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diff --git a/old/68858-0.txt b/old/68858-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 839df64..0000000 --- a/old/68858-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,9369 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Lady Barbarity, by J. C. (John Collis) -Snaith - -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: Lady Barbarity - A Romance - -Author: J. C. (John Collis) Snaith - -Release Date: August 28, 2022 [eBook #68858] - -Language: English - -Produced by: D A Alexander and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team - at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images - generously made available by the Library of Congress) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LADY BARBARITY *** - - - - - - LADY BARBARITY - - _A ROMANCE_ - - - BY - J. C. SNAITH - - AUTHOR OF MISTRESS DOROTHY MARVIN - AND FIERCEHEART, THE SOLDIER - - NEW YORK - D. APPLETON AND COMPANY - 1899 - - - - - COPYRIGHT, 1898, 1899, - BY D. APPLETON AND COMPANY. - - _All rights reserved._ - - - - -CONTENTS. - - - CHAPTER PAGE - - I.--DEPLORES THE SCARCITY OF MEN 1 - II.--THE REBEL APPEARS 16 - III.--THE REBEL DISAPPEARS 29 - IV.--OF AN ODD PASSAGE IN THE MEADOW 53 - V.--I MIX IN THE HIGH POLITICAL 66 - VI.--I CONTINUE MY NIGHT ADVENTURES 80 - VII.--THE SPIRIT OF THE WOODS 106 - VIII.--IN WHICH THE HERO IS FOUND TO BE A PERSON - OF NO DESCENT WHATEVER 118 - IX.--OF THE MONSTROUS BEHAVIOUR OF MISS PRUE 135 - X.--I PLAY CATHERINE TO MR. DARE’S PETRUCHIO 154 - XI.--I UNDERGO AN ORDEAL; I PLAY WITH A FIRE 171 - XII.--I DEFY DEAR LADY GRIMSTONE 189 - XIII.--I DISPLAY MY INFINITE RESOURCES 204 - XIV.--IN WHICH THE CAPTAIN’S WIT BECOMES A - RIVAL OF MY OWN 220 - XV.--THE CAPTAIN TRUMPS MY TRICK 231 - XVI.--IN WHICH I AM WOOED AND WON 247 - XVII.--MORE ALARUMS AND EXCURSIONS 258 - XVIII.--IN WHICH THE CAPTAIN’S COMEDY IS PLAYED 272 - XIX.--I SUFFER GREAT ADVERSITY 286 - XX.--I SPEAK WITH THE CELEBRATED MR. SNARK 300 - XXI.--I COME TO TYBURN TREE 315 - EPILOGUE 331 - - - - -LADY BARBARITY. - - - - -CHAPTER I. - -DEPLORES THE SCARCITY OF MEN. - - -TO deny that I am an absurdly handsome being would be an affectation. -Besides, if I did deny it, my face and shape are always present to -reprove me. Some women I know--we call each other friends--who happen -to possess an eyebrow, an elbow, an impertinence, a simper, or any -other thing that is observable, I have seen to cast their eyes down -at the compliment, and try to look so modest too, that one could tell -quite easily that this missish diffidence was a piece of art since -it sat so consciously upon ’em, it could not possibly be nature. But -furnished as I am with a whole artillery of charms, sure they need -no adventitious blushes for their advertisement; indeed, they are so -greatly and variously sung that it is quite a common thing for the -poets to make an ode or sonnet of ’em every night, and a ballad every -morning. The late poor little Mr. Pope was so occupied at times in -comparing my eyes to Jupiter, or the evening star that I was fain to -correct him for ’t, on the pretext that the heavenly bodies might not -like it, they being such exalted things, whilst my Lady Barbarity was -but a humble creature in a petticoat. Therefore if you would know the -graces of my person I must refer you to the poets of the age; but if -you would seek the graces of my mind, in this book you shall discover -them, for I could not make it wittier if I tried. I have heard the -young beaux speak of certain women of their acquaintancy as being as -justly celebrated for their wit as for their beauty, but have yet to -hear the old ones say this, since they know that wit and beauty is as -rare a combination as is loveliness and modesty. This book will tell -you, then, that my wit is in proportion to my modesty. - -I returned from town with a hundred triumphs, but my heart intact. -The whirl of fashion had palled upon me for a season. I was weary of -the fume I had created in St. James’s and the Mall, and I retired -to my northern home in the late January of ’46. Sweet High Cleeby, -cradle of my joyous girlhood, home of romance and these strange events -I now relate, let me mention you with reverence and love. Yet our -ancestral seat is a cold and sombre place enough, wrapped in ivy and -gray ghostliness. The manor is folded in on every side by a shivering -gloom of woods, and in winter you can hear them cry in company with -those uneasy souls that make our casements rattle. ’Tis dreary as -November with its weed-grown moat; its cawing rooks; its quaint gables -of Elizabeth; and its sixteenth-century countenance, crumbling and -grim. Besides, it occupies a most solitary spot on the bare bosom of -the moors, many a mile from human habitation, a forsaken house indeed -where in the winter time rude blasts and the wind-beaten birds are its -customary visitors. But the brisk north gales that fling the leaves -about it, and scream among the chimneys late at night, had no sooner -whipped my cheeks than my blood suddenly woke up and I began to rejoice -in my return. The morning after my arrival, when I carried crumbs to -the lawn in the hope of an early robin, a frost-breath stung my lips, -and at the first bite of it, sure methinks I am tasting life at last. -Ten months had I been regaled in town with the cream of everything that -is; but it seemed that I must resort to my dear despised old Cleeby for -those keen airs that keep the pulses vigorous. London is fine comedy, -but in ten months the incomparable Mr. Congreve loses his savour, -even for a sinner. Ombre was indeed a lively game; the play adorable; -Vauxhall entertaining; wholesale conquest most appetising to feed one’s -vanity upon, while to be the toast of the year was what not even the -psalm-book of my dearest Prue would venture to disdain. To be courted, -flattered, and applauded by every waistcoat west of Temple Bar, -beginning with the K----g’s, was to become a mark for envy, and yet to -stand superior to it in oneself. But now I was tiring of playing “Lady -Barbarity” to coats and wigs, and silver-buckled shoes. This is the -name the beaux had dubbed me, “Because” said they, “you are so cruel.” - -It is true that I wore a claw. And if I occasionally used it, well, my -endurance was abominably tried, and I will confess that mine is not -the most patient temper in the world. The truth is that I was very -bitter, having sought ten months in London for a Man, when the pink of -England was assembled there, and had had to come away without having -found so rare a creature. I had encountered princes, but the powder in -their wigs, and buckles of their shoes were the most imposing parts of -their individuality. I had looked on lesser gentlemen, but the correct -manner in which they made a leg was the only test you might put upon -their characters. I congratulate myself, however, that I made some -little havoc with these suits of clothes. Therefore, Barbara became -Barbarity, and I sustained this parody as fully as I could. They said -I was born without a heart. Having gaily tried to prove to them how -sound this theory was, I purchased the choicest string of pearls and -the most delicate box of bonbons money could obtain, and returned to -dear High Cleeby, January 22d, 1746, with my aunt, the dowager, in a -yellow-coloured chaise. - -The following morning I went to pay my devoir to my lord, who took his -chocolate at eleven o’clock in his private chamber. Now I have always -said that the Earl, my papa, was the very pattern of his age. He was -polished to that degree that he seemed a mirror to reflect the graces -of his person and his mind. Lord knows! in all his life ’twas little -enough he said, and perhaps still less he did. There is not a deed of -his that is important; nor hath he left a solitary phrase or sentiment -in which his memory may be embalmed. ’Twas ill-bred, he used to say, -for a man to endeavour to outshine his fellows, and to step out of -the throng that is his equal in manners and in birth. And indeed he -did not try; but, in spite of that, I am sure he was one of the most -considerable persons of his time by virtue of the very things he did -not do, and the speeches that he did not utter. It was his privilege, -or his art perhaps, to win the reputation of a high intelligence, not -because he had one, but because it was a point with him to keenly -appreciate its exercise in those who were so liberally furnished. I -found him this morning seated at the fire, sipping his chocolate from -a low table at his side, and one foot was tucked up on a stool and -bandaged for the gout as usual. On my entrance, though, and despite his -complicated posture, he rose at once, and bowing as deeply as though -I were the Queen, implored me to confer the honour of my person on -his chair, and limped across the rug to procure another for himself. -When we were seated and the Earl fixed his glasses on, for he was very -near-sighted at this time, he quizzed me for at least a quarter of a -minute, ere he said: - -“Why, Bab, I think you are getting very handsome.” - -I admitted that I was. - -“And do you know that I have heard such a tale of you from town, my -pretty lady? You have turned the heads of all the men, I understand.” - -“Men!” said I, “suits of clothes, papa, and periwigs!” - -“Well, well,” says he, in his tender tone, and bowing, “let us deal -gently with their lapses. ’Tis a sufficient punishment for any man, I’m -sure, to be stricken with your poor opinion. But listen, child, for I -have something serious to say.” - -Listen I did, you can be certain, for though I had known my papa, the -Earl, for a considerable time, ’twas the first occasion that I had -heard him mention serious matters. And as I pondered on the nature of -the surprise he had in store, my eyes fell upon an open book, beside -his tray of chocolate. It was a Bible. This caused me to look the more -keenly at the Earl, and I saw that in ten months ten years had been -laid upon his countenance. Even his powder could not hide its seams and -wrinkles now. Crow’s feet had gathered underneath his eyes, and his -padded shoulders were taken with a droop that left his stately coat in -creases. - -“If I exercise great care,” says he, with a bland deliberation, “old -Paradise assures me that I yet have time to set my temporal affairs in -order. And you, my dearest Bab, being chief part of ’em, I thought it -well to mention this immediately to you. As for my spiritual affairs, -old Paradise is positive that my soul is of so peculiar a colour that -he recommends it to be scrubbed without delay. Thus I am taking the -proper steps, you see.” - -He laid his hand upon the Bible. - -“’Tis no secret, my dearest Bab,” he said, “that Robert John, fifth -Earl, your papa, never was an anchorite. He hath ta’en his fill of -pleasure. He hath played his hazard, and with a zest both late and -early; but now the candles sink, you see, and I believe they’ve called -the carriage.” Again he laid his hand upon the Bible. - -’Twas a very solemn moment, and his lordship’s words had plunged me -in the deepest grief, but when he laid his hand upon that Testament a -second time, it was as much as I could do to wear a decent gravity. For -he was a very old barbarian. - -“You see, child,” he continued, “that many years ago I took a -professional opinion on this point. The Reverend Joseph Tooley, -chaplain to the late lord, your grandpapa (I never felt the need for -one myself), was always confident that there was hope for a sinner who -repented. He used to say that he considered this saving clause a very -capital idea on the part of the Almighty, as it permitted a certain -degree of license in our generous youth. In fact, I can safely say -that in my case it has been a decided boon, for my blood appears to -be of a quality that will not cool as readily as another’s; indeed, -it hath retained its youthful ardours to quite a middle age. Highly -inconvenient for Robert John, fifth Earl, I can assure you, child, -but for this most admirable foresight on the part of heaven.” The -faint smile that went curling round the condemned man’s mouth was -delicious to perceive. “For my idea has ever been to run my course -and then repent. Well, I have now run my course, therefore let us -see about repentance. I am about to moderate my port, and resign the -pleasures of the table. My best stories I shall refrain from telling, -and confine myself to those that would regale a bishop’s lady. But I -want you, my charming Bab, to be very affectionate and kind towards -your poor old papa; be filial, my love--extremely filial, for I will -dispense--I’ve sworn to do it--with the lavish favours your angelic -sex have always been so eager to bestow upon me. Yes, for my soul’s -sake I must forbid ’em. But lord, what a fortitude I shall require!” -This ancient heathen lifted up his eyes and sighed most killingly. “I -am reading two chapters of the Bible daily, and I have also engaged -a private chaplain, who starts his duties here on Monday week. But I -think I’d better tell your ladyship”--with a wicked twinkle--“that he -is fifty if he’s a day, and with no personal graces to recommend him. I -was very careful on those points. For a young and comely parson where -there’s daughters means invariably _mésalliance_, and I prefer to risk -a permanent derangement in my soul than a _mésalliance_ in my family.” - -“You appear, my lord,” says I, flashing at him, “to entertain a -singularly high opinion of my pride, to say nothing of my sense.” - -“Tut, my dear person, tut!” says his lordship, wagging a yellow finger -at me. “I’ve made a lifetime’s study of you dear creatures, and I -know. You can no more resist an unctuous and insidious boy in bands -and cassock than your tender old papa can resist a pair of eyes. Oh, -I’ve seen it, child, seen it in a dozen cases--damn fine women too! And -their deterioration has been tragical. Faith, a parson where there’s -women is a most demoralising thing in nature.” - -“’Pon my soul, my lord,” says I, in my courtliest manner, and -adroitly misreading the opinion he expressed, “your own case is quite -sufficient to destroy that theory, for you, my lord, are not the least -ecclesiastical.” - -“Faith, that’s true,” says he, and the old dog positively blushed with -pleasure; “but had it been necessary for me to earn a livelihood I -should certainly have gone into the Church. And while we are on matters -theological I might say that I do believe that these strict practices -will cheat Monsieur le Diable of my soul, as was my hope from the -beginning.” - -At this my lord could say no more. He burst into such a peal of -laughter at his lifelong agility in this affair that the tears stepped -from his eyes and turned the powder on his cheeks to paste. - -Now I ever had allowed that the Earl, my papa, was the greatest man -of my acquaintance. But it was not until this hour that I gauged the -whole force and tenacity of his character. That a man should accept -the sentence of his death so calmly, and thereupon prepare so properly -to utilise his few remaining days in correcting the errors of his -life, showed the depth of wisdom that was in his spirit. For he whose -worldly business had been diplomacy now placed its particular genius at -the service of his soul, that he might strike a bargain, as it were, -between Heaven and the Prince of Darkness as to its eternal dwelling -place. - -“Howbeit this is simply of myself,” says he, when recovered of his -mirth, “and it is of you, child, that I desire to speak. Before I go I -must see you reasonably wed; beauty and high blood should be broken in -and harnessed early, else it is prone to flick its heels and run away. -Now, Bab, you have all the kingdom at your feet, they tell me. ’Tis a -propitious hour; seize it, therefore, and make yourself a duchess with -a hundred thousand pound. And farther, you have ever been my constant -care, my pretty Bab, and I shall not be content unless I leave you at -your ease.” - -This consideration touched me. - -“My lord,” says I, “I thank you for these tender thoughts. I fear I -must die a spinster, though. For I will not wed a clothes-pole, I will -not wed a snuff-box. A Man is as scarce, I vow, as the Philosopher’s -Stone. So you must picture me, papa, an old maid of vinegar aspect, -whose life is compounded of the nursing of cats and the brewing of -caudles. Conceive your brilliant Bab, the handsomest wretch in the -realm, who hath all the kingdom kissing her satin shoe, reduced to this -in her later years! For I’ll warrant me there is not a Man in London.” - -“Why, what is this?” cries out my lord, his eyebrows rising in -surprise. “Is there not the Duke of----, with his town and country -houses? Is he not a Privy Councillor? Hath he not the Garter? Hath he -not a rent-roll, and would he not make a duchess of you any day you -please?” - -“My lord,” I answered, sadly, “I am unhappily cursed with a keen nose -for a fool.” - -He looked at me and smiled. - -“He is a duke, my dear. But madam is a woman, therefore let me not -attempt to understand her. But there is the Earl of H----, and the Hon. -A----, and Mr. W----; indeed, every bachelor of station, lands, and -pedigree in town.” - -“Of which I am bitterly aware,” I sighed. “But I require a man, my -lord, not a name and a suit of clothes.” - -The delightful old barbarian did not apprehend my meaning, I am sure, -but the secret of his reputation lay in the fact that he never let the -world know that there was a subject in earth or heaven that he did not -understand. When a topic travelled beyond the dominion of his mind, -he preserved a melancholy silence, and contrived to appear as though -the thing was too trivial to occupy his thoughts. But he changed the -conversation at the earliest opportunity. The word “love” was to him -the most mysterious monosyllable in the world. Wherefore he proceeded -to speak about my bills, and said, in his charming way, that he did not -mind how much they did amount to if I exhibited a mastery in the art of -spending with grace and elegance. - -“Now I see there is a yellow chaise,” said he, “and a yellow chaise I -consider a trifle bourgeois, although my taste is perhaps a thought -severe. A purple chaise, or vermilion even, hath a certain reticence -and dignity, but yellow is enough to startle all the town.” - -“True, papa,” says I with animation, “and I chose it for that purpose. -I adore display; I must be looked at twice; I must perish, I suppose, -if the fops did not quiz me in the most monstrous manner every time I -took the Mall. When I die, let it be done to slow music, and I mean to -have a funeral at the Abbey if I can. Why, do you know, sir, that the -first country town I entered in this wondrous chaise, a tale was got -about that the Empress of All the Russias had arrived? ’Twas a moment -in my life I can assure you when I danced lightly from that vehicle, -and threw smiles to the mob that kept the entrance to the inn. Pomp and -circumstance are the blood of me. Dress me in ermine that I may become -a show, and provoke huzzahs in every city! And if I must have a man, my -lord, let him be a person of character and ideas to cheer me when I’m -weary.” I ended in a peal of mirth. - -“Hum! character and ideas.” My lord scratched his chin with a face of -comical perplexity. “Would not position and a reasonable pin-money be -still more apposite to your case, my dearest person? And anyway,” says -he, “may I be in my grave ere my daughter Bab marries anywise beneath -her. Character and ideas!” - -“Amen to that, my lord!” cries I, with a deal of fervour. - -Thereupon I left the Earl to his light reflection and his piety. My -heart was heavy with the knowledge of his approaching end; but there -was still a period in which I might enjoy the inimitable charm of his -society. Passing from his chamber, I encountered my aunt upon the -stairs. The briskness of her step, and the animation of her face, alike -surprised me, as the dowager usually required nothing short of a cow, a -mouse, or a suspicion of unorthodoxy to arouse her. - -“Do not delay me, Barbara,” she said, brushing past me. “I must see the -Earl immediately.” - -I did not venture to impede her with my curiosity, for my aunt is a -dreadful engine when once she is set in motion. - -Coming to the foot of the stairs, however, I chanced to stray into the -reception parlour to find a comfit box I had mislaid. - -“My dear Lady Barbara!” a great voice hailed me, as soon as my face had -appeared within the door. - -Raising my eyes I saw that I was in the presence of a town -acquaintance, Captain Grantley. A look assured me that he was here, not -in the social capacity of a friend, but in pursuance of his military -duties, inasmuch that he wore the red coat of his regiment, and was -furnished with a full accoutrement. Greetings exchanged, he said: -“Lady Barbara, I am here to interview the Earl on a matter of some -gravity. Nothing less, in fact, than that the Marshal at Newcastle is -transmitting one of the prisoners lately ta’en, and a very dangerous -and important rebel, to Newgate, and as the straightest way is across -your moors, I am come here to gain the Earl’s permission to billet -eight men and horses on him for this evening.” - -“I have no doubt he will grant it readily,” says I, “for are we not -aware, my dear Captain, that my papa, the Earl, is the most hopeless -Hanoverian in the world?” - -“Yet permit me to say, madam,” says the Captain, “that a lady of your -sense and penetration I should judge to be quite as hopelessly correct -as is her father.” - -’Twas a soldier’s way of turning compliments, you will observe, and -of so coarse and ill-contrived a nature that I could not resist a -reprimand. - -“’Tis the most palpable mistake, sir,” I replied; “for utterly as -Captain Grantley and my father are in the right, I, sir, am as utterly -in error. For, Captain, I would have you know that I am a very rebel, -and have shed many a tear for Charlie.” - -I smartly beat the carpet with my boot, and gave my head its most -indignant altitude. This exhibition of sentiment was but the fruit -of my natural contrariety however, as I certainly never had shed a -tear for Charlie, and was not likely to. Indeed, I had not a care for -politics whatever, and for my life could not have said whether Sir -Robert Walpole was a Tory or a Whig. But it amused me mightily to see -the deep dismay that overtook the Captain, while he tried to gauge the -magnitude of the error of which I had attainted him so falsely. And -observing how tenderly my rebuke was felt, I was led to recall some -town matters in connection with this gentleman. And considering all -things appertaining to the Captain’s case, it was not remarkable that -I should arrive at the conclusion that though it might be true enough -that he was ostensibly arranging for the billets of men and horses -for the night, he had also made this business the occasion of a visit -to Barbara Gossiter, to whom he had been upon his knees in a London -drawing-room. - - - - -CHAPTER II. - -THE REBEL APPEARS. - - -WE continued to talk with aimless propriety, until the Captain fetched -suddenly so huge a sigh out of the recesses of his waistcoat that it -called for an heroic repression of myself to wear a proper gravity of -countenance. - -“Sir, you are not unwell, I hope,” says I, with perturbation. - -He saw at once the chance provided for him, and laying his hand -profoundly on his heart, was on the point, I do not doubt, of making -one more declaration of his undying passion, when the entrance of my -aunt curtailed the scene abruptly, and robbed me of the entertainment I -had planned. - -My aunt conducted the Captain to the Earl, and an hour later that -officer went forth to his commander with the permission of my father -to lodge the soldiers at Cleeby for a night. It was in the evening -at seven o’clock that the prisoner was brought. I did not witness -his arrival, as I happened to be dressing at that time, yet none the -less I felt an interest in it, for, to say the least, a real live -rebel savours of adventures, and those are what the tame life of -woman seldom can provide. The Captain having installed his men in the -servants’ part, was good enough to come and sup with us, and was able -in a measure to enliven the tedium of that meal. The gentlemen talked -politics, of course, and I was able to gather from their words that the -Pretender Charles was already in full retreat, and that his army was -like to be presently scattered on the earth. - -“He’ll be flying for his precious life, sir, over hill and moor with -our redcoats on his heels,” the Captain says, with an enthusiasm that -made his face sparkle in the candle light. And I thought this ardour so -well adorned him that he appeared to a prettier advantage as a soldier -than as a man of fashion. - -Somehow I could not dismiss a certain interest that their military -conversation had aroused. Besides, the present circumstances had a -novelty, as to-night we were actually involved in the stress of war. - -“A rebel must be a very dangerous person, I should fear,” I said; “even -the sound of rebel hath a spice of daring and the devil in it.” - -“Highly dangerous,” says the Captain. - -“Captain, do you know,” I said, seized with a desire, “that as I have -never seen a rebel I should dearly like to have a peep at one of these -desperate creatures. ’Twould be an experience, you know; besides, when -a fresh species of wild animal is caught, all the town is attracted to -its cage.” - -“Madam, I would not deny you anything,” the Captain bowed, “but you -have only to look into the mirror to behold a rebel of the deepest dye.” - -“But not a dangerous one,” I smiled. - -“Ah, dear lady,” says the Captain, with one hand straying to his heart, -“’tis only for us men to say how dangerous you are.” - -“Grantley,” says the Earl, my papa--and I wish this generation could -have seen how elegant he was, even in his age--“if every rebel was as -dangerous a one as madam is, there would be a change of dynasty mighty -soon.” - -Afterwards we had piquet together, but wearying of the game, I reminded -the Captain of my wish. Without more ado he put me in a hood and cloak, -the night being dark and keen, and threatening to snow, and took me to -the prisoner on his arm. We bore a lantern with us, otherwise nothing -had been visible, for the moon had not appeared yet. The poor rebel -we found reposing on straw in one of the stables, but with even less -of comfort than is allowed to horses. One of the troopers had mounted -guard outside the door, his bayonet fixed, and himself leaning on the -panel. He saluted us, and looked as cordial as his rank allowed; but -his strict figure, with grim night and naked steel about it, sent a -shiver through my wraps. You read of war in histories, and think it -adventurous and fine, but when cold bayonet looks upon you from the -dark, and you know that it is there to hold some defenceless person to -his doom, the reality is nothing like so happy as the dream. - -The Captain set back the wooden shutter, and held the light up high -enough for me to peer within. There the rebel was, with gyves upon his -wrists; whilst a rope was passed through the manger-ring, and also -through his manacles. Thus he was secured strictly in his prison, but -his fetters had length enough to permit him to stretch his miserable -body on the straw that was mercifully provided. He had availed himself -of this, and now lay in a huddle in it, fast asleep. At the first -glance I took him to be precisely what he was, a young and handsome -lad, moulded slightly with an almost girlish tenderness of figure, his -countenance of a most smooth and fair complexion, without a hair upon -it, while to read the kind expression of his mien, he was, I’m sure, as -gentle as a cherubim. - -When the Captain laid the keen light fully on him, he was smiling -gently in his sleep, and, I doubt not, he was dreaming of his mother or -his lady. - -“Why, Captain!” I exclaimed, with an indignant heat that made my -companion laugh, “call you this a dangerous rebel? Why, this is but -a child, and a pretty child withal. ’Tis monstrous, Captain, to thus -maltreat a boy. And surely, sir, you may release the poor lad of these -horrid manacles?” - -My voice thus incautiously employed aroused the sleeper so immediately -that I believe he almost caught the import of my speech. At least, he -suddenly shook his chains and turned his head to face the thread of -lantern-light. Our eyes encountered, and such a power of honest beauty -prevailed in his that my brain thrilled with joy and pity for their -loveliness, and here, for the first time in my all-conquering career, -my own gaze quailed and drooped before another’s. Its owner was but a -dirty, chained, and tattered rebel, whose throat rose bare above his -ragged shirt, and whose mop of hair seemed never to have known a law -for the best part of its years; a vagabond, in fact, of no refinement -or propriety, yet when his bright, brave eyes leapt into mine like -flame, the sympathetic tears gushed from me, and I was fain to turn -away. The Captain divined my agitation, perhaps because my shoulders -shook, or perchance he saw my cheeks a-glistening, for he let the -lantern down and led me to the house in a most respectful silence. Yet -every step we traversed in the darkness, the star-like look of that -unhappy lad was making havoc of my heart. - -When we were returned to the brightness of the candles, and I had -thrown aside my cloak and hood and had recommenced the game, I turned -towards the Captain to enquire: - -“Captain, I suppose there will be many years of prison for that poor -lad?” - -“Dear me, no!” the Captain said; “he is to be interrogated at the -Tower, which will merely take a day or two, and then it’s Tyburn Tree.” - -“What, they mean to hang him?” says I, in horror. - -“Yes, to hang him,” says the Captain. - -“But he’s so young,” I said, “and he looks so harmless and so innocent. -They will never hang him, Captain, surely.” - -“I think they will,” the Captain said; “and wherefore should they not? -He is a very arrant rebel; he has conducted the business of the Prince -in a most intrepid manner, and he further holds a deal of knowledge -that the Government have determined to wring from him if they can.” - -“Ah me!” I sighed, “it is a very cruel thing.” - -For here his lovely glance returned upon me, and it made me sad to -think of it and his bitter doom. And, at least, this lad, even in -ignominious tatters and captivity, contrived to appear both handsome -and impressive, which is a point beyond all the fops of London, despite -their silks and laces and their eternal artifice. - -“Anyway,” I said, “this rebel interests me, Captain. Come, tell me all -about him now. Has he a birth, sir?” - -“Not he,” the Captain said; “merely the son of a Glasgow baker, or some -person of that character.” - -The Captain, who had, of course, been born, said this with a half -triumphant air, as though this was a _coup-de-grâce_, and had, -therefore, killed the matter. And I will confess that here was a shock -to the web of romance I was weaving about this charming, melancholy -lad. Even I, that had a more romantic temper than the silliest miss at -an academy, felt bound to draw the line at the sons of bakers. - -“But at least, Captain,” I persisted with, I suppose, the tenacity -of my sex, “you can recall some purple thread in his disposition or -behaviour that shall consort with the poetic colour in which my mind -hath painted him? He must be brave, I’m sure? Or virtuous? Or wise? -But bravery for choice, Captain, for a deed of courage or a noble -enterprise speaks to the spirit of us women like a song. Come, Captain, -tell me, he is brave?” - -“He is a baker’s son, my Lady Barbara.” - -“I heard once of a chimney sweeper who embraced death in preference to -dishonour,” was my rejoinder. “Must I command you, Captain?” - -“The whim of madam is the law of every man that breathes,” says the -soldier, with a not discreditable agility. “And as for the courage of -your rebel, the worst I can say of it is this: he hath been told to -choose between death and the betrayal of his friends. He hath chosen -death.” - -“Bravo!” was the applause I gave the boy; “and now that you have proved -this pretty lad to be worthy of a thought, I should like his name.” - -“He is called Anthony Dare,” the Captain said. - -“A good name, a brave name, and far too good to perish at Tyburn in the -cart,” says I, whilst I am sure my eyes were warmly sparkling. - -The Captain and his lordship laughed at this fervour in my face, and -were good enough to toast the dazzling light that was come into it. - -Now in the matter of this rebel certain odd passages befell, and I am -about to retail the inception of them to you. One thing is certain in -reviewing these very strange affairs from the distance years have given -them. It is that in 1746, in the full meridian of my beauty and renown, -my lively spirit was in such excess that ’twas out of all proportion -to my wisdom. A creature whose life is a succession of huzzahs hath -never a reverend head nor one capable of appreciating consequences. -Therefore you are not to betray surprise when you are told that I had -no sooner bade my aunt and the gentlemen good evening, towards eleven -of the clock, than I gave the rein to mischief, and set about to have a -little sport. Every step I ascended to my chamber my mind was on that -condemned rebel in the stable with the gyves upon his wrists. I felt -myself utterly unable to dismiss the look he had given me, and yet -was inclined to be piqued about it too. For you must understand that -his eyes had infringed a right possessed by those of Barbara Gossiter -alone. But the more I thought about this lad the less I could endure -the idea of what his doom must be. Might not an effort be put forth -on his behalf? To make one might be to extend the life of a fellow -creature, and also to colour the dull hues of mine own with a brisk -adventure, for, lord, what a weary existence is a woman’s! In the act -of turning the lamp up in my bedroom I came to a decision, and half a -minute afterwards, when my maid, Mrs. Polly Emblem, appeared to unrobe -me and to dress my hair, she found me dancing round the chamber in pure -cheerfulness of heart, and rippling with laughter also, to consider how -I proposed to cheat and to befool half a score right worthy persons, -amongst whom were Captain Grantley and the Earl, my father. - -“Let me kiss you, my Emblem of lightness and dispatch,” I cried to the -mistress of the robes; “for to-night I am as joyous as a blackbird in -a cherry tree that hath no business to be there. I am going to be in -mischief, Emblem,” and to relieve my merry feelings I went dancing -round the room again. - -Happily or unhappily, sure I know not which, this maid of mine was not -one of those staid and well-trained owls whose years are great allies -to their virtue, whom so many of my friends affect. One of these would -perhaps have managed to restrain me from so hazardous a deed. Still, -I’m not too positive of that, for I have an idea that when my Lady -Barbarity was giddy with her triumphs and good blood few considerations -could have held her from an act which she at all desired to perform. -Certainly Mrs. Polly Emblem was not the person to impose restraints -upon her mistress in the most devious employ, being herself the -liveliest soubrette you would discover this side of the Channel, with a -laugh that was made of levity, and who was as ripe for an adventure as -the best. - -The first thing I did was to post Emblem on the landing, that she might -bring me word as soon as the candles were out below, and the gentlemen -retired. Meanwhile I made some preparation. I stirred the waning fire -up, and then went in stealth to an adjoining room and procured from a -cupboard there a kettleful of water, some coffee, and a pot wherein to -brew it. The water had just begun to hiss upon the blaze when Emblem -reappeared with the information that the lights were out at last, and -that the gentlemen had ascended to their chambers. I bade her brew a -good decoction, while I rummaged several of the drawers in my wardrobe -to discover a few articles highly imperative to my scheme. To begin -with I took forth a potion in a packet, a powerful sedative that was -warranted to send anything to sleep; the others consisted of a vizard, -a hooded cloak, and last, if you please, a pistol, balls, and powder. -These latter articles I know do not usually repose in a lady’s chamber, -but then my tastes always were of the quaintest character, and often -formerly, when my life had been so tame that its weariness grew almost -unendurable, I have taken a ridiculous delight in cleaning and priming -this dread weapon with my own hands, and speculating on its power with -a foolish but a fearful joy. Verily idleness is full of strange devices. - -“Now, Emblem,” says I, when the coffee was prepared, “let me see you -put this powder in the pot, and as you always were an absent-minded -sort of wench, ’twere best that you forgot that you had done so.” - -“Very good, my lady,” Emblem says, with a wonderfully sagacious look. -And immediately she had poured the contents of the packet in the -coffee. I took up the pot and said, with an air of notable severity: - -“Of course, this coffee is as pure as possible, and could not be -doctored any way? I think that is so, Emblem?” - -“Oh! lord yes, ma’am; it is indeed,” cries Emblem the immaculate. - -“Well,” says I, “so soon as we can be positive that the gentlemen are -abed, and at their ease in slumber’s lap, the fun shall get afoot.” - -We sat down by the hearth for the thereabouts of half an hour, that -they might have ample time to attain this Elysian state. Later I -wrapped the admirable Emblem up the very model of a plotter, and -despatched her to the sentry on guard at the stable door, with the -compliments of her mistress and a pot of coffee, to keep the cold out. - -“For I’m sure, poor man,” I piously observed, “it must be perishing out -there in a frosty, wintry night of this sort.” - -“It must, indeed, my lady,” Emblem says, with the gravity of a church; -“and had I not better wait while he drinks it, ma’am, and bring the -empty pot back? And had I not better put my carpet slippers on, and -steal out carefully and without committing the faintest sound when I -unbolt the kitchen door?” - -“Emblem,” cries I, dealing her a light box on the ears, “to-night I -will discard this darling of a gown I’m wearing. To-morrow it is yours.” - -Faith, my Emblem ever was a treasure, if only because she was not -subject ever to any bother in her soul. But when she had gone upon her -errand to the soldier at the stable door, and I was left alone with -my designs, for the first time meditation came, and a most unwelcome -feeling of uneasiness crept on me. There was a certain danger in the -thing I was determined to attempt; but then, I argued, the pleasure -that any sport affords must primarily spring from the risks involved -in its pursuit. That is unless one is a Puritan. Her greatest enemy -has never accused my Lady Barbarity of that, however. Yet my mind -still ran upon that grim guardian of the tight-kept rebel, and again I -saw the night about him, and his fixed bayonet glaring at me through -the gloom. Then for the second time that evening did I convince -myself that adventure in the fairy-books and Mr. Daniel Defoe is one -thing, but that at twelve o’clock of a winter’s night their cold and -black reality is quite another. But here the imps of mirth woke up -and tickled me, till again I fell a-rippling with glee. They proudly -showed me half-a-score right worthy men nonplussed and mocked by the -wit of woman. ’Twould make a pretty story for the town; and my faith! -that was a true presentiment. But the long chapter that was in the end -excited to my dear friends of St. James’s I would a’ paid a thousand -pounds to have remained untold. But just now the mirth of the affair -was too irresistible, and I laughed all cowardice to scorn. Besides, -I remembered the wondrous gaze of poor Mr. Anthony Dare, that sweetly -handsome youth, that desperate rebel, that chained and tattered -captive, whose fate was to be a dreadful death upon the Tree. I -remembered him, and although pity is the name that I resolutely refuse -to have writ down as the motive for this merry plot, as all the world -knows that I never had a heart in which to kindle it; but remembering -that lad, I say, straight had I done with indecision, for I sprang up -smartly, with a rude word for the King. And I make bold to declare that -she who pulled the blinds aside an instant later to gaze into the night -was the most determined rebel that ever grinned through hemp. - - - - -CHAPTER III. - -THE REBEL DISAPPEARS. - - -I SAW at once that the moon was come, but for my enterprise’s sake I -wished it absent. Here she was, however, framed in cloud, with a star -or two about her, and a very tell-tale eye. The roof of the woods -freezing across the park was a mass of dusky silver that her beams had -thrown, and so bold and sharp her glow was on every twig that slept -that individual things stood forth and stared at me, and seemed endowed -with the hue of noon in the middle of the night. And I am sure the hour -was laid for an adventure, and crying for a deed. The light of the moon -was made of pale romance, and bade the princess bare her casement, -and the minstrel on the sward to sing. This was the disposition of my -thoughts as I looked out of the window, and I was so captive to their -poetry that a soft touch upon my shoulder startled me as greatly as a -blow. I glanced round quickly and found Emblem at my side. - -“He hath drained it to the dregs, my lady,” says she, brandishing the -coffee-pot. - -“Faith! you startled me,” says I. “Emblem, your foot is lighter than a -cat’s.” - -“’Tis almighty cold under the moon, ma’am,” says the maid, “and you -would be well advised, I think, to put a stouter garment on.” - -“Ha! sly minx,” says I, “you fear that my employment will be the enemy -of soft, white satin, and that it may take a soil or two.” - -I followed her advice, however, and got into a winter dress, and sent -her meanwhile to seek a file in the region of the kitchen. This was -a tool I had forgot, but highly necessary, you will believe, when a -pair of stout handcuffs are to be encountered. I dressed and cloaked -myself with care, and pulled two pairs of stockings on, for slippers -on a frosty night are the tenderest protection. I had just perched the -vizard on my nose when Emblem brought the file. I picked the pistol -up, set it at her head, and made her deliver up that file with a -degree of instancy which hath not been excelled by the famous Jerry -Jones, of Bagshot. Thereupon I loaded that dark weapon, pocketed its -adjuncts, and, leaving the faithful Emblem white and trembling with -the excitement of the hour, set out upon a deed whose inception was so -simple, yet whose complex development was destined to commit a great -havoc in the lives of several, and to change entirely the current of my -own. - -Had I foreseen these ultimate occurrences, I should not have set out -at one o’clock of winter moonlight in the spirit of an urchin on a -holiday. Should I have set out at all? Faith! I cannot say, for the -more beautiful a woman is the less restraint hath reason on her. But -this I’m sure of: had my Lady Barbarity only known the strange form -the business of that night was to take for herself and others, she had -certainly said her prayers before she embarked upon it. - -Two clocks were telling the hour together in the hall when I rode down -the broad backs of the bannisters and attained the mat below without a -sound, this seeming the quietest and most expeditious way of overcoming -the obstinacy of stairs, who creak at no time no louder than at one -o’clock at night--that is, unless it is at two. I glided across the -tiles and entered the servants’ part without so much as waking up a -beetle, such is the virtue that resides in dainty slippers, wedded -to dainty toes. Emblem had left one of the scullery doors unbarred, -and through this I stole forth to the stable. The air was still as -any spectre, and I observed its sacred calm so implicitly that a fox -actually stalked across the yard, not twenty paces off, with his nose -upon the ground, inquiring for poultry. - -I was much too wise to take the stable from the front, but by dodging -round divers of the kitchen offices, I was able to outflank it, and -could peep upon the sentry by the door under cover of a friendly wall. -Every beam of moonlight seemed gathered on that bayonet. When that -naked steel looked at me thus, and seemed to say “Come on if you dare!” -the spirit of my mischief was pretty badly dashed, and began to seek a -pretext to retire. There was Emblem, though, and who shall endure the -secret laughter of her maid? But while I paused, a gentle snore crept -out into the frost and soon was mingling with my ears. The coffee had -performed. In an instant what a lion I became! How promptly I stepped -up to the sentry’s side and took that bayonet from him, for I could not -be myself so long as that blade menaced me. I ran across the yard and -cast it in an ashpit--’twas the utmost indignity I could bestow upon -that weapon--and counted the feat a triumph for wit over insolence and -power. Mr. Sentry had been drugged so heavily and thoroughly that he -was now sleeping more deeply than the earth, as I doubt whether even -morning would have waked him. The posture of his body, though, was most -unfriendly to the scheme I had prepared. His head was jammed in the top -corner against one door post, whilst his heels resided in the bottom -corner of the other. The misfortune was that his ribs were in such a -situation that they covered up the keyhole. Now unless I could obtain -a fair access to that, my labours were in vain. But when engaged on a -dangerous escapade, ’tis a sterile mind that lacks for an expedient. -Therefore I gave back a yard or two into the stable’s shadow, and -looking up, saw precisely what I had hoped to find. Our stables I -had remembered were of two storeys, the second chamber being an open -hayloft, which was only covered by the roof, the sides being composed -of rails alone, and set wide enough apart for persons of an ordinary -stature to squeeze through with ease. How to reach it was the problem, -as the floor of it was suspended ten feet from the ground. It did not -remain a problem long, for I stole to a disused coach house a little -distance off, and groped among the odds and ends there collected for -a ladder. The brightness of the moon permitted me to find without the -least ado a short one, exactly corresponding to my needs. I bore it -to the prison, laid it against the coping stone of the second storey, -and hopped thereon as lightly as a robin hops on rime. I was soon at -the top and through the bars, and battling with the armies of hay and -straw assembled on the other side, that strove with might to thrust out -all intruders. This one was rather more than they could manage though. -Having made my footing good inside the loft, I began to search for one -of those trap-doors that are employed to push the fodder through into -the mangers underneath. This involved a deal of patient exploration, -for it was very little light that penetrated this encumbered place. -But I was now so eager and so confident that I was fit for deeds of -every character, and I do not doubt at all that had my task been to -find a lost needle amongst this endless mass of provender, I should -have discovered it in less than half an hour. Thus coming at last in -the course of my search to a spot well cleared of straw, one of my -slippers trod upon an iron ring, and, much as I regretted the pain -that act involved, I rejoiced the more, since I had stumbled on the -trap. Getting my fingers to this ring, I tugged the door up, and then -prepared to scramble through the hole into the manger. I calculated -that the distance I had to make was a comparatively short one. However, -I was compelled to be cautious in the matter of the hayrack, as should -I become involved in cages of that sort, I must experience many a -stubborn obstacle in getting out again. I should like the reader to -conceive at this point, if he is able, of Lady Barbara Gossiter, the -reigning Toast, whose imperious charms had played the deuce with every -embroidered waistcoat in the town; I say I want you to conceive, dear -Mr. Reader, if you have imagination equal to the task, this exquisite -young person scrambling through trap-doors into mangers in the middle -of the night! Yes, it staggers you, and you say it is impossible. -I quite agree with that, and confess that when I started on this -mischief, or this deed of mercy, call it what you will (for I certainly -will not pretend to be better than I am), I had not included feats -like these in my adventure. Now I had not, unfortunately, the faintest -claim to be called an acrobat, but when the hounds have got scent, -and the whole field is in full cry, one does not tarry for the widest -and greenest pond, or the quickest set of fences. Therefore clinging -tightly to the trap, I lowered myself with insidious care, inch by -inch, into the manger. ’Twas not possible to perform an act of this -sort without committing some little noise. Thus the poor lad pinioned -to the manger heard the creaks of my descent. - -“What the devil!” he exclaimed, starting up as I could tell by the -brisk rustling of his straw. - -“No, child, not the devil,” I says, “a person handsomer by far. But -hush! lad, hush! I am here to save your neck.” - -He strangled a natural cry at this injunction, though an emotion of -surprise caused him to strain unconsciously against his bonds. The -rattle of the manger ring to which the unhappy creature was secured -cut me keenly to the quick. They prate of the cruelty of us women, -but I wish some of these men would consider their own gifts in this -direction, ere they tax us for our drawing-room barbarities. Now -Captain Grantley, in his haste to take me from the window on the -occasion of my visit earlier in the night, had forgotten to reshutter -it, and his omission was now a friend we could not well have done -without. It let a lively flood of moonlight in, which had the cunning -to show me not only my precise locality, but how one was affected to -the other, the work that was before me, and the fairest means by which -it could be done. - -At first the poor prisoner dare not accept the testimony of his eyes, -nor could he trust his ears. - -“I--I cannot understand,” he said. - -“Men never can,” I whispered. “But if we are silent, speedy, and -ingenious I think I can save you from Tyburn, sir.” - -For these words he invoked God’s blessing on me, which was quite a new -experience, as the invocations of his sex are much the other way in my -case. Then he tried to pierce my vizard with his eyes, and then rose -with slow pain to his feet and pushed his handcuffed wrists towards -me, for he had seen me take forth the file. I attacked at once the -stout chains by which they were clinched together, and in which the -cord was looped. ’Twas no light employ, let me assure you. The file -rasped without surcease on the steel for the best part of an hour, -and I put such an energy in the task that long before I had bitten -through the gyve my fingers ached most bitterly, and I could feel the -sweat shining in my face. Whoever it was that had put those fetters -on, ’twas plain he was no tyro in the art. But that winter night, had -my business been to reduce a castle with my single hand I could have -razed it to the earth, I think. Therefore, at last I overcame the -stubborn bonds, and in something less than a minute afterwards the -desperate rebel had all his members free. I am not sure but what a -bond was forged about his heart though. For in the stern assaults I -had directed on his chains the spring that held my vizard fell away, -the patch of velvet dropped into the straw, and lo! at the lifting of -my eyes, I stood unmasked before him. And perhaps I was not sorry for -it, since--the charming fellow!