windover bean’t -a more likely plaace to see ’em than Furrel, for it were on Windover as -pore young ’Obden was done to death, an’ the saame wik ’is ghost ’peared -tu James Sturton somewheres over by the Long Man an’ nigh fritted ’e out -o’ ’is moind.” - -“But,” said Sir John, “this particular ghost, considering his horns, -would seem to be the very devil——” - -“Hesh—hesh!” shrilled the Ancient One. “Doan’t ’ee knoaw as _’e_ aren’t -to be light-spoke on? _’E_ doan’t like it no’ow! An’ if so be as _’e_ be -come fur Mus’ Sturton, I dunno as it bean’t about toime. An’ now my ale -be finished an’ I bean’t agoin’ to ’ave no more—an’ Jarge bean’t neither! -And, look’ee, Mus’ Robert,” he admonished, wagging bony finger fiercely -in the ex-corporal’s face, “if ye should hap’ t’ see my granddarter Ann, -doan’t ’ee say naun to her about this here liddle drop o’ ale, mind, or -she’ll be givin’ me a middlin’ dish o’ tongues, I rackon! Come on, Jarge, -an’ ’elp me inter the cart.” - -This intricate manœuvre being successfully accomplished, they jogged -on together in company; and Sir John noticed that Mr. Potter possessed -a sweet though singularly penetrating whistle, and that the tune he -rendered, a simple, country air, was always the same. And Sir John -further noticed that Mr. Potter whistled only when in the neighbourhood -of certain cottages, and also that so soon as they approached these -habitations they would behold a man leaning pensively over gate, or in -doorway, or busied in the garden, which men, glancing at Mr. Potter, -would always behold him in the act of smoothing his neatly trimmed, left -side-whisker; whereupon they would nod and flourish hand, fork, mattock -or hoe, as the case might be, with a cheery hail of: - -“Aye, aye, Jarge!” - -At last, reaching a place where the ways divided, Mr. Potter pulled up -his horse. - -“We be a-goin’ round Glynde way, sir,” he explained. “If you should hap’ -along to Alfriston, I’d be proud to ’ave ye drop in on Potter, sir.” - -“Thank you, Mr. Potter, I certainly will,” answered Sir John. - -“Aye, an’ you too, likewise, Mus’ Robert.” - -“Thank’ee kindly,” answered the Corporal; “but I’d like to ask you, Mr. -Dumbrell, ha’ you ever known a ghost take harm from a pistol-ball fired -point-blank?” - -“Never, nowise, nohow!” answered Mr. Dumbrell decidedly, “and because -why? Because ghostesses be moighty ingenurious things, d’ye see, an’ -can’t never be ’urted nowhere an’ nowhen!” - -“True for you, gaffer!” quoth Mr. Potter, surveying a soaring lark -with an expression of placid and guileless pleasure. “I’ve ’eerd my -grandfeäther say as it weren’t no manner o’ good a-shootin’ at a -ghost ’cept you ’ad your piece charged wi’ a silver bullet, an’ even -then ’twere allus to be expected as your bullet might bounce off the -ghost—backwent-like—an’ strike ye wi’ mortal effec’, d’ye see. Good -artenoon, sirs!” - -“An’ mind this,” added the Ancient One, bony finger a-wag, “it bean’t -nowise ’ealthy-loike for no man to go nowheres nohow, nowhere an’ nowhen -i’ the dark ’ereabouts—no!” - -Hereupon Mr. Potter touched his horse with the whip and away went that -likely animal at such pace that the rattling cart and its occupants were -very soon out of sight. - -“Ha!” quoth Sir John thoughtfully, as they pursued their way towards High -Dering. “Hum! The hunting of spectres would seem to be a highly dangerous -sport, Bob.” - -“Agreed, sir!” - -“And yet—notwithstanding—I think, yes—I think we will adventure it one of -these nights, Bob.” - -“Very good, sir!” answered Robert the imperturbable. - -Reaching Dering Village at last, an unpleasant surprise awaited them; for -no sooner had Sir John dismounted before the ‘Dering Arms’ than he was -confronted by four stalwart men, formidable fellows armed with sticks and -clad in a neat livery who, stepping out of the inn, stood grouped in the -doorway, barring his entrance. - -“Well, my lads,” inquired Sir John, chin uplifted, “what is it?” - -“Ask ’im,” answered one insolently, a surly, blue-jowled fellow, with a -back-handed gesture towards the woeful landlord who stood shrinking in -the background. - -“Be good enough to explain, Mr. Nixon.” - -“Why, ye see, sirs,” mumbled the landlord, “these be Mus’ Sturton’s men, -an’ this be Dering, an’ Mus’ Sturton’s word is as you must go.” - -“You mean that we are to be turned out?” - -“Mus’ Sturton says as you must go, sirs,” repeated the landlord miserably. - -“Pray, what livery do these men wear?” - -“Why, sir, it be the Dering livery, though they be straangers -’ereabouts——” - -“Ha!” murmured Sir John, “I thought I recognised it. And we are to go, -are we?” - -“An’ the sooner the better!” growled the blue-jowled man truculently. -Here ex-Corporal Robert, leaving the horses to stand, made preparations -for instant action but paused in grim surprise, for Sir John was laughing -in sheer, unalloyed delight. - -“You hear, Bob, you hear?” he gasped. “Come, let us go.” - -“Go, sir!” exclaimed the Corporal. “Go!” - -“At once, Bob. So get our valises and effects—I see Mr. Nixon has ’em all -ready for us—and let us begone.” - -“But—but ... go, is it?” stammered the Corporal, clenching his fists. - -“Aye, Bob. Don’t you see we are driven forth of Sir John Dering’s inn -on Sir John Dering’s land by men wearing Sir John Dering’s livery and -acting under instructions of Sir John Dering’s steward! It is all quite -delightfully grotesque! So get our things, Bob, nor seek to ruin so -exquisite a situation by violence; let us rather steal humbly away. We -will try Alfriston, Bob.” - -“Aye, sir!” sighed the Corporal. “But, sir, such meekness, such—horrible -meekness, your honour——” - -“What of it, Bob?” - -“’Tis so imprece-dented sir, as to be almost beyond natur’, your honour.” - -Laughing, Sir John remounted and, laughing still, rode off to seek him a -new lodging. - - - - -CHAPTER XXII - -MY LADY HERMINIA BARRASDAILE WEAVES WEBS FOR AN UNWARY HE - - -“Aunt,” cried my lady, tossing Mr. Steele’s _Tatler_ to the other end of -the cushioned settee and yawning prodigiously, “Aunt Lucinda, ’tis high -time I had you married again!” - -“What, wench, what?” exclaimed the diminutive Duchess, opening drowsy -eyes. “Married, d’ye say?” - -“So soon as possible, dear aunt. I intend to wed you to a——” - -“Heavens, Herminia, how harrowing—how hateful——” - -“Goodness gracious preserve us, aunt, how can ye?” - -“Gemini! What now, child?” - -“Smother one with alliterations.” - -“Tush, miss,” exclaimed the Duchess, “and you talk such pure folly so -excessively extreme! Marriage, indeed! At my age!” - -“Aye, indeed, aunt! ’Tis high time I had thee safe wedded, for, though so -small, thou’rt a monstrous responsibility, my dear soul. So I ha’ found -thee a spouse——” - -“La, miss, hush and fie! I protest you make me blush.” - -“A monster, aunt!” - -“Horrors, child!” - -“Who could lift thee in one vast fist, thou dainty atomy ... aye, and big -me in t’other, for that matter! A giant, aunt!” - -“Herminia, you rave! What do I want with your monstrous giants?” - -“But he is a kindly monster, aunt, a most gentle giant. And he is, -besides, a baronet, a soldier, a gentleman o’ birth and breeding, not -ill-looking, nor old ... not very; brave as a lion, vigorous with health, -strong as Samson.... Doth not all this make thee to be a little in love -with him?” - -“Peace, child—cease, miss! You talk like a mad thing.” - -“So thou shalt come and look him over for thyself, dearest aunt.” - -“I won’t!” - -“You will!” - -“But I don’t desire to view any monsters, gentle or no.” - -“Aye, but then—I do, aunt! And so the matter is finally settled!” said my -lady, with determined nod. - -“Goodness aid!” ejaculated the Duchess. “What’s settled, Herminia?” - -“We start as soon as possible.” - -“Where for?” - -“Sussex.” - -“I’ll not go!” - -“O aunt, thou dearest of small creatures ... thou wilt not, thou canst -not desert thy doating, solitary niece. For, indeed, go I must.” - -“Why, Herminia, child? Why, a heaven’s name?” - -“To—to fulfil my destiny, aunt.” - -“Herminia, be sane! Tell me what you mean by ‘your destiny.’” - -“To fill his pipe and light it, aunt. To bring his slippers. To cook -for the pure joy of watching him eat. To perform those humble, lowly, -feminine duties small in themselves yet that, in the sum, make for the -glory of true womanhood and lift her nigh the angels.... Thus it went -somewhat, the rest I ha’ forgot.” - -“Pipe?” murmured the bewildered Duchess. “Slippers? Whose?” - -“Thy monster’s, aunt.” - -“Herminia, my poor child! Thou’rt distraught—’tis the sun to-day——” - -“Nay, aunt, ’twas Sir John Dering, weeks ago.” - -“Ha!” exclaimed the little Duchess loudly, and sitting up with sudden new -interest. “What of the dear man?” - -“‘Dear man,’ indeed!” repeated my lady, clenching white hands and -stamping both feet at once. “What of him? Oh, the devil confound him!” -Here my lady’s deep bosom surged tempestuously, her eyes glowed, her -delicate nostrils dilated; in fine, she manifested all those symptoms of -unruly anger that may be vented only by your very great lady high above -the vulgar herd, on your slatternly virago very far below. All of which -the Duchess, wise in most things pertaining to her own sex, noted with -her keen, shrewd eyes. - -“My poor Herminia!” she sighed. “How long have ye been in love with him?” - -“Love?” gasped my lady. “In love?.... Listen, aunt; I feel for him such -unutterable deeps of bitter scorn, such unspeakable loathing, such a -world o’ detestation that I yearn to have him truly in love with me.” - -“Why, to be sure, child!” nodded the Duchess. “Most feminine, under the -circumstances.” - -“Aunt, could I but once see him truly serious! Could I but once shake his -hateful calm, his cold, passionless self-assurance ... oh, then!” - -“What then, Herminia?” At this direct question, my lady looked a trifle -blank, whereupon the Duchess answered for her: “Why then, child, you -would make of his passion a mock, to be sure, trample his humble love -under your proud hoofs—I mean feet—laugh his suit to scorn——” - -“Can you doubt it, aunt?” - -“Never for one moment, my sweet.” - -“He should learn at last the deep measure of a woman’s scorn, aunt!” - -“Yes, my love. And then?” - -“Then, aunt, why ... I should at least be satisfied.” - -“I wonder, child!... So here is why you will to Sussex?” - -“And to find thee a husband, aunt.” - -“Tush for that, thou sly minx! But to watch thee weaving webs for an -unwary he, casting thy spells, luring the poor wretch to distraction and -destruction.... Hum!” - -“Then we’ll start at the earliest moment, dear aunt. Let it be thought we -are for your house in Surrey or Kent—or anywhere you will. But once in -Sussex we must forget your rank; you must be a superior inferior person, -aunt, or better—a decayed gentlewoman.” - -“Horrors—no, Herminia! I refuse to be anything so infinite abhorrent. -Lud! I should sound like a corpse!” - -“Howbeit thou wilt always be my little, loved, clever aunt.” - -“But think, Herminia! What will the world say?” - -“Everything that is sayable, aunt; but what matter?” - -“But where must we live, Herminia?” - -“In some small house or cottage suitable to our humble circumstances, -sure.” - -“And how are we to find such place? And how if no such place is to be -had, child?” - -“Fie, aunt! Remember thou’rt a duchess and can do anything! You have -hosts of servants, mostly idle.’ There is old Hammond, your head courier, -reliable and trustworthy; let this be his duty.... A cottage in or near -Alfriston.... ’Faith, shalt write to him at once!” - -So, after due consideration, the Duchess sat down to write forthwith, -while my lady hurried away, busied with a thousand concerns; and -presently to the Duchess came Mrs. Betty in exclamatory excitement: - -“O mam, your Grace, and is’t true indeed that we be a-leaving town, my -lady?” - -“Yes, Betty. I am taking your lady away to get her married.” - -“Married, mem? Lord save us all alive ... my lady—married? O my lady—who -to?” - -“To the one man I have seen who may govern her.” - -“Oh, gracious goodness me, my lady! And who can ever that be, your -ladyship, pray?” - -“One who, I think, may teach her happiness.” - -“Yes, your Grace, but O my lady—who?” - -“A man, Betty.” - -“Yes, my lady, I guessed as much, mem, but——” - -“A man she is head over ears in love with already, poor child!” - -“My lady—in love, mem! And never told me! O mem! Oh, goodness gracious -alive!... O your Grace—who?” - -“Don’t be inquisitive, Mrs. Betty. There, run away, child.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII - -HOW GEORGE POTTER CIRCUMVENTED THE PREVENTIVES - - -Since that dim, far-distant day when pious hands first raised Alfriston -Cross, it has endured much by stress of weather and the passing of so -very many years. In its shadow may have stood Godwyn the great Jarl, -and his feoffman Aelfric; about it lusty Saxon ceorls bartered and -trafficked; past it may have reeled some of the bloody wrack of Harold’s -army, desperate men weary from the fatal strife at Senlac. Here has it -stood through the centuries, lashed by rain and wind, or drowsing in the -sun, while England waxed great and powerful. And as it doubtless was -once the place where Aelfric’s ceorls and villeins bartered and chatted, -so has it been a familiar spot for lounging confabulation ever since, -and has propped the backs of “all sorts and conditions of men” through -countless generations. - -And of all this untold host surely never was there a back so suggestive -of conscious innocence, of gently-assertive rectitude and of guileful -guilelessness as the broad back of Mr. George Potter as he leaned there -this summer’s eve in murmurous, monosyllabic converse with Master Tom -Pursglove, the Tanner. - -“Couldn’t nowise be no better, Jarge!” remarked Mr. Pursglove. - -“Nohow!” responded Mr. Potter, his limpid gaze upon a gathering bank of -clouds to windward. - -“Black daark ’twill be, Jarge, an’ a risin’ wind t’ kiver the tramp o’ -the ponies ’ooves.” - -“Aye!” - -“Yonder comes Godby at last, an’ along wi’ Joe Muddle, Jarge.” - -“I sees ’em.” - -“They’ll ’ave been round givin’ ‘the word,’ I reckon?” - -“They ’ave, Tom.” - -Here Messrs. Godby and Muddle sauntered up and presently there were four -stalwart backs against the old cross. - -“What be the tale, lads?” inquired Mr. Potter. - -“Fourteen, Jarge!” quoth Mr. Godby, cutting a quid of tobacco. - -“’Leven!” said Mr. Muddle, tapping a large, horn snuff-box. - -“Which du mak’ thirty-seven on us, all told,” added Mr. Pursglove, -snuffing with Mr. Muddle. - -“Ah!” nodded Mr. Potter; and so fell a ruminative silence. - -“Fine night, Jarge, ’twill be?” opined Mr. Muddle at last. - -“Sh’uldn’t wonder, Joe,” admitted Mr. Potter. - -“But I do ’ear as the coastguard be doubled!” quoth Mr. Godby. - -“True, John,” nodded Mr. Potter. “They be! Likewise the bozzlers be out!” - -“An’ Will Comfort tol’ me as ’e seen sojers, a-marching out o’ -Brighthelmstone ’s marnin’, Jarge,” said Mr. Muddle. - -“Let ’em march!” murmured Mr. Potter. - -“Ah,” quoth Mr. Pursglove, “Jarge’ll sarcumwent ’em some’ow, same as ’e -done afore ... ’twas tubs ’arf-full o’ watter, buoyed very keerful off -Burling Gap, las’ time ... coastguard a-haulin’ of ’em in, tur’ble busy, -an’ us a-runnin’ the stuff at Cuckmere! Sarcumwentin’s the word. What -d’you say, Jarge?” - -“’Ogs,” quoth Mr. Potter in somewhat louder tone, his mild gaze -still uplift heavenward, “’ogs, Tom, takes as much knowin’ as an -’ooman—’specially sows! There was Peter Bunkie’s gurt sow, you’ll mind, -as never littered less’n eleven, suddenly took it into ’er ’ead to -starve—wouldn’t eat naun. Peter, ’e done arl as ever man could for ’er, -but ’tweren’t no manner o’ good. Me an’ Peter ’ticed an’ cogged ’er -wi’ arl kinds o’ fother from rum-an’-milk, loo’-warm, to some stuff in -a bottle as Peter ’ad from the ’poth’cary the time ’is leg was s’bad, -but she’d ’ave naun, not she—turned up ’er nose, ’er did, an’ being -just as contrairy as any ’ooman, closed ’er eyes an’ went an’ died. -The neighbours arl guv’ it their ’pinion as she was took off by a -information, but I b’liv’ as she was a-grizzlin’ over summat as nobody -knowed nothin’ about ’cept ’er own self, d’ye see? Good evenin’, Mus’ -Sturton, sir; ’ere be Potter a-tellin’ ’bout Peter Bunkie’s sow an’ ’ere -be you—a-bobbin’ up that onexpected-like——” - -“Look ye here, George Potter,” cried Mr. Sturton in his peremptory -fashion, big chin out-thrust; “look now, and mark me——” - -“Potter be a-lookin’, sir! An’—talkin’ o’ marks, ’ow’s your pore eye now, -Mr. Sturton, sir?” - -It was during Mr. Sturton’s rejoinder, a long and eloquent denunciation -of Mr. Potter, ending with a comprehensive condemnation of his eyes, -limbs, lights, body and soul, that Sir John rode into the village, the -gloomy Robert at his heels, and unnoticed by any one, pulled up in the -shade of a tree whose widespreading branches afforded a pleasing and -kindly shade. - -“Lord, Mus’ Sturton, sir,” quoth Mr. Potter, “’eavens know as I doan’t -begridge nobody nothing, but I’d gi’e summat for your gift o’ speech ... -so easy-like ... sech curses! So ’eart-felt——” - -“I’ll see ye hung or transported yet for the rogue y’are, George Potter!” - -“I ’opes not, sir——” - -“Hold y’r tongue!” - -“Don’t be ’arsh, Mr. Sturton, sir——” - -“We know ye for a poachin’, smugglin’ rascal——” - -“Poachin’? Smugglin’?... Wot—me?” quoth Mr. Potter in tones of pained -surprise. “Mus’ Sturton, if ever you catches Potter a-doin’ one or -t’other, I ’opes as you’ll mak’ an’ example of ’im.” - -“That’s what we’re here for—look behind ye!” cried Mr. Sturton -triumphantly. “Are ye there, Oxham?” - -“All ready, Sturton!” boomed a jovial voice, and out from an adjacent -twitten stepped five brawny fellows headed by a large, loud man who -bore himself with a jaunty truculence and wore his three-cornered hat -cocked at a defiant angle. At sight of whom, Sir John frowned slightly: -beholding which portent the corporal’s gloom was lifted from him, and, -freeing his feet from the stirrups, he prepared for action sudden and -swift. - -“Why, good-evening, Mus’ Oxham!” said Mr. Potter serenely. “An’ ’ow might -Lord Sayle be a-gettin’ along wi’ his wounded arm?” - -Mr. Oxham slapped coat-skirts with his riding-whip and smiled -unpleasantly. - -“Well an’ hearty enough to attend to you, I reckon,” he answered. “So are -ye a-coming along with us quiet or no?” - -“But—wheer to, sir?” - -“To my Lord Sayle, for sure!” - -“On what account, sir?” - -“Poaching,” cried Mr. Sturton. “Poaching in the first place, and -smuggling in the second, and for being an insolent, shiftless, masterless -rogue in the third——” - -“And in the fourth place,” smiled Mr. Oxham, seeming bigger and louder -than ever, “because my lord wants ye! An’ that’s enough, I reckon!” - -“Aye,” nodded Mr. Potter, “an’ where be your warrant, sir?” - -“Never you trouble for that, Potter! My lord wants ye. Are ye comin’ -quiet or no?” - -“But this bean’t no kind o’ justice, sirs——” - -“Never you trouble about justice, Potter. You can talk o’ that to his -lordship. Now, are ye comin’ quiet or no?” - -“Quiet!” answered Mr. Potter; “but you’ll be s’kind as to allow me a -drink o’ ale first?” - -“Not by no manner o’ means!” smiled Mr. Oxham, planting himself before -his captive. “You are comin’ along with us, and you’re a-comin’—now!” - -“I think not!” said a somewhat high, resonant voice, and, riding from -behind the tree, Sir John reined in his horse and sat looking at the -group, his chin tilted imperiously, his eyes quick and keen. - -“And who,” demanded the large Mr. Oxham, smiling and slapping coat-skirts -again—“who the devil are you?” - -“Nobody, Oxham,” answered Mr. Sturton. “A no-account youngster as I’ve -turned out o’ ‘The Dering Arms’ ... knocked him into the dik’, I did, -last time we met——” - -“And my name is Derwent!” added Sir John. “And I will not suffer you to -drag this man away—now or at any other time.” - -Mr. Oxham boomed derisive laughter and flourished his whip for the -benefit of the gathering crowd that pressed ever nearer. - -“Oh ... you won’t, hey?” he demanded. - -“No,” answered Sir John. “And—look’ee, fellow, next time you desire to -laugh, turn away—your gaping mouth offends me!” - -“Why—why, damme!” stammered Mr. Oxham, staring. “Offend you, is it? Ecod, -I’ll do more than offend ye if ye doan’t tak’ yourself off, and sharp’s -the word!” - -“Aha!” exclaimed Sir John. “The vulgar rogue actually dares to threaten!” - -“Do ye tak’ yourself out o’ my way or doan’t ye?” shouted Mr. Oxham, -brandishing his whip. - -“I do not!” answered Sir John, and with a motion of slender hands, lifted -the flaps of his holsters, discovering the butts of two serviceable -pistols at his saddle. - -“Ho—murder, is it?” exclaimed Mr. Oxham, falling back a step. - -“Bob, should it be necessary, you will leave the shooting to me.” - -“I prefer my riding-crop, sir!” answered the Corporal happily. - -“And now,” continued Sir John, his eyes very quick and watchful, “Mr. -Oxham, Mr. Sturton and gentlemen all, listen to me! I will not permit Mr. -Potter to be apprehended in this outrageous fashion for the following -cogent and excellent reasons, namely: first, because ’tis against the -law; second, because I myself share Mr. Potter’s very natural aversion -to my Lord Sayle’s company; and, thirdly, because I regard Mr. Potter in -the light of a friend and, as a Man o’ Sentiment, I feel the bonds of -friendship very sacred.... How say ye, gentlemen?” - -“You’m right, sir! Right you be!” cried a voice. - -“Indeed, we are all with you!” added a second voice, and Mr. Pym, the -painter, appeared, hatless and with a long-hafted prawning-net in his -hand. “The man Sayle has tyrannised hereabouts too long!” - -“Aye, that ’e ’ave! That ’e ’ave!” cried others, and the crowd surged -nearer with an angry muttering, insomuch that Mr. Oxham flourished his -whip and scowled, while his satellites, for all their brawn, began to -grow uneasy. - -“At him, Oxham!” cried Mr. Sturton. “Pull him from his horse; he won’t -dare to shoot!” - -“Try!” quoth Sir John. - -“Aye, come on, if ye will!” added Mr. Pym, brandishing his heavy-hafted -net. - -Here was a moment’s silence, and then Mr. Potter spoke: - -“Thank ye heartily, friends an’ neighbours—and you most of arl, Mus’ -Derwent, sir, but it bean’t no manner o’ good a-muckin’ yourself up -arl-along-on-account-of poor Potter’s affairs, not nohow. There bean’t -no man can’t nowise help poor Potter except Potter himself, I rackon, -and, sir—Potter be agoin’ to try!” - -As he uttered the last word Mr. Potter leapt, brawny fist a-swing with -behind it all the weight, strength and impetus of powerful body; and, -felled by that resistless blow, the large Mr. Oxham, for all his size, -rolled helpless upon the roadway, while over his prostrate form leapt the -fugitive and disappeared through the open doorway of ‘The Market Cross -Inn,’ but with Sturton and divers others of Oxham’s men close upon his -heels. - -Next instant Sir John had plucked forth his pistols, dismounted and, -entering the inn, beheld Sturton and his fellows staring around them and -upon each other in speechless, wondering dismay, for save for themselves -the place was empty; Mr. Potter, it seemed, had vanished into thin air. - -It was a proportionate, fair-sized room with sanded floor, beamed ceiling -and a wide hearth, where burned a cheery fire screened by a huge, -high-backed settle. - -“Muster Sturton, sir,” quoth one man, glancing uneasily about, “I don’t -like this, blind me if I do.... A man as wanishes afore a man’s werry -eyes ain’t nat’ral, an’ I don’t loike it.” - -“No more don’t I,” added a second. “One moment theer ’e was, plain to -see, the next ’e ducks be’ind the settle yonder—you seen ’im duck, -Sir—an’ then ... well ... ’e ain’t!” - -“Hold y’r tongues!” boomed Mr. Oxham, striding forward at this juncture, -cherishing bruised face with one hand, whip brandished in the other. -“You, Sturton, where is he? What’s come o’ the rogue?” - -“Aye—what?” answered Sturton, his gaze wandering. “I was close on him -when he slipped behind this here settle, and then—well, he ain’t here -now, Oxham! And I swear he never reached door!” - -“But, damme,” roared Mr. Oxham, fetching the settle a resounding blow -with his whip, “he must be ’ereabouts somewhere, man!” - -“Aye, but—where?” - -“Skulking in some hole or corner——” - -“Why, then—find him, Oxham!” - -Hereupon Mr. Oxham roared for Peter Bunkle, the landlord; and after -some while Mr. Bunkle condescended to become visible, a shortish, -broad-shouldered man whose sturdy middle was swathed in snowy apron and -whose eyes were round and wide with innocent inquiry; to whom Mr. Oxham, -with much whip-flourishing, set forth the tale of Mr. Potter’s so sudden -disappearance, demanding instant elucidation thereof under pain of dire -penalties to all and sundry. - -“What, Jarge Potter vanished again, says you?” inquired Mr. Bunkle, -faintly interested. “Well, wot o’ that—Lord, is this arl? Why, folks be -allus a-disappearin’ ’ereabouts—specially Jarge Potter; it do be gettin’ -quite an’ ’abit wi’ him. But, bless ye, doan’t ye go a-worryin’—Jarge’ll -come back safe an’ sound, ’e allus do—if ye wait long enough.” - -“Now you, Bunkle, look’ee here!” boomed Mr. Oxham, whip a-flourish. “We -know as there’s a cargo to be run to-night somewheres——” - -“Cargo?” repeated Mr. Bunkle, vastly astonished. “Oh? What of? Run where?” - -“You know that well enough, Bunkle, but no matter! We want Potter. Lord -Sayle knows ’e be one o’ the ringleaders, and he’s sent us to tak’ him, -and tak’ him we will.” - -“Well, then, tak’ him,” nodded Mr. Bunkie, “an’ I’ll get back to my -cookin’—as fine a jugged-’are——” - -“Where is he? Speak up!” - -“Who?” - -“Why, Potter, damme!” - -“Lord, bean’t ye a-tellin’ me as he be vanished, an’ if he be vanished, I -suppose vanished ’e be——” - -“Where to, dang ye—where?” - -“’Ow should I know?” sighed Mr. Bunkle. “An’ that theer jugged-’are nigh -ready to be dished—’ow should any one know? Arl as I do know is as theer -be strange ’appenings ’ereabouts, aye, that there be; country’s full -o’ arl manner o’ unnat’ralness—visions, spekiters—Mus’ Sturton seen a -phanitum only t’other night; didn’t ye, Mus’ Sturton?” - -“Who says so—lies!” cried Mr. Sturton fiercely. “And, Oxham, if ye hope -to find Potter you’d best search now ’stead o’ wasting any more time.” - -“Aye, search be the word!” nodded Mr. Bunkle. “I can show ye arl manner -o’ likely places to search in——” - -“I’ll find the curst rogue if we ha’ to pull the danged place about your -ears——” - -“Why, very good!” answered Mr. Bunkle, rubbing his hands. “Only arl -breakages must be paid for——” - -“Paid for?” roared Mr. Oxham, louder than ever. “Gimme any more o’ your -imperence an’ I’ll pay ye wi’ my whip!” - -“I shouldn’t!” answered Mr. Bunkle. “No, I shouldn’t if I was you, Oxham.” - -For answer Mr. Oxham raised his whip, only to have it twitched out of -his grasp from behind, and, wheeling about, came face to face with the -imperturbable Robert. - -“You ... you ...” he panted. “Gimme that whip!” - -“With j’y!” answered the ex-Corporal, stepping back for space to strike. - -“I suggest the fire, Robert!” murmured Sir John from where he lolled upon -the settle; and next moment Mr. Oxham’s whip was among the flames, and -before its stupefied owner could find words, Sir John continued: - -“And now, Mr. Oxham, you may depart and do your expected bellowing -elsewhere. I find you altogether offensive!... D’ye hear me, fellow—go!” - -Mr. Oxham’s large face grew inflamed and seemed to swell larger, and -he glared from the indolent figure on the settle to his five uneasy -stalwarts; but hard by, the corporal and Mr. Bunkle stood poised for -action offensive; in the doorway, Mr. Pym leaned upon his prawning-net, -and behind him loomed Messrs. Pursglove and Muddle, while divers faces -scowled in at the open lattice. Observing all of which, Mr. Sturton spoke: - -“We’d best be going, Oxham. We’ll see no more o’ Potter to-night, I -reckon, leastways—not hereabouts. We’d best be going——” - -“Go?” roared Oxham. “Not yet, damme!” And, speaking, drew a pistol -from his pocket, but, in that moment, down came Mr. Pym’s unerring -prawning-net, completely enveloping his head, and thus securely netted -he was deftly disarmed by Mr. Bunkle, who, levelling the weapon at the -gloomy five, commanded them to begone; which order they promptly obeyed, -followed by Sturton and lastly by Mr. Oxham, hustled ignominiously into -the street, his head still enveloped in the net, to be greeted by the -laughter of all Alfriston, as it seemed. - -“We have raised the devil, I fear,” said Mr. Pym, as the hooting and -laughter died away. “We shall have Lord Sayle down on us for this, which -is bad, and I have lost a very good net—which is worse!” - -“But egad, sir,” laughed Sir John, “sure never was net lost to better -purpose! You’ll stay to crack a bottle, I hope? You’ll do me the honour, -sir?” - -“Thank’ee, no, Mr. Derwent. I must be up and away early to-morrow.” - -“To paint, sir?” - -“To prawn!” answered the painter, his eyes twinkling. “An occupation less -lofty, mayhap, but equally absorbing, and often bringing more ultimate -comfort and satisfaction.” - -“But, sir—surely a picture——” - -“May be good or bad,” sighed the painter, “but a prawn is ever and -always—a prawn! Have ye ever tried ’em—fresh boiled ... warm from the -pot, sir?” - -“Never!” - -“Ah,” quoth Mr. Pym, “there is, sir, to your man of delicate perception -and fine sentiment, in the strains of music, the glory of dawn, the -glow of sunset, the chaste beauty of evening, there is, I say, a tender -glamour, a joy inexpressible, but ... prawns ... warm from the pot may -reach the soul just as surely though by a different avenue. Perchance -to-morrow you may learn this—if you will?” - -So saying, the painter laughed suddenly, shook hands and strode away. - -“And now, sirs,” sighed Mr. Bunkle, carefully uncocking Mr. Oxham’s -pistol, “mindin’ that theer jugged-’are o’ mine as ha’ been a-juggin’ of -itself a sight too long, if you’ll gimme your orders an’ lemme go, I’ll -be obleeged.” - -“Can you give us accommodation here, Mr. Bunkle?” - -“Why, sir, that arl depends on how much, what-like and when?” - -“Two rooms. Now.” - -“Was you a-thinkin’ o’ stayin’ ’ere, sirs? For long?” - -“Some weeks.” - -“Think o’ that, now! Dunno as oi bean’t that upset to tell you as arl my -rooms be took, sir. But theer be ‘The Star’ down the street, comfortable -and very ’ome-like——” - -“Then you won’t take us, Mr. Bunkle?” - -“Caan’t, sir! It bean’t nowise possible nohow or——” Mr. Bunkle paused -suddenly, for in the circumambient air was a dull yet persistent -knocking, a noise very difficult to locate, that seemed now overhead, now -under foot, now behind the walls; hearkening to which elusive sound, Mr. -Bunkle’s eye grew dreamy, he stroked his clean-shaven chin, he smoothed -his neat apron and, the knocks having subsided, coughed and spoke: - -“Two rooms, oi think you said, sir? Only two?” - -“Two, Mr. Bunkle.” - -“Why, then, if two’ll be enough, I think ... p’r’aps ... maybe we might -... manage it.” - -Here three raps louder then before. - -“Yes ... I be purty sure we can, sir.” - -Here two raps. - -“We will, sir.” - -Here a single sharp rap and silence. - -“Mr. Bunkle,” said Sir John, smiling, “we thank you, and I can -promise that you will find us very quiet lodgers—full of sympathy and -understanding.” - -“Why, then, gen’elmen, if ye’ll trouble to step this way, my mist’us will -show ye your rooms.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV - -OF MR. BUNKLE AND THE ROOM WITH FIVE DOORS - - -Ten o’clock was striking, and the old Cross, deserted and solitary, -looked down upon a silent village; and Sir John Dering, leaning out from -his open lattice, looked down upon the old Cross. Alfriston slept, and -had done so for an hour or more apparently, like the highly decorous -community it was; not a footfall disturbed its chaste silence, not a -light glimmered anywhere. - -A mournful wind moaned in fitful gusts, the signboard of ‘The Star,’ -farther down the street, creaked dismally, but, save for this, all was -brooding peace and reposeful silence. - -But presently Sir John’s quick ear distinguished a sound not of the -wind, though like the wind fitful—a faint throb of galloping hoofs, now -lost, now heard again, growing ever louder; on they came, nearer and -nearer, until the dark street rang and echoed, but never a door opened, -never a light blinked, not even when they slowed to a trot, to an amble, -to a walk, and finally stopped outside the inn of the ‘Market Cross’; -Alfriston slept on serenely persistent. - -The moon, though obscured by a flying scud, yet gave sufficient light to -disclose the shape of horse and rider looming gigantic in the dimness. -Ensued the creak of saddle and stamp of heavy foot as the horseman -alighted, and thereafter a knocking soft but imperative. - -“Bunkle!” quoth a voice—“Peter Bunkle! Are ye there, Peter man?” From -somewhere adjacent Mr. Bunkle answered, his voice sounding remarkably -wide awake: - -“Be that y’rself, sir?” - -“Aye. Are the lads by, yet?” - -“Not yet, sir. But I doan’t expect ’em for another ’arf-hour. Be aught -wrong, sir?” - -“Soldiers.” - -“Wheer away?” - -“Lyin’ ambushed over by Exeat, an’ there’s more of ’em ’twixt here and -Frogfirle. I tell ye the country’s thick with ’em.... I was stopped -twice.... There’ll be bloody murder ere dawn, Peter man!” - -“Why, sir, Jarge Potter knows, an’ Jarge aren’t nowise to be caught -nappin’ nohow. ’E’ll send the lads cross-country wi’ the stuff, I rackon, -an’ lead they so’jers a foine dance.... Bide a moment an’ I’ll let ye -in.” Here, after brief delay, the sound of opening door, a heavy tread, a -squeak of bolts and silence again, except for moaning wind and the snort -of the horse below. - -Then Sir John closed his lattice, and, taking up the candle, stood -awhile lost in thought; finally he stepped from his chamber, closing the -door behind him, and descended the stair, to find himself in a crooked -passage full of dim nooks, odd corners and unexpected levels. Presently, -guided by a murmur of voices, he espied a small door coyly hidden in most -unlikely corner, and, lifting the latch, beheld a small, strangely shaped -apartment further remarkable in that it possessed two windows and five -doors; and here, in an elbow-chair before a smouldering fire, lolled the -gigantic form of Sir Hector Lauchlan MacLean. His riding-coat was dusty -like his long, booted legs outstretched upon the hearth, his unkempt -periwig excessively askew; in one hand he held his cherished clay pipe, -in the other a steaming glass that gave forth a delectable fragrance, -while Mr. Bunkle busied himself at the table with a bowl and ladle. - -At the sudden opening of the door, both men glanced up, and Sir Hector -rose hastily. - -“John!” he exclaimed. - -Sir John bowed in his stateliest fashion, and so they confronted each -other, Sir Hector flushed of cheek and frowning a little as one at a -loss; Mr. Bunkle, suspending his operations, looked from one to the other -and, with instinctive delicacy, opened the nearest of the five doors and -incontinently vanished. Sir Hector set down his glass and drew himself to -his extremest height, so that the curls of his peruke brushed the carven -beam above. - -“Sir John Dering!” - -Sir John’s bow was entirely formal, whereupon Sir Hector puffed furiously -at his pipe, but, finding it was out, laid it very carefully beside his -glass and scowled blacker than ever. - -“Sir John,” quoth he in his most precise English, “on the last occasion -we had speech I felt constrained to tell you that you—lied!” - -“Alas, yes!” sighed Sir John. - -“And I named you liar because circumstances and your very evil reputation -seemed more than to warrant it.” - -“Perchance they did, sir,” murmured Sir John. - -“Under the which circumstances, I was bound to draw upon you,” continued -Sir Hector ponderously, “and you, sir, refused to fight, and stomached -the insult. Well, sir, are you suffering from an indigestion? Have you -thought better of your refusal?” - -“I have!” answered Sir John. “Better and better.” - -“Why, then, sir,” answered Sir Hector, reaching for his long Andrea -Ferrara from adjacent corner, “there will be plenty of space for us in -the tap-room——” - -“But your arm, sir?” demurred Sir John. - -“Tush—’tis well! Besides,’twas my left. But where is your sword?” - -“Upstairs, sir, where it will surely remain,” answered Sir John, and -smiled. And, meeting this smile, Sir Hector loosed his great weapon very -suddenly, much as if it had burned his fingers. - -“Johnnie—Sir John,” he stammered, “what d’ye mean? Why are you here?” - -“Surely, Hector, oh, surely you can guess—you that were my father’s -comrade and my best friend?” - -Sir Hector turned to stare down into the fire, and when next he spoke, -voice and manner were wholly changed. - -“Sir John ... John ... O Johnnie lad ... is it forget an’ forgi’e ye mean -... for auld lang syne? Can ye forgi’e so deadly an insult? Na—na, lad, -bide a wee!... Mebbe I was o’er hasty wi’ ye ... mebbe I was no’ juist -mysel’ ... mebbe—oh, my certie, I was a muckle fule.... So, John—Johnnie -man, if——” - -“Why, Hector,” exclaimed Sir John, setting down the candle rather -hastily, “’tis all forgotten long since, and ... and ... i’ faith, -Hector, but your wig is most damnably askew! Stand still and let me -straighten it for thee!” - -And so Sir John reached up and resettled Sir Hector’s peruke as he had -been wont to do as a boy coaxing forgiveness for some fault, or as a -youth soothing the anger of a none too stern guardian; and somehow Sir -Hector’s great arm, as it had ever done on such occasions, crept about -Sir John’s shoulders and rested there. - -“John,” quoth he, “I’m gettin’ auld ... and age, lad, is aye solitary.... -We maun quarrel nae mair, Johnnie!” - -“Never again, Hector.” - -“Forbye, there’s nae wumman worth it—no, not one in a’ this warld, lad -... much less yon besom! An’ I gave ye the lie, John—you as ne’er leed -tae me in a’ y’r days.... I tak’ it back—I withdraw it, John, every -word, here and now. I did ye wrang, Johnnie, I did ye muckle wrang, an’ -a’ by reason o’ yon feckless wench! I’m glad she ran awa’ ... though -I’ll no deny I’ve been a wee lonesome o’ late! Ah well, come, lad, we’ll -tak’ a glass an’ forget it—a wee drappie o’ Bunkle’s gumboo whilk is a -concoction ye’ll no’ find in ony place but in Sussex, an’ worthy sic a -sweet country. Ye’ll drink wi’ me, John?” - -“With all my heart, Hector! But pray remember that my name is still -Derwent.” - -Sir Hector nodded and rapped gently on the panelling, at which summons -one of the five doors opened and Mr. Bunkle reappeared, though from a -totally opposite point of the compass; but scarcely had he, smiling and -deft, fulfilled Sir Hector’s order and Sir John raised the fragrant -beverage to his lips, than yet another door was softly unlatched and -Robert the Imperturbable halted upon the threshold. - -“Sirs,” said he, favouring them with that movement that was neither -salute nor bow and yet something of both, “think it proper to report -sounds of distant musketry.” - -“Musketry, Robbie?” exclaimed Sir Hector. “Musketry, d’ye say?” - -“The same, sir!” - -“Did I no’ tell