--no sooner did he discover that his -hands were out of durance than he uttered a low cry of pleasure and of -gratitude, and when he regarded his deliverer his eyes became so bright -that they must have been sensible of joy. But I was determined that in -this present instance, no matter how much beyond the common, my native -power should yet assert itself. Wherefore I drew myself to my fullest -inches, tipped up my chin and throat a little to let him see what snow -and dimples are, and what a provocation poets sometimes undergo. Then -I met those fine eyes of his fully with mine own. On this occasion -’twas his that did recoil. Nor was this at all remarkable, since Mr. -Horace Walpole had informed me but a week before, for the fifteenth -time, that if these my orbs should confront the sun at any time, the -sun would be diminished and put out. Thus the rebel’s own high look -yielded reluctantly to mine, and I judged by the twitching of his -mouth that ’twas as much as he could do to suppress his wonder and his -thankfulness. But he did in lieu of that a thing that was even yet more -graceful. - -Without a word he fell on his knees before the feet of his releaser, -and when I deigned to give my hand to him that he might touch it with -his lips, as I thought his delicious silence not unworthy of reward, my -every finger thrilled beneath the one burning tear that issued from his -fine, brave eyes and plashed upon them softly. - -“Madam,” he said then, with his voice all passion-broken and shaking so -that it must have given him an agony to speak, “a word can never thank -you. May I thank you some time otherwise?” - -The moonlight was much our friend in this strange passage, here amongst -the straw of a cold, gloomy, and unclean stable at an unheard-of hour -of night. Pouring through the window it wrapped our figures in a sweet -vague hue that was as beautiful as it was subdued. It had a mellow -holiness about it too, I thought. - -We lost scarce a minute, though, in matters of this character. There -was much to do if the rebel’s escape was to be effected and him to be -hence a mile or two ere his flight was known. Wherefore I commanded him -to leave his knees at once, and made him do so brisker than perhaps -otherwise he might have done by saying that his attitude was extremely -laughable. Next minute I had committed the loaded pistol to his care, -and had informed him that as the door of the ground storey was locked -and a sleeping sentry was huddled against it, egress was cut off -utterly thereby. I proposed, however, that we should get out along the -route by which I had arrived--namely, by climbing up into the manger, -scrambling through the trap into the loft, and descending thence by the -ladder I had left. - -I was the first to make the trial, as I should naturally require the -most assistance in ascending to the second storey, and preferred to -be pushed up by the heels from underneath than to be hauled up by the -arms from overhead. ’Twas here that I was glad that the sun was not -about yet, since I do not doubt that in my attempt to overcome that -ugly trap, I was guilty of showing off a trifle more of petticoat and -stocking than consists with the gentility of Saint James’s Park. Still, -I was willing to pay a reasonable price for these present delightful -issues. Alas! I did not know that I was only at the threshold of this -affair, and that those that lay ahead were to hold more of terror than -enchantment. - -We soon managed to swing ourselves from the manger to the loft, -and when we got amongst the straw I fell to further instructing my -companion. It was of the first importance that he should have a horse, -and I proposed to present him with Rebecca, a blood mare of my own, who -was stabled near at hand. However, as we were to discover all too soon, -we had reckoned without our host considerably. - -Being the better acquainted with our bearings, I went ahead and led the -way through the hay and straw, and in the sequel ’twas quite as well -that I was foremost. For I was just come to the place where the ladder -rested, with Mr. Anthony pressing on my heels, when: - -“Down, sir, into the straw!” I whispered, and smartly as that command -was breathed, I was but just in time. - -A stream of light rising slowly higher from the ladder was the cause of -this alarm. The next thing that I saw was a lantern swinging from the -topmost rung, and immediately behind it the face of Captain Grantley -outlined dimly in the gloom. His eyes were fixed steadily on mine, yet -the keen though quiet smile of greeting with which he met my look, and -it must have been a guilty one, appeared to me a miracle of breeding -and propriety. - -I had to admire this soldier. Not the quivering of a muscle, not -the quaking of a tone informed me of the depth of his astonishment. -As for me, after the first paralysis of bewilderment I met his gaze -with the large, wide look of innocence. I understand that I have a -genius for dissembling. But lord! ’twas needed now. I had gone so far -in the affair that I could not now withdraw. Besides, I had not the -inclination. The lad was handsome, never a doubt of that. He might -be the son of a baker, nevertheless he promised to make an extremely -proper man. Thus I felt my heart grow small with fear, while we -continued to survey each other with an ingenious and smiling care. As -for my poor terrified companion, I could tell by the soft rustling of -straw behind me that he was disposing his body as far beyond the ken of -that lantern and the pair of eyes that were the background to it as his -situation would permit. - -At first the imperturbability of the Captain’s mien put me in some -hope that he had not as yet suspected the presence of his prisoner. -But he contrived to alarm as greatly as he reassured, since he pitched -his voice in the very key of drawling languor that only the fops of -Kensington routs and drawing-rooms employ. - -“Lord! my Lady Barbara, a magnificent evening, don’t you think?” says -he. - -“Do you suppose I would be out of my bed enjoying it unless it was, -my dearest Captain?” says I, with a countenance of the most simple -girlishness in the world. - -The trembling prisoner burrowed the deeper in the straw. - -Now it would have been a perfect piece of comedy, had not that poor -lad been breathing so hard and quick behind me. His life was suspended -on a hair, and this he knew, and I knew also. Otherwise I should have -enjoyed the acting of this play in a fashion that my jaded appetite -seldom enjoys anything. Therefore I continued to regard the Captain -with a gravely whimsical look; but if he twitched an eyelid, altered -the position of a finger, or shifted the altitude an inch at which the -lantern hung, I began to speculate upon the fact, and wrote it in my -heart. We played a game of cat and mouse, and for once the Captain was -the cat. Conceive me the grey and frightened little mouse, trying to -dodge the deathly paw that any instant might descend and mutilate it. - -“Captain,” says I, “are you also interested deeply in the study of -astronomy?” - -“Astronomy!” cries he, “why astronomy?” - -He was a wonderfully clever cat, but trembling little mousie had got -him, by her cunning ways, a trifle off his guard you see. - -“Why, my dearest man,” says I, putting a world of surprise into my -tone lest the moonlight should not properly reflect the amount that -was inserted in my face, “do you suppose for an instant now that a -woman wholly in possession of her wits would quit a warm bed at three -o’clock of a winter’s night to gaze at a full moon from a hay loft if a -question of the heavenly bodies had not summoned her. Do you think for -a moment, sir, that I am here without a reason? Or rank somnambulism -you may consider it?” - -You would have laughed at the amount of indignant heat, as though I -were hurt most tenderly, that I contrived to instil into my accents. - -“Oh dear no, dear Lady Barbara!” says the horrid creature as silkily -as possible; “that you are here without a reason I do not for a moment -think. You misjudge me there, dear lady.” - -Captain Grantley was become the devil! I fairly raked his smiling face -with the fierceness of my eyes, but when they were driven from it by -the simplicity of his look, it was smiling still, yet inscrutable as -the night in which we stood. His language was so ordered that it might -mean everything; on the contrary it might mean nothing. This was the -distracting part. The man spoke in such an honest, unpremeditated -fashion that who should suspect that he knew anything at all? But why -was he here? And why could at least two interpretations be put upon -every word he uttered? These the ruminations of a guilty mind! - -Hereabouts an idea regaled me. If I could but coax the Captain up into -the loft, it would leave the ladder free. The prisoner then might make -a dash for liberty, and if he had an athlete’s body and sound wind and -limbs to serve him in his flight, all was not yet lost, and he had -still a chance of life. - -“Captain,” says I, taking a bearing cautiously, “is the supposition -right that a matter of the heavenly bodies hath also brought you into -the night at this unpropitious season?” - -“Well, scarcely,” says the Captain. “’Tis my duty, madam.” - -That word in its solemnity made me start. And it was spoken in a voice -so pregnant and so deep that it frightened the trembling prisoner too. -The violence of his emotion caused him to stir uneasily, and make the -straw crack. - -“Dear me!” I cried, “did you hear that mouse?” And I gathered my skirts -up in my horror, and huddled my ankles one against the other in the -extremity of fear. - -“A mouse?” the Captain says; “must have been a very big one, dear lady. -Say a rat now; liker a rat, I’m thinking.” - -“Oh no,” I shivered, “’twas a mouse, I’m positive. I felt his little -tail against my shoe. I have no fear of rats--but a mouse, it is a -frightful creature.” - -“That shoe must be highly sensitive, dear lady,” says the Captain, with -a laugh and holding down the light. “Ah! I see that shoe is a carpet -slipper. A carpet slipper on a frosty night. How odd!” - -I repeat, the Captain was become the devil. - -“Odd? They are indeed,” says I. “That careless maid of mine actually -crammed my feet in her haste into two rights instead of left and right. -But a carpet slipper is a very elastic article, you know.” - -“Very,” says the Captain, “and very secret also.” - -“I should think it is,” says I, with an air of simple candour. “I would -not use one else. You see my papa, the Earl, objects to these moonlight -trips of mine. I thus use carpet slippers that he shall not hear me -pass his door or walk across the hall. And I must implore you, sir, not -to betray me in this matter.” - -Here I set such a wistful, pleading gaze upon the Captain that it -nearly knocked him backwards from the ladder. - -“My dearest lady!” and he laid his hand upon his heart. - -Meanwhile I had not forgotten my design. - -“I daresay,” says I, “you would like to have one glimpse, sir, of -Luna and her satellites. I have an apparatus with me. See, here’s my -telescope. A little darling of a creature, is it not?” - -Twisting half round to where the prisoner was, I began to fumble in my -pocket for it. Of course I must bend my head to do so. - -“When he leaves the ladder,” says I to the lad, in the softest whisper -ever used, “leap out and down it like the wind; then it’s neck and -heels to Scotland!” - -Thereupon I took the file forth from my cloak, and so disposed my hands -about it that in the insufficient light it became a very creditable -telescope. I fitted the point into my eye, and jutted forth the handle -with great nicety. - -“Venus is in trine,” says I, with this strange telescope trained upon -the stars. - -“And how is Mars to-night?” says the Captain, with a gallant interest. - -“Mars is out of season, sir,” says I. “He is at no advantage. But -Saturn and some others are wonderfully bright. Come up and gaze, sir. -’Twill interest you rarely, I am certain, and I have here the finest -little instrument that was ever fashioned by the artifice of Italy; -besides, the situation of my observatory is most admirably good.” - -But the very watchful cat upon the ladder betrayed no disposition to -come up and hunt minutely for the mouse. - -“If you will lend me the telescope,” says he, “I think I shall find my -present station equally excellent for the purposes of observation.” - -When he uttered the phrases “for the purposes of observation,” he -looked as simple as a child. But I had a desire to strike him from -the ladder all the same. Not by a single word had he let me know as -yet whether design or accident had brought him of all places to this -particular ladder at this particular hour. Long as I had fenced he was -as inscrutable as his solitaire. I was not wiser in one instance than -when I had begun. Yet I was entitled to a guess, and alas! it was a -gloomy one. - -“Captain Grantley,” says I, with a foot-tap of petulance, “I have -invited you to my observatory.” - -“In the middle of the night,” says he. It was so deftly couched that -for my life I was not certain whether it was intended for a stinging -insult or a very neat evasion. But though forced to admire a hit so -delicate and so palpable, I was extremely angry, too, for circumstances -had left me entirely to his tender mercies. Yet the rebel, having -heard his speech, jumped at once to the opinion that it was rather an -insinuation than a subterfuge, and being a boy and therefore hot with -his heroics, was mighty impetuous for what he considered the honour of -his champion. And although the act would certainly have involved his -life, he was quite prepared to retaliate upon the Captain’s person, -that I might be avenged. - -Happily I divined his intention just in time. I caught the cracking of -the straw, gave back a step and screamed a little, drew my petticoats -together, and set one heel as heavily as I could on the uprising -rebel’s breast. - -“The mouse!” I cried; “there it is again. Did you not hear it, sir? Oh, -I am in such horrid fear! Captain, do come up and catch it for me by -the tail!” - -Now my mind was so involved in the escape of this staunch and honest -lad, that you will see it was quite heedless as to the degree these -requests might implicate myself. In the end, however, the Captain -himself proved sufficiently a gentleman to redeem me from this unlucky -situation. Grantley, the town-bred fop, had just pierced me keenly with -his wit; but next moment Grantley, officer of the King, and defender of -his country, came bravely to my aid. - -“My Lady Barbara,” says he, mildly, but abating somewhat the mincing -accents of the exquisite, “I think this mummery hath gone on long -enough. ’Tis a very dangerous game for us both to play; and, madam, I -think the more especially for you, since the more beautiful a woman is, -the more perturbed the world is for her reputation. And, my dear lady, -you really should consider the limitations of us poor susceptibles; -we are very frail sometimes, you know. But let us have an end to the -acting of this play.” - -“Play!” says I, with sweet surprise; “sir, to what do you refer?” - -I gazed at him with perfect innocence, but I thought I heard sounds of -hard, deep breathing issue from the straw behind me. - -“My Lady Barbara,” the Captain said, and setting the lantern a point -the nearer to my face to mark the effect of his words upon it, “your -conduct in this matter, I will confess, hath been exceeding creditable -to your heart. But in the name of the King I summon one Anthony Dare, -lying there behind you, to stand forth from that straw.” - -Now there was not a word in this demand beyond what I should have -anticipated from the first; but my adversary had fenced and toyed with -me so long, that he had almost weaned my mind from thinking that he -knew of my attempt and the poor prisoner’s situation. And in the very -breath of this avowal he let me see that he had ordered his tactics -with so complete a skill that the prisoner’s doom was sealed. Before -the final word was uttered a cocked pistol was pointed at the straw. -The lad concealed amongst it, feeling that all was over, made an -attempt to rise. Perhaps his idea was to throw himself upon his wary -foe, but that, I saw, was certain death. He would have been shot down -like a dog. Thus by the renewed pressure of my heel upon his breast, -I was able to still restrain him. Indeed, I was already ploughing up -my wits to find another plan. It is a part of my character never to -surrender until I am compelled. Till my adversary wins, I have not -lost, and the nearer he be to victory, the greater the danger that -besets him. - -“Captain,” says I, with a meek, sad smile, “I have played my game, and -I have lost it. Victory sits with you. Let me compliment you on your -superior skill, sir, and crave your leave to now withdraw.” - -I said this as humbly as you please. I hung my head, and the limp -dejection of my form betrayed how utterly I was beaten. Every spark of -spirit was gone out of me, apparently. The Captain was not ungenerous, -and seeing me so badly gravelled and that I took thus sincerely my -reverses, was kind enough to say: - -“My Lady Barbara, you have played a bold and skilful game, and I -tender you my compliments upon it.” - -My cunning gentleman I could see had been taken off his guard a little -by my lowliness of bearing. He did not discern that ’twas in my mind, -despite the fact that both the prisoner and myself were utterly at the -mercy of his pistol, to attempt quite the boldest stroke of all. - -It was now that I withdrew my slipper from the prisoner’s breast and -walked up in the most natural way one could imagine to within a foot -of where the Captain stood upon the ladder, smiling with something of -the air of Alexander. I took my steps with such discretion and feigned -a simple negligence so well that he suspected nothing. My Lady Barbara -being my Lady Barbara, he had of course nothing to suspect. - -“I wish to descend if you will allow me, sir,” says I, “for I cannot -bear to stand by and see my unhappy friend retaken.” - -He was preparing to accommodate me in this perfectly humane request -when, tightening my fingers on the file, I struck the butt of his -pistol with all my strength, and straight the weapon dropped from his -hand and clattered ten feet to the stones below. The prisoner at my -back was marvellously quick. In almost the same instant as the pistol -tinkled on the yard the lad was up. He flew at the astonished Captain -like a cat, and struck him full and neat just underneath the jaw. -’Twas a murderous blow, and the horrid thud it made quite turned my -stomach over. But it was not a time for niceties. The Captain tumbled -backwards down the ladder, neck and heels; his lantern was shattered -to a thousand atoms; and in two seconds he, the pistol, broken glass, -and much good benzoline were in a heap upon the stones. The prisoner -waited for no courtesies. He did not even give his foe the chance of a -recovery; for, disdaining to use the ladder, he jumped to the ground in -such a calculated way that he descended with his hands and knees upon -the Captain’s prostrate person. - -Now it was evident that much more than this was required to provide the -Captain’s quietus, for so soon as the prisoner fell upon his body he -clasped him by the waist and clung to him with the tenacity of a leech. -For a full minute they fought and wrestled on the ground and felt for -one another’s throats. But the Captain underneath found the arguments -of the man on the top too forcible. Thus by the time that I was down -the ladder the rebel had managed to extricate himself, and was running -away as hard as he was able. - -And here it was that Fortune treated him so cruelly. The hours he -had passed in prison with limbs cramped up and bound had told too -sure a tale. He was unable to move beyond half the pace a healthy -and clean-limbed youth should be able to employ. And the Captain was -a person of the truest mettle. Despite the several shocks he had -undergone and the bruises he had suffered, he was up without a moment’s -pause and running the rebel down with rare agility. In his haste, -though, there was a highly necessary article that he had failed to -regard. That was the pistol lying on the ground beside him. And it will -prove to you that I was still playing the prisoner’s game with all -my wits when I say that I pounced on it and threw it up into the hay -loft, where it could be no use to anybody. Then I sped after the pair -of runners to see what the outcome was to be. They were racing through -a gate that led into the park, which slept in a pale, cold silence -beneath the peaceful moon. - -I had not run a hundred yards when, alas! the issue grew too plain. -Yard by yard the Captain bore down upon his foe. It was only a matter -of minutes ere he once more had him at his mercy. But observing their -movements eagerly as I went a thrill of horror trembled through my -heart, for I clearly saw the fugitive clap his hand into his coat, -and even as he ran, withdraw something from it secretly. He concealed -it with his hand. But in a flash it was in my mind that this was the -loaded pistol I had given him. And the Captain was unarmed. - -If you give rein enough to mischief it may lead you into many and -strange things. But I think it should always draw the line at murder. -Much as I would have paid for the prisoner’s escape, ’twas more than I -could endure to witness a stark and naked murder. Mind, I did not enter -into the merits of the case at all. I would have the lad escape at -every cost, but none the less, murder must be prevented. And now I saw -that the holder of the pistol was tailing off in his speed so palpably -that he must soon be overtaken. There was a reason for his tardiness, -however. He was waiting till his pursuer should come within a yard or -two; then he would whip round and discharge the pistol straight into -his body. - -This idea, together with the thought that I had armed him for the deed, -was more than I could suffer. A wretched sickness overtook me. But it -made me the more determined to save the Captain if I could. Therefore, -I knit my teeth upon the weak cries of my terror and ran, and ran, -and ran till I came within hailing distance of them, for both had -now much slackened in their running. Happily the Captain had at last -observed the weapon of his enemy and had interpreted his bloody motive. -Thus, while the one awaited the coming of his foe, the other warily -approached, but with no abatement of his courage: whilst I, profiting -by these manœuvres, was soon at the place where they had disposed -themselves for their battle. - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - -OF AN ODD PASSAGE IN THE MEADOW. - - -“FOR the love of God, my lad, don’t fire!” I cried to the rebel at the -pitch of the little voice that yet was left me. - -They had now halted, and stood confronting one another very close in -the dewy grass of the open meadow, while the moon wrapped them in her -creepy light. For, perhaps, while one might count thirty they stood -apart with as little motion as the ghostly trees, in a tense and -straining silence. Again I cried: - -“Oh, hold your fire, my lad!” more instantly than ever. And as I thus -implored him, I made a great effort to overtake and get between them. -But the matter was now gone utterly beyond any control of mine. They -gave me no more heed than I had been a tuft of grass. And whether -’twas that the sound of me behind him spurred the Captain to a fury, -or that he risked his life from calculation, sure, I can never say, -for, as I came up, without a word the Captain sprang and the prisoner -shot together. At the fierce crack of the pistol the Captain fell from -his full height upon the turf, and I recoiled from the report and felt -all at once the wet grass tickling my face; whereon a sudden darkness -filled my eyes, and I lost the sense of where I was. For some little -time I must have been insensible. But soon the blackness that pressed -upon my eyelids lifted somewhat, and the buzzing in my ears abated. -’Twas then that I found myself sitting in a most quaint fashion on the -grass, though the manner of my falling on that wet sward was a point -more than my knowledge. A comic figure I must have cut, and I believe -my earliest feeling was one of deep relief that there was but one -spectator of my plight--he the Captain, who to tell the truth was in -no prettier case. I was at first disposed to attribute my preposterous -state to the wrought condition of my nerves, and had half arrived at -the conclusion that even this pretext was insufficient for so extreme -a situation, when I grew dimly conscious that a sort of fiery pain was -throbbing in one shoulder. It was then I knew that I was hit. Meantime -poor Captain Grantley was striving hard to rise. Twice he tried and -twice he failed and fell back on the grass. The second time he groaned -an oath, for his eyes had fallen on the swift figure of the prisoner -fading in the dew. - -“Dammy, Jimmy!” says he to himself, struggling for the third time -to regain his feet and failing. “It’s no go, my lad. You are taken -somewhere.” - -Thereupon he sat up in the grass and began to whistle with grave -bravado an odd strain from the “Beggar’s Opera.” Then my merry -gentleman turned and looked at me. I also was sitting up in the grass, -perhaps a dozen yards away, and was in almost an identical posture to -himself, except that mine was a matter of the nerves and shoulder. But -if you could have found a more comic pair upon the surface of the earth -than we made just then, I should be glad to learn their whereabouts, -for to behold them would well repay a pilgrimage. - -“Why, bless my soul, my Lady Barbara!” he cries in a tone of deep -concern, “do not tell me that you are taken too!” - -“I fear I am,” says I, with a great desire to swoon, for my shoulder -was as hot and wet as possible. - -“But not grievously, I hope,” says he. - -“Sure I do not know,” I answered weakly. And sure I didn’t! For I felt -so utterly foreign at this moment to my usual confident and lively self -that I was not certain whether I was really caught at all, or whether -I was about to die. The Captain, however, was not to be satisfied with -this. With the aid of two hands and one knee he crawled towards me, -dragging his shattered member through the grass, as stiffly as a pole, -so that it seemed to trail after the remainder of his body in the -manner of a wounded snake. When he reached my side, though I think I -was very nearly dying for a little sympathy, he compelled me to extend -all that I was expending on myself to him. The moonlight, beating -fully on his face, showed it livid and drawn with pain. - -“Why, my dear man,” says I, “what have you dragged yourself here to -do?” For seeing him in this extremity, I forgot all about my shoulder, -which really seemed to have had no more than one stroke from a whip -laid on it. - -“To succour you,” says he, “if you will permit me?” - -“Then I won’t,” says I, “for ’tis you that’s wanting aid.” - -“Psha!” says he; “a mere scratch, my dearest lady.” - -Now that was not the truth, for the man was in such agony that he could -scarcely speak. Yet I thought his courage admirable. Here it was I made -an attempt to rise on my own account, and with far better success than -he. But so soon as I stood up, my head reeled and swayed and nearly -brought me to the grass again. - -I think it must have been the presence of the Captain that saved me -from fainting on the spot. But having once fought down that supreme -desire, my strength unaccountably returned, and I determined to set -forth straightway to the house to procure assistance for the Captain, -who was still sitting on the turf as helpless as a baby. - -“I beg of you,” says he, observing me to be already fit for travel, “to -instruct one of your people to call my men at once.” - -“By my faith, no,” says I, “that poor lad must have as much start of -you and your men as possible. Captain, you forget that I am a rebel.” - -“Under your pardon I do not,” says he, whilst a groan rose to his lips. -“And would that I might dissemble it, for this may prove a very awkward -business.” - -’Twas a smothered threat of course, but I smiled at it demurely. - -However, my present plan to assist the prisoner’s escape was unluckily -doomed to a frustration. A sentry had been dispatched from the house -to relieve the one on guard at the stable door. Finding him asleep and -the prisoner gone, he had repaired to his comrades, and then to the -Captain’s room with a report of the occurrence. That bird was also -flown. Thereupon the whole house was put in a commotion, somewhere on -the stroke of four of the wintry morning, and the soldiers issued forth -in a body to seek high and low the rebel and their officer. Three of -them were now bearing down upon us in the meadow. In a word they were -advised of their commander’s accident and the necessity for haste. -Therefore summoning their fellows they promptly unhinged one of the -hurdles of the park and bore the Captain on it to his chamber. And as -soon as they had done this, they got to horse, and galloped hotly in -pursuit of the fleeing rebel, who had something less than two hours -start upon them. - -“We shall see him brought back before the day is out!” said the -Captain, confidently; “for he hath never a friend nor a horse hereby, -nor a penny to procure them.” - -Meantime I was in a panic of alarm on my own account. To a woman of -the mode a pair of unblemished shoulders are highly requisite when she -repairs to Vauxhall, the playhouse, or the King’s levee. No sooner did -the fear oppress me that one of them was permanently mutilated than -I discarded my vapidity and went like the wind from the meadow to my -chamber to resolve the matter to the test. I cannot possibly convey to -you the distresses of hope and fear I suffered on that journey. I never -felt my wound at all now, and was hardly conscious of my weariness. -Thus in a surprising little time I was running up the staircase to -my chamber. Emblem was toasting her toes at the hearth, and was very -properly asleep and dreaming of white satin. My vigorous entrance woke -her, though. - -“Come, wench, bestir yourself!” cries I, in my fever of alarm, “and -find me the lowest-necked evening bodice I have got. Now, out with it -at once and dress me in it, or, ’pon my soul! you shall not have that -satin gown I promised you.” - -At the mention of the gown she flew to a wardrobe and produced the -necessary article with a palpitating suddenness; whilst I threw off my -cloak and ordered Mrs. Polly to remove the present bloodied bodice that -I wore, heedless of wounds and other mortal things of that sort. - -“Blood! oh, it’s blood, my lady!” cries Mrs. Polly Emblem; and her -frightened face was mottled white and red, the very pattern of my -linen, with the gory spots upon it. “Oh, you are hurt, my lady! You are -dreadfully hurt, I’m certain!” - -“Never you mind that,” says I with a very Spartan air; “but just put -me in that bodice, and tell me, for your life, whether ’twill conceal -this wound or whether ’twill not. For if it doth expose the scar,” I -announced in a manner highly tragical, while the tears gathered in my -eyes, “the reign of my Lady Barbarity is over.” - -“Even if it does,” says Emblem, “we may powder and enamel it, my lady.” - -“Psha!” cries I, “there is all the difference in the world betwixt a -scar and a bad complexion. Art can never obliterate a scar.” And here -I began to bite my handkerchief in pieces, being no longer able to -contain myself. - -The ensuing minute was one of the most awful of my life. It seemed -as though Emblem--trembling wretch!--would never get that bodice on; -but, to do her justice in this affair, and to act kindly towards her -character, I must admit that she betrayed a very proper instinct in -this matter. That is to say, she was as desperately seized as ever was -her mistress with the fear that my peerless shoulders were torn in such -a fashion that a low dress would be inadequate to hide their mutilation. - -Happily, the pistol-ball had simply run along the skin and had slit it -open for an inch or two, quite low down in the shoulder-blade--a mere -scratch, in fact, that let out very little blood. Thus we managed to -get one garment off and the other on, both easily and painlessly. Then -’twas that Emblem clapped her hands, and gave a cry of joy. - -“It covers it, your la’ship, by a full two inches,” she exclaimed. - -“You are sure of that?” cries I, in a tremor of excitement. “There must -be no mistake about it, now. Bring me a mirror here that I may see it -for myself.” - -This she did, and, though the disturbed wound was smarting horribly, -I paid no attention to it until I was assured that its position was -even as Mrs. Polly Emblem said. To describe the relief that my mind -immediately experienced would be impossible. - -“Lord, that’s lovely!” cries I, and fervently kissed the cheek of Mrs. -Polly to express my gratitude to good old Lady Fortune, who, I am -sure, kind soul! must in her time have been a woman of the mode! But -then it was that the stress of the night returned; all my weaknesses -concertedly attacked me, and the pangs of my wound (though the wound -was but the faintest scratch) were so aggravated by them that it -appeared as if my flesh were being nipped by a hundred red-hot pincers. -I sobbed out: - -“Quick with a cordial, Emblem, for I feel that I must swoon!” - -And faith! no sooner had I said this than I swooned in deadly earnest. -I was restored in good time, though, and, having had my shoulder -bathed and a plaster put upon it, I was got to bed, and slept -profoundly till some time after two o’clock of the afternoon. - -When I opened my eyes I saw that the room was darkened, and that -anxious Mrs. Polly, Doctor Paradise (physician-in-ordinary to all the -county families about), and no less a person than my Aunt, the dowager, -were sitting in a row beside the bed, and looking at me solemnly. - -“Good evening to you, doctor,” says I, feeling perfectly restored by so -sound a slumber, “or is it afternoon? or is it morning? But I daresay -you propose to make a case of this.” - -“Well, madam,” says the twinkling, old, and snuffy rogue, “you are -suffering from shock, and a contused and lacerated shoulder. Therefore -I prescribe rest and quiet, and would recommend that you keep your bed -for at least a week.” - -“Then I must be pretty bad,” says I. - -“True, true, dear Lady Barbara,” says he, insinuatingly, “although, if -I may presume to say so, I think ‘pretty bad’ is an expression scarce -adequate to your condition.” - -“Eh, what?” says I. - -“Of course, my dear lady,” he explained, with wicked emphasis, “it is -the condition of your corporal body that I refer to.” And the sly old -villain smiled and bowed in a very disconcerting manner. - -Now it does you not a tittle of service anyway to chop dialectics with -your doctor. He knows everything about your way of life; your past, -your future, and your present state, and he can pepper you with phrases -that seem as harmless as the alphabet, if you look at them from the -point of view of a physician. Yet if the world chooses to place its own -construction on them, it would not feel tempted to mistake one for an -archangel. In short, your doctor is not the person you should lead into -a discourse in the presence of your Aunt. - -“Then I must keep my bed for at least a week?” says I. - -“I should strongly advise it,” says old Paradise. - -“Indeed you would, sir,” says I, sweetly; “then, Emblem, fetch me my -spotted taffety. For I propose to instantly get up.” - -And to the indignation of my Aunt, the dowager, who regarded the whole -tribe of doctors as religiously as the Brahmins do their sacred bull, -I suddenly renounced the sheets, sat on the margin of the bed, and -bade Emblem draw my stockings on. In my experience this hath proved -the exactest mode of routing the whole infernal faculty. Do not argue -with them, for their whole art consists in contriving new and elegant -diseases for persons of an uncompromising health. Therefore at this -moment my Aunt, with a shake of her wintry curls at me, invited the -doctor to a dish of tea downstairs, and a game of cribbage afterwards. -Thus before my second stocking was drawn on they had departed, but -had left behind volumes of horrid prophecies of blood poisoning, high -fever, and five-and-twenty other things. - -“Now lock the door, my Emblem,” says I, cheerfully, “and tell me every -bit of news.” - -“If I were you, my lady,” Emblem says, “I would get back to bed this -instant and grow very ill indeed. For Captain Grantley is drawing a -complaint up in this matter, and thinks that upon the strength of it -the Government will feel compelled to arrest you for high treason and -send you to the Tower. - -“High what?” cries I, “send me to the where? Why, upon my soul! did any -man ever speak such nonsense in his natural! As though the Government -would do anything of the kind. ’Twas but a piece of mischief. I meant -no harm. I’m certain I never wished to hurt the Captain, who, by the -way, is much cleverer and braver than I had supposed. ’Twas but a piece -of fun, I say. And if the poor lad did escape, well, he was a very -pretty lad, and I am certainly not sorry. Arrest me! Send me to the -Tower! Pah! the Government will do nothing of the kind. Why, Emblem, -what is it that I’ve done.” - -“Sure I don’t know, my lady,” says the faithful creature, beginning to -whimper like a child; “you have done nothing very wicked as I can see. -Of course he was a prisoner, but then there is lots of other prisoners, -and plenty as big as he, and bigger if it comes to that.” - -“Why, of course there is, you silly goose,” says I. - -“And you never meant that the Captain should be hurt, my lady?” - -“I would not have hurt him for the world,” says I. “Now, dry your eyes, -my girl. The Government hath no more of a case against me than it hath -against the Pope of Rome. And even if it had, it is too well bred to -dare to prefer it against Bab Gossiter; besides, it is not as though -there was any malice in the thing. And as you say, a prisoner more or a -prisoner less doth matter not a little bit.” - -“But,” says the foolish Emblem, weeping more than ever, “my lord is -very much concerned at the Captain’s disposition. Why, my lady, I heard -him say not an hour ago that there is nothing to be done, and that the -consequences must be faced.” - -“Consequences!” laughed I. “That comes of being a politician. Oh, -these statesmen and prime ministers, with their grave faces. Why, if -a chairman so much as puts his foot on a poodle dog in Mincing Lane, -they talk of it in whispers and discuss its bearing on what they -call the ‘situation.’ Or if a washerwoman presents her husband with -a pair of healthy twins at Charing there’s a meeting of the Council -to see whether that fact hath altered the aspect of affairs. And it’s -the nation this, and the nation that; and they talk as mysterious as -Jesuits with their interminable Whigs and their pestilential Tories -whom nobody understands and nobody cares a farthing for. Send me -to the Tower! A set of politicians, no handsomer than clergymen and -nothing like so humorous. La! Emblem, I would like to see ’em do it!” - -I was both angry and amused at this idea, and got into my clothes as -quickly as I could, for I was now on fire to go and see the Earl. The -notion was really too absurd. - -“How is the Captain now?” I inquired, while I dressed. - -“His knee is shattered dreadfully,” the maid replied, “and he will not -be able to leave this house for many weeks.” - -“That is good news,” said I, complacently. “He will be able to amuse me -during these long winter evenings. But tell me, Emblem, is that poor -prisoner lad reta’en? The Captain swore that his soldiers would retake -him in an hour or two.” - -“They have not returned yet,” Emblem answered. - -“Excellent!” cried I; “that’s made my shoulder better.” - -And I fell to dancing up and down the chamber in the effervescence of -my mood. - - - - -CHAPTER V. - -I MIX IN THE HIGH POLITICAL - - -I WAS very mystified by the manner of my papa. When I tripped into -his presence, I was met with that wonderful sweet politeness that was -so much in the marrow of the man that at his decease a tale was put -about in town that his death was delayed ten minutes by the elaborate -courtesies with which he introduced himself to the Old Gentleman’s -attention. - -Having paid me a compliment or two and discovered the good condition of -my shoulder, he congratulated me on that fact, and then took a chair -with such comical solemnity that I burst into laughing at the picture -that he made. - -“Mr. J. P.,” says I, “that’s excellent. Mr. Custos Rutulorum, my -_devoir_ to you! And I am sure your worship hath only to strike that -attitude at the Petty Sessions to reform every poacher in the shire.” - -I rose and swept three curtseys at him, but he sat more serious than -ever. - -“Bab,” says he, “there hath been an accident; and, my dear child, I -would have given much to have prevented it.” - -There was a depth and brevity about these words that startled me out of -my lightheartedness. I had never guessed that this old barbarian kept -such a chord locked up in his heart. In five-and-twenty years I had not -touched it till this instant, and why or how I had done so now I did -not know. - -Meantime I sat in silent fascination at the fine and sorrowful power -that had come into his voice, and hearkened with all my ears to -everything he had to say. - -“Bab,” says he, with a gentle smile that was intended to conceal his -unaccustomed gravity, “man is a whimsical animal, I am aware. But there -is one thing in him that even a woman must deal with mercifully. You -have perhaps not heard of what he calls his honour. The omission is not -yours, my pretty lady; your angelic sex rises superior to honour and -little flippancies of that kind. But your papa suffers from his sex, -and is, therefore, tainted with their foolish heresies. He hath also -what he calls his honour; and a certain young person whom I will not -blame, but who, I may say, is as greatly celebrated for her beauty as -her wit, hath quite unconsciously put her foot upon it. And that spot -is so tender that she must forgive the victim if he groans.” - -He smiled a charming, melancholy smile, and made me think of those -noble velvet gentlemen by Vandyck upon the walls of our state chambers, -whom I would stand and look at hours together and make love with all my -heart to when I was a little girl. To watch him smile and to hear him -speaking like a most tender music, none could have discerned what his -emotion was, unless one had the experience of a lifetime to bear upon -his ways. And for myself, ’twas only the misgivings of my heart that -told me he was in great pain. - -“What is it that I’ve done, my lord?” cries I, feeling that he must -have been furnished with a very highly coloured picture of my deeds. - -“I gave my word to the King,” he answered me, “that I would succour -his soldiers here at Cleeby for a night, and take the prisoner that -they held into my keeping faithfully. Instead of that I send my maid to -drug the sentry; I go out in a pair of carpet slippers in the middle -of the night; I set a ladder up against the hayloft; I climb up there, -and, by means of dropping through a trap into a manger, I get into the -prisoner’s cell and let the prisoner out; I furnish that prisoner with -a pistol; I disarm an officer of the King, and cause him to be shot -severely in the knee, and enable the prisoner to escape. It is in this -manner that I redeem my promise to the Government of His Majesty the -King.” - -“You, my lord!” cries I, aghast, and doubting whether he had the proper -enjoyment of his mind. “Pray shatter those delusions! I, my lord--I, -your daughter Bab, did that, and I can show you the wound upon my -shoulder that I got.” And here I chanced to sneeze, and turned it into -evidence. - -“And that, my lord,” says I, “is the mortal cold I’ve caught from those -carpet slippers. I put them on for fear of waking you, sir.” - -“Bab,” says he, in a wooing voice, “was it you who made that promise to -the King?” - -“Certainly not,” says I, in triumph, “for do you suppose that I would -have thus amused myself had I done so? I told the Captain I was a rebel -from the first.” - -“Then that confirms all that I have said,” says he, “and I have -informed the Captain that you count for nothing in this matter, and -’twas I who let the prisoner out.” - -“Which, under your pardon, you never did,” says I, misunderstanding -him. “I took the risks and I’ll have the glory. ’Twill be published in -the Courier that that audacious wretch Bab Gossiter let out a dangerous -rebel in the middle of the night, at her father’s country seat, by -outwitting nimbly a well-known officer of His Majesty. They will put -me in a ballad, and sell ’em two a penny in the Strand. Sylvanus Urban -will have a full and particular account of me in the Gentleman’s -Magazine, and for a whole nine days I shall be as variously known as -Joan of Arc or wicked Mrs. Molly Cutpurse.” - -“But ’twill be said,” says he, “that Mrs. Rumour hath lied as usual, -and that she hath been quite put out of countenance by the fact that -the Earl of Longacre, her peerless ladyship’s papa, hath confessed in -his own person to this treason; that he hath stood his trial upon it -at Old Bailey; hath been found guilty, and therefore stands committed -to the Tower.” - -“Papa,” says I, severely, “you are become profane. Do not jest with -such sacred names as ‘High Treason,’ ‘Old Bailey,’ and the ‘Tower.’” - -“Bab,” says he, “a woman’s head is far too pretty to understand these -ugly matters. But ’tis enough that ’twas I that let that prisoner out -in the middle of the night; ’tis my name that Captain Grantley has done -me the special favour of inserting in his dispatches to the Minister of -War, and it will be my body that will be committed in dishonour to the -Tower. And now, my pretty Bab, suppose we wash our hands of these dirty -politics, and solace ourselves with a little game of backgammon and a -dish of tea?” - -There was only one person in the world that this delightful mirror of -the graces could not deceive with his urbanity. She chanced to be his -daughter Bab. That young person’s eyes could penetrate his embroidered -vest and look into his heart, or any substitute that he wore for that -important organ. His countenance I never saw more easy and serene, -and was good enough to cheat the devil with, but behind that mask his -every nerve was quivering with an agony of shame. His sensibility to -politics astonished me. This worldly man, this polished heathen, this -ancient fop, this hard-bit _roué_, who feared not God nor anybody; -this scandalous Court chronicle of sixty years of Stuartry to be laid -prone and bleeding by a frolic of his daughter Bab’s. ’Twas impossible, -you’ll say, and that is what I also said, but there it was. - -“Oh, these politics!” cries I, in a passion. “A pestilence upon ’em! -Confound these politics! And what in the world is there to make so wry -a face about, my lord? The matter might be serious. Do I not repeat, -sir, that the thing was but a piece of mischief? Call it fun, my lord, -bravado, diablerie, what you will, but I want you to understand that -’twas a piece of mischief.” - -“’Tis perfectly correct,” says he; “an infernal piece of mischief.” - -“Then might I ask, my lord, what there is to make a song about? True, -the rebel is escaped, but I’m not sorry in the least for that; indeed, -betwixt ourselves, I am somewhat glad of it. He is a very handsome lad, -and will make a prettier man than any that I’ve seen. But what is there -to make a ballad of, I ask? Is he the only rebel in the world then? -There are thousands of rebels up and down the earth, and I’m sure not -a man jack of ’em’s so handsome as that lad. Why,” laughs I, “he hath -an eye that is a rival to my own. No, ’twould not be truthful of me to -say that I am sorry for it. As for the bullet that traversed Captain -Grantley’s knee, I do indeed regret that very deeply, but I ask you, -my lord, is his the first knee that hath had a bullet through it? And -is it going to be the last? Why, at that same instant a portion of the -same discharge hit my shoulder, too, so he is not the only sufferer. -Pah! ’twas only a piece of mischief, and my maid Emblem will tell you -quite the same, and she should know, for she put my cloak on and saw -me down the stairs. Why, if it comes to argument, my lord, the King, -nor you, nor politics, nor precious Captain Grantley hath a leg to -stand on, and ’tis argument they say that is the only thing that is -considered in a court of justice. Come, tell me is it not so, Mr. -Custos Rutulorum?” - -“Faith, that is so!” laughed his lordship, heartily, and he hath been -on four occasions High Sheriff of the County; “and if they shall find -a lawyer who may prevail against this argument of yours, my delightful -criminal, it will have to be a woman, a second Portia let us say, for -the man hath not been fashioned yet who could possibly chop logic with -you; nay, if it comes to that,” and my papa stood up and bowed to -the bright buckles of his shoes in the most flattering fashion, “the -combined genius of our sex could never hope to overcome in argument the -dialectics of you fair, unfathomable, amazing ladies.” - -Yet despite his smiling speeches the hard-wrought look still sat in his -eyes. Then I grew Tower-haunted. Could it be possible that my frolic -had so greatly shocked old, indignant, sober-sided Politics? But if -any proof were needed to the Earl’s assertion that my night’s work -was criminal, it was at my elbow. On the table I saw a sheet of the -official blue with a brief statement of the prisoner’s escape upon it. -It was a rather garbled version, for the name of me, prime agent and -offender, was not allowed to once appear; nor were the inconvenient -details set down at any length, but in the sum it said that the whole -of the responsibility rested with my papa, the Earl, and he had affixed -the peculiar scrawl that was his signature upon this preposterous -indictment. The familiar way in which this was irresolutely writ, in -his trembling, old, and gouty hand, affected me most strangely. There -seemed a sort of nobility about the behaviour of this old barbarian; -and a strain of the hero in a man delights me more than anything, and -generally fills me with a sort of emulation. - -“This means the Tower!” says I, brandishing the paper. - -“It does,” my lord says, inclined to be amused at my impetuosity. - -“Then, sir,” says I, “I will be mentioned in it fully as is my due. I -did the deed, and I will take the recompense. If its reward is to be -the Tower, I will claim it as my own. Therefore erase your name from -this document, my lord, and insert the name of her who hath duly earned -her place there.” - -“Nay, Bab, not so,” says he. “I gave the soldiers of the King my -hospitality, and now they must give me his.” - -“Which they never shall,” cries I, with my cheeks a-flaming. “I will go -and see the Captain and insist upon his keeping to the truth. Oh, these -politics! ’Tis well said that there is no such thing as rectitude in -politics. But in the meantime I will draw the teeth out of this wicked -document to prevent it committing harm.” - -And under the nose of its custodian I screwed the paper into a ball, -and planted it calmly in the blaze. Having watched it thoroughly -consumed, I swept from the room to beard the Captain, and left -“laughter holding both his sides” in the person of his lordship, who -quoted Horace at me or some other, whom I have not sufficient Latin to -locate or to determine. ’Twas about the Sun-God Apollo and his tender -sentiments towards some deity with a cheek of fire. - -I found my worshipful friend the Captain in occupation of the library. -He was dressed rakishly in lavender and in a peruke that flourishes -most in Chelsey and such-like Southern places. His shattered knee was -strapped upon a board, and though his face was pinched with pain, it -was anything but woeful when he gazed up from the writing-table at -which he sat, and beheld me glide into the room. - -He was monstrous busy with a full-feathered quill upon a page of -foolscap, the twin to the one to which my papa had signed his name, and -that had been so considerately burned. - -I asked him of his hurt, and he questioned me of mine. Both, it seemed, -were recovering excellently well. Then says I with that simplicity -which is perhaps the most insidious weapon of all that I possess: - -“My dear Captain, I have just seen a paper identical to the one you are -now engaged upon, in the room of my papa. I call it very thoughtful of -you to suppress my name in the manner that you do. Am I to suppose?” I -inquired, with an eagerness that he noticed with a gleam of pleasure, -“that you have treated my part in last night’s affair as kindly in this -document that you are now preparing?” - -“Look, my dear lady, for yourself!” cries he, happy in his own -adroitness. “I will wager that you shall not find your name once -mentioned in it.” - -My gentleman handed five close-writ sheets of foolscap to me to examine -for myself. I scanned every page, and saw that it was even as he said, -and that the case, a black one in all conscience from the point of view -of politics, and quite enough to hang even a peer of the realm upon, -was made out entirely to the prejudice of his poor old lordship. - -“’Tis true, Captain,” says I, “that there is not a word of me within -it. And last night at Cleeby without Bab Gossiter is like the tragedy -of Hamlet without the Prince of Denmark. ’Tis utterly worthless, sir. -As a truthful narrative it is inadequate, but is none the less a very -pretty fairy-tale. But in this cold and unromantic age of Politics, -pleasing fictions are popular. Therefore, dear Captain, I think it -better that it were suppressed. And I do not doubt if it be any -consolation to you, sir, for the futile pains you have spent upon this -document, that one day all the Prime Ministers and Privy Councillors, -and stout Whigs and arrant Tories, and every kind of politician that -ever was or ever will be, will fizzle just as briskly and completely -together in another hemisphere, as these five papers this instant do in -this.” - -And in the course of this decisive statement I tucked the five papers -deeply in the grate, saw them turn black in a twinkling, and then -turned round to enjoy the industrious writer’s countenance. - -To prove how little this summary deed affected him he selected another -sheet without granting me a word of any sort, took a new dip of ink, -and calmly re-began his labour. - -“Come, sir,” says I, tartly, “do you not see the nonsense of it? You -know quite well, Captain, it was I who wrought the mischief of last -night; and if it hath earned Old Bailey and the Tower, I am determined -not to flinch from my deserts.” - -“My Lady Barbara,” says he, with an elegance that disarmed my anger, -“it is the desire of his lordship and my humble self to spare so -much wit and beauty these indignities. Besides, one really must be -considerate of the Justices. Assuming that the Court found you guilty -of this crime, there is not a Judge upon the Bench with sufficient -tenacity of mind to pass a sentence on you.” - -“Why, of course there’s not,” says I, complacently. “I foresaw that all -along.” - -But there was indeed a conspiracy between these gentlemen, and I tried -very hard to break up this cabal, that I might stand or fall upon the -consequences of my act. Now when I was a very little girl I had only to -stamp my foot, and dart a fiery glance or two, to obtain my way with -any man, beginning with my papa, the Earl. And from that time, either -in London or the country, whether the unresisting male was a marquis or -a hosier, I had only to grow imperious to bend him to my will. But now -old Politics, that square-toed Puritan, was here, and a pretty game he -played. For the first time in my history I could not persuade, direct, -or browbeat my papa, who was the best-brought-up parent of any girl’s -in England. And then there was this foppish officer, who would have -died for me in Kensington, as inflexible as steel before my downright -anger. - -“Captain,” says I, for the tenth time, “I never saw such monstrous -fables as are put into these papers. And I give you warning, sir, that -if these falsehoods are sent to London, and the soldiers come for my -papa, the Earl, I will post to town myself, and tell the judges all -about it privately.” - -“I suppose you mean the Government?” says he, smiling for some reason. - -“Judges, Government, and King, I’ll see ’em all!” cries I, fiercely, -“for they’re all tainted with the same disease, and that disease is -Politics. And I’ll accost every power in the kingdom rather than my -lord shall go to prison in the room of me. And Captain, I would have -you prepare yourself, as you are the person I shall call in evidence to -prove ’twas I who let the prisoner out.” - -“Madam does me great honour,” says the silken villain, “but all I know -of last night is that the prisoner escaped. I do not know who enabled -him to do so, and I do not greatly care. But ’twas a member or members -of his lordship’s household, and the entire responsibility rests with -that gentleman.” - -As the Captain desired to continue with his writing, I thought it the -more graceful to withdraw. This I did, and shut myself up in privacy, -for my mind was filled with grave considerations. In a day and a few -hours over, my existence had become a terribly complicated matter. -There was the prisoner. My life had long been waiting for a man to step -into it. A man last night had done so, and I wished that he had not. -For in spite of myself, all my thoughts were just now centred in his -fortunes. Would he escape? And if he were retaken? That second question -sent a new idea into my head, and straight I went and consulted the -Captain on it. - -“If,” says I, “the prisoner is brought back by your men, sir, you will -not need to report the matter of his escape to the Government?” - -He looked at me quickly with a keen twinkle in his eye that appeared to -spring from pleasure, and then answered, glib as possible: - -“That event will indeed supply an abrogation of this unpleasing duty. -But he must be retaken within a week. Understand that, my Lady Barbara. -If he is not in my hands within that period there is nothing for it but -to dispatch these papers to the King.” - -My question seemed so exactly to his mind that he could hardly restrain -a chuckle. But I soon provided a bitter antidote to his satisfaction. - -“Captain,” says I, “I hate you. I would rather have one hand cut off -than that poor prisoner lad should be brought back and hanged at Tyburn -in his shame. And I would sooner the other hand should perish too than -that the Earl, my father, should be committed in his age in dishonour -to a gaol. Captain, I repeat, I hate you!” - -I meant every word of what I said, and my voice made no disguise of -its sincerity. And at last I had found a tender place in the Captain’s -armour. My words left him livid as his wig. At once I saw why he was -affected so. The Captain was in love, and the object of his passion -had just told him in the frankest terms how much she was prepared to -sacrifice for the sake of another man. I will admit that my handling -of the Captain was not too tender. But let us grant full deserts, even -to the devil. I had hit the Captain pretty hard, but beyond a slight -betrayal of its immediate shock, the blow was accepted beautifully. -Without a word he went on writing, and in despite of the cruel -situation he had put me in, and the hatred that I bore towards him, he -forced me to admire his nature in its silken strength. And for that -night at least I could not rid my brain of the picture that he made, -as he sat writing his dispatches in the library with the lamp and -firelight playing on his livid face and his increasing labours. I began -to fear that a second man had come into my life. - - - - -CHAPTER VI. - -I CONTINUE MY NIGHT ADVENTURES. - - -IF the prisoner were retaken in a week, the Earl, my papa, would have -a pardon! This was indeed a grim fiat to take to bed and sleep upon. -What was this rebel to me that I should be so concerned for him? Why -should he not perish at Tyburn for his deeds, as had been the fate of -more considerable men? He was but a baker’s son. I had only exchanged -a glance and a few broken sentences with him in all my life, yet never -once did I close my eyes that night but I saw him in the cart and the -topsman preparing to fulfil his gruesome offices. More than once had -curiosity prompted me to sit at a window with my friends, as was the -fashion, and watch these malefactors hang. A kick at space, and all was -over! But this handsome youth, with the fiery look, a baker’s son, who -had committed crimes against the State--must he, a child, be strung up -in ignominy? Brooding on this horrid matter through this interminable -night, I grew so feverish and restless that sleep was banished utterly. -At last I could endure my bed no more. I rose and covered up my -nightrail with a cloak, relit the lamp, and read the timepiece. It -wanted twenty minutes to three at present. - -“Faugh!” I pondered, “these lonely speculations are so unendurable that -I will fetch Emblem to bear me company the remainder of the night.” - -But everything outside seemed muffled in such silence as with the hush -of snow, that ere I started for her chamber I drew the blinds up of my -own and looked out into the park. - -Snow indeed! Quite a fall of it, though it now had ceased. The moon -was shining on the breadths of white; every tree stood up weird and -spectral, and such a perishing cold presided over all that the whole -of Nature seemed to be succumbing to the blight of it. The lamp I held -against the pane struck out for a quarter of a mile across the meadows -and revealed the gaunt, white woods of Cleeby sleeping in the cold -paleness of moon and snow. The night appeared to hold its breath in awe -at the wonderful fair picture the white earth presented. And very soon -I did also, but for a different reason. - -To my left hand a hedge that stood a distance off was plainly to be -seen. Suddenly a figure emerged stealthily from under it. ’Twas that of -a man, who after looking cautiously about him began in a crouching and -furtive fashion to approach the house. - -He came creeping slowly through the snow, and at every yard he made it -seemed as much as ever he could do to drag one leg behind the other. -Once he stopped to listen and observe, and apparently heard sounds -that did disquiet him, for he speedily resumed his motion, and at a -more rapid pace than formerly. His form grew sharper and clearer as he -came, and soon the moonlight fell on it so distinctly that I presently -recoiled from the window with a thrill of very horror. It was the -fugitive! - -I think I was more frightened than surprised. During the weary vigil of -that night this wanderer had held such entire dominion of my thoughts -that after my brain had been fretted into a fever on his account, it -seemed one of the most natural consequences to step from my bed and -discover the cause of my distraction coming towards me through the -night. - -I quite supposed that his enemies had managed to turn him from the -north, and that finding himself without money or any resources for -escape, he had returned to Cleeby to implore the aid of the only friend -he had in the cruel country of his foes. Yet his movements were so -mysterious that I was by no means certain that this was so. Instead of -coming underneath the window in which the blinds were up and a lamp -was burning, that he should have known was mine (my figure must have -been presented to him as clearly as by day), he renounced the front of -the house entirely and turned into a path that led to the stables and -kitchen offices on the servants’ side. - -To try and find a motive for his action I pulled up the casement softly -and thrust my head forth into the stinging air. Certain sounds at once -disturbed the almost tragic hush, and assailed my ears so horridly -that I hastily withdrew them and shut the window down. The poor lad’s -pursuers were shouting and holloaing from a distant meadow. In half an -hour at most they must run the wretch to earth, for they were horsed, -and he was not; besides, his painful gait told how nearly he was beaten. - -They say that the deeds of women are the fruit of sentiment, and after -this strange night I, for one, will not dispute with the doctors on -that theory. There was no particular reason why I should give a second -thought to the fate of this hunted rebel, this baker’s son, this -proletariat. Nay, the sooner he was retaken the better for myself and -my papa. Yet at three of the clock that snowy morning I did not review -his end with such a cold, complacent heart. His affairs seemed very -much my own. Once when I had played the friend to him his brave eyes -had delighted and inspired me. No, I would not sit down tamely and let -him perish. Why should I--I whose spirit was adventurous? - -Therefore, my determination taken, I wisely put the lamp out, that its -brightness might not attract attention from those enemies scouring the -fields, then proceeded silently but swiftly to get into my clothes. -Never was I drest less carefully, but haste meant the salvation of a -friend. Warmly shod and clad, I descended the stairs with expeditious -quietude, groped to the left at the bottom of the staircase, through -dark doors and the ghostly silence of moonlit and deserted passages, -until I reached the kitchen part. Soon I found an outer door, unlocked -it, slipped the bolt, and stepped into the night. The slight, soft -breathing of a frost wind came upon my face, and a few straggling white -flakes rode at intervals upon it, but only a film of snow was on the -yard, of no more consistency than thistledown, but the sharp air was -wonderfully keen. - -However, ’twas precious little heed I paid the elements. The shoutings -of the soldiers from the meadows was even distincter than before, and -by that I knew the men were moving in the direction of the rebel and -the house, and that if I hoped to put the lad in some safety not an -instant must be lost. First, though, I had to find him. - -I peered particularly on all sides for the fugitive, but failed to -discover a solitary trace, and yet there was such a lustre in the -hour’s bright conditions that the yard was nearly as luminous as day. -Sure I was, however, that he must be close at hand, and accordingly was -mighty energetic in my quest. And I had taken twenty steps or less when -my eyes lit on a stable with an open door. Immediately I walked towards -it, and as I did so, remembered that this was the very prison in which -the lad had been previously held. This time there was not a bayonet -and a sentry to repulse one, else a strategy had been called for; but, -walking boldly in, I was rewarded for my labours. The prisoner was -lying in the straw in the very posture of the night before. No sooner -was my shadow thrown across his eyes than he rose to his feet with -every evidence of pain, and, casting the pistol I had lately given him -upon the ground, said: - -“All right, I am taken; I submit without resistance.” - -“On the contrary, my friend,” I answered angrily, being bitterly -disappointed of his character, “you are not taken, other than extremely -with your cowardice. You do not care for fighting at close quarters, I -observe. Bah!” and I turned my back upon him. - -“My benefactress!” he cried, in a strangely altered tone, “my -benefactress! What do you here at this place, and at this hour?” - -“What did I here before?” I said in scorn. “And why, sir, may I ask, -are you not footing it to Scotland, as I ordered you, instead of -returning in your tracks? I suppose it is, my gallant, that rather -than help yourself, you would choose to throw yourself upon the mercy -of a friend, heedless of what degree she is incriminated so long as -she can contrive to shield your valuable person. So you submit without -resistance, do you?” - -He was very white and weary, and his breast was heaving yet with the -urgence of his flight, but it pleased me to discover that my speeches -stung. - -“As you will, madam,” he answered, with a head upthrown, but also with -a quietude that had a fire underneath, “as you will; but you are a -woman and my benefactress, and I bend the knee before you.” - -“Not even that,” says I. “Do you suppose I will take a coward for my -servant?” - -“Madam,” says he, “say no more of this, for perhaps you would regret it -at another time; and, madam, do you know that you are the last person -in the world that I would have regret anything whatever? You have been -so much my friend.” - -“Thank you,” says I, bitingly; “but, Mr. Coward, you infer that when I -act in the capacity of your friend I enjoy a privilege. Let me assure -you I am deeply honoured by it.” - -“Oh,” says he, “how good of you to think so!” - -This was staggering simplicity, for I judged him to be too young to be -ironical. - -“But hark!” says he, “I hear the soldiers shouting and approaching. -I must beg you, madam, to leave me to my fate; but do not think too -hardly of my cowardice.” - -“Then I will not leave you to your fate,” says I. “’Tis not in my -nature, however I may despise your character, having once befriended -you to desert you at the last. I came forth in this wintry night -especially to save you, and that is what I’ll do.” - -“No, no, madam,” he replied, “I will not have you further prejudice -yourself with his Majesty for the sake of me.” - -Now I could only accept this answer as something of an outlet for his -wounded feelings, seeing that he must be back in his present spot -expressly to implore my further aid. - -“Mr. Coward,” says I, “I think you will, and readily, when you reflect -that certain death awaits you, should you spurn my offices.” - -“I think not,” says he, with a stoutness that astonished me. - -“You think not!” cries I, “why, what in wonder’s name hath brought -you back to the very spot you started from, if ’tis not to beseech my -farther aid?” - -“Madam,” he said, “had you refrained from my defamation I would not -have told you this. But I will, to clear my name, for I could not bear -to walk the scaffold with such a stigma on it.” - -“Bravo!” says I; “boy, you use the grand manner like an orator. What -was the school in which you learnt your rhetoric?” - -“’Tis the very one in which you learnt your gentleness,” says he. - -Being at a loss to answer him I made haste to turn the theme by warning -him of his foes’ approach and his great danger. - -“The sooner they are come,” he said, “the better I’ll be suited. But if -you must know why I am here to-night, ’tis you that brought me, madam.” - -I put my finger up and said: “Pray be careful, Mr. Coward, or I shall -not believe you.” - -“When my enemies four times foiled me,” he said, “in my attempts to -make the north, and feeling that I had neither friends nor money in -the south, that there every man would be my enemy, I knew that sooner -or later I must be caught. It then occurred to me that your kindness, -madam, towards a rebel had probably exposed you to a severe penalty -from a Government that respects not any person. Wherefore, I thought, -should I deliver up my body in the very prison that I had lately -broken, without any prejudice to my foes or to myself, the matter might -be simplified, and as no one had been incommoded, your pardon would -perhaps be made the easier.” - -I knew this for the truth, as the simple and deep sincerity of his -words cast me in a miserable rage at my own impulsiveness. This speech -had taught me that his behaviour, instead of being craven, verged -perilously near the fine. And of course in the height of the mortified -anger that I indulged against myself, the moon must choose that moment -to throw her rays about the lad’s white face, that made it even sterner -and stronger than before. - -“And,” says I, “had it not been for thoughts of me, what had you done -when you found your plight extreme?” - -“A bullet would have done my business,” he answered, with an eager, -almost joyful, promptness, that showed how welcome to him was that -prospect of escape. “Anything is kinder than Tyburn in the cart, madam. -I would have you believe that even I have my niceties, and they draw -the line at the ignominy of the mob.” - -I chewed my lips in silence for a time, and you may be sure should have -been very willing to forget the epithet I had so unsparingly clapped -upon his conduct. - -“My lad,” says I, “confound you! Why couldn’t you contrive to let me -know, you unreasonable being, that a deed like this was in your mind? -You wretched men are all alike, so monstrously unreasonable! How should -I know that when you threw your pistol down you were trying to play the -gentleman? I say, confound you! But here, here’s my hand. Kiss it, and -we’ll say no more about it.” - -The lad went gallantly upon one knee in the straw, like a very -well-bred person, and did as he was bidden, with something of a relish -too. - -“Mr. Baker’s Son,” says I, “I confess that I should be glad to see you -rather more diffident at the audacity of this; and a little more humbly -rejoiceful in your fortune. For, my lad, you are the first of your -tribe and species to be thus honoured. And you will be the last, I’m -thinking.” - -“I am none so sure of that,” says he, with a marvellous equanimity, -“for that depends upon my tribe and species. If they ever should desire -to kiss your hand, I reckon that they’ll do so.” - -“Don’t be saucy, sir,” says I, and put an imperious warning in my tone. - -“Humph!” says he, “I’ll admit it is a nice, clean, white one, and not -so very fat. But when all is claimed, ’tis but a mortal woman’s.” - -“Come, sir,” I says, “this is not the time for talk. Not an instant -must we lose if you are to escape the soldiers.” - -“But, madam, I do not intend to escape them,” he replied. - -This startled and annoyed me, and promptly did I show him my -displeasure. - -“Nay, madam,” he said, “you have risked too much on my account already. -I repeat, it was to lessen your culpability that I am come back to -prison. Therefore, can you suppose that I will allow you to farther -incriminate yourself?” - -“Bah!” says I, “you had not these scruples formerly.” - -“No,” says he, “and it is my shame. I was unthoughtful.” - -“And do you suppose,” says I, “that if so much as my little finger were -endangered in your service, that I would risk it?” - -“You would,” says he, “for your high temper is writ upon your face. If -my shoe required buckling, and she who buckled it did so at the peril -of her neck, you would attempt the deed if you had the inclination. Ha! -madam, I think I can read your wilfulness.” - -For the moment I was baffled, as I had to admit that he read it very -well. - -“The danger,” I rejoined, “is quite nothing, I am certain. My papa, the -Earl, hath a great interest with the Government. He can turn it round -his little finger.” - -“Can he so?” says he. “Then let him procure my pardon, for I would not -willingly risk again the safety of his daughter.” - -“He would not procure your pardon,” I replied, “for the good reason -that he abhors all rebels and their work. Yet he is strong enough to -protect his daughter if the need arose.” - -This was flat lying, I believe, but when one is hard pressed one is -rather summary with truth. - -The lad was immovable as rock, though. His conduct threw me in a pet -of downright anger and alarm. Having made my mind up long ago to save -him if I could, and having planned it all so perfectly, ’twas not my -disposition to let his foolish scruples interfere. - -“My lad,” says I, flashing out at him, “any more of these absurdities -and you will put me in a thorough rage. Come, we must not lose an -instant now. Why do you view your life so lightly?” - -“I only view it lightly where your safety is concerned, dear lady,” he -replied, with a spice of the proper gallantry. - -“It would require a person of a higher calibre than yours to affect it -any way, either with the world or with the Government,” I answered, -harshly. “My Lady Barbara Gossiter is able to take care of herself, -I’ll hazard.” - -“My Lady Barbara Gossiter!” he echoed, “whew! this is interesting. Now -madam, do you know that I took you for a great lady at a glance! But -I’ll confess that I thought you scarcely such a personage.” - -I should have liked this confession better had there been more of -embarrassment about it. But this baker’s son was as greatly at his -ease as ever. I laughed and said: “Sir, you should reserve your -judgment of my qualities until you see them underneath the candelabra -instead of underneath the moon. But I think you will admit, sir, that I -am one who should be strong enough to shield herself against the State -if necessary.” - -“Madam,” says he, and his proposal staggered me, “I will put my life in -your hands once more on this condition: that you swear solemnly upon -oath that you shall run no danger in my affair.” - -Was anything more delightfully or more boyishly _naïve_? I fear that I -should have betrayed some laughter had he not worn a face of gravity, -that said my word would have been unaccepted had I given him reason to -suppose I was not equally as serious as he. - -“Swear,” says I, “of course I’ll swear. There is not the remotest peril -in the case.” I think it was a miracle that choked my mirth back. - -“Very well,” says he, with a boon-conferring air, “I will remit myself -entirely to your hands.” - -“’Tis very good of you to do so,” says I, remarkably relieved, yet even -more amused. “And now then follow me, sir, and I will take you into -safety.” - -But alas! we had tarried over long. Escape was now cut off. I had no -sooner stepped outside the stable than I fled back in such a haste -of fear that I nearly fell into the arms of the fugitive, who was -obediently following. For the soldiers had arrived at last, and I -could see them leading their weary horses across the yard in the very -direction of this block of stables that we occupied. - -“Up, up,” I whispered my companion, “into the manger, force the -hay-trap and mount into the loft! Up, I say! Can’t you hear their feet -upon the yard?” - -“After you,” says he, “I would not have these men see you for the -world.” - -“Oh, what madness, boy!” I cried; “don’t you hear them coming? Another -moment and you are ta’en. ’Tis you, not me, they’re seeking.” - -“Madam, after you,” says he. - -“Then I won’t,” says I; “I will not be badgered by anybody.” - -’Twas then that this delightful youth acted in a way that I could never -sufficiently admire. He drew up his form and looked upon me with all -the majesty of six husbands made in one, and pointed with his finger to -the trap. “Madam,” says he, in a terribly stern voice, “you will go up -first, for I’m infernal certain I won’t!” - -At another season I must have dallied to enjoy the situation; but, -knowing that the life of so remarkable a boy depended wholly on my -obedience, I went up willy nilly. - -With his assistance, I had soon scrambled into the manger, and had been -pushed most comically upwards through the trap; whilst he came on my -heels with a cat’s agility, the pistol in his teeth. On the instant we -composed ourselves in security in the straw, and in such a posture -that we could enjoy a full view of the trap, peer down there through, -and observe the movements of our enemies should they enter the lower -chamber. - -As it proved, we were not a second too early in our hiding. A -clattering of hoofs announced that the horses had come to the -stable door; and it was to our dire misfortune that their riders -here dismounted and held a council, whose import was the reverse of -comforting. Leaving their animals outside, they sought the protection -of the stable against the bitter air, and without restraint discussed -their future courses. From our vantage in the upper chamber we looked -down and listened with all ears through the trap; and, as they had -evidently not the least knowledge of our presence there, we felt quite -a keen enjoyment in the situation, which was terribly dashed, however, -by the resolution they arrived at. - -“You men,” says one, with the authority proper to a corporal--Corporal -Flickers was his title, as later I learned to my sorrow--“you men, this -fox is a knowin’ varmint. Why did he come back here? I puts it to you. -Why did he come back here?” - -“’Cause o’ me lady,” was suggested by one of his companions. - -“Eggsac’ly,” says the Corporal. “George, you’re knowin’, you are, you -take my word for that. ’Cause o’ me lady. And if I was to have a free -hand wi’ my lady, what is it I’d do to her?” - -“Screw her blazin’ neck,” suggested the same authority. - -“Eggsac’ly,” says the Corporal; “screw her blazin neck. George, you’re -knowin’, you are. Oh the air’stocracy! They never was no good to -England, and durn me if they don’t get wuss. Never did no honest labour -in their naturals. Lives high; drinks deep--ow! it turns me pink to -mention ’em. It does, George Marshal; it does, John Pensioner; fair -congests my liver. And fer brazing plucky impidence their wimmen is the -wust. This here ladyship in perticular, a sweet piece, isn’t she? Never -does a stitch o’ honest labour, but sucks pep’mint to find a thirst, -and bibs canary wine to quench it. And it’s you and me, George, you and -me, John, as pervides this purple hussy wi’ canary wine and pep’mint. -Us I say, honest tillers o’ the land, honest toilers o’ the sea, as -is the prop o’ this stupendjous air’stocracy. It’s we, I say, what -finds ’em in canary wine and pep’mint. Poor we, the mob, the scum, the -three-damned we what’s not agoing to hevving when we dies. But who’s -this ladyship as she should let a prisoner out in the middle o’ the -night, and sends six humble men but honest a-scourin’ half Yorkshire -for him. As Joseph Flickers allus was polite he’ll not tell you what -her name is, but do you know what Joe’d do if he had a daughter who -grew up to be a ladyship like her?” - -“Drown her,” Mr. George modestly suggested. - -“George,” says the Corporal, in a tone of admiration, “you are smart, -my boy, downright smart, that’s what you are! Drown her’s what I’d do, -with her best dress and Sunday bonnet on. I should take her so, by the -back of her commode, gently but firmly, George, and lead her to the -Ouse. And then I should say, ‘Ladyship, I allows you five minutes fer -your prayers, for they never was more needed; because, ladyship, I’m -a-going to drown you, like I would a ordinary cat what strays upon the -tiles at night, and says there what she shouldn’t say. Ow, you besom -wi’ your small feet and your mincing langwidge, you should smell hell -if Joseph Flickers was your pa!” - -Now I have sat long and often in a playhouse, but Sir John Vanbrugh, -Mr. William Congreve, and all those other celebrated gentlemen of mirth -have yet to give me an entertainment I enjoyed half so much as this. -There was something so utterly delightful in the idea of Corporal -Joseph Flickers being my papa, and his conception of a parent’s duties -in that case, that I had perforce to stuff my cloak into my mouth to -prevent my laughter disturbing my denouncers. - -Next moment, though, there was scanty cause for mirth. The Corporal, -having delivered this tremendous speech with a raucous eloquence, gave -it as his opinion that the prisoner had already been let into the house -with my connivance, and that I had put him in hiding there. They were -unanimous in this, and came to the conclusion that he would abide some -hours there at least, as he had been so sternly chased that he could -not crawl another mile. This was true enough, as their quarry took -occasion to whisper as they said so. It was considered inadvisable to -challenge the house just then; the majority of its inmates being abed, -the night not yet lifted, and therefore favouring concealment, and, -above all, they were full of weariness themselves, and their horses -beaten. Accordingly they determined to put them up, and also to allow -their own weariness a few hours of much needed ease. - -“Even us, the mob, the scum, can’t go on for ever; what do you say, -John Pensioner?” the Corporal remarked. - -“Truest word you’ve spoke this moon, Joe,” John Pensioner asserted, -with a yawn for testimony. - -“Where’ll we sleep, though, Corp’ral?” inquires my friend, Mr. George. - -“There’s a hayloft top o’ this,” the Corporal replied; “pretty snug wi’ -straw and fodder. Roomy, too; bed six like blazes. And warm, warm as -that ’ere hussy of a ladyship will be in the other life, when the devil -gives her pep’mint but no canary wine.” - -“The very spot!” by general acclamation. - -I could have cried out in my rage. This meant simply that we must be -taken like a brace of pheasants in a snare. With the soldiers already -established underneath there did not appear the remotest possibility of -escape. - -“The game’s up, madam,” the poor prisoner whispered to me, while I -whispered curtly back again that I’d be better suited if he’d hold his -tongue. - -“But you, my dear lady, you?” says he, heedless of my sharp reply, -“’twill never do for you to be discovered with me thus. Nay, you shall -not. Rat me, but I have a plan! They are still underneath this trap, -you see, assembled in a talk. I’ll drop down in their midst, scuffle -with ’em, and while we are thus engaged, you can get from here into the -yard, and slip back to the house unseen, and so leave them none the -wiser.” - -“Very pretty,” says I, “but how am I to get from here into the yard? It -means a ten-feet drop upon weak ankles, for the ladder, you observe, is -no longer there.” - -“Confound it!” says he. “I’d forgot the ladder. Of course it is not -there. What a fool I am! But ’oons! here’s a means to overcome it, -madam. We’ll drop a truss of straw down, and that will break your fall -if you leap upon it carefully.” - -“I’m to run away, then, while you, my lad, are to be delivered up to -death?” - -“Perhaps,” he dubiously said; “but then I am the least to be -considered.” - -“Then I intend to do nothing of the sort,” says I. “’Tis like man’s -vanity to cast himself for the part of hero. But I think I can strut -through that part just as handsomely as you.” - -“You have your reputation, madam, to consider,” he reminded me. “They -surely must not find you here.” - -“A fig for reputation and her dowager proprieties. Am I not a law unto -myself?” - -This was a simulated flippancy, however, for we were in a grievous -situation now. But the desperation of it spurred me, and very soon I -found a plan by which the fugitive might after all go free. It called -for a pretty daring act, and much kind fortune in its execution. -Adventure nothing, nothing win, is however the device by which I -am only too prone to order my behaviour. For even granting that -your effort fails, the excitement it engenders is something of a -compensation. - -Briefly, my stratagem was this. I would exchange cloaks with the rebel, -muffling my form up thoroughly in his military article, and don his -three-cornered hat in lieu of the hood I wore. Thus arrayed, ’twas -not too much to think that when his enemies caught a view of me in -the uncertain moonlight, and expecting to see the prisoner there and -at that season, they would mistake me for him. In an undertone that -admitted of no parley I caused the prisoner to effect this alteration -in his attire, and having done so speedily, I gave him further of my -plan. - -“My lad,” says I, “let us drop that truss of straw down, as you said, -but we must take care that none of them see us do so. I am then to fall -upon it, and having done so safely, shall contrive to advertise them -of the fact. And when they run forth to seize me I shall flee hot foot -across the park. They will, of course, pursue. Then, sir, will be your -time. While we are having our diversion in the grass, the path will be -open for your flight into the house. You will find one of the kitchen -bolts unslipped, and on my return I shall expect to then discover you -awaiting further orders.” - -“’Tis a sweet invention, madam,” he replied, “but how shall you fare -when they catch you and your identity is known?” - -“The chances are,” I answered stoutly, “that they will not catch me. A -thick wood infringes on the path a quarter of a mile away. If I once -reach that, and I think I can, for these men are dogweary and I shall -have a start of them, I’ll wager that I am not ta’en. For I could -traverse every inch of that wood in the darkest night.” - -The rebel was exceedingly loth to let me do this. But the more I -pondered the idea, the more I became enamoured of it; small the danger, -the exertion not excessive, the prospect of success considerable, the -promise of diversion great. There was all to win and nought to lose, I -told him. Besides, in the end I did not condescend to argue, but simply -set my foot down and led him to understand that when Bab Gossiter had -made her mind up no mortal man could say her nay. - -Therefore he submitted, with a degree of reluctancy, of course; yet -none the less did he obey me to the letter. First we peered down -through the trap to see what our enemies were at. They were succouring -their horses. This being a three-stall stable only, three of their -steeds had to be elsewhere furnished. The Corporal, John Pensioner, and -another soldier, had led their animals into the one we occupied, whilst -the others had taken theirs to the one adjoining. Choosing a moment -when all the men were in the stables the prisoner dropped a truss of -straw down gently ten feet to the stones. Then we listened painfully to -learn if this movement had been discerned by those within. Seemingly -they were all unconscious of it, for they went on uninterruptedly in -the bedding of their horses. Therefore the moment was still propitious, -and I ventured my descent. Quickly I stepped to the edge of the loft, -got through the wide bars that enclosed the provender, dropped upon my -knees, tightly grasped my companion’s outstretched hands, swayed an -instant above the space that intervened between me and the straw, was -lowered several inches nearer to the ground by virtue of the rebel’s -offices, then renounced my grasp of him and leapt lightly on to the -cushion that awaited me beneath. The shock of the fall was of the -slightest, and left me ready for an immediate flight. This was truly -fortunate, as it was evident that my descent had been duly noted by the -Corporal and his men. Hearing a commotion in the stable and various -astonished cries, I began to run at once, and was, perhaps, the best -part of a hundred yards away ere they came fuming and shouting from the -stables and were at last alive to my retreat. - -“The horses, men, the horses!” bawled the Corporal, never doubting -that it was the prisoner in full flight. - -To lead forth their weary beasts, to saddle them, and to coax them to -pursuit meant such a loss of time that I was far out in the middle of -the park ere they had started on their way. I headed straight for the -gaunt, shadowy line of woods that looked the veritable haunt of ghosts -and the supernatural with their deep, dark masses of tree and foliage -bathed in the eerieness of snow and moonlight. It always was my pride -that, though a woman of the mode, I could, when in the country, run -both easily and lightly, being blessed with the nimblest feet and a -stride which, if not an athlete’s, had at least a spring and quickness -in it not to be despised. - -Further, it was easy running across the soft thin carpet of the snow, -whilst the flakes had ceased to fall, and the bitter wind was dead. -I was soon aware, however, that it was to be the sternest race. Once -mounted and away, the hunters decreased the wide distance that was -between us mighty soon. And presently I knew that my long start would -prove not a yard too much to enable me to reach the woods. In a little -while, being in no state for such violent and prolonged exertion, my -chest became restricted and my breath grew dreadfully distressed. -And every moment my pursuers drew more near. Therefore, despite my -discomforts, I set my teeth and trotted on as determinedly as ever; -and I would have you to believe that I felt a fierce delight in doing -so, for after long months of a suppressed and artificial course of -life, this strange race in the snow seemed a return to very nature. -Sure, this tense, exhilarating agony of hope and fear and hot-breathing -energy were worth a hundred triumphs in the drawing-room! - -Yard by yard the horses ran me down. But I had fixed my eyes upon those -weird trees ahead, that assumed shapes more palpable and familiar as -I ran; and though I could hear the perpetual shoutings and hoof-thuds -of my enemies, I never once looked back, but trotted valiantly on with -a mind for nothing but the woods. There was no time then to enjoy the -quaintness of the matter, or to laugh at my ridiculous employ. However, -that lack hath been made up later. Soon I was so near the trees that I -could plainly see the ditch I had to cross, and the very gap the hither -side it in the fence that I proposed to scramble through. The proximity -of safety lent me strength, and for a few yards my failing pace was -perceptibly improved. - -Here I had a horrid fright. My feet were almost on those dim, -mysterious woods, the snow upon them pure, the moon upon them eerie, -and such a mighty silence in the trees that if a squirrel cracked a -beech twig the report of it rang among them like a gun, when a pistol -barked out loud and brutally, and a bullet whistled by my ear and -pattered ominously in the ditch. ’Twas a very cruel, peremptory means, -I thought, and my heart stood still with terror. Not my feet, forsooth, -for fear was a sharp spur to their flagging ardour. I durst not look -behind, but the shot informed me that, despite the perilous nearness -of my pursuers, they saw that I must be the first within the wood, -where horses could not follow, and among that continent of branch -and herbage they knew that their search must prove most difficult. -Evidently they meant to stay my entrance, cost what it may. - -Another shot yelped out at me, another, and then another. One touched -my hat, I think, but that was all. Verily the devil was wonderfully -kind this morning. - -And strange as you may think it, I felt pretty callous to these -bullets. Nay, I was not afraid of anything. My spirit had thrown for -once the fetters of convention off. It was itself for one brief hour. -It was part of the earth and the trees, the snow and the moonlight; -free as air and primitive as nature. ’Twas running unimpeded under -God’s moon, without any of our eighteenth-century fopperies of brocades -and powders on it. - -I scrambled through the ditch and out again, brushed through the -hedge-gap at the cost of cloak rents and a briar in my hand, and found -myself within the thicket. I plunged into the deepest I could find, -but as I did so a new volley rattled above my head among the trees, -and the splinters from a shattered bough missed my face by inches and -fell across the path. Knowing the ground so thoroughly I could take a -great advantage of it, and sure every bit of it was needed, for the -soldiers were desperately close. There was so thick a roof of branches -to this wood that the moon could hardly penetrate, and not the snow at -all. Thus the question of footprints had not to be encountered, and the -deep gloom that slumbered everywhere also lent me aid. Once under the -protection of the trees I checked my pace, for in this sanctuary it -would be easy to dodge a whole battalion. - - - - -CHAPTER VII. - -THE SPIRIT OF THE WOODS. - - -I HAD soon breasted through the trees to the side of a dark runnel -that darted through the glade. Arrived there I felt that my enemies -were nonplussed, as I had come by a devious and mazy way of which they -must certainly be ignorant. Surely I could breathe at last, and when I -stopped beside the stream to recover myself a little, my success seemed -so complete, and I had played such a pretty trick upon my friend the -Corporal withal, that I was quite complacent at the thought and felt a -disposition to celebrate this triumph in a new sphere in a fashion that -should startle ’em. Now it must have been the action of the freakish -moon upon my giddy head or the magic of the woods, or a strain of wild -music in the stream, for somehow as I stood there in that perishing -cold night listening to the solemn river and my enemies calling through -the stern stillness of the trees, all the wantonness of my spirit was -let loose. The sharp frost made my blood thrill; my heart expanded to -the pale loveliness of the sleeping earth. This was life. This was -spacious air, and the pride of freedom. In this oppressive eighteenth -century of ours, with its slaveries of rank and fashion, one must go -into a wood of moonlight in the middle of the night for one’s pulses to -pipe to the natural joys of unrestraint. At least I thought so then, -and in the exuberance of the moment I concocted a merry plot for the -diversion of myself and the mystification of the Corporal and his men. -Nor was it made of mischief merely, since it was to be ordered in such -a cunning way that it should still further throw them off the rebel’s -track, and confirm their theory that they had already seen him in this -wood. - -First I returned upon the road I had come by and spied out where they -were. This was a matter of small difficulty, as their voices were -plainly to be distinguished close at hand. - -Creeping through the thickets at the direction of their tones, I came -at last to a place where a rift among the tree tops let the brightness -in. It poured upon the Corporal and his men, assembled in still another -consultation underneath a glorious silver-birch, arch and lissome as a -maid, which rose above them with graces indescribable, and seemed from -where I stood to fade into the sky. Clearly my pursuers were seriously -at fault, and even dubious of the road to take in this strange -wilderness. ’Twas in my mind to minister to this perplexity. - -Selecting a spot appropriate to the purpose, I cheerfully set about -preparing them the surprise I had in store. I crushed my soft, -three-cornered hat into a pocket in my cloak, unbound my hair, and let -its whole dark luxury shine with moonlight to my waist. This in itself -I considered sufficient to destroy all resemblance between the figure I -intended to present, and the fugitive they had so lately chased across -the park, and as all of them must be extremely ill-acquainted with the -features of my Lady Barbara, having only beheld them for an instant the -previous night, ’twas not at all likely that they would be recognised -just now. This done I crept some distance up the glade, and as I did -so took occasion to recall the weirdest melody I knew, which partook -of the nature of a chant, wedded the absurdest doggerel to it, though -it must not be denied the merit of being a kind of interpretation of -my abandoned fancy, and lifted my voice up loud and shrilly in a song. -Having fallen after the first bar or two into a proper strain, I warmed -to the wanton mirth of it and plunged my spirit completely in its whim. - -I tripped from my concealment in the glade into an open avenue leading -to a spot in which the soldiers stood in council. Full before their -astounded eyes, I came dancing down the moonlight singing: - - “This world it is not weary, - Though my life is very long; - For I’m the child of faery, - And my heart it is a song. - My house it is the starlight, - My form is light as air, - As out upon a bright night, - I issue from my lair; - And riding on a moonbeam, - I come to realms of men; - Yet when I see the day gleam, - I then go back again.” - -I never saw six grown men affected so profoundly. One broke into a -howl, not unlike a dog’s when his tail hath been trod on suddenly, -wheeled about and fled precipitately thence. Two others locked -themselves in one another’s arms, and turned away their eyes in the -anguish of their fright; whilst the remainder seemed struck entirely -stupid, fell back against the tree trunk, and, being unable to believe -their eyes, opened their mouths as widely as their orbs, probably to -lend some assistance to their vision. - -As for me, you may be sure I was delighted highly by this flattering -reception. And I do not doubt that I made a most unearthly figure with -masses of hair streaming wild on my shoulders, my eyes wild-staring, -and my feet tripping a fantastic measure to the shrill chant issuing -from my lips: - - “I ever choose the woodland, - For here the wild birds are, - And I’m a sister to them, - Though my home it is a star.” - -Thus I sang as I danced down the glade, waving my hands above my head -in a kind of unholy glee at the weird music that I made. I halted -opposite these tremblers, and set up a ridiculous scream of mockery. -Then I looked upon them with great eyes of wonder, and then again began -to dance and sing: - - “A blackbird is my brother, - I see him in that tree, - A skylark is my lover, - But I prefer a bee.” - -While I was in the middle of this arrant nonsense, my good friend -Flickers, who was paler than a ghost, hung on to his pistol with -tenacity, for that piece of iron held all the little courage that he -had. I could see the perspiration shining on his face, as he muttered -in a voice that trembled like the ague: - -“What you are I don’t know. But if you’re woman or if you’re fiend, -come a step nearer and I’ll--I’ll shoot you!” - -He pointed the pistol, but the muzzle tottered so that he could not -have hit a tree. - -“Ha! ha! ha!” I laughed in my throat in a voice that was sepulchral, -then danced before them once again and began to sing: - - “Water cannot quench me, - And fire cannot burn; - Pray, how will you slay me? - That have I yet to learn.” - -The effect of this was to cause the pistol to drop on to the grass from -his nerveless hand. - -“Go--go ’way!” he stuttered; “go ’way, you--you witch!” - -Whereupon I broke out in reply: - - “He says I am a night-witch, - But this I do deny; - For I’m a child of faery, - And my house it is the sky.” - -Mr. Flickers said no more. ’Twas not surprising, either. I much -question whether any human creature could have conversationally shone -in that moonlit wood just then. Those simple soldiers, shown on a -solemn background of gloom and mighty trees, were sufficient in that -eerie light to shatter the nerves of a person of the strongest mind -should he come upon them suddenly. What must I have been, then? And -these victims being very little encumbered with their education had, -therefore, the less restriction imposed upon their ignorant fancies. -’Twas quite certain that I was either a witch or a rather superior sort -of devil, as, of course, the popular conception of fiends is not by any -means so beautiful. - -I did not venture any nearer to them than I need, lest they should -discover too many evidences in me of the very clay of which they were -themselves composed. - -“Behold in me,” cried I, in prose, but with that impressive grandeur -that belongs to the queens of tragedy, “behold in me the Spirit of the -Woods. And he who heeds me not shall be surely lost.” - -Prose even upon these primitive minds seemed to lack the natural magic -that is in poetry. For now ’twas that they began to recover somewhat -of their courage. But by a master stroke I proved to them that I had a -supernatural quality--that of divination, if you please. - -“You seek a prisoner,” says I, “who escaped from a stable yesterday. -His name is Dare, and he hath passed this way.” - -Without a doubt my prestige was increased by the singular knowledge -here displayed. I could see their astounded faces asking of one -another: How can this wild creature, this witch, this Spirit of the -Woods, know all this unless she is even as she says, a supernatural? -Let us heed her every word, for surely she can tell us much. - -Faith, it was much I told them! I told them I would be their friend, -and that if they would follow my directions they should learn the way -the prisoner went. - -You must understand that the voice I used was one that until that hour -had never been heard on earth; that my long cloak and flowing hair -held awful possibilities; that I stood where the moon was brightest; -that my eyes were very wild; that my face was wondrous beautiful, but -weird; that I was possessed of the unnatural power of divination; while -my conduct and whole appearance were the most fantastic ever seen. -Therefore when I pointed out to them the exact direction of the rebel’s -flight, which I had better state was precisely opposite to the one I -proposed to embrace myself, they accepted it without a question and -eagerly took this road, mighty glad, I think, to be relieved of my -presence on such gentle terms. - -Watching them recede from sight, I then quickly knotted and tucked -my hair up under my hat, and then set off for the house without once -tarrying. I made a slight detour to the left to approach it from the -further side, and so prevent the least risk of encountering my enemies -on the journey. Speed was quite as imperative now as formerly, for -the rebel should be awaiting me in the kitchen, and at the mercy of -the first person of the household who might chance to see him there. -Fortunately, the hour, as far as I could judge, was considerably short -of five o’clock; and in the winter time the domestics were not abroad -till six. Gliding through the trees and across the snowy grass, I was -standing at the kitchen door in less than half an hour. Entering with -stealth, I had no sooner closed the door behind me than I was arrested -by the light hand of the rebel on my sleeve. - -“They are fooled, my lad,” says I, my triumph irrepressible, “fooled -as six men never were before. And now, sir, I think that we shall save -you.” - -“Madam,” says he, with a boyish directness that seemed charming, “oh, -what a genius you have! But I cannot thank you now, I am too dead -weary. And where am I to hide?” - -“If you will slip your shoes off and carry ’em in your hand,” says I, -“I will lead you to my chamber, and once there you shall sleep the -clock round if you have the disposition.” - -“And you,” says he, “are you not weary?” - -“Not I,” I answered. “I am never weary of adventures. Besides, I have -much to do ere you can be snugly hid.” - -An instant later I had guided him through the darkness and the maze -of passages in deep silence to my bedroom, this being the most secret -chamber I could devise for his reception. Only Mrs. Polly Emblem was -ever likely to intrude upon his privacy. Wherefore I led him there and -permitted him to fling his worn-out frame upon my couch. - -Discarding the cloak and hat of his I wore, I wrapped a warm rug about -him, gave him a cordial, and bade him get himself to sleep. Then I -turned the key upon him and repaired to the chamber of my maid. - -I entered without disturbing her, for she always was a wonderful good -sleeper at the hour she ought to be awake preparing a dish of chocolate -for her mistress. I kindled her candle with the extreme of difficulty, -for my hands were numbed so badly that for the present they had no -virtue in them. Even the light did not arouse the comfortable Mrs. -Polly, but when I laid my icy fingers on her warm cheek they worked -on her like magic. She would have shrieked only I held my other hand -across her mouth. - -“Do you see the time!” says I; “three minutes after five. But hush! not -a word, my girl, as you love your life, for there’s a strange man got -into the house.” - -The foolish creature shook with fright. - -“He is in my chamber,” I added, with an air of tragedy. - -“Oh, my lady!” says the maid. - -There was too little time to plague her, though, which was perhaps as -well, for I was in a mood that might have caused her to take an early -departure from her wits. Instead of that, however, I told the story of -the night with all the detail that was necessary. When I had done, the -silly but delightful thing looked at me in a kind of holy wonder. - -“Oh, your la’ship!” says she, in tones of very tolerable ecstasy. “What -a heart you’ve got! What an angel’s disposition!” - -“No, my silly girl,” says I, though not displeased to hear her say so. -“I happen to have neither. An infernal deal of naughtiness is all that -my character contains. A stranger sleeping in my chamber! Besides, you -know you flatter me. For if no man is a hero to his valet, how possibly -can a woman be an angel to her maid?” - -To prove the soundness of this argument I grasped Mrs. Polly’s ear, -pinched it pretty badly, and asked her what she thought of my divinity. - -She was soon into her clothes though, and had a fire lit; while I -made haste to pull my shoes and stockings off, their condition was so -horrid, and exchanged them for some dry ones, then set about warming -my hands and toes, for they were causing me to grin with the fierce -hot-ache that was in them. Having at last put my own person into a -more comfortable state, and that of the rebel into some security, I -took counsel of Mrs. Polly on the problem of his ultimate escape. - -She was the only creature I could possibly confide in at this moment. -And as she was the staunchest, faithfullest of souls I had no -hesitation. Presently some of my clothes and toilet necessaries had to -be procured. It was unfortunate that they were in my dressing-room, and -that the only entrance to it was through my chamber. However, taking -Emblem with me, I went to fetch them out. - -Unlocking the door with care, we entered softly, that we might not -disturb the sleeper, for God knew how much there lay before him! I had -Emblem pull the blinds up against the daylight, for should any person -look upon my window from the lawn at noon ’twould astonish them to see -it veiled. We soon took the requisite articles from the dressing-room, -relocked the chamber door, and returned to whence we came. But ere this -was done, I held the candle near the sleeper’s face. ’Twas to relieve -the curiosity of Emblem, you understand; she was pining to see what the -fugitive’s countenance was like. - -He made the most sweetly piteous picture. He lay huddled among -snow-white sheets of linen, and a counterpane of silk, in his tattered, -muddy suit of coarse prunella, which left many soils upon its delicate -surroundings. His cheek was pale and lean as death. Where the gyves -had pinched his wrists they had left them raw; and I was startled at -the thinness of his body, for it appeared to have no more flesh upon -it than a rat. In sooth he looked the very poorest beggar that ever -slept on straw, and no more in harmony with his present situation than -was Mr. Christophero Sly in like circumstances. Yet as I looked at him -there seemed something so tender and so strong about his meagreness -that I pushed back the hair upon his forehead with light fingers in -an absent manner, and just as lightly and just as absently did touch -it with my lips. No sooner had I done this than I drew them back, and -turned my face abruptly round to Emblem as though it had been stung. I -had forgotten Emblem! - -But I saw that the maid was blushing for me very deeply, though she -strove with excellent intention to look quite unconscious of my -conduct. Yet I coldly stared her out of countenance. - -“Girl,” says I, severely, “the queen can do no wrong. She may box the -ears of gartered dukes, or kiss the brows of sleeping bakers’ boys. But -only the queen, you understand.” And I shot out such a look at her that -she led the way to her chamber without a single word. - -I appeared at breakfast in high feather, but with rather more -complexion than I usually wear so early in the day. But a woman cannot -go prowling over fields of snow and moonlight at dreadful hours of -morning without a tale being told. Cosmetics, though, have a genius for -secrets. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. - -IN WHICH THE HERO IS FOUND TO BE A PERSON OF NO DESCENT WHATEVER. - - -AT ten o’clock the soldiers came and reported themselves to their -commander. One of them, presumably the officer in charge, was closeted -with the Captain in the library for no less a time than an hour and -a quarter. The others meantime put their jaded horses up, procured -some food, and retired to rest themselves. At a few minutes to twelve -o’clock, as the Mountain could not go to Mahomet, owing to some -question of his knee, Mahomet went to the Mountain. At that hour a spy -posted on the stairs informed me that my papa, the Earl, hopped--gout -and all--to the Captain in the library. Meantime Emblem and myself were -discussing the situation, behind locked doors, exhaustively, but with a -deal of trepidation. She, it seemed, had just come into the possession -of a piece of news of a very alarming kind. It was to the effect that -the Captain, not wishing to disturb his knee, had passed the night in -his chair in front of the library fire. And that apartment opened in -the entrance hall, and was near the very flight of stairs up which the -prisoner had passed. It was thus all too probable that he had heard -incriminating noises towards the hour of four. - -“Emblem,” says I, “that man is the devil. At every turn he pops up to -thwart us.” - -And before that day was out I was moved to speak of him in even -stronger terms. At present, what to do with the prisoner was our chief -concern. He must be smuggled away that night, if possible; but the -situation was desperately complex. First, he must be provided with a -horse, and then with money, not to mention an open road, and a suitable -disguise. ’Twould be no kindness whatever--indeed, would merely be -sending him to his doom--to despatch him a fugitive to the open moors -again in the middle of the night unless he were provided with the -amplest resources for escape. - -Yet, while I speculated on the pros and cons of his position, and the -skilfullest means of aiding him, a thought that was never absent long -caught me painfully in the breast. What of my papa, the Earl? If the -prisoner were not retaken in a week, that dear old gentleman would -make acquaintance with the Tower. I was in a truly horrid case. The -fugitive was in my hands; a word to his Majesty of the shattered knee, -and the Earl, my papa, was safe. But having gone so far, how could I -deliver that child over to his enemies? His lean, white look had made -too direct a claim upon my kindness. His youth, his sad condition, his -misfortunes had made me very much his friend. Had he not confided to me -the custody of his life? And must I repay the trust reposed in me by -betraying him to his foes? It appeared that my vaunted heartlessness -had deserted me when needed most. I was involved in this hard problem, -and casting contumely on Mrs. Polly because she could not suggest -any kind of solution to it, when a knock upon the door disturbed our -council. Emblem rose, unlocked the door, and admitted little Pettigrew, -the page. He was the spy who had been posted on the stairs, also at the -keyhole of the library door at favourable intervals. The information -that he brought completely terrified us both. - -I dismissed him as soon as it was given, for it was not wise that he -should glean too much. - -“Emblem,” says I, on Pettigrew’s departure, “that settles it. That -leaves absolutely nothing to be done. I wish that Captain was at the -bottom of the sea!” - -For the result of the interview between the Captain and the Earl was -this: the house was about to be searched from the bottom to the top, -and every room and cupboard was to be overhauled, since the Captain, -having taken the evidence of his men, and having heard strange sounds -in the night himself, had put two and two together and was now -heavily suspecting me. My papa was not loth to do so either, and at -the suggestion of the soldier, had issued strict instructions that -no person under any pretext whatever was to leave the house until a -thorough examination had been made. - -The prisoner was as good as lost. There was not a place anywhere in -which a man could be concealed. Emblem proposed between a bed and -mattress, but I scouted that as not sufficiently ingenious. I suggested -a clothes chest for a hiding-place, but Emblem was not slow to advance -a similar objection. - -“Well,” says I, “it is a matter for the lad himself. We will bear this -hard news to him and see what his own wits are worth.” - -Accordingly we repaired together to the chamber in which he was still -asleep. There was yet an hour or two before us in which to act, as the -soldiers were at present indulging in their earned repose. A couple of -shakes upon the shoulder and the rebel was rubbing his eyes and looking -at us. By the utter bewilderment of his face he had evidently lost all -cognisance of where he was, and I could not refrain from laughter as he -gazed from me to Emblem, from Emblem to his luxurious couch, and then -back again to me. - -“Mr. Christophero Sly,” says I, “how doth your lordship find yourself?” - -“Good Madam Wife,” says he, “I find myself blithe as a pea, I thank -you.” - -This reply was evidence of three things. First, that my voice had -recalled him to his present state; second, that his deep sleep had -restored him wonderfully; third, that he was no fool. The third was the -most pleasing to me. He had now slipped from the bed, and was standing -in his stocking feet before us with a degree of humility and pride -that looked mightily becoming. - -“Madam,” he says, with a boy’s simplicity, which was a great contrast -to what I had been used to, “I shall not try to thank you, because I’m -not good at words. But wait, madam, only wait, and you shall not lack -for gratitude.” - -It was most amusing to witness this frail and tender lad go striding up -and down the chamber, looking fierce as any giant-killer. The vanity of -boys is a very fearful thing. - -“I am afraid I shall, poor Master Jack,” says I next moment in a -falling voice, “for I am here to tell you that the soldiers are in this -house; that as soon as they have taken a little rest they will search -it from the bottom to the top, and leave not a stick unturned; and that -as matters stand there is not a power on earth that now can save you.” - -He took this cruel news with both fortitude and courage. - -“Well, then, madam,” says he, walking up and down the room again, but -this time with his face unpleasant, “if it is not to be that I shall -give you gratitude, at least I think I can show you what a good death -is. For at the worst it will be a better one than Tyburn Tree.” - -“Then you are not afraid of death?” I asked. - -I thought I saw his white face grow more pallid at the question, but -his answer was: “No, oh no! At least--do you suppose, madam, that I -would tell you if I were?” - -This was charming candour, and I laughed outright at it, and said: - -“I never saw the boy that was afraid of anything whatever.” - -“I am not a boy,” he answered, proudly. - -“You have vanity enough for three, sir; but ere you perish, boy, there -is one thing I must learn. Captain Grantley gives me to understand that -you are the son of a baker. Is that so? For I think you are far too -delightful to be anything so plebeian.” - -“Ah, no!” he sighed, “not even that. I never was the son of anybody.” - -“Dear me!” says I, “how singular! I must assume then that you came upon -this earth like manna from the skies?” - -“When I was a fortnight old,” says he, “I was left upon the doorstep of -a priory. I have never seen my parents, and I do not even know their -names.” - -“But you are called Anthony Dare!” says I. - -“The fathers called me Anthony after their patron saint; they called me -Dare for daring to howl upon the doorstep of a priory.” - -“They have given you the most appropriate name they could possibly -have found,” says I, in admiration of his open, candid face and his -courageous eyes, “for if I read your countenance aright, my lad, you -dare do anything whatever.” - -“I think I might dare,” says he, and tightened his thin lips. - -“Then if you think you dare, you had better kiss me,” says I, haughtily. - -’Twas the tone I had withered princes with. I drew up all my inches, -and I am not a little woman; I set back my head; I put a regal lift -into my chin; I looked upon him from a snow-capped altitude; and again -and again my eyes did strike him with disdain. I did not think the man -was made who could have kissed me then. For ’twas not an invitation, -you understand; it was a flat defiance. - -He sent a look at me, and then recoiled with something of a shiver. He -sent another and fell into a kind of trembling, and I could see that -fear of me was springing in his eyes. My will was matched against his -own; and it was now a case of mastery. But ’twas his that did prevail. -A third time he came with his fiery look; I quailed before it, and next -instant his lips had known my cheek. - -“My lad,” says I, and I was shaking like a leaf, “I think you are -formed for greatness. Do you know that there is not another man in -England who could have dared that deed?” - -“And strike me pale!” says he, “don’t ask me to dare it any more. I -much prefer the whipping-post.” - -And whiter than before he sat upon the bed in a condition pretty much -the equal of my own. - -“What, you’ve known the whipping-post?” I cried. “What adventures you -have had! And brought up in a priory. Now tell me all about ’em.” - -“Three times to the whipping-post,” says he, “twice to the pillory, -twice to Edinburgh Tolbooth, and once a broken leg, and various -embroilments, and strange accidents by sea and land.” - -“Oh! my lad,” says I, “if we had but time, what would I not give to -hear your life recited? But the whipping-post? What’s it like? Do you -know, I’ve been nearly tempted there myself, for it must be a very -unique sensation.” - -“It is something like kissing you, madam, only nothing like so painful.” - -This incorrigible rogue said this with the sobriety of a cardinal. - -“And now,” says he, “I won’t tell you one other solitary thing till you -have appeased my hunger. I am famishing.” - -“What!” says I, “you who are to die in half an hour requiring a meal!” - -I was astonished that the imminence of death did not affect him. But -then I had no need to be, for there was scarce a trait in his strange -character they did not pass quite outside of my experience. - -“Now tell me more about your life,” says I, “you charming young -adventurer.” - -His answer was a droll expression; and he shook his head and placed a -finger on his lips to remind me of his vow of silence. And he would -not speak another word of any kind until I had sent Emblem to smuggle -up some food and to enquire whether the soldiers had yet begun their -search. - -When she had gone, I said: “Suppose, my lad, you proved, after all, -to be a person of high consideration, deserted by your parents for -State reasons or matters of that sort. We read of such things in the -story-books, you know.” - -“Not I,” says he, with his delicious gravity. “I know quite well I am -not that. I am a person of low tastes.” - -Here he sighed. - -“They might be the fruits of your education,” says I, tenaciously, -for I love aught that seems at all romantic or mysterious. “Let me -hear them, sir, for I believe I am well fitted to pronounce a verdict -thereupon.” - -“For one thing,” says he, “I am fond of cheese.” - -“How barbarous!” says I. - -“And I prefer to drink from pewter.” - -“’Tis a survival of the Vandal and the Goth,” says I. - -“And velvet frets me. I cannot bow; I cannot pirouette; I cannot make a -leg; and I have no gift of compliment.” - -“Mr. Dare,” says I, “you are indeed a waif, and not a high-born -gentleman. Mr. Dare, your case is hopeless.” - -But so heavy a decision sat upon him in the lightest manner, for he -heard the feet of the approaching Emblem and the rattle of dishes on a -tray. She, too, had evidently formed a low opinion of his tastes, for -she had brought him the rudest pigeon pie and the vulgarest pot of ale -you ever saw. - -“I hope, my wench,” says I, sharply, “you let no one in the kitchen -see you procure these things. They will say I have a diabetes else.” - -“’Deed, no, my lady,” she replied; and then in a confidential whisper, -“the soldiers are not yet begun their search. I have had a word with -Corporal Flickers, who is on duty. He hath told me privily that by -the Captain’s orders their investigation is to be postponed till four -o’clock, as they are in such urgent need of food and sleep.” - -“And what gave you Corporal Flickers for this news?” says I, frowning -at her. - -Emblem puckered up her lips and looked puritanically prim. - -“Only a look,” says she demurely, “and a very indifferent imitation of -one of your own, ma’am.” - -Meantime the condemned rebel had swallowed half the pigeon-pie and -drunk a pint of ale. I watched him in polite surprise, and the thought -came to me that if his fighting was as fierce as was his appetite, six -men would be none too many to retake him. Having at last dispatched his -meal, he said: - -“Madam, do you know that I feel quite wonderfully better? Fit for -stratagems and devilry, in fact. And, lord knows, they’ll be required.” - -“They will, indeed,” says I. “But stratagems--you talk of stratagems, -now let me think of ’em.” - -I seldom lacked for a certain fertility in inventions. I began to put -it to the test. To sit tamely down and watch this fine lad perish was -by no means what I was prepared to do. Having pledged myself so deeply -to his affair, I would see him through with it. - -“Madam,” he broke in on my thoughts, “two feet of straight and honest -steel is worth a mile of strategy. Give me a sword, and bother your -head no more about me.” - -“’Tis bloody mindedness,” says I; “and you such a tender, handsome boy!” - -“I am not tender; I am not handsome; I am not a boy,” says he. - -“You are the very handsomest lad I ever saw,” says I, mischievously, -“and Mrs. Polly Emblem knows it also. She looks on you as sweetly as -though you were a corporal.” - -“Bah!” he cries, “do you suppose, madam, that I will let a parcel of -women pet me like a terrier pup. I was born for better things, I hope.” - -“For the whipping-post, the pillory, the Tolbooth, you saucy rogue,” -says I, laughing at his anger, and the way he treated one of the -foremost ladies in the State. “But you know you are very handsome, -now,” says I, in a very coaxing manner. - -“To be handsome,” he replied, “a man must be six feet high; splendid -wide shoulders; slender hips, and muscles made of steel. No, I am -not handsome. I am only a little fellow; five feet five inches is my -height; my frame hath no more consistency than your own. See how my -shoulders slope, and my very voice is thin and feminine.” - -“Why, certainly it is,” says I, “but still you are very handsome.” - -“’Tis untrue,” says he, determined to prevail and doing so, for he was -of that disposition that whatever he wished he obtained, and whatever -he undertook he performed; “but, madam, if it will be a satisfaction -to you, I may say, that for my size I possess an arm that merits your -attention. Observe these muscles, madam. They are flexible.” - -And I laughed aloud, when he pushed his sleeve up suddenly and laid his -forearm bare. He bent it and made its fibres rise, and before he would -be content I had to grip it with an appearance of great interest. - -But the catalogue of his dimensions and his feminine resemblance was -to put me in possession of one of the bravest stratagems that ever was -conceived. - -“I have it!” I exclaimed, in a tone of victory. “I have it! I have -discovered a device that shall fit you like a glove.” - -“I do not want a device,” says he; “give me an honest sword, and a -sturdy courage. They are worth all your pussy-cat tricks.” - -“You have a feminine exterior,” says I, “and I possess the clothes and -the arts that can adorn it. In half an hour you shall become a most -ravishing girl.” - -“I will not, by thunder!” he exclaimed, with gleams of purple in his -face. “I will go to Tyburn rather.” - -“Well, think about it,” says I, coaxingly, “and remember this is your -only chance of life. I do believe that I may save you thus. Besides, a -boy of your height will make a very fine, tall woman.” - -This it was that moved him to the scheme. In a moment was he reconciled. - -“Tall!” cries he. “Well, it’s worth trying anyhow. And at least there’s -room in a woman’s what-do-you-call-’ems to stow a pistol and a bit of -ammunition?” - -I assured him that there was. - -Thereupon Emblem and I set about at once to prepare him for this -disguise. The more I considered it, the more positive did I grow of -its success. Our present mode seemed to have been invented to assist -our audacious plan. Every lady of pretension must have her powder, her -patch, and her great head-dress. The hooped skirt was then the fashion -too. I placed the most elegant one I had at his disposal. That is to -say, the biggest, for the larger they were the more “tonnish” they were -considered. Indeed, the petticoat I procured him was of such capacity -that it fitted over his masculine clothes with ease, and abolished -the necessity for underlinen, as his shirt and breeches fulfilled -its duties admirably. We got him into this rich silk dress, with -convolvulvi and mignonette brocaded on it, in the shortest space of -time. The bodice, though, was a different affair. He had to remove his -coat and vest ere we might venture to put it on at all. Then he had to -be dragged into it by main force, till it seemed that a miracle alone -had saved the seams from bursting. - -“Huh!” he sighed, “I cannot breathe. This is less humane than hanging.” - -“But not so ignominious,” says I. - -“Well, I wouldn’t be too sure of that,” says he. “For surely ’tis of -the very depth of degradation for a lusty man like me to be put in -petticoats, and made a woman of.” - -“Wretch!” says I. Mrs. Polly Emblem, being employed at that moment in -pinning a gold brooch into the collar of his bodice, by misadventure -stuck it cleverly in his throat. - -We made him a bust with a pad of wool. His hair was a matter for -nice consideration. He wore it long, and of a yellow colour; and, -although of a coarse male quality, it was profuse enough to occupy his -shoulders. Emblem, however, was a past mistress in the manipulation -of a head-dress. It shook me with laughter, yet thrilled me with -pleasure too, to witness the degree of mastery with which she seized -that ungovernable mane, that was no more curly than is a grey rat’s -tail, and twisted it to her own devices. She packed it up with pins -and divers arts known only to the coiffeuse, enclosed it in one of my -commodes, and made the whole of such a height and imperial proportion -that even I would not have disdained to wear it publicly. - -There now remained the question of his tell-tale hands and feet. But -the difficulties they presented were very well got over. His form -being cast in so slight a mould, it was not strange that they were of -quite a delicate character; and when a pair of long mittens had been -stretched across his hands to hide their natural roughness, there -remained small chance of detection on their account. - -But his feet were a somewhat more serious affair. My own shoes were -outside the question utterly. When Emblem mischievously produced a -pair, and suggested that he should try them on, his face was worthy of -remark. - -“What, those!” says he. “I might have tugged ’em on when I was four -weeks old, but I’ll swear at no time thereafter.” - -Emblem then produced a pair of hers. They fared but slightly better, -she being a very dainty creature, a fact of which she was very well -aware. Thereupon she repaired below-stairs to discover if any of the -maids could lend assistance. In the end she returned in triumph with a -not inelegant pair the cook went to church on Sundays in. She being one -of the most buxom members of her tribe, they promised well. - -It was a squeeze, but the lad found a way inside them, and walked -presently across the room to allow us to judge of the general effect. - -“A little more rose-pink upon his cheeks,” says I, “a rather darker -eyebrow, a higher frill about his throat, a deeper shade of vermilion -on his lips, two inches more ascension in his bust, and we shall have -the rogue a rival to myself.” - -Emblem, most enthusiastic in the cause, brimful of mirth, and with -a pardonable vanity in her own accomplished hand, worked out these -details to a miracle. A touch or two and Venus was superseded. - -He looked into the mirror, and saw his image there, and kissed the -glass to show how deeply the picture there presented had wrought upon -his susceptibilities. - -“A deuced fine girl!” says he. “Faith! I think I’ll marry her!” - -“You are wedded to her for a day or two, at least,” says I. - -The lad made the most charming picture. Those rare eyes of his were -roving in a very saucy way; his features were alert and delicate, yet -strong, and emphasized in delightful fashion by Mrs. Polly Emblem’s -inimitable art. His clothes were very cunningly contrived, and he had a -graceful ease of person that in a measure disguised the absence of soft -curves. Besides, that enormous hoop petticoat was very much his friend, -as it stood so far off from his natural figure that it created a shape -of its own accord. - -“My dearest Prue, how are you?” cries I with warmth, and pretending to -embrace him. - -“So my name is Prue?” says he, “a proper name, I vow.” - -“Then ’ware lest you soil it with an impropriety,” says I, disapproving -highly of the way in which he walked. “You are to impersonate my -friend the Honourable Prudence Canticle. She is very fond of hymns. -She thinks a lot about her soul, and is a wonderfully good young -creature. But my dearest Prue, is that how Pilgrim walked upon -his progress? Pray correct it, for it is indeed most immodest and -unwomanlike. In four strides you have swaggered across the room.” - -“All right, dear Bab,” says he, with an impudence that I itched to box -his ears for. “But I so detest you niminy piminy fine ladies, with your -affectations and your foibles. Therefore, I remove my manners from you -as far as possible. I spurn your mincing footsteps, dear. Besides, I am -on the narrow and the thorny track, and the bigger strides I take the -sooner I shall have walked across it.” - -“You must contrive to modulate your voice in a different key to that,” -says I, his mentor. “You must become far less roguish and impertinent; -you must manipulate your skirts with a deal more of dexterity; and, -above all, I would have you imitate my tone. The one you are using -now is bourgeois, provincial, a very barbarism, and an insult to ears -accustomed to refinement.” - -“Lard, Bab,” says the wicked dog, “give me a chaney arange, or a dish -of tay, for I’m martal tharsty.” - -“Prue,” says I, “let me proceed to read you the first lesson.” - - - - -CHAPTER IX. - -OF THE MONSTROUS BEHAVIOUR OF MISS PRUE. - - -TO begin with, I instructed him in deportment. I put him through his -paces with the exactitude of a dancing-master. - -“Tread upon your toes, sir,” lifting up my skirts a little to show him -how; “neater and lighter, my lad. Do not put your foot upon the carpet -like a hundred weight of coals. Tip your chin a shade more upward; set -your head a little backward; shorter strides and one shoe behind the -other--so!” - -As a pupil he proved extremely apt, and in a few minutes he was giving -quite a tolerable imitation of the motions of a woman of quality. His -petticoat bothered him exceedingly, but in a little time even these -troubles he overcame. Once he tried a simper, and did it prettily. Then -in a highly successful way he played his shoulders like an arch and -laughing miss. His next attempt was at a curtsey, but here misfortune -came, as his heel caught in his skirt and he fell flat upon his back. - -“The penalty of impertinence,” said I. “As though every delicate -accomplishment of Venus is to be obtained in half an hour!” - -He rose, however, with fine gravity, and asked me how it should be -done. It was a part of his character to let nothing beat him, and in -this instance he tried a full twenty times rather than a curtsey should -become his master. - -There was one subject in which we were much exercised. How were his -coat and vest to be disposed of? The search was to be of the strictest -kind, therefore no risks must be run. It was Emblem who grappled with -the difficulty. Stealing to his lordship’s dressing-room she mingled -them temporarily with his clothing, as masculine attire in that place -was not likely to excite remark. - -This had just been done, I was still in the middle of my tutelage, and -making Miss Prudence imitate the cadence of my voice in high falsetto, -when a knock upon the door startled us extremely. Emblem turned white -as any pillow-slip; I began to tremble and could not have spoke a word -that minute for my life; but the disguised fugitive looked at me, and -looked at Emblem, smiled a little, and calmly said “Come in!” in the -identical tone he had been practising. - -A terrible being sailed into the room; no less a person than my -Aunt. She paused upon the threshold to gaze at the fair stranger in -both dignity and doubt. Unable to recall the face she screwed her -gold-rimmed glasses on her nose and stared steadily down upon Miss Prue -with that polite impertinence that flourishes most in dowagers. The -time this manœuvre took gave me the necessary moment to recover myself. -I seized it, smiled on my aunt’s bland insolence and said: - -“My dear aunt, permit me to present to you Miss Prudence Canticle, that -very familiar and dear friend of mine of whom you have heard me so -often speak. She shares all the secrets of my bosom, and I therefore, -my dear aunt, commend her with the more confidence to yours.” - -“I am charmed, I am delighted, I am sure,” says the dowager, sweeping a -stately bow upon the phrase with great majesty. - -“Madam,” says the lad, “I am infarnally glad of your acquaintancy.” - -My aunt, the dowager, was a person of too much breeding to express or -to otherwise betray any astonishment at this; but I am sure she felt -it, for though she had never seen Prue, my pious friend in _propria -persona_, she had seen her letters, and on the strength of those -epistles had held her image up before me as a paragon of gentlewomen -and a mirror of the Christian virtues. I dare not look at my aunt’s -stern mien lest I broke out in a peal of laughter; but the lad, with a -slight curl at his lips, and a saucy gleam within his eye, met full the -shock of it, and quailed not. - -“’Tis strange, my dear Miss Canticle,” says my aunt with that sugared -fluency in which she wrapped her sourest moods, “that I had no -premonition of your coming. Barbara gives me not a word of it; I -have even no hint of your arrival; and so, my dear Miss Canticle, I -must beseech you to take things at Cleeby very much as you may find -them, and accept this for their apology. Let me repeat, my dear Miss -Canticle, that I had not the ghost of an idea that we were about to be -so greatly honoured.” - -Now I was in a fever of anxiety and fear, and the face of Emblem -announced similar emotions. We were at such a disadvantage that to -prompt Miss Prudence in the ordering of her speech and conduct was -outside the question utterly. But ’twas little she needed prompting. -For she seemed superbly at her ease, fell into fiction of the -cheerfullest and most high-coloured sort, without one “ahem!” of -hesitation; and contrived from the beginning to treat her majesty, my -aunt, with the most easy familiarity she could possibly employ. - -“I am sure the apology should be supplied by me,” Miss Prudence says. -“I never writ Bab a word about it, did I, darling? But t’other morning -my papa orders the chaise for town. I asked him would he pass near -Cleeby on the way? That he would, says he. Then, says I, you shall drop -me down there, and, faith! I’ll spend a week with my ownest Bab. All -this age I have not seen her.” - -And I believe the incredible rogue would have kissed me on the spot, as -I could not possibly have said him nay, had I not drawn my face from -the threatening proximity of his mouth. - -“Your papa, Miss Prudence?” my aunt echoed in surprise. “I was -informed that he died five years ago at Paris.” - -I was horrified at the magnitude of this error he had made, for my aunt -spoke, alas! too truly. I might have been spared my agitation, though. - -“Oh!” Miss Prudence laughed, “my dear mamma hath taken another piece of -household furniture unto herself since then.” - -“A what?” cries my aunt, fixing her glasses on again to cover her -distress. - -You will understand that the dowager--dear lady!--being the product of -an earlier generation, construed this flippant mention of so ornamental -an article as a papa as gross irreverence. Yet I breathed again at the -lad’s ingenuity. However, he had gone astray on another point, and my -aunt was not the one to pass it by. - -“But what are you doing in the north, my dear Miss Canticle, if I may -make so bold as to inquire?” says she; “for I have always been told -that your residences were Tunbridge Wells and Mitcham Green.” - -“You are not aware then, madam,” replied Miss Prue, “that we bought -quite recently a little place in Fifeshire?” - -“Indeed!” says my aunt, with interest, “and a very charming country -to be sure.” Then she turned to me and said: “Barbara, I am come to -speak to you of a particular affair. Captain Grantley has just had -the goodness to inform me that he proposes shortly to have this house -searched from cellar to attic, to discover if that prisoner is hid -anywhere within it. I told him that it was a most monstrous project, -and one more monstrous still to undertake, as by that means our house -and all its contents would be quite exposed to the mercy of his men, -who being of the very scum can no more be trusted with good furniture -than can a cat with a jug of cream.” - -“Very true, dear aunt,” says I, “and I trust you will oppose it.” - -“I have opposed it,” says my aunt, grimly; “but the Earl, your papa, -and this Captain man are really most unreasonable men.” - -“Prisoner!” cried Miss Prue. “Search the house! La! we shall have some -fun, I’m certain.” - -“We shall, indeed!” says I, even more grimly than my aunt. - -Here it was that the dowager, to my infinite relief, bowed stiffly to -Miss Prudence, and renounced the room in a distinctly disdainful manner. - -“Bab,” says the prisoner so soon as she was gone, “I consider that I -have carried this off gallantly. But I fear, dear Bab, that if I stay -here any longer than a day I shall prove a thorn in the flesh of that -old lady. Her icy mien provokes me.” - -“Prue,” says I, unable to repress the admiration that I felt for the -agile fashion in which he had crept out of a corner uncomfortably -tight, “you will either attain to the post of Prime Minister of England -or a public death by hanging. There will be no half course in your -career, I’m certain. For your wickedness is as great as is your wit. -But you really must think a trifle more about your pious character, my -dear Miss Canticle.” - -Now that my aunt was apprised of Miss Prue’s presence in the house, it -behoved us to wear bold faces and put our trust in impudence and the -good luck that usually attends it. She must be presented to the Earl, -and share our daily life entirely. She must be treated as an equal, -and carry herself with sustained dignity and ease; she must be nothing -less than perfect in the playing of her part, else questions would be -provoked, any one of which might prove fatal to our scheme. Therefore, -I occupied the interval between this and a quarter after four, at -which hour I was due at the tea-table in the dowager’s drawing-room, -in schooling Prue in carriage, etiquette, and family affairs. And I -cannot repeat too often that if this lad was not by birth and training -a person of the mode, his natural instinct for mummery was in itself -so admirably fine that had he been asked to don the royal purple of a -potentate, he would have filled the throne at a moment’s notice and -have looked a king and acted like one. Besides, he had this very great -advantage--he had been bred to no sphere in particular, and there -seemed such a native richness in his character as made him ripe for -any. The keenest observation of man and nature supplied in him a course -of education in the schools. Therefore his mind had no predisposition -towards any avocation. He was neither a physician nor a priest, a fop -nor a vender of penny ballads. He was just (in my idea) an intrepid -young adventurer, a charming vagabond, with enough of sense and courage -in him to become anything he chose. - -For the nonce he chose to be a woman of quality. Therefore he was that -woman, plus a dash of native devilry that she was born without. The way -he played his eyes, the archness of his simpering, his ringing laugh, -the sauciness that salted all he said, his smiling rogueries, his -dimpled impudence, his downright, damnable adorableness, he appeared to -put on with his dress, and wore with the elegant propriety of one who -had dwelt in Spring Gardens all her days. - -“My lad,” says I, “you step a point beyond me quite. Here have you -picked up Saccharissa’s every trick in twenty minutes. ’Tis a miracle, -I’ll swear.” - -“Fudge,” says he, “’tis no miracle. The living model is before me, and -the rest is no more than a painter does when he transfers that model to -a canvas. You twist your lips into a smile, and see--I ape ’em with my -own.” And the very trick I had of sardonically smiling from the corners -of my mouth he immediately copied with marvellous fidelity. - -“My Lady Barbara,” says he, “you once disdained me with a glance. Here -is the one you did it with.” - -Straight he gathered all his inches up and gazed down upon Emblem and -myself with a severity awful to observe. As for his voice, it was thin -and somewhat treble in its quality. But it was an instrument that had -a singular variety of tone. Its natural note was boyish, fresh, and -piercing; yet that did not prevent it from one moment scorning like an -actress, nor the next from being missish, petulant, and shrill. - -Pretty soon the ears of us conspirators were assailed with strange and -reiterated sounds. The soldiers had begun their search. The three of us -looked at one another, and debated what to do. The Honourable Prudence -Canticle turned to me, and said: - -“Where’s that pistol, Bab? There might be an accident, you know, and if -there is--well!” - -So much was implied by that doleful monosyllable that I handed the -weapon to him without demur. He desired to keep it in the pocket of -his breeches, but it called for a deal of judicious aid on the part of -Emblem and myself ere his enormous hooped petticoat could be supported -while he introduced it. Then a nice point had to be considered. -Should we stay where we were and await the enemy, or repair to the -drawing-room and meet it under the protection of the presence of the -formidable Lady Caroline? - -Miss Prue languidly professed that she was quite indifferent, being -perfectly easy in her mind that her skirts, her powder, and her -head-dress would be more than a match for a corporal and five foolish -troopers. - -“So long as that Captain remains strapped to his board in the library,” -she assured us, “I snap my fingers at ’em.” - -“Then you will confess,” says I, “that Captain Grantley has the power -to disconcert you?” - -“Well--yes,” says she reluctantly, “because--well Captain Grantley is -the devil.” - -“He _is_ the devil,” says I, triumphantly, “never a doubt about it. -’Tis the only phrase that fits him, and I’ve employed it several times -myself. Prue, do you know that I hate--I detest--that man, and yet, and -yet----” - -“And yet,” says Prue, breathing hard, and her vermilion lips studded -with two white teeth, “Bab, I quite agree with you that there is always -a big ‘and yet’ sticking out of the Captain’s character.” - -Further discourse was cut off by the unceremonious entry of two -soldiers. The first was Corporal Flickers. His eye fell on three -flaunting petticoats, and three faces of bold brilliancy surmounting -them. Nothing to denote the thin and haggard fugitive in these. It -would be uncharitable to blame the man for permitting himself to be -so beautifully fooled, for the serene interest of Miss Prue and her -innocent wonderment at the Corporal’s appearance would have defied the -majority of his intellectual betters to unmask her. And Miss Prue was -so radiantly calm in the presence of the Corporal that I am sure the -pungent jest delighted her indeed. - -Now I hope you will remember that this Mr. Flickers was that very -red-haired wretch who had declaimed so powerfully against my Lady -Barbara Gossiter and all her works, beneath the window of her ladyship -at three o’clock that morning. A deadly feud was thus between us. At -the same time, however, there was a sort of fascination about a man -who was so terrible in opinion. There was defiance of all the things -that were, crapulously shining in his beery orbs. In his nose, short -and thick, and magnificently drunken, was writ the pugilist, and worse, -alas! the pummeller of the classes. A mighty hatred of the aristocracy -was indicated on his honest brow. His mien was so determinedly -aggressive, and so purple in its tint, that it might have been washed -in the bluest blood of dukes and earls. Thus at sight of him, I could -scarce refrain from shivering, as we are said to do when someone walks -across our graves. - -To him the searching of my chamber was a pleasing duty. It involved -iconoclasm and a tearing down of gilded luxury. And there was a -sufficient unction in the rude methods he employed. He half tore -the window curtain from the pole in shaking out its folds; he -committed dreadful carnage with the bed, tearing sheets, and flinging -counterpane and bolster to the ground. He wrenched one of the doors -off my wardrobe, such was the vigour with which he opened it, and so -ruthlessly mishandled one of my costliest robes that it was damaged -beyond amendment. He was able to knock a china model of Apollo off -the mantelpiece and shatter it into a hundred pieces on the hearth. -He cracked one of my finest Knellers when he tapped upon the wall to -assure himself it was not hollow. He contrived to tread upon my poodle -and render it permanently lame as he examined the floor and wainscot. -He cut the Turkey carpet in a dozen places by the way he used his -heels; and when he paused to take a little breath, he calculated things -so excellently well that by suddenly dropping fourteen stones of beer -and democratic blackguardism on a frail settee, he smashed it in the -middle, and in the fall he had in consequence had the good luck to put -his elbow through the glass door of a cabinet. And he did all this with -such a pleasant air that I almost wept for rage. - -“Mr. Flickers,” says I, mildly, “my compliments to you. In five minutes -you have managed to smash such an astonishing quantity of furniture -that in future, with your kind permission, I shall amend the adage, -and instead of speaking of a bull in a china-shop, shall phrase it a -Corporal in a lady’s chamber.” - -“Dooty, my lady,” says the Corporal, simply, but trying to crush a -mirror into fragments by jamming his back against it, “dooty don’t wait -fer duchesses. Dooty must be done.” - -To show how completely he was the slave of it, he resumed his happy -occupation at the word: stepped lightly to my clothes closet, and -wreaked such a horrid havoc on my dresses that the tears appeared in -poor Mrs. Polly Emblem’s eyes. - -But this catastrophe had another side. And to my mind it was not -unpleasant. It was supplied by the behaviour of Miss Prue. When the -cheerful Corporal was in the midst of his depredations in the closet, -that young lady grew a lively red with rage, and doubled up her not -unsubstantial but mittened fists, and shook them in the Corporal’s -direction. - -“Gad!” she whispered, whilst Emblem and myself had to put forth -desperate efforts to restrain her, “I would give a golden guinea to -be Anthony Dare for just two minutes. I’d smash as many bones in his -drunken carcase as he hath smashed these bits of furniture.” - -Captain Grantley’s threat was executed to the letter. They sought the -prisoner or evidence of him in every nook and cranny from the cellar to -the skylight, but became none the wiser for their pains. Ruefully they -told this to their commander, fuming in his fetters. I also went and -told the Captain this. - -Conducting my friend Miss Prue to the tea-table of my aunt, I was -charmed more than I can express to notice how immediately this young -lady ordered her bearing and her conversation to a harmony that -accorded with the dowager’s personality and her own. Launching these -ladies properly on a topic on which they were both well qualified -to speak, to wit, the relations then existing between the Church of -England and the Church of Rome, I tripped forth to the library to carry -my compliments to its occupant. He was still in the exact posture in -which I had previously seen him. But he was not writing now. Instead, -his fingers were tapping the table in their impotence, and his eyes -were red and fierce. He looked the picture of the tiger caged, and -fretting away his heart in his captivity. His cheeks were wan and -hollow, for the whole affair was a bitter load upon his mind. Indeed, -he made a quite pathetic figure, chafing in a strict confinement at a -time when it was desperately necessary that he should be abroad. - -“Captain, how’s the knee?” I began, with sweetness. - -“It gives me no trouble I assure you, my dear lady,” he answered, -smoothly, “but it is really very good of you to ask.” He gently smiled, -for he was well aware that I positively knew that it troubled him -exceedingly, and that my inquiry did not spring from any kindly impulse. - -“I am here to tell you, sir,” says I, and observed the poor wretch -keenly to catch him wincing, “that those fine troopers of yours have -failed completely in their expedition. Completely failed, sir! And as -you have had the goodness to confer ignominy on this household and -myself by insinuating that we are harbouring a rebel, I am here to -thank you for it.” - -“Yes,” he sighed, “I know they’ve failed.” He looked at his knee -reproachfully. - -“Captain,” says I, in a voice that was angelical; “how unfortunate it -is that you yourself could not have led this man-hunt. I’ll warrant -that you would have run this fugitive to earth.” - -’Twas more than the fellow could endure. - -“Curse this knee!” says he, and again, “curse this knee!” - -The baited wretch looked so dolefully on the board and the bonds that -detained his damaged limb, that I fell forthwith into laughing at him. - -“Pray do not spare your curses, Captain,” I encouraged him, “tear your -hair; conjure all the devils. Call a murrain in blue blazes down upon -your evil state. Prithee, damn your scurvy leg, fair sir! But, dear -Captain, there you are. You cannot move an inch, my friend. And reflect -that your six zanies are as likely to catch this rebel as they are to -catch a bird by putting salt upon its tail. Consider all this, dear -Captain, and tell me what round sum sterling you would pay to be in a -like hale condition to myself.” - -To show him what that hale condition was, and to aggravate his woes, -I prettily gathered up my gown and danced him a few corranto steps -daintily and lightly. - -Poor fellow! These taunts of mine went right home into his soul. In -spite of himself, he had to writhe; and I, finding him so helpless, -did but prick and gall him more. I do not pride myself on this, for it -was a piece of wanton cruelty, and perhaps a piece of cowardice. But -I will be as honest as I can, and confess that I had an instinct that -this was not the highest style of woman; but then, you see, I never -did set up for a saint. Here was my enemy prostrate, and how could one -resist the joys of trampling on him! Ascribe this an it please you to a -full-blooded female nature! - -The Captain bore my exultation for a time with fortitude, but then -said, with a bluntness that I thought refreshing: - -“Let us understand one another in this matter, my Lady Barbara. You -play a winning game at present. You have the prisoner successfully -concealed, and up to now the honours are entirely yours. It is the -simplest thing in the world to hoodwink six clumsy fellows, but do not -think, dear madam, that you hoodwink their unlucky officer. He may now -be taken in the leg and tied up to a board, but sooner or later he will -have his liberty, and then, believe me, my dearest madam, that some -persons I might name may perhaps be dancing on another string.” - -The Captain’s words were to be respected, for he was indeed a dangerous -foe. None the less I scorned them, and replied, in high derision: - -“Perhaps, dear Captain, you will take my arm and make a tour of the -house yourself? You seem to repose very little confidence in your -followers.” - -“No, Lady Barbara,” says he, “I will not do that, much as I would -like. But I would fain remind you that since our last interview a day -hath fled. Therefore, six days only now remain ere this is despatched -to London. That is unless the rebel happens to be retaken in the -meantime.” - -This was his chance to repay my insolence. You may be sure he took it, -and also that my heart quailed when he held that sinister blue paper -up, and asked me whether I did not think it elegant. - -“And again would I venture to suggest, my Lady Barbara,” says he, “that -though the first fall may rest with you, the game is not quite over -yet.” The man smiled with such a malicious affability that I dropped -him a curtsey and swept out in a huff. - -That blue paper was my nightmare. It _must_ not go to London, yet how -could I give the prisoner up? I desired to eat my cake and yet to -keep it, and felt like working myself into a passion because this was -impossible. Accordingly, when I repaired to a dish of tea, and to have -an eye upon Miss Prue, my mind was both disordered and perplexed. I -was grieved to discover that the dowager and my dear Miss Canticle had -discarded religious topics for the secular. Miss Prue was pouring into -my aunt’s receptive ear some most surprising details that presumably -adorned the histories of many of the brightest ornaments of our world. -And she was doing this with a vivacity that took my breath away. - -“God bless me! yes,” Miss Prue was saying as I entered, “of course I -know my Lady Wensley Michigan. A dreadful woman, madam! Plays at hazard -every night till three, and poor Michigan hath to put a new mortgage on -his property every morning.” - -“Never heard anything so monstrous!” cries my aunt in horror, but -very anxious nevertheless to glean as many facts of a similar kind -as possible. “And my dear Miss Canticle, are you acquainted with the -Carews, and the Vortigerns, and those people?” - -“Am acquainted with ’em all,” cries my dear Miss Canticle, with a -promptitude and emphasis that made me shudder; “and a pretty company -they are! Shouldn’t tell you a word of this, my dear madam, only it is -as well for persons who know what virtue is to be forewarned against -those who don’t.” - -“Exactly,” says my aunt, with a grim and gleaming eye. - -“Prue,” says I, sweetly as a song, though I was pale with rage, “I am -going to dress for supper. Come along with me, dear, and I will show -you my new watered-silk. ’Twill make you dream of it to-night.” - -“A watered silk!” she cried, and instantly jumped up and followed me -with a wonderful excitement that only a woman could have shown. How -could I be angry with a villain with such a deal of genius? - -“Prue,” says I, as we ascended to my chamber, “you are a perfect devil.” - -“Perfection,” says she, “is the pinnacle of womanhood. So long as I am -perfect I don’t much care. ’Tis what I aim at. I would rather far be a -complete fiend than an incomplete she-angel! For you know as well as I -do, dear Bab, that every she-angel is of necessity an incomplete one.” - -“What I wish to know,” I demanded, being well aware that I could not -argue her out of this position, “is the exact number of my friends -you have slandered. Do you know that my aunt was speaking of the very -flower of the aristocracy? Now tell me instantly, how long has this -gone on?” - -“Oh! about a quarter of an hour,” says she, with an intolerable -impudence, “and I spoke with the rapidity of a woman who is scandalous. -Gad! I have played my part remarkably.” - -“Oh, you wretch!” cries I, “and what is it that you’ve said?” - -“Nay,” says she, “’tis not what I have said. ’Tis what I have not said. -Let me see: the Marchioness of Quorn is bald as a toad when her wig -is taken off; her ladyship of Chickenley is twenty years older than -she looks, and hath a married daughter. The beautiful Miss Brandysnap -drinks whisky-possets on the sly, and got the jumps the other morning. -But that is a family affair, as the venerable rake her father had to be -carried out of the Bodega every evening for a quarter of a century with -nine pints of claret under his shirt. Then good Madam Salamander hath -the fiery temper of old Pluto, and almost committed a manslaughter on -her maid a week last Tuesday. There is a quantity of other things I’ve -said, but I’ll not tarry to retail ’em.” - -“Don’t,” I implored her, and took the stopper from my phial of aromatic -vinegar. The Honourable Prudence Canticle was getting on my nerves. - - - - -CHAPTER X. - -I PLAY CATHERINE TO MR. DARE’S PETRUCHIO. - - -IT was our custom at Cleeby to sit down to the evening meal at seven -o’clock. We held supper a function in our country day. Then it was -that the Earl, my heroical papa, gout or no gout, would grace the -table with his embroidered presence, and ogle his daughter, or his -sister-in-law the ancient Caroline. This rather than his eyes, once -so bright and fatal, should vainly spend their