ye, Peter man, did I no’ tell ye? There’s murder afoot! -And a’ by reason o’ that de’il Sayle, damn him!” - -Silently Mr. Bunkle led the way into his unlighted tap-room and, opening -the wide lattice, they stood there in the dark, hearkening with straining -ears; and presently, borne upon the wind from afar, came the faint report -of firearms, four or five shots in rapid succession. - -“That’ll be ’twixt here an’ Exeat, I rackon,” quoth Mr. Bunkle. - -“O man!” cried Sir Hector bitterly, “is it no’ a fearfu’ thocht that -Sussex lads—aye, neighbours belike, may be murderin’ each ither?” - -“Why, sir,” answered Mr. Bunkle, “it be only the sojers, d’ye see——” - -“The soldiers!” exclaimed Sir Hector, “and ’tis Sayle hath brought ’em! -Look’ee, John, hitherto all men, coastguard, preventive and trader, being -Sussex men, have lived together like brothers—which, according to ‘The -Word,’ is a vera desirable an’ blessed thing, y’ ken, John—not that I -haud wi’ the nee-farious traffic, mind ye, but ... but ... aweel, damn -Sayle, onyway!” - -“’Eartily, sir! But never worrit,” admonished Mr. Bunkle philosophically. -“Arter arl, it be only sojers a-shootin’ in the dark ... an’ even roses -’as thorns, sir, and——” Here Mr. Bunkle paused as more shots rang out. - -“Tae the de’il wi’ y’r thorrns, man!” cried Sir Hector, “yon was much -nearer.” - -“Why, so it were, sir,” Mr. Bunkle admitted; “but they be only shootin’ -at Jarge Potter, I do ’ope——” - -“Hope, man, hope?” questioned Sir Hector fiercely. - -“Aye, sir; ye see, whiles they sojers was a-laying in wait for Jarge, -Jarge were a-layin’ in wait for they wi’ ponies an’ tubs arl complete an’ -’arf a dozen stout lads. Well, sirs, s’ soon as they sojers spy Jarge, -away Jarge goes, though not too fast, an’ they sojers arter ’im. Jarge do -know every yard o’ the country ’ereabouts, ah, blindfold ’e do—an’ leads -they sojers up an’ down an’ ’ere an’ there by the ’ardest ways ’till, -being a-top of an ’ill, Jarge gi’es the word, the lads unloose a tub an’ -away goes that theer tub a-rollin’ an’ a-boundin’ down a-top o’ they -sojers, d’ye see, an’ away goes Jarge again in the dark ’till ’e feels -like lettin’ they sojers ’ave another ’un an’ another ’till arl ’is tubs -be gone ... an’ then gallop it is an’ away goes Jarge leavin’ they sojers -wi’ naun to show for their ’ard labour ’cept mud an’ gubber an’ bruises, -d’ye see!” - -“Ah—but the tubs, Peter man, they hae the tubs!” - -“Oh ah, sir, they ’ave the tubs—plenty on ’em, sir, full o’ ditch-watter! -And the rest o’ the lads safe away wi’ the stuff—ah, it should be arl -stowed safe an’ sound by now, I rackon! So doan’t ye worry your ’ead nor -yet grizzle, Sir ’Ector. They sojers woan’t never ketch Jarge, not by no -means, an’ in a bit they’ll be a-marchin’ back a-carryin’ o’ they tubs -o’ watter mighty careful an’ that ’appy-’earted, sir—like birds they’ll -be—’till they finds out, d’ye see. So——” - -Here Mr. Bunkle’s eloquence was again disturbed by shooting, a scattered -volley so much nearer and louder that Sir John instinctively peered -from the casement expecting to see the village start from its slumbers -in clamorous dismay. But Alfriston slumbered on; it seemed as serenely -unperturbed by such trivial happenings as the old Cross itself, which -has doubtless known overmuch of the like episodes in its weary length of -days; not a door opened, not a light glimmered, not a sound broke the -chaste quiet of its street save blustering wind and creaking sign. - -“Aweel, aweel, I’m awa’!” quoth Sir Hector, taking hat and cloak. “Say -what ye will, Bunkle man, musket-balls be ill things day or nicht, ye -ken, an’ amang the lads oot yonder be braw friends o’ mine, so I’m awa’——” - -“What to do, Hector?” inquired Sir John. - -“Wha kens, lad, wha kens! But yon men ha’ drunk wi’ me an’ grupped -ma hand in friendship, an’ I’ll dae wha’ I may for ’em, be they -smugglin’-bodies or no.” - -“Why, then, I’ll come with ye, Hector——” - -“Na, na, John! Hoot-toot, dinna be sic a muckle fule—” - -“If you go, Hector, so do I.” - -“But think, John, gin ye’re taken by Sayle’s soldiers, damn him!” - -“Your risk shall be mine, Hector!” - -“Well spoke, sir!” nodded Mr. Bunkle. “Sir ’Ector must not be mixed up in -to-night’s business, not no’ow, sir, so if you be his friend——” - -“Bunkle man, hand that clapper o’ yours!” cried Sir Hector. - -“Your hat and cloak, sir!” said the imperturbable Robert. - -“Lead on, Hector, we follow!” - -“John, ye’re an unco’ obstinate, self-willed——” - -“I am,” laughed Sir John, folding long cloak about him—“especially -to-night!” - -“Umph-humph!” exclaimed Sir Hector, and strode forth of the inn. - - - - -CHAPTER XXV - -TELLETH HOW SIR JOHN BEHELD THE GHOST - - -Down a dark and narrow lane Sir Hector led them, across a wide meadow, -over a dim stream spanned by footbridge, along a glimmering road overhung -by rustling trees, through a gate and so to a grassy, wind-swept upland -crowned by a hedge with a mystery of trees beyond; a desolate gloom -full of ghostly stirrings, with mournful sighs and groanings in every -wind-gust. Here Sir Hector paused suddenly and stood very still and -silent. - -“And, pray, what now?” questioned Sir John. - -“Whisht, lad! Can ye no’ see I’m listenin’?” - -“Aye, but why are you here? What do you purpose, Hector?” - -“Wull ye no’ be still, John?” - -“Not until I know why you run such needless risk. If the preventive -officers discover us we shall be apprehended as accessories. If you -attempt to stay them in their duty, you will be branded as a smuggler -yourself——” - -“Umph-humph!” exclaimed Sir Hector, emitting a sound between laugh and -groan. - -“What is the meaning of it all, Hector?” - -“Then, John, if ye must have it” answered Sir Hector in his precise -English, “though as an elder of the Scottish Church, a baronet, a general -and a MacLean o’ Duart, I do not hold with the lawless and therefore -nefarious traffic of smuggling, yet being also of a reprehensibly -perverse and damnably adventurous spirit, I am the greatest smuggler of -them all——” - -“You, Hector ... you?” - -“Myself, John! I own the _True Believer_, every plank an’ spar an’ -rivet—though ne’er a body kens it save Potter, Bunkle and Sharkie -Nye. Aye, an’ ’tis mony a hundred guineas I’ve handled these last twa -years, but, bein’ elder, y’ ken, I’ve spent every penny on guid warks -... there’s the wee chapel ower to Berwick ... the row o’ almshooses -ower to Seaford ... there’s blankets an’ kindlin’ to comfort auld banes -i’ the winter. An’ yet, Johnnie, do what I will, the kirk elder in me -canna abide the smuggler, whateffer! So whate’er the smuggler gains, the -elder spends.... And to-night that de’il Sayle hath loosed strangers and -soldiers on us, and thus ... if the lads must run risk o’ bullet and -capture, so will I, since, like them. I’m just a smuggler. Aweel, here’s -my confession, an’ muckle glad am I to be oot wi’t at last. An’ now, -John, what’s your judgment?” - -For a moment Sir John was silent, then he laughed a little unsteadily and -slipped his hand within Sir Hector’s arm. - -“O Hector—thou paradox!” quoth he. “Was there ever stranger, more -lovable anomaly than Hector Lauchlan MacLean ... with his smuggling and -almshouses? ’Faith, thou soarest far beyond my poor understanding. And -who am I to judge thee? And, besides——” - -“Sirs,” said the Corporal in sudden, hoarse whisper, “beg to report -moving bodies on our left front.” - -Sure enough, between the fitful wind-gusts was a confused murmur of sound -that grew momentarily louder, until they could distinguish the muffled -trampling of horses toiling up the steep ascent. Suddenly, afar in the -dimness was the flash and report of a musket, the whine of a bullet with -a distant shouting and clamour of pursuit. On came the fugitives near -and nearer, a vague blur, the dim shapes of scrambling horses and men; -nearer, until the watchers could hear the snort of labouring animals, the -panting of men hard-pressed, a groan, a sobbing, muttered oath of pain -and weariness, and then a voice cheery, dominating, familiar: - -“Bear up, Tom lad, it be only a bit farther! Bear up an’ we’ll cog ’em -yet. You, Dick, is yon keg loose?” - -“Aye, Jarge, it be.” - -“Then let ’em ’ave it! Away wi’t!” - -Ensued a creak of leather, a heavy thud, and away down the slope bounded -the unseen missile; and then horses and men were past and swallowed in -the pervading gloom. - -But from below rose shouts, cries and cheers, a growing tumult, and -up the slope straggled the pursuers, a mixed company of soldiery and -coastguards pounding by with a rattle of accoutrements and the dull gleam -of bayonet and cutlass. - -And then Sir John found himself running also, but still grasping Sir -Hector’s arm and keeping always in the gloom of hedges; on and on till he -was breathless; past gloomy trees, across dykes and ditches, stumbling -and slipping yet still maintaining fast hold of his companion’s arm; on -through a dim-seen gate and so along a dusty road until Sir Hector halted -all at once. - -“Hark, John!” he panted. “Hark to yon!” - -In their front was sudden clamour swelling to exultant shouts and cheers, -whereupon Sir Hector cursed bitterly and hurried on again with tireless -stride. - -“What is it?” gasped Sir John. - -“They’ve captured some o’ the lads!” panted Sir Hector. “An’ now ’tis tae -the rescue or be taken wi’ ’em ... loose me, John!” - -“No, by heaven!” - -“Johnnie man—loose me! My place is beside the poor lads yonder.” - -“And I say ’tis here——” - -“By God, John—must I knock ye down?” Sir Hector’s threatening fist was -seized and held for a moment in the Corporal’s powerful grasp, while -they reeled to and fro, all three locked in desperate grapple. Then Sir -Hector, exerting his giant strength, hurled the Corporal into the ditch, -swung Sir John violently aloft, and as suddenly set him back upon his -feet, for from the gloom before them rose a sound very awful to hear, the -shrill screaming of a man in the direst extremity of agony or fear. - -“Guid save ’s a’—what’s yon?” gasped Sir Hector, as the dreadful sound -shuddered to silence. “O man, what awfu’ thing is chancin’?” - -A sudden shot, followed by three or four in rapid succession; a confusion -of shrieks and hoarse outcries, a wild, rapidly growing hubbub. - -“They’re running, sir!” quoth the Corporal. - -“They’re comin’ back!” cried Sir Hector. “D’ye no’ hear ’em, Johnnie—d’ye -no’ hear ’em?” - -“Aye, Hector. And, by heaven, they run like madmen! Quick ... behind this -tree! Robert, are ye there?” - -“On your honour’s left flank!” - -Crouched in the shadow, they waited; beheld dimly a wild rabble of -fleeing men who sobbed and groaned and cast away weapons and equipment -to aid their flight. For there, flitting in pursuit, was a monstrous and -gruesome thing outlined in pallid flame, a gigantic horror that lifted -high in air two huge, widespreading horns tipped with green fire. On it -came, swiftly, silently, a ghastly shape of fear, at sight of which Sir -Hector groaned aloud and strove to hide his gigantic person behind the -tree, while Robert, recoiling upon his master, drew forth a pistol with -shaking hand. - -“Don’t shoot!” cried Sir John in fierce command; even as he spoke the -fearful thing flitted past and all suddenly was gone. - -“Save us a’!” gasped Sir Hector. “Yon was a kelpie!” And, sitting down at -foot of the tree, he took off his hat and wig to mop sweating brow, while -the Corporal stood rigid, glaring, hand tight clenched upon the pistol he -held. - -“Your honour observed its horns?” he questioned at last hoarsely. - -“I did, Robert!” - -“Tipped wi’ fire, sir, an’ a yard wide, just as I told your honour.” - -“The description was very exact, Robert. I recognised your ghost on the -instant.” - -“Ghost, is it?” quoth Sir Hector scornfully. “Man, a ghost is a pretty -poppet in comparison! Yon was a kelpie, I’m tellin’ ye.” - -“And the soldiers are all fled away, Hector, and ha’ left their prisoners -behind ’em!” - -“And likewise most o’ their equipment, sir,” added the Corporal. - -“O John, O Johnnie man,” moaned Sir Hector from his lowly seat, “’tis an -awfu’ thing we ha’ seen this nicht!” - -“True, Hector. But Mr. Potter and his fellows are safe, and we have taken -no harm——” - -“Whisht lad! Dinna be too sure; forbye, I’ve an unchancy feelin’ in ma -wame, an’ ma bowels be turned tae watter, Johnnie!” - -“Then I suggest a jorum of Mr. Bunkle’s gumboo.” - -“Na, na, Johnnie! When a man sees a kelpie ’tis time for him tae think -o’ ither things, y’ ken.... Come awa’ hame wi’ me instead, for ’tis a -solitary man I’ll be the nicht.” - -Two o’clock was striking as they re-entered Alfriston to find it still -lapped in peaceful slumber. Reaching his habitation, Sir Hector lifted -the latch, but, finding the door gently resistant, paused. - -“That’ll be Wully Tamson,” he explained. “Wully always sleeps across the -threshold whin he chances to be byordinar’ fu’. Hey, Wully man, wake -up!” And Sir Hector bowed mighty shoulder and hove the door wide enough -to gain admittance, whereupon from the pitchy gloom arose reproachful -groanings and plaintive mutterings that ended in stentorian snore. -“Come in,” quoth Sir Hector from the dark, “an’ mind ye don’t tread -on Wully.... So! Now wait ’till I find the candle.” Here the sound of -ineffectual gropings and a splintering crash. “A’ richt, Johnnie, ’twas -only a platter,” Sir Hector explained, “though what ’twas doin’ on the -mantel-shelf I dinna ken.... I pit the candle here somewhere, I’ll swear -... ah!” Ensued the sound of flint and steel and in due season the candle -was lighted to discover a small, disordered room; before the ashes of a -long-dead fire the single elbow-chair bore a pair of dusty riding-boots -and the joints of a fishing-rod, while the table was littered with sundry -unwashed crockery, amidst which reposed a weatherbeaten hat. - -“’Tis no’ juist a palace, John, but what there is of it is hamely.... If -ye’ll pit some o’ the crockery on the floor we’ll crack a bottle for auld -lang syne—what—ye’ll no’. Aweel, mebbe ’tis a little early for’t, an’ -we’ll be better in bed.” - -“I think so, Hector. And I venture to suggest your cottage might be made -even more homely by a woman with a brush, or a mop, or——” - -“A wumman, Johnnie, a wumman? Hoot—toot, she’d juist tidy a’ the comfort -oot o’ the place wi’ her sweepin’ an’ scowerin’—a wumman? My certie! I do -verra weel wi’ Wully Tamson. Guid-nicht t’ye, John——” - -“Begging your pardon, Sir Hector,” quoth the Corporal, standing at -attention, “but what might a kelpie be pre-cisely?” - -“Why, Robbie man, a kelpie is a beastie that’s no’ a beastie, being -supernatural y’ken, and yet ’tis a beastie o’ sorts wi’ horns an’ hoofs, -and no’ a healthy sicht for ony man.” - -“And wherefore not healthy, sir?” - -“Havers, man, because it is a kelpie, for sure! Johnnie man, I shall -sleep wi’ my pistols handy this nicht, for, though carnal weapons be no -good against bogles whateffer, more especially kelpies, there’s a deal o’ -comfort in the feel o’ a pistol in your cloof.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI - -CONCERNS ITSELF MAINLY WITH THE “MORNING AFTER” - - -The sun’s kindly beams were gilding the age-worn old Cross and making -it a thing of glory, for it was a golden morning. And, looking from his -lattice, Sir John blinked drowsily in the warm radiance, though Alfriston -had been long awake and full of cheery, leisured bustle. Borne to him on -the fragrant air was a mingling of comfortable, homely sounds: the faint -rattle of crockery, the clank of a pail, a snatch of song, voices raised -in greeting, a faint, melodious whistling, with the clink of hammer and -anvil. Indeed, the only silent object in the whole cheery place seemed to -be the weatherbeaten old Cross itself. - -Alfriston was serenely awake; folk went about their business with a -placid deliberation, or paused to exchange comments on weather, present -and to come, on growing crops and things in general, but with never a -word for the desperate doings of last night. - -True, Mr. Muddle, on his way to perform some mystery with the pitchfork -he bore across his shoulder, limped noticeably in his gait, which was, -as he very willingly explained, “Arl-on-’count-of-my ol’ mare as put ’er -’oof down ’pon my fut that ’ard as ’tis gurt mercy I can walk at arl——” - -Mr. Pursglove likewise exhibited a hand and forearm swathed in bandages -which, he averred ... “moight ha’ been much worse, seein’ the bill-’ook I -’apped tu be a-usin’ of were so shaarp as a razor!” Also divers others of -the community discovered upon their persons sundry bruises and abrasions, -the which elicited little or no comment, for Alfriston, in its own -gentle fashion, was very wide awake this morning. - -Thus Sir John, lolling at night-capped ease, looked down upon this -placid, homely scene, hearkened to the soft-drawling, Sussex voices, -breathed the fragrant air and felt that life was good. All at once he -started, drew in his head with a jerk, and, snatching off his tasselled -night-cap, peered from the secure shelter of the window-curtain. - -She stood looking up at the old Cross, a tall, stately creature, and yet, -despite her stature, there was in every supple line of her, in the very -folds of her simple habit, that same air of clean, rustic maidenliness -that Sir John remembered so well. - -Her print gown was much the same as those worn by other country maids, -and yet its effect how vastly different! How graciously it flowed, now -hiding, now half-revealing her shapeliness; how cunningly it clung to -pliant waist and full, rounded bosom. Her jetty curls were ’prisoned in a -small, laced cap; in her hand she bore a deep-brimmed straw hat. - -And thus, as she gazed up at the old cross, Sir John gazed down on her, -marvelling anew and happy in his wonderment. - -Now as my lady stood viewing the ancient cross, there chanced by a -country damsel with a large basket upon her arm—a shapely young girl with -a remarkably trim foot and ankle. - -“Pray, my dear,” says my lady, waving her hat towards the old cross, -“what strange thing is this?” - -“O mam,” answers Rusticity, blushing and curtsying, “it be only the ol’ -market cross as arl strangers do come to stare at.” - -“Then,” says my lady, smiling, “they might do better by staring at thee, -for thou’rt monstrous pretty.” - -“O mam!” falters Rusticity, with another curtsy. - -“What is thy name, child?” questions my lady. - -“Ann, if you please, mam—Ann Dumbrell.” - -“And why d’ye call me ‘mam’?” - -“Because, mam,” answers Rusticity, blushing again, “because you be so ... -so fine, mam, an’ arl!” - -“Heavens!” exclaims my lady with a pretty petulance, “we must amend -this, Ann! For look’ee, child, I be no finer than thyself—just a simple, -country maid I be—and solitary. So I’ll walk with thee, Ann, if I may. -And my name is Rose.” - -“Yes, mam.” - -“Nay, call me ‘Rose.’” - -“Yes, Rose ... mam.” - -“May I go with thee awhile, Ann? And don’t say ‘mam’!” - -“Yes, m—Rose.” - -“Then I’ll aid thee with thy basket—come!” - -“Oh no, no—Rose. My ol’ trug be naun heavy, and your ’ands be so—so——” - -“So what?” - -“White an’ pretty.” - -“Tush!” says my lady, scowling at the members in question. “They be very -strong hands, child. Come, give me hold o’ thy basket!” - -And presently from the shadow of his curtain Sir John saw them walk away, -the large basket a-swing between them, and they laughing and chatting -together gaily. - -No sooner were they out of sight than Sir John tossed night-cap to -ceiling and rang the bell. - -“Bob,” quoth he as the Corporal appeared, “Bob, why the devil am I not -shaved and dressed?” - -“Your honour’s orders were for your honour not to be disturbed till ten -o’clock, and ’tis scarce nine, sir.” - -“No matter, Bob. Hot water!” - -“Here, sir.” - -“Then have at me, Robert—proceed!” - -“Im-mediate, sir!” - -And Sir John’s toilet commenced forthwith; during which nice business -they conversed as follows: - - SIR JOHN: Any news, Bob? - - ROBERT: Nothing to mention, sir ... though I did ’appen to - hear that five soldiers and two o’ the coastguard are reported - wounded, sir. - - SIR JOHN: Nothing serious, I hope? - - ROBERT: We hope not, sir. - - SIR JOHN: An ugly business, Bob. - - ROBERT: On-commonly, sir! - - SIR JOHN: Have you seen or heard anything of Mr. Potter? - - ROBERT: No, sir. It seems he’s vanished away again, being - badly wanted by the preventive authorities. For I did ’appen - to hear as ’twas him as is judged responsible for most o’ the - casualties, sir. - - SIR JOHN: To be sure, he was wearing his old frieze coat! Ha’ - you been far abroad this morning, Bob? - - ROBERT: I did ’appen to step across the fields, sir. - - SIR JOHN: Very right, Bob. Health! Sunshine! Dew! - - ROBERT: It was a little doo-ey, sir. - - SIR JOHN: And you carried the basket, Bob, of course? - - ROBERT: Basket, sir...? - - SIR JOHN: HER basket, Bob ... and pray keep the shaving-brush - out o’ my mouth! - - ROBERT: Your pardon, sir! - - SIR JOHN: Her basket, Bob! - - ROBERT: I judged it over heavy for a young fe—— - - SIR JOHN: Damsel, Bob. - - ROBERT: Yes, sir. - - SIR JOHN: To be sure ’twas too heavy—and I fancy you ha’ - lathered me enough. - - ROBERT: I think so too, sir. - - SIR JOHN: She hath a remarkably neat foot, Bob! - - ROBERT: I have ob-served same, sir. - - SIR JOHN: And her voice grows upon one.... A voice suggestive - of a nature sweet and—— - - ROBERT: One moment, sir—your upper lip! - - (A moment’s silence while the Corporal plies deft razor.) - - SIR JOHN: I chanced to see her in converse with a young ... - creature, Robert—a tall young woman in a laced cap? - - ROBERT: I re-marked same young person myself, sir. - - SIR JOHN: Is she a friend of Mistress Ann’s? - - ROBERT: Not knowing, can’t say, sir. - - SIR JOHN: Do you chance to know anything about this—er—young - person? - - ROBERT: Nothing, sir, except as she seems to run very much to - legs—— - - SIR JOHN: Legs—begad! - - ROBERT: Pre-cisely, sir ... leggy, your honour. - - SIR JOHN: Ha, leggy! Didn’t you think her a young goddess? - - ROBERT: She didn’t strike me as such, sir. - - SIR JOHN: But you must ha’ remarked her beauty? - - ROBERT: Nothing to mention, sir. - - SIR JOHN: But damme—her shape! Her form! Her air! Her carriage! - Her grace! - - ROBERT: Too much of ’em all, sir. - - SIR JOHN: ’S death, man—you must be blind! - - ROBERT: Very good, sir. - - SIR JOHN: No, Bob, not blind—thou’rt merely in love and that is - infinitely worse. - - ROBERT: It is, sir! - - SIR JOHN: Why, then, go a-wooing, man, go a-wooing and put - thyself out o’ thy misery one way or t’other. - - ROBERT: Can’t be done, sir. Misery must be endoored. - - SIR JOHN: Because thou’rt forty-five, Bob? - - ROBERT: And she’s scarce twenty turned, sir. - -“Ha!” exclaimed Sir John portentously. “Hum!” And, his toilet at last -accomplished, he ran lightly down the stair to find awaiting him a most -inviting breakfast, of which he made short work, despite Mr. Bunkle’s -shocked remonstrances and reproachful looks. - -“This here b’iledam, sir,” quoth Mr. Bunkle, caressing the edible in -question with the fork of an expert—“this here b’iledam desarves to be -ate respectful an’ dooly slow, wi’ thought to every chew an’ a pause -betwixt each swaller!” - -“Forgive me, Mr. Bunkle,” smiled Sir John as he rose from the table, -“but, like the chameleon, I could feed on air—for a time at least! -Robert, my holly-stick! I think I will call on our Ancient Mr. Dumbrell. -Have ye any message, Bob?” - -“None, sir.” - -“Why, then, I must invent some. You might step over to Dering later in -the day, Robert. Adieu, Mr. Bunkle.” - -“Dinner at ’arf-past twelve, sir!” sighed Mr. Bunkle, laying down the -carving-fork, “roast Sir Loin—’ot!” - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII - -TELLETH HOW MR. DERWENT BEGAN HIS WOOING - - -Away strode Sir John across sunny fields, light of foot, treading a -springy turf, breathing a fragrant air, swinging his holly-stick and -vaulting stiles for the pure joy of it all. Birds piped and chirped from -hedge and thicket, larks carolled in the blue, rills bubbled and laughed, -and scabious flowers danced and swayed in the gentle wind in tune with -the universal gladness. - -And so in good time came Sir John to High Dering. For there, perched -upon his accustomed stile in well-brushed hat and snowy smock-frock, sat -the Ancient Person in animated converse with one who leaned gracefully -against the gnarled post of the old stile, listening to the Aged One’s -talk, but watching Sir John from the shadow of her hat, with eyes quick -to heed all the careless, easy grace of him as he came light-treading -across the sun-dappled ling. - -“Rose!” said he, and bared his head; now, beholding her startled, upward -glance, how should he know of the eyes that had taken such note of his -altered appearance, his plain attire? “Rose,” said he, “thou rose of -love!” And stood bare-headed, glad-eyed, to await her greeting. - -“La, Mr. Derwent,” said she, “you wear strange, small hat, sir, yet -methinks it do become you better than your night-cap!” - -“And yet ’tis a very excellent night-cap!” he retorted. - -“Eh—eh?” piped the Aged One. “Be ye man an’ woife, then?” - -“Not yet, Mr. Dumbrell, but——” - -“Then wot’s she know about your noight-cap, young man, eh—eh? Tell oi -that!” - -“I—I saw it this morning,” explained my lady, rather hastily—“this -morning as he leaned out of his chamber window——” - -“Then, young man, ’ow dare ’ee stick y’r noight-cap out o’ winder in a -purty maid’s face? Shamed at ’ee, oi be!” - -“But I drew it in again, Mr. Dumbrell!” - -“No matter, young man, oi be shamed at ’ee! Wi’ y’r noight-cap an’ arl!” - -“It shall not happen again, Mr. Dumbrell.” - -“Oi be a ol’, ancient man, aye—a aged soul, oi be, an’ oi knaws wot oi -knaws an’ oi knaws as us doan’t want ’ee, young man, wi’ your noight-cap, -an’ arl!” Here the Aged One glared at the intruder with truculent eye, -but Sir John was looking at my lady, of course. - -“So I have found thee at last, my Rose!” said he softly. - -“Ha’ you looked for me, sir?” - -“These very many weary days, child.” - -“Your honour expected me, then?” - -“Hourly.” - -“And now that you behold me?” - -“Now, Rose, the sun shines, the birds sing, the scabious flowers are -a-dance in their myriad hosts, and here standeth John Derwent to woo -thee——” - -“Well, go ’way!” snarled the Aged One fiercely. “Go ’way; us doan’t want -’ee no’ow, young man! Us be a-’arking to each other an’ doan’t want -nobody—du us, my pretty? Lord, ’e du ha’ put me out! Wot was oi a-tellin’ -ye, my dainty dear?” - -“Of the day you and Sir Hector saved old Penelope the witch from being -drowned ... but the sun is very hot, pray put your hat on again, Mr. -Dumbrell! Nay, suffer me!” So saying, my lady took the well-brushed hat -and set it upon the old, white head so gently and with such pretty grace -that the Aged One leered at Sir John in chuckling triumph. - -“Us doan’t want ’ee, young man, du us, my flower?” - -“Indeed,” she laughed, “but you find wondrous pretty names for me——” - -“Because ’tis purty you be ... no, ’andsome’s the word—a foine ’andsome -wench.” - -“But over-large for a flower, I fear,” she sighed. - -“Sizeable!” nodded the Aged One. “But oi loikes ’em big—allus did. So -doan’t ’ee worrit naun ’count o’ y’r size. An’ as fur ol’ Penelope, ’er -desarved arl ’er got, bein’ a witch.... An’ when it come to savin’ of -’er, I dunno as Sir ’Ector done so tur’ble much! Oi be an ol’ ancient -man, but oi bean’t nowise doddlish, an’ can save a witch as well as some -young ’uns an’ better’n most—ah, that oi can!” - -“I’m sure of it! And is she still alive?” - -“That she be. Witches bean’t easy to kill an’ doan’t aften doi—not in -Sussex, they doan’t. Oi been buryin’ folk arl my days an’ oi only buried -one witch, an’ ’er only doied because she ’appened to drown, not being -able to swim wi’ a stone round ’er neck, d’ye see——” - -“A—a stone?” exclaimed my lady in tones of horror. - -“Aye, a stone fur sure, my pretty. Toied ’un round ’er neck, they did, -an’ ’ove ’er into the river, they did, an’ so ’er doied. But this were -years an’ ages ago, when oi were younger. And ol’ Penelope be a tur’ble -powerful witch—give me a spell agin the axey as done me arl manner o’ -good.” - -“Did she cure you by magic?” - -“Lord bless y’r pretty eyes—no! There bean’t nobody nor nothink can cure -oi, what wi’ that theer ol’ musket-ball o’ mine. But oi were moighty bad, -an’ ’long come a man one day in a p’inted ’at an’ a gownd wi’ silver -stars on to it an’ sold me a charm wrote on a three-carnered piece o’ -paper wi’ these words as oi were to say three toimes over, marnin’, noon -an’ noight: - - Axey, axey oi defoi thee, - Three days shiver, three days shake, - Mak’ me well fur Marcy’s sake. - -Well, oi sez ’em over an’ over ’till oi were black i’ the faace, but -it didn’t seem tu du me no good at arl, ’till one day ’long comes ol’ -Penelope, tears up my charm an’ gi’es me some stuff in a liddle bottle as -oi must rub arl over myself ... which oi done. An’ Lord—arter a bit oi -got that skittish—used t’ kick up my ’ind legs loike any colt ... an’ me -a married man an’ arl. Oi dunno as if oi——” - -“Grandfeäther!” - -“Dannle it! That be my rum-an’-milk!” exclaimed the Aged One, scowling. - -“Grandfeäther, be ye comin’?” - -“Arl roight, lass, arl roight!” piped the old man pettishly, getting -from his perch with surprising nimbleness. “Oi’ll ’ave to go, my pretty -bird, oi’ll ’ave to leave ’ee or ’twill be milk an’ no rum! Ann be -that ’ard-’earted an’ ... Arl roight, Nan, ’ere oi be!” This as his -granddaughter appeared, who, beholding Sir John, blushed and curtsied. -Quoth she: - -“’Tis tur’ble kind o’ you to bide an’ keep ’im comp’ny, Rose—mam, for ’e -du be that mischievious——” - -“Never tak’ no ’eed o’ my Nan, ’er’s a babe!” retorted the Aged One. “An’ -oi du ’ope as you’ll come an’ talk tu oi again, my Beauty Broight, fur oi -doan’t tak’ naun account o’ little ’uns, an’ you be a foine up-standin’, -down-sittin’ wench, sure-ly! An’ the young ’un ’ere thinks the same, -doan’t ’ee, young man?” - -“I do!” answered Sir John fervently. “Indeed, I have never seen a more -up-standing, down-sitting wench in all my life!” - -“Well, then, whoy doan’t ’ee up an’ tell ’er so, wi’out me a-doin’ it -fur ’ee. You be sweet on ’er, oi s’pose?” - -“Monstrous so!” - -“Well, then, whoy caan’t ’ee tell ’er summat about it? Ye caan’t -expect oi tu du it fur ’ee arl the toime. ’Ere you’ve stood a-lookin’ -an’ a-starin’ an’ so silent as a turmut! That bean’t no waay tu win a -wench—no! Lord, oi were different in my young days; oi knawed the waay tu -go a-wooin’! An’ oi ain’t forgot yet, though I be such a ol’, aged soul!” - -“Then perhaps you will help me, now and then?” Sir John suggested. - -“Whoy, sence you ax me so sensible an’ modest-loike, oi dunno as oi -wun’t. For, if you bean’t much to look at, you be batter’n some, an’ she -moight du worse.” - -“It is possible!” sighed Sir John. - -“So oi dunno as oi wun’t put in a word for ’ee noo an’ then wi’ the lass. -But moind ye if oi win ’er for ’ee an’ she doan’t turn out arl as you -expect, an’ woives never do no’ow, doan’t ’ee go fur to blame oi!” - -“Grandfer, your rum-an’——” - -“Hesh a minute, Nan, hesh an’ lemme finish, will ’ee? Marriage, young -man, be arl roight whiles ye be single, but when you be married ’tis -generally-mostly-arlways arl wrong—oi’ve troid it twoice, an’ oi knaw! So -jest so soon as she begins to feel weddin’ish, oi leaves the matter to -you. An’ now, Nan, gimme y’r arm!” - -“Boide a minute, Grandfeäther——” - -“Whaffor, Nan? Ain’t ye kep’ me a-waiting long enough?” - -“I’ve a message for the gen’elman——” - -“Gen’elman, lass? ’Oo? Wheer? D’ye mean—’im?” And the Aged One pointed at -Sir John with wavering stick. “’E bean’t no gen’elman—look at ’is ’at! -Gen’elman’s ’ats ’as goold lace onto ’em loike Sir ’Ector’s of a Sunday -an’ Lord Sayle’s of a week-day. Look at ’is coat—so plain! An’ ’e aren’t -got no sword neether! Gen’elman—’im? ’E be jest a respectable young man——” - -“You hear that, Rose?” cried Sir John, ecstatic. “You hear? There -speaketh hoary Wisdom!” - -“’Oo’s ’oary—me?” demanded the Aged Soul, scowling. - -“Yourself, Mr. Dumbrell, and are therefore to be revered. Your hand, Sir -Reverence, your hand, I beg!” - -“Whoy, oi dunno as oi loike the sound o’ that ’ere word——” - -“Mr. Dumbrell, you in your nescience saw ’neath the hollow shams and know -me for what I truly am, a respectable young man. O most excellent Aged -Soul, I thank thee for that word! Mr. Dumbrell, your hand, pray.” - -So, after some little hesitation, the sharp-tongued, little old man -reached tremulous hand to Sir John’s warm clasp, and, looking up into Sir -John’s smiling eyes, the Aged Soul smiled also; quoth he: - -“Young man, oi dunno as you bean’t better-lookin’ than what oi -thought—leastways your eyes is worth any lass a-lookin’ at, oi rackon, -an’—whoy, what be this ’ere?” And the old man stared down at his open -palm. “By the pize—a guinea! Dannel it, young man, what be this fur? What -do ’ee mean by it?” - -“Do not be angry, Mr. Dumbrell; pray accept it as a small mark of esteem -and gratitude from one respectable man to another.” - -“Whoy, since you puts it that ways, young man, we woan’t arg’ about -it, an’ oi dunno as oi bean’t almoighty glad of’t.... A guinea, Nan, a -goolden guinea! ’Ere be baccy for oi an’ that ’ere cherry ribband for -you, an’ sugar for oi, an’ a noo ’at for oi.... Young man, oi thank -’ee, an’ so du Nan.... Thank ’un, Nan; mak’ y’r reverence an’ show y’r -manners, lass!” - -“Not forgetting your message, Ann,” prompted Sir John. - -“Yes, sir,” she answered, curtsying repeatedly, “though ’twere only -Gammer Haryott as bid me say if I see you, sir, as she would like a word -wi’ you, sir.” - -“What about my rum-an’-milk?” demanded the Aged Soul pettishly. “’Ere be -oi a-vadin’ an’ famishin’ an’ perishin’ awaay, an’ you a-maggin’ an’ me -a-waitin’ an’ nobody to ’tend to oi no’ow, nowhen nor nothin’! Come an’ -gimme my rum-an’-milk or no ribbands, moind that! G’marnin’, young man, -an’ doan’t ’ee go a-throwin’ your money away so woild-loike an’ rackless! -Marnin’, my purty dear! You’ll foind oi settin’ a-top o’ stoile every -marnin’ when it be sunny.” So saying, the Aged Soul bared his white head -gallantly, nodded, and suffered his dutiful granddaughter to lead him -away. - -My lady was silent awhile, watching them as they went, the girl so young -and strong and motherly, the old man so bowed and feeble; and Sir John, -regarding his companion keen-eyed, saw in her look an unwonted tenderness -and, when at last she spoke, heard her voice strangely tender also. - -“O Sussex!” she murmured. And then: “They are worth caring for, these -unspoiled folk o’ the Down Country.” - -“They are, Herminia!” he answered. At this she turned and looked at him, -frowning a little. - -“Have you done so, Sir John?” she questioned. “Have you cared for their -comfort and welfare?” - -“Alas, no!” he answered. “I, like you, my lady, have preferred the town -hitherto, and, heaven help me, was therewith fairly content! Which is -matter for some wonder, for here were the Downs and here the Dumbrell——” - -“That Aged Soul!” she added, smiling suddenly. “As gallant as any town -beau, more dignified, and infinitely more sincere.” - -“Rose child, I perceive thou hast also found eyes to see withal!” - -“Is this so amazing, your honour?” - -“Not so much as to behold a fine lady who honours Rusticity and finds joy -in simple, homely things.” - -“Indeed, sir, I do love the country, especially Sussex, for, as your -honour may ha’ forgot, I was born here.” - -“Then, if you will, I can show you other wonders. First, there is Dame -Penelope Haryott, whom fools call a witch and rogues have sought to -murder, ere now.” - -“Murder!” exclaimed my lady, wrinkling her brow. “Oh! And yet surely -witches be horrid creatures! Ha’n’t you read of ’em?... Leagued with all -manner of evil spirits for the working of evil.... Ha’n’t you read what -learned philosophers ha’ writ concerning’ em, sir?” - -“Aye, I have.” - -“Well, if this woman be truly a witch——” - -“But was there truly ever a witch, child?” - -“Your honour may have heard of the Witch of Endor?” - -“Hum!” quoth Sir John. “Can it be that you believe in witchcraft, black -magic and the like fooleries?” - -“Don’t you, sir?” - -“No more than I do in ghosts, child.” - -“The girl Ann tells me that ghosts often walk in these parts.” - -“Aye, so they do,” laughed Sir John, “and to some purpose.” - -“Then, despite the Bible and philosophers, your superior wisdom doth not -believe in witches?” - -“No, indeed.” - -“Nor ghosts?” - -“No, child.” - -“Because you chance never to ha’ seen one, sir!” - -“Because I have, rather. Indeed, Rose, a most effective ghost——” - -“You have positively seen a ghost? When? Where?” she demanded. But, -turning a bend in the road they came upon a horseman, a cadaverous -person in threadbare clerical garb, who bestrode a very plump steed. - -“A fair prospect to the eye!” he exclaimed, nodding gloomily towards -Dering village, where it nestled under the sheltering Down. “Aye, a fair -prospect, and yet, in very truth, a ‘whited sepulchre’ ... not a thatch -that doesn’t leak, scarce a cottage that is truly habitable——” - -“Shameful!” exclaimed my lady. - -“And wicked!” added the parson in his gentle voice, his haggard face -very woeful. “For how shall folk take heed to their soul’s welfare until -their bodies be comfortable? Alas, you behold yonder the evils of a bad -landlord. Sir John Dering hath much to answer for. Better he were dead -and the land in better keeping.” - -“Dead, sir!” exclaimed my lady, aghast. - -“And wherefore not?” continued the parson in his gentle accents, while -his eyes smouldered. “A merciless, grinding bailiff and a profligate -landlord make for a suffering tenantry.” - -“You are the Reverend Mr. Hartop, I think, sir?” questioned Sir John, -bowing. - -“The same, sir,” answered the parson, returning the salute. “And I, who -know and love these rustic folk, say again that for the general good, -an evil landlord is better dead.... And consider Sir John Dering’s -reputation, his scandalous life!” - -“True!” sighed Sir John; “his reputation doth show him a very monster of -iniquity.” - -“God forgive him!” sighed the parson. “Duellist and man of blood, -desperate gambler and of wild, unholy life.... A few poor hundreds of the -guineas he throws away at the gaming-table or wastes on nameless evil -would mean all the difference ’twixt misery and happiness, sickness and -health to the folk of High Dering. Heaven forgive the Wicked Dering the -evil he hath wrought.” - -“Amen!” added Sir John. “How potent and far-reaching is a man’s -reputation, Rose!” - -“How different the son from his honoured sire!” sighed Mr. Hartop. - -“Alas, yes, sir!” answered Sir John. “And yet, sir, I have it on -excellent authority that this most iniquitous gentleman hath lately -become a ‘respectable young man.’” - -“Sir,” exclaimed the parson, opening his mild eyes a little wider than -usual, “sir, you amaze me! Heaven send it be indeed so, for his own sake -and the future welfare of his neglected people.” Saying which, Mr. Hartop -lifted shabby hat and rode gloomily away. - -“‘For the general good,’” repeated Sir John wistfully, “‘for the general -good an evil landlord were better dead.’ Here is an arresting thought, -child ... and how bitterly true!” - -“But you are alive!” said she, staring towards the quiet village beneath -wrinkled brows. “Live, then, to better purpose.” - -“Ah, Rose,” he sighed, “thy pretty moralities fall so trippingly from -thy rosy, innocent lip; thou art in thy simple wisdom such an angel of -inspiration that I would we had met ... five weary years ago!” - -“Five years ago?” she repeated, turning upon him. “Have you forgot——?” -Here, beholding his grim-smiling mouth, the mockery of his eyes, she -caught her breath and was silent. - -“Five long years ago, child, I killed a man—by accident. Ah, sweet Rose, -gentle maid, if only thou hadst come to me then ... to soothe my bitter -grief! Dear, lovely Rose, that little ‘if’ held, then as now, a world of -possibilities even for such an abandoned wretch as ‘the Wicked Dering.’ -But we are still alive, and to live is to hope.... And Dame Haryott -desires speech with me. And thou would’st behold a witch, so come thy -ways with thy loving, gentle John.” - -“Gentle?” cried she angrily. “Aye, with the eyes of a mocking fiend!” - -“But the heart of a respectable young man, Rose!” - -“Your crime brought its own consequences, sir.” - -“It did!” he sighed. “And not the least of ’em, thyself! When wilt marry -me?” - -“Never!” - -“Then the matter being settled—for the present let us to the witch, hand -in hand like good friends.” - -“No!” - -“Yes!” - -“Leave me, sir!” - -“Give me thy hand.” - -“Oh—I hate you!” she cried passionately. - -“Good!” he nodded placidly. “’Tis better than indifference. Thy hand, -Rose.” - -For answer she turned away, silently contemptuous, and began to retrace -her steps; but he caught her wrist and checked her suddenly, whereupon -she struck viciously at him, knocking off his hat, then her other hand -was ’prisoned also in so tense a grip that, knowing it vain to struggle, -she disdained further effort and faced him, coldly defiant. - -“Coward, you hurt me!” - -“Madam, you behave like a peevish hoyden! Such tricks may pass with -your hysterical fine ladies but, while in Sussex, I suggest you ape the -dignified calm o’ Rusticity.” - -“Will you loose me?” - -“Are you done with your fishwifely tantrums?” - -My lady held herself pridefully, glared furiously, then suddenly bit her -lip, bowed her head, and something bright and sparkling fell upon his -hand; at this he loosed her suddenly and she as suddenly turned her back -upon him. - -Sir John picked up his hat, knocked the dust from it, put it on, and -stood regarding her pensively. - -“Rose,” said he at last, “dear child, suffer me to take thy hand.” Then -he reached and clasped her unresisting fingers; and thus, hand in hand, -they went on down the lane together. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII - -TELLETH HOW MY LADY ADOPTED A FAIRY GODMOTHER - - -High Dering, drowsing in the sun, opened a door here and there to stare -in idle wonderment as Sir John handed his companion in at Dame Haryott’s -garden wicket, for visitors were rare, more especially such visitors as -these who bowed and curtsied to each other with such courtly, albeit -frigid, ceremony; so High Dering opened its doors a little wider and -became a trifle more awake as Sir John knocked. - -And, after some while, chains rattled, bolts creaked, the heavy door -opened, and old Penelope stood peering at them from the dim interior. - -“Good-day, Mrs. Penelope,” said Sir John, removing his hat and saluting -her in his easy, unaffected manner. “You desired to see me, I think?” - -“Aye, I did,” she answered ungraciously, “but not along of a tattlin’ -wench.” - -My lady stared and flushed angrily. - -“I will go!” said she, and drawing herself to her noble height, turned -away, supremely disdainful as an outraged goddess; but old Penelope, who -knew little of goddesses and cared less, was no whit abashed. - -“Hoity-toity!” quoth she; “bide a bit, wench!” and my Lady Herminia found -her stately progress checked by the crook of old Penelope’s stick that -had hooked itself suddenly about her arm. - -My lady turned and, amazed beyond speech, viewed the audacious old -creature from head to foot until, meeting the fierce old eyes, her gaze -paused there and thus, for a long moment, they stared at each other, the -old woman and the young, while Sir John wisely held his peace. - -“Ha!” exclaimed Dame Haryott at last, looking more malevolent and -witch-like than usual, “an’ who be you, young mistress, wi’ y’r white -’ands, an’ dressed out like a country-lass, as do carry y’rself so -proud-like? Hush and I’ll tell ’ee. You be one as long loved Love, an’ -sought it vainly till, one day, ye found it—in your own heart ... the -love for a man——” - -“I—I love no man!” cried my lady, with a strange vehemence. - -“Bah!” quoth Penelope harshly, “’tis peepin’ at me from y’r eyes, -flushin’ in y’r cheek. First, ’twas love o’ y’rself, which was a bad -love, but now ... aha, now it be love for a man! A love as shall grow an’ -grow till it be a pain ... some love be a pain, I know ... and ’tis the -only love worth ’aving!” - -“I love no man!” repeated my lady. - -“Shall I speak his name, mistress?” - -“No—no!” answered my lady, a little breathlessly. - -“Oho!” chuckled old Penelope in most witch-like manner. “Oho! ... ‘no, -no!’ quo’ she!... An’ ’er so proud an’ arl! But I know, aye, ol’ Pen -knows! For I loved once when the world was younger an’ kinder.... I -were tall then, and nigh prideful as you, afore age an’ sorrow bent me -an’ love humbled me. Love? Aye, but ’twas worth the pain, for ’twas a -love hath sweetened the bitter o’ the long, weary years, an’ cheered my -loneliness ... a love as I shall tak’ wi’ me to a better place an’ find -Happiness at last, maybe—Happiness ... after s’much bitter solitude!” - -Suddenly the old eyes were upturned to the radiant heaven, their -fierceness was softened by the glitter of slow-gathering, painful tears; -and then, upon that bowed and aged shoulder came a hand, a gentle hand -yet strong, for all its white delicacy; and my lady spoke in voice Sir -John had never heard from her before: - -“Art so very lonely?” - -“Lonely?” The word was a groan, and the drooping shoulders sank lower. -“I’ve been a lone soul all my days—wi’ none to care for me since HE died, -an’ none to tak’ my part except Jarge and Sir Hector ... the liddle -children mock me ... the women be worse! An’ I du be gettin’ that old and -weary!... Sometimes I can scarce brave it any more!”... - -“Wilt take me for thy friend, old Penelope?” - -The old woman lifted white head proudly as any person of quality might -have done and stared at my lady keenly, then reached up and patted the -hand upon her shoulder. - -“’Tis come too late!” sighed she. “You be too young an’ I be too old for -friendship ... but I thank ye kindly.” - -“Then you’ll suffer me to come and talk with you sometimes, Penelope?” - -“Why, ye see, the roof leaks, an’ the chimbley smokes——” - -“The more shame to Sir John Dering!” exclaimed my lady fiercely. - -“Aye,’twere different in the ol’ squire’s time—the other Sir John as -marched away wi’ his sojers an’ never came back ... the world was better -then ... ’specially High Dering. But to-day they name me witch, an’ a -witch’s cottage bean’t no place for young maids—’specially your sort! But -since you be here, come in an’ sit ye down—both on ye! An’ if ye’ll wait -’till my kittle b’iles I’ll brew ye a dish o’ tea——” - -“Tea?” exclaimed my lady. - -“Aye, I generally tak’s a drop towards noon; it do warm my old bones!” So -saying, she led them into the cottage and very carefully locked, bolted -and chained the door. - -“I do this,” she explained, “because happen they may come an’ mak’ -trouble for me—sudden-like!” - -“Who, pray?” demanded my lady indignantly. - -“Any fule as finds ’is cow gone dry, or ’is crop blighted, or ’is horse -off its feed, or his child in a fit.... Lord bless ’ee, child, doan’t -stare so! Ye see folks thinks I’ve ‘the evil eye’ an’ can blast ’em with -a look ... aye, but I wish I could, that I du!” - -“And so,” continued Sir John, “they have stoned her, set dogs on her, and -threatened her with death by water and the fire, ere now——” - -“Aye, but the dogs be worst!” cried old Penelope, giving the fire a -savage poke. “I can’t abide dogs!” - -“By heaven!” exclaimed my lady in sudden ferocity, “would I were a man!” - -“By heaven!” retorted Sir John, “I rejoice that you are not!” - -“Tush!” she cried angrily, “’tis time there came a man to High Dering!” - -“I have thought so too!” he answered gravely. - -“Nay, I mean a strong man—a man of action!” - -So saying, my lady rose, contemptuous, seeming to fill the small place -with the majesty of her presence. - -“Dear Penelope,” said she gently, “suffer me to do that for you—I’ll lay -the cloth and——” - -“No, no!” - -“But I say yes!” - -“O do ye an’ arl!” exclaimed the old woman fiercely. “This be my own -cottage till they turn me out an’ then——” - -“Turn you out?” - -“Aye, in two or three wiks!” - -“You hear, sir; you hear?” - -“I do!” answered Sir John. - -“And when you are homeless, Penelope, what shall you do?” - -“Walk an’ tramp ’till I caan’t go no further, an’ then find a quiet -corner to die in——” - -“Nay, that you shall not!” cried my lady passionately. “I will take -ye—you shall come to me, I will adopt you——” - -“Eh—eh!” gasped old Penelope, and very nearly dropped her cherished -Chinese teapot. - -“You shall come to me, Penelope,” repeated my lady, taking the teapot -from her tremulous fingers. “I shall adopt you—nay, my dear soul, never -doubt me, I mean it every word!” - -“But ... but,” stammered old Penelope, “they call me a witch! They ... -they——” - -“Devil take ’em!” exclaimed my lady. “I will care for thee, Penelope! -Shalt find peace and comfort at last, thou brave soul!” And here, seeing -the old creature’s pitiful amaze, my lady stooped suddenly and pressed -warm lips on her wrinkled brow. - -“Lord God!” exclaimed old Penelope, and sinking into the elbow-chair, hid -her face in her toil-worn hands. And presently she spoke in voice harsh -and broken, “There be nobody ... has kissed me ... since my dyin’ mother, -long an’ long ago!” - -“My dear soul!” said my lady, and Sir John saw her eyes suddenly brim -with tears. “My dear soul, there is a woman shall kiss away thy sorrows -if she may.... For to-day, Penelope, thou hast found a friend and I a—a -fairy godmother! Let me kiss thee again, godmother!” - -Slowly old Penelope raised her head to look into the face bowed above her. - -“Happen I be dreamin’,” she sighed, “an’ shall wake by an’ by—but, O -child, it be good to dream—sometimes.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXIX - -GIVETH SOME DESCRIPTIONS OF A TEA-DRINKING - - -“’Tis most excellent tea!” quoth my lady. “I vow I have never drank -better!” - -“Arl the way from Chaney, mam.” - -“And these beautiful dishes!” - -“Chaney, too!” nodded old Penelope proudly. “An’ look at my teapot! I -means to tak’ it along wi’ me when they do turn me out, though ’twill be -a bit ’ard to carry, I rackon. But ye see, mam, I——” - -“Nay, godmother, call me Rose.” - -“No, mam, it doan’t come easy to my tongue.” - -“I may call you Penelope, mayn’t I?” - -“For sure!” - -“And fairy godmother?” - -“Aye, though I be more witch than fairy, I rackon.” - -“Then, godmother Penelope, pray call me Rose.” - -“Rose, then!” she snapped. - -“I think,” said Sir John in his pleasant voice, “you have some message -for me, Mrs. Penelope?” - -“Gimme time, young man, gimme time! I bean’t kissed an’ called a fairy -every day, so gimme——” She paused suddenly and seemed to listen intently, -“I rackon you’d best be goin’—both on ye!” - -“But why, pray?” demanded my lady. - -“Happen I’ll ha’ trouble here presently.” - -“Then, of course, I shall stay with you!” quoth my lady in her most -determined manner, but glanced round sharply, as upon the back door of -the cottage sounded three soft raps repeated three several times. - -“That will be Mr. Potter, I think,” said Sir John. “Shall I let him in?” - -“Since ye seem to know arl about it, young man, ye may.” - -Scarcely had Sir John loosed the bolts than, sure enough, Mr. Potter slid -into the room and proceeded to lock and bolt and chain the door, further -securing it with a stout iron bar that he reached from adjacent corner; -thus busied, he spoke, albeit gasping a little with his late exertions. - -“They nigh ’ad me once, Pen ... but I slipped ’em ... t’other side the -... ’anging wood. But I’ve gotten an ’are for ye ... a praper big ’un as -I took ... in Dering Park and ... by the Pize!” he exclaimed as, turning, -he espied my lady. - -Mr. Potter was hardly himself, for his hat was gone, his clothes were -torn and stained with the mud and green slime of damp hiding-places, -while his unkempt hair clung in elf-locks about an unshaven face, grimed -with dust and streaked with sweat; moreover, beneath one arm he carried a -short, though very formidable bludgeon. - -“Who is this horrid person?” demanded my lady, and took up the boiling -kettle in her defence. - -“By Goles!” ejaculated Mr. Potter, and, eyeing her heroic proportions and -determined air, retreated to the door. - -“Rose,” said Sir John, intervening, “it is my joy to present my friend, -Mr. George Potter. Mr. Potter—Mrs. Rose!” - -“Friend?” she repeated. “Your friend? Is he a murderer or merely a thief?” - -“Neither, child. He is simply a friend o’ mine temporarily embarrassed -by—circumstances.” - -Mr. Potter made a leg and touched an eyebrow in polite salutation, and -diving into the inner mysteries of the frieze coat, brought thence a -large hare, which he laid upon the little dresser. Quoth he, “Theer ’e -be, Pen! ’E should keep ’ee goin’ for a day or so, I rackon.” - -“Aye, Jarge, an’ thank’ee!” - -“An’ now I’ll better be goin’.” - -“What be your ’urry, lad? There be rum i’ the cupboard an’ kittle’s -a-biling.” - -“Aye, I see it be!” answered Mr. Potter, retreating to the door again. - -“Then sit ’ee down, do!” - -“Why, y’see, Pen, Oxham an’ ’is men be a-seekin’ ’ereabouts, an’ I won’t -’ave ’em mak’ trouble for you arl along on account o’ pore Potter——” - -“Bah!” exclaimed old Penelope fiercely. “What do I care for ’em! They -can’t frutten me. So sit ye down, Jarge.” - -“Why, I bean’t ’ardly fit for comp’ny, Pen, and——” Mr. Potter suddenly -held his peace, and they heard a distant shout, a clamour of voices, a -growing hubbub. “They’ve winded me, I rackon!” said he. - -“Aye,” nodded Penelope composedly, “they’ll be breakin’ the door in -prensly! So get ye below, Jarge; get ye down under stone.” - -“No, no, Pen, they’ll come here sure an’ pull the old place t’ bits, an’ -if they should find me ’twould be bad for us both! No, I’ll cut stick -whiles I can, Pen!” And, crossing to the front door, Mr. Potter reached -to draw the bolts then hesitated and stood listening, while old Penelope -peered through the lattice. - -“Ye be too late, Jarge,” said she calmly, “there be three or four of ’em -waitin’ for ye in the road.” - -“An’ pore Potter thought as he’d tricked ’em in Dering Wood!” sighed Mr. -Potter gloomily. “An’ if they tak’ me in your cottage, Pen, they’ll take -you ’long as my accomplish——” - -“Let ’em!” said she serenely. “But as for you, get ’ee down under stone -quick!” - -Mr. Potter still hesitated, hearkening to the shouts and hallooing, the -awful sound of the hue and cry that grew louder every moment. - -“What is it?” questioned my lady, clasping her hands, for the terror -seemed all about the cottage. “Oh, what does it mean?” - -“Hold y’r tongue, lass!” answered Penelope. “You’ll know soon enough, I -rackon!” - -“The witch’s cottage!” boomed a voice. “The old hag’ll know where t’ find -him, sure!” Here a clamour of assent. “If she doan’t open the door, burst -it in!” boomed Mr. Oxham again. - -“I be main grieved for this, Pen!” sighed Mr. Potter, crossing to the -hearth in his leisured fashion, “but what is to be—must be!” So saying, -he thrust an arm up the wide chimney and pulled lustily at some hidden -object, whereupon was a creaking sound and my lady shrank back, uttering -a gasp of surprise to see the broad hearthstone sink from sight and in -its place a yawning cavity. - -“Quick, Jarge!” warned Penelope, still peering from the lattice. - -“If they dogs start ill-usin’ of ’ee, Pen, I be a-comin’ up!” quoth Mr. -Potter, seating himself upon the floor, his legs a-dangle in the void -below. “You, Mus’ Derwent,” he continued appealingly, “you took ’er part -once afore——” - -“And will again,” answered Sir John cheerily, “so down with ye, man; -trust me, old Penelope shall suffer no harm.” - -“God bless ’ee, sir!” growled Mr. Potter, and immediately vanished, -whereupon the hearthstone rose demurely into place and became as -innocent-seeming as any in all Sussex; then, setting the elbow-chair upon -it, Penelope sat down and spread her thin, work-worn hands to the comfort -of the fire. - -“An’ now, my dear,” said she, “if there be any tay left, I’d like another -cup.” So, while clamour raged without, my lady manipulated the priceless -teapot, and Sir John, noting her firm wrist and untroubled demeanour, -smiled happily. - -And then was a tramp of feet, violent blows upon the door, and Mr. -Sturton’s voice more authoritative than usual: - -“Penelope Haryott, open the door! ’Tis me, James Sturton! Open the door, -d’ye hear me?” - -“Aye, I ’ears ye,” cried the old woman, “an’ I spits!” - -“Damned hag!—will ye open?” - -“Galler’s-bird, no!” - -“Then we’ll break it down!” - -“Why, then, break away, an’ a bloody end t’ye, James Sturton!” answered -old Penelope, sipping her tea with relish. - -A stick shivered one of the few remaining panes of glass in the lattice, -and Mr. Oxham’s voice boomed: - -“You shall suffer for it, Pen Haryott, when us do come in!” - -“Bah!” she laughed in fierce derision. “I be used to suffering!” Here the -stout door shook to a fierce blow that seemed the signal for others, for -there began a furious battering. - -“Sit still, young man,” cried old Penelope above the din, for Sir John -had risen—“sit ye still! ’Tis a strong door an’ should hold ’em till we -ha’ finished our tea-drinking, I rackon.” - -“But,” answered he, as the hammering momentarily subsided, “it seems -shameful to permit them to destroy your property——” - -“My property!” cried she. “Mine? Lord, you must be a gurt fool of a young -man!” - -“Howbeit,” he answered, “we will endeavour to quiet ’em; their noise -offends me.” So saying, Sir John drew the bolts and, turning the massive -key, flung the door wide and thus came face to face with Mr. Oxham -supported by some half-score sturdy fellows who crowded the little front -garden and kept back the throng of excited villagers. - -“Ha!” exclaimed Mr. Oxham, recoiling a step, “so ’tis you again, is it?” - -Sir John affably admitted the fact. - -“We want George Potter!” - -“You usually do, it seems.” - -“And we be a-comin’ into this cottage to find him!” - -“I think not!” - -Here Mr. Sturton pushed his way to the fore. - -“Look’ee here, you!” quoth he, wagging bodeful finger, “if you bean’t -out o’ this in two minutes we’ll apprehend you as the accomplice o’ this -curst smuggler, this rogue Potter as dared to fire on the King’s uniform -last night. We means to get him if we ha’ to pull this cottage down. Are -ye goin’ to let us in?” - -“Where is your search-warrant?” demanded Sir John. - -“Search-warrant be damned!” roared Mr. Oxham. “We are here to tak’ George -Potter, aye—and the old witch along wi’ him——” - -“And I,” answered Sir John, slim hands disappearing into coat-pockets, -“am here to prevent you.” - -The man Oxham swung up his stick, Sir John stepped lightly back, and -his hands flashed to view, each grasping a small, silver-mounted -pocket-pistol, very arresting for all their lack of size. “Look’ee, -fellow,” quoth he, “I ha’ no particular desire for your blood, but come -one step nearer, you or any o’ your men, and I break that man’s leg!” - -“Don’t believe him, lads!” cried Sturton. “He’d never dare; the law’s -behind us; he’d never dare shoot; ’twould mean hanging or transportation.” - -“Very well,” answered Sir John; “pray step forward, Mr. Sturton, and see -for yourself.” - -“Aye,” quoth Mr. Oxham, “you lead the way, Sturton, an’ we’ll foller!” - -Mr. Sturton scowled at the threatening pistol-muzzles, at the serenely -determined face behind them, and hesitated, as well he might. - -And then, all in a moment, Sir John found matters taken entirely out -of his hands; he saw an out-thrust, shapely arm, felt himself pushed -aside with surprising ease, and my lady was between him and his would-be -assailants. For a moment she faced the astonished crowd proudly -contemptuous, and when she addressed them her disdain was such that -despite hot anger she never thought to swear. - -“Animals,” said she, “get out of my sight!” - -For a moment was amazed silence, then rose a murmur, an angry growl. - -“Who be the likes o’ her to miscall the likes o’ we?” cried a voice. “She -be nobody—look at ’er gownd!” - -Then Mr. Oxham spoke: - -“You be a fine piece, I’ll allow, mistress, aye—fit for a lord or a -dook ye be, but your handsome looks won’t——” Here, suddenly espying the -nature of the weapon she held, he shrank and cowered away. “’Ware of -her, Sturton!” he cried, but all too late, for with a graceful sweep of -her long arm she swung the large pitcher she had hitherto kept hidden, -discharging its boiling contents over the huddled crowd in a streaming -deluge, whereupon arose screams, curses, groans, a very pandemonium, -as these men, who had fronted Sir John’s pistols, retreated in wild -confusion. Reaching the road, they halted to stamp and swear, while Mr. -Oxham roared threats and cherished scalded face, and Sturton, cursing all -and sundry, cried shame on them to “be beat by a damned slip o’ shrewish -womanhood!” to such effect that they were presently back again more -viciously threatening than ever, though keeping well away from the tall -young Amazon who stood with pitcher recharged and the light of battle in -her eyes, strung for action, yet supremely disdainful of them, one and -all. - -So was a momentary respite, for the men, uncertain and a little -shamefaced, hung back, despite Sturton’s lashing tongue and Oxham’s -bellowing. And then arose warning shouts from their fellows who guarded -the roadway, a clatter of horse-hoofs and sounds of sudden strife, -whereupon Oxham’s men hastened to join the fray. Thus the turmoil grew, -while up rose a swirling cloud of dust wherein men strove hand to hand, -a fierce hurly-burly whence ever and anon was heard a wild, eldritch -screech of exultation. Suddenly, high above the reeling press, two legs -appeared, very helpless legs that writhed and contorted themselves in -desperate but futile kickings ere they vanished. Then the close-locked -fray was split asunder, and through the seething dust a gigantic form -appeared, with a man clutched helpless beneath each mighty arm, and who -paused to glare round about and note the havoc he had wrought upon his -bruised and dismayed assailants, and to vent another fierce screech of -triumph ere he became articulate. - -“Ye fules!” he roared. “Dinna anger me—dinna rouse the auld Adam in me or -mebbe I’ll be hurtin’ some o’ ye!” - -Thus stood Sir Hector Lauchlan MacLean, the very incarnation of strife, -hatless and wigless, his clothes rent and torn, his wretched captives -struggling vainly in the grasp of his arms, his lean face flushed with -the ecstasy of the moment. - -“Wha’ stays a MacLean meets the de’il!” quoth he. “An’ here’s MacLean the -noo, an’ whaur’s the man tae gainsay him? You, Oxham-laddie, an’ you, -Sturton, is it battle and bluidshed ye’re wantin’? If aye, speak the -worrd. If no’, get ye oot o’ Dame Haryott’s but-an’-ben, an’ quick aboot -it, for I’m fair yearnin’ for a wee mair tulzie-mulzie, y’ ken!” - -“We’ve no quarrel wi’ you, Sir Hector,” answered Mr. Oxham sullenly. - -“Mair’s the peety, lad, mair’s the peety!” sighed Sir Hector. “But we’ll -no’ let a bit quarrel stand betwixt us, man; I can fecht wi’oot any -quarrel at a’ when needfu’.” - -“We are here, sir,” explained Mr. Sturton, “to arrest the notorious rogue -and smuggler, George——” - -“Ou aye, I ken that fine!” nodded Sir Hector. “An’, O man, but this -smugglin’ ’s an awf’ business, I’ll no’ deny. But Penelope Haryott bides -here, y’ ken, an’ she’s an auld body, stricken wi’ years, an’ auld folk -lo’e peace an’ quiet! So I’m juist suggestin’ tae ye, Oxham, ma mannie, -that ye gang awa’ an’ arrest your smuggler somewhaier else. Is it aye or -no?” - -“Aye, Sir Hector!” answered Mr. Oxham more sullenly than ever. “And us’ll -tell Lord Sayle o’ this here business!” - -“Good!” nodded Sir Hector, beginning in his most pedantic English: “Pray -carry him my compliments and inform him, on my behalf, that should he -experience the burning need of a little gentlemanly satisfaction, Sir -Hector MacLean will be happy to meet him at any time, anywhere, with -broadsword or rapier, pistol, dirk, or half-pike, right hand or left, to -suit his own convenience, and ... aye, an’ damn him intae the bargain for -a scoondrel, whateffer! An’ noo, tak’ ye’sels hence—awa’ wi’ ye or I’ll -be crackin’ y’r twa thick heids taegither.” - -Thus stood Sir Hector, indeed a very Hector, Achilles and Ajax rolled -into one, his two captives still in durance, his brow a little sad as -he watched the enemy’s retreat. Then, becoming aware of his helpless -prisoners, he loosed them and patted each dazed fellow upon tousled crown. - -“Losh,” quoth he, “I fair disremembered ye! Rin awa’, laddies, rin awa’ -an’ dinna forget Hector Lauchlan MacLean.” - -And now it was that he felt a touch upon his arm and, turning, came face -to face with my lady. - -“Save ’s a’,” he exclaimed, “’tis Rose!” - -“Herself, dear Sir Hector!” she answered and, smiling, reached him both -her hands. But instead of clasping them, he clapped his own to his -wigless head and stood utterly discomfited and abashed. - -“Hoot-toot,” quoth he, “I’m no’ a fit sicht for a lassie’s een—look awa’, -Rose, look awa’! Rab!” he roared, “O Rabbie-man, bring me ma wig. Rin, -laddie, rin!” - -“Here, sir!” answered Robert, stepping from the shadow of the hedge with -the object in question, which Sir Hector snatched and donned hastily; -then, facing about, he bowed ceremoniously. - -“Rose,” said he, “I rejoice to see thee safe back.” - -“O Sir Hector,” cried she, reaching him her hands again, “thou’rt indeed -a man ’tis joy to see, a man of action, of deeds not words—and marvellous -strong. You fight as if you loved it!” - -Sir Hector’s cheek flushed and his eye glistened. - -“Yet ilka joy hath its sorrow, child!” he sighed. “Wull ye look at ma -coat?” - -“I vow it becomes you vastly, torn so!” - -“Aye, but ’tis my third best!” he answered gloomily. “An’ though mebbe -’tis somewhat worn an’ weary wi’ hard service an’ length o’ days, ’tis an -auld friend, y’ ken!” - -“Then do but bring thine old friend within doors and I’ll cobble him for -thee,” said my lady; and side by side they crossed the trampled garden -to the cottage, while ex-Corporal Robert stared after them, rubbing his -square chin thoughtfully. Then, being left thus to his own devices, he -went back to her who stood awaiting him shyly in the shadow of the tall -hedge. - - - - -CHAPTER XXX - -IN WHICH SIR JOHN RECEIVES A WARNING - - -Sir John, watching the retreat of their discomfited assailants, and -lost in admiration of Sir Hector’s might and prowess, was roused by a -touch, and beheld old Penelope, who, finger on lip, led him to a dark -corner whence a narrow, precipitous stair mounted, up which she climbed, -beckoning him to follow. Thus Sir John presently found himself in a small -chamber bright with sun, the shattered panes of its wide lattice very -neatly mended with oiled paper; and, glancing about, he marvelled within -himself, for the place wore an air of refinement wholly unexpected, from -the narrow carved bedstead to the few heavily framed pictures on the -walls. And she herself seemed to have undergone some subtle change, for, -when she spoke, her voice was less harsh and her dialect less pronounced: - -“Here, young master, is where old Pen, the witch, sleeps a-nights, but -very often lays awake an’ has her truthful dreams and sees visions of -what was, and is, and will be. For when all the world sleeps an’ only -she is waking because she so wills, then the thoughts of the sleepin’ -multitudes gather about her an’ she sees an’ knows an’ has her dreams. -So, sit ye down, young master—so! Now mark what I says! The Downs -hereabouts be full o’ souls, spirits o’ folk as died long an’ long ago; -their bodies be dust, ages old, but their spirits do live—I can feel ’em -arl about me when I tramp so far, the souls o’ the Strange Folk as nobody -remembers or knows aught about ... there be pits where they lived an’ -graves where their dust lies buried ... ’tis the dust o’ the unnumbered -dead as goes to make the sweet grass, an’ herbs, an’ flowers ... folk as -lived an’ loved an’ died, ages agone, folk as did good and evil in their -day, but the silent hills do keep arl their secrets fast hid—’specially -Windover!” - -“Ah!” said Sir John softly, though his eyes grew suddenly keen. “Pray, -why Windover?” - -“Because ’tis o’ Windover as you’ve been thinkin’ so much.” - -“Faith and that’s true enough!” he answered. - -“The Long Man o’ Wilmington do ha’ seen many a fearsome thing in his -length o’ days, but he’ll never tell naun ... there be a patch o’ grass -on Windover as hath been warmed wi’ a man’s life-blood ere now, but -Windover’s kep’ the secret an’ will do till the end o’ time.” - -“You mean the cruel murder of Roger Hobden, I think?” - -“Aye, I do.” - -“Then, Penelope, if you know any tittle of truth that may help discover -his murderers, I beg you speak.” - -“His murderers, young sir?” - -“Aye, there were three concerned in it, as I imagine, and yet ’tis but -imagination, for proof there is none ... so if you know, or can aid me——” - -“No,” she cried fiercely—“no! And wherefore mix y’self in the black -business—why?” - -“For many reasons,” he answered thoughtfully. “Mayhap because I am an -idler and the matter puzzles me, mayhap because I think Justice hath been -cheated too long, or mayhap because I have reasons to suspect——” - -“Hush!” she cried. “Name no names! What I know I do know, but ’twouldn’t -be no good to your court lawyers; they would but laugh at an old woman’s -dreams.... But for yourself ... ah, for yourself, young master, let -be—let be, I tell ’ee!” And, reaching out suddenly, she seized his arm -and shook it so that he wondered at the strength of her aged fingers. -“Let be!” she repeated, her voice sinking to a pleading whisper. “The -Downs hereaways has many secrets, an’ who be you t’ expect to learn what -they bean’t nowise willin’ to tell? So ha’ done, young sir, you bean’t -old enough to die yet awhile——” - -“To die?” repeated Sir John, startled by her tone and the fixed intensity -of her look. - -“Die!” She nodded. “Them as seeks murderers seeks death, for Murder will -murder to hide murder.” - -“And you think that in attempting to solve this mystery I run a certain -danger, Penelope?” - -“I know it!” she answered. - -“None the less, I feel I must attempt it ... the poor girl vanished, -you’ll remember, and was never heard of more.” - -“An’ never will be!” - -“And,” said he, frowning, “there may be other such hateful doings.” - -“For sure!” She nodded again. “Hundreds—thousands, ’till the world grows -better!” - -“Shall I succeed in this quest?” - -“No!” - -“Wherefore not, Penelope?” - -“Because you’ll tak’ up wi’ a better thing!” - -“What do you mean?” - -“Love!” - -“Hum!” quoth Sir John, and became thoughtful awhile. “Shall I succeed in -my love, think ye?” he questioned at last. - -“Only when Hope be dead.” - -“Penelope,” said he, smiling as he leaned to touch her clasped hands, -“how much of all this is pure guesswork?” - -“Aye me,” she sighed, “you be tur’ble like your father afore ye——” - -“My”—Sir John sat up and blinked—“my father, say you?” - -“Aye, sure,” she sighed; “he would never believe, never be warned! Happen -if he had—ah, if only he had, ’tis like he wouldn’t ha’ died so young, -away off in the cruel French wars, Sir John.” - -“You—you know me?” he stammered. - -“Aye, indeed, Sir John!” - -“When did you recognise me?” - -“’Twas when ye picked up my cabbage for me, sir.” - -“And how did you know?” - -“Happen ’twas y’r eyes ... or a memory o’ the years ... or happen because -o’ my dreams, an’ I ... just knew.” - -Sir John, leaning back in his chair, viewed her with a new respect. - -“Penelope,” said he, “thou’rt a strange and wonderful woman!” - -“So they stone me, sir, an’ call me ‘witch’!” - -“Aye,” he sighed, “because the vulgar cannot love anything different to -themselves.... And you knew my father?” - -“In a better day, long an’ long ago!” she answered, lifting her head -proudly and holding his regard with her strangely bright old eyes. “He -was a great and noble gentleman!” So saying, she rose suddenly, and, -drawing a small key from her bosom, opened a drawer and took thence two -miniatures, one of which she studied awhile with bowed head ere she -handed it to Sir John; it was a thing of exquisite artistry, set within a -gold frame; the picture of a manly face, square-chinned, firm-lipped, but -with eyes soft and tender as a woman’s. - -“I never saw this picture of my father, Penelope.” - -“Nobody has!” she answered. And now she gave him the other picture, -whose gold, strangely cut and battered, framed a face of extraordinary -beauty—black-haired, deep-eyed, low-browed, full and vivid of mouth—the -face of a girl passionate with life and eager youth, yet dominated by an -expression of resolute strength and courage. - -“Why, Penelope!” said he in awed voice—“O Penelope, this—this was -yourself!” - -“Aye, that was me,” she answered; “’twas ’ow I looked long ago ... when -the world was younger an’ kinder.” - -“And why is the case so battered? See, the gold is cut quite through in -one place!” - -“Aye, so it be!” said old Penelope very softly, and stood with the -miniature in her hand, turning it over and over in her bony fingers and -on her face a light that was not wholly of the sun. Then, with a sudden -gesture, she turned and locked the portraits away. - -“Hark!” said she; “d’ye hear aught?” From somewhere beneath arose a -fearsome puffing and blowing, accompanied by a ceaseless splashing. “That -be Jarge Potter a-washin’ hisself!” she explained. “Which do mean as him -an’ Sir Hector will be wantin’ their hot grog; they never fancies tea.” - -“Penelope,” said Sir John, “will you keep my identity secret a while -longer?” - -“Why, for sure, Mus’ Derwent!” she answered, and then suddenly caught his -hand, holding it fast while eyes and voice pleaded anew: “Let be, Sir -John! Let blood answer blood, but keep you out of it....” - -“Nay, Penelope,” he answered gently, “I would remind you that poor Roger -Hobden was my horse-boy years ago and taught me to steal apples——” - -“And I bid ye let be!” she whispered passionately. “The evil as they -wrought shall foller them as did it! What if they be never dragged to -Justice, Roger will be avenged, one day.... I know it, so keep you clear -o’ them, sir, for your sake and your dead father’s!” - -Sir John was silent awhile then, stooping reverently, raised those old, -work-roughened hands that clasped his so eagerly, and touched them with -his lips. - -“Oh!” she sighed; and feeling how she trembled, he looked up to see her -eyes brimming with tears. “Ah, sir,” she whispered, “’tis almost as I -were young again an’ the world a better place!” - -“Pray heaven it shall be so!” he answered very gravely and, opening the -door, followed her down the dark and narrow stair. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXI - -BEING A CHAPTER OF NO GREAT CONSEQUENCE - - -My lady, seated between Sir Hector, very conscious of his shirt-sleeves, -and Mr. Potter, fresh and assured of himself by reason of his late -ablutions, held up the garment she had been mending, and viewed the -result of her labours with coldly disparaging eye. - -“I fear ’tis very clumsily done, sir,” said she. - -“Nay, ’pon my soul,” answered Sir Hector ponderously gallant. “I protest -’tis of needlework the most excellent! My old coat will be endeared to -me for the ... the sake o’ your bonny, white fingers! An’ noo, gin ye’re -finished wi’t, I’ll get in till’t, for ’tis no juist proper tae sit here -afore ye in my sark, ye ken.... Aha, Johnnie, is she no’ a graund lassie, -as apt wi’ needle as wi’ boilin’ watter? A fine, sonsy lass——” - -“Indeed,” answered Sir John gravely, “she is as up-standing and -down-sitting a wench as——” - -“Tush!” cried my Lady Herminia, flushing. “There is your ill-cobbled -coat, Sir Hector. And now, I’ll be going.” - -“Whaur to, lassie?” - -“Home to my aunt, sir.” - -“Aunt?” repeated Sir Hector at a loss, “but ’twas your grandmother last -time, I mind.” - -“And to-day ’tis my aunt, sir. And she a lone widow.” - -“Aunt? Widow?” quoth Sir Hector. “Why then, ’tis no’ for the sake o’ a -puir, auld, solitary, worn an’ woefu’ soldier-body wi’ ane leg i’ the -grave as ye’re here, Rose? ’Tis no’ for the sake o’ lonesome Hector -MacLean, whateffer?” - -“Indeed but it is, sir!” she smiled. “To cook and care, and tend and -mend for him. I shall come and keep house for you every day.” - -“Aye, but your aunt, the widow-body—she’ll be the fly in the ointment, -lassie——” - -“Indeed and she’s no such thing, sir, as you shall see, for I mean to -bring her with me sometimes.” - -“Hoot-toot—and she a widow? Na’, na’, lassie, I’ll be safer wi’ Wully -Tamson.” - -“Sir Hector MacLean,” quoth my lady with her most determined air, “since -you are such a very old, poor, solitary soldier-body, I intend to do my -best for your future happiness ... with my aunt’s aid.” - -“Save’s a’!” gasped Sir Hector, “an’ she a widow!” - -“My aunt will, I hope, assist in my labour for your comfort and welfare.” - -“Aweel!” sighed Sir Hector, “I can run as fast as ony man. I’ve braw, -lang legs, y’ ken.” - -“Though one of ’em is in the grave, sir!” she reminded him. Here, at a -sign from Penelope, my lady curtsied demurely and followed the old woman -out of the room. - -“Losh!” exclaimed Sir Hector, “yon Rose hath an air aboot her that gi’es -a cautious man tae think.” - -“Very much so!” answered Sir John. “As you once said, she is not exactly -an ordinary lass.” - -“An’ noo, Geordie man,” said Sir Hector, lowering his voice, “’twas a -mighty ill business yon, last nicht!” - -“Why, I dunno, sir,” answered Mr. Potter, stirring his grog thoughtfully, -“we brought away every tub an’ bale—arl safe stowed, they be.” - -“Aye, but the shooting, man, the bluidshed!” - -“Naun so bad, sir—though poor Will Burgess took a musket-ball through ’is -leg.” - -“An’ the sojers, Geordie? Nine sojers an’ twa o’ the coastguard desp’ret -wounded! O man,’twas awfu’ ... an’ if ane o’ them should dee ... ’twould -be noose an’ gibbet, y’ ken!” - -Mr. Potter smiled dreamily, and was his most guileless self as he -answered: - -“They wunt die, sir—nary a one on ’em! They’ll be up an’ about again by -now—though salt be apt to sting, an’ likewise smart a bit, d’ye see——” - -“Salt?” exclaimed Sir Hector. - -“Rock-salt, sir,” nodded Mr. Potter placidly. “I charged arl our pieces -wi’ liddle lumps o’ rock-salt as couldn’t ’ardly ’arm a babby noo-born.” - -“Thank God!” cried Sir Hector fervently. “O Geordie man, I’ve hardly -blinked an e’e the nicht for worry—and now—salt! Man, I fair admire -at ye—salt! Geordie man, gi’e’s a grup o’ ye hond!” And Sir Hector -laughed suddenly and was immediately solemn again. “John an’ Geordie,” -he continued, “when Dumbrell’s Ann, thinkin’ they meant harm to old -Penelope, came running to fetch me hither, I was upon my knees wrestling -in prayer that no lives should be spilled and none of the lads taken, -for if so, I, being equally guilty, was determined to give myself up -and suffer with ’em. And as I prayed, John and George, I cam’ to the -determination that I would be done wi’ free-trading henceforth, whilk -determination I mean to abide by—amen!” - -“I be glad to hear it, sir!” nodded Mr. Potter. “You be too ’igh-strung -for it, I rackon. Leave it to us as be born to it, same as our -grandfeäthers was.” - -“And look’ee, John an’ Geordie, a’ the siller I have had by it—aye, every -penny, I have spent on good works, and all that remains is yon lugger the -_True Believer_, and that, Geordie man, I’m giving tae yourself!” - -“What—what, me, sir?” gasped Mr. Potter, rising suddenly from his chair. -“You ... akerchally gimme the _True Believer_.... Me, Sir Hector?” - -“Aye, I do, George. She’s yours, every plank and bolt, every rope and -spar.... And here’s my hand on’t!” - -“But,” stammered Mr. Potter, hesitating, “but what o’ Sharkie Nye, sir? -My comrade Sharkie as ha’ sailed her so bold an’ true, blow fair or foul? -What o’ Sharkie?” - -“Well, what o’ him, man?” - -“Why, I think, sir, if it be arl the same to you, I’d be more ’appier in -my mind-like if you made Sharkie my partner, sir, share an’ share, your -honour.” - -“Geordie Potter,” quoth Sir Hector, “gi’e’s your hand again. Your -sentiments, George, do ye infinite honour, and I’m prood to ca’ ye -freend.... Forbye, ye’re a rascally smugglin’-body an’ law-breaker, -Geordie, whilk as an elder an’ respectable citizen I haud tae be an -immoral an’ damnable practice. Faith, George, ’tis well to be free o’ the -sin that I may condemn it in others. But look’ee, George, I hear that the -man Sayle is like a madman after last nicht’s business, and vows to take -ye and make an example of ye, which means—well——” - -“The gallers!” said Mr. Potter, reaching for his grog. - -“Consequently, George, sic’ influence as I possess—whilk is sma’—and -a’ my money—whilk is no’ sae muckle as I could wish—I will joyfully -adventure to get ye safe awa’! Our first conseederation must be tae get -ye ower tae France.” - -“Aye, but wherefore France, sir?” - -“Ye’ll be safe there, man.” - -“Mebbe, sir, but I can’t speak the lingo, d’ye see, an’ I dunno as I like -furrineers; ’sides, sir, I’ve made my plans to bide nice an’ quiet in -Alfriston——” - -“But, ye muckle fule,” cried Sir Hector, “ye ken the man Sayle means tae -hunt ye doon?” - -“Aye, I do, sir; this be why I’ll bide along in Alfriston; poor Potter’ll -be safest theer. Lord bless ’ee, there bean’t a Sussex man, woman nor -child as would give Potter away! An’ there’s plenty o’ hiding-places I -knaws on wheer nobody will never find poor Potter nowhen an’ nohow——” -Here Mr. Potter paused to drink as my lady reappeared; she, taking her -leave forthwith, Sir John did the same, and together they stepped forth -into the sunshine. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXII - -TELLETH HOW SIR JOHN DERING WENT A-WOOING - - -Upon the Down a soft wind met them, a gentle breath sweet with wild thyme -and fresh with ocean, a wind that touched them like a caress; insomuch -that my lady removed hat and cap the better to feel it, and, sinking -upon the smooth, turfy bank beside the path, sat to behold the beauties -of teeming earth and radiant heaven, yet very conscious of him who stood -beside her, wherefore she presently bade him be seated. Thus, side by -side, they remained awhile, and never a word between them. - -“Rose,” said he at last, “most sweet and fragrant maid, thou canst be so -nobly kind, so tender, so brave and womanly that there be times love doth -so enthral me, I would thou hadst never known Herminia.” - -“Indeed, sir! And is Herminia so bitter, so hard, so cowardly, so -altogether evil?” - -“She is—Herminia!” - -“And you,” cried she, ablaze with sudden anger, “what are you, despite -your foolish play-acting, but that same ‘Wicked Dering’ whose name is a -byword—even here!” - -“So it is, child, that I would be the good John Derwent a little longer, -for thy sake and my sake. For as John Derwent I do so love thee, my Rose, -I would John Dering had never been. In John Derwent is all John Dering’s -better self ... to reverence thee with such a love that, yearning to -possess thee, scarce dare touch thy hand.” As he spoke, his voice took on -a deeper note, his pale cheek flushed, and in his eyes shone a light she -had never seen there before; and, beholding him thus moved, her breath -quickened and she glanced away lest he should read the triumph in her -face. - -“Can such love truly be?” she asked softly. - -“So long as thou art Rose,” he answered. - -“And what o’ poor Herminia?” - -“Do but love me, Rose, and I will strive to love her for thy dear sake.” - -“Will this be so hard a matter? Must you strive so extremely?” she -questioned, and glanced at him over her shoulder, languorous-eyed, vivid -lips up-curving, conscious of and assured in her beauty; and, reading -this look, he laughed a little bitterly. - -“O Coquetry!” he exclaimed, “that turn o’ the neck and shoulder, that -languishing droop o’ the eyes become you vastly.... Egad, I protest you -are monstrous bewitching so, my Lady Herminia!” - -At this she flushed angrily and knit black brows at him. - -“Faith, sir,” she retorted, “by your vast knowledge o’ feminine arts I -perceive you to be merely Sir John Dering!” - -“Who is extreme hungry!” he added. “And there doth await him a Sir Loin -o’ beef—hot! So, shall we go on, my lady?” - -On they went accordingly, my lady with head proudly averted, and yet he -knew her eyes were tearful, but, noting how passionately her white hand -clenched itself, knew these for tears of anger only. - -“Alas,” sighed he at last, “to-day poor John Derwent’s wooing doth not -prosper, it seems. Love hath fled awhile on soaring pinions.” - -“I never hated you more!” said she in low, steady voice. - -“Wouldst break thy John’s heart, girl?” - -To this she deigned no answer; but when he had repeated the question -three or four times with as many different modulations, she broke out -angrily: - -“Aye, I would—I would, if ever I find it!” - -“Couldst be so cruel, child?” he questioned lightly; and then, more -seriously, “Could you stoop to such baseness? I wonder!” - -“Nay,” she retorted bitterly, “’twere impossible! You have no heart ... -never did have ... never will!” - -“And yet it beats for thee, Rose. Reach me thy hand and feel.” - -“Then ’tis the heart of a stock-fish!” she cried. “Cold, cold—infinitely -cold and sluggish!” - -“Stock-fish!” he repeated mournfully—“O ye gods—a stock-fish! Alas, sweet -soul, what strange mistake is here? A stock-fish. I that am by nature so -ardent yet so humble, of impulses so kindly, of passions so fiery, of -sentiments so very infinite tender! I that am thy predestined mate, thy -man——” - -“Aye, thou,” she cried fiercely—“thou that art no more than a -fine-gentlemanly thing as humble as Lucifer, as kindly as an east wind, -as fiery as a lump of lead, as tender as that savage monster who nigh -broke my wrists for me!” - -“Gad’s my life, child,” said he, noting her flashing eyes and glowing -cheek, “thy so splendid theme endows thee with new splendour, thou -handsome wench! Though thou dost sadly embarrass thy modest John——” - -“Would I might, indeed!” - -“But ’tis very well thou shouldst justly appreciate me as well before as -after marriage! And now, for thy poor, pretty wrists——” - -“Why are you here, Sir John, wasting yourself in the country?” she -demanded mockingly. “Your true place is that same heartless, selfish -world o’ modish idleness whence you came! What do you here among these -kindly Sussex folk who, at the least, live to some purpose? Why are you -here, you who live for no purpose but yourself?” - -“Mayhap,” he answered, “’tis because you once minded me o’ the scabious -flowers, child. See where they bloom all around us, sweet things! Do not -tread too hastily, Herminia, lest you crush and end their blooming. -Haste not so, for here is a stile for you to climb, and yonder, bosomed -i’ the green, is Alfriston spire.” - -“Aye, I thank heaven!” cried she. - -“And wherefore thy so fervent gratitude, child?” - -“To be rid of thy hated presence!” - -“Ah, Rose,” he sighed. “Alas, Herminia, how heavy thy foot is! See this -poor flower you trample—’tis my heart!” And speaking, he stooped, put -by her foot very gently, and plucked one of the scabious flowers she -had trodden; fingering it tenderly, he placed it in her hand. “Take it, -child!” he sighed; “cherish it for its own sweet sake. And for me and my -so hated presence, I will deliver you, here and now.... But first, thy -poor, pretty wrists? Show ’em to me!” - -“No!” she answered; “never to you, Sir John!” - -“Indeed, child, ’tis thy Derwent pleadeth, thy John o’ Gentleness.... -Suffer me to see!” And, taking her hands, he lifted them whether she -would or no. - -“I see no wounds,” quoth he, “nor mark or bruise; and yet who am I to -judge the pretty things? And if they endured hurt, let this witness my -sorrow.” So saying, he stooped and kissed them tenderly. “Thus, sweet -Rose, thy Derwent leaveth thee. Now, had I been the ‘Wicked Dering’ and -thou the proud Lady Barrasdaile, it had been ... thy hands, thine arms, -thy lips ... thy very self! And now, farewell awhile, my Rose o’ love.” - -Saying which, Sir John bared his head, gave her his hand across the -stile, and seating himself thereon watched her wistfully as she hurried -away. - -But, being hidden from his view, my lady paused to glance at her wrists, -flushing as though she felt his lips there yet; and finding she still -held his scabious flower, tossed it angrily away, but, marking where -it fell, took it up again, and having throned it amid the laces of her -bodice, went her way, slow of foot and with eyes a-dream. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIII - -WHICH, AMONG OTHER SMALL MATTERS, TELLETH OF A SNUFF-BOX - - -And now ensued days wherein Sir John seemingly idled, the Corporal took -mysterious journeys both a-horse and afoot, and my Lady Herminia busied -herself upon Sir Hector’s comfort; for, having visited his cottage and -being horrified by his ideas of “homeliness,” she prepared for immediate -action—that is to say, with lovely head tied up in a kerchief (laced cap, -ringlets and all) against such accidentals as spiders, cobwebs and dust, -she armed herself with a mop and Mr. William Thompson with soap, water -and scrubbing-brush, and forthwith set about cleansing the Augean Stables. - -Accoutred thus, she was directing the floor-washing operations of Mr. -Thompson in the small, tiled kitchen when Sir Hector ventured to open -the door, whereupon Mr. Thompson, hitherto awed to dumb submission by my -lady’s imperious presence, cast down his scrubbing-brush and lifted his -voice in wailing protest: - -“Sir ’Ector—O Sir ’Ector, will ’ee look at oi! She’s ’ad me ’ere on me -knees, a-scrubbin’ an’ a-sloshin’, this hower an’ more, she ’ave! On me -marrer-bones, sir! Crool it be! Sir ’Ector, if you ’ave an ’eart, say a -word for oi!” - -“William Thompson,” quoth my lady, “William Thompson—scrub.” - -“Sir ’Ector—say a word!” - -“Losh, Wully man, whaur’ll be the use? Ye ken vera weel ’tis no fau’t o’ -mine. Ye ken vera weel I lo’e tae be hamely——” - -“Sir Hector—silence!” commanded my lady. - -“Eh, but, Rose, puir Wully an’ me are no used tae sic awfu’——” - -“Enough, sir!” - -“But, O lassie, ye’re fair washin’ me oot o’ hoose an’ hame——” - -“Then begone, sir, and leave us to finish.” - -“But Guid save us a’, d’ye no——” - -“Sir Hector,” cried my lady, with a flourish of her mop, “go!” - -Sir Hector went. Being in his small parlour, he glanced yearningly -upon the unwashed crockery littering the table, from this to the dusty -riding-boots upon the mantel-shelf and, sweeping a heterogeneous -collection of small oddments from the elbow-chair to the floor, sat down -with his feet among the long-dead ashes that cumbered the hearth, sighing -for that spirit of homely comfort that was, even then, being washed and -swept out of his ken. - -And thus Sir John found him, a desolate soul, huddled disconsolately over -a cheerless hearth, his peruke over one mournful eye, the very picture of -woe. - -“Hark till her, John!” quoth he dolefully. “O man, ’tis fair -heartrendin’! Hark till yon brushin’ an’ scrubbin’!” - -“Ah, so you have a woman to clean the place for you at last, Hector!” - -“A wumman, d’ye say? Man, she’s no’ an ordinary wumman.... Wull ye hark -till her!” - -“William Thompson,” cried a sweet, albeit stern voice, “this corner is -not even wetted ... scrub it!” - -“Rose!” exclaimed Sir John. - -“Hersel’!” sighed Sir Hector. “Can ye no reason wi’ her, John, if ’tis -only for the sake o’ puir Wully Tamson?” - -“Not for worlds, Hector!” - -“Then what’ll I dae, Johnnie?” - -“Come a-walking.” - -“Na, na; I’ve no’ the sperrit, John.” - -“But you’ve the legs, Hector.” So saying, Sir John straightened his old -friend’s wig, reached him his hat and, taking his arm, led him out into -the sunshine. - -“Whaur awa’, Johnnie?” - -“Well, I promised to visit Mr. Pym, the painter.” - -“Aye, I ken him fine; wi’ rod or gun there’s nane to equal him.” - -They found Mr. Pym busied in his garden, who, perceiving his visitors, -laid by his spade and hastened to make them welcome; the better to -perform which, he brought them into the house and vanished to find the -wherewithal to refresh them, only to return empty-handed and disconsolate: - -“Sirs,” quoth he, “the devil is in it for my brandy is out!” And, being -at a loss, he sought the aid of his daughter. “Elsie!” he called. “Elsie!” - -A jingle of keys, a light step and Mistress Pym appeared, her dainty, -print gown girt about slender middle by a cincture whence hung reticule -and housewifely keys, her face framed in snowy mob-cap and remarkable for -a pair of handsome eyes. - -“Girl,” exclaimed the painter, “my brandy’s out!” - -Mistress Pym faced the so grave situation entirely undismayed: - -“I told you ’twas so, days agone, sir,” she answered serenely. “We’ve -naught left in the house save my ginger wine.” - -“Then that must serve,” quoth her sire. “Bring it, a heaven’s name!” - -Lightly she went and lightly she was back and, steady of hand, filled the -three glasses. Sir John eyed the liquor a little askance but tasted it -bravely, and glanced at his young hostess. - -“Your own making, Mistress Pym?” he inquired. - -“Yes, sir,” she nodded. “’Twould be better were it older, but father -never lets it keep long enough.” - -“And small wonder!” answered Sir John, bowing. “Mistress Pym, I drink to -your eyes, for sure there be few to match ’em in the South Country.” So -saying, he drank and wished his glass had been larger. Thereupon Mistress -Pym curtsied to them and jingled away about her multifarious duties. - -“Yon’s a braw wife for some lucky man, I’m thinkin’!” quoth Sir Hector. -“There’s looks till her, an’, O man, but she’s a bonny cook whateffer! -’Tis a graund thing when a lass can appeal tae a man’s heid, an’ heart, -an’ stomach, y’ ken.” - -“Mr. Pym,” said Sir John as, the ginger wine having made a duly -deliberate end, they rose to depart, “you mentioned, I mind, the first -time we met, the murder of a man on Windover.” - -“I did, sir; the cruel assassination of Roger Hobden—a black business -that was never cleared up and never will be.” - -“Had you any suspicions at the time?” - -“Suspicions, sir? Remembering Lord Sayle and the unholy doings in that -solitary house of his, I suspected every one beneath its roof, from Lord -Sayle down.” - -“Losh, man!” exclaimed Sir Hector, “ye’ve a graund gift o’ suspeecioning.” - -“And suppose I have, sir?” demanded the painter argumentatively. “There -is little of good in ’Friston Manor, and evil begetteth evil. And Sayle -is a law unto himself, with bullies at hand to work his wicked purposes.” - -“Whisht, man!” exclaimed Sir Hector. “Ye’ll no be suggestin’——” - -“And why not, sir? Doth the man’s rank place him above suspicion?” - -“Never heed father, Sir Hector,” said Mistress Pym at this moment, -leaning in at the open door; “he doth but seek an argument——” - -“Mistress,” quoth the painter, “mind your business!” Whereat Mistress Pym -laughed and jingled away again. - -“Pym—man,” said Sir Hector, “his lordship is no’ juist an archangel nor -yet a seraphim, but ye’ll no’ be suspectin’ a man o’ his quality wad -stoop tae murder a country lad o’ no condition.” - -“On the contrary, Sir Hector, I say he would stoop to anything.” - -“There was never any incriminating evidence found, I believe, sir?” -inquired Sir John. “No clue of any kind discovered?” - -“None of importance. Though I did find a thing on the footpath that -runs above the ‘Long Man,’ near where the crime was committed—a thing I -felt it my duty to show to the law officers and was laughed at for my -pains.... I have it here somewhere.” And the painter turned to a small, -carved press in a corner where stood two or three fishing-rods in company -with a musket and a birding-piece. - -“What kind o’ thing, Pym?” inquired Sir Hector. - -“A snuff-box,” answered the painter, opening a drawer and turning over a -collection of small fossils, flint arrow-heads, and the like. - -“A gowd snuff-box, Pym?” - -“Nay, ’twas of horn—a poor thing! Ah, here ’tis!” And he held out a -clumsy horn snuff-box of battered and villainous appearance. Sir John -took it, turned it this way and that, opened and sniffed delicately -at its empty interior, and finally carrying it to the light, fell to -studying it anew. - -“Now, Pym man,” said Sir Hector, “if yon had been gold or enamel, or even -siller, it might perchance justify your suspeecions; but whaur’s the man -o’ quality would carry a thing the like o’ that?” - -“There, sir,” answered the painter dogmatically, “there I take issue with -ye. If that box be evidence, which I deny, mark ye—’tis precisely the -kind o’ thing your man o’ quality would purposefully leave that its very -poverty might set inquiring minds on a false scent. I further maintain, -sir, that——” - -“Nay, Sir Hector,” laughed Mistress Pym, leaning in at the open lattice -at this moment, her hands full of fresh-gathered flowers, “do but take -father’s side o’ the question and he will immediately take yours to keep -the argument a-going.” - -“Child,” quoth the painter, sternly grim, “I smell your bread a-burning!” - -“Sir,” she answered, throwing a flower at him, “thou’rt mighty -sharp-nosed this morning, for ’tis not yet in the oven!” - -“An’ there’s for ye, man!” chuckled Sir Hector as she jingled away once -more. - -“Mr. Pym, would you pray lend me this box for a few days?” inquired Sir -John. - -“Nay, take it, sir,” answered the painter, “if the sorry thing hath any -interest for you, take it and welcome.” - -Murmuring his thanks, Sir John slipped it into his pocket; and shortly -after, bidding Mr. Pym adieu, they left him to his gardening. - -“Yon Pym-lassie,” quoth Sir Hector as they walked, “is like a bagpipes——” - -“Never in the world, Hector!” - -“Aye, John; she’s sweet as a bagpipes, whilk, as a’ the warld kens, is -the sweetest and maist soothin’ of a’ instruments! ’Tis a muckle woefu’ -wight Pym’ll be if ever she marries, I’m thinkin’! But, Johnnie, why for -did ye want yon snuff-box?” - -“Because I think I can find the man who lost it.” - -“Losh, man! An’ suppose ye can, what then?” - -“Why then, Hector, I think my Lord Sayle will cease from hunting -smugglers.” - -“Eh? Sayle? Man, what d’ye mean?” - -“Time will show——” - -“Aye, but meanwhile, John, d’ye mean to say ye think——” - -“That a mug of Mr. Bunkle’s gumboo will go very happily with Mistress -Pym’s excellent wine, so——” - -“Umph-humph!” exclaimed Sir Hector; and together they entered the -hospitable portal of the ‘Market Cross Inn,’ where they were met by -the cheery Mr. Bunkle, who ushered them as honoured guests into his -five-doored holy of holies. - -“Do you gin’men ’appen to ha’ seed the bill as they’ve printed an’ posted -arl-on-account-o’ pore Jarge Potter? What—no, sirs? Then bide a minute -an’ I’ll show ye one o’ they bills.” Saying which, Mr. Bunkle put aside -snowy apron and from vasty pocket drew forth such incongruous articles -as: a whip lash, a fragment of tobacco, a nutmeg, a small pistol, and -finally, after laborious groping, a folded paper which, having carefully -smoothed out, he held up against the wall and they read as follows: - - ONE HUNDRED POUNDS REWARD. - - Dead or Alive. - - WHEREAS George Potter a NOTORIOUS SMUGGLER did upon the 10th - inst. of June fire upon certain of His Majesty’s soldiers and - coastguard officers in the execution of their duty, thereby - MALICIOUSLY WOUNDING divers of them: the above sum, to wit ONE - HUNDRED POUNDS, will be paid to any or such persons as shall - give information leading to capture of the aforesaid - - NOTORIOUS MALEFACTOR. - Dead or Alive. - - LONG LIVE THE KING. - -“Save’s a’!” exclaimed Sir Hector, “the man Sayle is unco’ serious an’ -damnably determined.... A hundred pounds! Losh, man, ’twill be an awfu’ -temptation tae the avereecious. How think ye, Peter?” - -“Why, I think, sir, as that theer hundred pound will go a-beggin’——” - -“But ... a hundred pounds, man——!” - -“Aye,” nodded Mr. Bunkle as he refolded the bill, “’tis a sight o’ money, -I rackon; Jarge ought to be a proud man this day! ’Twill be the gumboo as -usual, sirs?” - -Now when their glasses were empty and Sir Hector had fared unwillingly -homewards, Sir John, being alone, took out the battered snuff-box to view -it once again in keen-eyed scrutiny, more especially the lid; for there, -scratched faintly on the horn, were these two initials: - - J. S. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIV - -CONCERNS ITSELF WITH ONE OF THE MANY MYSTERIES OF THE ‘MARKET CROSS INN’ - - -In these sleepy summer days, while Alfriston drowsed about its -business, High Dering opened doors and lattices far wider than usual to -behold a troop of workmen who, with planks, poles, ladders and other -paraphernalia, descended upon Dame Haryott’s little cottage. - -These workmen, though Londoners and therefore “foreigners” in Sussex, -to be watched suspiciously and askance, were nevertheless cheery souls -who whistled and sang and cracked jokes with old Penelope what time they -thatched and glazed and painted. In the midst of which business down came -Mr. Sturton bristling with outraged authority, who loudly demanded to -know by what right and by whose permission they dared thus violate the -dignity of rotting thatch and sanctity of decaying wall; whereupon he was -shown a paper signed by a certain name that caused him to open his eyes -very wide and close his mouth very tight and walk away vastly thoughtful. - -My Lord Sayle also, though never stirring abroad, was by no means -inactive, nay, rather his zeal for the suppression of smugglers in -general and capture of one in particular, waxed to a fervour which -was presently manifest to all and sundry, more especially the highly -virtuous inhabitants of Alfriston, the quiet of whose sleepy High -Street was frequently scandalised by the tramp of soldiery, hoarse -commands and the clatter of accoutrements; at which times, and with -passionless regularity, Mr. George Potter’s cottage would be searched -from cellar to attic and its walls and floors sounded without avail. -Thereafter Mr. Bunkle, awaiting patiently expectant, would conduct the -unsuccessful search-party over the ‘Market Cross Inn’; would himself -show them all manner of possible hiding-places as: dark corners, deep -cupboards, hidden recesses all more or less dusty and cobwebby; he was, -indeed, never too busy to assist officer, sergeant or private in their -floor and wall-tapping operations, and would suggest for their further -consideration an infinity of likely and unlikely places as his barns, -stables, lofts and outhouses, his corn-bins, even his hen-roost and -dog-kennel; until officer, sergeant and private, very dusty, very hot -and ever and always thirstily unsuccessful, would end their labours in -parlour and tap-room and, having nobly refreshed themselves, would fall -in and march away, conscious of having performed their duty like men. - -At which times the weatherbeaten old Cross, wise with years, might have -winked knowing eye had it possessed one, as did Mr. Bunkle upon a certain -evening in the chaste seclusion of the five-doored room. - -“Are they gone, Peter man?” inquired Sir Hector. - -“Certain sure, indeed, sir, an’ arl on ’em quite as ’appy as usual.” - -“This being their second visit within the week?” inquired Sir John, -busied with pencil and memorandum. - -“It be, sir!” nodded Mr. Bunkle, slicing a lemon. “They sojers be -’ard-workin’ lads, sure-lye! This be the fourth time they’ve turned that -’ay for me as I’ve got a-laying in the old barn—which be good for the ’ay -an’ doan’t do them no ’arm. An’ seekin’ an’ searchin’ for some one as be -never found seems a tur’ble thirsty business—which be likewise good for -me!” - -Here ensued a silence wherein Sir John made notes in his memorandum and -Mr. Bunkle proceeded to concoct that mystery known as “gumboo,” while -Sir Hector, puffing his pipe, watched with appreciative expectation. - -From adjacent tap-room issued the drowsy murmur of neighbourly talk, -the clank of pewter, an occasional laugh; but all at once this pleasant -clamour was hushed, and Mr. Bunkle, in the act of filling the glasses, -paused and stood glancing obliquely towards the open lattice, for upon -this unnatural stillness grew an ominous sound, faint at first but -swelling ever louder, wilder, more threatening. - -Sir Hector rose, Sir John closed his memorandum, Mr. Bunkle leant from -the window, for now above this ominous sound rose another, the clatter of -running feet in desperate flight from the oncoming terror of the “hue and -cry.” - -And then the small chamber seemed full of men who muttered uneasily to -each other. - -“The sojers, Peter!” quoth Mr. Muddle. “’Tis the sojers a-comin’ back -again!” - -“’Tis Jarge!” added Mr. Pursglove dolefully. “’Tis pore Jarge Potter ... -runnin’ fur ’is loife.... An’ us caan’t do nowt fur ’ee——” Even as he -spoke was the sound of a distant shot. - -“Not ’ere, ye caan’t!” answered Mr. Bunkle, shaking his head. “So off wi’ -ye, lads!” - -Hereupon the five doors opened, closed, and the three were alone again. - -“Peter Bunkle,” cried Sir Hector, “Peter—man, though a’ the warld kens -I’m no smuggler the noo, yet if Geordie Potter’s taken they shall tak’ me -too!” - -“Nay, Sir Hector, what’ll be the good o’ that?” demurred Mr. Bunkle, -following him out into the tap-room. - -“Whisht, man—hark’ee!” - -The running feet were much closer now; on they came in wild career, -though every now and then they seemed to falter oddly. - -“B’ the Powers—’e’ll never do it!” cried Mr. Bunkle. “’Ark ’ow ’e -runs—he’m wounded!” - -“Why, then,” exclaimed Sir Hector, and swung open the door, and leapt -aside as a man blundered past him, a woeful figure, torn, mired and -bloody, who gasped painfully and reeled in his stride. - -Forthwith Sir Hector clapped to the door, and would have barred it, but -Mr. Bunkle stayed him. - -“No, no, sir!” he cried. “It looks more innocenter open an’, besides, -Jarge only wants a minute ... watch ’im!” - -Upon the wide hearth a fire smouldered, and into and over this fire Mr. -Potter staggered; they heard the rattle of a chain within the chimney, a -breathless, “Arl roight, Peter!” and Mr. Potter vanished amid sparks and -smoke. - -A moment later the first of his pursuers, lifting musket-butt to batter -the stout door, found it ajar and entered, panting, to behold two -gentlemen seated in amicable converse upon the wide settle, and Mr. -Bunkle deferentially awaiting their orders; whereupon the panting soldier -gasped and, gaping, was thrust aside by a panting officer, a ferocious -gentleman, plump, peevish and blown, who, perceiving this picture of -placid ease, immediately gaped also. - -“Why ... why, what the devil!” he gasped, staring about the orderly -tap-room in round-eyed amazement, while his breathless subordinates -peered over his shoulders; and, finding no better expression to fit the -occasion, he repeated it, louder than before, “What the devil!” - -“Extraordinary!” exclaimed Sir John, viewing the breathless gentleman in -mild wonder. “Mr. Bunkle, you may bring us some o’ your famous gumboo.” - -“Well ... damme!” panted the officer. - -“Aye, but why, sir?” inquired Sir John, whereat the officer grew a trifle -redder in the face and, scowling upon Sir John, fell back upon his -original remark: - -“What the devil!” - -“My dear sir,” quoth Sir John, “not being an army man myself, I am -consequently a little at a loss, and should be glad to know precisely -what evolution, manœuvre or exercise you and your comrades are engaged -upon?” - -The officer blinked, stared about him dazedly, and scowled upon Sir John -blacker than ever. - -“Sir,” said he, having somewhat recovered his breath, “I am Panter o’ -the Third! Captain Panter, sir, and am here in pursuit o’ the notorious -smuggler, George Potter, who entered this doorway not two minutes ago.” - -“Amazing!” murmured Sir John, shaking his head. “Hector, you hear what -Captain Panter says?” - -“Aye, I hear,” answered Sir Hector, staring at the Captain and shaking -his head also. “’Tis fair astonishin’, John!” - -“Why, what d’ye mean, sir?” demanded the Captain angrily. “What the devil -d’ye mean? I’ve got eyes, and I saw our man run through this doorway, -damme!” - -“Mebbe ’tis the sun, Johnnie?” Sir Hector suggested. “An’ sunstroke’s -an awfu’ thing, y’ ken, ’tis bad as strong drink tae mak’ a man see -visions——” - -“Visions, sir!” cried Captain Panter, “to the devil with your visions, -sir! You, Ensign Page, did we see our man run in here or no?” - -“Most certainly we did, sir!” - -“And you, Sergeant, did we or did we not?” - -“Why, sir,” answered the Sergeant, saluting, “we did; leastways you did, -but I didn’t—that is, not pre-zackly as I could swear to ... me not being -capable o’ seein’ nothin’ but the stock o’ Private Adamses musket as, -owin’ to Private Adamses windictiveness, ’ad caught me in the ab-domen, -sir, doublin’ of me up like a jack-knife and renderin’ me——” - -“Damme!” roared the Captain, stamping with fury, “will ye hold your -infernal tongue! Page, take ten men and search this cursed inn all over -again ... the fireplace yonder first!” - -The embers were scattered immediately and two zealous soldiers, ducking -under the arch of the mantel, stood in the wide chimney to peer, to prod -with bayonets, to pound with musket-butts until they sneezed, choked and -reappeared coughing and black with fallen soot, to the suppressed delight -of their comrades and the furious chagrin of their Captain, who promptly -cursed them forth to their instant ablutions. - -“Sergeant,” he cried, “surround this damned tavern and let nobody out or -in, d’ye hear?” - -“Aye, I do, sir,” answered the Sergeant, saluting; “any person so -attempting to be——” - -“Be off!” roared the Captain. - -“Aye, sir. And if fugitive discovers hisself, we to shoot at same with -intent to——” - -“Aye—shoot and be damned!” - -“Yes, sir!” answered the Sergeant, and with another salute he wheeled -smartly, strode into the street, bellowed incoherencies at his perspiring -men and marched them away to their stations. - -“You, landlord,” quoth Captain Panter, seating himself and stretching -dusty legs, “bring me a bottle o’ burgundy—now, at once! And as for the -rest o’ ye, I’ll let you know I’m Panter o’ the Third and not to be -gammoned by a tale o’ cock and bull!” - -The wine being brought, Captain Panter filled and drank thirstily while -the place rang and reverberated with the tread of heavy feet and thuds of -musket-butts that marked the searchers’ activity. - -“O John,” said Sir Hector, after some while, “wull ye harken tae yon -noble heroes! Is it no a graund thing tae be a sojer?” - -At this, the Captain set down his glass with a bang. Quoth he: - -“I’ll thank ye to leave my profession alone!” - -“I will that!” answered Sir Hector. “I’ve no’ juist hankered tae be a -catchpoll, y’ ken.” - -“Catch——” the Captain choked. - -“Poll!” added Sir Hector. “Catchpoll, laddie——” - -“By all the devils!” exclaimed the Captain, rising, but at this moment -Ensign Page re-entered, dusty and dishevelled. - -“Sir,” said he, casting looks of yearning upon the Captain’s bottle, “I -beg to report that we have searched everywhere to no effect.” - -“But, burn me,” exclaimed the Captain, “the rascal must be here! You saw -him enter that door, we all saw him, and he’s had no time to win clear -... besides, the place is surrounded.” - -“Nevertheless, sir,” answered Ensign Page, still eyeing the bottle -thirstily, “there’s never a sign of him high nor low.” - -“And I say he’s here somewhere, hid. Where ha’ you looked?” - -“In all the usual places, sir.” - -“Then go search the unusual places!” - -“Sir?” - -“I say,” fumed the Captain, “that the rogue must be here somewhere, and -if he’s here, here he shall be found.... Go, find him, sir!” - -The young Ensign saluted the bottle and departed. So was a new series of -thumps and bangs and tramplings alow and aloft, what time the autocratic -Captain Panter sipped his wine and glared at the occupants of the settle -who seemed so very much at their ease; and, as the wine grew low, his -choler rose correspondingly. He viewed Sir Hector’s shabby garments, Sir -John’s plain attire, and setting them down as persons of no condition, -treated them as such. - -“Sunstroke!” he snarled. “Sunstroke, begad! ’Tis very evident ye’re -aiding and abetting this rascally smuggler—both o’ ye! Could I but be -assured o’ this, I’d march ye to prison, aye, I would, by Jove! B’gad, -but you may be arrant smugglers yourselves—you’ve the cursed, sly look of -’t.” - -“Laddie,” answered Sir Hector mildly, “what wi’ sunstroke an’ the -bottle, ye’re no juist reesponsible for the clatter o’ your feckless -tongue——” - -“Tongue, sir, tongue? D’ye dare suggest I’m not perfectly sober?” - -“Aye, I dare that!” nodded Sir Hector; “I dare suggest that what wi’ sun -an’ the bottle ye’ll be seein’ smugglers crawlin’ up y’r arrms an’ legs -gin ye drink ony mair.... Man, ye’re growin’ purple i’ the face, y’r eyne -be rollin’ in y’r heid, an’ ye look sae uncanny an’ talk sae——” - -“Talk, is it—talk!” roared the Captain, shaking his fist. “At the least I -talk English and you, like the bog-trotting Irishman y’are, and be——” - -Uttering an inarticulate roar, Sir Hector leapt from his chair, bounded -across the room, and Captain Panter of the Third found himself whirled -aloft in mighty hands that held him pinned fast between two of the -ceiling-beams, breathless, shaken and utterly confounded. - -“O man,” quoth Sir Hector in bitter apostrophe, “can ye no’ ken a Scot -when ye see him? Ye muckle fule, can ye no’ see the differ’ betwixt a -Scot an’ the lave o’ puir humanity? D’ye no’ ken that the Scots be the -salt o’ the airth? An’, O man, I’m a Scot o’ the Scots, being Hector -Lauchlan MacLean o’ Duart. Ma puir wee mannie, I’ve ate things the like -o’ yesel’ in a sallet afore to-day an’ ne’er kenned it!” - -Having thus delivered himself, Sir Hector set the dazed and breathless -Captain gently upon his feet, a very astonished officer, who gulped, -stared and was fumbling in a numb sort of fashion for the hilt of his -sword, when the young Ensign reappeared once more, more dusty and heated -than ever. - -“Sir,” said he, “we’ve seen neither hide nor hair of our man though we’ve -turned the place upside down.” - -Captain Panter stared vaguely at the speaker, and from him to a certain -spot between the beams above his head. - -“Upside ... down!” he murmured. “Oh! Ah! Fall in your men!” Having said -which, the Captain walked slowly out of the inn, looking neither right -nor left. - -And presently the Sergeant’s voice was heard uplifted in divers -inarticulate roarings; followed a ring and clatter of muskets and, with -martial swing and measured tramp, Captain Panter and his dusty company -marched away through the mellowing afternoon sunshine. - -And, after some while, appeared Mr. Muddle’s head at the open lattice. - -“Arl clear, Peter!” he announced, whereupon Mr. Bunkle nodded and emitted -a cheery whistle, which was immediately answered by those ghostly -rappings, such as Sir John remembered to have heard once before. - -“Aweel, that’s over, God be thankit!” quoth Sir Hector fervently. - -“Aye, sir!” nodded Mr. Bunkle. “’Twere a bit orkard-like for Jarge, but -then every summer ’as its rainy day!” - -The rattle of a chain, a scuffling sound in the chimney, and Mr. Potter -stepped forth in more woeful plight than ever by reason of soot. - -“Havers, Geordie man, an’ how are ye the noo?” inquired Sir Hector. “Are -ye wounded?” - -“A bit, sir—’ere an’ theer,” admitted Mr. Potter, “by reason of a -quick-set as happed in my road. But gimme a glass o’ grog, chilled, -Peter, an’ soap an’ water, an’ I’ll be never naun the worse, I rackon.” -And, making a leg, he limped away on Mr. Bunkle’s ready arm. - -“A memorable afternoon, Hector!” quoth Sir John. “In Sussex one truly -lives these days! Paris? London? What be these to Alfriston? And now, -come your ways.” - -“Whaur awa’, John?” - -“To visit Rose’s aunt.” - -“Na, na, John. D’ye no’ ken she’s a widow? Forbye, she’s a wee person, -an’ none sae ill-lookin’——” - -“You have seen her, then?” - -“Glimpsed her, lad, from ayont the party wall. She’s my neighbour, y’ -ken.” - -“Why, then, come and meet her.” - -“An’ her a widow-body, an’ me new shaved!” - -“Shaved, Hector?” - -“Aye! When fresh shaved I’m no’ sae ill-lookin’ mysel’, d’ye see, John. -An’ I was ever a cautious body, as ye ken weel. So I’ll juist bide here -an’ smoke a pipe wi’ Geordie Potter.... But, John”—and here Sir Hector’s -English became precise—“there is a matter hath troubled me this week and -more. John, she is a sweet, good maid, though mayhap a little overbearing -now and then, and much above her condition.” - -“Meaning Rose?” - -“Herself, John ... you—you see her very often of late.... And, minding -her station in life and yours, I would ask ye, John, as one who loves you -and respects yon maid, are you ... making love to her?” - -“As often as possible, Hector!” - -“As John Derwent?” - -“Yes, Hector.” - -“O John ... O Johnnie lad! Can ye no leave purity and innocence alone?” - -“Not when I want ’em in a wife.” - -“Wife,” ejaculated Sir Hector, falling back a step in sheer -amazement—“wife, is it? You—you with a wife, John?” - -“In time, I hope.” - -“Losh, Johnnie man! And here was I thinking——” - -“Evil of me, Hector. My reputation dogs me even yet!” - -“Forgi’e me, lad, forgi’e me! And ... O John, you would actually marry -a—a serving-wench—you?” - -“I!” - -“And by heaven, I honour ye for’t! Doth she love ye?” - -“Well, Hector, there are times when I am gravely doubtful ... yesterday, -for instance, she called me ‘John’ for the first time!” - -“An’ blushed when she said it, lad?” - -“Like a rose, Hector!” - -“’Twas a good sign, sure?” - -“Aye—in any maid but Rose. Thus when Rose, blushing rosily as Rose -should, calleth me ‘John,’ my assurance shakes and I grow doubtful.” - -“But can ye no’ find out, John?” - -“Aye—her aunt might tell me!” So saying, he turned and went his -thoughtful way, leaving Sir Hector staring after him in deepest -perplexity. - -Her Grace the Duchess of Connington was seated in her little garden -busily shelling peas. - -“Ah, and is it you—at last, sir?” quoth she, acknowledging Sir John’s -profound obeisance with a smiling nod. “Pray, why ha’ you been so long -a-calling?” - -“I awaited vainly your niece’s invitation, madam, and am here to-day -unbidden.” - -“Then you may sit here beside me, sir.... I ha’ been hither dragged into -these solitudes by my headstrong Herminia and, on the whole, should like -it vastly well were it not for the giant.” - -“Giant, madam?” - -“Aye, Blunderbore himself, sir! A fierce, fearsome, great creature in -shabbiest clothes and matted wig! An odious, huge person who persistently -peers and prys upon me—over the wall yonder. So slinking and sly! A -contemptible creeper! And puffs tobacco from a pipe!” - -“Nay, madam, can you possibly mean my very dear friend, Sir Hector -MacLean, a most honourable, worthy gentleman?” - -“Then why should the person persistently pry and peer on our privacy, -pray?” - -“’Tis, I am sure, with no will to offend. Believe me, he is of nature the -most gentle——” - -“With the looks of an ogre, sir!” - -“But, indeed, Duchess——” - -“Hush, Sir John! In Alfriston pray remember I am Mrs. Saunders!” - -“And I, madam, am John Derwent.” - -“And pray, John Derwent, what is the part you play here ’mid the rustic -wild?” - -“Madam, I am principal lover to Mrs. Saunders’ niece Rose.” - -“A difficult rôle, sir!” answered the little Duchess, with her youthful -laugh. - -“Indeed, ’twould seem so,” he answered a little ruefully. “And ’tis thus -I am here, humbly seeking your advice, dear Mrs. Saunders.” - -“Nay, fie, sir! Is not Sir John Dering accounted wholly irresistible, a -wild and winning wooer, terribly tempestuous?” - -“Only by idle gossip, madam. And John Derwent is the reverse of all -this—a very patient lover he, full o’ reverent humility.” - -“Ha!” exclaimed the Duchess, and shelled three peas with rapid dexterity, -which done, she glanced at Sir John with her shrewd, pretty eyes, and -shook her small head decidedly. “Alas, my poor John, your reverent -humility shall never win Herminia!” - -Now, at this moment, Chance, Instinct or some even finer sense, caused -Sir John to glance up at the adjacent wall in time to see the gleam of -a white hand among the ivy that surmounted the coping; thus, when he -answered, his voice was a thought louder than before: - -“But, dear Mrs. Saunders, ’tis Rose and Rose only that I do so love for——” - -“Stay, sir! Pray remember that Rose being Rose is yet always and ever -Herminia!” - -“And yet, madam, how utterly dissimilar, how vastly different! Betwixt -the sweet simplicity of my gentle Rose and the cold worldliness of the -arrogant Herminia, a great gulf is fixed that none may bridge saving -only—Herminia. And so it is I fear.” - -“For yourself?” - -“For us both. I fear lest Herminia’s selfish pride bring lasting misery -to poor Rose and John.” - -“Ha!” exclaimed the little Duchess again, and sat turning a pea-pod idly -in her small fingers. “And yet, Herminia hath a noble heart, a warmly -generous nature ... though the sweet soul can be a fierce, passionate -wretch.... But, alack, John, she never knew a mother’s fostering care ... -she was spoiled, petted and pampered and became the idol of her wild and -reckless father.... Aye me!... John Derwent, look at me and show me John -Dering’s heart. Do you indeed so love—Rose?” - -“Beyond all expression!” he answered, looking into the eyes that -questioned his so keenly. - -“Why, then, John,” said she at last, “were I in thy place, I should -forget John Derwent’s so great humility awhile—just ... for a moment!” - -“A moment?” - -“Well, say two moments, John ... or even three!... O Sir John Dering, art -grown so strangely dense?” - -Then Sir John rose. - -“A moment,” he repeated, “two moments, or even three!” Taking her Grace’s -two small hands, he kissed them rapturously. “Thou dear, kind friend,” -quoth he, “thy trust, thy faith in ‘the poor dog with a bad name’ shall, -methinks, resolve all my difficulties.... It shall be three! At the stile -beyond the little footbridge.