waning lustres on a -stolid dish or an unresponsive spoon. The poor vamped-up old gentleman, -with that monumental vanity of man that we women feed for our private -ends, would not admit, even to himself, that though this dog had once -enjoyed his day, that day now was over. He might be condemned to death; -the wrinkles might strike through his powder; he might be toothless, -doddering, with a weak action of the heart, and his age in a nice -proportion to his crimes; he might be propt up in a back-strap and a -pair of stays, the completest and most ghastly wreck in fact you ever -set your eyes upon--that is before his man had wound him up and set -him going for the day--but he would never admit that he was old, and -that his vogue was buried with his youth. He would bow with depth and -majesty as of yore, but with rather more of rheumatism; he would toast -Venus just as often and sigh as profoundly as he did so; yet he never -took the red wine to his shrivelled lips with quite that gusto that -was his wont when he had blood and a pulse to grow inflamed in the -pious ceremony. But he would tell a stranger confidentially that though -people said his age was forty-eight, ’twas very wrong of ’em to talk -like that, as his proper age was fifty. And I, who really am at times a -tender-hearted wretch, would melt visibly every evening at his decrepit -compliments and his senile quizzing glasses. What a fine, unsubduable -old gentleman he was till the hour his wicked soul and his corrupt -old carcase were consigned to the eternal care of that other fine old -gentleman to whom he had as it were in many ways a sort of family -resemblance. - -“Prue,” says I, the moment we conspirators were assembled in my -chamber, “this evening you have to undergo an Ordeal. We must prepare -you for it, both in the body and the spirit, with great care.” - -I hinted of its nature, and lightly, and not unlovingly touched in the -character of that gallant heathen, my papa. - -“La! the naughty old gentleman,” pouts Miss Prue. “I must be careful of -him.” - -She assumed a face of copy-book propriety that is invariably worn with -a pinafore and plaited hair at a seminary for young ladies. Then she -turned to the maid and said: - -“Now, Emblem, touch my eyes up. And improve my cheeks a little.” - -Mrs. Polly did as she was bid; dabbed the powder on daintily and -subtly, made her a provoking dimple with uncommon art, pencilled her -brows arch and swarthy, then heated a hairpin in the candle and curled -her eye-lashes into a provoking crispness, a trick she had borrowed -from the French. Then she selected a new robe for her, even more -elegant than the one she wore, and while the maid, to give her greater -ease and comfort in the wearing of it, unpicked a portion of the bodice -and concealed the opened seams by cunning contrivances of lace, Miss -Prue assiduously practised the poise and movements of her form. For -an hour she went up the room and down the room under my direction, -with skirts gracefully lifted now in two fingers of one hand, now in -two fingers of the other. And so intelligent and persistent was she -that soon she seemed to sail across the floor with the lofty imperious -motion of a woman of quality. - -Thereafter she besieged the mirror; to practise smiling, be it said. -Lo! at the first trial there was a bewitching dimple at the left -corner of her mouth revealed. And those lips, how red they were, and -how inviting! What may not red ochre do? Such illumination of those -doors of wit looked seducing, irresistible. Later, she tried a little -trill of laughter. What a fluted woodnote did she make of it! Next she -tried a little trill and a smile together. The result was really too -adorable. But to my surprise Miss Prue frowned and shook her pretty, -wicked head. - -“Bab,” says she, “it will not do, dear. I showed my teeth, and one is -missing, exactly in the middle of the upper jaw. You have not a tooth -that you could lend me, darling? Besides, two other prominent members -are blackened with decay. ’Twere best I kept my lips close. And wearing -’em so tight, I must be careful lest I suck the paint off.” - -“Prue,” says I severely, “you are more precautious than myself when I -am robing and posturing for a conquest. Forbear, my girl, for this is -vanity.” - -At this she winced, and palpably. I held my sides for laughter when I -heard the reason why. - -“Bab,” says she, “when you call me girl, do you know it hurts quite -horribly?” - -“Girl, girl!” cries I, with great emphasis. - -“Bab,” says she, with real roses in her cheeks, “if you call me that -again I’ll punch your--er--I mean--I’ll--er----” - -“You mean you’ll what, my delightful little girlie?” says I, gloating -on her rage. - -“I’ll kiss you,” says she, revealing the red ochre on her lips. - -At that I did desist, for I was not sure, judging by her looks, whether -she was not hoping that I would take her at her word. And in any case -I knew she would be quite the equal of her threat. - -“Certainly I am robing and posturing for a conquest,” she resumed. -“To-night, I conquer papa.” - -“What?” cries I, aghast at her audacity. “You would never dare!” - -“Bab,” saye she, “I think you will discover that Miss Prue is as much a -Dare as ever was Mr. Anthony. And if he once kissed a heathen, surely -she may captivate a saint.” - -I thought her impudence was charming, but could not let it pass without -remark. - -“You call me heathen, Prue. ’Pon my soul, I think the kettle calls the -pot!” - -“Perhaps that is so,” she replied, “yet you know you are a terrible -barbarian. Still, to-night I conquer your papa. Why should I support -the pains without the glory? If I endure the indignity of petticoats, -let me have their compensations too.” - -Her saucy words brought me a brave idea. - -“Prue,” says I, “while you conquer my papa, I’ll go captivate the -Captain.” - -Even as I spoke it flashed upon me what I had to gain. Let me once -reduce him to complete infatuation, as I had done on a previous -occasion, then I might venture to divorce him from his duty, and -prevail upon him to destroy that horrible blue paper. The Earl, my -papa, would then have nought to fear from the Tower. - -Therefore, like Miss Prue, I fell to trimming myself up against the -evening. I had out a new exquisite gown, that was only yesterday from -the tailors, and a very lovely modish article. And what a virginity -there is about an unworn dress! How unwrinkled and serene is its -countenance; how chaste and creaseless in its outward semblance! -What a wooing look it hath with which to provoke the eye and mind of -Millamant! Its graces wedded to her own, and where’s the bosom to -resist that combination of art and nature? Once on, however, and the -nap is off the velvet of your dress and your desire also. The thing -is not so perfect as it seemed. The armpit chafes you; there is a -gusset out of place; it is a twenty-fifth of an inch too low of neck, -or a twenty-fifth of an inch too high. The sleeve is too much like a -pyramid, or not enough so. And you fear it is just two days behind the -time. You would return it to the tailor on the instant, only--only you -so crave to wear it this very night. Then you recall that all your -others have been similar; fair and smiling failures; in the wardrobe -supreme and flawless; on the body detestable and tight. You wear it -three times; it begins to cleave to you like a friend, when lo! the -silk frays, the lilac fades, the mode’s beyond it. I suppose a perfect -robe ne’er will be fashioned till Nature fashions a perfect wearer. -Your pardon, reader, but I am as privileged and fit to soliloquise upon -a dress, I take it, as a poet is upon the stars, or a philosopher upon -the dust and destination of his uncle. _Ohe! jam satis est._ - -The Honourable Prue was dressed at last. A more ravishing figure I -never saw; all flounce and furbelow; sprigs of japonica upon her -petticoat; her face a painted glamour; a wondrous starry lustre in -her eyes. Emblem put the crowning touches to her hair, and applied a -special powder to it that improved a common yellow to a most uncommon -gold. I bestowed my best pearl necklace on her, fastened a great jewel -among her artifice of curls, set diamond rings upon her fingers and -braceleted her wrists, though the manner in which they were crammed -upon ’em hath yet to be explained. - -How fair she looked, and what an archness in her lifted chin and -laughing eyes! Seen under the subdued and mellow lamplight, that -wrapped soft shades and gentle tints about her, I declare I never saw -one more fortunate in beauty at Kensington or Windsor. - -Having thus robed her to perfection and heightened her appearance -till she might melt one with a look, we put her out and bade her lock -herself in Emblem’s chamber, whilst inimitable Mrs. Polly trimmed me -for conquests too. - -In a time, a long way less than half Miss Prue had occupied, I was -declared to be accomplished properly. I wish you could have seen us -when that young person was fetched in to criticise and to stand the -ordeal of comparison. She stood before me, set her head a little to one -side, as if deliberating nicely, and looked over all my inches keenly -but complacently. - -“Huh! you’re not ugly,” was her verdict. - -“And you a man?” I cries, for I could not bring myself to consider -that a veritable member of the Sex of Victims could damn me with faint -praise of this sort. - -“Well, Bab,” he says, “you are not quite in my style, you see.” - -“_Your_ style?” says I, aghast. I, the toast of the Prince of Wales, -and the source of a thousand sonnets, not quite in the style of him! -There was a deal of whim and quaintness in the boy. - -“I like ’em clinging,” says he, modestly. - -“You like ’em clinging. You’ll perhaps explain,” says I, flicking my -fan perilously near his ears. - -“I prefer the twining ivy to the big-eyed dog-daisy or the bold -chrysanthemum.” - -The fan descended on him smartly. - -“I can suffer your impudence easier than your taste,” I sighed; “but -both should be prayed for in the churches.” - -“Kissable and kind,” says he, “there’s nought to beat ’em. A modest -violet of a downcast diffidence, prettily sigheth like a wind of -spring; obedient to a breath; trembles at a look; thinks my lord Me the -finest person under God. You know the kind I mean, Bab; plenty of blush -about ’em--the very opposite of you.” - -“My lord Me,” cries I, delightedly, “that’s you, my lad, outside and -in. It hits you to the very eyebrow, and Man also.” - -“To be sure,” saye he, with grandeur, “if it hits Me, it hits Man also. -I am Man, and Man is Me.” - -“And both are the vainest things that breathe,” says I. - -“Except new gowns,” he retorted, villainously. - -“Pish,” says I, “I will not bandy with you. There is only one thing -more deplorable in nature than a woman arguing, and that is a boy who -is impertinent.” - -The time antecedent to the supper bell we spent with profit. To-night -I must be brilliant if I was to make a conquest of a hard-bit officer, -who knew the world and Madam Ogle. I suggested, therefore, that I was -put through a rehearsal now, to test the scope of my abilities and -school them to the part they had to play. - -“Prue,” says I, “I must ask you to change your alias for twenty -minutes. You are to be Captain Grantley, and I dear Lady Barbara. -We are to suppose this chamber to be the library, where you sit in -weariness, misery, and rage, with your shattered knee strapped to a -board. There is a blue paper in your custody which you have sworn to -send to London if the prisoner is not retaken in a week. I enter to -make a conquest of you, with the object of exciting you to destroy -the document you hold. Now, Prue, sit down and turn yourself into the -Captain, and I will woo you with a greater ardour than I ever wooed a -man before.” - -“And by Jupiter and Mars, dear Lady Barbara, you’ve got to do it if -you are going to reduce this citadel,” says she, becoming Captain -Grantley on the spot. - -Nothing must suffice her but she should fill a warm chair near the -fire, with another a yard or two away on which to prop her damaged -leg. The Captain at once began to damn his knee with a vigour that was -astonishingly lively; called my Lady Barbara a saucy jade and something -of a devil into the bargain for letting rebels out in the middle of the -night and providing them with pistols. Thereupon I sailed up to him, -and opened the rehearsal by asking how his leg did. - -“Oh, it is infernal!” cries the Captain with an oath. - -“I am sorry for it,” says I, sympathetically. - -“You will be,” says he, grimly, and swore again. - -“My dear Captain,” says I, with a wistful softness, “it makes me quite -dismal, I assure you, to discover you in such a grievous strait.” A -tear stood in my eye. - -“Dear Lady Barbara,” says he, “you can tell that to my leg.” - -“Ah, dear Captain,” says I, with soft-breathing tenderness, “I wish you -could see into my heart.” - -“’Twould be more difficult than pearl-fishing in deep seas,” says he. -“Besides, a heart, they tell me, is a thing you have not got.” - -“O, that I had not one! It would then be insensible to your masculine -perfection that makes such a havoc of it now.” - -“Poor devil!” says he, very softly, and then again, “poor little pretty -devil, I wish I were not such an extremely handsome man.” - -“Po-or lit-tle pret-ty dev-il!” I repeated, dwelling on each syllable, -for surely arrogance could no farther go. - -“Now, then, woo away!” says he. - -I knew that the real performance was not to be of the lightest kind, -but if in any way it was to present the difficulties of this rehearsal, -heaven help me through it! But I told myself not to be daunted by a -boy, whose behaviour, when all was said, was only a piece of mummery. -This present subjection of the Captain’s heart proved, however, one of -the sternest businesses I ever undertook. It was a fortress walled with -stone and flanked with batteries. Again and again I was repulsed in my -advances; the energy of my glances, the fire of my speech, the assaults -of my smiling, were defied and consistently cast back. Emblem certainly -enjoyed it; I am sure the Captain did; and I--well, I found this sport -of such an exhilarating kind that I began to direct my attacks in -grim unflinching earnest. I began to forget Captain Grantley and Miss -Prue, and the masquerader in a petticoat, in Anthony Dare, the hunted -fugitive. For this was the Man who at last had come into my life. No -doubt about it. My lord Me in his sublime unheed of our elaborate Court -code of manners, had rudely forced an entrance into my sternly-guarded -heart. He had arrived there by virtue of most audacious blustering, -and alack! he looked as though he meant to stay. - -Wherefore, though our present passages might appear extremely spirited -play-acting to Emblem and to him, the more I was involved therein, -and the warmer I became, the less distinctly could I say where frolic -ended and reality began. Never was I so artful as in this amorous -farce. A word and a look hitherto, had sufficed to fetch a sigh out of -the choicest waistcoat. To be sure we were engaged upon a jest, but -pretty soon Mrs. Polly Emblem was the only one of us who clung to that -opinion. The lad had wit enough to see at once that my wooing grew too -desperately stern to be mere mummery. When he repulsed my twentieth -advance, and Mrs. Polly laughed outright at the fun without observing -that her mistress was biting her lips with rage, the young villain, -noting my occupation, and perhaps the mortification of my face, said: - -“Dear Lady Barbara, I beseech you to forget me. It gives me terrible -great pain to create such a flutter in your heart. But, my poor, dear -lady, I would have you consider that your case is only one of many. -Truly, I am not responsible for the manly graces and the upright -character that have brought you to this pass. Dear lady, there have -been others. And to them, tender souls! I invariably promise to be a -brother; cheerfully, therefore, will I admit you to their number, for -’tis not the least sweet of my traits that to my victims I ever am -humane.” - -The saucy style of him spurred me so keenly that my methods grew -still more vigorous. But pleading, soft speeches did but increase his -insolence. Raillery he laughed at; glances amorously bold put him in a -saucy humour; glances amorously tender left him cold. He shook his head -at these devices. - -“I like ’em clinging,” he reminded me. - -I fell upon wistfulness and a pensive air. My demeanour grew as subdued -and meek as anything out of heaven. Butter would not have melted in my -mouth, you would have thought; nor, judging by the disposition of my -countenance, could I have said “Bo!” to the arrantest goose of the male -persuasion. My voice became a low, sweet song, and as melodious as the -simple airs I used to play upon the virginal when I was a girl. That -was before I learned to play on a more responsive instrument--Man. I -mean, that lordly thing, that harpsichord which beauty and intelligence -perform all tunes upon at their capricious pleasure. - -Fortune had denied me neither of these requisites. Full thoroughly -had I used this natural magic. My finger-tips had thrilled a hundred -strings. I had played any air I pleased upon a Prime Minister, a -periwigged Ambassador, a Duke with acres and the gout, a Field-Marshal -with as many stars upon his chest as a frosty night could show you; -and at least one Personage, who, being of the Blood, it is temerity to -mention. If I acted Queen Elizabeth to these Sir Walter Raleighs--that -is, if I so much as wiped my feet upon them--I made them happy for a -week. And they had their rent rolls and their pedigrees! Indeed, one -and all wore such quantities of gold lace on their coats that when the -world heard of my depredations, it exclaimed: “Bab Gossiter is the -very luckiest woman that ever flicked a fan.” Therefore, was it not a -paradox that I should prefer a kinless beggar to them all, and that he, -presumably, preferred any slum-slut to my Lady Barbara? - -“Why, you stoic villain!” I cried out, “you seem every whit as -insensible to tenderness as to the Cleopatra manner. Do you not see my -mood to be as melting as the morning sun?” - -“Confess now,” says he provokingly, “that you yearn to beat me with -your fan?” - -“Faith, that’s true,” says I. - -“Then,” says he, “this tenderness of yours is but a cloak you do put -on to cover up Old Termagant. Your real nature is as sweet and gentle -as an earthquake. Your meekness is a mantrap in which to snare a poor -wretch with a shattered knee, for you are about as tame and docile in -your character as is a rude lion of Arabia. Fie, my dearest cheat, you -do not catch Anthony Dare for your husband thus--that is, I mean James -Grantley.” - -“Yes, that is, you mean James Grantley,” says I, seizing on his error. - -“Or, if it comes to that,” says he, “you can include Mr. Anthony Dare -in that category. That is another man you will not catch for husband.” - -“’Tis a pity,” I said, stroking my chin in a thoughtful way; “for, my -lad, I should make you a very fiend and Tartar of a wife. Your hair is -pretty straight at present, but let us set up matrimony for six months -and I would curl it for you.” - -“By thunder, you would not!” he cries, sharp as the crackling of a -musket, and the fire that darted from his eye I thought worthy of a -classical quotation; “you would be mild as a milk-breasted dove and the -obedientest little wifie in the world.” - -“Milk-breasted dove! Obedientest little wifie! I should indeed,” says -I, putting on my fury-look. Poor Mrs. Polly and the fops of London -were wont to tremble at it horribly, but Mr. Anthony never so much as -honoured it with a blink. - -“Six months,” says he, quite calmly, “and ’twould be, ‘Barbara, bring -my slippers hither,’ and hither would they come, without one solitary -word.” - -“Without one solitary word?” says I; “come, that is an exaggeration -now. I’m sure I should reply, ‘certainly, my lord,’ and drop a curtsey -to your honour’s worship.” - -“Not even that,” he said; “without one solitary word. And I should say, -‘Barbara, fetch my snuff-box,’ ‘Barbara, darn my hose,’ and so forth. -And you would do it with an instant obedience that would make you a -pattern to your sex.” - -“I suppose your honour would beat me if I failed to do this.” - -“Madam, you would not fail. I should be your husband.” - -Emblem laughed outright at the sublime sternness of his face. But -I think had that lad put forth his hand just then in the manner of -a king, I must have dropped upon my knees and kissed it as a most -duteous subject of his majesty. Despite his youth, his powder, and his -petticoats, as he sat there solemnly and said this, he cut a wonderful -fine figure. - -“But this is talk,” says I, determined to correct his youthful -arrogance. “A kinless beggar may not aspire to the hand of a princess.” - -“And does not wish to do,” says he, and made me wince. It seemed that -when it came to fisticuffs he could hit the harder. - -“Yet if you did you could never marry me, you know. A cat may look at a -king, but beyond that it never goes.” - -“That is as may be,” he replied; “but man proposes, God disposes, and -what doth woman do?” - -“Acquiesces, I suppose,” says I, and groaned to think so. - -“Extremely true,” says he, “woman acquiesces. And if Man, in the person -of myself, proposed to make a husband for you, your husband I should be -unless God disposed it otherwise, which is not likely, for Heaven hath -been very much on my side hitherto. Deny, an you can, that if to-morrow -morning I so much as put my little finger up and whistled to you, you -would be in my arms before the evening.” - -“I do deny it,” says I so fiercely that the blood rushed to my face. - -“Of course you do,” saye he, “you would not be a woman else. You can -lie as handsomely as any. But I’m thinking, my pretty Kate, I should -make you a monstrous fine Petruchio.” - -“Bah!” I cries with monstrous scorn of him, “the boldest rogue outside -the pillory, the raggedest beggar outside a ballad, playing Petruchio -to my Lady Barbara! Have you blood, boy? have you titles? have you -acres?” - -“I have a heart, and I have a fist with which to caress and to defend -you,” says he, with a terrible simple candour that pierced my breast -like steel; “and I think I should make you the finest husband in the -world. That is if I cared to do so--which I don’t!” - -Here such an agitation fluttered in my bosom suddenly, that I began to -curse my folly for daring to rehearse so dangerous a scene. - - - - -CHAPTER XI. - -I UNDERGO AN ORDEAL; I PLAY WITH A FIRE. - - -I SUPPOSE something must have altered in my face in my effort to -conceal the strange emotion that I suffered. For a soft look crept in -his eye, and he said in that rich voice that had impressed me in the -stable on the first night of our acquaintancy, - -“My Lady Barbara, I have not hurt you? If once I pained my benefactress -I could ne’er forgive myself.” - -“N-n-no,” I stammered, for to be quite plain his tenderness played a -greater havoc with me than his strength. - -“I believe I have,” he says, and a tear was in his voice, and such a -deal of heaven in his look that I could not meet it, and had to gaze -upon the ground. - -“N-n-no,” I stammered, and hated him for being a beggar and a fugitive, -and Mrs. Polly Emblem for being in the room. And not less did I hate -myself for being weak enough to forget my training and my sphere of -life. - -“Captain,” I sighed, in the voice of spring among the trees, “destroy -that blue document of treason and dishonour, and all shall be forgiven -you.” - -“My faith, I will destroy it!” he cried, with a fire smouldering in -him, “and oh, my dearest lady, how good you are! How magnanimous!” - -Our whimsical rehearsal of a play had carried us both into a stern -earnestness it seemed; but I being the better schooled in deception and -the social arts, was the quicker of recovery. - -“Magnanimous!” I flashed out at him, and curled my lip in scorn, “you -impudent young fool! Do you suppose that anything a beggar with bare -elbows, whose mansion is the pillory, and whose carriage is the cart, -can contrive to do or say will touch in any way my Lady Barbara, the -toast of the Prince of Wales? You presumptuous rogue, to hear you talk -one would think you at least a lord-in-waiting, or a minister of the -Crown.” - -“Then you are not hurt?” he did persist. - -“Hurt,” I laughed, “if I am bitten with a fly, I am not hurt, though -perchance I am annoyed.” - -“You are annoyed, madam?” he persisted still. - -“You can call it annoyance, you little fly,” I said. - -“Then let me crave your pardon for it,” he implored, and the humility -was so delightful he did it with that sure I could not say which was -the most appealing--his meekness, his softness, or his insolence. By -good luck the supper bell here intervened between us and our feelings; -a few final touches from the maid, and we were tripping down the -staircase to the Ordeal in the dining-room. The chamber was bright-lit; -the dowager was already there, and the Earl, my papa, was momentarily -expected. Let me confess to being feverish, and in a twitter of the -nerves. One mishap, and all was over. But Miss Prue was the perfection -of address; withstood the glare of the candelabra without a twitch; -talked to the dowager with the confidential light and charming -silliness of a girl; carried herself with the queenly ease of one born -to overcome; played her fan often and superbly; laughed archly with her -shoulders in the female way, either “doated” on a thing, else thought -it “horrid,” and slightly patronised my aunt and me as one of equal -breed, but as superior in her youth, and infinitely more so in her -charms. - -The vivacious creature was retailing to the dowager in her engaging -fashion the foibles and private history, now for the first time -published, of that “Old cat the Marchioness of Meux,” when my foolish -heart sprang in my throat, for the door was softly opened, and the -Earl, my papa, smirkingly minced in. - -I plunged headlong into the Ordeal. Sweeping up on the instant to -his lordship, I saluted him with a great appearance of delight and -eagerness, and sang out then: - -“So happy that you’ve come, my lord; I am dying to present you to -my dear Prue Canticle, the very Prue I love so, the dearest Prue in -Christendom!” - -His old lordship could not get a word in ere I had led him to the -lovely minx who was entertaining my aunt the dowager in such a shocking -manner. Mon père put on his glasses with the most killing simper, -quizzed the handsome dog with high-bred insolence, and said: - -“My _dear_ being, how _do_ you do?” - -The old gentleman bowed till you might have heard his gout creak. - -Miss Prue flashed her eyes straight through him, and replied in a tone -whose affectation was by no means inferior to his own: - -“My lord of Long Acre! My emotion overcomes me.” - -Mine overcame me also. For she dared to whip out a dainty handkerchief -of cambric with the device “B. G.” woven into a monogram upon one -corner. This she flirted and coquetted a quarter of a minute, but -contrived to play her saucy eyes behind it in such a style as implied -that she was not one half so youthful as she looked. His lordship was -delighted, but the dowager grew as wintry as her locks, and endeavoured -to arrange our places at the table in such a way that Miss Prue and he -should be severely kept apart. My papa, however, was much too early -a sort of bird to be out-manœuvred thus. Being a trifle deaf, -’twas not unnatural that he should utterly ignore the dispositions of -my aunt. The inference was, of course, that he had not heard them. -Therefore Miss Prue and he were somehow seated side by side, and -conducted an amiable conversation, not in the mere language of the -lips alone, but in the more ardent one of glances. The waistcoat of his -lordship grew sigh-deranged, and mighty soon. Every time she fretted up -her eyebrows, he paid her a compliment upon ’em; sometimes she repaid -him with a repartee, sometimes provoked him to another by a pouting -dimple in her mouth. The glass went often to his lips, and the lady was -astute enough to encourage his industry without assisting in it. - -“Barbara,” my aunt whispered, with a severity that made me shiver, “I -am afraid your Miss Canticle is a minx.” - -“My dear aunt!” says I. - -“Barbara, I said a minx,” the dowager resumed. “The way she hath set -her cap at his lordship is disgraceful.” - -“Set her cap?” I repeated, in deep perplexity, “my dear aunt, I do not -know the phrase, and at least it must be provincial.” - -“Coquets, then,” says my aunt, more sternly than before. - -“Coquets?” says I; “really, aunt, I am at a loss.” - -“Barbara, she is flirtish,” pursued my aunt, who, as I have said -already, was a dreadful engine when once she was set in motion. - -“That means, my dearest aunt,” says I, with a simplicity wonderful to -hear, “one who attempts to trifle with the affections of another, does -it not?” - -At the word affections I blushed divinely. Yes, I know I did, for -I was seated opposite a mirror (which I generally am) and noted the -coming of the modest roses with an infinity of pride. - -“Precisely, Barbara,” says my aunt. - -“Then I am sure, dear aunt,” says I, with some enjoyment, “that you are -under a misapprehension in this matter. How possibly could I admit a -person of that character so near my bosom?” - -“But surely,” says my aunt, a very stickler for the mode, “a low-necked -gown at supper-time should be _de rigeur_. The one your Miss Canticle -is wearing is decidedly _de trop_.” - -“’Tis not altogether _décolleté_,” says I, with a reflective air, “but -then, you see, dear aunt, her physician says her chest’s so delicate -that at informal gatherings or in the country it behoves her to protect -it.” - -“Dear me,” says my aunt, “I should not have thought it now. She doth -not appear a particularly delicate or fragile kind of flower.” - -“Appearances are deceptive,” says I, with a solemnity that padded out -my wisdom. - -“They are,” says my aunt. There was a significance hidden somewhere in -her voice that made me quail. “For I do observe that there is a special -robustness about her appetite that would not suggest much delicacy in -anything.” - -I shot a look across at the wretched Prue, and saw quite enough to -justify my aunt. The manner in which that young person was partaking of -a woodcock at the same instant as she was leading on my lord was most -astounding. Before or since I have not seen a girl eat like it. - -“Oh, I am a cruel, horrid thing,” says I to my aunt. “To think of that -poor child having come a journey, and being several hours in this -house, and I not to have offered her a morsel till just now.” - -“Barbara,” says my aunt to me, and sweetly, “in your absence from my -tea-table I entreated her to partake of muffins and bohea. She had -the goodness to reply that she had no partiality for sops, as she was -neither a baby nor a bird.” - -“La, that’s my Prue,” cries I, laughing out aloud; “she is the dearest, -originalest creature. Oh, the quaint girl! sure I can see her saying -that with a merry twinkling sort of look!” - -“Similar to the one she is now displaying to his lordship,” says my -aunt. - -“Well, scarcely,” I replied, “her expression would be rather drier -and more contained than that. And oh, dear aunt! I had better tell -you that this madcap, Prue, takes a particular delight in surprising -and disconcerting those who are insufficiently acquainted with her -character.” - -“She very well succeeds,” my aunt said. “Yet, my dear, I must confess -that you astound me. Her letters are perfect piety; they paint her as -the soul of modesty, and quite marvellously correct. I should have -judged her to be a highly genteel person.” - -“On the strength of her epistles, I should also,” I replied, “but then -I know my wicked, roguish Prue. That reverential tone she uses in them -is another of her freaks, you see, dear aunt.” - -Alas! this straw was altogether too much for the poor indignant camel. - -“Barbara!” says my aunt, “I desire you to forego in the future all -intercourse with this--this person.” - -Meantime Miss Prue and my papa, the Earl, were becoming perilously -intimate. There was a stream of brimming wine-pledging wit that flowed -between them, very entrancing and alluring, to a favourite toast, who -sat outside the pale of it talking to her aunt. - -What a pair they made, this old beau masquerading as a young one, and -this nameless, tattered beggar masquerading as his mistress! And life -or death was the stake for which he, poor lad, played. I could not bear -to think of his position. It turned my bosom cold. But how consummate -was his game! With what genius and spirit did he conduct it! And I -think I never saw such courage, for it must have called for a higher -fortitude than any of the battlefield. Looking on this pair in the -wonder of my heart I was far too fired in the brave lad’s cause, not -to mention the urgence of my own, to once forget the Captain fretting -solitary in his bonds. Therefore I remembered that my hour for action -was at hand. - -After the meal, I waited till this trio were seated at the cards; then -having lent Prue a sufficiency of money to enable her to play, I told -my aunt that I proposed to go and cheer the Captain in his solitude. - -The unhappy wretch was greatly as I had left him. He was perhaps a -little gaunter from his fretfulness. But his knee was not easier, nor -his heart more peaceable. - -“Captain,” I announced myself as sweetly as could be, “I know you to be -mortal dull in this extremity. Therefore if I can I am come to cheer -you in it. And I have a deal of compassion for you.” - -The Captain could not quite conceal his look of pleasure, and, reading -it, I took the tone and speech I had used to be exceeding pat to the -occasion. - -“How good of you, my Lady Barbara,” says he, with a gratefulness I knew -to be sincere, “to think of me in my affliction; nay, how good of you -to think of me at all.” - -At first I was confounded that a man so shrewd and piercing in his -mind as Captain Grantley, should be so disarmed with my simple airs, -and be so unsuspicious of a motive for them. But then a lover is very -jealous of himself, and if the object of his adoration tells him to his -face that she sometimes thinks about him, and proves the same by her -presence at his side, he is so anxious to believe her that he the more -readily persuades himself of her veracity. Besides, Beauty makes the -wise man credulous. Sure it is hard to disbelieve her, else her amorous -fibs and her sighing insincerities ne’er would have slain so many of -the great figures of the histories. Even the Antonys must meet their -Cleopatras. - -“Ah, dear lady,” says the Captain, with a sparkle in his manly features -that became them very well, “the prospect that your presence brings -makes me almost happy in my accident. A bitter wintry night, a rosy -fire, a bottle of wine, and a lively conversation with one whose beauty -is the rival of her mind--surely this is the heart’s desire?” - -He prayed me to seat myself beside the blaze. I did this, for I -thought the place was favourable, as by the position of the lamp it -threw my figure in the shade. Do not think I feared to compete with -the braveries of light; but I hold that the tints of it should be -harmonised with the tones and feelings of the players. In the theatre -they are careful not to burn blue fire at a love scene. And to-night as -I was not to attempt a victorious entry of the Captain’s heart with a -pageant of smiles, and a flashing magnificence of eye, the glow must be -tempered to the mood of tenderness, and sympathy, and mild solicitude. -I was deeply anxious for his leg. I could never blame myself too much. -Should I ever be forgiven it? - -I was forgiven now, he told me, and when I asked him in what manner, -his answer was: - -“All my animosity is slain by your sweet, kind sighs, my dearest lady.” - -Here was a sufficient gallantry, I thought, and noted, too, that a -special warmth was come into his tone. There was a bottle and a glass -against his elbow, and he drained a bumper to my eyes, while I sat -listening to the whistling of the wind. - -’Twas a wild night of the late November. You could hear the branches -rock before the gale: the cold groanings of the blast among the crazy -walls and chimneys, its shriekings in the open park, the sounds -that fluttered strangely from the ivy, and, most of all, the sudden -comings of the rain and hail as it crashed upon the window-panes. It -stirred the fire up and made the flames leap, and contrived, as I bent -across the hearth to do this, to restore a detached curl to its right -condition on my brow. - -“A stormy night and wintry”--I shivered as I spoke--“and that poor lad, -that fugitive, hiding in it for his life.” - -While I uttered this, I could so clearly see the shaking trees and -the wind-swept wolds cuddling together in the cold that I think the -wildness of the elements was echoed in my voice. - -“Madam,” says the Captain, turning on me a solemn, weary face that was -full of instant sadness, “you and I do ill to be together. Madam, I -have my duty to perform, and as that duty is cruelly opposed to your -desires and must prejudice your peace, Madam, I ask you how I can -possibly perform it if you sit there so friendly in the kindness of -your heart? Madam, you forget that when the best is said of me I am but -a man, and, maybe, not a very strong one, and that so long as you sit -there by the fire to cheer me in my pain, I am in the presence of a -divinity whose look it is the law.” - -“You wish me to withdraw, sir?” says I, regretfully and meekly; and, -though I was never better complimented, I pretended to be hurt. -Therefore, I rose suddenly upon his words. - -“The King’s commission would be safer,” he replied. - -“I know it would,” says I, “and by that token am I going to stay. A -rebel, Captain, snaps her fingers at the King.” - -Thereupon I as suddenly sat down. But none the less I admitted the -prudence and foresight of the Captain; also thought his situation was a -pretty one. He knew the weakness of his heart and the imminence of his -duty, and that in my humble person he had found a most determined enemy -to both. He was in my toils, indeed, nor must I loose a single bond ere -the pressure had been applied, and his will had been bent to my devices. - -Therefore, with gentle smiles I played him. Tender was my interest in -his mental state and physical; deplored as deeply his splintered limb -as his heart’s disturbance; and wore an ingenious air of sympathy, both -for him and for myself, that I should have unwittingly conferred such -pain upon an unoffending gentleman. - -“My dear Captain, had I only known,” says I, “I would neither have -bestowed a pistol on a prisoner nor a glance upon yourself.” - -“I cannot say which has wrought the greater havoc,” says the Captain, -lifting up his painful face. - -“Sir, you can, I think,” says I, gazing at him with my brightest eyes. - -He admitted the witchery of them, for he laughed and dropped his own. - -“True,” he sighed. “God help me!” - -“This is no particular season for your prayers,” I answered, softly, -and sighed much the same as he. “Am I so much a devil then, or to be -avoided like one? Had you been a brother I could not deplore your -accident more tenderly.” - -“No, no; not that,” says he. - -“Perhaps, sir, you will explain?” says I, in full enjoyment of his -uneasiness. - -“I am afraid of liking you too well,” he rejoined, with the soldier’s -bluntness. The prisoner’s escape, I ought to tell you, had killed the -fop. - -“That all?” I exclaimed in sweet surprise. “Dear, dear! liking me too -well--how singular!” - -“Alas, too well!” he echoed, with a great appearance of high feeling, -“for would you have me false to the King and to myself?” - -“Oh, politics!” I laughed, but noted that damp beads were come upon the -Captain’s forehead. “And my dearest man,” I added, “you behold in me -the most harmless being--I that cannot suffer a rebel to be hanged--the -most artless, harmless creature I assure you.” - -Poor wretch! I saw him wriggle in his bonds. ’Twas a very futile -effort, as now I had drawn the cords so tight about him that he was -laid submissive as a sheep. To-night, I think, a marble statue could -not have resisted the appealing brightness of my eyes. They never -were more cordial, more alluring, more perilous to the soul of man. -Therefore, in one short hour the Captain was undone. His resolution -was being gradually beaten, as I could plainly tell, and I felt grim -satisfaction stiffen me, as I settled myself cosily within the warmth, -and prepared a reception for my prey. - -I have said that it was a loud night of winter, and the wind crying -from the east; now screaming in the chimneys, now rattling the panels -and the casements, now calling with its ghostly voices away there in -the wood. It was a night for adventure, and Captain Grantley fortified -himself with wine, because he was about to embark on one, and that the -most perilous. - -The Captain’s fair companion was wonderfully kind. He noted it, and -took it as a confirmation of his late opinions. Now and then she was -something more than kind, and on the strength of that he toasted her, -while she hinted that she was not displeased. Presently she drew her -chair ten inches nearer to him, and soon tongues and hearts were most -harmoniously flowing. Outside, the wind was ever rising, and sometimes -it cast gusts of smoke down the wide chimney, and as it poured into the -room the lady would shiver with sweet exaggeration and denounce the -horrid north. - -“Had she quite regretted her journey to the north?” - -“Yes, but for one circumstance.” - -“And what was that, if she would deign to forgive his importunity?” - -“She had met a soldier at her country-house.” - -It was not delicate, it was characteristic, it was the sort of thing -only my Lady Barbara could say; but Captain Grantley would have burnt -his leg rather than it should have been unsaid. This was but the first -of many speeches that astonished and delighted him. To-night the lady -was never more certain of herself, nor was the Captain ever less so. -Inch by inch the unwilling victim was lured to his doom. - -Presently a servant brought in his supper on a tray that gleamed with -damask and silver dishes. Under her ladyship’s permission he ate -and drank, but every minute his gaze was straying to his dangerous -companion, whose little shoes were toasting on the hearth. Many moments -of that depressing day his mind had been for her. Some bright, brave -gesture jumped up from his bosom to his eyes; a word, a smile, a -tone, her charming indignation, her lovely anger against himself and -politics, her frank impertinence, her amazing candour, and above all, -her apartness from the common herd of women--elegant but featureless. -To be explicit, that was how she held poor man. A woman quite unlike -her sisters, yet as feminine as anything that ever fibbed and trailed -a petticoat. The lords of creation mostly deign to take us women to -themselves the moment they can be persuaded that they have caught an -entirely new variety. The principle is similar to the one we work -upon when we wear a new brocade, or the newest hat with feathers on. -If one meets Mrs. Araminta flaunting in the same, one pulls it off -and promptly, and bestows it on one’s maid. And had my Lady Barbara -reminded Captain Grantley, though never so remotely, of the worthy -lady of his friend, Major Blunder of the Blues, or of any other female -whatsoever, he would have seen her at the devil rather than he would -have wooed her, and callow Cornet Johnson could have had her for the -asking. But a certain originality of artifice grafted on a spontaneity -of nature, and Bab Gossiter contrived to be just herself, and not to -be mistaken for any other creature, and was coveted accordingly by the -vanity of every bachelor in the town of London. - -Thus with Captain Grantley. In his time the dear man had had a large -experience of women. Some, maybe, he had seen more statuesque, more -goddesslike, more rigidly and correctly beautiful, yet never one quite -so much herself, so entirely herself, so open yet so elusive, so quick, -so captivating. As the evening went, as the board was cleared, and the -Captain’s words grew warmer, their talk competed in its energy with the -animated winds that struck the windows. - -“Now, sir, tell me of these barbarous politics,” she commanded, like -one who only knows obedience. - -“Nay, dear lady, tell me of your own,” says he. - -Strange how she was fired by his words! He saw her colour glow and -burn, and the lamps in her eyes were lit. - -“My father is my politics,” says she. - -The Captain could not have recoiled more palpably had a live coal -cracked out of the blaze and dropped upon his hand. - -“Ha!” he breathed, “your father!” - -“Sir, they will imprison him; and when they do they will imprison this -very heart of mine. Perhaps, sir, you never knew a father, perhaps -you never loved a father, perhaps you never saw a father’s honourable -silver hairs. Sir, they will imprison him; and when they do, life will -be all empty to me.” The lady fell into a sudden weeping. The sobs -shook her as a reed. And though she fought with all her handkerchief -against the slow but certain tears they crept down to her powder, and -so gravely furrowed it that afterwards she shrank the farther in the -shade. - -But through a convenient interval of cambric this distressed daughter -intently marked the Captain’s face. The good man had been long -apprenticed to the sword and to the world, but sure the lady’s agonies -did move him. - -“Tell me,” he said, “what I can do? What is my power? I am but a -servant of the King. Madam, do you think it is my pleasure to put you -in such pain? Madam, I am but a menial, a tool. I am not the law by -which you suffer, and if I were, do you suppose I would not let it -spare you?” There was a fine indignant sternness in the man that made -the lady tremble. Yet she exulted, too, for Captain Grantley was -steadily ripening to the deed exacted of him. In confidence, however, -I had better tell you that this incorrigible Bab Gossiter, like the -naughty child she was, was playing with a fire, and in the sequel which -she is pledged to presently set forth, you shall be told how badly that -fire burnt the lovely, heedless fool. - - - - -CHAPTER XII. - -I DEFY DEAR LADY GRIMSTONE. - - -IT was a late hour when the lady apparently exposed her soul. She -had not one to expose, it is true, but the Captain was deluded into -thinking that she had, and persuasion is more powerful than fact. Her -father was her blood, her breath; his honour was her own. The Captain -gave her the humble admiration of a soldier. Daughters of this mould, -who could worship a parent in this manner, must always command the -tender reverence of one whose dream was to be the diligent servant of -his country. He was also touched. Men of the sword are very human, -he informed her. It was a relief, she replied, to have that on such -eminent authority, because, to avenge the joyous escapade of an -innocent girl, a soldier had proposed to treat her venerable sire with -a brutality that was incredible. She did not refine her language to his -delicate ear. How could she, being moved so deeply? Did not her lips -twitch with feeling, her eyes flash with passion? Alas the Captain! -He might have seen “the drums and tramplings of three conquests,” -but, being human, could he resist her generous anguish, her lovely -indignation? Nay, he swore it, he was pained for her as deeply as ever -she was for her father. But the word “avenge” he resented sternly. - -“Madam, I say again, I am not the law. I am merely the puppet who obeys -it.” - -“Must he obey it then?” Madam tapped a satin shoe quite loud upon the -hearth-tiles. - -“I hold a commission; I am but a puppet,” groaned the Captain, with -cheeks of the colour of the damask at his side. - -“A puppet!” She rose a queen, and cast the phrase upon him. “A puppet! -Then, sir,” demanded she, “do you suppose I can afford to lavish my -precious hours upon a puppet?” - -An excellent tactician, she swept from the room, offended and -imperious, without condescending to receive his tremulous reply. In her -wisdom she knew this to be the proper moment to withdraw. The Captain -had been carried by easy stages to a sufficient harmony of heart. This -final discord must jangle in his finest nerves for many hours, set his -teeth on edge, and keep him fretful. The lady calculated that he would -not shut his eyes that night. He had been given a sight of happiness, -that he might know how much he stood to lose. - -My train was laid then. Let a spark fall from my eyes to-morrow, and I -did not doubt it, it would blow his duty to the devil. One learns to -read the symptoms that precede explosion. Leaving the Captain I tripped -to the card-players on my lightest toe. My heart accorded with my step. -The trio were now at commerce; and such a handsome heap of coins was -piled before Miss Prue that the guinea I had lent her to begin with -appeared magnified into a dozen. - -“Bab,” says she, turning to me with a pretty eagerness. “I am -remarkably in luck. I have turned the ace up five times running--and my -conscience, here it is the sixth!” - -It was midnight now, and the hour for retirement. The suite of chambers -in the south wing were happily at my disposal. One room commanding the -park had been aired during the day by my direction, to be in readiness -that night for the masquerader. He was conducted to it now by Mrs. -Emblem and myself, and was given much instruction in the treatment of -his femininity. Two new morning dresses of my own were hung up in his -wardrobe; a pot of rouge and a whole armoury of weapons of the toilet -were put against his mirror; and such a quantity of advice was strewn -upon him touching his carriage and behaviour on the morrow, that he -began to yawn in a most abominable manner, and declared I was too -earnest in this mummery. - -“Mummery,” says I, “you are playing for your life, that’s all, my -bravo.” - -“_My_ life, yes,” says he; “but that is my affair entirely. Have you -not said that a beggar with bare elbows is no more to be considered -than is a farthing candle by a person of condition like yourself?” - -Mrs. Emblem saw the cunning laugh lurking in his eye and the smile that -trickled over his lower lip when he said this, and looked at me with -a face of inquiring innocence, as though the lad had been speaking -Greek and would my superior education be kind enough to supply the -meaning for her. At a second glance I perceived that the expression of -her countenance corresponded pretty nearly with his own. This made me -angry. Here was tacit understanding and conspiracy, with secret mirth -beneath it. I could have borne this easily--nay, was always blithe -to take my share in such spicy sport when able, and enjoy a laugh at -others with the best. But this impudent pair were laughing at _me_. -Yes, I felt genuinely angry. - -“Very true,” says I, “you are indeed a beggar with bare elbows. And -being that, it is a pity you should evince such a disposition to forget -it.” - -“My dear madam, the fault is yours, I think,” says he. “For if you will -have as much anxiety for my well-being as you would have were I the -Cham of Tartary or some other three-tailed bashaw of high birth, merit, -and authority, even a beggar will be led in time to presume upon it and -forget the humility of his mansion.” - -“Would you taunt me then with my gentle-hearted nature, that permits me -to look as kindly on the mean and low as on the noble and exalted?” - -“Was my Lady Barbarity ever taunted with her gentle-hearted nature?” - -It was so difficult to have the laugh of him, that I began to admire -the agility with which he generally contrived to have the laugh of -me. The fact was that the rogue had an instinct that penetrated much -too far. He knew better than I could tell him that he had caught a -gaily-painted butterfly and had stuck it on a pin. His wanton fingers -itched to twirl that pin to remind, I suppose, the gaudy, flimsy -creature of its strange captivity. - -“Bab,” Miss Prue says, as I was about to retire to my chamber, “your -papa trusts that I shall spend not less than a month at Cleeby. When he -said that your aunt seemed to grow uneasy in her soul.” - -“Poor auntie,” I says, sympathetically; “but Prue, I hope you know what -a wretch you are? And the way you eat is positive immodesty. My aunt -observed it. As for the way in which you played his lordship, it was -too notorious for words. My aunt observed that also. In fact, in half -an evening you have so stabbed the dear creature through her sex, that -she will ne’er forgive you for it.” - -“Pray recite my errors,” says he, flinging himself into an arm-chair, -and stretching out his legs and crumpling his petticoats. “Your voice -is so musical it will send me to sleep as promptly as a powder.” - -He shut his eyes at this and dropped his chin upon his necklace. -Nodding to Mrs. Polly I went off to my dressing-room, followed by my -maid. But on opening the door to step from one chamber to the other, -we heard plain sounds of feet across the corridor and the rustle of -departing draperies. ’Twas too dark to distinguish anything, and though -we promptly went in the direction of the noise, the cause of it was -under cover before we could in any way detect it. - -Now I was certain that a spy had been set upon us, and peradventure we -had been overheard. Could