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXXV - -BEING THE SHORTEST IN THIS BOOK - - -Sunset had long since paled its splendour; evening was fading into night, -a warm and languorous twilight where stars peeped and a waxing radiance -gave promise of a moon, while from wood remote, vague, mysterious stole -the bubbling murmur of a night-jar. - -And my Lady Herminia, having crossed the little footbridge that spanned -whispering stream, paused to lean upon the adjacent stile, viewing all -things tender-eyed, from the homely lights of Alfriston, twinkling -here and there beyond dim-seen trees, to the far-flung majesty of the -swelling, silent Downs beyond. Yet, it is to be supposed, she was by no -means unconscious of him who stood beside her, though she started when at -last he spoke. - -“This,” said Sir John, “is the stile beyond the little footbridge.” - -“Well?” she inquired, a little breathlessly. - -“Won’t you say ‘John’?” - -“Well, John?” she repeated obediently. - -“And it is an aged stile, Rose. See how warped are its timbers. And -consequently ’tis very like that many a man hath kissed his maid here.... -Say ‘Yes, John.’” - -“Yes, John.” - -“And yet, Rose, as I do think, none of them all ever kissed with such -reverent fervour as we are about to do.... Say ‘Never in all the world, -John!’” - -“Nay ... oh, wait!” she cried more breathlessly than ever. - -“Indeed, I am in no haste,” he answered. “But here to-night, Rose, thou -and I that so love each other, do plight our troth....” - -“Art sure I love thee, then?” she questioned. - -“’Tis so I have dared dream, child.” - -“And how if I—do not?” - -“Then is the sun out and I lost i’ the dark.” - -“Art so—very assured?” she questioned again; and then his arms were about -her and he drew her close, lifting her unwilling head that he might look -into her eyes. - -“O loved maid!” he murmured. “Sweet Flower o’ Life, thou and I are alone -here with the God that made us and yon everlasting hills.... Could thine -eyes speak me aught but truth? Are these the eyes of Rose or the Lady -Herminia?” - -“Of ... Rose!” she whispered. And so he kissed her, her eyes, her hair, -her lips, until at last: “O John,” she murmured, “art thou John Derwent -or ... the ‘Wicked Dering’? For indeed ... Aunt Lucinda said but three, -sir!” - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVI - -WHICH CONTAINS FURTHER MENTION OF A CERTAIN SNUFF-BOX - - -“To-day, Bob, is Thursday, I think?” - -“It is, sir.” - -“And your researches teach us that, upon every Thursday, Sturton rides -over to Seaford, generally in the evening?” - -“Aye, your honour, to a small tavern called ‘The Anchor.’” - -“And there meets a red-headed, seafaring man to whom he pays money.” - -“Pre-cisely, sir.” - -“The sailor-man’s name being Skag—Jonas Skag.” - -“The same, your honour.” - -“Why, then, Bob, see the horses saddled; we will go a-riding.” - -“To Seaford, sir?” - -“To Seaford, Bob.” - -Thus they were presently ambling down Alfriston’s ancient street, -between neat and homely cottages from whose doors heads nodded in cheery -greeting, past flowery gardens, by fragrant rickyard, where they had -brief vision of Mr. Muddle virtuously busied with a pitchfork despite his -limp, and so to the winding, tree-shaded road that led uphill and down -towards the purple slopes of Windover. - -“Sturton hath kept ye fairly busy o’ late, Bob.” - -“His movements, sir, has been constant.” - -“Indeed, Bob, since we gave up the harassing tactics for a more subtle -method, your days ha’ been fully occupied. Yet I trust you ha’ found time -to keep a friendly eye upon our Ancient Dumbrell?” - -“I have, sir.” - -“Good! And how is——” - -“She is very well, your honour, and ... as young as ever!” - -“Hum!” quoth Sir John, and they rode awhile in silence. Corporal Robert -made to drop behind, but his master stayed him with a gesture. - -“Regarding Mrs. Rose, Bob, she often visits the Dumbrells, I think?” - -“When not wi’ Dame Haryott, sir, or slave-driving Willum Thompson.... A -on-common dirty soldier he’d ha’ made, sir!” - -“You see her—Mrs. Rose—frequently, then?” - -“I do, sir.” - -“And do you still think her ... ‘leggy’ was the term, I fancy?” - -“Aye, sir, but I beg to withdraw ‘leggy’ as not being in order, Mrs. Rose -not being ex-actly what she seems.” - -“Explain, Bob.” - -“Well, sir, her speech don’t always match her country clothes, and -sometimes she’s that haughty!” - -“Aye, I’ve noticed the same, myself.” - -“Yes, your honour.” - -“What d’ye mean by ‘yes,’ Bob?” - -“I mean, sir, as ’tis nowise sup-rising you should notice, seeing as I’ve -noticed as your honour notices—I mean that she notices—that she an’ your -honour seem to take a powerful sight o’ notice of each other, sir.” - -“Aye, we do, Bob.” - -“No offence, your honour?” - -“None in the world, Bob.” - -“But, y’ see, sir, there’s others has noticed and a-noticing same—daily, -your honour.” - -“Who, Robert?” - -“Well, there’s Peter Bunkle for one, there’s nothing as he don’t notice! -And old Mr. Dumbrell, he talks o’ nothing else, lately.” - -“Ah, he tells you that I am ‘sweet on her,’ I suppose?” - -“Con-stantly, sir!” - -“Well, Bob, the Aged Soul is right—so I am!” - -“Yes, sir!” - -“Ha, you were already aware o’ this incredible fact?” - -“I sur-mised same, sir.” - -“You see, Bob, I intend to marry her.” - -The Corporal was, and actually looked, startled. - -“Marry her!” he repeated in a strangled voice. “Your honour!... Marry -her!” - -“Indeed, Bob, I intend to marry and settle down at High Dering at last, -unless—aye, unless the Fateful Sisters see fit to cut short the thread o’ -my existence.” - -“God forbid, sir!” - -“Amen, Bob. And yet the world would wag as merrily without me.... Do you -believe in presentiments, Bob?” - -“No, sir ... and yet——” - -“Neither do I.” - -“Sir, I’ve known men as did.” - -“Aye, we mortals be queer creatures, Bob! An ill dream, a fit o’ the -indigestion, a chill on the liver, and we grow full o’ forebodings, see -dire omens and portents in everything and start at our own shadows.... -Queer creatures!... And here we part awhile. You to keep an eye on the -unsuspecting Sturton should he ride hither, and I to ‘The Anchor,’ where -you will meet me at six.” - -“Very good, sir!” - -“’Tis like enough our quest may be ended sooner than we hoped, Robert.” - -So saying, Sir John gave his steed the rein and rode on into Seaford -town. Dismounting before the small Anchor Inn, he gave his horse to the -ostler and his hand to Mr. Levitt the landlord, who forthwith ushered him -into cosy parlour. - -Mr. Levitt was by nature a jovial soul but, just now, his good-natured -features were overcast, and he sighed, shaking despondent head over that -hard Fate which, as he mournfully declared, “’ad made o’ pore Potter -an ’omeless wanderer an’ drove Cap’n Sharkie Nye into the arms o’ them -French furrineers and ruinated my trade, sir. Aye, by the Pize, sir, I -moight jest as well close the ol’ ‘Anchor’ for arl the good I do these -days—crool ’ard, I calls it!” - -“How, is trade so bad, Mr. Levitt?” - -“Worser’n bad it be, sir!” - -“Is the place quite empty, then?” - -“As a blessed drum, sir! Never a soul ’cept a couple o’ naun-account -chaps. Lord, I dunno wot Sussex be a-comin’ tu, that I doan’t. Wot I sez -is as them theer Preventives will ruin old England, aye by Goles, they -will—dannel ’em! Shall us mak’ it French wine, sir, or summat a liddle -stronger?” - -“Nay, let it be October ale, thank ye, Mr. Levitt. And I’ll take it in -the ‘tap.’” - -“Why, sir,” demurred the landlord, “the ‘tap’ bean’t ’ardly the place for -a gen’elman o’ your quality, an’ Sir ’Ector’s friend an’ arl.” - -“But I’m minded for a bench and sanded floor,” smiled Sir John, and into -the tap he took his way accordingly. It was a smallish chamber very -orderly and clean, but empty except for a carter, in smock and leggings, -who snored lustily with his head on the table, and a raw-boned individual -with a shock of red hair and a dull, fish-like eye, who sat huddled in a -corner and gloomed. To whom Sir John forthwith addressed himself: - -“Friend, you drink nothing?” - -“Well, an’ ’ow can I drink,” answered the red-headed man in surly tone; -“’ow’s any man to drink out of a empty tankard?” - -“That is easily amended.” - -“Oh, is it, an arl—when a honest man’s pockets be as empty as ’is tankard -an’ nobody to ax ’im to take nothin’?” - -“Then I will. Fill for him, Mr. Levitt.” - -“I wouldn’t, sir!” answered the landlord; “’e’s ’ad enough, I rackon!” - -“’Oo’s ’ad enough?” demanded the red-haired man truculently. “I ain’t -never ’ad enough! I never do ’ave enough, no, nor ain’t likely to ’ave -enough! An’ if the loikes o’ ’im loikes to treat the loikes o’ me, what’s -to prevent?” - -“Well, keep a civil tongue to the gen’elman, an’ dannel ye, Jonas Skag!” -and Mr. Levitt, setting down the refilled tankard with a bang, stalked -away. - -“Jonas Skag!” repeated Sir John, eyeing his unlovely companion and -shifting nearer to him; “I’ve heard that name before.” - -“No, you ain’t!” retorted the other fiercely. “Leastways if y’ave you’ve -never ’eard naun but good of it!” - -“True,” nodded Sir John; “for you told it me yourself.” - -“What—I did?” exclaimed the red-headed man leaning forward to scowl. - -“Aye,” answered Sir John, leaning forward also until he might look into -the close-set eyes opposite. “You informed me that a more honest man -never trod a plank.” - -“Well, ’tis true! Honest I be, aye, honest as the day—an’ I’d loike t’ -see the man as says I bean’t!” So saying, he lifted the ale to unshaven -mouth and drank greedily. - -“You don’t smoke tobacco!” said Sir John. - -“No, I doan’t! An’ wot be that t’ you? Why should I smoke? I doan’t loike -smoke an’ I bean’t a-goin’ to smoke! Not for the loikes o’ you, no—nor no -man breathin’, I ain’t!” - -“Perchance you prefer snuff?” Sir John suggested, finger and thumb in -waistcoat pocket. - -“An’ wot if I do? I ain’t beggin’ an’ pleadin’—no, nor yet axin’ you for -any, be I?” - -“No,” answered Sir John; “but you may have a pinch for good-fellowship’s -sake, none the less, if you’re so minded.” - -“Well, s’posin’ I be so minded?” - -“Then I make you welcome to my box.” And Sir John took snuff-box from -pocket and gave it to the red-haired man’s hairy fingers. - -The box was shut, and in the act of opening it Jonas Skag grew suddenly -still, glaring down at the thing he held, speechless, motionless, scarce -breathing, as if indeed it had possessed some deadly power to blast -him as he sat; then he seemed to shrink in his clothes, his writhing -lips opened, closed again speechlessly, and slipping from his twitching -fingers the battered horn snuff-box rolled upon the tiled floor; even -then he stared down at it where it lay, until moving slowly like an old -man, he leaned down, shaking hand outstretched. But with an airy motion -of his riding-whip, Sir John flicked it from his reach and picking it up -slipped it back into his pocket. - -With the same unnatural slowness Jonas Skag rose to his feet, and leaning -across the table stood glaring at that pocket of Sir John’s waistcoat -which held that dreadful thing; and after some interval, he spoke in -broken whisper: - -“Gimme ... gimme——” - -Sir John, leaning back against the wall, stared up into the twitching -face, while slowly, slowly, the wide, bloodshot eyes crept up and up -until they were glaring into his; thus for a long moment eyes met eyes, -and it seemed that Jonas Skag was halting between two courses, groping -meanwhile in his darkened soul and questioning passionately with his -look. At last, uttering a hoarse, inarticulate sound, he turned, lurched -to the door, opened it, leaned there a moment, and was gone. - -Then Sir John arose and, leaving his ale untasted, went seeking the -landlord. - -“Mr. Levitt,” said he, “I remember meeting yonder red-haired fellow -aboard the _True Believer_. Is he one of Captain Sharkie’s regular men?” - -“Not by no manner o’ means, sir!” answered Mr. Levitt. “A drunken, -quarrelsome, naun-account chap be Jonas. Las’ toime Sharkie ’apped -along—ah, a-settin’ in that very cheer, ‘Levitt,’ says ’e, ‘I’m done wi’ -that Jonas for good an’ arl!’ ’e says.” - -“And you, like Captain Sharkie, do not trust him?” - -“Not so fur as I can see ’im, sir.... Why, here be Corporal Doubleday! -How goes it, sir, an’ what’ll we make it?” - -At a nod from Sir John, the Corporal, having “made it” ale, and finished -it with commendable speed, Sir John presently arose and, taking hearty -leave of Mr. Levitt, stepped into the yard and mounted. - -“Well, Bob?” he inquired as they rode. “Our Sturton made hither as usual?” - -“He did, sir, but——” - -“Was met by the red-headed man, Bob.” - -“Pre-cisely, sir. Which man seemed in mighty per-tub-ation about somewhat -or other, whereupon Sturton takes him into the Bull yonder. And soon -arter, sir, out they came from the yard and both of ’em mounted, and away -at a gallop. Which seems strange.” - -“Hum!” exclaimed Sir John. “Did they ride towards Alfriston?” - -“Aye, your honour.” - -“About how long ago?” - -“Eggs-ackly eighteen and a half minutes, sir.” - -“You did not follow ’em?” - -“Your honour’s orders were to call for you at——” - -“Aye, very true, Bob!... Eighteen minutes!” - -Sir John reined in his horse and sat as if deeply pondering, while the -Corporal watched him, serenely patient. - -“Is aught wrong, sir?” he inquired at last. - -Sir John glanced up and round about upon the peaceful beauty of the -countryside. - -“’Twill be a lovely evening, Robert.” - -“Quite so, sir.” - -“We don’t believe in presentiments, do we, Bob?” - -“No, sir—leastways——” - -“Or omens and the like liverish fancies? Now, do we happen to believe in -warnings, by any chance?” - -“Depends, sir, on who warns and what about.” - -“And after all, Bob, as Mr. Potter once remarked: ‘What is to be, must -be!’ So let us on and be done with it one way or t’other.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVII - -WHICH GIVETH SOME DESCRIPTION OF A MURDERER’S HAT - - -“Why such speed, sir?” inquired the Corporal as they galloped up the long -hill out of Seaford. - -“Aye, why indeed!” answered Sir John. “Life is short enough o’ -conscience! Let us then rather amble the whiles I sum up our case as it -standeth to-day. And heed and mark me well, Robert.... And we begin with -my Lord Sayle, a sordid creature of sordid tastes, of whom ’twere better -to talk in metaphor.... My Lord Sayle, then, is reported to have a keen -eye for beauty and a catholic taste; the stately lily, the humble, modest -violet each alike find favour in his eyes and he culleth them as he may; -he acquireth by money, by guile, by force—aye, frequently by force, for -the which he useth divers agents ... and James Sturton we know for one of -these agents. - -“Upon a certain evening some two years ago, a young village girl went up -Windover, she going thither to carry a cake to her lover, Roger Hobden, -who was tending sheep there. So much at least we know for fact; here -followeth surmise: James Sturton, in company with another of my lord’s -agents, by name Jonas Skag, being about their master’s evil business, -there met with her, and in this desolate place she screamed, and with -good reason! Hearing which outcry, Hobden came running. He fought -desperately, one against the two, or more for aught we know, and in the -struggle received a blow struck, as I believe, by Sturton, though much -harder than he meant.... And so died poor Roger Hobden.” - -“But why should you think ’twas Sturton struck the fatal blow, sir?” - -“Why should Sturton be paying ‘hush-money’ to Jonas Skag?” - -“Aye, true, your honour!” - -“And have become my lord’s very slave?” - -“True again, sir! And he’s ever at Oxham’s beck and call, moreover.” - -“One other surmise, Bob.... During the struggle Jonas Skag’s pocket was -torn, and out o’ that pocket fell a horn snuff-box——” - -“Why, your honour, here’s a powerful lot o’ surmises! ’Tis all mighty -reasonable, but ye can’t convict a man nor yet hang a man by surmise.” - -“Very true, Bob. And here is the snuff-box!” - -Corporal Robert examined the sorry thing with a degree of interest. - -“But how,” he inquired, handing it back again, “how can your honour be -sure ’twas the same box, or that Skag ever saw it, or lost it on the -fatal oc-casion?” - -“Jonas Skag recognised it, Bob, and in his terror crawled away to -Sturton.” - -“Lord!” exclaimed the Corporal, “so this was why they rid off in such a -hurry?” - -“Partly, Bob, and partly, I think, to afford us proof that our surmising -is very near the truth.” - -“As how, your honour?” - -“Look before us, yonder!” The Corporal stared at the dusty road, at the -rolling landscape to right and left, at Sir John, and shook his head. - -“Yonder, Bob, the road, you’ll notice, winds up in a sharp ascent between -steep banks crowned with trees and dense brush.... You observe?” - -“I do, sir.” - -“Well, in something less than ten minutes we shall reach the strategic -point; then, at word from me, you will spur and take that hill at full -gallop——” - -“Ah!” quoth the Corporal; “an ambushment, sir?” - -“Why, ’tis a likely place for such, Bob. Ha’ you your pistols?” - -“Here, sir!” - -“Then have ’em ready! And stoop low in the saddle ... though you will not -be their chief target, I fancy——” - -“Your honour ... sir ... Sir John, the risk is too great to warrant——” - -“Tush, Bob! They have seen us long since and, should we turn tail now, -would but choose some other time and place when we were less prepared. -Besides, there is about the uncertainty a thrill that stirs me not -unpleasingly—and to feel is to be alive!” - -“Very good, sir!” answered Robert the Imperturbable, loosing pistols in -holsters. - -“On the whole, Bob, the country hath an infinity of charms, more -especially this fair country o’ Sussex. Now! Spur, man, spur!” - -A clatter of hoofs spurning the dust, a creaking of saddle-leather, and -the two high-spirited animals breasted the steep ascent at a gallop, -their riders low-crouched, pistols in hand; they had reached thus the -steepest part of the hill when from the bank above rang a shot, followed -immediately by a second, and Sir John, rocking in the saddle, dropped -his weapon, steadied himself and grasped at right forearm; the Corporal -meanwhile, having fired in return, swung to earth and began to scramble -up the bank, but, the slope being very precipitous, it was some minutes -ere he reached, and vanished among, the dense brush. - -“Save thyself further trouble!” cried Sir John. “The rogues will be well -away by now, Bob.” - -“They are, sir!” answered the Corporal ruefully. “But they’ve left a hat -behind ’em!” - -“A hat, Bob? Then bring it—bring it hither, man!” Back into the road -scrambled Robert forthwith, to behold his master, pale and bloody, -whereupon he dropped the hat and came running. - -“Are ye hurt bad, sir?” - -“Pish—naught to matter! The hat, Bob, the hat!” The Corporal brought it, -turning it this way and that for his master’s inspection. - -An ordinary, three-cornered hat, devoid of all ornament or garnishings, -but of excellent material and workmanship: such a hat as could have -covered the head of a prosperous, highly reputable person only. - -“By heavens, Bob!” exclaimed Sir John, grim-lipped. “’Tis a murderer’s -hat and might be a magistrate’s! Note its sober cock, its generous -proportions, its eminent respectability! Have ye ever seen it, ere now, -Bob?” - -“Aye, I have, sir!” answered the Corporal, scowling at the thing he held. - -“’Tis a hat in a thousand, Bob, and mayhap shall aid a rogue to the -gallows.... And now, prithee, look to this arm o’ mine.” - -Deftly the Corporal unbuttoned and rolled back sleeve and ruffled -wrist-band, discovering an ugly graze that scored Sir John’s arm from -elbow to wrist. - -“Painful, sir?” - -“The smart is tolerable,” answered Sir John, wincing a little as the -Corporal lapped the wound in the neckerchief he had whipped off for the -purpose—“tolerable, Bob, and may be a blessing in disguise.” - -“How so, your honour?” - -“Nay, dispatch, Bob; the sooner we are away from here the better.... They -may try again, so hurry, man!” - -The bandage in place, the Corporal sprang to saddle and, setting spurs to -their willing horses, they had soon left that place of danger far behind. - -“Now, talking o’ pistol-balls and blessings in disguise, your honour?” -questioned the Corporal at last. - -“With my arm thus, Bob, I am free to meet my Lord Sayle whenever I will.” - -“But, sir, his wound should be nigh well by now and your arm will be -mighty stiff to-morrow.” - -“But not too stiff to kill him.” - -“Kill?” repeated the Corporal, and, glancing at his master’s pale, set -face, said no more. - -“When we fought at the ‘White Hart’ I might ha’ reached him time and -again, but held my hand because of the oath I swore five years agone.” - -“Aye, your honour, and to be sure an oath is ever an’ always an oath!” -nodded the Corporal. - -“Hum!” quoth Sir John, eyeing the Corporal a little askance. “But to-day, -Bob, I know him for a thing the world were well rid of ... and yet I will -confess to a foolish prejudice, a ridiculous qualm at the idea of having -the fellow’s death on my hands. And yet this hath nothing whatever to do -with my oath.” - -Here Sir John became thoughtful, whereupon the Corporal reined half a -length to the rear, and thus they journeyed in silence, until they were -come in sight of the cross-roads. - -Now, against the finger-post one of my Lord Sayle’s bills had been set -up, and before this they espied a stalwart man busily reading by the aid -of a short, though formidable bludgeon with which he ticked off each -word, letter by letter; this, though a somewhat laborious business, -seemed to afford the reader no small pleasure, for more than once he -chuckled, and it was with a smile upon his face that he now turned to -greet them, touching bludgeon to eyebrow in salute. - -“What, Mr. Potter!” exclaimed Sir John. “Where ha’ you been these last -few days?” - -“Here and theer, Mus’ Derwent—mostly theer.” - -“And how are you?” - -“Never better, sir.” - -“Do you chance to have seen a man pass who has lost his hat?” - -“Nary a one, sir.” - -“Why, then, perchance you can recognise the hat—show it him, Bob.” - -At this, Corporal Robert struck himself a resounding blow upon muscular -thigh. - -“Damme, sir!” he exclaimed woefully. “Asking your pardon ... but I left -it a-lying on the bank yonder!” Sir John merely looked, whereupon the -Corporal shook his head, wheeled his horse and galloped back along the -road. - -“‘One ’undred pound reward,’ sir!” quoth Mr. Potter, with the greatest -unction, when the galloping hoof-strokes had died away. “‘Dead or Alive,’ -Mus’ Derwent!” - -“Aye,” nodded Sir John, “surely you run great risk to venture abroad in -daylight, and here of all places.” - -“Why, I dunno as one place be much worse than t’other, sir.... But -one ’undred pound! Lord, I know it by ’eart.... I wish my old feäther -might ha’ seed it! One ’undred pound for pore Pot’s carkiss—dead or -alive. A powerful sight o’ money it be. I wouldn’t ha’ thought they’d -ha’ valleyed pore Potter so ’igh-like ... theer was a ’ighwayman-chap -as shot the guard o’ the Lewes coach las’ year, they only offered -twenty-five for ’e!... They’ve got these ’ere bills posted arl over the -plaace ’ereabouts. I know ’em arl an’ I reads ’em arl—reg’lar! But theer -be a brace o’ words as I doan’t rightly onderstand, otherwise it arl -seems fair enough an’ a sight more than Potter expected. First ’ere be -this here word ‘male-factor.’ Well, ’tis sartin sure I bean’t no female -an’ no more I bean’t no ‘factor’ ... then ’ere be t’other ’un, sir ... -‘not-orious.’ ... Well, nobody never says as I was ‘orious’ as ever I -knowed.” - -His mind at rest upon these two intricate points, Mr. Potter diffidently -suggested they should keep company together a “small ways,” for: - -“Lord, sir,” said he, “what wi’ barns an’ ditches it be few friendly -faces pore Potter sees o’ late.” - -Accordingly, Sir John rode on at a hand-pace, Mr. Potter walking beside -him. - -“Arm ’urted, sir?” he inquired, noting Sir John’s bandage. - -“Nothing very much, though irksome!” - -“Fall, sir?” - -“Bullet!” - -“Accidental, sir?” - -Hereupon Sir John briefly recapitulated the affair, to Mr. Potter’s -round-eyed surprise. - -“Lord, sir,” quoth he, “I thought nobody never shot at nothing nor nobody -except pore Potter, these days.” - -“Have you seen anything of your friends Oxham or Sturton lately?” - -“Aye, sir, seed ’em this very day, I did, over to ’Friston.” - -“’Friston!” exclaimed Sir John. “Why, that is Lord Sayle’s place, surely.” - -“Aye it be, sir. So there Potter went; ye see, nobody never thought o’ -lookin’ for me in Lord Sayle’s barns. Well, sir, theer I did behold Oxham -an’ Sturton along o’ Lord Sayle. Lord Sayle was a-fencing wi’ a gentleman -in his shirt-sleeves.” - -“Ah, fencing was he?” - -“Aye, sir, in ’is shirt-sleeves, when along comes Oxham and says summat -an’ p’ints at Sturton, whereupon my lord says summat to Sturton in a -mighty passion an’ Sturton says summat to Lord Sayle, mighty ’umble, an’ -Lord Sayle fetches Sturton a clout wi’ his fencin’-iron an’ sends ’im -about ’is business.... An’ now I’ll bid ye good-evenin’, sir; yonder lays -my road.... I’ve a brace o’ birds for ol’ Pen.... Happen I’ll be seeing -ye at the Cross purty soon.... The _True Believer_’ll be across one o’ -these nights i’ the dark o’ the moon, for business be business, sir.” So -saying, Mr. Potter climbed the adjacent bank, paused to touch bludgeon to -eyebrow, and was gone. - -Sir John was in sight of Alfriston Church spire when, hearing the -approach of galloping hoofs, he turned to behold the Corporal returning. - -“Ah!” said he, noting Robert’s gloom, “our murderer’s hat had vanished, -then?” - -“Com-pletely, sir!” - -“Well, well, never look so glum, man! Our day hath not been wholly vain.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVIII - -OF THE TERROR BY NIGHT - - -June coming in glory had flamed out in splendour. August glowed from dewy -dawn to dusky eve; upon the warm and slumbrous air was the fragrance of -ripening fruit and herb; flowers bloomed sedately in cottage gardens, -they rioted in the hedges, fields and uplands were ablaze with them where -butterflies wheeled and hovered and bees hummed drowsily about their -unceasing labours. The river, winding sleepily between reedy banks, made -little slumbrous noises, the very brooks, by reason of the pervading heat -and universal somnolence, seemed to hush their chatter; and neighbours in -shirt-sleeves, meeting in shady places, yawningly informed each other of -the very obvious fact that it was “tur’ble waarmish-loike!” - -Even Mr. Dumbrell, that “aged soul,” perched upon his accustomed stile, -admitted that, in his vast experience, he had “knowed a colder August.... -But, Lord, young man, to ’ear folks talk, you’d think ’twas that ’ot! But -look at oi, so grig an’ sproy for arl my aage, look at oi, will ’ee!” - -“Thou’rt a truly wonderful man!” answered Sir John. - -“Ay, sartin-sure-indeed, oi be!” answered the Aged One. “But oi knawed -that afore you was barn!” - -“Indeed, Mr. Dumbrell, you look heartier than ever——” - -“Well, oi bean’t! ’Ow can oi be—wi’ a musket-ball a-rattlin’ my innards -an’ a granddarter a-rattlin’ my out’ards—wi’ a bresh? Mak’s me wash my -face twoice a day, she du—twoice!” - -“Consequently you look extreme cool and clean.” - -“Clean!” snarled the Aged Soul. “Doan’t ’ee say so, young man, or oi -shall ’ate ’ee! No one ’as no call t’ be so clean as oi be ’cept p’r’aps -in theer coffins—an’ even then I dunno! Theer was Joel Sams, never kemped -’is ’air in arl ’is days, oi du believe, never shaved—not ’im! Only -washed of a Sunday ’cos ’is woife made ’im ... a reg’lar loight-’earted -chap were Jo tell ’e took an’ doied. Well, when I come to ’elp ’im intu -’is coffin, they’d washed ’im an’ breshed ’im an’ shaved ’im till oi -didn’t roightly know whether ’e were the corp’ or no.... An’ they’d made -’is coffin too small, but in ’e ’ad to go. So oi doubled ’im ’ere, an’ -oi twisted ’im theer, an’ got ’e in some’ow—oi knawed pore Joel wouldn’t -moind.... An’ talkin’ o’ corpses, wot about your sweet-’eartin’, young -man?” - -“Thank you, it progresses as well as can be expected.” - -“Ah, but ’ow much do ye expect, young man, that be the p’int. Theer’s -folk as generally-arlways expects too much, an’ theer’s folks as doan’t -never expect nothin’ no’ow ... loike Diggory Small’s woife as never -expected an’ wouldn’t expect ... said ’twas nowt but wind ’er did ... -an’ so when the child were born everybody called it ‘Windy Small,’ which -were ’ard on the child seein’ as Diggory ’ad ’ad it named ‘Noble’ arter -Farmer Axeford’s gurt cow.... An’ talkin’ o’ cows, Pen ’aryott’s witched -’er ol’ cottage into a noo ’un, she ’ave ... arl noo painted an’ thatched -so trig as never was, it be. Which ain’t nowise nat’ral—not in Dering it -bean’t, wheer no cottages bean’t never painted nowhen. So ’tis witchcraft -sure-lye, spells an’ black magic, I rackon—unless it be the doing o’ -liddle Mus’ Dobbs.” - -“And pray, who is he?” inquired Sir John lazily. - -“Lord!” exclaimed the Aged Soul in deepest scorn, “oi wouldn’t ha’ -beleft as nobody nowheers didn’t know ’e. Mus’ Dobbs be a liddle ol’ -chap as bean’t a pharysee an’ yet moighty loike a pharysee tu, as works -an’ labours whoiles folks sleep.... An’ yonder be that ’ere sweet-eart -o’ yourn at last akerchally a-kissin’ ol’ Pen goo’-bye! An’ a rare purty -lass ’er be tu! Moves so free an’ easy as a young blood-mare, doan’t ’er? -Carries ’er ’ead ’igh an’ proud-loike! A foine wench she be sure-lye.... -Nay, boide wheer ye be, young man, oi’ll go to ’er d’rackly-minute an’ -say a word for ’ee, aye I will so. ’Tis loike enough oi’ll arg’ ’er into -weddin’ of ’ee afore she knows it, so boide wheer ye be an’ leave it arl -to oi.” - -So saying, the Aged One hobbled away, and Sir John, seated beside the -stile, watched the little old man salute my lady with hat a-flourish and, -bare-headed, offer her his arm. - -The sun had set, but earth and heaven were still glorious with his -passing; from blooming hedge, fragrant meadow and open down stole a -thousand scents that seemed but to strengthen as the shadows fell, a -mingled sweetness upon the warm, still air; borne to his ears came -the lowing of cows calling to be milked, the plod of horses jingling -stablewards, friendly voices murmurous with distance, and an intermittent -rustling in the opposite hedge. And Sir John, seated beside the old -stile, breathing this warm and fragrant air and hearkening to these -peaceful sounds, was none the less suddenly chilled by an intuitive sense -of impending evil and turned instinctively to glance towards the opposite -hedge where it grew very dense and high, shutting the road from the -little spinney beyond. Watching this, it seemed that something crouched -there, a something that moved stealthily ever and anon; and there grew -within him an uncomfortable feeling that he was watched by unseen eyes, -and with this, a consciousness of ever-growing peril. So he sat with -head bowed as one in thought, but with eyes keenly watchful and ears -heedful of that intermittent rustling so soft and yet so purposeful. For -some while he remained thus, his every faculty alert though the leafy -stir had ceased and nothing to be heard except the plaintive evensong -of the birds.... And yet, was there something that moved again beyond -the hedge, something that crept nearer and ever nearer with a dreadful -patient slowness? A dog? No! A sheep? Perhaps! A man? Well, whatever it -was, would soon be directly opposite where he sat, surely it was there -already. Once again came a sound of stealthy movement as of something -gently forcing itself a passage towards him through the hedge itself.... - -Sir John cocked the small pistol in his pocket and waited, his eyes grown -suddenly fierce. A dog barked in the distance, a sheep-bell tinkled -faintly ... and then was a sound of light footsteps near by and Ann -Dumbrell came slowly along the lane and paused near by, her gaze intent -upon some distant point, as one who awaited an expected presence; then -Sir John, himself unseen where he crouched, beheld her start, saw her -hands clasp each other, heard the fall of quick-striding feet that paused -suddenly and then came on again, but more slowly. - -“Why, ’tis never you, Mus’ Doubleday?” she exclaimed as one amazed by -some phenomenon. - -“None other, Mrs. Ann,” answered the Corporal, halting and surveying her -shy loveliness with gloomy eyes. “You see,” he explained, “it so happens -as I ... chanced to be ... coming this way and ... well, here I am, mam!” - -“Yes, Mus’ Doubleday. An’ us be arlways pleased to see ’ee whenever it be -... though granfer bean’t in yet.... I—I were just agoing tu look for ’e. -An’ ’ow be you, sir?” - -“As well as can be expected!” he sighed dismally. “Lord love me, Mrs. -Ann, but ye look younger than ever this evening!” - -“But I be older than I were this marnin’, sir.” - -“Why, so you told me yesterday,” answered the Corporal reproachfully, his -gloom deepening, “an’ yet here y’ are this evening lookin’ younger than -ever!” - -“O Mus’ Doubleday,” she laughed, “’ow may that be? I were a liddle baby -once, an’ looked younger then, I rackon.” - -“I wish,” said the Corporal bitterly—“I wish that you—no, I wish that I -had been—but what’s the use o’ wishing? Only ... if you had only been a -... bit older ... if only you had——” - -“Aye, an’ what then, sir?” she questioned eagerly. - -“No matter, mam.” - -“But, Mus’ Doubleday, I du be a-growin’ older an’ older every day!” - -“Aye,” groaned the Corporal, “so am I!” - -“An’ yonder comes grandfer along o’ Mrs. Rose! She be rarely ’andsome, -don’t ’ee think?” - -“So, so!” sighed the Corporal. - -“O Mus’ Doubleday! I’m sure she’s the rarest beauty!” - -“Maybe,” admitted the Corporal, “only I don’t ’appen to ha’ noticed.” - -“But you got eyes, sure?” - -“Aye, I have,” nodded the Corporal, looking at pretty Ann until she -blushed again, “an’ I think I know a fair lass when I happen to see -one, but ... being a man o’ forty-five winters, mam, an’ no young -galli-vantin’ lad, I looks, and thinks, and says nothing.” - -“Why, then, Mus’ Doubleday,” sighed she, “won’t ’ee come an’ say it -indoors—afore grandfer sees us?” - -And so they passed on, walking very close together, though the Corporal -resolutely kept his hands buried in the deep side-pockets of his coat. - -Then Sir John arose lazily and made a great business of yawning and -stretching, though keeping well in the shadow of the tree behind him, -and presently sauntered along the lane to where the thick hedge opposite -was pierced by a gate. Here his manner underwent a sudden change; in a -flash he had vaulted the gate, and, pistol ready, crouched where he might -behold the other side of this rustling hedge.... No one! And yet how -should a hedge rustle so very persistently and no wind stirring? And now -his quick glance saw that which answered the question beyond all doubt: -the place was a tangle of lusty weeds and wild-flowers that stood very -dense and lush save immediately behind the hedge, for here they showed -bent and broken as by the recent passage of a heavy body, a narrow trail, -following the line of hedge, a betraying track that swung off at a right -angle towards the leafy solitude of the little spinney. Had baffled -Murder crept that way? Did it skulk there still? - -Staying not to debate the point, Sir John set hand to gate and vaulted -back into the lane—to the vociferous indignation of Mr. Dumbrell, for -being startled by this so sudden appearance, the Aged Soul stamped and -swore and shook his stick at Sir John in highly ferocious manner. - -“Dannel ye!” he snarled. “Will ’ee goo for tu frouden a old, aged, -ancient soul as would be j’yful tu be a-diggin’ your grave for ’ee -d’rackly-minute? ’Tidn’t respectful, no! Dannel ’ee twoice!” - -“I beg your pardon.” - -“Well, ’ee can go on a-beggin’; ’ee wun’t get no pardon from oi. -A-jumpin’ out ’pon a aged man as ’ave been a-makin’ love fur ’ee till oi -du be nigh black i’ the faace!” - -“Then I am deeply grateful, and——” - -“Aye, an’ oi told a mort o’ loies fur ’ee, oi did!” - -“Lies?” - -“Aye, didn’t oi tell ’er you was a-poinin’ fur ’er—an’ you ain’t! Didn’t -oi tell ’er as the best o’ food sech as beef an’ pork wouldn’t nowise lay -easy on your stummick arl along o’ her? Didn’t oi tell ’er as you was -a foine, up-standin’, ’andsome young felley—which you ain’t—not by no -manner o’ means, an’ that if she didn’t mak’ sure of ’ee, there was a -mort o’ purty lasses arl ready for to snap ’ee up? Which they ain’t. An’ -now ’ere be you a-doin’ your best to frouden a pore, ancient creeter into -’is grave afore ’is toime!... D’ye call that gratitood?” - -“Forgive me!” - -The Aged Soul snorted. - -“Arl of a trimble oi be. The next lass as you think o’ marryin’, you can -woo ’er yourself—doan’t ax oi! Ah, an’ oi be glad now as she said what -she did say!” - -“And what was that, Ancient One?” - -“Says as she’d wait and see which o’ they purty lasses would snap at ’ee -first, she did.... An’ I rackon she’ll ’ave to wait a tur’ble long time.” - -“And pray, where is she now?” - -“A-settin’ ’long o’ my granddarter an’ Mus’ Doubleday, fur sure.” - -But my lady was leaning upon the old stile, and fresh from the sighful -confidences of shy Ann in the little kitchen and the Corporal’s halting -disparagement of the age forty-five in the little garden, was thinking -only of him for whom she waited, of herself and the future; thus when -hearing his step she glanced up, Sir John saw that in her look which -stirred him to such joyous wonder that he yearned to clasp and kiss her -then and there; but she, aware of this, drew back, so truly shy and off -her guard for once that she quite forgot to act. So he turned and took -the little, old man by the shoulders instead. - -“O Mr. Dumbrell!” quoth he rapturously; the old man snorted. “Aged Soul!” -Mr. Dumbrell scowled. “Friend Hosea!” The old man stared. “To-day my -respect of thee mounteth high as heaven ... thou’rt a far better wooer -than I dreamed! So shall sit in comfort all thy days henceforth. And so -good-night, my ancient Hosea, thou honoured, Aged Soul—good-night!” - -Then Sir John vaulted the stile, aided my lady over, and side by side -they set out for Alfriston through a peaceful countryside glorious with -sunset. Forgotten now the sinister rustling of hedges and all else under -heaven save the sweet, shy droop of her lashes so new in his experience -of her, for here no longer was prideful coquetry full of modish -affectations, but rather the Rose-child of his dreams, and what else -could matter so long as her hand lay thus within his arm and her foot -trod with his the velvet ling. - -“Rose,” said he, halting suddenly, “a while ago love looked at me from -thine eyes.... O child, come, kiss me!” And then his arm was about her; -but, though very conscious of the tender yearning of his voice, and even -while yielding to the mastery of his arm, she laughed a little unsteadily. - -“Indeed, John, the Aged Soul did plead thy cause so irresistibly ... it -seems thou canst neither eat nor sleep ... he told me thy—thy ‘innards be -arl shook to pieces with love’ ... he urged the woes o’ thy poor stomach -so passionately that I looked to see him weep....” - -“Hum!” quoth Sir John; and then: “Rose, when will you marry me?” - -“This depends on how long you intend playing the part of John Derwent, -sir.” - -“And this again, Rose, depends on how soon my Lady Herminia will marry -Sir John Dering.” - -“Nay, first, John, she is determined on wedding my Aunt Lucinda to your -friend, Sir Hector.” - -“’S life, and is she so, child?” he exclaimed a little ruefully. “’Faith, -’tis like the contrary Herminia, for here is plaguy difficult problem.” - -“And yet should be easily resolved betwixt us, John.” - -“Nay, but the Duchess called Sir Hector an ogre, and he blenches at mere -mention of her name....” - -“To be sure, John, the situation is very promising and needeth but a -little dexterous management. You will prompt Sir Hector, I’ll plague my -aunt ... is’t agreed, John?” - -“It is!” he laughed. “And now—come, kiss me?” But she held him off, -viewing him grave-eyed. - -“John,” said she solemnly, “to-day old Penelope was monstrous strange -and full of foreboding on your account ... ’twas as she knew some danger -threatened. But it is all so sweetly peaceful, what should harm you here?” - -“What indeed?” he answered, glancing furtively towards the lengthening -shadows behind them. - -“And yet old Penelope was so awesome o’ speech and look.... I can mind -her every word: ‘He hath raised what only blood can lay!’ said she. -Sounds not this dreadful, John? And then: ‘Bid him beware the peril o’ -solitary places,’ quo’ she, ‘of things that creep i’ the dark! Day and -night bid him look behind him wherever——” - -My lady paused suddenly, for Sir John was indeed glancing back over his -shoulder. - -They had crossed the stile beyond the little footbridge and were -following a path bordered by dense underbrush and shaded by tall trees. -Sir John’s quick ear had caught a faint creak such as a stealthy foot -might make on the rickety planking of the bridge; moreover, his eyes had -glimpsed a vague shape that flitted unheard among the brush. - -“John,” said my lady breathlessly, “why d’ye look so?... Ah, what is it?” -And he winced beneath the pressure of her fingers upon his wounded arm. - -“Pray loose me!” he whispered, and slipped hand into pocket. - -“John,” she breathed, “tell me what cometh yonder?” - -“Nay, this I must discover,” he answered, and loosed her hands, for now, -plain to hear, was a faint rustling amid the brush.... And then she had -leapt between Sir John and this scarce-heard, unseen thing, had twined -strong arms about him, holding him so close that he might sense all the -fragrant warmth of the soft and pliant body that shielded his; thus stood -they awhile, her soft cheek against his, and now he could feel the heavy -beating of her heart against his own. The stealthy rustling came again, -crept nearer, paused, crept past them, died away, and nothing to be heard -except the melodious murmur of the brook hard by. And then my lady spoke, -her voice low but undismayed: - -“’Tis gone, I think, and.... O John!” - -His arms were about her, straining her closer yet, and when he spoke his -voice was strangely hoarse and shaken: - -“O thou dear, brave soul! Thou very woman!... Yon creeping terror hath -shown thee greater, nobler than I dared dream thee!... When, when wilt -marry me?” - -“Nay, John,” she answered gently, “how may I tell thee this till thou ask -Herminia?... Go to her, John, seek and woo the poor, despised, solitary -soul.” - -“Aye, I will—but when? Where?” - -“To-morrow afternoon, John, at the cottage ... and come as Sir John -Dering.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIX - -HOW THEY WARNED CAPTAIN SHARKIE NYE - - -Dusk was falling as Sir John paused beside the old cross whose worn base -chanced to be propping divers and sundry brawny backs: Mr. Muddle leaned -there side by side with Mr. Pursglove; there also were Messrs. Godby, -Unstead and Comfort, each and all of whom seemed extremely wide awake and -more than usually talkative notwithstanding the pervading drowsiness of -the warm, stilly air. - -“G’d evenin’, Mus’ Derwent; tur’ble waarm it do ha’ been to-day -sure-lye,” quoth Mr. Muddle. - -“Though theer was a bit o’ wind stirrin’ ’bout ’leven o’clock ’s -marnin’,” added Mr. Pursglove. - -“Aye, but it doied awaay it did, afore twalve,” said Mr. Godby. - -“Rackon my peas’ll do naun good ’appen it doan’t rain,” opined Mr. -Comfort. - -And yet Sir John knew instinctively that it was neither to discuss the -unusual heat of the weather nor Mr. Comfort’s languishing peas that had -brought them hither in murmurous conclave. - -And surely it was no very extraordinary sight to behold Parson Hartop -ambling up the street on his plump steed, even though Mr. Pym strode at -his stirrup, and yet the four worthies seemed vaguely uneasy none the -less. - -Reaching the cross, Mr. Hartop drew rein and Mr. Pym, grounding the long -musket he carried, wiped perspiring brow. - -“Is George Potter hereabouts?” he inquired in accents discreetly -modulated. - -“No, Mus’ Pym.” - -“Then you must find him—at once!” - -“Aye, Mus’ Pym ... but whoy, sir, an’ wherefore?” - -“Tell ’em, Hartop!” said the painter. - -“Friends,” said the parson, leaning down from his saddle and addressing -them much as if it had been a pulpit; “ye refractory souls, we be all of -us human and therefore prone to err. But for myself, having the cure of -souls among ye, I regard ye all as my wayward children, and, when I see -ye rushing blindly on destruction, hold it my bounden duty to warn ye -thereof.... Hark ye, then! Cuckmere Haven is watched to-night! There be -many soldiers hidden there and upon the cliff. I have seen them with my -own eyes; heed therefore my word! Pass the warning to your fellows, and -thereafter let each o’ ye seek your beds with due gratitude to that ever -beneficent Providence that by my humble means hath, yet again, saved ye -from dire peril o’ your bodies.” - -“In a word,” added Mr. Pym, “the Preventives ha’ been warned somehow and -are out in force, and but for our parson would ha’ shot or taken every -man o’ ye!” - -“One other matter,” sighed Mr. Hartop; “you will tell George Potter, most -wayward of all my children, that next time he is necessitated to use the -church tower he will leave space for the bell-ropes to play freely: on -the last occasion, as you will doubtless remember, the tenor bell could -not be rung up.” - -“Arl roight, Mus’ Hartop, sir, an’ thank’ee koindly! Ye see, ’twere one -o’ they liddle tubs, sir, as went an’ jammed hisself, Mus’ ’Artop, sir. -An’ a praper parson ye be, sure-lye.” - -“Aye, a moighty good passon to we, sir. A true gen’leman as do ever tak’ -our part, you be, sir.” - -“Alas!” sighed Mr. Hartop. “Alas, that ye should need me so to do!... -Pray show more care hereafter as regards my bells ... and mind, home all -o’ ye, and forget not your prayers.... Good-night.” - -So saying, Parson Hartop saluted them all with lifted hat and ambled -away, whereupon the four worthies, big with the news, hasted forthwith to -the ‘Market Cross Inn.’ - -“Ha!” quoth Mr. Pym, leaning upon his musket and looking after the -parson’s retiring figure. “Said I not we were all smugglers hereabouts, -Mr. Derwent? And yonder goeth the best of us all, a truly saintly man, -sir. And now for Potter.” - -They found the inn agog with the tidings. - -“Guid save’s a’!” exclaimed Sir Hector, “what o’ poor Sharkie Nye?” - -“Why, sir,” answered Mr. Bunkle, the philosopher, “never worrit! Life -hath its downs as well as its ups, an’ Sharkie’ll never put in shore -wi’out the signal.” - -“But this looks like treachery, Peter!” fumed Sir Hector. “And syne they -ken sae muckle ’tis vera like they’ll ken the signal likewise. Whaur’s -Geordie? I maun hae a world wi’ Geordie Potter. Whaur bides he, Peter -man?” - -“A sight nigher than ’e seems, sir!” answered Mr. Bunkle and, winking, -led them into his inner, much-doored holy of holies. Here he rapped -certain times upon the panelling, and rap answered him; thereafter one -of the five doors opened and Mr. Potter appeared, placid as ever and -surprisingly neat, except for a cobweb adhering to one newly trimmed -whisker. - -Upon hearing Mr. Pym’s news, he grew profoundly thoughtful and stood -awhile staring into the fire. - -“Sir Hector be right, I rackon!” said he at last. “’Tis a spy’s work, -sure-lye ... an’ there be only one way to mak’ sarten an’ that be to go -theer——” - -“Do ’ee mean Cuckmere ’Aven, Jarge?” - -“Aye, Peter, I do. I be a-goin’ d’rackly-minute to watch. If they shows -the signal light a-swing from cliff, I’ll know ’tis a spy ... an’ must -warn Sharkie off——” - -“Aye, but how, Jarge?” - -“Wi’ this, Peter.” And from a pocket of the frieze coat Mr. Potter drew -a short-barrelled, heavy pistol. “I wait till Sharkie be within ’ail and -let fly ... flash’ll warn ’im.... An’ noo I’ll be a-goin’——” - -“An’ I’m wi’ ye, Geordie man!” quoth Sir Hector, reaching for his hat. - -“And I,” said Sir John, clapping on his own. - -“Why, Lord love ’ee, gen’lemen,” exclaimed Mr. Potter, “’twon’t be nowise -easy-goin’! I be for short cuts ’cross Down, ship-tracks an’ hidden ways.” - -“No matter,” answered Sir John. - -“An’ what’s more, sirs, dappen us reaches Cuckmere in time, when I fires -to warn Sharkie ’tis but to be expected as they Preventive lads’ll fire -back at me ... so ’tis best I go alone, I rackon——” - -“Hoot-toot, Geordie, ye’re wastin’ an’ awfu’ lot o’ wind; save it tae -better purpose, man, for we’re gangin’ wi’ ye.” - -“And I also,” said Mr. Pym, examining the flint of his musket. - -“Why, then, come your ways, sirs,” said Mr. Potter; “but if we be took, -’tis as smugglers you’ll be sarved——” - -“And why not?” retorted Mr. Pym argumentatively. “Are not all Sussex folk -smugglers at heart—aye, and mankind in general, for matter o’ that?” - -“Well, good fortun’ go wi’ ye, sirs,” said Mr. Bunkle. “’Twill be -middlin’ dark; moon doan’t rise till three o’clock.... An’ there’ll be a -bowl o’ summat ’ot waitin’ agin your return. You ought to be back inside -two hours, eh, Jarge?” - -“Why, as to that, Peter,” answered Mr. Potter in his placid manner, “what -is to be, will be, I rackon!” And opening a door he led them forth by a -discreetly unobtrusive passage that brought them to a back lane, to a -footpath skirting the rope walk, and so to a steep upland, rising against -the stars. - -Once clear of the village, Mr. Potter went at a pace that Sir John found -somewhat trying by reason of the difficult country. Moreover, his hurt -arm irked him; but Mr. Pym strode unfaltering, up hill and down, despite -the heavy musket he bore, and Sir Hector’s long legs seemed tireless. - -Though there was no moon as yet, the stars made a palpitant glow, a -glimmering dusk wherein all objects loomed up vague and unfamiliar. To -Sir John the dim forms of his silent companions seemed like phantoms in a -phantom world; stumbling and breathless he struggled on, feeling as one -in a nightmare, conscious of spectral shapes that reached out ghostly -arms, or touched him with clammy fingers—things that by day were trees -and bushes, but now were things very evil and sinister. - -On he stumbled, sometimes treading the dust of a road, but mostly they -seemed to be climbing or descending some grassy slope. - -Mr. Potter went by ways known only to himself; he led them through narrow -lanes deep-sunk in the chalk, through black alleys roofed by tangled -thickets and dense-growing bushes, leafy tunnels sweet with honeysuckle; -up and up and down steep, thymey slopes, across lush meadows where -the feet sank deep, past brooks that gurgled sleepily in the dark; on -and ever on, reeling and sweating through a windless darkness, until, -breasting a slope, there met them a sweet, cool breath and to their ears -came the hoarse murmur of the sea. Then Mr. Potter halted, and when he -spoke it was in a whisper: - -“Yonder lays Cuckmere, sirs ... tide’ll be at flood in ’arf an hour, I -rackon, an’ the _True Believer_ should be a-layin’ hove-to out yonder. -Afore Sharkie stands in he’ll show two lights—white above red, which -means, ‘Is arl clear?’ Then, if there be spies yonder they’ll swing a -lanthorn from the cliff, which means, ‘Arl clear.’ So bide ye here, sirs, -an’ watch fur Sharkie’s signal whiles I tak’ a look round. But dappen ye -see Potter’s wepping flash, why, then—run for your lives ... an’ softly -it be!” So saying Mr. Potter dropped upon hands and knees, crawled away -and vanished. - -Sir John, panting upon the grass, could make out the loom of precipitous -cliff, the vague line of shore, the white foam of incoming tide; upon -his right hand crouched Mr. Pym, the barrel of his musket cutting across -the stars, upon his left knelt Sir Hector, bulking more gigantic than -nature in the dimness; and then he was startled by Mr. Potter’s voice -immediately behind him: - -“Back, sirs, back an’ easy it is, for y’r lives!... They sojers be right -afore us—thick as mushrooms ... aye, thick as ’rooms they be, so easy it -is, sirs ... we must to the beach ... foller Potter, sirs ... an’ tread -cautious!” - -Gliding like phantoms, they followed whither Mr. Potter led, while -ever the beat of the incoming waves grew louder. Suddenly beneath Sir -John’s foot a piece of rotten driftwood snapped, seeming to him loud as -a pistol-shot, and he stood, breath in check, half expecting a hoarse -challenge and the roaring flash of musketry; instead, he heard Mr. -Potter’s whisper: - -“Lay down, sirs ... easy! Now watch the sea yonder!” - -To Sir John, thus outstretched, hearing only the throb of his own heart -and remembering all those men who lay so murderously silent, so patiently -watchful and expectant, it seemed that looming cliff and vague foreshore -were places of supreme horror, since death lurked there; the very night -seemed foul of it. - -And then came Mr. Potter’s soft, untroubled whisper: - -“Yonder, sirs!... Yonder cometh Sharkie Nye!... D’ye see yon twinkle?... -Up she swings—the white!... Now the red! Aye, yonder lays the _True -Believer_ hove to an’ waitin’ the answerin’ signal.... Watch the cliff, -sirs——” - -Almost as he spoke, was an answering beam of light upon the grim -headland, a light that winked once or twice and then was swiftly lowered -until it hung suspended half-way down the cliff. - -“O Geordie-man—O Geordie!” whispered Sir Hector. “’Tis betrayed ye are, -lad—yon proves it beyond a’ doot!” - -“Aye, by the Pize,” whispered Mr. Potter, “yonder’s black treachery! -A light a-top o’ cliff any fule might show ... but a light a-dangle -’arf-way down!... Look, sir—God love us ... Sharkie be a-standin’ in——” - -“To his death, Geordie—himsel’ and a’ his lads!” - -“Not whiles Potter can waarn ’em, sirs!” And, speaking, Mr. Potter got to -his knees, but there Mr. Pym’s grip on his leg arrested him. - -“What’s to do, George?” he inquired. - -“Liddle enough, sir, but arl I can.... Potter be a-goin’ down yonder to -th’ edge o’ the tide, an’ soon as they be nigh enough I lets fly with -both my pistols——” - -“And commit suicide, George Potter!” - -“Why, they sojers may miss me, sir ... an’ I shall run amazin’ quick -and—hark, sir ... Sharkie be a-towin’ in wi’ his boats!” Sure enough, -faint though distinct was the sound of oars. - -“Lord love me!” exclaimed Mr. Potter, his placidity quite gone. “They be -closer ashore than I thought ... loose my leg, sir!” - -“Not so, George!” answered the painter. “Your plan is extreme clumsy and -offers but problematical chance o’ success whiles you run great risk o’ -wounds or death, and Captain Nye may be nothing advantaged. Now, upon the -other hand——” - -“Mus’ Pym, Mus’ Pym, it be no time to arg’—lemme go, sir!” - -“Heark’ee now, George Potter, ’twill take Sharkie Nye some half-hour to -tow into musket-shot in this dark whiles yon lanthorn, though a fairish -distance, is yet well within range ... nay, patience, George, lie still -and listen to me! The trouble seems to be yonder lanthorn—very well, let -us incontinent extinguish yon lanthorn....” - -“Aye, but how, sir—how?” - -“Hold thy tongue, George, and give me elbow-room.” - -“Why—why, Mus’ Pym,” gasped Potter, “you never think as you can manage -... so fur ... sich a liddle bit of a thing as yon lanthorn?” - -“With a bow and arrow, George, which was a weapon of less precision than -such musket as mine, the worthy Tell split an apple imposed upon his -small son’s head ... and to-night ... hum! Give me room, George!” - -Mr. Pym extended himself comfortably at full length; they heard the sharp -click as he cocked his long piece, watched him level it across convenient -rock, held their breaths while he dwelt upon his aim; a spurt of fire, a -roar that reverberated far and wide, a puff of smoke ... and the swinging -light was not. Ensued a moment of utter stillness, then from seaward came -an answering flash, hoarse commands, the red and white lights vanished, -and thereafter a riot of sound as the gloom of cliff and foreshore was -stabbed by musketry fire; and, lying face down upon the grass, Sir John -heard the whistle and hum of bullets in the air above him. - -“Quick!” cried Potter. “Run fur it, sirs, whiles they reload.... They -marked Mus’ Pym’s flash an’ some on ’em’s arter us—so quick it be!” - -A panting minute or so across smooth turf, a stumbling descent, a -desperate scrambling over loose pebbles, a breathless race across wet -sand, a groping among boulders ... and Sir John found himself alone; he -was standing thus, staring dazedly about him, in his ears the shouting -of his nearer pursuers, when from the dimness above a long arm reached -forth, a mighty hand grasped coat collar, and he was swung from his feet, -dragged through a rocky fissure, and found himself crouched beside Sir -Hector. - -“Aha, Johnnie,” whispered the giant, hugging him until he blenched with -the pain of his arm, “is this no’ a bonny place? They ca’ it Pook’s -Kitchen—forbye, there’s few as kens it ... the De’il himsel’ couldna -find us here, y’ ken.... Whisht, lie ye still, Johnnie; yon be only Pym -a-cursing, an’ sma’ wonder; the puir gentleman was forced tae leave his -gun behind.... O Pymmie-man,” quoth Sir Hector, wedging his vast bulk -deeper into the narrow cave, “’tis a sinfu’, waefu’, shamefu’ thing ye -should hae wasted y’r gifts on paint when ye wad hae made sic a bonny -musketeer!” - -“So far as my memory serves,” sighed Mr. Pym the Painter, “I dropped it -just after we crossed the pebble-ridge.” - - - - -CHAPTER XL - -DESCRIBES, AMONG OTHER THINGS, HOW MY LADY TRAMPLED TRIUMPHANTLY AT LAST - - -I - -“Beef, sir,” said Mr. Bunkle, laying a slice caressingly upon Sir John’s -plate, “cold roast-beef, sir, can be ate any’ow an’ anywhen, but sech -beef as this ’ere is best took plain and ungarnished ... though I wun’t -deny as a slice or so o’ b’iled-’am took therewith doan’t go oncommon -well, t’other actin’ upon which an’ bringing out the flavour o’ both, -sir, d’ye see! So shall us mak’ it beef-an’-’am, sir?” - -“Assuredly!” answered Sir John, seating himself at the table. - -“Sir ’Ector used t’ swear by my beef-an’-’am,’e did, but ’e doan’t tak’ -’is breakfast ’ere no more ... a changed man ’e be, sir.” - -“How so, Mr. Bunkle?” - -“Well, ain’t you noticed ’is wig, sir?” - -“Not particularly.” - -“’As it combed an’ curled reg’lar nowadays, ’e do ... sich a ’appy, -careless gen’leman ’e used to be, but lately ... well, ’e was a-wearin’ -’is second-best coat yesterday! Ah, a changed man be Sir ’Ector.” And Mr. -Bunkle nodded, winked and departed about his business. - -His breakfast done, Sir John arose and, mindful of his promise to -Herminia, took his hat and sallied forth for the matrimonial “prompting” -of the devoted Sir Hector MacLean. - -His reception was not propitious, for scarcely had he stepped across Sir -Hector’s threshold than that gentleman’s voice hailed him reproachfully: - -“Whisht, man—y’r boots!” - -“What of ’em, Hector?” - -“Ye’ve never s’muckle as wiped ’em, John! D’ye no’ ken wha’ yon mat’s -for? Here’s Rose, sweet lass, slavin’ for an auld sojer-body’s comfort, -here’s Wully Tamson workin’ himsel’ tae skin an’ bane—when her eye is -upon him—an’ here’s ye’sel’, Johnnie, treading dust a’ aboot the floor! O -man, hae a leetle conseederation!” - -Sir John, having carefully wiped his boots under Sir Hector’s strict -supervision, took occasion to glance round and behold the wonders -achieved, for indeed chaos had given place to comfort and a dainty -orderliness; it beamed and shone, it winked and twinkled in polished -brass and silver, it stirred gently in the curtains at open lattice, it -lay in the rugs upon raddled floor, it gleamed in the polished andirons -on the spotless hearth, and breathed in fragrance from the bowl of -flowers upon the mantel. - -“’Tis marvellous what a woman can achieve, Hector!” - -“Some women, John!” - -“We be miserable creatures without ’em, Hector.” - -“Aye, John, but woefu’ wretches wi’ ’em—generally.” - -“Now, talking of Rose——” - -“Man, she’s the exception! She’s like a beam o’ sunshine aboot the place -... sae neat, sae sweet ... an’ cook? Losh, Johnnie, she can roast -or boil sae savoury ’twould mak’ a man wish he were a camel wi’ twa -stomachs! An’ there’s Wully Tamson! Wully’s a changed man ... when fou, -whilk is no’ vera often, he gangs aroond wi’oot his boots an’ sleeps i’ -the woodshed. I’ fegs, Wully Tamson is——” - -“But we are talking of Rose.” - -“Aye, John, an’ ’tis a gey lucky man ye’ll be tae win sic a wife! She’s a -walkin’ wonder!” - -“Very true, Hector. And talking of wives, what of her aunt, the ... Mrs. -Saunders?” - -“Aye, an’ what o’ her, Johnnie?” - -“Well, is it not reasonable to suppose that the so great virtues of the -niece will be found intensified in the aunt?” - -“An’ what then, John?” - -“Why, then, seeing I woo the wondrous niece, why should not you woo the -more wonderful aunt?” - -Sir Hector very nearly dropped his cherished pipe. - -“Me, is it?” he exclaimed—“me woo a wumman? Me—wi’ ane leg i’ the ... -Losh, Johnnie man, are ye rin clean daft, whateffer?” - -“She is a woman of refinement, Hector, and altogether charming, and as a -wife——” - -“Whisht, man, ye fair mak’ me blush!” - -“And you, Hector, are none so ill-looking—‘when fresh shaved,’ and your -wig combed and ironed. Thou’rt vigorous and strong as a bull——” - -“Will ye no’ hae done, John!” - -“And she a delightful creature with the very charmingest natural -complexion and adorable eyes. You must ha’ noticed ’em when peeping at -her.” - -“Peeping!” gasped Sir Hector. - -“Aye, over the wall.” - -“John,” exclaimed Sir Hector, rising and drawing himself to his gigantic -height, “I may, peradventure, have ... chanced to cast a—a neighbourly -glance over the party-wall occasionally, but—peep, sir? I scorn the -imputation!” - -“But i’ faith, Hector, I vow she is well worth peeping at.” - -“Sir,” quoth Sir Hector, reaching hat and cane—“sir, a MacLean never -peeps!” Having said which, he clapped on his hat and stalked majestically -away. - - -II - -“Heavens, Herminia, how can you?” - -“What, aunt dear?” - -“Sprawl there like any naughty nymph ... and your petticoats ... -so careless and bold ... showing the prideful perfection o’ your -proportions, the fullness o’ your forms ... like a graceless Greek -goddess on a vase ... so free! Get up, child, do!” - -Herminia laughed and, pillowing head on clasped hands, stretched shapely -limbs voluptuously upon her grassy couch and stared up dreamily through -the leaves of the apple tree to the cloudless blue. - -“Concern me, child!” exclaimed the Duchess, glancing apprehensively -towards the party-wall. “Suppose he should be prying as usual?” - -“He would never see me, dear aunt! He hath eyes for no one and nothing -but you. And small wonder, for you are looking extreme well o’ late. You -grow younger every day, I swear y’ do ... that gown, now, becometh you -vastly!” - -“Mm!” quoth the Duchess, eyeing her niece warily. “Why this fulsome -flattery, pray?” - -“’Tis merest truth, aunt. And thou’rt looking thy best to-day, which is -well, for in half an hour I take thee to meet him.” - -“Him, Herminia? Can you possibly mean—him?” - -“Him, aunt.” - -“That odious ogre——” - -“That gentle giant, aunt.” - -“I’ll not go, Herminia.” - -“I suggest thy little laced cap with the blue ribbands, aunt.” - -“I detest your hateful giant, minx!” - -“Blue ribbands set off thy beauteous eyes to admiration, dear aunt!” - -“I say I’ll not go.” - -“And thy morocco shoes, aunt dear ... indeed, thou hast the littlest, -prettiest foot i’ the world!” - -“I vow I’ll not stir one step to see your odious giant.” - -“Then shall I carry thee, thou sweet atomy.” - -The Duchess stamped, sat down and frowned, but when she spoke her voice -was surprisingly complaisant: - -“My cap with the blue ribbands and my morocco shoes? So be it, thou -wilful wretch—go you and fetch ’em!” - -Herminia yawned, stretched languorously and rose. - -“Dearest my aunt,” quoth she, “when thou’rt happily espoused, forget not -’twas thy loving niece——” - -“Tush, minx—begone!” - -Herminia went; but scarcely had her stately form vanished within -the narrow doorway than the Duchess stealthily arose, caught up her -sun-bonnet and, opening the wicket gate in the garden wall, hasted away -down the leafy back-lane. - - -III - -Sir John was observing his resplendent image in the mirror; full-skirted, -embroidered coat moulded his graceful slenderness to perfection; his -gold-buttoned, flowered waistcoat was a work of art, white satin -small-clothes and gold-clocked silk stockings offset a pair of shapely -legs; diamonds sparkled in shoe-buckles and cravat; the long, glossy -curls of his peruke fell in that precise abandon which was strictly _à la -mode_; and yet his delicate brows were wrinkled in disapprobation. - -“They feel distinctly tightish, Bob!” he mourned. “I’ve grown damnably -robust and positively bucolic—horrific thought! Gad’s my life, I’m as -swarthy as a gipsy! Alack, Bob, where is now my romantic pallor? How -the devil may a man languish soulfully with a colour like a yokelly -ploughman? Vastly distressing, on my soul it is!” - -“A patch, sir?” suggested the imperturbable one. - -“Two, Bob, one at my mouth—exactly here! Now t’other below my eye—so! Now -a dash o’ the gillyflower essence ... and now my lightest cloak to veil -me from the curious.” - - -IV - -It was Mr. Unstead’s dun cow that did it, on this wise; chancing to meet -the small Duchess in the lane, this gentle ruminant had thrust forth -moist, inquiring muzzle and puffed in gusty fragrance, whereupon the -Duchess uttered a scream, a ladylike outcry small in volume as herself, -but a cry that was answered none the less very suddenly and to her own -gasping astonishment, for as she stood, crouched against the mossy wall, -staring fearfully at the dun cow’s perilous horns, she felt herself -caught up, lifted gently and set upon the broad coping of the wall, -whence she looked down to see the Ogre (in his second-best coat) gently -urge the inquisitive quadruped through an adjacent gate; which done, and -the gate secured, he returned and, uncovering bewigged head, favoured the -Duchess with a profound obeisance. - -“Madam,” he began in his very choicest English, “I sincerely trust -that”—here, suddenly espying her Grace’s small and very pretty feet, Sir -Hector blinked and resolutely averted his eyes—“that ye’re no’ fashed -or byordinar’ afeart by reason o’ yon coo, mam. She’s an unco’ gentle -creature an’ wadna harm a babe, mam——” - -“But I’m not a babe, sir!” she retorted, crossing her little feet -demurely and making the most of the pretty things—“far from it, sir! And -I detest cows ... especially in lanes! ... cows are so horribly horny!” - -“Why, as to that, mam,” answered Sir Hector a little vaguely, his glance -upon her feet again, “cow’s horns are a dispensation o’ Providence.... -Nature gave a cow horns——” - -“To fright fearsome females, sir! And here sitteth one perilously perched -and full o’ fears lest she fall! Take her down, sir—instantly,” said the -Duchess. - -Sir Hector glanced up and down the lane, looked at the little Duchess and -blenched. - -“D’ye hear me, sir?” she demanded. - -“Ou aye, Mrs. Saunders,” he answered. “Hae patience, mam.... Bide a -wee....” And he turned away; but scarce had he achieved two paces than -she summoned him back imperiously. - -“How, sir,” cried she, “will ye leave me—desert me in this dreadful -situation? Heaven help me, ’twould seem I am fated to sit helplessly -aloft——” - -“A ladder, mem.... I’ve a ladder in my garden.” - -“Tush for your ladder, sir! To leave me here—so heartless and hateful!” - -“Heartless, mam! No, no! By means o’ my ladder, y’ ken——” - -“Ha’ done wi’ your ladder, sir!” - -“But, losh, mam, hoo wull ye come doon wi’oot my ladder?” - -“How did I get here, pray?” - -“Leddy, ’twas a’ by the inspiration o’ the moment.” - -“Then pray be ‘inspired’ again, sir.” - -Sir Hector flushed, glanced at her little, helpless feet, her roguish -eyes, fumbled with his hat and dropped it; the little Duchess giggled. -Then Sir Hector took a deep breath and reached out his arms. - - -V - -Sir John, giving hat and cloak to the placid Betty, glanced round the -small room. - -“Pray tell your lady that Sir John Dering awaits her pleasure,” said -he, whereupon Betty curtsied, dimpled and withdrew, leaving him to -shoot his ruffles, adjust his laced jabot and glance into the mirror a -little anxiously, for now that the moment was at hand he was conscious -of a vague unease, a growing apprehension that plagued and puzzled him: -“How would she receive him?” Here was the question to which he found -no answer. Thus, for once unsure of himself, he shot ruffles, adjusted -cravat and glanced into the mirror all over again. - -Then the door opened and she stood before him, a radiant vision, -magnificently gowned, a glorious creature deep-eyed, red-lipped, vivid -with youth and strength, a woman nobly shaped, assured and confident in -her beauty. Proudly she swept towards him, closing the door behind her -while he stared motionless and tongue-tied, overwhelmed by the majesty of -her. - -“Madam!” he murmured at last. “Herminia!” and he bowed. - -“Sir!” said she, and sank down in billowing, gracious curtsy; but, alas! -as she arose her voluminous draperies caught up a three-legged stool; in -freeing herself of this, her panniers swept a china ornament crashing to -the floor; in turning to scowl at the fragments, over went the little -table, and, startled by its fall, she caught high heel in embroidered -skirt and would have fallen but for Sir John’s ready aid. - -“Faith, my lady,” he laughed, “we creatures of art be sadly out o’ place -among these homely things! Better my gentle Rose in her simple tire, thy -rustical John in his homespun——” - -“Loose me!” she cried passionately, and he was amazed to see he clasped a -raging fury. “Let me go!” she repeated. Mutely he obeyed, and she fronted -him, pale with anger and mortified pride. - -“Nay, Herminia,” he pleaded, “be it satin or merest rags, thou and -only thou art she I love!” And he would have taken her hands, but she -retreated with superb gesture and, catching the folds of her gown on the -arm of a chair, ripped it irretrievably. At this final catastrophe she -halted between laughter and tears, but, meeting his look, chose the third -alternative. - -“Sir, you ... laugh at me, I think?” - -“With thee, rather, my lady,” he answered; “for, O Herminia, an ordinary -cottage cramps and cannot hold us ’twould seem, nay, the whole wide world -were scarce great enough for such love as ours.” - -“I pray you speak for yourself, Sir John.” - -“Then hear me, Herminia, though verily my love transcends all speech and -thought, for ’tis of Infinity itself. With thee beside me life should -become more worthy for thy sake ... without thee ’twere an emptiness, -and death a lovely thing. Marry me, Herminia; see here upon my knees I -supplicate.” - -For a long moment Herminia was speechless because of her heart’s -tumultuous beating, her cheeks aglow, her eyes very tender beneath their -drooping lashes; but from Sir John, thus kneeling in his new humility, -her glance wandered to the shattered china ornament, the overturned -chair, the jagged rent in her gown, and from her parted lips trilled -sudden laughter, and, or ever she might check it, Sir John was upon his -feet, viewing her beneath wrinkling brows, coldly curious. - -“Ah, my Lady Barrasdaile,” said he softly, “in this sorry world are to -be found miserable wretches who, to vent their puny spite, will foully -desecrate the holiest of holies.... My love was a holy thing, and you, -for your foolish pride’s sake, would make a mock of it. Here, madam, I -read the grand culmination o’ your empty vengeance. Well, so be it. But -I tell you that ‘the Wicked Dering’ at his worst could never sink to -such depths as yours——” At this she turned and would have left him, but -his out-thrust arm stayed her. “One moment longer, madam!” he commanded. -“Your vengeance is complete, but ... my bitterest scorn goeth with you -now and——” - -“Your scorn!” she cried in choking voice; and, seizing his arm that still -barred her escape, she wrenched and twisted it in furious hands until he -winced with the pain of it. “Your scorn!” she panted. “You whose hands -are red with blood!” - -“God’s love, madam!” quoth he between pallid lips. “And was it you indeed -who with her own body would ha’ shielded me from an assassin’s stroke?” - -“And is it you would remember a moment of hysteria?” she retorted -passionately. - -Sir John recoiled. - -“Hysteria?” he stammered. “Hysteria? And was it so, indeed? Nay—nay, -madam, what mean ye?” - -“That the irresistible Sir John Dering hath met one woman at the least -who doth not succumb to his wiles and blandishments.” - -“Unworthy!” he exclaimed. “Oh, base and most unworthy!” - -But now, the door open at last, she fled from him and up the narrow -stair.... And after some while Sir John took hat and cloak and stumbled -forth into the golden afternoon, but for him it might have been blackest -midnight. - -Her Grace of Connington, returning at last by way of the wicket gate, -stole into the little house, her bright eyes a little brighter even than -usual; but in the act of laying off her sun-bonnet, paused, arrested -by a sound from the chamber overhead, and, running up the stair with -surprising agility, discovered my Lady Herminia face down upon the floor -among the ruin of her crumpled finery. - -“Why, Herminia ... dear child!” she cried. “O my love ... my precious -soul—what is it?” - -“Aunt,” sobbed my lady without lifting her woeful head, “O aunt ... I’ve -trampled him ... triumphantly ... at last!” - - - - -CHAPTER XLI - -TELLETH OF THE DUEL ON DERING TYE - - -Reaching the old cross, Sir John paused instinctively and leaned there, -oblivious to all but this most bitter of truths. She had acted ... from -the very first! The gentle Rose with her sweet simplicity was no more -than a figment of his own imagining. The cold, vindictive Herminia had -lured him on for this.... Here, indeed, was the culmination of her -heartless scheming. Her vengeance was accomplished.... And Rose had never -existed! - -Here, lifting clenched hand, he saw a slow trickle of blood that crept -beneath lace ruffle.... She had said his hand was bloody ... and to be -sure she had gripped and wrenched his injured arm. - -Now as he leaned thus against the cross, watching these slow-creeping -drops, he became aware of hoofs approaching at a wild gallop, and, -glancing up, espied a horseman who rode very furiously, and it was with -a faint surprise that he recognised Mr. Hartop; on came the parson, -spurring his plump steed mercilessly, until, perceiving Sir John, he -abated his speed somewhat. - -“Sir—sir,” he cried, his voice thin and high, “they are killing the -witch ... old Penelope Haryott! The mob is out ... my Lord Sayle will do -nothing. They’ve wrecked her cottage.... I’m for Sir Hector MacLean and -any who are men ... pray God we be in time! You, sir—quick, I beseech ... -High Dering.” - -“Sayle?” repeated Sir John. “Is he there?” - -“Sir, ’twas by his orders they ransacked her cottage seeking the man -Potter.... God help the poor soul! Haste, sir, if ye would be o’ service!” - -Next moment Sir John was before the ‘Market Cross Inn’ shouting for -horse, ostlers and the Corporal. - -“Sir?” questioned the imperturbable Robert, hurrying downstairs. - -“To horse, Bob, at once! Nay, first my sword with the rapier blade!” And, -unhooking the gold-hilted weapon at his side, Sir John tossed it upon the -table. - -“The one you bid me sharpen, sir?” - -“Yes, yes—and hurry, man, ’tis life and death!” And away hasted Sir John -to see the horses saddled, to mount and fume at the ostlers until the -Corporal came running, the sword beneath his arm. - -“Is’t sharp, Bob, is’t sharp?” questioned Sir John, as he buckled the -weapon on. - -“As a razor, your honour, both edges, from the p’int six inches up——” - -“Then up with ye and—spur, Bob!” The Corporal sprang to saddle, found his -stirrups, and, wheeling the high-mettled animals, they dashed into the -street and away at full gallop: and spur how he would, the Corporal had -much ado to keep Sir John in sight. - -Now presently, as they raced thus, they heard a distant sound that might -have been wind in trees, a vague murmur that grew upon them with every -stride, waxing ever louder and more terrible, a sound than which there is -surely none more dreadful, the ferocious, inarticulate roar of an angry -mob. - -With this awful clamour in his ears, Sir John spurred his horse to -yet faster pace; but across country he might save half a mile or so; -therefore steadying the mare he set her at a gate, cleared it gallantly, -and away pounded the sorrel at stretching gallop, taking dykes and brooks -in her stride: across and over and through ditch and fence and hedge, -swerving for nothing, staying for nothing, until, clearing hedge and -ditch at mighty bound, her fast-galloping hoofs thundered upon dusty road -again. - -And presently Sir John saw the thatched roofs of High Dering, and then -he was racing down its winding street; a moment more and he was upon the -Tye or village green where swayed a tumultuous, roaring crowd; and in the -midst, her white head horribly bedabbled, a mark for every gibing tongue -and merciless hand, reeled old Penelope Haryott. - -And now a demon awoke in Sir John; his modish serenity was utterly gone, -his eyes glared, his teeth gleamed between snarling lips and, spurring -his rearing horse, he drove in upon the mob, striking savagely with heavy -whip at the faces of such as chanced nearest: whereupon the full-throated -roar changed to shouts of anger and dismay, to screams of pain and fear, -to a whine. But, spurring upon the shrinking people, he lashed at them -as they had been curs, until the heavy whip broke in his grasp, and like -curs they ran before him, howling. Then chancing to espy Mr. Oxham, who -stood beside Sturton before ‘The Dering Arms,’ he wheeled and galloped up -to them. - -“Rogues!” he panted. “Where’s your master?—where is Lord Sayle?... Tell -him ... Sir John Dering ... awaits him.” - -“Sir John—Dering?” exclaimed Oxham, staring, while Mr. Sturton, uttering -a gasping moan, sank down upon adjacent bench and bowed his head between -clasping hands. And then Mr. Oxham was pushed aside and my Lord Sayle -stepped from the inn. - -Sir John lightly dismounted. - -“Ah, my lord,” quoth he, “so I find ye trespassing and murdering on my -land.” - -“I am here, sir,” retorted his lordship, scowling, “in the exercise of my -duty. If your tenants be minded to duck a notorious witch, ’tis no affair -o’ mine. And I warn ye, sir, that in yon old hag’s cottage we have found -indisputable evidence that——” - -“Tush!” exclaimed Sir John, “do not weary me with the details o’ your -man-hunting trade, sir. Your arm is strong enough to flourish a whip, -I perceive, and mine, you’ll observe, is less sound than it might be. -Come, then, my lord—the grass is smooth and level on Dering Tye—let us -forthwith earnestly endeavour to make an end o’ one another—for, by -heaven, I’ll wait no longer!” - -“Orme,” cried his lordship, “ha’ the goodness to bring my sword.” - -The Major hastened to obey and, taking the weapon, my lord stepped from -under the porch to where Sir John awaited him; side by side they walked -together, and together reached the smooth green, watched by the silent -crowd, which slowly closed about them until they stood within a wide ring -of hushed and awestruck spectators. Then Sir John tossed aside laced hat, -drew his sword, tossed the scabbard after the hat, and, point to earth, -watched his lordship do the same; but scarce was his blade free than -Lord Sayle sprang with glittering point out-thrust, but Sir John, ever -watchful, leapt nimbly aside, avoided the stroke, laughed, and steel met -steel. And, standing thus, poised, alert, eyes glaring into eyes, blade -pressing blade, Sir John spoke in his high, clear voice: - -“A murderous trick, my lord, and worthy of ye. Now, look around you, note -the beauty of this fair afternoon—’tis your last, my lord, for so sure as -you hold sword, I mean to kill ye!” - -The stamp of sudden foot, a flurry of twirling blades in thrust and -parry, and they were motionless again. - -“Kill and end ye, my lord!” repeated Sir John. “But first, for the -behoof of our so numerous spectators, we will show ’em a few gasconading -flourishes. Your coat, my lord, they shall see it flutter in merest rags -about you ere we finish—thus! So ho, my lord, one—two!” A sudden whirl of -close-playing steel, the flash of darting point, and now, as they thrust -and parried, all eyes might see my Lord Sayle’s brown velvet disfigured -by two gaping rents from waist to hem, and from the watching throng rose -a hoarse murmur of amazement. But my lord, nothing dismayed, fought but -the more warily, while Sir John, it seemed, grew ever the more reckless; -ensued long periods of fierce action, thrust, parry and counter-thrust, -followed by sudden pauses, tense moments of utter stillness wherein blade -felt blade and eye glared to eye. - -Foremost among the spectators loomed the gigantic figure of Sir Hector, -his face suffused and damp, who babbled prayers as the murderous steel -flashed and darted, while beside him stood Corporal Robert, deadly pale, -who muttered fitful curses. - -“Damme, sir, his arm’s begun a-bleeding!” groaned the Corporal. - -“Guid love us a’—so ’tis!” exclaimed Sir Hector, seizing the Corporal -by the collar; “an’ O Rabbie—man, see how wild he is.... Sayle will hae -him yet!” Here Sir Hector nearly swung the Corporal from his legs in his -emotion. - -For, indeed, Lord Sayle’s point time and again flashed perilously near; -once it flickered through the ringlets of Sir John’s peruke, and once it -tore the laces at his throat, but after every desperate rally it was to -be noticed that my lord’s brown velvet coat showed ever more woefully -tattered. - -Suddenly, albeit a little breathlessly, Sir John spoke, plain for all to -hear: - -“So much for your coat, my lord! And now for yourself—let us make an end -... you shall receive your quietus on the count of three.... One! Two!” -A sudden clashing of desperate steel, then my lord leapt out of distance -and, uttering a hoarse cry of bitter despair, hurled his useless sword -from him and stood dreadfully pale, bathed in sweat, and, striving to -voice his passionate hate, gasped mouthing incoherencies. - -“Take up your sword, sir—take up ... your sword and ... let us finish!” -panted Sir John. But Lord Sayle folded his arms, staring upon his -antagonist with eyes of murder. - -Then Sir John laughed. - -“What, have ye enough, sir?” he questioned scornfully. “Are ye done so -soon and never a drop o’ blood, nor so much as a scratch?” Receiving no -answer, he laughed again and turned his back. “Robert,” he cried—“Robert, -see the pitiful fellow off my land.” - -Stung to madness, Lord Sayle reached swiftly for his fallen sword, but -the Corporal was before him and, snapping the weapon across his knee, -tossed the pieces aside. - -“My lord,” said he, “your horse is yonder, I think.” - -Lord Sayle raised haggard face from earth to sky, stared round him upon -the gaping throng with expression bordering on despair, and strode -whither the Corporal’s finger pointed. And, as he went, the skirts of -his brown velvet coat fluttered grotesquely about him, yet of all who -watched, no one spoke, much less laughed. Reaching his horse, he mounted -and, without one backward glance, gathered up the reins and, spurring -savagely, galloped away, leaving his friends and servants to follow as -they would. - -“And now, Hector,” said Sir John, catching up his hat, “what of old -Penelope? How is she?” - -“Guid forgi’e me, Johnnie, I clean forgot the puir soul.” - -Reaching the little cottage, they found its new-planted garden a trampled -wilderness, its windows shattered, its newly painted door battered from -its hinges, and within, a scene of cruel wreckage. - -“Ah, well,” laughed Sir John fiercely, “my Lord Sayle yet lives!” And -then was a light foot upon the dark stair and my Lady Herminia faced -them, very pale. - -“Guid be thankit ye’re here, my bonny Rose!” exclaimed Sir Hector -fervently. “Hoo is yon puir Penelope?” - -“Alive, sir! You were in time, I thank God. I have put her to bed and -shall remain with her. I pray you bid my aunt to me hither and the maid -Betty.” - -“Ah, Rose,” cried Sir Hector, catching my lady’s hands and kissing them, -“thou bonny, muckle-hearted lass! O Johnnie, was there e’er sic a maid as -our Rose?” - -“Never, Hector—there never was! For Gad’s my life, Rose is not, was not, -nor ever will be——” - -“Eh—eh, Johnnie?” - -“The lady before us, Hector, is merely that blooming ‘toast,’ the -bewitching Barrasdaile.” - -“Losh, man John, wha’s a’ this?” - -“This, Hector, is the Lady Herminia Barrasdaile, niece to her Grace the -Duchess of Connington, whom we know here as ‘Mrs. Saunders.’ But as for -our loved Rose, alas, she was no more than a passing whim!” - -“Why—why.... O John!” stammered Sir Hector, loosing my lady’s nerveless -hands and falling back a step in sheer amazement. “O Rose, my bonny Rose, -wha’s a’ this?” he questioned. - -“The truth, sir,” she answered gently. “I am indeed Herminia Barrasdaile. -And now, by your leaves, I will go back to old Penelope.” - -And so, with a gracious curtsy, my lady turned and went softly up the -dark and narrow stair. - - - - -CHAPTER XLII - -MR. DUMBRELL MEDIATES - - -The news of my Lord Sayle’s shameful discomfiture on Dering Tye ran and -spread like wildfire; in town, village and hamlet near and far it was -the one topic of conversation, in busy market-place, at cross-roads and -sequestered lane, it was discussed; and ever the story grew. - -Dering of Dering was back home again and had forced Lord Sayle to fight, -and cut Lord Sayle’s clothes from him piecemeal and left him stark naked -as he was born! So ran the story to the accompaniment of thumping pewter -and gusty laughter, and proud was the man who could boast of having -witnessed, with his own two eyes, the never-to-be-forgotten scene. - -It is to be supposed that my Lord Sayle caught some faint echo of the -tale, for by day he held himself sullenly aloof, shunned alike by -dismayed friends and trembling servants; but at night, unseen, unheard, -who shall tell the agonies he endured, who describe the passionate -despair, the mortified pride, the futile rage and burning hate that rent -and tore him? All hell raged within his soul, a hell peopled by demons -that tortured him until came the arch-devil of Vengeance luring him to -his own destruction, urging him to that black gulf whence there is no -return. So made he Vengeance his comforter. - -Yes, Dering of Dering was home again and, mindful of the treatment it had -accorded John Derwent, High Dering was aghast; its women lamented to all -and sundry, its men shook gloomy heads, but none more despondent than -Thomas Nixon, landlord of ‘The Dering Arms.’ - -“To think,” sighed he, “to think as I stood ’ere an’ watched Sir John -turned out o’ his very own inn off his very own land! Mak’s me goo arl -’ot and shiversome it du, neighbours!” - -“But then ’ow was ’ee to know ’twas ’im, Tom?” quoth one of his hearers. -“’Ow was any on us to know?” - -“Bah!” snarled the ancient Dumbrell, rapping the table with his knobbed -stick and getting upon quavering legs. “Everybody ’old their tongues an’ -’ark to oi!” - -“Aye, but ’ow was anybody to know. Gaffer? ’Ow?” - -The Aged Soul snorted disdainfully. - -“’Ow was you t’ know?” he repeated. “Whoy by instink fur sure, same as oi -did! What if ’e called hisself Derwent an’ wore a little wig an’ no goold -braid onto ’is ’at? Oi knowed ’e wur quality moment oi seed ’im, oi did, -fur a gen’leman be arlways a gen’leman!” - -“Why that be true enough, Gaffer, but——” - -“Hesh!” snarled the Aged Soul. “Don’t goo fur to arg’ wi’ oi! As fur you, -Tom Nixon, ‘whatsoever a man sows that shall ’e rip!’ You let ’em turn -Sir John Dering out o’ ‘The Dering Arms’ an’ it be only nat’ral as Sir -John Dering’ll turn you out likewise.” - -“Doan’t ’ee say so, Gaffer!” pleaded the mournful landlord. - -“But oi du say so, Tom ... turned out ye’ll be sure-lye, -sarten-sure-indeed, my pore lad, ah—an’ mebbe hung or trans-ported ... -unless oi can say a word fur ’ee to Sir John hisself next toime ’e hap -along to see me.” - -“Lemme fill your pot again, Gaffer—do now!” urged the doleful Mr. Nixon. - -“No, no, Tom!” answered the Aged Soul sternly. “I dunno as I ought to -drink wi’ ye at arl—considerin’, that oi doan’t!” - -Here Mr. Nixon groaned, and at this juncture the Corporal was seen -approaching, at sight of whom the landlord’s depression increased and he -looked appealingly at the little old man, whereupon that Aged Soul waxed -suddenly magnanimous. - -“Arl roight, Tom, arl roight!” quoth he encouragingly. “Sir John be a -friend o’ moine, an’ so’s Corporal Bob. I dunno as oi wun’t put in a word -fur ’ee—leave it arl to oi!” - -Thus the Corporal, walking with head bowed as one in profound reverie, -heard himself hailed in piping, imperious tones, in answer to which he -approached slowly and somewhat unwillingly. - -“Mus’ Robert,” quoth the old man, “’ere be Tom Nixon as stood by whiles -Sir John Dering an’ you was turned out o’ this here inn o’ Sir John -Dering’s an’ consequently ought to be turned out loikewise immejit, an’ -’ung an’ jibbeted or transported! But oi moind Tom bein’ barn, an’ a -bit of a fule ’e’s been ever since, an’ consequent I be axin’ you to ax -Sir John to forget an’ forgive pore Tom an’ suffer ’im to boide on ’ere -arl-along-on-account-of pore Tom bein’ naun but a bit fule, d’ye see?” - -“Why as to that, Gaffer,” answered the Corporal, his glance roving afar, -“I ray-ther think Sir John’s forgot the incident; anyway, he don’t bear -malice.” - -“Meanin’ as ’e wun’t turn pore Tom out?” - -“I’m pretty sure he won’t,” answered the Corporal, his gaze still -abstracted. - -“An’ theer ye be, Tom lad!” quoth the Aged Soul triumphantly. “See what -oi’ve done fur ’ee an’ be dooly grateful.” - -“I be, Gaffer!” answered Mr. Nixon, his gloom lifted from him. “Lemme -fill your pot again. An’ you, Mus’ Doubleday, what’ll ye tak’, sir?” - -“Nothing, thank ye, Nixon,” returned the Corporal, and his roving glance -perceiving the flutter of a petticoat farther down the lane, he saluted -the company and turned away. - -“Robert,” cried the Aged Soul, admonishing finger uplifted, “if so be ye -hap’ to meet my Nan, doan’t ’ee nowise say nothin’ about this ’ere liddle -drop o’ ale, moind!” - -“Not a word, Gaffer!” answered the Corporal, and strode away. - -He found her demurely seated upon rustic bench in the little garden, -busied with her needle and rather more shyly surprised to see him than -usual. - -“Why, Mus’ Doubleday,” she exclaimed as he opened the gate, “you be two -hours afore your usual toime to-day!” - -“Two hours four an’ one-half minutes, Mrs. Nan,” he answered, consulting -the ponderous watch he carried. - -“Well, wun’t ’ee come an’ sit down, sir?” - -“Thank’ee, Mrs. Ann, I will ... but where, mam?” - -“Here for sure!” she answered, drawing her neat gown aside and tapping -the rustic seat with one finger. So the Corporal laid by his hat and, -seating himself beside her, remained for a space apparently lost in -contemplation of his riding-boots. - -“You be very silent, Mus’ Robert.” - -“Aye ... I’m thinking, mam.” - -“What about?” she inquired softly, stealing a sly glance at his down-bent -face. - -“I was a-thinking, mam, as this be a world o’ change. Aye, life has -changed and is a-changing for me con-siderable!” - -“What do ’ee mean, sir?” - -“I mean, Mrs. Ann, that I have lost my place as Sir John’s valet——” - -“Lost it!” she exclaimed aghast. “Lost it—O Mus’ Doubleday!” Her sewing -fell to the ground, and he would have picked it up but her hand on his -arm checked him. “Lost it?” she questioned again, whereupon he turned -away lest she might read his truthful eyes. - -“Aye, Mrs. Ann,” he mumbled, “Sir John hath dis-charged me; he ... he -don’t want me for his valet any longer, d’ye see....” The Corporal heard -a soft, inarticulate cry, and then her arms were about his neck. - -“Mus’ Doubleday ... O Robert!” she whispered. “There, there, never -grieve, then—doan’t ’ee! There’s me left ... arlways me ... an’ I shan’t -never change.” - -For a moment he sat motionless, then, forgetting his imperturbability -altogether, Corporal Robert clasped and drew her to his kisses; and -between the two of them they mightily ruffled his neat wig, whereupon he -snatched it off altogether. - -“Wait a bit, lass—wait!” he exclaimed, with a catch in his voice. “Look, -Ann, see how grey my hair is! I’m too old for ye, my sweet maid.... O -Ann, I’m forty-five and——” - -“Why, Bob,” she cried, between laughing and crying, “as if age -mattered—doan’t ’ee be fullish! An’ if your ’air be a bit grey-like,’tis -so I do love it best!” And, drawing his head down, she kissed him upon -each temple where the hair was greyest. “And so, dear Robert, if you’ve -lost your place wi’ Sir John Dering you’ve—found me!” - -“O Ann—my sweet,” said the Corporal, his voice more unsteady than ever, -“listen a bit more! ’Tis true Sir John hath discharged me ... I mean as -his valet, but—O Ann ... he’s made me his bailiff instead!” - -“Bailiff?” she gasped. “D’ye mean the same as Mus’ Sturton was? Wi’ -horses to ride ... an’ a fine house——” - -“And you in it, Ann—you in it to make it home. Though you’re much too -young for a wife ... or I’m much too old——” - -“O Bob!” - - - - -CHAPTER XLIII - -IN WHICH SIR JOHN DEVOTES HIMSELF TO THE MUSE - - -Dering of Dering being home again and his fame on every lip, it befell, -to Sir John’s dismay, that the ‘Market Cross Inn’ was generally a-throng -with visitors: sporting farmers who trotted up on their “bits o’ blood,” -country gentry, bucks of the quality, and not a few ladies of fashion, -all hither come to pay homage in their several ways to “the Wicked -Dering.” - -To avoid whom, Sir John promptly shut himself above stairs attended by -the Corporal, admitting none but Mr. Bunkle, adventuring abroad only -after dark. His injured arm still irked him, but this he accounted -nothing compared with the hurt he had suffered at my lady’s hands. - -In this situation he devoted the daylight hours to the Muse, and penned -many and divers satyric pieces concerning men and manners in general and -Woman in particular, with a view to publication in _The Satyric Spy, or -Polite Monitor_; while his lampoon on the Sex entitled, “The Jade Equine -and Feminine; or, The Horse the Nobler Animal,” progressed apace. - -It was then upon a sunny afternoon that he laid down his pen to stare at -floor and ceiling and walls, and finally at Corporal Robert busied with -books of accounts at a small table in adjacent corner. - -“Bob,” said he, with a yearning glance towards the open casement, “a -guinea—five guineas for a suitable rhyme to Herminia!” Hereupon the -Corporal glanced up, scratched his wig, rolled his eyes, and presently -hazarded: - -“‘Within ye,’ your honour?” - -“’Tisn’t grammar, Bob.” - -“What o’ ‘Lavinia,’ sir?” - -“Rhymes truly but won’t suit.” - -“I can’t think of any other, sir.” - -“Neither can I, Bob ... ’tis the devil of a name!” - -“Then why not choose another, sir?” - -“Hum!” quoth Sir John. Here silence again, then: “What are ye doing -there, Bob?” - -“Going through estimates for repairs o’ cottages at High Dering and -Selmeston, your honour.” - -“Then take ’em for a walk.... She will help ye, Bob.” - -“Aye, sir, she can write as plain as I can, and a wondrous ’ead for -figures—so mar-vellous quick, sir, and——” Here, meeting Sir John’s -quizzical glance, the Corporal checked and actually flushed. - -“And a pretty head it is, Bob! When are ye going to get married?” - -“We thought two months from now, your honour.” Here Sir John sighed and -glanced out of the window. - -“I hope you’ll be happy, Bob.” - -“Thank’ee, sir. I’m pretty sure o’ that.” - -Here Sir John sighed more deeply than before, then frowned as upon the -door was a rapping of peremptory knuckles. - -“I’ll see nobody!” quoth he. “No one, you understand!” Here a louder -knocking than ever. “Dammem, see who dares thus intrude, Bob.” Obediently -the Corporal unlocked, unbolted and opened the door, when he was -immediately caught up, lifted aside and Sir Hector strode in. - -“Losh, Johnnie man,” quoth he, “here’s four days by an’ never a glimpse -o’ ye! An’ wherefore?” - -“Because I detest being a raree show to be stared at by the curious idle, -for one thing. And because I desire solitude for another, Hector.” - -“Solitude, is it? Umph-humph! An’ what o’ a’ your loving frien’s?” - -“Meaning yourself, Hector?” - -“Ou aye, there’s ever mysel’, John; forbye, there’s ithers, ye ken——” - -“Begging your pardon, sir,” said the Corporal, taking his hat, “I’ll -step along, then, if I may, your honour?” And at a nod from Sir John he -departed, closing the door carefully behind him, which Sir John promptly -locked and bolted. - -“I say, there’s ithers, John!” repeated Sir Hector, seating himself by -the open casement. - -“Why, there is Corporal Robert; other friends have I none, Hector.” - -“Dinna be a muckle fule, John! Ye ken vera weel there’s Mrs. Saund—— I -mean the.... Her, for one, and—abune a’, lad, there’s that sweet, gentle -maid——” - -“Whom can you mean, Hector?” - -“I mean Rose, an’ weel ye ken it.” - -“Rose doth not exist.” - -“Well, Herminia, then. She loves ye, Johnnie.” - -“Hector, you rave!” - -“I tell ye she loves an’ is grieving for ye——” - -“A fiddlestick, Hector!” - -“The de’il awa’ wi’ ye! I say she’s breakin’ her heart for ye, John!” - -“Impossible! She hath no heart. She is naught but selfish pride, a -creature hard and cold, soulless and fickle ... in fine, a very woman! -And talking o’ The Sex, I have here a small effort in verse that I -venture to think is somewhat felicitous. Hark’ee and judge!” And, -selecting one of the many sheets of manuscript before him, Sir John read -as follows: - - “Old Satan womankind did plan - To be the bane and plague of man, - And woman since the world began - Hath been so. - For, be she, more than common, fair - She is but Satan’s chiefest snare. - Wherefore, then, of her wiles beware: - They bring woe.” - -“Hoot awa’!” ejaculated Sir Hector indignantly. “’Tis rankest blasphemy!” - -“’Tis very truth! And faith, it reads better than I thought. Mark this -line, Hector, ‘She is but Satan’s chiefest snare.’ ’Tis apt, Hector; ’tis -well expressed and should commend itself to all philosophers! Now, hear -the rest—nay, you must and shall! ’Tis brief, yet pithy.” And Sir John -read forthwith: - - “Therefore, who’d lead a quiet life, - Unmarred by turmoil, care and strife, - Avoid that dreadful thing called ‘wife’; - She’ll plague you! - Thus, is she as Aurora fair; - Or eke like night her raven hair, - ’Stead of her I would choose, I swear, - The ague. - -“How think you of it, Hector?” - -“That it should burn!” - -“Nay, rather in due season shall it lighten the page of _The Satyric Spy, -or Polite Monitor_. Indeed and verily, Hector, you were right and I was -wrong, for women, as you once truly said, are the devil!” - -Sir Hector’s keen gaze wavered for once, and he stirred uneasily in his -chair. - -“John,” quoth he, precise in his English, “if ever I voiced such damnable -heresy, which I gravely doubt, I ha’ forgot it, long since, as a man and -a MacLean should.” - -“Forgot it, Hector? Amazing! You that have ever held Woman in such -disdainful abhorrence!” - -“And suppose I did, sir?” retorted Sir Hector, flushing. “A MacLean may -change his mind and be the better of it.... And how may I help but revere -and admire The Sex with such an example as Rose, her sweet and gentle -ways——” - -“But Rose never was!” sighed Sir John. - -“Herminia, then!” snapped Sir Hector. - -“Not to mention her aunt!” murmured Sir John. - -At this, Sir Hector glared and made to rise, but, meeting Sir John’s -whimsical look, feeling his hand upon the sleeve of the second-best coat, -Sir Hector flushed, his gaze sought the green of the chestnut tree beyond -the open window, and his grim lips curved to a smile. - -“And ... O man, tae think she’s—a duchess! ’Tis awfu’, Johnnie, awfu’!” - -“Alas, Hector, to think she is a woman, and this is worse. A woman, -Hector, and therefore to be avoided. For, how saith your bard? - - ‘She is but Satan’s chiefest snare.’” - -“Umph-humph!” exclaimed Sir Hector, and rose. “Aweel, lad,” he sighed, “I -dinna ken wha’ bee’s in y’r bonnet regardin’ yon sweet Rose, but——” - -“Lady Herminia!” Sir John corrected. - -“But look’ee, lad, had it not been for Herminia’s loving, tender care, -Penelope Haryott would ha’ died.... And, talking o’ good women, John, if -ever there was one, it is Penelope.” - -“She knew my father, it seems.” - -“She did, John.” - -“She once showed me two miniatures....” - -“Aye, I mind your father having ’em done. Her likeness he kept always -... it was upon his breast the day he died! ’Twas that which turned the -bayonet into his heart!... He gave his earliest and, I think, his best -love to Penelope, and she but a cottager’s daughter born on his estate -and twelve years his senior. But she was beautiful beyond the ordinary, -and good as she was clever, and he wooed vainly ... even when he would -ha’ married her she would not ... because he was Dering of Dering and she -only her pure, humble self.... So, in time he wed your mother ... and -died in my arms ... murmuring—‘Penelope!’ Ah, John lad, if by reason of -some misunderstanding your heart be sore, never decry Woman ... for here, -truly, was one of the purest and most selfless, noblest of creatures!” - -Being alone, Sir John sat thoughtful awhile; at last he reached for his -manuscript, tore it slowly across and across, and threw it into the -fireplace; then, evening being at hand, he took hat and stick, and, -descending by a back stair, sallied forth into the fragrant dusk. - - - - -CHAPTER XLIV - -IN WHICH THE GHOST FLITS TO GOOD PURPOSE - - -It was dark as he reached the old stile hard by the little footbridge, -and, perceiving a shrouded form thereby, halted suddenly; but as he -peered, uncertain, a soft voice spoke: - -“John!” He drew back hastily; the figure moved towards him. “Sir John -Dering?” Off came Sir John’s hat in a moment, and he bowed profoundly. - -“Gad’s my life!” he exclaimed. “Do I indeed behold your ladyship? Bide -you still i’ the country, madam? A fair good-night to you!” And he turned -away, only to find her beside him. - -“Why—why will you hazard your life thus wantonly?” she questioned. “Nay, -sir, do not prevaricate; I know ’tis your custom to walk thus solitary of -a night.” - -“Your ladyship’s interest flatters me!” he murmured. - -“Surely, sir,” said she, in the same calm and gentle tones, “life is not -to be thus lightly jeopardised.” - -“Tush, madam,” he laughed, “you grow hysterical again, ’twould seem, -and ’tis a weakness of your charming sex that I have ever found extreme -embarrassing, not to say wearisome. I suggest a pill ... a bolus and -sleep, madam. Aye, sleep is the thing ... you shall find your megrims -gone i’ the morning. So sleep you soundly, madam, and farewell!” Having -said which, he bowed and departed, leaving her to watch him through -slow-gathering tears. And suddenly, finding herself thus deserted, she -bowed her stately head upon the old stile, wetting its ancient timbers -with her tears and weeping so unfeignedly that she actually sniffed, -though to be sure there was none to hear. - -Meanwhile Sir John, striding his solitary way, looked up at the stars and -smiled happily. - -“She cares!” quoth he within himself. “By all the saints in heaven, she -cares!” And, halting suddenly, he glanced back, minded to return. “Either -she loves me, or here was marvellous good play-acting ... which, now?” -Here he went on again, though very slowly, and coming to a gate, leaned -there to debate the point. - -My lady, reaching the cottage, paused awhile, also with gaze uplifted, -but saw the starry firmament blurred by smarting tears. - -“Alas,” sighed she, “he never loved me or he would have known! He is but -the heartless Sir John Dering after all!” - -“The question being,” said Sir John within himself, his gaze yet uplifted -to the firmament, “is she truly——” - -The stars seemed to shoot wildly from their courses, the earth to sway -giddily beneath his feet, then to plunge horribly down and down into a -roaring blackness. - -He awoke to a sense of pain, jolting and strangulation; slowly he became -aware that he lay bound hand and foot across the withers of a horse, and -with his mouth crammed almost to suffocation with a thing he took to be a -neckerchief. - -And after some while he was conscious of two voices wrangling -together—voices these that sounded vaguely familiar; and the first was -hoarse and sullen, the second sharp and querulous. - - THE FIRST VOICE: An’ whoy not, I sez? - - THE SECOND VOICE: Because I won’t have it. - - THE FIRST VOICE: An’ ’oo be you t’ say no? I be good a man - as you, aye an’ better! Ain’t I follered an’ follered ’im, - waitin’ my chance? Wasn’t it me as got ’im at last? Well then, - I sez we ought to finish an’ mak’ sure. - - THE SECOND VOICE: And I say no! - - THE FIRST VOICE: My lord bid us mak’ sure, didn’t ’e? - - THE SECOND VOICE: He’ll be sure enough once aboard ship. - - THE FIRST VOICE: An’ I tell ye ’e be better dead. - - THE SECOND VOICE: And I say, I’ll ha’ no more bloodshed. - -All about him was the tramp of feet muffled upon grass; and sometimes -it seemed they laboured uphill and sometimes down, but always these two -voices disputed, now waxing so loud and clear that he seemed on the point -of recognising them, now blurred and indistinct, sinking to a murmur, a -whisper, until they were not, and it seemed he was asleep and plagued by -nightmare. It was after one of these many lapses that he was conscious -the painful jolting had ceased, felt himself dragged roughly from the -horse’s back, and had a dim vision of many legs that hemmed him in as he -lay upon the grass. - -“Ain’t dead, is ’e?” inquired a hearty voice, faintly interested. - -“Dead—no, dang ’im!” answered the Sullen Voice, and a foot spurned him -savagely. “Dead—not ’im! Though ’e ought to be, aye an’ would be, if I -’ad my way.” - -“Easy, mate, easy!” admonished the Hearty Voice. - -“Hold y’r tongue, you do!” cried the Querulous Voice. “Hold your tongue -for a bloody-minded rogue or——” - -“Avast, shipmates!” quoth the Hearty Voice. “Throat-slittin’ be a -ticklish business.” - -“Yah—dead men doan’t talk!” - -“Mebbe not, mate, but live-un’s do! An’ then there be ghosts, shipmate, -ghosts, d’ye see.” - -“When can ye take him aboard?” demanded the Querulous Voice. - -“Why, the tide wun’t sarve for ’arf an hour yet. Plenty time to finish -my pipe.... An’ talkin’ o’ ghosts, there was my mate Jerry Banks as was -knifed aboard the _Belle Fortun’_ ... pore Jerry’s ghost used to come an’ -sit o’ nights perched aloft on our main-yard an’ mew like a cat! Aye, mew -’e would, an’ carry on that mournful ’twas ’orrible, mates——” - -“Hold your tongue!” cried the Querulous Voice. - -“Aye, we doan’t want none o’ your ghosts, do us, lads?” quoth the Sullen -Voice; whereupon was a mutter of hearty assent. - -“Why, very well,” answered he of the hearty voice, spitting, “only if -you’d a-heered the ghost o’ pore Jerry ... used to mew like any cat, it -did, only more dismal-like.... I never ’eered nothing in all my days so -shiversome and——” The Hearty Voice ended in a hiss of breath suddenly -in-drawn and thereafter was utter silence, a strange, unnatural stillness -wherein it seemed that none moved or breathed; and then rose a hoarse, -stammering whisper: - -“Lord ... O Lord a’ mercy! What’s yon?” - -Turning heavy head, Sir John saw about him a huddle of crouching men -who all peered in the one direction, heard an incoherent, passionate -muttering that changed to a groan, a gasping cry, and a man rose to his -knees with rigid arms out-thrust, staggered to his feet and leapt down -the grassy steep; hereupon the others awoke to sudden action; ensued a -desperate scrambling, a wild babblement, a thudding of desperate feet, -and Sir John lay staring on the empty dark alone save for the horse that -cropped the grass near by. And then he too saw a vague and awful shape -outlined in pale fire that flitted unheard upon the gloom and vanished, -only to reappear as suddenly, gliding back up the slope to where he lay. -And watching the thing approach, Sir John felt his flesh creep and he -shivered with a growing dread that mocked at sanity and reason until he -strove desperately against his bonds, but, finding this vain, lay still -again, watching. On it came, looming more gigantic and frightful with -every yard, nearer still, until he could distinguish the monstrous head -surmounted by widespreading, fiery horns, nearer, until from this awful -shape a whispering voice reached him. - -“Be that Sir John Dering? Be ye there, sir?” Then the dreadful thing -swayed, stooped upon itself, thudded to earth, and in its place was a -tall, broad-shouldered man who, running forward, knelt and began to cut -and loose off Sir John’s galling bonds. “Gagged ye too, ’ave they!” quoth -the voice, and next moment Sir John, relieved of the gag, reached out -fumbling hand and spoke: - -“Mr. Potter—O George Potter, though you come like a demon o’ darkness, a -very devil, yet no angel could be more welcome!” - -“Why, sir, Potter frit’ they rogues praper, I rackon. They cut off -amazin’ quick, an’ they ain’t like to come back—an’ yet they may. So up -wi’ ye, sir, an’ quick’s the word!” Sir John arose but, clapping hand to -head, reeled weakly. “Be your ’ead ’urted bad, sir?” - -“Nothing to mention, thanks to my hat and wig.” - -“Can ye ride, sir?” - -“Easier than walk.” - -“Well, up it is, then!” And, half lifting Sir John to the saddle, Mr. -Potter laid a shapeless bundle across the withers and they set off -together. - -“How came you so fortunately to my relief, George?” - -“Well, sir, I happed to be a-waitin’ for Mus’ Sturton an’ ... t’other -’un, meanin’ to frutten Sturton away an’ get t’other ’un alone if so -might be, when ’long comes ’alf a dozen chaps wi’ this ’ere ’orse an’ you -acrost it, though I didn’t know ’twas you then, sir. But suddent-like, -t’other ’un says, ‘Why not finish ’im and ha’ done?’ ’e says. ‘Because I -wun’t ’ave it!’ says Sturton, very determinated.” - -“’T’other ’un’ being the man Jonas Skag, I think?” inquired Sir John. - -“Why, sir, I wun’t deny it. Well, sir, they stops purty nigh wheer I -wur a-hidin’ to arg’ the matter, an’ I soon found ’twas you they was -a-quarrellin’ over. An’ presently on they goes an’ me creepin’ arter ’em -bidin’ a chance to do what I might.” - -“By means of your horns and bullock’s hide, George?” - -“Aye, this ’ere!” answered Mr. Potter, laying his hand upon the shapeless -bundle. “A good friend it’s been to pore Potter, sir. Ghosts be useful -things hereabouts.” - -“So I have observed!” smiled Sir John. “And, indeed, you were a terribly -convincing ghost.” - -“Naun so bad, sir,” admitted Mr. Potter modestly. “I done my best off an’ -on. Though I don’t like hauntin’ in the open—gimme a wall! Ye see, some -folks be apt to shoot ... there be four or five bullet-’oles in this ’ere -ghost arlready!” - -Talking thus, they at last reached the highroad, and Sir John saw the -lights of Alfriston twinkling before them. Here the discreet Mr. Potter -stopped and, lifting finger to eyebrow, bade Sir John good-night. - -“You’ll be arl right now, I rackon, sir,” said he. - -But Sir John reached down to grasp his hand. - -“You know who I am, I think?” he questioned. - -“Aye, Sir John, you be Dering o’ Dering.” - -“And a magistrate besides, George Potter, a justice o’ the Peace and -Quorum.” - -“And I be Potter the smuggler, sir.” - -“And a man, George! And ’tis as such that I shall always know you, -so—give me your hand, friend George!” - -So, in the gloom, hand met and grasped hand. - -“Lord, sir,” quoth Mr. Potter, “I dunno as I bean’t a bit ... glad-loike, -you callin’ Potter your friend an’ arl——” - -“Why then, George, pray tell me why do you seek Jonas Skag so earnestly?” - -“Well, from what I be hearin’ ... an’ likewise addin’ two an’ two, I -rackon Jonas knows more’n a bit about that theer false signallin’ ... an’ -if so be I find ’e do ... why then, sir—why then——” - -“Well?” - -“No matter, sir—mum for that. But I rackon ’e wun’t nowise betray no lads -to theer deaths never no more!” - -“What do you mean, George?” - -“Nothin’ ’t arl, sir.... Only, talkin’ o’ ghosts, rackon I made a -pretty tidy ’un, but the fire were old Pen’s idee, though she calls it -phross-phross.” So saying, Mr. Potter shouldered his bundle and trundled -off in the gloom of the hedge, leaving Sir John to ride thoughtfully into -Alfriston. - - - - -CHAPTER XLV - -WHICH, AS THE READER OBSERVES, BEGINS AND ENDS WITH MY LORD SAYLE - - -My Lord Sayle tugged at the bell-rope and thereafter stared out into -the sunny garden again as he had done for so long; and presently, the -door opening softly, a man-servant entered who, beholding thus suddenly -my lord’s intent face, checked, shrank back, and stood, the door in his -hand, gazing with eyes of fearful wonder. At last, becoming aware of -the servant’s presence, my lord spoke, but preserving always his rapt -expression: - -“Is Major Orme in the house?” - -“No, my lord ... the Major left ... early this morning, my lord.” - -“Well, Sir Roland Lingley?” - -“My lord, he ... went with the Major.” - -My Lord Sayle’s black brows twitched slightly, but he never moved, -staring always out upon the sunny garden like one who saw that which no -other eyes might behold. - -“They left no message?” - -“None, my lord,” answered the man-servant, drawing a soft pace backward -as he watched that rigid face. - -“Send Sturton to me.” - -“Yes, my lord.” - -“And hark’ee! If I should ring again, see that Tom and Roger -answer—themselves only!” - -“Yes, my lord!” murmured the servant, shrinking again as with a last -stealthy glance he went softly forth, closing the door gently behind him. - -So Orme and Lingley had gone! Even they had deserted him at last! Well, -so much the better ... considering. But the smile that distorted my -lord’s mouth was evil to see. - -And after some while the door opened and Mr. Sturton appeared, who, at -sign from my lord, entered and closed the door. - -“So—o—o!” said his lordship, dwelling upon the word while he stared into -the haggard face before him. “You have failed—again, Sturton?” - -“’Twas no fault o’ mine, my lord; in another ten minutes we should ha’ -had him safe aboard ship——” - -“Ship?” The word was almost a whisper, and yet James Sturton recoiled and -his face seemed even more livid as he met the speaker’s glance. “Fool!” -continued my lord in the same dreadful, hushed voice. “Fool, in the -corner yonder you will find a sheet o’ crumpled paper ... open and read -it ... read it—aloud!” - -Looking whither my lord pointed, Mr. Sturton took up and smoothed the -crumpled sheet, glanced at it and hesitated. - -“Aloud, my lord?” - -“Aloud, fool!” - -Then, mumbling somewhat, Mr. Sturton read as follows: - - “Sir John Dering begs to say that unless my Lord Sayle is out - of the country within forty-eight hours, Sir John proposes - calling upon my Lord Sayle with the stoutest horse-whip to be - found.” - -“And you said ‘ship,’ I think?” inquired my lord in the same strangled -voice. - -“My lord, once aboard that ship he would trouble your lordship never -again.” - -“‘Trouble me never again!’” murmured Lord Sayle. “He never will ... he -never shall ... but a ship? No, no!... A ship? Pshaw! We know a better -way and a surer—eh, Sturton?” - -“Your—your lordship means?” - -“Exactly what you are thinking, Sturton!” As he spoke, my lord crossed to -a cabinet and, opening a drawer, came back with a brace of pistols in his -hands. Now, glancing from these murderous things to the face above, James -Sturton flung out wild hands and started back. - -“No, no!” he cried. “Not this way, my lord; I cannot!” - -“You will!” nodded my lord gently. “You know very well he walks or rides -frequently to High Dering of an evening—alone! It will be simple.” - -“My lord, I ... I cannot!” - -“Meaning you will not?” - -James Sturton stared desperately about him at floor and ceiling and -walls, but never once at the speaker’s face; finally he spoke: - -“I ... I cannot, my lord.” - -“Ah!” said his lordship, and stood regarding Sturton with an expression -of mild curiosity. “So you—refuse?” - -“I do, my lord!” mumbled the wretched man. - -“Knowing that I can hang you for the murderer you already are? Still, -you—refuse?” - -“My lord, I do.... I must.... I—I cannot do it!” - -His lordship slowly and deliberately returned the weapons to the drawer, -locked it, and stood awhile staring at the key in his hand. - -“Why, then,” said he at last, still intent upon the key, “perhaps -you will be good enough to pull the bell.” Mr. Sturton obeyed, but, -chancing to catch a glimpse of my lord’s face in the mirror, he glanced -apprehensively towards the door with the wild glare of one who suddenly -finds himself in a trap; but even as he stared at it, the door opened and -two men entered. For a moment was silence; then, without troubling to -turn, my lord spoke: - -“You will take this white-livered cur ... strip him and—drive him out! -Strip him—you understand!” Ensued riot and confusion; but, despite his -cries and desperate struggles, James Sturton was seized and dragged away -at last; then my Lord Sayle, chin on breast, stared out into the sunny -garden again. - -Slowly the glory faded and the shadows deepened as evening approached, -but surely never was there shadow so dark, so ominous, so evil to behold -as that upon the face of my Lord Sayle. Now if, by some coincidence, he -had chanced to be regarding the noble constellation of Orion, as was -Corporal Robert Doubleday, surely no two pairs of eyes ever gazed upon -Orion’s glittering belt with expression so vastly different! For this -evening the Corporal’s eyes held a light all their own, his lean, brown -face wore an expression of extraordinary gentleness, and as he strode -blithely across fragrant meadow he even essayed to sing; to be sure, his -voice was somewhat husky, and creaked a little uncertainly as by lack of -use, but he sang perseveringly, none the less, an old marching song he -had sung often in Flanders years ago, set to the tune of “Lilliburlero.” - -But, all at once, in the very middle of a note, he checked voice and foot -together as forth from a hedge before him protruded a head and a pair of -stalwart shoulders clad in an old frieze coat. - -“Ha! Is that you, George Potter?” - -“My own self, Mus’ Robert. Might you ha’ chanced to see a man ... or, -say, two ... hereabouts, as you come along?” - -“Not a soul!” - -“Ah! An’ wheer might Sir John Dering be now, Mus’ Robert, d’ye s’pose?” - -“I left him at ‘The Cross,’ but he usually walks abroad of an evening.” - -“Aye, so ’e do, Mus’ Robert ... but ... doan’t ’ee let ’im goo out o’ -your sight this night.” - -“Why not? What d’ye mean, George?” - -“Well, rackon it bean’t no-wise ’ealthy-like for Sir John to goo -a-walkin’ to-night alone, ah—an’ p’r’aps not then.” - -“And why? Ah ... d’ye think——” - -“Aye, I do think!” nodded Mr. Potter. “I think as mebbe Murder’ll be -a-walkin’ to-night.” - -“Murder?” repeated the Corporal, falling back a step. “Murder? What d’ye -mean, man? Speak plain.” - -“Why, then, I means plain murder.” - -“Who d’ye mean, George?” - -“Well, there be them as wishes others dead, d’ye see—but mum! Only I -should keep ’im safe indoors to-night if I was you.” - -“By God, d’ye say so, George?” cried the Corporal; and staying for no -more, he set off at a run; and now, as he hasted thus, his feet seemed to -beat out the awful word: mur-der, mur-der, and his thoughts were full of -it. - -Murder, indeed! But who shall plumb all the sullen deeps of a murderer’s -soul? Who comprehend the motives that speed him on? What ears but his -may catch those demon voices that have eternally wooed and urged, argued -and threatened, ceaselessly day and night, until he sees nothing, hears -nothing, is conscious of nothing but the one purpose so gradually decided -upon and, at last, so passionately desired. What normal intelligence may -comprehend the mind of a murderer? - -Watch him as he creeps forth upon his awful business, a dreadful, furtive -creature seeking his unsuspecting victim.... Behold now the generous cock -of his hat, his neat wig, his full-skirted coat of sober hue! Looked at -from behind, he might be mistaken for an itinerant preacher of Quakerish -persuasion, but seen from in front he can be nothing under heaven but the -murderer he is in his soul. - -Thus goes he, his every faculty so intent upon his ghastly work that he -sees nothing, hears nothing of the Nemesis that dogs him in the shadows, -pausing when he pauses, looking where he looks, going on again with him -step for step, silent, purposeful and so dreadfully patient. - -So come they at last, the Murderer and his Nemesis, to a leafy grove that -all day long has rung with the joyous carolling of birds, but now, hushed -and silent, is a place of gloom meet for dark and stealthy deeds. Within -this place of shadow Murder creeps, seeking a place where, unseen, he may -destroy, but always unconscious of the lurking shape of the Nemesis that -flits ever behind him; suddenly he starts and crouches, to peer along the -glimmering road, for upon the silence is the sound of a man’s light tread -coming at slow, unhurried pace—the footsteps of a man who dreams.... -Stay! What other feet are those that come at such wild speed, nearer and -nearer, until they slacken somewhat and a panting voice speaks: - -“Your honour ... I was a-coming ... to meet ye.” - -“And in mighty haste, Bob!” - -“Why ... as to that, sir—’tis growing dark——” - -“Since when were you afraid o’ the dark, Bob?” - -“Why—it looks like rain, sir.” - -“On the contrary, ’tis a very fine night.” - -“Why, then—let us walk, your honour.” - -“Nay, I’m minded to be alone.” - -“But, sir, I——” - -“So go you in, Bob, and order supper.” - -“But, your honour, I——” - -“Pray leave me, Robert.” - -“Why, sir—George Potter ... he warned me that——” - -“That what?” - -“That ’twasn’t, as you might say, healthy for you hereabouts to-night, -sir, and——” - -“The thought charms me, Robert. And now—pray be gone.” - -“But, sir, if you’ll only——” - -“Damme! Will ye go?” - -A distressful sigh; the sound of heavy feet unwillingly retreating, feet -that hesitate more than once ere they finally die away. And presently the -light tread comes on again, slow and unhurried as before. Then Murder, -peering from the shadows, crouches low, raises and steadies right hand.... - -A ringing shot from the denser gloom, a cry of amazement lost in -strangling groan.... A second shot, louder, nearer ... a dreadful gasping -... a horrid thrashing among the underbrush ... silence. Then Sir John, -staring upon that place of horror, began to creep thither ... was aware -that men were running towards him, shouting to one another, and, without -looking, knew these for Robert and George Potter, which last bore a -small, covered lanthorn. - -So, together, they entered the little grove, and presently came upon a -stilly shape crouched face down among the underbrush; and beholding the -three-cornered hat of generous cock, the neat wig, the wide-skirted coat, -Mr. Potter whistled softly. - -“Rackon Sturton’s got it at last!” quoth he. - -“Aye, but—there’s another over here!” cried the Corporal from the denser -shadows. “Aye—another o’ them ... and it looks—it looks like ... bring -the light!” - -Coming where stood the Corporal, Mr. Potter bent down, lanthorn in hand, -only to start to his feet again very suddenly. - -“Lord!” he exclaimed in awestruck voice. “Why, lord, sirs, this ’un be -Sturton, sure enough ... aye, an’ sure enough dead.... Rackon ’e won’t -never want no more.... But who—who lays over yonder?” - -They came back to the first still form and, while Sir John held the -lanthorn, Potter and the Corporal turned it over and, recoiling, stood -mute a while and motionless; for there, scowling up at them in death as -he had so often done in life, was the dead face of my Lord Sayle. - - - - -CHAPTER XLVI - -TELLS HOW SIR JOHN DERING FLED THE DOWN-COUNTRY - - -The ancient cross was casting its shadow far athwart the silent street, -for it was very early and the sun but new-risen, therefore the birds -were jubilant, raising a chorus of welcome to the new day; but Sir John, -leaning out from his bedchamber window, gazed down at the battered old -cross very wistfully and sighed deep and often. To him presently entered -Corporal Robert, bearing a valise. - -“You ordered the chaise for half after four, Bob?” - -“I did, sir.” - -“And you ha’ told no one of my proposed departure ... Sir Hector, for -instance?” - -“No, sir.” - -“Excellent!” murmured Sir John, and sighed immediately. - -“I mentioned the matter to nobody, sir—except ... Her, your honour.” - -“Her?” exclaimed Sir John, starting. “’S death, man, she is the very last -person—hum! Whom d’ye mean, Bob? What ‘her’?” - -“The—one and only, sir ... Ann, your honour.” - -“Ha! And d’you tell her—everything?” - -“Well—very near, sir.” - -“And she still loves ye, Bob ... art sure?” - -“I venter so to believe, sir. She—she tells me so, your honour.” - -“A good woman’s abiding love,” sighed Sir John, “is a very precious thing -to a man o’ sentiment.” - -“Yes, sir.” - -“And extreme rare, Bob.” Here Sir John scowled at the old cross and -became bitter all at once. “Aye, indeed, true love in a woman is as hard -to find as flies in winter or ice in summer, by heaven!” - -“Indeed, sir?” answered Robert the Imperturbable. “Will you have your -blue and silver in the valise or——” - -“Damn my blue and silver!” - -“Yes, sir.... Or shall I pack it in the trunk along o’——” - -“Curse the trunk! Curse everything! I’m talking o’ love!” - -“Very good, your honour.” - -“And I say that women’s love is a devilish shy thing, very apt to take -wing and fly away. ’Tis found but to be lost. ’Tis a slight thing and -very transient. Pluck it and it withers, grasp it and it crumbles to -sorry dust, taste it and ’tis ashes in the mouth. ’Tis a bitter-sweet, an -emptiness, a merest bagatelle, an apple o’ Sodom!” - -“Indeed, sir? And will you wear your light walking-sword with the -silver——” - -“Burn ye, Bob, are ye attending? I said an apple o’ Sodom!” - -“Why, your honour, it don’t sound a very tasty fruit.” - -Sir John’s gloomy features were lightened by a passing smile. - -“Ah, well,” he sighed, “Venus be kind to thee, Bob!... And to-day you -begin your new duties. You will look to the comfort and welfare of the -tenantry?” - -“I’ll do my best, sir.” - -“Aye, I’m sure you will.” - -“Though your honour will be sorely missed.... And the old House o’ Dering -... all done up like noo, such paintin’ and gildin’ ... and now to go -empty still! Aye, High Dering will surely miss your honour.” - -“Never i’ the world, Bob!” - -“And Sir Hector will likewise miss ye, sir.” - -“Aye, he may.” - -“And I shall miss your honour.” - -“For a little while, mayhap.” - -“Always and ever, sir!” - -“You will have a young and pretty wife soon, Bob.” - -“Aye ... and she will miss ye too, sir—we shall both miss ye.... And -there’s—others, sir——” - -“Who, pray?” - -“Your lady, sir.” - -“I ha’ no lady.” - -“I mean Mrs. Rose——” - -“There is no such creature!” - -“Well, sir, my Lady Barrasdaile, your honour, she will be——” - -“Enough!” said Sir John in his haughtiest tone, and regarding the -Corporal with his iciest air of fine-gentlemanly aloofness. “You may -leave me, Robert!” - -“But I’ve your honour’s valise to pack, sir, and——” - -“Then you may pack it elsewhere ... pray, leave me!” - -The Corporal glanced furtively askance, and, noting the droop of Sir -John’s eyelids, the tilt of his chin, gathered up clothes and valise and, -shaking gloomy head, departed forthwith. - -Left alone, Sir John leaned pensively from the open casement again, to -survey the deserted, winding street with its narrow pavements, its tiled -roofs, its neat rows of houses, and the battered shaft of its age-worn -cross rising stark against the sun’s level beams, for it was in his mind -that he might never behold this scene again, and he sighed more deeply -than ever; then leaned suddenly to peer down the street, for upon the -air was a sound of approaching feet that woke the echoes—heavy feet that -strode masterfully; and thus he presently espied Sir Hector, his wig -askew, his weatherbeaten hat cocked at combative angle, purpose in every -line of his gigantic figure. - -Sir John frowned, pished and psha-ed, and, turning from the window, -summoned Corporal Robert. - -“You tell me that Sir Hector is unaware of my early departure?” he -demanded. - -“So far as I know, sir.” - -“Then what doth he abroad at so unseasonable an hour, pray?” - -“Abroad, your honour? Where, sir?” - -“Coming up the street—demme! There he is!” exclaimed Sir John pettishly, -as a loud whistle shrilled beneath the window. - -“Aye, that will be Sir Hector, your honour.” - -“Well, I’ll not see him! Confound everything, I say, I’ll not be -pestered, Bob!” - -“Oho, John ... Johnnie ... ocheigh!” - -Sir John promptly closed the window, whereupon Sir Hector’s voice rose -but the louder: - -“Oho, John ... wull ye no loot me ben?” - -“Damme, but he’ll rouse the village!” cried Sir John. - -“Shall I go down and let him in, your honour?” - -“Yes, yes, in the devil’s name! And hurry, he’ll be roaring in a moment.” - -Downstairs hasted Corporal Robert and opened the door, thus checking Sir -Hector in the very commencement of an eldritch Highland war-cry, who -nodded grimly and mounted the stair forthwith. - -“Weel, Johnnie,” quoth he, “sae ye’re gangin’, lad, awa’ frae your -friends——” - -“In about twenty minutes, Hector.” - -“Aye! An’ whyfor maun ye steal awa’ wi’ no sae muckle as a grup o’ the -hand?” - -“I intended to write to you, Hector.” - -“Aye! An’ what o’ the leddies ... especially one?” - -“I trust they are blooming in all health.” - -“Aye! An’ whyfor maun ye rin awa’? Why maun we twine?” - -“Because, since my Lord Sayle hath ceased to be, I languish for an -object, Hector. The country wearies me.” - -“Aye! An’ whaur are ye intendin’ for?” - -“London or Paris, perchance both.” - -“Ou aye! An’ whiles ye’re gallivantin’ yonder, what o’ the puir, sweet -lass wha’s breakin’ her heart for ye? What o’ Rose—no, the Leddy -Herminia?” - -“I venture to think her heart, if she hath one, is as sound as ever——” - -“Ha! O man, I whiles wonder at ye!” - -“Faith, Hector, the heart o’ your finished coquette is a tough morsel——” - -“And—ye loved her once, John!” - -“I admit the folly, Hector. But my lady, happily for me, very -deliberately and effectively killed that very preposterously foolish -passion.” - -“She slaughtered it unco’ quick, John, I’m thinkin’!” - -“Yet none the less effectually, Hector.” - -“Ah, John lad, but true love taketh a deal o’ killing, and moreover——” - -“Gad’s life!” laughed Sir John. “What know you o’ love?” - -Sir Hector quailed somewhat, dropped his hat and grew uncommonly red in -the face, picking it up. - -“Why, since you ask,” he answered, “I—I’ve read some such in a book.... -But, talkin’ o’ Rose—Herminia——” - -“Is so much waste o’ time and breath, Hector.” - -“John ... O Johnnie, dae ye mean that?” - -“Extremely!” - -“You hae no desire to see her, or hear——” - -“Positively no!” - -“Then ye’re a heartless gomeril!” - -“Venus be thanked!” - -“Man, are ye gone gyte? John, this is no’ like ye. ’Tis unworthy! This -smacks o’ pride an’ fulish pique!” Sir John flushed angrily and opened -the lattice. - -“Enough, Hector!” said he, glancing out into the street. “Let us converse -of other things—my chaise should be here soon.” - -“John,” continued Sir Hector in his most precise English, “thou’rt -throwing away a great love, such a love as cometh to bless but few poor -mortals, and then but once, for true love, John, being lightly scorned, -cometh not again ... forbye, I read this in a book also!... But, O lad, -’tis in my mind you shall come to rue this bitterly—aye, to your last -hour.” - -“Why, then, pray heaven I live not overlong!” - -Sir Hector stared into the coldly smiling face before him much as it had -been the face of a stranger. - -“Why, then, I’m by with ye, John!” sighed he. “Only this, either you are -utterly heartless and selfish or....” - -“Or, Hector?” - -“Or agonising for her in your heart!” - -“And yonder,” said Sir John, glancing from the window—“yonder is the -chaise at last, I think.” - -The vehicle in question having drawn up before the inn, Sir John put on -hat and cloak and they descended the stair, all three, and with never a -word between them. - -“The valises, Robert?” - -“Here, your honour!” - -“The trunk, Robert?” - -“Aye, sir!” And, beckoning to the post-boy, Robert hurried back upstairs, -leaving Sir John to glance at the chaise, the horses, the blue sky and -the deserted street, while Sir Hector stared gloomily at his own shabby -hat, turning it over and over as if it had been some rare and very -curious object. - -“’Tis to Parus ye’ll be gangin’, John?” - -“Very like, Hector.” - -“An’ the de’il! Aye, ’tis the muckle de’il ye’re bound for, lad!” - -“Not necessarily, Hector.” - -“Troth, an’ indeed Auld Hornie’ll hae ye in his cloofs for guid and a’ -this time. Oh, ’tis waefu’ an’ a’ by reason o’ your stubborn, wilfu’ -pride!... An’ here was Auld Hector dreamin’ o’ ye settlin’ doon at -last wi’ a bonny wife ... aye, an’ bairns, mebbe!... I was thinkin’ if -... your first chanced to be a boy ... mebbe you’d name him after me. -Hector’s no sic a bad name, Johnnie ... but now....” - -“Now, Hector, seeing I have not the remotest thought of marrying, why -not get wed yourself ... Mrs. Saunders, say ... and call your first son -‘John’ after me?” - -“Whisht, lad, dinna lichtlie the matter! Do not mock, sir!” - -“I speak in all seriousness, Hector.” - -“Do not make me a jest, sir! Do not sneer at an old man’s dreams.... They -were very dear, very sacred to me. And now they lie shattered by your -detestable selfishness ... and I am an old man indeed!” - -“Though you never looked stronger, Hector!” - -“And what o’ your tenantry, your people that should be your -responsibility?” - -“I leave them in good and, I think, capable hands.” - -“And Dering Manor, John ... the old house you’ve just had made habitable, -will you leave it to emptiness and decay?” - -Sir John turned to stare down the empty street. - -“Go you and live there, Hector,” said he at last. “Why not? Mayhap -I shall come back one day, but ... just now I—I could not bear the -place.... And, thank heaven, here they come with the trunk!” So saying, -Sir John stepped rather hastily into the chaise as Robert and the -post-boy appeared, bearing the leathern trunk between them. - -“All aboard, Bob?” - -“Aye, your honour.” - -“You will write every week regarding the estates?” - -“Every week, sir.” - -“Then good-bye, Bob!” - -“Good-bye, your honour!” And, having shaken the hand Sir John extended, -the Corporal took three steps to the rear and stood at attention. - -“Good-bye, Hector!” - -“Fare ye weel, John! An’ ... ye’ve nae worrd for her ... no message? -Juist ane worrd, John?” - -“Not one, Hector!” - -“Aweel, guid-bye, lad! An’ when ye’re weary an’ waeful an’ heartsick, -come back tae Alfriston, to the Downs, tae auld Hector as lo’es ye vera -weel—guid-bye!” Then Sir Hector nodded, the post-boy cracked his whip and -the chaise rolled away. - - - - -CHAPTER XLVII - -TELLETH HOW MY LADY HERMINIA BARRASDAILE WENT A-WOOING - - -It was a golden morning; beyond dew-spangled hedgerows stretched green -meadows where brooks sparkled and the river gleamed, while afar, to right -and left, rose the majestic shapes of Windover and Firle Beacon. - -Never had the country looked so fair, never had it filled him with such -yearning; never had the birds carolled so joyously. And very soon, -instead of this widespread smiling countryside he loved so much, the -reverent hush and stillness of these everlasting hills, the rugged, -simple folk he had learned to honour and respect, in place of all this -would be the narrow, roaring streets of London, the glitter of Mayfair, -the whirl of Paris.... Emptiness and Desolation! Sir John sighed again -and closed his eyes wearily. - -Presently from an inner pocket he took a wallet, whence he extracted a -small, folded paper and, opening this, beheld a thick curl of glossy -black hair; for a long moment he gazed down at this; then, taking it -from the paper, made to toss it from the chaise window. But, as he did -so, the pretty thing twined itself softly about his finger and clung -there, whereupon he sighed, raised it suddenly to his lips, kissed it -passionately and cast it forth, shaking it violently from his hand much -as if it had stung him. - -And now from the wallet he drew a folded parchment, and frowned at the -words that stared at him therefrom in fair black and white: - - A special Licence of Marriage, between.... - -Beholding which words, he laughed bitterly and made to tear the thing, -then paused, folded and replaced it in the wallet, and thrusting this -back into his pocket, sat in frowning reverie. - -Thus drove Sir John through the golden morning, looking neither to right -nor left, scowling at the cushions before him, at his buckled shoes, his -silk stockings, at anything and anywhere rather than the countryside he -was leaving. - -Nevertheless he was about to order the post-boy to drive faster, when the -chaise slowed up suddenly and jolted to a standstill. - -Out of the window went Sir John’s indignant head on the instant. - -“What the devil are ye stopping for?” he demanded. “What’s the matter?” - -“I dunno, sir,” answered the post-boy, pointing with his whip, “but ’twas -all along o’ ’er ... in the middle o’ the road, sir!” - -Forth from the chaise leapt Sir John in a fury. - -“Damme, are ye drunk?” he demanded. - -“Nary a drop, your honour, since nine o’clock las’ night, on my David, -sir! But theer she was, your honour, in the middle o’ the fair-way, d’ye -see, a-wavin’ of ’er arms wild-like ... wouldn’t move, an’ us nigh a-top -of ’er, so pull up I ’ad to, sir.” - -“Ah!” quoth Sir John. “And now, my good Addlepate, will you pray inform -me what the devil you are stopping for?” - -“Why, lord, sir, ain’t I a-tellin’ your honour as she came out o’ the -’edge yonder all suddent-like, an’ waved ’er arms wild-like an’——” - -“Aye, my good numbskull, but who?” - -“A ’ooman, sir, a precious big ’un in a——” - -“Then where is she, my good clod, where is she?” - -“Here!” answered a voice. - -Sir John spun round upon his heel and very nearly gaped. - -She was sitting in the chaise, her eyes very bright, her cheeks a little -flushed beneath the hood of the long grey cloak that enfolded her. - -For a long moment they gazed at one another speechlessly, while the -post-boy sucked at the knob of his whip and stared with eyes round and -bright as his buttons, for whose behoof Sir John presently spoke. - -“Madame,” said he, bowing with extreme ceremony, “I trust we ha’n’t kept -your ladyship long a-waiting!... You may drive on, my addle-brained -wiseacre, and pocket this guinea for possessing the wit not to run over a -lady in broad daylight.” So saying, Sir John bestowed the coin, got into -the chaise and closed the door, whereupon the jubilant post-boy cracked -his whip ecstatically, chirruped gaily to his horses, and they drove on -again. - -“And now, madame,” inquired Sir John coldly, eyelids a-droop, chin -uptilted, and seated as far from her as the narrow vehicle allowed, -“pray, what folly is this?” - -“Folly, indeed, John, to run away ... and so very early in the morning, -too!” - -“How came you hither, madame?” - -“In George Potter’s cart.... And do not be so extreme distant, John ... -for thee I left my warm bed at sunrise!” - -“Your ladyship amazes me!” - -“Merely because, sir, with all your knowledge of womankind, you don’t -in the very least apprehend this woman.... O John, didst think I would -suffer thee to steal thyself from me, so?” - -“And why are you here, madame?” - -“To woo thee,” she answered softly, “to seek thy love.” - -Sir John started and turned to glance out of the window. - -“How—how did you learn that I was leaving?” he questioned hastily. - -“Old Penelope told me ... and, John dear, she gave me a charm; a very -potent spell should prevail with thee, an’ my poor pleading may not.” - -Now, hearing the soft yearning in her voice, conscious of all the new, -sweet gentleness of her as, tremulous, wistful, she leaned towards him -appealingly, he looked resolutely out of the window. - -“Spells and charms the most potent, my lady, shall prove of none avail, -for my love is surely dead!” - -“Nay, thou foolish John, perchance it may swoon a little, but ’tis not -dead, for love that is of the true sort may never die. And thy love, -methinks, is a true love indeed.” - -“It was,” he corrected; “and you made of it a mock——” - -“Nay, I did but laugh, John, but not at thy dear love-making.... Oh, -indeed, thou’rt the merest man to be so blind! My laughter was by reason -o’ the broken ornament, the tumbled chair, my torn gown.... I must ha’ -seemed so clumsy ... but the room was so strait and I always feel myself -so hugely vast! My laughter, John, was merest hysteria, which was strange -in me, for I was never so before.” - -“Ha—never?” he questioned suddenly. - -“Never with thee, John.” - -“The night Death crawled upon me in the hedge?” - -“And I shielded thy dear body with mine, John ... because I feared for -thee, loved thee, and would ha’ died for thee.... And ’twas because of -the last five years, the evil I had spoken of thee, the harms I had -wickedly tried to work thee ... this was why I would have died for thee, -John, this, but never hysteria.... Aye, I know, indeed, I so named it, -but this was only because I could think of naught else to retort upon -thee with....” - -“Couldst indeed be so cruel?” he questioned more gently, but with his -gaze still averted. - -“Yet am I kinder than thou,” she answered, “for if thou wilt break -my poor heart and ruin my life, I will not suffer thee to break thine -own.... So am I here beseeching thee to come back to love and me and the -dear Down-country.” - -“Nay, this cannot be.” - -“Because I do love thee truly, John.” - -“This I cannot believe.” - -“Why, then, John, I am here to follow thee where thou wilt, to beseech -thy forgiveness, to supplicate thee to love me a little ... and because I -am thine own, now and always, thou dear, brave, kind, cruel, unbelieving, -wise and most foolish John! Wilt not look at me even now? Then needs must -I use old Penelope’s charm!” - -Speaking thus, she thrust something into his fingers, and he saw this for -the miniature of his long-dead father. - -“Ah!” he exclaimed. “What o’ this?” - -“You must open it, John. Penelope bid me tell you to open the back and -read what your father wrote there so many years agone.” - -Mutely he obeyed, and, inscribed in small, clear characters, saw this: - - Beloved, - though death - must needs come - to us soon or late, - yet do I know we can - never die since Love - is immortal. So by - thy love shall I live - on beyond death - with thee for - ever. Thy - John Dering. - -For a while he sat staring at this message from the “living” dead; at -last, and suddenly, he turned and looked at her. - -“John,” she whispered, “take me, beloved, and so let us make each other -immortal.” - -Then Sir John reached out his arms and, drawing her to him, gazed deep -into her eyes. - -“Herminia,” said he, “O Rose o’ love ... my Rose in very truth, at last!” - -“For thy wearing, John,” she sighed, “or needs must I fade soon and -wither utterly away.” - - - - -CHAPTER XLVIII - -WHICH IS, HAPPILY, THE LAST - - -Old Mr. Dumbrell, perched in George Potter’s cart behind the likely -horse, blinked at the setting sun and shook his head; quoth he: - -“The longer oi live, Jarge, the more sartin-sure be oi that there be no -sich thing as gratitood nowheres, no!” - -“What be troublin’ of ’ee now, Gaffer?” - -“Thinkin’ o’ Sir John Dering, oi be. Oh, ’e’s mebbe this an’ that an’ -t’other, but oi calls ’im naun but a ongrateful young barrynet!” - -“Lord, old ’un,” remonstrated Mr. Potter, “ain’t ’e given ye your -cottage, rent free?” - -“Wot o’ that?” snarled the Aged Soul. “Ain’t ’e got ’unnerds an’ -thousands o’ cottages? Wot’s a cottage?” - -“Well, but ain’t ’e likewise give ye that little medder be’ind your -cottage?” - -“Oi never said ’e ’adn’t, did oi?” - -“Aye, but ain’t ’e give ye a cow along o’ the medder an’ a couple o’ fat -’ogs?” - -“Wot of ’em?” screeched the Aged One indignantly. “Oi bean’t complainin’ -o’ they, be oi? No, my trouble be ’im a-goin’ away an’ never s’ much as -a word to oi ... an’ me sech a very old, aged Soul as can’t live much -longer, an’ ’im a-leavin’ pore old oi wi’ never no good-bye ... an’ never -sendin’ me that theer arm-cheer as ’e promised faithful!” - -“Arm-cheer?” repeated Mr. Potter inquiringly. - -“Ah! ’Osea,’ says ’e, aye, an’ called me ’is friend, ’e did, ’Osea,’ says -’e, ‘you shall set in comfort arl your days,’ ’e sez—them were ’is very -words! An’ I’ve been ’opin’ an’ a-waitin’ an’ expectin’ that theer cheer -ever since.... An’ look wot I done for ’e!” - -“Wot?” demanded Mr. Potter. - -“Why, didn’t oi comfort ’e an’ talk to ’e when arl the world was agin’ -him? Didn’t oi speak up for ’e on arl ’casions, ah—an’ mak’ love for ’e -to ’is sweet-’eart, tu? Wasn’t oi loike a feäther an’ mother arl rolled -into one? An’ now ’ere be oi, an’ ’im gone—an’ no cheer!” - -It was at this moment that, turning into the main road, they beheld -a dusty chaise approaching at a smart trot, whereupon, the way being -somewhat narrow, Mr. Potter pulled aside to make room; but scarcely had -he done so than a cheery voice hailed him, the chaise pulled up, and out -from the window came a bewigged head. - -“Why, Potter—George Potter,” cried a merry voice. “God bless ye, George; -’tis very well met! And my friend Hosea too! How art thou, my Aged Soul? -I vow thou’rt looking younger than ever!” - -“Lord, Sir John!” exclaimed Mr. Potter heartily, “I be main glad to see -ye back, sir.” - -“And I’m back for good, George ... aye, for good of every kind and sort, -I hope——” - -“Why, then, that theer cheer, Sir John!” piped the Aged One. “Wot about -my arm-cheer?” - -“’E means the cheer your honour promised ’im, sir,” explained Mr. Potter. - -“Chair?” repeated Sir John in laughing puzzlement. “I fear I don’t recall -... but we will talk of this later. For the present, George, I want you -to drive over to old Penelope and warn her that she hath visitors on the -way to drink tea with her——” - -“Say two visitors, Mr. Potter,” laughed a second voice, and over Sir -John’s shoulder peeped my lady’s lovely face; whereupon Mr. Potter -flourished his whip exultantly and, wheeling the likely horse, drove off -at such a pace that he was necessitated to hug the small, protesting -Aged Soul for safety’s sake. - -“’Twill give our revered witch due time to don the silken gown, mayhap, -my Rose o’ love.” - -“Aye, though—I think ’tis donned already, sir.” - -“She expects us, then?” - -“She doth, John!... And Aunt Lucinda will be there, and Sir Hector ... -unless we have outworn their patience.” - -“But what shall bring them there? How know you this, child?” - -“’Faith, sir, ’tis because I invited ’em to meet us at Penelope’s -cottage——” - -“Ha, wert so sure we should come back together, my Herminia?” - -“Why, of course, John dear. Though I little thought we should ha’ kept -them so long a-waiting—see, the sun is set already and—nay, sir ... oh, -for mercy’s sake, John ... you’ll ha’ my hair all down——” - -“You’ll look but the lovelier——” - -“Nay, prithee ... oh, hark, John! Dost hear, dost hear how they welcome -thee home at last, beloved?” - -Upon the air rose a sudden, glad riot of bells lustily rung, a faint, -silvery pealing that grew momentarily louder, until the joyous clamour -thrilled in the air all about them. - -“Hark, my John, where they welcome Dering of Dering home at last!” - -“And his most dear lady!” he answered, drawing her close. “For, O my -Herminia, my Rose-child, thou shalt teach him to live to better purpose -... by thee ‘The Wicked Dering’ shall——” - -“Ah, hush!” she murmured. “He was but a dream ... but thou, my dear, -brave, noble, most honourable ... oh, wilt stifle me, John? Nay, they -will see us——” - -So in due season they drove into the winding street of High Dering -where stood folk to cheer, to flourish hats and flutter scarves a little -shyly, but to fall suddenly silent and stare wide-eyed as Sir John, my -lady beside him, paused bare-headed to salute that solitary old creature -whom all had scorned so long and persecuted as a witch; silent she stood -leaning upon her staff, but in all the glory of rustling silk and belaced -mutch, her indomitable old head aloft, her bright, old eyes keen as ever, -yet surely strangely gentle for a witch. And now Sir John was speaking, -his clear voice very plain to be heard: - -“Good friend Penelope, the years have been very cruel and hard for thee. -But indeed thy sufferings have not been wholly in vain, as I think, and -henceforth, John Dering shall be the first to do thee honour.” So saying, -he took that worn and shrivelled hand, drawing it within his arm, and so -brought her to the cottage gate where stood the Duchess, glad-eyed, with -Sir Hector towering gigantic behind her. - -But now Mr. Potter’s voice was heard in placid exhortation: - -“Come, friends and neighbours, cheer now, a cheer for Dering o’ Dering -and his lady!” Hereupon, led by Mr. Potter’s stentorian voice and the -Aged Soul’s shrill pipe, they cheered full-throated and with a will. “An’ -now, neighbours, one more for old Pen, as be true Sussex through an’ -through, barn an’ bred——” - -“Aye, cheer, ye fules!” shrilled the Aged Soul, flourishing his hat. -“Beller for ol’ Pen, an’ dannel ’im as doan’t, says oi!” - -“Hoot-toot, Johnnie-man,” quoth Sir Hector as they crossed the little -garden, “ye kept us waitin’ a’ the day whiles ye made up your mind, -it seems-an’ me in ma vera best clo’es, y’ ken—but ’twas worth it, -lad, and—why, what now?” For old Penelope had paused suddenly to take -my lady’s hand to gaze on it through gathering tears and kiss it with -strange fervour. - -“What, John—a ring?” exclaimed Sir Hector—“an’ a weddin’-ring, -forbye—already? Why, man, doth it mean——” - -“Ah, Sir Hector,” cried old Penelope, “it do mean as the dead, as liveth -for ever, hath spoke from beyond his grave ... it meaneth, God be -praised, that true love is immortal indeed!” So, hand in hand, the old -woman and the young entered the cottage. - -“But, Johnnie, wull ye be for tellin’ me that it means——?” - -“That they are married, sir,” answered the little Duchess—“wooed and won -and wedded, sir! Which is great joy to me, for our Herminia hath found -a man shall rule her rigorously at last; in a word, master her megrims, -control, curb and constrain her contrariness as only a masterful man -might.” - -“Wooed and won ... rule rigorously,” murmured Sir Hector, “curb and -constrain——” - -“Well, sir, well, why must you mop and mow and mutter like a mere male? -Wouldst not do the same, sir?” - -Then, looking down into the little Duchess’s strangely youthful eyes, Sir -Hector emitted that sound to which no one but a true-born Scot may give -utterance, and which, so far as poor words go, may be roughly translated -thus: - -“Umph-humph!” quoth Sir Hector Lauchlan MacLean. - - - - -A FEW BOOKS OF GENERAL INTEREST - -_obtainable from any bookshop, and published by Sampson Low, Marston & -Co., Ltd., 100 Southwark Street, London, S.E. 1_ - - -RUBÁIYÁT OF OMAR KHÁYYÁM - -_Translated by_ EDWARD FITZGERALD - -_Introduction by_ JOSEPH JACOBS - -_Designs by_ FRANK BRANGWYN - -_Ordinary cloth edition, 8¼″ × 5½″. 6s. net._ - -A beautiful and tasteful edition of this great classic. 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