anyone have listened at the door? ’Twould be -fatal had they done so. The masquerader had by no means conducted his -share of the conversation in a Prue-like voice; besides, the discussion -of certain matters and its general tenour would be quite enough -for any eavesdropper to put a name upon the lady’s true identity. -Our carelessness had been indeed of the grossest sort; we had not -restrained ourselves with one precaution. Low tones, an occasional eye -upon the door, the selection of a proper topic, and there had been -nought to fear from anybody. But as it was we were probably undone. Our -own incaution was indeed bitterly to blame. In my chamber I let Emblem -see the darkness of the whole affair, and gave her freely of my fears; -also scolded her so sharply for our accident that the frightened fool -began to weep like anything. But there was one point in her behaviour -that both pleased and annoyed me. When I told her that if it was verily -a spy who had been at the keyhole our sprightly Prue would dance at -Tyburn shortly, Mrs. Polly gave a little gasp and a little cry, let -fall the hair-brush she was wielding on my head, and burst out in new -tears, while her cheeks turned to the colour of my shoulders. - -“Oh, your la’ship!” she blubbered, with a deal of tragicality, “say not -so.” - -“Simpleton,” says I, sternly. “I shall begin to think you regard -this beggar--this rebel--this adventurer--almost like a brother if -you so persistently bear yourself in this way when I mention quite -incidentally, as it were, his proper and natural destination.” - -“He hath most lovely eyes, your ladyship,” says she, and wept more -bitterly. - -“Ods-body! you are not so far wrong there,” says I, turning a sigh into -a yawn adroitly. “Hath he kissed you yet?” - -“Once, I think, ma’am,” she answers, with a modest rose appearing -through her pallor. - -“Hath he an opinion of you, then, or was it pastime, merely?” - -“’A told me I was kissable,” says she, “a pretty downcast sort of -wench, your la’ship, and swore upon his beard that if he came out of -this predicament with his heart still underneath his chin he’d the best -half of his mind to marry me.” - -Here the hussy sighed so desperately from the full depth of her bosom -that a spasm was provoked within my own. To allay that pain I took the -love-sick Mrs. Emblem by the arm and pinched her till she forgot her -heart-ache in one that was less poetical. - -Retiring to my earned repose, I found sleep at first as coy as she is -in town. For half an hour I thought on the impudence of my maid, for -another half on the folly of myself. - -“Bab,” I soliloquised at the end of an hour’s meditation on this -entertaining theme, “you should be whipt through every market town -in Yorkshire. You are worse than an incorrigible rogue, you are an -incorrigible fool; but any way at nine o’clock to-morrow morning you -shall dismiss Mrs. Polly Emblem without a character.” - -Had it not been that I had ratafia to compose me I doubt whether I -should have had any sleep at all. The fear of discovery lay upon me -like a stone. I was persuaded that we had been spied upon. Slumber, -however, mercifully drew a curtain round the miserable consequences -embodied in the future. - -Emblem’s light hand woke me. - -“Ten o’clock, your la’ship,” says she. - -The red sun was in a station over the tree tops in the east, and sent -cold rays across the winter vapours of the park through one corner of -my window. I sipped my chocolate, and hoped the rebel was not abroad -yet. - -“He is,” the maid said; “nought would restrain him. At seven o’clock he -knocked me up and made me get him towels and cold water for his tub; at -eight o’clock, my lady, he made me paint his face, friz his hair a bit, -put his head-dress on, and arrange all the points in what he called his -‘feminine machinery’; at nine he was drinking ale and eating of his -breakfast; and ten minutes since I saw him in the morning room teaching -my Lady Grimstone’s polly-parrot to swear like anything.” - -“Oh,” says I, “a very pretty occupation to be sure. Here, girl, put -me in my _déshabille_, and let me be upon him ere he’s at a further -mischief. Quick, wench, or next we shall have him teaching hymns to my -papa.” - -Half an hour hence I went downstairs to keep a personal eye upon -him. I had not been there five minutes when my aunt’s maid, Tupper, -came in and said that her mistress required my presence in her -room immediately. As the message was so peremptory I dallied some -five-and-twenty minutes longer than I need, for I think that persons of -an elderly habit should never be encouraged in their arbitrary courses. -Had I only foreseen what lay in store when I obeyed this summons, I -should have taken my muff and tippet with me to protect myself from -frostbite. You may have seen an iceberg clad in all its severities of -snow, sitting in a temperature that makes you shiver. If you have had -this felicity you have also seen my aunt, the dowager, this wintry -morning. She smiled a December sun-glint when she saw me. - -“Barbara, good morning,” she began. - -“Good morning, ma’am,” says I, and curtsied. - -“I trust you are very well,” my aunt says. - -“Very well indeed, ma’am,” I answered modestly. I’ll confess a little -nerve-twitch. ’Twas a charming idiosyncrasy of my aunt’s that she only -betrayed an interest in one’s health when she was about to administer -a pill of one sort or another. She was about to administer one just -now--a blue one! - -“I have sent for you, Barbara,” says the dowager, in shivery thin tones -that were like cold water trickling down one’s spine, “to inform you -that your dear friend, Miss Prudence Canticle, your ownest Prue, the -dearest Prue that ever was, the precious Prue, to whom all the world is -but as a china tea-cup, is just a man, and a very pretty scoundrel.” - -An elderly lady of six-and-fifty winters, whose face is Arctic, and is -framed, moreover, in corkscrew curls that look horribly like icicles, -can throw an extraordinary stress and feeling in the mild word, “man.” -And this instant, such an amount did my aunt employ that a feather -might have knocked me down. - -“Shall I tell you this man’s name?” the pitiless dowager inquired. - -In assent I bowed my head. - -“Anthony Dare,” says she, with unction; “escaped rebel, who is to be -hanged as a common malefactor.” - -“Yes, aunt, Anthony Dare,” says I; “and ’tis all very true, except in -the main particular. He is not to be hanged as a common malefactor.” - -“Indeed,” says she. “But that is the Government’s disposition, I -understand.” - -“I do not deny that it is the Government’s disposition, ma’am, but -’tis not the disposition of your niece, Bab Gossiter.” - -“You are the law, then, Barbara?” - -“Nine-tenths of it,” says I. - -“Assertion will be a proof when assumption becomes a claim,” says my -sententious relative. - -“Possession is allowed to be nine-tenths of it,” says I; “and certainly -I have possession of this most charming prisoner.” - -“A very temporary one,” my aunt says. “’Tis my duty to advise my -brother of this matter; and he will hold it his to acquaint Captain -Grantley and other interested persons.” - -“That is as it may be,” says I, calmly, “for I think that on -reflection, my dearest aunt, you will do nothing of the kind.” - -“So and indeed!” cries my aunt, in an awful voice. “Barbara, this is -gross--this is impertinence.” - -“It may be both, dear aunt,” says I, “or it may be neither, but its -truth, I know, and that I’ll swear to.” - -“Defend my virtue!” cried my aunt; “this is beyond all suffering.” - -The iceberg strove to freeze me with her eye. And perhaps she would -have done it, too, only that a bright idea took me at the moment -and armed me with new brazenness. My masters of the other sex, if -you would bend us to your will, do it with audacity. No palterings, -no if-you-pleases, no apostrophes. Big, bullying Coercion does our -business. Swear by your beards and the god of thunder, and none of us -shall say you nay, for there is not a petticoat among us can resist -you. This method, then, I clapped upon my aunt, and now look you to the -sequel. - -“The matter is just this, dear aunt,” says I. “What about prim old Dame -Propriety? I would have you think of her, dear aunt. There is not a -female of us all can afford to disregard her.” - -I pinned such a steady eye upon my aunt that shortly her high look -drooped and was replaced by an ugly one of baffled rage. How fortunate -I had ingenuity enough to hold that cat’s paw! ’Twould have scratched -me else, and badly. - -“What will the world say, auntie dear?” I asked. “A word of this in -town and the particular family to which you have the condescension to -belong will be derided by the world. My Lady Clapper will live upon it -for a fortnight. Your very dear friend, Mrs. Saywell, will dispense it -regularly with her new bohea and dish it up hotter than her muffins, -and feed every insatiable man in Mayfair on it. Nor will they find it -indigestible as her buttered crumpets either. A word, dear aunt, and -the whole bench of Bishops will preach a sermon on it, and send all -your presentation stoles and slippers back greatly discoloured with -their tears. We shall be afflicted with the exultation of our enemies -and, worse a hundred times, the commiseration of our friends. Will you -not reflect, dear auntie?” - -For the dear lady to reflect was quite unnecessary. Instinct was -sufficient to decide her. She was as likely to rouse good Dame -Propriety, or to make her family the source of common conversation, as -she was to sit in a pew with a hassock in it, or to listen to a Low -Church clergyman. - -The countenance of my aunt was something to be seen. Rage laid her -livid; but I was almost proud to look at her, for was she not bred so -properly that she smiled away like anything? She put her teeth hard -upon her lips, and so did bar her anger back, and continued in that -pleasant face that cooled my blood by three degrees. - -“Very well, Barbara,” says she, without the faintest passion, though -it had required several seconds to give her this composure, “very -well. But if I outlast the century I will not overlook this monstrous -conduct. From to-day I disinherit you. And I may say that one portion -of my fortune will be diverted into building and endowing a church at -St. Giles’s in the Fields; the other portion to provide a sanctuary for -needy gentlewomen.” - -Somewhere in the middle of the day I thought the hour a chosen one to -finish off the Captain. With such an application had I pursued the -gallant man the previous evening, and such his frame of mind, that -surely he was suffering even now an ecstasy of sweet pain. Another -amorous glance or two would certainly complete him and drown his duty -in his desperation. These reflections carried me to the library door. -On entering I was met by the Captain’s greeting and the presence of -an unpropitious third. Corporal Flickers was in an ostentatious -occupation of my seat against the fire-place. - -“When you are alone, sir, I shall be glad to speak with you,” I said, -this being a hint for the dismissal of the Corporal. - -“Important business occupies me most unfortunately just now,” the -Captain said; and I retired to await his disengagement. - -I conceived this to be perhaps the matter of an hour, but never was -more faulty in my reckoning. At three o’clock I sent to inquire of -his convenience. ’Twas not yet, however, as the Corporal was with him -still; moreover, said the Captain, in reply, he was like to be so until -far into the evening. At supper-time they were together also. On Emblem -looking farther in the matter, she learned that at the request of the -Captain the Corporal had been served with food there. - -We were discussing this strange affair in the privacy of my boudoir, -when Mr. Anthony, whose fund of shrewdness served him in a thousand -ways, advanced a theory meriting much consideration. - -“Flickers is his bodyguard,” says he. “Grantley knows it’s in your mind -to captivate him, and fears you’ll do it too, if you so much as have -him to yourself. Flickers is for safety, and you can take my word for -that.” - -I thought upon this sadly; for if this was so and the coward’s trick -was only persevered in, I should be completely foiled, and that blue -paper must be in London very soon. - -“You are wrong, Prue,” I said, rebelling against my better judgment. “A -soldier and a man like Grantley would never have such a cowardice.” - -“Bab,” says he, with insolence, “I’ll bet my back hair on it that I’m -right. The bravest man that ever trod will take to strange shifts when -confronted with the devil. Pity Grantley, do not blame him.” - -Of such is the sympathy of boys! - - - - -CHAPTER XIII. - -I DISPLAY MY INFINITE RESOURCES. - - -THE morrow was full of anxiety and incident. There was a skirmish with -my aunt--a diversion to be sure, but one of peril. There was also my -distrust. I was compelled to keep an unceasing eye on Mr. Anthony, on -Mrs. Emblem, on the soldiers, on my Lady Grimstone, on Captain Grantley -and the document he held, and most of all on my own susceptibilities. -There was here plenty of material for mischief. The conduct of the -Captain was abominable. Of the six troopers quartered on us, five were -despatched at daybreak to scour the surrounding country for the rebel; -the remaining one, the Corporal, was retained in the library to protect -his commanding officer from the wiles of woman. Never a doubt that Mr. -Anthony had spoken true, and that this prudent cowardice had struck -my only weapon from my hand. Only one means could save his lordship -now--the sacrifice of the poor young fugitive. - -I suppose it is the curse of persons of condition that the sword of -pride swings above their heads, suspended tenderly on a single hair. -The first breath of calumny brings it down. The Government had merely -to receive the paper setting forth what was said to be his lordship’s -part in the prisoner’s escape, and ignoring all other consequences, -not the least would be the hawking of his name in every filthy print -of Fleet Street. It would be extremely difficult to bear. Yet bear it -I must, and perchance his committal to the Tower, and divers horrid -businesses, unless the lad was betrayed to his enemies at once. - -However, I did not consider that harsh alternative. I could not apply -it an I would. But something must be done, as the Captain took occasion -to remind me. On the evening of the sixth day he sent this polite -missive to my room. - - “Madam:--To-morrow evening the term expires. Unless the rebel is - discovered to me by the hour of six in the afternoon, my duty - will compel me to acquaint His Majesty’s Government of the whole - affair. Madam, I pray you in your own interest to consider deeply - of your course, for I am persuaded that you have a knowledge of the - rebel’s whereabouts. Let me remind you that the consequences must be - inevitably of great prejudice to the Earl, your father, if you permit - this matter to proceed.--I have, Madam, the honour to be your duteous, - humble servant, - - J. GRANTLEY.” - -Miss Prue was sitting at my tea-table when I read this; and this keen -observer saw me grow red with passion at its contents. - -“From a dear friend, I’ll bet a shilling,” he confided to a tea-cup. - -“Very,” says I, crumpling up the Captain’s insolence and throwing it -in the grate; and added, “Prue, you must excuse me for five minutes; -I must see that dear friend of ours, the Captain, on something of -importance.” - -“The Captain!” says he, all attention. - -I was too preoccupied to heed him in any way whatever, and foolishly -repaired to the library without troubling to set at rest any suspicion -of the facts he might entertain. I found the Captain and his bodyguard, -the Corporal, playing backgammon and smoking the horridest tobacco that -ever did offend me. - -“Your pardon, gentlemen,” says I, “and as you are at such an important -matter, ’twere best that I withdraw perhaps.” - -The Captain put his pipe down and begged me to be seated, while the -Corporal, evidently acting under orders, rose, stepped to the door, but -did not go outside. - -“Sir,” I began, “I am come to ask you again to revise that paper. I -will not have his lordship saddled with a misdemeanour which he never -did commit. ’Twas I that set the rebel free, and ’tis I that will abide -the consequence.” - -The Captain grimly shook his head. - -“My dear lady,” he replied, “it cannot be. Your father is morally -responsible for the crime that hath been wrought in his house against -the King. You must either produce me the prisoner to-morrow by the -hour of six, or submit his lordship to the severe alternative.” - -“Captain, this is an absurdity,” says I, tartly; “and to be brief, sir, -your conversation seems extremely like a simpleton’s. Produce you the -prisoner? Ods my life, what a folly do you talk! Ask me to produce you -the devil, and I shall produce him just as easily.” - -“Not a doubt about it,” says the Captain, laughing at the anger in my -eyes. - -Before I could retort upon him, my attention was distracted by the -sudden opening of the door. To my horror I saw the apparition of the -rebel. His mouth was stern, and there was a high sparkle in his eyes. -One glance and I read all the contents of his mind. By some strange -means he had discovered the dilemma I was in, and to spare me the -inconvenience that I suffered had come to deliver his person up to -justice. His purpose was distinctly written in his face. - -It was a terrible instant, and only a wonderful decision could stave -off fatality. I sprang up and sailed towards him ere he could speak -the word that would betray him, and pushed him by main force past the -Corporal, and over the threshold of the door. - -“Oh, Prue, you prying rogue!” I cried, laughing with a heartiness that -was intended to be heard. “You spy, you suspicious wretch, you are -dying I can see, to get an inkling of this matter; but I’ll stake my -soul that you do not overhear a word.” - -I had no sooner expelled him from the room with this peremptory mirth, -than I whispered feverishly in his ear: - -“For God’s sake do not do it now! Go back to my room, and I will follow -and talk the matter over.” - -Thereupon I boldly rejoined the Captain and the Corporal, and slapped -the library door in the face of the prisoner standing on the mat. The -suspicions I had aroused by a course so strange must be soothed at any -cost. Unlimited lying came greatly to my aid. I ordered the puzzled -Corporal to turn the key upon the lady. - -“She is just burning with curiosity,” I laughed; “but I’ll take care -that she shall not satisfy it.” - -’Twas a mercy that the Captain’s leg was in such a posture, that his -back was to the door, and though he must have heard sounds of a woman’s -entrance, and that I was in a flutter of one kind or another, and -had been excited to strange steps, he could not possibly have seen -Miss Prue, and happily his injury forbade him turning round to look. -Again, the Corporal was of such a primitive intelligence that he never -suspected anything at all. Finding the Captain as resolute as ever, I -took an early chance to quit the arbitrary wretch, and sought the rebel. - -His appearance in the library was simple to explain. He had got a hint -of my predicament, and to relieve me was ready to sacrifice himself. -He was in my room awaiting me. Entering, I closed the door, turned the -key and put it in my pocket. - -“Would you spoil all, then?” I bitterly began. - -“You have told lies,” says he in his coarse fashion. - -“For you,” says I, swiftly. - -My look caused the deepest tawny to creep into his face. - -“You swore upon your oath,” says he, “that to harbour me would place -you in no danger. Madam, you have lied.” - -“I shall be glad for you to prove that,” I answered languidly. - -I should have been inclined to enjoy his anger and his insolence I -think, had there not been a note of warning in his tone that frightened -me. That he had made his mind up on this point was very plain. - -“I will prove it in three words,” says he. “First I read the paper you -crumpled up and cast into the grate. My other information I have pulled -out of Mrs. Polly Emblem.” - -“Oh, the wretched wench!” cries I, and summoned her from my -dressing-room immediately. - -The fool came as limp as rags, and cowered from my anger pitifully. - -“If you please, your la’ship,” she whimpered, “’a fairly tore it from -my breast. I could not help myself, my lady--’deed I couldn’t--that’s a -fact.” - -“You silly trout, I’ve a mind to boil you, and that’s another fact. -But no, you half-wit, it were better to dismiss you on this instant. -Off, you slut, and pack your boxes and do not offend me with your face -another hour.” - -“Oh, please, please, my lady,” sobbed the simpleton falling on her -knees. - -“Enough of this Bab,” says Miss Prue, sternly, with a fine indignation -in her eyes. “Leave the poor creature be. She says she couldn’t help -herself, and I’m here to vouch it. I fetched it out of her like -anything, for she’s but a woman after all. Bab, drop it; do you hear -me?” - -The rogue slapped his hand upon the table with the grandeur of an -emperor. Thereupon I rated her the more soundly for her fault. The -miserable Emblem first looked at her champion, and then at me in the -most piteous manner. Thereat Miss Prue’s countenance became a blaze of -anger. - -“Damn it, Bab,” says she, “if you only were a man!” - -In the effort to contain her wrath she went striding up and down the -room. Suddenly she dealt a vicious kick at a Sheraton what-not, inlaid -with pearl, that was worth as much as the blood-money on her head, -brought it down in pieces, and smashed to atoms a priceless china vase. -Then she turned on me. - -“Bab, you are a perfect brute!” and then said to Emblem, softly, “Poor -wench! But don’t you fret, my dear, for I will see you are not hurt.” - -Having delivered his mind thus freely, he strode to the door and tried -it. - -“No, boy, you don’t,” says I, and ran to the door the other side of the -chamber that led into my dressing-room. Hastily I secured that also, -and took the custody of the key. - -“Now sit down,” I did command him; “for I am to have a talk with you, -my friend.” - -“I hope you will enjoy it,” he said, “as it is to be the last.” - -“Surely,” says I, “you cannot have the folly to be resolute in this? -Would you yield your life up for a whim? Doth not your very soul turn -dark at the thought of death--and such a death?” - -I shivered as I spoke, and the lad turned paler. - -“No,” says he, “that is--at least,” he dropped his tone, “I do not -think about it.” - -“You will have to do,” I answered, with the slow unction of a priest. -“And you so full of lusty youth. Do I not see health sparkling in your -eyes? The world must be lovely to you, I am certain. Your heart is fed -on sunshine, and the singing of the birds is the only sound you hear. -And are there no ambitions in you? Have you never dreamt of glory?” - -He turned still paler at this speech, and a sort of grim joy took hold -of me when I saw how my unaccustomed gravity was sinking in his mind. - -“But you?” he said. - -“I am not to be regarded. I have less to lose than you. Life itself in -your case; in mine only a new story for the town.” - -“Do you forget that they can attaint you of high treason?” he replied. -“And that would mean a long imprisonment, and you would find it a -tedious and very weary thing. I know, for I have tried it.” - -“High treason--imprisonment!” says I; “these are bogies for a child. -Politics are wonderful affairs, but if they can clap Bab Gossiter in -the ‘Jug’ and diet her on bad bread and dirty water, let ’em do it, -boy, by every means, and I’ll admire ’em for it.” - -“But if they threaten others?” he replied. “For instance, your papa, -the Earl.” - -“Ho, ho, ho!” I laughed; but in my breast there was no levity. “A peer -of the realm!” - -“He is not to blame for being that,” he answered, slyly, “and they will -not the less respect him for it I am sure. And what of Derwentwater, -Kenmare, Nithsdale in the late rebellion?” - -Being properly hipped on this, I tried new tactics. - -“Ah, I see,” says I, “you wish to play at Hero, do you? Want a pretext -to make the world ring by your devotion to a lady’s little finger. A -truce, boy, to these palpable devices.” - -He coloured high. Ridicule is the sovereign remedy for poetic notions -in the young. He merely sniffed my black draught, however, and flung it -from him. - -“Very shrewd of you,” says he, “but I never was afraid of being laughed -at.” - -I turned to Emblem with a frank amazement. - -“Go you for a bodkin, girl, and I will prick him with it, for I would -fain discover if this child of ours is actually made of blood and -flesh. Not afraid of being laughed at!” - -Straight I fell into a peal to prove how monstrously he lied. He chewed -his lip, and struggled to cover up his very evident vexation. - -“Sneer,” says he, with anger darting from his eyes, “but my -determination’s taken. A week ago I swore that a single hair of my Lady -Barbara should not suffer for her mercy. And when I make an oath I keep -one, whatever others do.” - -He rose. A glance assured me that he was in an ugly mood of heroism. -He held his hand out for the key. I glanced into his face, saw all the -muscles in it tight, and his mouth locked in a silence that seemed to -render the gravest word ridiculous. - -“Oh come,” I cries, “enough of claptrap! Have I done all this to be -thwarted by a child? Do you not see if you persevere in this proud -folly that the Captain triumphs? And I, a victorious rebel, should find -it easier far to endure the Tower than the humiliations of defeat.” - -“Alas! these palpable devices,” he sighed. “But it’s the key I want, -not trickeries.” - -Again I had a taste of my impotence with him. Hitherto my lightest -whim was a law for the greatest or the meanest; this moment, though, -a very beggar defied my imperious command. Nor would he budge from his -perverseness. Pretty soon his intolerable behaviour made my anger rise. -It was increased when I remembered his utter dependence and his low -condition. And yet I took a kind of admiration of him too. He was so -bold, so contradictory, so brazenly impertinent withal, that I began to -feel there was more in his sex than I had suspected. - -“Child,” says I, “I am dreadfully enraged with you and with your ways, -but,” I added, musingly, while I read the decision in his face, “do you -know I have half a mind to love you for them.” - -“Pray don’t,” says he, uneasily. - -“I have, though. I think you’ll make the prettiest man that ever was. -You are not a bit according to the pattern. You appear to even have a -will, a very unusual circumstance in anything that’s masculine. Child,” -I says, “do you know that I have half a mind to make a husband of you? -I like you, my lad. You are headstrong, but I think you are a charming -boy.” - -I patted him upon the shoulder with an air of high approval. He knit -his teeth, and cried in a crimson heat: - -“Confound you, woman, I am not your pussy-cat, nor your King Charles’ -spaniel.” - -“No,” says I; “and that is why I like you. You are so unstrokable.” - -“The key,” says he. - -“Understand me, sir,” says I, severely. “If I am ever at all tender to -a person, I become very much his friend and delight to serve him. Now -I can best serve you by denying you this key. And while we are on this -argument I should be glad to ask you whether there is anything you owe -me?” - -“My life,” he answered, promptly. - -“Very well,” says I; “and are you to be so thankless as to throw away -that which I have given you?” - -“Oh well,” says he, nervously, and dropped the boldness of his look, -“if that is how you put it--but, madam, for the world I would not have -your name imperilled or your father’s. Why, ’tis gratitude that makes -me so contumacious in this matter.” - -“Now,” says I, “here’s something I should like you to reflect upon. I -refuse most absolutely to yield up your person to the State. And should -you do this of your own accord I will not forgive you for it; no, sir, -I will not! And I will not even go to Tyburn to see how prettily you -hang. And my vanity will sicken horribly. For in every enterprise I -crave to be victorious, and I support a whipping as badly as you do a -thoroughly polite behaviour.” - -“But the paper going south,” he put in, doggedly. - -“Yes, I’ve thought of that, and it hath occurred to me that if your -prayers, Emblem’s wit, and my resources cannot play a pretty little -trick upon the Captain, the Captain’s very wise.” - -’Twas then Miss Prue did prick her ears up. - -“Trick!” says she, “anything daring? Aught with a spice about it? Now, -Bab, let’s have it!” - -“It is my intention to kidnap my good friend Corporal Flickers,” I -replied. - -“Kidnap Corporal Flickers,” cries he, in a voice of pregnant -admiration. “Why, Bab, your heart is big enough for five. Bravo!” - -“At six o’clock to-morrow evening he is to take that paper, ride to -York, and catch the London mail,” says I. “But he will not get beyond -our gate-house, for everything is to be most excellently planned.” - -“And you will perhaps be wanting my assistance,” says he, keenly. - -“Very probable indeed,” says I to pacify him somewhat, though I did not -intend to risk his safety in the matter. - -Thus by fair words, devices, and appeals he was prevailed upon to sit -in peace, and for the present to let things pursue their courses. Much -as I rejoiced in this, however, I was angry with myself for being such -a tender sort of fool. For the moment, though, a more instant matter -filled my thoughts. Such a nicety of performance was required in this -new affair that fearing the least miscarriage, I directed my personal -attention to it. Habiting myself for an evening stroll, I stepped into -the heavy bitter night, winter though it was, went softly down the -drive, and demanded admittance at the gate-house door. - -William Goodman was the keeper and lived there, a widower, with John, -his son, a sturdy six-foot yokel. They made a pair whom Heaven might -have created especially for my business. They sat in the gate-house -kitchen at a meal of beef and ale. William Goodman--sly, ancient, -lean--was a man of sense, and proved it by being faithful as a dog to -the family he had served for forty years. He had only been once before -the Justices, and the occasion was when he had cracked the sconce of a -man who had contumeliously hinted within William’s hearing that my Lord -of Long Acre was not so handsome a nobleman as the Duke of Marlborough. -After they had received me with the most horrible embarrassment, and -Goodman, the younger, had had the misfortune to turn a jug of ale into -his lap, I sat down and explained my mission as succinctly as I could. - -“Have you a coal-hole under this kitchen?” I began. - -“Yes, my lady,” said the elder. - -“Exactly as I thought,” says I. “And suppose a man was put into it; -could he very well get out?” - -“Depends upon the man, your ladyship,” says the elder, leering like a -fox. - -“One who did not happen to be a friend of the family,” says I, mightily -enjoying William Goodman’s face. - -“He might o’ course,” says he, with his natural caution, “and, o’ -course, he mightn’t; but, my lady, if I was betting on it, I should put -my money on he mightn’t.” - -“Well, Goodman,” says I, “I should like you to understand that I have -put my money on ‘he mightn’t.’ Now there is a certain person to be put -into that coal-hole, and out he must not come until I send the order. -And let me give you a few particulars.” - -These were brief and simple. Mr. Flickers must be lured into the -gate-house, sprung upon, taken by surprise, laid in the cellar, and -kept there both tight and privy at my pleasure; while I should be -pleased if it could be contrived that a blue paper passed from his -possession to my own. - -“And no unnecessary violence, Goodman. I would not have unnecessary -violence for the world. But do you think all this is to be done?” - -“Your ladyship can call it done already,” Goodman answered. “And what -was it, my lady, you thought he called his lordship?” - -“Doddering old something, I believe,” says I; “cannot take a Bible oath -on the exact text of it, but ‘doddering old something’ is the very -synonym of what he said.” - -“When the pore man falls, I hope as ’ow he won’t fall on his head,” -says William, piously, but with a high significance. - -“Now, no unnecessary violence,” I said; “but I’ll take my life that -‘dodder’ is the word he used.” - -There was here a question as to the disposal of his horse. It was -resolved to convey it to the High Farm, some miles up the moor, the -same evening and hold it there in secret till the time was by for the -Corporal’s release. And I had such a high regard for Goodman and his -son that I did not hesitate to think them the equals of their word. -Wherefore I went home to dress in a cheerful mood, and passed a lively -evening with my aunt, his lordship, and Miss Prue. - -My aunt put me quite remarkably in mind of a ferret held up by the -throat. The creature was prepared to bite on the first occasion, only -the season was not yet, for to attempt to do so now was to run the risk -of having the life choked out of it. - -“Aunt,” says I, as we sat at supper, “my dearest Prue tells me she must -leave us in a day or two.” - -“Niece,” says my aunt, politely, “I shall be grieved indeed to forego -her charming company.” - -But here the dowager’s steely smile shone out and caught my eye, -and--well, I wished it had not done so. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV. - -IN WHICH THE CAPTAIN’S WIT BECOMES A RIVAL OF MY OWN. - - -ON the fateful morrow the frost still held, and gave no sign of -yielding. The Doctor rode over towards noon to attend the Captain’s -leg. When he left the library I took his professional opinion on both -that member and its owner. - -“Doing nicely, very nicely,” says the Doctor. “Nor are the injuries as -serious as we did at first suppose.” - -“We shall have him about on crutches in a day or two, perhaps?” says I, -making a wry face. - -“Not this fortnight,” says the Doctor, “nay, not this three weeks. This -morning now he tried to alter the position of his leg, but it was so -stiff and gave the poor man such an excruciating pain that he desisted -the instant he began.” - -“I was trusting, Doctor,” I replied, “that the Captain would have his -heels up for at least a month. A man of his activity would benefit by -rest.” - -“Well, my dear lady, let us think about it,” says the Doctor. - -“And I believe, sir,” says I, insinuatingly, “that you had better stay -to dinner while you do.” - -I never remember a day that took longer to consume the sun’s light, -or a night more tardy to arrive. At five p.m. the Captain scrawled -the information: “In an hour, madam, unless a particular circumstance -prevents it, my report must be dispatched.” And I was grateful to -the Captain’s air of mystery for causing me to laugh so. “Unless a -particular circumstance prevents it.” A little after six Emblem bore -me the news that the Corporal was mounted and away. As Goodman was to -bring me the result as soon as one had been arrived at, I awaited him -in privacy, and was so nervous and excited, too, that I preferred to -have my supper served there, instead of wearing the mask of my habitual -indifference, and sitting down with the family as usual. - -Seven struck, but no Goodman came. A quarter past, and I began to -speculate upon miscarriages. But presently, to my relief, I caught the -sound of heavy boots ascending, and on his knock I invited Goodman to -come in. - -“Well?” says I. - -“Under lock and key, your ladyship,” says Goodman. “’A kicked a bit, -’a swore a bit, when we took him from behind; but we dropped him in, -and slipped the bolt and turned the key; his ’oss has been taken to -the farm, and I left John, my son, a sittin’ afore the cellar door a -readin’ in The Courier.” - -“No unnecessary violence, I hope,” says I. - -“Not a bit, my lady. But it’s a mercy that there weren’t. He turned -rampageous like; but John, my son, had got him by the muffler, and my -knee was a kneelin’ in the middle of his shirt. We dropped him in the -hole, simple an’ easy as a child. He might ’a fell upon his nose, but -I judge from the crackin’ sort o’ sound he made that it liker was his -head. But he’ll take no hurt, my lady; no, not he, for that Corp’ral’s -the toughest tooth that ever chewed up bull-beef.” - -“And did you abstract the paper?” I inquired. - -“Here it is,” says he, and gave it to me with a proud appearance. - -I dismissed the honest fellow with a purse and a few compliments on his -exceptional ability, which even the best of men are greedy to receive; -and gave him some instructions touching their captive’s entertainment. -You may take it that I never was more complacent in any battle than -in the signal victory my arms had achieved in this. The Captain’s -wit might be considerable, but it was indeed a satisfaction to hold -the proof that my own resources were, after all, despite my foe’s -unscrupulosity and keenness, good enough to thwart him. His emissary, -his special messenger, his wretched tool, was under lock and key; the -dread instrument he had so diligently waved above my head, and had -disturbed my dreams with, had not yet reached the Government, but lay -upon my writing-table, a prisoner of war. ’Twas a very triumph. I -picked up this red-sealed horror and brandished it before the blaze. -“The Secretary of State, Whitehall, London.” I insulted that elegant -inscription in divers ways, but ere I bestowed upon it the crowning -indignity of all, its committal to the flames, the whim seized me -to read its precious contents once again. Tearing off the cover, I -drew forth four precisely folded sheets of foolscap. But directly -afterwards, I think a feather might have felled me. There was not a -word of writing on them! - -What could be the meaning? The packet had been sealed implicitly with -a great array of wax; had been addressed in a large, fair hand to the -Secretary of State; had been ravished from the custody of Flickers, yet -here it was, blanker than my hand. - -I was wholly staggered. Presently I plagued my wits for explanations, -but no matter how diligent my mind was it could not override the fact -that the letter was empty. Later I took counsel of Mrs. Emblem, but she -could merely stare and wag her silly head. On her suggestion, however, -I resummoned William Goodman. He swore an oath that this was the only -document on the person of the Corporal. When I pressed him on the -point he reluctantly admitted that as they barred the door upon the -prisoner after the rape of the packet, he called out to them to this, -or similar, effect: - -“These dirty doings is all that ladyship o’ yours. I know; but harkee! -just you tell that brazen jade o’ yours the Captain’s not a fool, the -Captain’s not, but smart, downright smart, my boys, and laughs at such -as her. And tell her she’s welcome to the paper, for it’s not a bit o’ -use to her, nor to me, nor to the Captain, and she’s welcome to chew -it to her supper if she likes; and you can tell her, boys, that the -Captain’s laughing at her in his sleeve.” - -Goodman then withdrew. Turning on Emblem fiercely when he had done so, -I cried out in the very extremity of rage: - -“Oh, the deep devil! Oh, the cunning, foxey fiend! But, remark me, -girl, d’ye hear? I say, remark me, I’ll be revenged upon that Captain -as I’m a female. I’m resolved upon it, I’ll be revenged. Ha, thou -ancient enemy, I’ll have thee yet, and then I’ll twist thee. Ha! I see -thee squirming like a lizard in the sun. Thou belly-wriggling snake, -I’ll pay thee for it. Eve was not my early mamma else! I’ll correct -thee of these Eden tricks, thou worm, thou abominable night-bite!” - -It was the pains of disappointment, combined with the keen thought -that, after all, the Captain had occasion for his mockery that whipt -me to this transport. The descent from supposition to hard fact was, -indeed, most cruel. My pretty schemes, that had been designed to -assist young Anthony and show the crafty soldier in a foolish light, -where were they now? And the Captain sitting calmly down and laughing -to himself at my predicament! Mrs. Polly Emblem had wisely fled the -chamber, else I would not have answered for her at that instant. - -An hour passed, and I had pulled all the curls out of my hair, and had -washed half the powder from my face with weeping, when the door was -opened and Mr. Anthony appeared. He looked at me steadily a minute, a -deal of criticism in his eye. - -“Why, Bab,” he cries, “what in the prophet’s name’s upon you? ’Tis -a new _rôle_, I see. What in the name of mercy is the part? Are you -Niobe mourning for her young, or a pale Jocasta, or a drunken baggage -that goes too often to the ‘Jug?’” - -“Out, rogue,” says I, “or I will put you out.” - -“I see you have already put yourself out,” says he. “But what in -conscience is the matter?” - -“Out, rogue,” I repeated. “I will not have your horrid sex intruding on -my presence--wretched, crafty, undermining creatures!” - -“Faith!” says he, “I’ve always said it. Wretched, puling, prying -rogues. Here, Bab, I’ll just unslip these petticoats and will resume -the breeches of a man.” - -“Mention that word again and I’ll beat you to a purpose, you insolent -slip of beggary.” - -“Go on, sweet,” says he, taking his seat calmly by the fire. “I like -it. Your beauty is most monstrous when your eyes blaze. Rat me, if you -don’t look an accidental angel, darling.” - -Now, as this audacious rebel sat there laughing quietly in true -enjoyment of my rage, I judged it better to restrain it if I could, -and tell him of the case. He heard me out with patience, approved -heartily of my trick, paid me a compliment on the unscrupulosity of its -character, swore I was a cunning one, and so forth; but when I showed -him the clean paper with never a written word upon it, he cried: “That -beats me!” and grew as thoughtful as an owl. - -“Sir Sapience,” says I, “I should value your opinion.” - -“Witchcraft, as I’m a Christian man,” says he. “But that Captain -is--well, that Captain is----” - -“He is, indeed,” says I, with a significance not to be conveyed by a -mere adjective or noun. - -For an hour or more we broke our minds upon this problem. It was the -deepest mystery, and of that provoking kind that makes one unhappy till -one has solved it. As it would not profit us to keep the Corporal in -durance, I judged it right to take measures to release him. But it was -certain that as soon as he was at large my guilt would be published to -his officer. Therefore I took boldness for my course, and stepped down -straightway to the Captain. I carried the blue papers and the mutilated -seal with me. - -My enemy was alone. He received me with the courtesy that never failed -him, while I, with the consideration that was habitual to me, asked -politely of his leg. - -“Captain,” I decisively began, “an accident of a rather serious sort -hath happened to that emissary of yours.” - -“My soul,” cried the Captain, anxiously, “is that so? Pray tell me of -it, madam.” - -“I will strike a bargain first,” says I, coolly, and cast the papers -down before his eyes. - -I think I never saw a man so taken. - -“Ods wounds!” he cries, “how came these in your custody?” - -“An accident hath occurred to that emissary of yours,” I repeated, -and smiled upon his urgent face, “and you shall hear the details of -it on condition that you do confess why this packet is a bogus. I can -assure you, Captain, that I am burning to learn the reason for this -make-believe.” - -He tried to hedge at this, and get news of the Corporal out of me -without giving me the secret that I so desired. But if he considered -I was a child in these affairs to be evaded lightly he was early -undeceived. - -“Not a word, not a hint, sir,” I says, “until you have told me why -you have furnished the Government with such a short account. And I am -persuaded, sir, that that Corporal of yours is in the least enviable -plight.” - -My reluctant enemy fenced with me a long half hour, but I was so -tenacious of my course, and parried him with such an ease, that in the -end I forced him to desist. - -“Very well,” he said, “I’ll tell you, madam. The fact is I have been -trying to intimidate you. There has been a conspiracy between his -lordship and myself to frighten you into a betrayal of the prisoner. -From the first I have been convinced that you could put your hand upon -that rebel if you cared, and, my dear lady, it may please you now to -know that up to this instant I have not budged one point from that -opinion. I am certain that if you chose you could deliver him up to -us to-night. Now we let you read the particular narrative that held my -lord responsible, and were at pains to cause you to believe that it was -going to the Government for the most obvious of reasons. And as you -are aware, we have even thought fit to prolong the farce by sending -Flickers southward with a bogus packet.” - -“This is very fine and pat,” says I, “and sounds like a peroration; but -under your favour, sir, I should be glad to examine you upon it. Will -you tell me, sir, on whom the blame will fall? If it’s not to be on me, -and not to be upon his lordship, who is going to suffer?” - -“Yours to command, James Grantley,” the Captain answered, with a grave -and happy dignity that sat upon him charmingly, I thought. “Does your -ladyship suppose that I am a snivel or a cur? Hath your ladyship formed -so kind a judgment of my character as to hold me capable of allowing my -friends to suffer rather than myself.” - -This vindication of himself made him appear so handsome and so -lofty, that I felt that this deep enemy of mine had no right to -present so excellent a figure. ’Twas palpable, besides, that he could -out-manœuvre me in every way, and was therefore a person to be hated. - -“Well, Captain,” says I, reproachfully, “I trust you do repent of the -fever you have thrown me in; of the sleepless nights you’ve given me: -of the visions of the Tower with which I have been beset.” - -“Evildoers,” says he, sternly, “must command no sympathy.” - -“’Tis a hard name, sir,” I says. - -“Truth, madam, is not a courtier.” - -“Ah, no!” I sighed, and added insinuatingly, “but I have never read -the history of the ill-fated Mary of Scotland without costing myself a -tear.” - -“Had I been the executioner,” says the Captain, grimly, “there had been -no bungling at the lopping of her lovely, wicked head.” - -“My dear Captain, you are perfectly convinced of that?” And I searched -the harsh man terribly with my eyes. - -He lowered his own a point, and coughed to cover his confusion. I had -now to tell the Captain of the Corporal’s misfortune. While in the act -of doing this, I kept a lookout for his anger, but except for the most -delicate little smile that seemed to go crawling round his jaw, his -face was as simple and inscrutable as ever. - -“I think, madam,” says he, “that I should praise the address you have -displayed. For the second time you have outwitted his Majesty the King. -But, pray, madam, be careful of the third. The third time is generally -crucial.” - -“Do I discover a warning or a threat in this, sir?” I pleasantly -inquired. - -“Only the expression of an honest admiration,” says the Captain, whose -kind smile on this occasion appeared to be dancing round his teeth. - -The Corporal was released that evening. I regret that this honest man’s -opinion of my conduct in this case is not preserved among my archives. -I feel sure that had I been able to supply it, it would have won the -approbation of the gentle reader. - - - - -CHAPTER XV. - -THE CAPTAIN TRUMPS MY TRICK. - - -I AM now come to some grave adventures. Even at the remote hour at -which I here retail them, I hardly know whether to shudder or to smile, -so whimsical they were, yet so fraught with consequences of the gravest -sort. Indeed, their memory seems a quaint mingling of laughter and -dismay. There is, I think, scarcely an event in life that cannot be -made food for ridicule by the lightly-minded. In that category I count -one, my kind friends tell me, but of the strange duel that was fought -at which I presided in my person, of the conflict of wills and passions -that befell, of the hopes, the fears, the plottings, the contrivings, -the general foxiness of everyone, but most of all of me; the stern -contentions that appeared to some of us to turn the whole world -topsy-turvy, I could not at the time decide whether to grin or groan -at. And faith! even at this date, I am not come to a decision. - -The very night of the Corporal’s detention and release was the date of -the first of these important matters. The hour was midnight, or rather -more, when I got into bed. The day with me had been so arduous that no -sooner did my head meet the pillow than I was asleep. I was aware of -nothing till consciousness was restored to me all at once, and I found -myself sitting up in the sheets and listening to strange sounds. It -was very dark, and the wind outside still seemed to be crying with a -night voice; but some unprecedented thing had surely taken place, else -I should not have thus awoke to find all my senses strained and tense -with apprehension. ’Twas a cold enough sensation to discover oneself -sitting thus, with the darkness and silence of death enveloping the -chamber. I was in the act of re-settling myself snugly for repose, -when the cause of my awakening became apparent. Several muffled but -heavy footfalls I heard just the hither side the curtains of my bed, -and while I was fearfully speculating upon the nature of these sounds, -for it was an eerie hour, I caught a noise as of the soft-closing of -my chamber door. At first the horrid, quiet gloom, and the mystery of -it all made a coward of me, and I drew the blankets convulsively about -my head, and sought to subdue the ticking of my heart. But hearing -them repeated in the corridor outside, curiosity managed to suppress -my fears, and I stole from my bed to satisfy it. Opening the door with -the tenderest care, I peeped cautiously across the threshold. The -landing window being uncurtained, the long corridor leading to the -stairs was sensibly lighter than my room. The cause of the alarm was -immediately made plain. A dim figure was creeping painfully towards -the stairs, and dark as it was, my excited eyes were keen enough to -identify its faint outlines and its singular condition. ’Twas a man’s -shape shuffling heavily along; one portion precariously supported by -a stick, the other by a hand pressed against the wall. As soon as I -discerned the details appertaining to him, I had read the riddle of his -apparition. It was none other than my good friend Captain Grantley! - -I slipped back into bed with all the sleep banished from my eyes. A -remarkable trembling held me now in every joint. ’Twas a spasm of -downright, arrant fear. Yea, my good friend, Captain Grantley, was -verily the devil! Every day served to reveal in new and unexpected -ways the depth and audacity of his wit. This further manifestation of -it almost paralysed me. ’Twas no common cunning that had taught him to -conceal for what must have been several days the right condition of his -knee. - -As I lay awake striving to find a means to check this latest move of -my subtle enemy’s, several bitter facts were writ upon my mind. First, -that I was not his match in craft, no matter how considerable my own; -farther, that if by any chance he had found his way this night to the -room of Prue, our game was lost. There was only one ray of comfort -that his nocturnal expedition brought. It was that whatever might be -his suspicions in regard to the prisoner’s presence in the house, he -held no evidence wherewith to confirm them, else he had not gone -night-walking to obtain it. But had this night-excursion given him the -knowledge? ’Twas a baffling problem. However, I hoped and believed that -he had been unable to visit the room of Prue, since for safety’s sake -I insisted that she should promise to lock her door. Yet in dealing -with a person of the Captain’s calibre, who shall make enough of an -allowance for the scope of his talents and activities? Faith, I had -learned to dread this subtle foe more utterly than anything since the -bogies of my childhood! I do not think I should have feared him so -could I only have killed the reluctant admiration that, in despite of -myself, his skill commanded. - -You may be sure that at the dawn’s appearance I rose earlier than -my wont was; and while I made my toilette I sent a message to the -masquerader to induce him to come abroad as early as he could, for I -felt unable to enjoy any peace of mind until I had let him know his -latest danger. And I was the more eager to confide in him, inasmuch as -at a crisis he could display a fine intelligence. - -I greeted him with this momentous question: - -“Did you lock your chamber door last night, sir?” - -“I did,” he answered. - -“Then,” says I, “you may congratulate yourself on your escape.” - -Therewith I retailed the remarkable experiences I had so lately -undergone. While I did this I noted that his face grew very stern and -ugly. - -“Bab,” says he at the conclusion, “these playhouse tricks of ours will -do well to have an ending. This Captain man is too devilish ingenious -to be tolerated any more. He’s too early on the perch for us, Bab, and -that’s a fact. He must either have his wings clipped, else I must fly -away.” - -“The time is not yet for you to fly, my lad,” says I; “you know very -well that I have decided to hold you here until I can have you carried -privily to London, and then shipped straightway from Deptford to the -Continent. But as to the clipping of the Captain’s wings, how shall you -set about it?” - -“There is a way, you can depend upon it,” he replied with a -significance that startled me; “though to be sure ’tis not one that’s -very gentle.” - -“What do you mean, sir?” says I, while a light came in his eyes and -made them shine like meteors. - -“Well, I mean just this,” says he, “for me to fly from this house -to-day is certain death, as you remind me. But it is equally impossible -for me to be here abiding now that the Captain’s so alert. ’Twill not -be advisable for this house to hold us both another day. Therefore one -of us must go; and if the name of that one does not happen to be Dare, -then I think it’s Grantley.” - -“A very pregnant and luminous piece of reasoning,” says I, “but -provided it is Grantley, how are you going to set the man in motion?” - -“You think the man will need a spur?” says he. - -“I do, indeed,” says I, “and one both sharp and covert.” - -“I have here the very thing,” says he. Upon the word he fumbled in -his skirts, and presently produced a little leather case therefrom. -Plucking off the top, he showed me that a small venomous stiletto lay -twinkling in it. As you may suppose I took several seconds to recover -my breath, then cried: - -“What, you bloody-handed rogue, have you murder in your mind?” - -“Some may call it murder,” he meekly said, “and some may call it sin, -and as I’m not a learned man I shan’t dispute ’em. But the pith of the -affair is this. If Grantley can contrive to rattle the first blow in -among my ribs, then I shall be a corpse. Yet, on the other hand, if I -can get the first home I shan’t need to strike again.” - -“Silence, wretch!” I commanded him with sternness. “Do you dare to talk -of murder to my face, then?” - -“Some may call it murder,” he repeated, “but it never was a name of -mine. It’s a time of open war, you see; the rebel and the redcoat; and -I’m a rebel, as you are aware.” - -“Well, at the best,” says I, “even if one can square one’s conscience, -’tis not the right English fashion, sir; and therefore I’ll none of it.” - -“No,” says he, reluctantly, “perhaps it’s not. And certainly an open -fight would consort kinder with my temper; but how is one to be -arranged? Alas! it is impossible.” - -“Impossible or not,” says I, “I am not the one to wink at murder.” - -“None the less I would remind you, madam,” he insisted, “that one -there’ll be if once the man on whose behalf you are interfering can -set his hands on me. Tyburn Tree is murder as surely as is an inch of -steel.” - -“I am not likely to forget it,” says I, “but I propose to select a -choicer instrument than the stiletto wherewith to save your life.” - -But I found it easier indeed to avert than to perform. My interdict -against murder I rigidly enforced; but how to procure the advantages of -that extreme act without paying for them bloodily caused me to waste -hours in fruitless thought. Affairs were at a head, and something -demanded to be done. Captain Grantley was no more the tiger caged. The -fierce, intrepid animal had managed to break his prison, and now was on -the prowl. Small doubt that he was stealthy, savage, and vindictive. -Unless I took an immediate means to ensure the safety of the helpless -creature cowering beneath my promise of protection, he would be torn -limb from limb, and that despite my vows. And in good sooth things had -gone so far that I felt that if by a mischance the poor lad should -perish after all, my heart must perish too. - -I now come to perhaps the strangest evening of my life. It behoves -me, therefore, to be respectful of all that did occur. As I have -said, supper was the meal when the family and any guests receiving our -hospitality were expected to assemble, that the evening might be spent -in cheerful intercourse. Ever a social being, the Earl, my papa, when -in the country, was a great stickler for this rule. Therefore, when -the bell summoned us to the board on this most eventful evening, any -tremors that we had we were compelled to lay aside, while we descended -to the supper-table. As our enemy had made no move during the progress -of the day, we were led to foster the opinion that, whatever his -suspicions, his dark errand had been barren, and that accordingly he -lacked a positive knowledge of the rebel’s sanctuary in our house. - -I remember that both Miss Prue and I robed with particular care this -evening. Miss Prue heightened her complexion to an almost hectic hue, -for she reminded me that she was in a very “killing” humour. We dawdled -into the dining-room with arms about the waists of one another, as is -the fashion of dear friends. My aunt and my papa were there already; -the usual salutations were interchanged, and no circumstance suggested -that aught beyond the common would occur. But, indeed, an omen thrust -itself upon me a moment later when I noted that an extra chair was -ranged against the table, which was also laid for five instead of four. - -“Why, aunt,” cries I, “who is to be our visitor?” - -“Patience, child,” my aunt replied, with such an amiable air that -forthwith I suspected her of treachery. And, straight, a pang went -through me, for I was almost sure that we had been lured into a trap -from which it was now too late to escape. And even as this thought -afflicted me, suspicion became dire fact. The door appeared to open and -a commotion arose the other side of the screen. A sound of shuffling, -accompanied by a painfully slow gait, published to me the worst ere -even the ubiquitous Captain hove in view. He came to the table leaning -on the shoulder of a servant, and was propped up also by a stick. - -You can suppose that every detail of the Captain’s mien and conduct is -writ down in my mind. First he advanced in the most unincriminating -manner, bowed profoundly over my aunt’s extended hand, accepted the -kind words and congratulations of my lord with an air of admirable -courtesy and pleasure, put his palm across his heart and smiled, and -bowed to me as gracefully and deeply as his predicament allowed, and -generally held himself with a sweeping ease that was sublime. Nor was -I much behind him there. I turned to the poor masquerader who was -sustaining the ordeal nobly, and said in a full, clear tone: - -“Prue, dear, permit me to present to you Captain Grantley, of the -Thirty-third, one of my oldest and most cherished friends.” - -Bows were exchanged by both parties with a gravity that would have been -enjoyable had one’s fears been quieter. Without more ado we assumed -our chairs, and the meal began. My appetite was gratified with a mere -pretence of eating, and even this Barmecidal course was begrudged it by -my heart. Here I was sensibly the poorest actor of the three, for the -Captain laughed, joked, drank, and supped with a military heartiness, -while Miss Prue requested him to pass the salt with the demurest -smile you ever saw. It was quite on the cards, of course, that the -Captain was still in ignorance of the Honourable Prudence Canticle’s -true identity, as her disguise really was without a shade of doubt -ingenious. Yet, on the other hand, to accept this as a fact would be -the height of assumption. The Captain was a terrible variety of man to -whose depth it was impossible to put a limit. He was a master of the -art of concealing what he knew. He had the trick of wooing one into the -comfortable notion that he was pretty well an ignoramus, when he had -practically taken all knowledge for his province. Thus, his present air -of candour notwithstanding, I was woefully afraid. - -The conversation was unceasing. The Captain kept up a rattle of the -delightfulest inconsequence, made jests upon his leg that actually -enticed the dowager into a smile, and seemed most magnanimously -inclined to forget the injuries to his person and his reputation, let -bygones be bygones, and pardon even me, the arrantest rebel that had -yet to grin through hemp. - -Later, on retiring to the withdrawing-room, we had cards as usual. -Going from one apartment to the other, I was able to secure a short -aside with Prue. - -“Suppose,” says I, “you now contract a headache, and retire for the -evening? The less you are exposed the better.” - -“Not I,” says she; “I’ll see it through. If he hath already smelled me -out, nought can avail me. If he hath not, but is lingering in doubt, he -will take the fact of my seizing the first chance of escaping from his -scrutiny as an important evidence, and will feed his suspicions on it.” - -I had to admit that this in the main was shrewd. Prue came therefore -and bore a hand at cards. The play was continued pretty late. All -things were amicable as could be, and gradually, as the hours passed, -our dark suspicions of the early evening were considerably laid. The -dowager retired at the sound of twelve, as was her custom. The best -part of an hour later, growing drowsy and uncertain in his play, the -Earl rose, gave us good-night, and also went to bed. - -On the withdrawal of my lord my spirits rose remarkably, for I judged -that all our doubts were about to be resolved. If the Captain was -still our dupe he would remain, of course, quiescent; or if he had -spied our deception out it was natural to expect him by word or deed -to betray something of his knowledge. But he continued playing with -such an imperturbable and easy mien, his voice remained so candid and -so clear, his eye so open and indulgent, and his manner so frank and -unrestrained, that soon reassuring glances were exchanged between the -masquerader and myself. - -For what followed I am, perhaps, to be in a measure blamed. Lulled into -security by the conduct of our enemy, to some extent I gave the rein -to my own desires. From the first I had been winning steadily, and my -appetite for play, always vigorous, seemed to increase as my guineas -grew. True, half of these gains had originally been money of my own, -Prue having been furnished with means for this diversion from my purse, -but the Captain was undoubtedly a loser. - -“There!” he cries at last, “that completes the second hundred. And -under your leave, madam, ’tis high time, I think, the loser called, -‘hold, enough!’” - -“Then you do not care to work your evil vein out, sir?” says I. - -“I should be only too glad to try, dear lady,” he replied, “if I had -not other work to do. Besides, you will observe that, strive as I may, -I cannot scrape together another guinea or another bank-bill.” - -As a proof he fumbled with his pockets mightily. He exposed the linings -of those in his coat, and playfully remarked: - -“You see, quite empty!” - -But how little did we divine his strategy! The next moment showed that -this search for money was but a pretext; and a spasm of mingled rage -and horror seared me when his true intention was unmasked. - -Suddenly, as he sat opposing Prue and me the other side of the little -card-table, his right hand was shot across in the direction of my -companion, and a pistol was exposed and rigidly presented within six -inches of her face. - -“Stir a muscle, Anthony Dare,” says the Captain, “and you’re dead.” - -I could almost feel the poor lad flinch under his heavy rouge. He said -not a word, though, but only trembled and stared dumbly at the iron. - -For myself I gave one look at these enemies, and then rose in a tempest -of rage and pity. - -“Man,” I says, “are you mad? Anthony Dare? What do you mean?” - -“A neat deception, an elegant deception,” says the Captain, “and I give -you my compliments upon it, madam; but now I think it’s at an end. I’ll -confess ’tis pretty enough for boozy troopers; therefore, madam, again -my compliments upon it.” - -My reply would have been a fury had he not silenced me with his glance. - -“Hush, madam,” says he, “unless you desire to have the house aroused. -To spare you an exposure I have submitted to some inconvenience and -run a certain risk by moving in the matter at this unseasonable hour, -when broad daylight would be greater to my profit. For, believe me, I -am beyond all things anxious to serve your interests so far as my duty -will permit.” - -“Or your inclination,” says I, harshly. - -“Mr. Dare,” says the Captain to his prisoner, “I would have you -place both your open hands upon the table-cloth, for, Mr. Dare, in -my opinion you are as skilful as they’re grown, allowing for your -years and opportunities. Let me admit at once, sir, that I entertain -a considerable opinion of you. But if, Mr. Dare, I might venture to -advise you, I should make as little noise to-night as possible or the -reputation of her ladyship will be undoubtedly in peril.” - -’Twas rather like being choked with a surfeit of strawberries and -cream, or maddened with a brook of silver melody to hear the Captain -use this complimentary tenderness with the subtle notes of triumph -ringing underneath it. And his face! His eyes appeared to overflow with -admiration and solicitude. But there was a quiet curl about his mouth -that made him wholly hateful. The prisoner was the next to speak. - -“Captain,” he said, “I’m squarely ta’en. And if you will promise to -spare her ladyship I’ll yield unreservedly. If you will not, you will -have to put a bullet through me, for ’tis more to my taste than Tyburn -in the cart.” - -Here, despite himself, the poor wretch shivered. - -“Willingly,” says the Captain, “and that’s a bargain. Give me your word -upon it, sir, and then I can put this bit of iron up.” - -Thereon the prisoner bowed in assent to his captor, who quietly -replaced the pistol in his coat. - -“Mr. Dare,” says the Captain with great suavity, “might I suggest that -you change your clothes before my men can note them.” - -“On the contrary, Mr. Dare,” says I, “I would suggest, for my part, -that you advertise yourself before them in this attire. For I do not -doubt that they will rejoice to learn what handsome fools they are.” - -“My Lady Barbara is surely hard upon them,” says the Captain. -“Something should be allowed for her powers of deceit.” - -“Would you insult me, sir?” I cries, dying to pick a quarrel with the -man. There are periods when one would forfeit willingly one’s figure -in the world to have a virago’s privileges for a short five minutes. -However, I saw full bitterly that railing could not avail. - -Perforce I kept my gaze from the white-faced prisoner. I could not -endure to see the lad. Not that he took the matter ill. He was -outwardly as calm as was his foe. But there was something in his mien -that made a dreadful coward of me at a time when I could have wished to -be most brave. - -A horrid silence presently ensued. The Captain had said his say -already. And I had much to speak, but for my life I could not speak it -then. As for the prisoner, when I stole a look at him, he was staring -with grim eyes at Sir Peter Lely’s picture of my mother, hung upon -the wall. But he stood as silent as the tomb. Then it was that our -enemy, the Captain, acted in the strangest way--but one, I think, that -honoured both his heart and his intelligence. - -“I will withdraw,” says he, looking tenderly at me. “For I fear it will -be your last hour together.” Then looking at the prisoner, “When you -are ready, Mr. Dare, if you will step into the library you will find me -at your service.” - -Saying this he rose and hobbled out upon his crutch. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI. - -IN WHICH I AM WOOED AND WON. - - -I WAS quite joyfully startled at the Captain’s course. - -“Now what’s the fellow mean by this?” I whispered to the lad. “Is it -to give you one more chance while his back is turned, out of pure -compassion, or is he fool enough to trust you?” - -“He is fool enough to trust me, madam,” says the lad, haughtily I -thought. - -“Very charming of him,” I admitted. “There must be a deal of poetry -in his soul. But come, sir! there is not one second to be lost. Steal -upstairs and get your skirts off, while I find some guineas for you, -and letters to recommend you to the consideration of some southern -friends.” - -This drew fierce looks from him, but he exchanged them when he spoke -for a haggard smile. - -“Ah, madam,” he said, “you do not understand.” - -“I understand only too well,” I sighed. “Tyburn Tree, my lad, and an -end to everything. But for the love of heaven, cease this babbling! Off -with you at once, or your chance is gone for ever.” - -“But the Captain is fool enough to trust me, madam,” he repeated. - -“Then you refuse to fly?” I demanded, trembling in my eagerness. - -“I do,” says he. - -“Then I hope you’ll hang,” I cried; “yes, simpleton that you are, I -hope you’ll hang.” - -However, at the mention of his certain fate, I was no longer mistress -of myself, for I sat down suddenly in a very unreasonable fashion, -covered my eyes with my hands, and allowed my tears to break forth -in the most uncontrollable flood I’ve ever shed. When I desisted -somewhat from this, and next looked up, the prisoner was at my side, -and bending over me with a tenderness that added to my woe. Hardly a -minute had fled since last I had seen his face, yet in that little time -it appeared to have aged by twenty years. Great as my own pains were, -I knew them to be equalled by his own, for he was plainly suffering a -very bitter agony. - -“Madam,” he said, with his native bluntness refined into a strange -sweetness by his grief, “would to God I had never known you! You make -the thought of death terrible hard to bear.” - -“Oh!” I sobbed, with a ridiculous riot in my breast, “I thought I was -never in your style; I thought you never cared; I thought----” - -“You are a wonderful, brave woman,” he says, in a whisper, “a wonderful -brave woman.” - -One of his tears fell down upon my shoulder. Sore was I tempted to -indulge myself with weeping, too, but knowing well that the prisoner -had not a hope of life other than one that I might find him, I fought -against my weakness till in a measure it was overcome. But the face of -the prisoner was before me always, and again did my eyes grow dark and -heavy with their tears. - -“Child, do not be afraid,” I said, trying for conscience sake to affix -on him the guilt that was my own. “Be brave; the matter is not so cruel -as it looks.” - -He did not answer, but his smile was grim. And it seemed wonderful to -me that the faculties of his mind should remain so keen when Death’s -shadow was darkening his heart. - -“Madam,” he said gently, after a miserable silence, “give me your hand -just once in parting, and I shall consider that the climax to a life -that never was unhappy. For your courage, madam, is the sweetest memory -I have; and I mean to bear it ever.” - -“No, no,” I said, while my tears broke forth again, “do not afflict me -with farewells. They are more than I can suffer. Oh, my lad, I cannot -let you go like this! My life begins and ends with you.” - -“But for you, my fair, sweet lady,” he replied, “I could receive death -easily. But I can rejoice that I’ve known you, and that you have -been my friend. And now it were better that I took my leave, for the -longer that we are together the sharper will the separation be.” I -heard a half-checked groan escape him. Afterwards he said: “Oh, what a -loveliness grief hath lent you! Never did you look so beautiful before -to-day.” - -“Yes,” I sobbed, “you always said you liked ’em clinging.” - -“Let us say good-bye,” he whispered. “At least, let us have done with -this.” - -“Child, be brave,” I recommended him, with a depth in irony that it was -well he could not fathom. - -“I blame you for my cowardice,” he said. - -There was a quiver in his face that even he could not conceal. I felt -almost happy when I saw it, for it told me that at last even the -untameable was tamed. - -“You do not want to die?” I asked him, softly. - -“No,” he stammered, “I do not want to die.” - -“And why do you not want to die?” I continued, without pity. “There was -a time, you know, when you were not so troubled with this scruple.” - -“’Tis an unnecessary question,” he said, while a glance came from him -that sank into my heart. - -“Is it that you have come to love me?” says I, in my monumental -innocence. - -“I--a beggar?” - -“Nay, sir,” says I, “not a beggar. You lack his first essential, his -humility. Suppose we say a sturdy rogue?” - -“A sturdy rogue, then.” - -“Well, an he loves me, I can pardon the presumption of a sturdy rogue.” - -“You had better do so, then,” says he. - -“That is, you love me, sir,” I demanded, sternly. - -“By God I do!” he cries. - -“Which is very well,” says I, “as, all things considered, sir--well, -all things considered, sir--that is, at least, I think it’s very -well. And as you love me, sir, I would have you steal out through the -window of this room, creep across the park into the wood, and I will -meet you there in half an hour with money, a disguise, and such like -necessaries.” - -“And my promise to the Captain, madam?” - -“The Captain is your enemy,” says I. “He seeks to kill you.” - -He shook his head in defiance of my open anger. - -Now here was a point that I never could distinguish. Why, in the first -place, the Captain should have dared to trust a desperate rebel upon -his simple word, was beyond my understanding; again, why, when his -enemy had been fool enough to do so, that rebel did not profit by this -credulity was even greater mystery. Of course I have heard soldiers -talk about their “honour,” and I had lately learnt to know that his -“honour” was the one flaw in the complete armour of that worldling, -my papa; but for my life I cannot see why a man should extend more -consideration to it than he would, as in this present case of young -Anthony, to death itself. And certainly I think that there is never a -woman of us all that, being put in his tight place, but would have -stretched her word a point. Bab Gossiter herself would have done so, I -can promise you. - -Still the prisoner was obdurate. And if he, of all persons, refused to -connive at his own escape, verily his case was dark. But there was one -other. Who knew but that after all he might relent a little under the -fire of my eyes? The Captain had flinched before their powers once; -perchance he might again. - -“My lad,” I said, turning to the prisoner, “wait here till I return. I -wish to speak a few words with the Captain.” - -“On my behalf?” says he. - -“Oh, no,” says I, promptly; for did I not know his disposition was -peculiar? Even as I went, however, I could see that he did not set much -value on my word, and it was a nice question whether he had accepted it. - -I found the Captain sitting before the library fire. The blaze playing -on his face showed it sombre and deeply overcast with thought. When I -entered alone a visible embarrassment took hold of him, and I believe -it was because he had noted the red and inflamed appearance of my eyes. - -“I am come to plead, sir,” says I, plunging at once into my bitter task. - -“My dear lady, I had feared it,” he said. - -“He is very young,” I said, “very misguided probably, but a youthful -error is not to be punished with the scaffold.” - -“It is the law,” says he, sadly. - -“Humanity is more potent than the law, sir.” My tears broke forth again. - -“And,” said the Captain, with great gentleness, “Lady Barbarity at -every season and in every circumstance is always humane.” - -His voice made me shiver. There was a metallic harshness creeping out -from underneath the velvet tones. His face, too, had grown dark with -sneers and sardonic meaning. I struggled to be resolute, but the Fates -were against me. The shadow of death was lying on my heart, and steel -it as I might it could not forbear from trembling at the Captain’s -words, that were as cold as doom, and twice as cruel. - -“My Lady Barbarity is ever humane,” the Captain said. “There would be -no pretext for her title else.” - -“I will confess, sir,” says I, “that I never had any particular -compassion for fools. In my opinion, sir, it is no worse to trample on -a fool than it is to beat a dog.” - -“Well, madam,” says the Captain, very like a judge, “that, I think, is -a matter for your conscience. But is it not rather a flaw in policy, -don’t you think, to come to a fool on whom you have trampled with a -plea for mercy?” - -“Captain Grantley,” says I, warningly. - -“You must forgive my bluntness, madam,” he continued, “but I, a fool, -have been compelled to suffer greatly at your hands. You may have -forgotten last year in London, and this very room but a week ago, -but I can assure you, madam, that I have not. I have passed through -a purgatory of hope and jealousy, and for what reason, madam? Simply -that, to serve your private ends, you have deigned to shoot a few -smiles out of your eyes. And under your pardon, madam, I will say those -eyes of yours are poisoned daggers that corrupt everything they strike. -At least, I know they have corrupted my very soul.” - -He ended this strange speech with a groan. There was a still passion in -him that was alarming. If ever a man meant mischief, surely this was he. - -“But, sir,” I said, “you must understand that I am not pleading for -myself.” - -“No, only for the man you love,” says he. - -I saw he was white to the lips. - -“Sir,” says I, “if this were not so nonsensical, I should deem it an -impertinence.” - -“It is only to saints that plain truths are inoffensive,” the Captain -answered. - -Again and yet again I returned to the attack, only to discover that I -had to deal with a cold man kindled. Here was a person not to be fired -easily; a chance spark would not light him; but once ablaze and he -would not cease burning until the whole of him was ashes. I had only to -look at his face observantly to find proofs of the havoc I had caused. -His eyes were bright and hollow; his cheeks had fallen in. Hitherto I -had held these the signs of the mind’s anxiety at his long captivity -and his prisoner’s escape. But had I plumbed deeper to the sources -of his malady I should have found that they sprang from the bitter -sufferings of his heart. And whatever the shining qualities of this -gentleman, I knew from the beginning that magnanimity was not among -them. He had endured the pain that I had wantonly inflicted on him, -bravely and proudly, but he had also abided his time. Alas, that his -time was now! - -Looking at his cold eyes, and the scorn of his lips, I knew that he -meant to punish me. There was not one relenting glance to give me -hope. I do not think that I am a greater coward than my sisters, but -somehow all at once I felt my courage go. This patient foe seemed too -powerful and wary; I was but as a reed in his hands; he could break me -now and cast me to the ground. I shall not describe my long, fervent -pleadings with him. I was made to command and not to pray; therefore, -I believe a creature of a humbler mind would have borne this matter -more effectively. For my every plea fell on a heart of stone. At last -I cried out from the depths of desperation: “Is there no price in the -world that would tempt you to spare him?” - -His answer was startling. - -“Yes, madam, one,” he said. - -“Name it, sir!” I cried, springing to my feet in my excitement. “Name -it, sir, and please God it shall be paid!” - -“Become my wife, madam. On that condition only do I release your lover.” - -You have seen the actors in the playhouse strike their attitudes, -and deliver their high speeches with the most poignant effect. You -know that you are pierced, not by a natural emotion, but by art and a -studied utterance. I had this feeling in the most intensified degree -when my subtle enemy announced, with wonderful seeming candour, the -price I had to pay. Of a sudden, however, his gravity was exchanged for -a laughter equally insincere. At first I took it for the mere brutality -of mockery in the playhouse manner, but as again and again it returned -upon him, and rose to a horrible hysteria, it was presently borne -upon me that I was not so much the object of his hollow mirth, as the -agonised James Grantley. - -Despite the magnitude of his demand, I was not slow to answer. Though -I had an instinct that this momentous circumstance demanded at least -a day and a night for ponderation, I felt quite incapable of coolly -considering it for twenty seconds. Conscious of nothing beyond the -blood droning in my brain, I replied to my enemy: - -“Captain, I accept the conditions you have named.” - -Perhaps the man was not prepared for this, for his face grew painful in -its pallor, while the fire burned deeper in his eyes. - -“Madam,” says he, in a voice hardly to be endured. “I suppose you are -aware that this will ruin me?” - -“And you, sir,” I said, politely, “that I shall be damned eternally?” - -“Take a more cheerful view of it, dear lady,” he mockingly invited me. - -“Captain,” says I, “do you know that you most remind me of an angry -wasp? You are prepared to destroy yourself to gratify the lust of your -revenge.” - -Thus with these sweet speeches was our wooing done! - - - - -CHAPTER XVII. - -MORE ALARUMS AND EXCURSIONS. - - -CONCLUDING our compact in the quickest fashion, I went back to the -prisoner with the news. I chose to tell him simply that he was a free -man, and at liberty to go. No more; a very exact discretion being -needed to keep the arbitrary rogue apart from his heroic foibles. I was -also careful to announce his freedom in a tone of bald matter-of-fact, -as though the circumstance was the most natural in the world. Yet my -art was by no means equal to the work before it, as at the first word -the provoking fellow turned a sceptic’s eye upon me, and employed his -lips on a long and sustained whistle of amused amazement. - -“Zooks, madam!” says he, laughing, “you ought to succeed, you know. You -possess a very considerable invention. But my soul, what a front you’ve -got to bring me tales of this kind!” - -“Cease this,” says I, with an imperious gesture, “But go to your -chamber at once and change your attire, whilst I indite letters -commending you to the attention of some of my friends. Off now, ere the -Captain repents his clemency.” - -However, his incredulity was not to be overcome in this way, and point -blank he declined to budge. He was good enough to frankly repeat that -he did not believe me. And to my credit be it written, I retained my -temper tolerably well. My natural disposition had, I think, a severer -schooling in my early intercourse with this intractable youth than -in all the rest of its career. Not without benefit, perhaps, but I -marvelled at the time, and do so still that this irksome discipline -should have been so equally supported. - -To my stern demands and repeated protests he had only one answer to -return, and that not a whit politer than the one already mentioned. - -“However, I’ll see the Captain,” says he, at last. - -“Then do so, and be hanged to you!” cries I, my temper failing. - -But immediately the hasty speech was uttered, I strove to recall it. -Beyond all he must not hear of my compact with our subtle enemy, the -Captain, for I was certain that should he do so he would not permit it -to take effect. Yet I was unable to stay him in his impetuous course, -and therefore followed on his heels to the library with the best grace -I could summon. At critical moments I could at least forewarn the -Captain with my frowns. - -When I appeared the prisoner was already there, and had opened a raking -fire. - -“Captain,” he said, with what I took to be a mocking gleam at me, “her -ladyship asserts that you have promised her my freedom. Be good enough -to tell me, is that so?” - -“Her ladyship is perfectly correct,” he answered, and the mocking gleam -in his eye I also took to be directed at me. - -The prisoner paused at this and turned half round that he might -regard our guilty faces together. I can never say whether it was -that my colour changed ever so slightly, whether the faintest shade -of compunction crossed the Captain’s face, or whether the rebel was -supernaturally endowed with wit, but suddenly his eyes were kindled -with sparkles, and he turned almost savagely on me: - -“Madam,” he demanded, “what is the price that you are paying for this -privilege?” - -The sharp question pinned me helpless. And I was forced to recognise -that evasion, if still expedient, was no longer possible. There was -that power in him that tore the truth out of me, even as at an earlier -time it had torn it out of Mrs. Emblem. - -“I am to marry my dear friend, Captain Grantley,” I told him, coolly. - -He turned to that gentleman for a confirmation. It was promptly -conveyed to him by means of a nod and a laugh. - -“And you, sir, a subject of your King and a servant of his cause?” says -the prisoner, tauntingly. - -The Captain got up, smiling through his teeth. - -“If, sir,” says he, “you propose to preach a sermon on morality, I -shall be glad to reach the Bible down.” - -“Oh, pray don’t trouble,” said the rebel, suavely. “As your own -conduct, sir, happens to be my text, the Bible, of course, can -contribute little to the occasion. Besides, sir, my opinion of you as a -man can be delivered in about half a dozen words. You are, sir, in my -opinion, a pretty, full-blooded blackguard, and I think, sir, that for -persons of your kidney hanging is a luxury.” - -The Captain bent his head a little under these carefully planted blows. -But he remained wonderfully self-possessed and passionless. - -“Thank you, puppy,” he replied, making a scarcely noticeable step the -nearer to his foe, “but I think that your opinion, however valuable, is -not at all required. Therefore, puppy, I shall have to teach you that -there are occasions when it were wiser to restrain it.” - -And having uttered this in an absurdly calm and listless fashion the -Captain shot his fist out quicker than the eye could follow it, and ere -one might guess what had occurred, a horrid, heavy fall made the room -quake and set the furniture a rattling. Young Anthony was prone upon -the carpet with a faint streak of blood beginning to issue from his -neck. - -In an instant was I bending over him, and crying in my anguish: - -“Oh, my dear lad, you are not hurt!” - -At first he did not speak, being partly dazed with the concussion of -his fall, but before I could repeat the question, behold! he was on his -feet and springing at the Captain with the ardour of a lion. His enemy -was wary though, and prepared in every particular for this onslaught. -Armed with his crutch he received the charge full upon that weapon, -with farther disastrous consequences to the youth, who straightway -met the carpet for the second time. ’Twas then that I did intervene. -I ran between these combatants, and dared them on pain of unutterable -penalties to exchange another blow. - -“Confound you, Bab!” exclaimed the bleeding and breathless rebel. -“Confound you for a Spoilsport! Why don’t you let me pound your gentle -husband to a jelly!” - -“What, pound my gentle husband?” says I, “a pretty wife I’d be, I’m -thinking.” - -For an instant this way of looking at the matter administered a check -to his impetuosity, and by its aid I took occasion to beseech: - -“My lad, if you care for your life at all, go while the door is open -to you. Another blow will close it; aye, perhaps another word. Go, I -implore you.” - -“No,” says he, doggedly, “for the finest woman in all England I will -not go. Things have gone too far. Would you have me leave you at the -mercy of this nice gentleman? Let me kill him first, and then we will -talk about it.” - -He was quite cool now, and in full possession of the arrogant decision -that seemed such an embellishment to his character. Therefore he -stepped to the windows at the far end of the apartment, pulled -aside the curtains, and looked into the night. Immediately the white -moonlight fell upon the deeper pallor of his face. - -“See,” says he, turning to his enemy, “there’s light enough outside to -settle our little controversy. Swords or pistols, sir?” - -“Boots,” says the Captain, amiably; “I don’t fight with boys; I usually -kick them.” - -“Well, sir,” says the lad, “my situation is peculiar. I am your -prisoner, and at liberty on parole, but I ask you as a gentleman -whether it is likely that I shall swallow the insults of a private -person! What is your opinion, madam?” - -This was intended for diplomacy. It was plain that he wished me to -induce the Captain to fight, but the risks of that course appeared too -terrible by far for me to seize the opportunity. - -“Save your neck first,” was my answer, “then settle your private -quarrels.” - -“And you, madam, are you prepared to purchase my liberty with your -own?” says he. - -“I believe so,” says I, with an air of high indifference. “You foolish -boy, do you think it matters one farthing to a woman whom she marries, -so long as she is but able to marry someone? Now be a good lad, doff -those petticoats, wipe the blood from your neck where the Captain’s -ring hath scratched you, and start for the south without another word.” - -“No,” says he, “for that is the very last course I propose to take. -You shall never sacrifice yourself for me.” - -“Sacrifice!” cries I; “La! the complimentary creature. ’Twill be a -pleasure, I can promise you. Why, Captain, dear, we are to have a right -merry time together, are we not?” - -“Yes, a right merry time,” says the Captain, grimly. - -“Oh, indeed,” says Mr. Anthony. “Ah, well, I am glad to hear you -say so. For I’ll confess that I’ve had my doubts about it. Only I’m -thinking that when his Majesty grows cognisant of this he may seek to -mar the happiness of one of you at least.” - -“Depend upon it, sir,” I retorted, stoutly, “that he will not hear of -it.” - -I continued to be so insistent on his immediate flight, and at the same -time my determined attitude was so well served by the grim passiveness -of the Captain, that in the end compliance seemed to be the young -rebel’s only and inevitable course. And, to my great relief, this was -the one he ultimately took. - -“Well,” he exclaimed at last, “it’s plain that argument cannot avail.” - -“Not a little bit, sir,” I cheerily agreed. - -“Then,” says he, “I’ll go and change these clothes, while you write -those letters to your friends.” - -“You will find your masculine attire,” I said, with a sly twinkle for -the Captain, “up the chimney in your chamber, tied up in a cloth. When -the search was done we took them there from the wardrobe of my lord.” - -“I am hoping that the soot has not penetrated ’em,” says he, making the -most comic mouth. - -“Amen to that!” says I; “and now be off, sir.” - -With that dismissal he left the library for his sleeping chamber, -whilst I, craving the due permission of the Captain, sat down at the -writing table before pen and paper, and set about my part of the -transaction. - -The best portion of an hour passed in the scratching of the quill with -intervals of perilous desultory talk. I was in the most hateful frame -of mind. Its alternate flutterings of hope and fear were very irksome. -The lad seemed to be playing fair, and yet I knew that nothing was more -unreasonable to expect, of a character like his, than that he should be -content to leave me in the lurch, when that very night he had had so -clear an indication of my feelings. And yet, I reflected, the shadow of -the scaffold is powerful indeed. Poor wretch, torn betwixt the vigorous -animal’s love of life, and instincts of a higher kind! I weighed the -matter with such a singular mingling of emotions, that I felt I should -detest young Anthony if he left me to my fate, and yet should curse him -for his folly if he refused his proffered freedom. During that hour of -suspense the devil enjoyed himself, I think. Ten times I dismissed the -matter by an energetic usage of the quill, yet ten times did it return -upon me, with now and then a quiet jibe of my smiling enemy’s thrown -in to bear it company. - -After dashing off several letters in this savage manner, I looked -up to consult the timepiece. It was five minutes short of three -o’clock of the morning, and I began to grow impatient for the -fugitive’s departure. The dawn would be here all too soon, and with -it many perils. Each instant of delay was begrudged him by my mind’s -inquietude. Soon, however, I heard footsteps in the hall, but the first -feelings of relief that these occasioned were changed immediately -into those of profound dismay. For there was a sound of voices too. -A second later the door was opened, and thereupon the sight that met -my eyes nearly made me swoon. Two persons entered. The first was the -prisoner, in his masculine attire; the second, sparsely clad in a -shirt, breeches, and stockings, hurriedly put on, was of all persons -Corporal Flickers. I can never forget the rage and horror I endured, -while the Corporal, who appeared by no means wholly awake, crammed his -knuckles into his eyes to rub out the remains of his sleep, and protect -them against the lamp glare. At first the two soldiers were too amazed -to say a word; I was too afflicted; and the prisoner alone seemed able -to break the oppressive silence. - -“Bab,” says he, “you must forgive me for this, but you would persevere -in your headlong folly, and I had to thwart you somehow. I could never -have allowed you to pay the grievous price you had intended.” - -“What do you mean?” I cried. “Do not tell me that you have delivered -yourself voluntarily into the hands of your enemies!” - -He hung his head in silence before the indignation of my glance. - -“Ingrate,” I cried, “thus to thwart and to betray me.” - -“The price was too great,” he said, doggedly, but the fear in his eyes -was unmistakable. Meantime, Corporal Flickers had found his tongue, and -was now engaged in giving the peculiar history of the capture to his -commander. - -“It’s God’s truth, sir, that that’s the rebel,” he began, in a tone -that implied that he was trying hard to set all his own doubts at rest -upon that point. Rubbing his eyes with renewed vigour, he repeated: -“Yes, sir, that’s ’im, I’ll take my solemn oath. But it’s passing funny -how I took ’im. I was asleep in my room and a-dreamin’ of my Mary, when -I feels a hand quite sudding like upon my arm. At that I cocks up my -eyes, and sees a light afore me, and a man’s figger a-bending across my -bed. Like blue blazes, sir, I leaps to my feet, for I sees it is the -rebel, and I takes ’im by ’is throat. But he was the most accommodatin’ -rebel that you ever saw, for he stood quiet as a mouse, and says that -I had done exactly what he had wakened me to do, for he was tired of -being hunted for his life, and would I bring him straight to you, sir. -I told ’im I would an’ all, and I done it lively, as you can see, sir, -for I only stayed to put my breeches and my shirt on. But atween you -an’ me, sir, though we’re all assembled here, sir, and a-talking as -natural as ninepence as it were, it won’t surprise me much, sir, if I -wakes up in the matter of half an hour and finds that I’m asleep, for -everything seems that outrageous like that the more I think on it the -less I can understand it. For what I asks is this: Is that the rebel -that I see afore me or is it ’is counterfeit presentiment? And anyhow, -sir, since that business o’ the woods I can’t be sure of ’im at all, -sir, for in my opinion he’s a bit of a soopernatural as it were.” - -“You are quite right, Corporal,” I interposed. “He’s a supernatural -fool.” - -All this time the chieftest actor in this play, the Captain, had not -said a word beyond a little hollow praise of the Corporal’s sagacity -and promptitude. Seen under the lamp his face presented the most -ghastly and piteous appearance. False to his cause, false to himself, -the dupe of his own passion, the slave of his own weakness, I began -to conceive a great compassion for him, and a horror of my own -callousness. As for the rebel, now that his headstrong folly had robbed -him of his last chance of escape, all hope became abandoned. It was as -much as ever I could do to prevent my anger and sorrow mastering my -spirit and giving way to a flood of passionate tears. All our strivings -to end miserably thus! It was only the severest discipline that -could allow me to endure it defiantly. And yet though his own wilful -act was to drag him to an ignominious death, I could but reverence -his character the more deeply for its natural courage. The wretched -fellow’s audacious strength had forged yet another bond about my heart. - -Presently the Captain dismissed the Corporal, and thereby held himself -responsible for his prisoner’s safe keeping. - -“I can also bid you good-night, madam, or, rather, good-morning,” the -Captain says. “The day has been most arduous for you, and I am sure you -need some recuperation.” - -“You are very kind,” says I. - -Knowing that all was hopeless now, and that neither prayers nor tears -could prevail against the prisoner’s scruples, I decided to retire. - -“You will not be gone for some hours yet,” I said as I opened the door. - -“One of us may,” the Captain said. - -Had I been in a brighter frame of mind I should have perhaps heeded -this mysterious speech more closely, and found in it a prophecy of -that which followed. But I went dismally to bed without thinking of -its import. Despite the extremity of the hour, I found Emblem the -picture of woe, sitting beside the fire in my chamber. Her customary -smiling prettiness was faded with weeping; she hung her head, and rose -on my entrance with a peculiar frightened air. Clasping her hands, she -whispered: - -“They’ve ta’en him, my lady.” - -“And a very right thing, too,” says I. - -“But will they not carry him to London to be hanged?” she asked, -seeking for hope where hope was not. - -“I am trusting so,” says I, so cheerfully that my tears began to flow. - -I soon came to the conclusion that my mood forbade repose, and -therefore, instead of undressing and attempting to obtain a -much-to-be-desired sleep, I dismissed poor Emblem, cast a cloak round -my shoulders, took a chair by the hearth, and settled there for the -remainder of the night, to doze, to think, and to repine. - -However, this plan did not answer. It only induced a sickening course -of meditation that was less endurable than the foulest nightmare. No -matter what my posture, my agonies of mind grew unsupportable, and -at last I cast the cloak off wearily, got up, and began to pace the -chamber. It was while I was thus wrestling with my pains that I heard -the far silence of the house disturbed by the closing of doors below. -By the weight of the sounds and the jangling of the chains I presumed -them to be those of the great hall, and as my window commanded the -whole frontage of lawn and gravel sweep, I promptly pulled aside the -curtains. Lanterns were twinkling immediately below, and by their aid -and that of the clear-shining moon I was able to read the identity -of two persons issuing from the house. They were the Captain and his -prisoner, walking side by side across the lawn in a south-westerly -direction. They were heading for the open meadows, and appeared -perfectly amicable and to be talking in low tones; but the briskness -of their pace and their air of strung activity proclaimed that they -had some definite end in view. For the moment I had not the remotest -notion what this end could be, but while I stood at gaze and musing to -discover it, a horrible idea crept into my brain. Surely nothing could -be more unnatural than two sworn enemies working harmoniously together -towards a common end, if that end was peace? But was it peace? In a -convulsion of alarm I recalled the incidents of that hateful night, -and amongst them was the calculated blow which surely the prisoner was -the last man in the world to take with meekness. I then remembered the -Captain’s prophetic “One of us may,” and at once attached to it a most -sinister significance. Having reached this dark conclusion, my first -desire was to defeat their wicked purposes. I cloaked myself at once -for another night excursion, and having done so stole down the stairs -as formerly, opened the great hall door with wondrous care, then peered -ahead to discern the course of the receding lanterns. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII. - -IN WHICH THE CAPTAIN’S COMEDY IS PLAYED. - - -I COULD see them clearly. They were now some distance to the left, -apparently in the middle of the first home meadow. Thither I bent my -course across wet turf in the piercing night, but with heed for nought -save those baleful lanterns. For now I was never more convinced of -anything than that these foes had come abroad to settle once for all -their long account. By the rapidity with which I drew nearer to the -lights, I concluded that their bearers had halted, probably to choose -their battleground. Instinctively feeling this to be the case, I broke -into a run. Clearing the lawn, leaping pell-mell across the grotto at -its margin, and skirting the artificial lake, I emerged into the open -field. It was so well lit by the bright moon, riding through white -cloud, that I could see enough to confirm my coldest fears. - -The lanterns were now reposing on the grass, while each man stood -beside his own, perhaps at a distance of a dozen paces. They seemed to -be fearlessly erect, and absolutely resolute, and this in itself was -enough to prove that only death was likely to end their duel. Ere I -had time to cry out, or even to overcome the first paralysis of the -fear that held me, one of them, who by his breadth of figure I knew to -be the Captain, raised his right hand slowly. At that, although the -actual time of the whole affair could not have exceeded half a minute, -such tricks can terror play upon us that the entire strength appeared -to ooze slowly from my body, as though a surgeon had opened one of my -vital arteries and was bleeding me to death by slow degrees. And the -instant the Captain’s hand went up, I stopped through arrant horror -and that dreadful sense of sheer incompetence that afflicts one in a -nightmare. I made one attempt to scream out to them, but my throat -seemed useless, and my voice resembled the feeble croakings of a frog. -Before I could make another, there came a sound like a mastiff’s bay, -and in the most cold, convulsive terror I put my hands before my eyes. -They must have been still there, I think, and my eyes have turned to -stone, for to this day I swear that I never saw the second and the -fatal shot, and, still stranger, actually did not hear it. But when my -vision cleared I thought I saw one man prone beside his lantern, and -the other bending over him. - -The die cast, and the deed accomplished, my limbs resumed their proper -office and I was able to proceed. Fate had intervened already, the -worst had happened, the tragedy was consummated. The actual fact is -ever easier to support than the suspense of it. While I ran to the -scene of the murder, with my heart grown too big for my body, and -apparently bursting through my side, so complete was the illusion -played by terror upon my several senses, that I was absolutely sure -that it was the prisoner who was hit, that I had lost a lover, and that -the world had lost a hero. - -When I arrived breathless upon the battleground, the survivor was -kneeling still beside his fallen foe, and appeared to be feeling at his -breast. But death ever wears an aspect that is wholly unmistakable, and -the lad fully extended on his face, hands straight by his side, and his -form prone beneath the ghastly moon, told me all too surely that the -life had gone out of him for ever. Without a word I also fell upon my -knees beside the corpse, and took one of the dead man’s hands within my -own. The murderer, still kneeling the other side of the body, appeared -to raise his face and look at me, and then he cried in a voice of -hoarse astonishment: - -“You?” - -I did not answer, but still nursed the dead man’s hand, almost without -knowing that I did so, such strange things does passion do. - -“Lady Barbara,” he said, in a voice quite unendurable to my ears. - -“Do not speak,” I whispered, “I cannot bear to hear you speak.” - -“Lady Barbara,” he said again. - -“God curse you!” I muttered through shut teeth. - -“He was my enemy,” he croaked in a voice I could not recognise. - -“Oh, that I should have loved him!” I cried out wildly. “Why did you -not put a bullet through this heart of mine?” - -And then without further heed of him I continued to embrace the dead -man’s hand, and knelt there with it in my desperate grasp, oblivious of -everything but the dreadful still passionate agony of sorrow that held -me. I was conscious of nothing, not even of the slow passing of the -hours, not even of the cruel biting of the cold--nay, not even that the -murderer had slunk from me away into the night, that friend of murder, -and that I and my lover were alone. - -How long I was the victim of this impotence I cannot tell, but at -last I grew aware that the dawn had touched my eyes, and that with it -light and sanity had returned. Truly day is the source of reason. Had -the pitch of night continued for ever, for ever I must have stayed -by the couch of my cold lover. But broad day was too bright and bold -and fearless to countenance for an instant the madness of grief my -bereaved heart was craving to wreak upon itself. Therefore I rose, -stiff and numb with my perishing wintry vigil, and turned my face -towards the house. But with daylight to incite it, it was most strange -how instantly my sleeping blood woke, and how soon my mind was restored -to its fullest faculty. Once more could I think--yea act; whilst -presently my eyes forgot the moonlight and the dead man’s form, and -grew sensitive to detail. There were the pistols covered with hoar, and -the burnt-out lanterns cold beside them. Scarce three paces from me was -the murderer’s crutch, and yet more strangely his gold-laced hat with -the king’s cockade upon it. Verily this was mystery. How he could have -made off with his damaged knee unsupported required to be explained, -while his discarded hat was not the less to be remarked. It is probable -that my reawakened senses, rejoicing in their new activity, discovered -a latent fascination in the scene. For, certain it is, that I turned -back out of the purest curiosity to observe the enlightened aspect of -the corpse. - -It had the uniform, the shape, the entire semblance of Captain -Grantley! A fit of very violent trembling seized me at that sight, -and for the first time in my life, I think, I lost the almost joyous -self-confidence that was wont to make me the equal of the most -infinite occasion. But after the first spasm of terror and surprise, -bald daylight, and the assurance of my natural disposition, asserted -themselves determinedly. Whatever the stress and agony of the night, -whatever the morbid hysteria that had so long corrupted me, and the -awful pangs I had undergone, I was certain that now I was absolute -mistress of my mind. It was impossible that my vision could be -distorted now; I was compelled to believe the evidence of my eyes. - -Captain Grantley was lying on his face, presumably with a bullet -through his heart, for there was a blotch of black upon his bright -military coat, to indicate the manner of his death. I could see little -of his countenance, yet quite enough of it to identify him plainly. -Despite the slight distortion his features had undergone in the throes -of death, there was no ground for doubt that it was the Captain’s body -that lay stone cold in the grass. There was his figure, his uniform, -his powdered hair, his large, fat nose, and the heavy bandages around -one knee to convince me that I had been a most pitiable fool. What a -passionate grief had I lavished on a foe! And yet, poor wretch--poor -wretch! We forgive all things to the dead. - -It was now that my feelings underwent a very wonderful revulsion. -The knowledge that, after all, it was our declared enemy who was -dead, and that the man, my lover, whom he had hunted so long and so -remorselessly, was alive and at large, reinspired me with energy and -hope. A vision of freedom for the fugitive and a consummation of that -which I so ardently desired, took me to the house with the swiftness of -the wind. If young Anthony had had the folly not to seize his chance of -escape already, it remained for me to make him do so. - -When I arrived the household was astir. Two of the Captain’s men -stood talking on the lawn with faces of much gravity. It was plain -that the absence of their leader was already known, but judging by -their demeanour I thought it scarcely likely that they had heard the -tidings of his end. As I entered the hall, my thoughts were wholly -for the prisoner. Had he escaped? Or was he retaken? Unhappily these -questions were not unanswered long. Repairing straightway to the -library, I discovered the rebel in the custody of Corporal Flickers -and two men. He was seated at a table in the Captain’s chair with all -the nonchalance so peculiar to him, teasing his captors, and sipping -cherry brandy in gentle quantities to reanimate his blood. There seemed -a touch of the sublime in the calm manner in which he bowed to fate. - -“Perhaps her ladyship can tell us,” says the Corporal, regarding my -appearance with great eagerness. “What’s happened to the Capting, -ma’am? Is it right that this ere slip o’ hell’s a-corpsed ’im.” - -“My dear man,” says I, with the most flattering suavity, and a pretty -considerable cunning also, “if you will just step into the home meadow, -you will discover for yourself your commander’s desperate disposition.” - -“Ha, ladyship!” the Corporal answered, with a grin, “I’m a rather -oldish bird, you see. I’ve met your sort afore, my lady. You’ll take -care o’ the prisoner, won’t you, while we goes and has a look?” - -“Certainly,” says I, a thought sardonically perhaps, “I shall be only -too happy to take care of him.” - -“Then you won’t,” says Mr. Corporal, with a leer, “and that’s a moral. -Don’t you think so, William?” - -William thought it was. - -From this it will be seen that though the Corporal might be furnished -with slightly less intelligence than his dead commander, he was not the -less determined foe. - -All this time the prisoner had not received me with a single word. -This was hardly to be unlooked for in the light of late events. But -my brain was still in such a flutter of bewilderment regarding the -awful passages in the meadow, that at first it found no reason for his -taciturnity, and was inclined to resent it deeply. Having broken a -lance with Mr. Flickers, I devoted my attentions to the lad. - -“Well,” I bitterly began, “you have made another pretty hash of things. -You are able to defeat a gold-laced captain, and one whom I believe to -be as skilled an officer as any in the service of his Majesty, and yet -permit a twopenny Corporal to take you.” - -“Did you not call on God to curse me?” he said in a dreadful voice. - -In a flash I saw in what light he had viewed my egregious behaviour. -Surely it was not to be supposed that he had divined that I was the -victim of the bitterest delusion! That being the case it was only -possible for him to put one interpretation on my attitude, and that -the most blighting to his dignity and his happiness. I saw that the -mischief must be immediately repaired. - -“Corporal,” says I, “I must ask you and your men to withdraw to the -other side the door. I have something of great privacy to communicate -to Mr. Dare.” - -But the Corporal seemed disinclined to move. I understood his muttered -reply to be to the effect that he knew his business thoroughly, and -further, that he had encountered my kind before. However, I put such -majesty in my look, and opened him the door with such an air, that he -did my behests against the counsels of his judgment, for soldiers, of -all men, cannot prevail against those accustomed to command. - -In a few words, then, I calmed the riot in young Anthony. And when he -saw what had been my error, and what had been his own, his eyes began -to sparkle, and the sunshine came into his face. - -“On my soul!” he cried, “I thought you could not be quite the she-devil -that you seemed.” And then with a tender gravity at the remembrance of -his impending doom: “Bab, I wish I could live and love you. I should be -a model of a husband, and we’d make a pretty handsome pair.” - -“Well,” says I, fascinated with the bravery of his countenance, “I’ve -the very greatest mind to make a husband of you. You are the most -wonderfully handsome lad, and headstrong too, and that’s why I so -encourage you.” - -“I wish there was no Tyburn Tree,” says he, with wistfulness. - -Thereupon I gathered all my inches up. - -“Tree or no Tree,” says I, “I am going to make a declaration of my -policy. Day or night I will not cease in my endeavours. Only keep a -stout, cheerful heart, child, and I will show you what devotion is. -I’ll bully or persuade, intrigue or ruffle it, but what I’ll save you. -I will browbeat the King, my lad, and pass a special law in Parliament, -but what you shall escape the Tree. Now here’s my hand on that, and -mind you do not quiver until the rope is interfering with your breath.” - -This was braggadocio indeed, and designed maybe to brace my poor spirit -up to the high fortitude that was his own. And yet, God knows, my -ultimatum was sincere, and the hapless captive took it so to be. - -Having thus decided on our future course, the lad suddenly fell again -to gravity. - -“I suppose you do not know,” says he, “that your friend the Captain met -his end by murder?” - -“Impossible,” says I, “it was a duel fought according to the laws; -and that I’ll swear to, because I witnessed it. And furthermore, the -Captain had first shot, and therefore the greater opportunity.” - -“It was none the less a murder, as I have subsequently learnt,” he -says, “and I can give you the murderer’s name.” - -“His name is not Anthony Dare, I know,” I answered stoutly. - -“No, her name is my Lady Barbara Gossiter.” - -“What do you mean?” I demanded with an anger that his brutal plainness -had provoked. - -“Do you see this little bullet on my palm?” says he. - -“Well, what have I to do with that?” I asked, “and what has that to do -with murder?” - -“Alas! too much,” says he. “On returning from the fight I had the -misfortune to discover this bullet on this very library carpet, and -I wish I could misread its meaning, madam, but that I cannot do; and -I’ll show you why I cannot. We settled all the details in this room -ere we started for the field. You know, of course, that the fight was -forced upon me by the intolerable conduct of the man; but you do not -know that he insisted on us firing at twelve paces to make the aim more -positive. Nor do you know that he tried by all means in his power to -concede the first shot to me, and that when I refused to do other than -allow the falling of the coin to dictate it, he looked to the contents -of his loaded weapon. Certainly I never guessed that I was to shoot an -undefended adversary, but had the thought but come into my mind I could -certainly have found some premonitions. Seeing me a trifle pale, he -begged me to be quite at my ease, as he knew, he said, that he should -be the only one to fall. And further, he wrote this hasty note, and -made me promise that when he perished, according to his prophecy, I -would deliver this immaculately into your hands. And now have I done -so.” - -Forthwith he concluded his singular but solemn statement, which had -evidently wrought upon his mind to a grave degree, by submitting a -sealed missive to my care. With trembling fingers I tore it open, and -feverishly read its contents. It said: - - “My Dear Madam,--Looking at my sad case with what eyes I may, I find - that I cannot be allowed to exist another day as an honourable man. - I am a traitor to my king, and in so being have committed a crime - against my own soul. Whatever his Majesty in his clemency may think - fit to do, this is a fault I cannot pardon in myself. My dear madam, - I must beg you to believe that I do not advertise this to you that - I may wound your delicacies or give you one solitary pang; but in - the interests of my weak brethren I implore you, as an old friend, - not to employ those marvellous advantages Nature has given you for - the advancement of your private purposes. It is not just, nor is it - worthy of the innate humanity of your character. But I will do you at - least the kindness to admit that even in this melancholy case of mine - my death this morning will add yet another lustre to your terrible, - triumphant name. And now, my dear madam, permit me to give you a - simple but cordial farewell; my comedy is played. - - J. G. - “_Post Scriptum._--This paper is delivered into the care of your - lover, who, by the way, is so proper a youth that I pray you to deal - gently with him. - - J. G.” - -I read this subtly-phrased epistle with a burning face, and then read -it for the second time, perhaps to discover some mitigation in the -severity of the harsh indictment. But no; his death was at my door, and -something of a cold fear crept into my soul. - -Presently I gave the paper to my lover, and told him to acquaint -himself therewith. - -“My lad,” says I, “I believe that I have slain a very admirable man.” - -Having read the dead man’s words, he tossed the paper from him, and -eyed me fiercely with the most indignant face. - -“Bab,” he said, “I hate you for this! His blood is most surely on your -head; and it would be but common justice if his corpse still haunts you -o’ nights when you are a fear-ridden hag of a hundred winters.” - -I made no answer to his blame, for remorse was poisoning my heart. - -“Yes,” says he, “this was a very proper man. But cheer up, Bab, for -when all is claimed, I think that you are a very proper woman too, -and I am going to forgive you for your wickedness.” Thereupon he rose -briskly from his chair, came to my side, and kissed me right properly, -with never a sign of ceremonial. I was in no condition to reprove his -impudent assumption, and perhaps had I been, I might have found it -scarcely possible to do so, for his behaviour was the most wonderful -proof, I thought, of his magnanimity. - -“Now cheer up, Bab,” he said; “but I wish that you damned women would -keep your claws more regularly trimmed. You are just like soft, tame, -pretty pussycats, that go a-hunting the dear harmless birds. You will -not keep your paws down; you love to flesh ’em; and, well, if you slay -the dear harmless creature, the dear harmless creature’s slain, and -there’s an end on’t. You are sure that you did not mean to do it, and -it’s a great pity that you did, and had you thought it would have torn -it so, sure you would not a done it for a golden pound. But as he’s -dead let his end be dignified, so put down twopence for some masses for -his soul!” - -“You may gibe,” said I, miserably, “but I would that I were not the -wicked wretch I am!” - -And I sat down tearful, and in a truly repentant mind, for I could not -rid my brain of the unholy image of that poor, pale man stark upon the -meadow sward. - -“His death was prettier than ever was his life,” said Anthony, still -musing on the tragic theme. “For at least he sold his country.” - -“But at what cost did he cede it?” I demanded fiercely. “And who -spurred him to the deed?” - -“That is what I never will enquire,” says he; and the pledge -accompanying this sweet speech was of such a gentle consolation that -rapture softened my keenest pangs. - -Until that moment I did not know what a tender and a faithful heart -might do. ’Twas good to feel that a man was mine who could recognise -my crime, and yet was strong enough to pardon me for its commission. -But like the very female creature that I surely am, I did not pause to -consider then that this crime had been committed for the sake of the -hero who had condoned it with such a lordly magnanimity. - - - - -CHAPTER XIX. - -I SUFFER GREAT ADVERSITY. - - -OF our cruel parting I shall speak little. During the forenoon the -soldiers buried their commander in the rude military way. Few were -the honours that attended him, and perhaps fewer still the tears. But -mine were with him, and also a remorse that I have never yet outlived. -That he deserved to die, even as he did, I know; for the world has no -room for weakness in a man, and, verily, this poor Captain was the -very slave of his. And yet!--was there not ever the great “And yet!” -attached to this poor man’s character? His mind was powerful, and -better far, his heart was true. He would have been a fitting guardian -for the finest woman of us all; a tender lover, an unswerving friend, -wise, temperate, of the cream of chivalry withal. I had slain a very -pretty man to gain my private ends--I, who in my ignorance had declared -that the world held no men whatever! - -At two of the clock that afternoon the soldiers started on their London -journey with the prisoner in their care. The admonition that I gave to -my young lover was of this nature: - -“Child, do not despair until you are writhing in the rope. I, Bab -Gossiter, have sworn to save you, and you know my power. I will -accost the King; I will browbeat his Justices; I will intimidate -his Parliament rather than you shall grin through a halter at the -dirty populace. Remember that I love you, and that love unaided can -overthrow the devil. Be of good heart then, and continue in that most -excellent way of yours of taking a quart of old ale and a solid pound -of rump steak to your breakfast. As for your prayers, I would have -you invariably conclude ’em in this manner: ‘And, O God, do you bless -my dearest Bab, for she has sworn to deliver me from this most horrid -prison, that she may make a right proper husband of me to the end that -my state may be exchanged to a sweeter bondage than this present one.’” - -At these words his fine eyes danced with a laugh which said how -inflexible his courage was. Afterwards he mounted his horse and rode -towards the moors in the society of his captors. As his form receded -slowly among the trees, and my spirits ceased to be encouraged by his -robust bearing and the jaunty waving of his hat, an impending cloud -blotted the December sun and darkened the whole of earth. - -It was then I felt my heart sink. Only for a moment though, for the -high buoyancy of its resolves was sufficient to support it. There was -work to do, and work, I take it, is the true elixir, the secret of -everlasting energy. In order to repress my tears, and to defeat a very -natural tendency to such-like female squeamishness, I began at once to -prosecute the matter. - -The Earl, my papa, was the earliest victim of this fanatical -determination. Poor Anthony had not left the place an hour ere I -repaired to the apartment of his lordship. The dear, good old gentleman -was exactly in the posture that I had anticipated seeing him; to wit, -he was propped up in cushions beside the fire, with divers cellarets -of liquor at a little table ready to his hand, of which he was for -the nonce utterly unheedful, having a nicer dissipation to enjoy. A -handkerchief was spread across his face, and right lustily was he -snoring, this being the hour of his post-prandial nap, a performance he -undertook far more religiously than he ever did his prayers. - -“Wake up, my dear,” says I, for my eagerness was such that it would -brook delay from none. Therefore I flicked away his lordship’s -handkerchief, and with my little finger did tickle tenderly his ancient -chin. - -“Go ’way, you flies!” he grunted, “and damn you!” - -However, his nose being presently attacked, the old gentleman’s -annoyance grew so imperative that he shook his face, and was just -about to fall into a great volubility of language, when his eyes came -open, and the sight of me immediately curtailed it. For the politest -man of his time was out of his chair bowing and apologising ere one -might wink, expressing with his hand over his heart his delight at my -appearance, and his sincere appreciation of the honour that a visit -from my fair self conferred upon him. - -“And, my dearest lady,” he concluded, rubbing his drowsy eyes, “if -there is one thing you would have me perform, I shall esteem it a -privilege to perform it, for at this moment you behold me quite as much -as formerly the servant--nay, the slave--of beauty, youth, wisdom and -wit. But first, dear madam, I beseech you to accept a chair.” - -“Papa,” says I, plunging straight into the business that had brought -me, “I have a few surprises for you. First, I think you are acquainted -with the name of a certain Mr. Dare, a very arrant rebel?” - -“I am,” says he, “and to my sorrow.” - -“Well, my lord,” says I, “they have now reta’en this person, and he is -bound for Tyburn even now.” - -“Very glad indeed to hear it,” says my lord, right heartily. “And -had this been the case a week ago, I should have been spared some -shattering of sleep.” - -The old gentleman here regarded me with a singular twinkling keenness -that required great sturdiness to meet. - -“Very nice of you, my lord, to cherish such sentiments as these towards -my future husband,” says I, with the most brazen boldness. - -“Your future what!” cries out my lord, jumping up as though some imp -had stuck a pin into his chair. - -“My future husband,” says I, winningly. - -For the best part of a minute a highly comic silence took him. His brow -was puckered into creases, as is the way when one is seeking for a jest -that is concealed. - -“Ha! ha!” he crackled presently, “very good jest indeed, my dear, very -good indeed!” - -“I am sure I am charmed, my lord, that you appreciate it,” I says, “but -I have my doubts whether this affair is quite such a jest for poor -young Mr. Anthony.” - -“Not if you marry him, I daresay,” says his lordship naughtily. - -“Well, my lord,” says I, “just to be as brief as possible, I desire you -to see his Majesty at once and procure my future husband’s pardon.” - -My lord took forth a red silk handkerchief and slowly wiped his wig. - -“This comes of excessive beauty in a daughter,” he commented. “Lord, -’tis a mercy to have ’em plain. My dear child, go and put a powder in -your milk and sleep off this attack. Frankly, I do not like it. Or -stay, shall I send for Paradise? It were well, perhaps, an your tongue -were instantly inspected.” - -“Papa,” says I, with awful gravity, “you appear to forget that the -first duty of a parent is to be obedient. I command you, sir, to get -you to town by to-morrow morning’s mail.” - -“’Pon my soul and honour!” coughed his lordship, “this is really----” - -“My lord,” says I, “must I repeat that I command you? I love young -Anthony, and therefore am I going to marry him.” - -“He has a birth, of course?” says this wriggling aristocrat. - -“Not he,” says I, “left one night on the doorstep of a priory. -Doubtless a bastard of the gutter scum. Even his name is not his own. -Hath no more than threepence-halfpenny and a pair of ragged breeches to -his fortune. Hath stood in prison several times and adorned the pillory -and the whipping post on various occasions. In short, my lord, he is -the sauciest rogue that ever kissed a maid against her inclination. -And, faith, I believe the very raggedest.” - -“And you say you are going to marry him?” - -“My lord, I have sworn to marry him.” - -“But, my dear lady, this is really too preposterous. I think you had -better talk it over with your aunt.” - -The unexpected mention of that dame was perilously like cold water to -my courage. But a little fortitude overcame my qualms. - -“No need to appeal to the family, my lord,” I said, with arrogance; “I -don’t care fourpence for ’em, and never did. As for the dowager, my -aunt, I hate her; and I am indulging in great hopes that this miserable -match will make her very ill.” - -“But, my dearest girl, I beseech you to condescend to a little reason.” - -“Oh, if it comes to reason, sir,” I blithely reassured him, “I have -sufficient reason to advance with which to endow two sciences.” - -“We’ll hear it, then, under your permission.” - -“It’s simply that I love the man, my lord. He’s the finest lad you ever -saw; a person of tenacity and kindness, of sagacity and courage, of -simplicity and wit. He would die for me to-morrow, yet he would correct -me in an error, and have the magnanimity to forgive me for a crime. -In short, my lord, he is the very husband I’ve been pining for this -five-and-twenty years, and, my lord, let me tell you in confidence that -this is the husband that I am going to marry an I must burn Newgate -to the ground to achieve the consummation. He’s as sparkling as the -sunshine, and keen as the shrewd east wind.” - -“But insufficient in his pedigree,” my lord groaned, and it was really -ridiculously piteous to witness his drawn white countenance. - -“My dearest Bab,” says he, directly, and with a simple gentleness that -was appealing, “pray allow me to give you a little counsel. I pray you -for heaven’s sake dismiss this folly! I beg you to abstain from so -terrible an error.” - -“Papa,” says I, curtly, “I have a chin.” And out I jutted it, and -dipped my forefinger in the dimple in it, which dimple is worth about -two thousand sighs a year, they tell me. - -“Yes,” says his lordship, sadly, “you _have_ a chin. It was bequeathed -you by your late mamma. She was the celebrated lady who on one occasion -did box the ears of the Prince of Wales. I believe that on one or two -occasions also she interfered with mine. A very pearl of women, mind, -with the beauty of an angel, but she could be a domestic terror if she -chose.” - -“But, my lord, I understand that if she so much as held her little -finger up, you were wonderful docile and obedient.” - -“I was never guilty of the discourtesy of thwarting a woman in her -whims.” - -“And in your age you will not be so, I am certain, else the world will -say you are arrived at your decrepitude,” I cunningly replied. - -“You really think they will?” his lordship gasped. - -“I am as certain of it as I am uncertain of my future state,” says -I, with fervour. “And if you order the chaise for twenty after six -to-morrow, you will catch the nine o’clock from York with ease.” - -“’Tis horrible cold at that unseasonable hour these winter mornings,” -says the old man, nervously. - -“The journey will do you more good than six physicians,” says I, -with the sturdiest conviction. “And when his Majesty receives so old -a friend, tears of joy will fill his eyes; and when he learns the -exceeding mercy of the errand that hath brought you, his compassion for -you will be such, that ’pon my soul I think he’ll weep upon your neck. -And I believe he’ll lend us the Royal Chapel to be married in. And -faith, my lord, what if he gave away the bride!” - -The dear old gentleman, who never could find it in his heart to deny -us women anything, was visibly shaken by my ruddy eloquence and the -excited flashing of my eyes. - -“But these winter mornings are most harsh towards us men of middle -age,” says he. - -“My dear papa,” says I, “your years sit so neatly on you that it is -the height of affectation for you to claim the least infirmity. Now I -will see that you retire at nine o’clock this evening; I will have your -man prepare your baggage, and see that he puts a water-bottle in the -chaise. Leave everything to me, my dear papa, and depend upon it you -shall start for town at twenty after six to-morrow, as blithely as you -did upon your wedding morning. But, sir, there is one thing that you -must promise me: not a word to my most admirable aunt. A long course of -theology and smelling salts hath perverted the original poetry of her -soul.” - -His lordship promised gallantly, but quite as much, I think, from a -fear of Lady Caroline as from his natural disposition to oblige me. -Having once wrung a kind of tottering consent from the old, reluctant -gentleman, I was at great pains to keep him to his word. I planned -everything relating to his journey with the greatest perspicacity and -promptitude, nor did I omit to advise his lordship of the fact. But -I had to confess to my private mind that my faith was not too great -in my ambassador, who, from age and his habit of indolence, might -not conduct my cause with a liveliness that would readily sway his -Majesty. Therefore I took a piece of paper and drew up the heads of -what I considered his behaviour ought to be in the presence of the -King, and hoped that as they were so explicitly recorded he would duly -follow them. The paper ran, I think, somewhat to this tenour: Obtain -audience after his Majesty hath dined, for the sake of his temper’s -condition--inquire after his health with concern--if it be strong -let your solicitude be quite visible; if it be weak tell him in a -hearty voice that you never saw him looking better in his life, and -that you never knew a doctor yet who was not a fool providing he was -not a rogue. Casually introduce the beauty and the amiability of his -children; if his Majesty attempt a jest laugh heartily, if he undertake -a story, do not by any chance have heard it previously, and encourage -him with your applause long before it culminates; if he adventure a -pun, flick forth your handkerchief to take away appreciative tears; if -he be glum, avoid theology and politics; if he offer snuff, accept the -most moderate of pinches (he is a Guelph, you know), and be horribly -careful that you do not drop a grain on the carpet or his breeches; -be charmed with the rarity and the beauty of the box, and if it prove -a present from the Queen comment on the chastity of her taste--if you -carry a better in your fob do not exhibit it; tell him casually that -your daughter Bab is devoted to him, and contrive to let him know what -the poets think about _her_ (even kings cannot withstand the devotion -of fair women)--tell him that she has five pictures of him to adorn -her chamber, then pave the way with compliments and caution for the -business of your visit. - -I insisted on his lordship’s retiring that evening very early, and -after a pretty moderate potation. Having bribed his man to have his -master wound up and set in motion at an hour that astonished him, I -retired also. The following morning at the stroke of five I was in the -hands of Emblem, and a little later was personally superintending the -departure of my emissary. Long before my aunt appeared at eight o’clock -I had got my lord upon his journey. - -You may divine with what impatience I awaited his return. I might be -distrustful of his years, but regarding the considerable figure that -he made at Court, and the power he wielded, I never entertained a -doubt. Besides, he had a tact quite wonderful in a man, and a power -of soft persuasion that was irresistible as a music. And I knew the -dear good soul to be devoted to me, and incapable of thwarting my most -unreasonable whims. - -An intolerable fortnight passed before my lord was back again. He had -hardly time to doff his travelling suit ere I was besieging him with my -anxious questions. But it was very sad news he brought me. - -“My dear child,” he told me, tenderly, “I wish to spare you all pain -that is unnecessary, but I regret to say that there is really nothing -to be done. His Majesty refused to see me.” - -“His Majesty refused to see you!” I cried out. His words had put a -pitiful commotion in my heart. - -“Unhappily,” he says, “these Yorkshire irregularities of ours have by -some means become the property of the town, and the whole family is in -terrible disgrace; and, I might add, would have been in some degree of -peril but for the merciful recovery of the rebel.” - -“Indeed,” says I, inconsequently, and then observed a miserable silence -for a while. - -“You see, my poor dear child,” the old worldling said, “one cannot hope -to plunge one’s finger in the smoking pie of politics without getting -that finger burned. I am very sorry for you, child, but I can no more -save your friend than I can sway the eternal forces.” - -“Have you seen the Parliament men, my lord, Walpole, Harley, and the -rest?” - -“Yes; and quite against their several inclinations,” he replied. “They -felt it to be highly indiscreet to receive one who was out of favour. -As for lending their assistance, I can assure you, child, that they -know their business better.” - -“How monstrous of them!” I broke out; “set of water-blooded wretches, -who will not help their friends!” - -“Ah, but we are not their friends now; we are out of favour.” The -ancient courtier said this lightly, but I knew that his heart was -groaning. He had passed his gay years bathed in the sunshine of -applause and popularity; it was bitter that his end should be a dark -night of contumely and neglect. Nothing could be more cruel or more -wounding to this polished and successful man of fashion. Yet it amazed -me to see how finely he took these rebuffs of fortune. His courage sat -on him like a shining suit of mail. It filled my heart with tears to -witness such cheerful bravery in the aged and the infirm. - -“Well, papa,” says I, turning to speech as a remedy against the -weakness that strove to so insidiously reduce me, “I have sworn to save -young Anthony, and never yet have I proved unequal to my word.” - -“’Tis never too late to create a precedent,” says the Earl, “nor to -enjoy a new experience. I have lived many years, but it is not until -to-day that I have tasted the coldness of the world.” - -“I have always averred, you know,” says I, with misfortune spurring me -to my customary petulance; “that these sauer-kraut chewing boors from -Hanover have no more breeding than a certain native beastliness that -enables them to become like pigs, offensive to creatures of a nicer -mind. But, after all, wit is the superior of power; and if I cannot -find a means whereby to thwart ’em, I must be content to lose the only -husband I ever can accept. I will start for town to-morrow morning.” - -“No, don’t do that,” says his lordship, hastily; “I am sure it will be -very ill advised. Pray wait until this cloud is over blown. You are -too much of a butterfly, my pretty lady, not to discover the shade -exceeding cruel to endure. You will find London very blighting, I -assure you.” - -But I was unheedful, and the more particularly when I was told that -poor Anthony had undergone his trial already, and that at that hour he -lay in Newgate under extreme sentence, which awaited execution on the -24th of May. - -It was now the 2nd of that month. It will thus be seen how little time -there was to lose. Three weeks and a day were left in which to procure -his deliverance; not by any means too adequate a period in which to -accomplish so involved a deed, even had I had the ghost of an idea as -to the manner of its consummation. - -To remain at Cleeby the slave of despair and bitterness would certainly -be fatal to my lover; therefore, quitting my dubious papa, I hied -immediately to Emblem and bade her pack my baggage. On the morrow I was -speeding to the south, evolving as I went all sorts of mad schemes in -my brain for the achievement of so desperate an end. - - - - -CHAPTER XX. - -I SPEAK WITH THE CELEBRATED MR. SNARK. - - -ON arriving at our town residence in Bloomsbury it was easy to -ascertain that the family of Long Acre had fallen on an evil time. -The troops of friends that formerly were so willing to receive and to -be received now kept aloof, and avoided me in every way possible, as -though I were a very leper. At first I felt disposed to accept this -calmly, and in an amused but not uncharitable spirit. I persuaded -myself that I could surely dispense with the favour of these shallow -persons. But one week of it corrected this impression. For I soon -discovered that flattery, admiration, and wholesale triumphs in the -social sphere were indispensable to a life in town. Nature, in endowing -me with a smile that, as young Anthony once remarked, was “sufficient -to sweeten sour cream,” and a beauty of person that provoked more odes -than a successful campaign, also cursed me with a craving for its -appreciation. Therefore in a day or two, when the novelty was outworn, -disfavour and neglect became terribly irksome to support. And however -proud a face I might put upon the matter when I went abroad, my pain -was not thereby made the softer. - -It seems that the story had flown across the town with the quickness -peculiar to a scandal, that our family had been so active in the cause -of the Pretender Charles, that it had gone the length of harbouring -rebels at our place in Yorkshire, and had even plucked them from -the custody of the Hanoverian’s troops. Further, it was known that -the King had refused the entrée to my father and myself, and soon a -sinister rumour crept abroad to the effect that the Earl’s name was to -be cited in the House of Lords, he being guilty of a capital offence. -Truly I found things in London to be dark indeed. It was evident from -the first that it would be impossible to seek in high places for aid -for the man lying under sentence of death in Newgate. It was this -ulterior assistance that I had relied on wholly; and now for it to be -quite beyond my reach, was a great aggravation to my miseries. Shorn -of this privilege of the powerful, I knew not which way I must turn, -and in a week or less was at my wits’ end for an expedient. At that -time my lover had only ten days to live, and here was I with nothing -done. Where were my promises? The agony that was mine during those -fast-slipping days I do not care to dwell on. Every hour that passed -was a reproach to my futility. The suspense, the misery, the vain -repinings as I searched for a means and could not find one, whilst the -days all too rapidly escaped, fretted me almost to the fever-state. By -night I could not sleep; yet by day I could accomplish nothing. Shunned -and scorned by all who had the power to help me; fretted by the horrid -disabilities of petticoats, and the most sheer ignorance of how to -achieve so grave and dangerous a consummation, there seemed nothing -left for me to do, other than to await, with what fortitude I might, -the rebel’s awful end. But this I could not do. - -To farther aggravate my woes, some dear friend of mine contrived -that the news should be borne to my ears that the town was in full -possession of the fact that I was deeply in love with a certain -tattered adventurer and rogue lying under sentence of death in Newgate, -and that I was surely sickening with the thoughts of his impending -doom. Although I deeply doubt whether this story was actually accepted, -it was not the less industriously circulated because there happened -to be a doubt about it. I laughed bitterly when I reflected how -unwittingly near they had approached the truth. - -When I rose, weary and unrefreshed one morning, and reflected that -there were only nine days left, I grew utterly desperate. But in the -course of that night’s intolerable vigil, I had conceived the semblance -of an idea. Therefore, while Mrs. Polly ministered to me, I proceeded -to put it into a somewhat more palpable shape. - -“Emblem,” says I, “I have been wondering lately whether there is a -rogue in all this city, who, if liberally paid for his devotion, would -render me some honest services.” - -“Would not a man of rectitude be able to perform these services?” says -she. - -“That’s the rub, for he would be unwilling,” I replied, and when I went -a point farther and explained the nature of them, Mrs. Emblem agreed -with this opinion. - -“Well, your la’ship,” says she, with a brave fidelity for which I was -truly grateful; “if such a one is to be found, you can take it that -I’ll find him.” - -“Then you are a dear, good soul,” I told her, warmly, for surely it was -encouraging to know that I had one friend in a world of enemies. - -I never enquired too deeply into the means that were adopted to procure -the services of the celebrated Mr. Snark. How Mrs. Polly Emblem came -to hear of him at all, or in what manner she contrived to coax him -from his remote and modest lodging in the Ratcliffe Highway, from -whence for years he had defied the whole of Bow Street to dislodge him, -history hath not deponed unto this present. Yet from the moment the -dear, devoted Mrs. Polly made that promise to me on that morning of -culminating miseries, she never ceased to strive to make herself the -equal of her resolution. Some hours later she came to me and said: - -“I’ve just heard of the very man, your la’ship. He’s not a very -religious man, your la’ship, but he’s an awful knowing one, they say.” - -Thereupon she dispatched more than one emissary to scour the most -questionable haunts in London for him, and every hour or so the honest -creature brought me very excellent reports to restore me to a cheerful -spirit. - -“Mr. Anthony’s as good as delivered,” she would say in the most -optimistic manner. “I am most positively certain of it, yes, I am! I’m -told that this Mr. Snark’s a perfect wonder. They say he is as clever -as the devil, only that he charges rather more. But I know it’s not -money that you will begrudge him!” - -“Rather not,” says I. “Let him but deliver my dearest Anthony, and I’ll -give him my estate in Berkshire.” - -I can well recall this celebrated person and the mode of his -appearance. It was somewhat late in the evening of the sixteenth of the -month that he came in great privacy to visit me. He was ushered into my -boudoir and presented by the triumphant Mrs. Polly Emblem. - -“This be the gentleman, your la’ship,” says she, whilst the gentleman -in question ducked and grinned. - -In the dimness of the lamp I could just discern a man, extraordinary -small, drest with a plain respectability, and had a pair of eyes set -very close, and small and hard and twinkling as chips of glass. And -such was the peril of my state of mind, and so precarious was the -deed with which I was about to charge him, that I was quite rejoiced -when I saw that Mr. Snark had a face of the most finished and perfect -villainy. Here was a man that I might trust instinctively with any -crime. - -At first I was uncertain as to the precise fashion of my address, -because the affair demanded something of delicacy on the side of both. -But in regard to talk it was plain that I must look for no assistance -from my visitor, who appeared to be of the essence of discretion. -Besides he was far too occupied in running his eyes about the room, -apparently with the object of making a complete inventory of all the -articles therein. At last I spoke: - -“You are Mr. Snark, I understand?” I said, somewhat clumsily, I fear. - -“Call me plain Snark,” says he, with his horrid little eyes glistening -at a golden candlestick. - -“Well, Mr. Plain Snark,” I nervously began, and then stopped and -whispered urgently to Mrs. Emblem: “For heaven’s sake stay here and -keep your eye upon him! If I were to be left alone with him I’m certain -that inside twenty minutes he would strangle me, pawn the furniture, -and sell my body to the surgeons!” - -The ears of my visitor were so acute, it seemed that they must have -caught a hint of what I said, for he looked at me and remarked with -considerable emphasis and pride: - -“Snark mayn’t be a picture-book to look at, not a Kneller as it were, -but he’s a bit of a hartiss in ’is ’umble way. And modest too is good -old Snark. He’d no more use cold cream and lavender for to beautify his -skin than he’d rob an orphing boy.” - -Yet as he spoke his eyes still travelled over me and my belongings in a -fashion that made me wish already that I could forget him as one does -an evil dream. But there was most instant business to transact, and -to fail to do it now was to forfeit the life of one exceeding dear. -Therefore this thought gave me the courage to say: - -“I have sent for you, Mr. Snark, in the hope that you will undertake a -delicate matter on my behalf; a most delicate matter, I might say.” - -“A reg’lar tantaliser, as it were?” says Mr. Snark. - -“Yes,” says I, “a regular tantaliser, Mr. Snark.” - -“Well, now you know,” says Mr. Snark, “Snark’s blue death on -tantalisers--a plain job’s not a bit o’ good to Snark. There’s lots o’ -the perfession can undertake a plain job just as well as Snark, and -charges lesser. But in the higher branches, as they says at Bow Street, -there’s none like good old Snark. Why, that man fair takes a pride in -the higher branches. Just look at the case o’ William Milligan. Talk -about hartistic! Why, Miss, the case of William Milligan was the wonder -o’ the age.” - -“And, pray, who was William Milligan?” I asked in my hasty ignorance. - -“Never heard o’ William Milligan? Stop my vitals, is this England?” - -And then he turned to Emblem. - -“Now then, Mary Jane, pipe up, just for to tell the lady who was -William Milligan!” - -The luckless Mrs. Polly shook her head, turned pale, and clutched a -chair. - -“What, never heard o’ William Milligan?” says he. “Come, now, I call -that good. Strike me purple, you’ll tell me next that you’ve never -heard o’ Peter Pearce and Johnny Margitts, and Joe the Tinker, and -Ridin’ Phipps o’ Finsbury. Every mother’s son on ’em in ‘Newgate -Calendar,’ wi’ their picters draw’d from the life fair, speakin’ -natural and all their pedigrees beneath. And you never to ’a’ heard -of William Milligan? What, never heard o’ Bagshot Bill--old Bully -William--wot in his prime would stop a beautiful fat bishop on the -Heath and strip him of his duds. Why, Snark, you’re learnin’.” - -“Oh, a highwayman, was he?” said I, most inadvisedly. - -“Well, Miss,” says he, “I should rather think he were. He was a reg’lar -poet at it, William was. Not a very big man, Miss, William wasn’t, -mind you, but by crumbs! see him on his mare wi’ the moon arisin’ and -a coach a-comin’ down the hill. They can talk about their hartisses, -and their Shakespeares, and their Drydens too, but, Miss, that’s what I -calls a poet and a man. And William were that modest too. Not a smell -o’ pride about him. ’Ud take his pot and have his jest wi’ me and you -just as if he were a common person.” - -“Oh, no; surely not?” says I, in an earnest accent. - -“Lord, he would, Miss! That’s what’s so grand about true greatness. All -the real Number One men are as mild and silken as a clergyman. Perky -Niblick treated me to a pot o’ porter the day afore he so gloriously -died. And Jackson, too; look at Jackson, the very height of the -perfession, but as meek in private as a child. Used to bring lollipops -for my younkers every time he come to sup. But to return to Snark. It -was that benevolent individual wot delivered William Milligan when they -was a-cartin’ him to Tyburn Tree. An’ he did it out o’ love alone, did -excellent old Snark; never took a penny for the delivery o’ William, -for it’s wonderful what tenderness one true hartiss has towards a -brother.” - -“I’ve always noticed that,” says I; “truly a very noble trait.” - -“Now don’t you talk like that, Miss,” says the recipient of this -flattery, “for Snark’s that modest that it makes him blush up like a -girl.” - -“Well, Mr. Snark,” says I, to stay the tide of his loquacity and to rid -myself of the embarrassment of his presence, “please let me tell you in -as few words as I can what I have sent for you to do.” - -It was remarkable to observe the change that then came over him. He -listened to all I said with the most polite attention, his small eyes -twinkling, and his wicked face keen and tense, with a concentrated -interest. When I had finished he put a few sharp questions as to the -status of the prisoner. - -“Who is this rebel?” he began. “Important man at all? Done much? Any -reppitation? Never know’d at all in the Highway or the Lane.” - -“He is very young at present,” I replied, “but you will doubtless one -day hear of him as Prime Minister of England. For he’s a wonderful -fine fellow, and of a very alert intelligence.” - -“Hum, on’y a Prime Minister!” says Mr. Snark. “But will they put him in -the Calendar? And do you think he’s worth my time and trouble, Miss?” - -“Why, my dear man,” says I, “I can surely make it worth your time and -trouble. You have merely to name the sum.” - -Herein it was that I committed an unpardonable crime. - -“Pah! and pish!” he cried, and waved his hand with magnificent disdain. -“Do you suppose that it is your dirty money that I’ve come for? It’s -not guineas that can make a Snark, young lady, nor guineas that can -command him. There’s on’y one Snark as they knows at Bow Street, and -he’s not the man to interest hisself in small fry. His very last -deliverance was no less than Jimmy Finch. All the world has heard o’ -Bos-eyed Jimmy, but this here rebel-man o’ yours has got his name to -make. An’ Jimmy’s was a job an’ all. I never seed a cleaner. Four deep -o’ soldiers round the scaffle, an’ a blessed barricade. An’ James was -prayin’ white as cheese, but awful full o’ pluck. An’ there, there was -the topsman a-fingering the noose. By gum, Miss, it was beautiful! And -when my boys had done the job, you should just a’ heard the crowd a -whispering: ‘This is a bit o’ Snark’s work. Marvellous man, old Snark!’ -And then you comes to Snark, Miss, and says you can make it worth his -trouble! Why, Snark’s that stiff, Miss, that he wouldn’t deliver the -King of England if he hadn’t the desire.” - -Now it was pretty plain that I had not adopted a sufficient humility of -tone towards the celebrated Mr. Snark. Therefore did I speed to change -my tactics, and now besought his aid with great and meek solicitude. -This so far succeeded that, presently, he unbent sufficiently to -say that three hundred pounds would be his fee, payable forthwith. -This latter clause was something of a shock. To trust persons of his -kidney with their pay before they earn it, is generally fatal to -their promises. Yet Mr. Snark’s high reputation had made him in every -way so jealous of it, and so sensitive to any slight upon his pride, -that it was impossible to demur to his demand and yet keep him in an -accommodating humour. Therefore with a sinking heart did I conclude -the bargain, and repose my faith in that incalculable Providence that -presides over all natural affairs. So soon as the money was jingling in -his hands he prepared to take his leave. - -“Thank ye, Miss,” says he; “but don’t forget that Snark conducts this -matter at a sacrifice. He likes your solid hearty buxom face, which is -the reason for his kindness. For it’s Snark’s opinion that this young -rebel man o’ yours is on’y a beginner, and that his picter won’t be -put into the Calendar. But let me see now. The execution is fixed up -for the twenty-sixth at ten o’clock in the morning. Well, that’ll suit -Snark handsomely. An’ I daresay it’ll be a pretty fashionable thing. -Shall you be present, Miss?” - -“Yes,” says I, “I have engaged the second floor of No. 14 in the -Square.” - -“No. 14, is it?” says he, with so acute a promptness that it was a -proof that he was competent in all the details of his trade. “No. -14--why, that’s a Providence! It’s passage goes through to Piper’s -Alley. Now if you take my advice, Miss, you’ll have the best horse in -London waiting there at ten o’clock in Piper’s Alley. You can leave the -rest to Snark, Miss.” - -“Will you engage the Dover boat?” I asked. - -“Yes,” says he, “that’s all in the three hundred, and the blessed -crew that’s a-going for to sail it. An’ there’s no need to look so -white about it either. Your rebel’s just as good as saved. It’s mere -nut-cracking to old Snark. He’s effected twenty-nine deliverances in -all parts o’ the world.” - -“But pray don’t forget, sir,” says I, anxiously, “that he is sure to -be guarded dreadful strong. The Government consider him as highly -dangerous, and they know that he hath some influential friends.” - -“Well, I reckon, Miss,” says he, “that they’ll want three full -regiments o’ the line to keep him clear o’ Snark.” - -A short time afterwards my whimsical visitor took his leave. When he -had gone, my meditations were remarkable. It was impossible to place -an absolute reliance in this ingenious person, yet none the less his -character and appearance had inspired me with confidence enough to -repose some hope in his professions. And verily, for better or for -worse the die was cast, and if at the last this Mr. Snark should leave -me in the lurch, the rebel would inevitably perish. This was the only -source that I might look to for his merciful deliverance. Every other -door was absolutely shut. - -It was quite a painful thing to observe the cheerfulness that possessed -poor Mrs. Polly. From this time until the execution day she was never -tired of informing me of her firm conviction that dear, kind Mr. Snark -would not fail us, and that sweet, young Mr. Anthony was as good as -free. But it was absurd to see the creature’s red and swollen eyes, -which her invincible smiling altogether failed to hide. And presently -this parody of courage grew so intolerable to my nerves, that even -allowing for the tenderness of her intentions, I was fain to cry -out upon her for a cheat, and recommended her to desist from these -malpractices. - -This was a time, indeed, which I hope Heaven in its mercy will not -again inflict upon me. What I endured, would, I can assert, have -wrecked a woman of less fibre and tenacity. Nearly all my thoughts were -centred in the cell of the condemned; and at least their concentration -spared them something of the bitterness of another matter, which -must otherwise have keenly hurt them--I mean the cruel behaviour of -the world in which I dwelt. No equipages drove up to our house in -Bloomsbury. No chairmen laid their burdens down before our doors. -If I took a short excursion in the park, the most intimate of my -acquaintances either saw me not, or, seeing me, bowed stiffly and -passed on in a studied silence. In particular my kind women friends -appeared to derive a sincere happiness from what they pleased to call -my downfall. The scornful gladness of their looks was wonderful, and -yet also terrible; for alas! what could be the condition of the stony -hearts from which they did proceed? Then it was that I remembered how -short a time ago I was one of these contemptibles. - -“Emblem,” says I, on the execution eve, with hope born apparently of -misery’s excesses, “I have done with town and the Court, and all this -ridiculous world of fashion. They are very barbarous affairs! When I -wed my Anthony I will be the pattern of an attentive spouse. I will be -his cheerful slave and his most devoted friend. But I’ll not forego -ambition neither. I will train and educate him until he doth become -a veritable power in the realm. For I mean to be the wife of my Lord -Secretary Dare, and then, my Emblem, I’ll turn all these dear women -friends of mine just green with jealousy. Yet, in my pride, I will -not trample on them, as they trample now on me, but will deal with -’em graciously, and ask ’em to my routs among the ambassadors and -potentates, and prove thereby that I am not a cherisher of malice, but -a creature of a gentler temper than themselves.” - -Yet here, having indulged these harmless speculations to the full, I -recalled with terror the most horrid condition of my case. What would -the morrow bring? Death, perhaps, and the shattering of my hopes. But -these cold forebodings I determined to avoid, and contrived to do so -in a measure, for a new matter had come lately to my ears which wooed -my mind a little from its dark premonitions. The fact that I had been -a supreme favourite, and a trifle arrogant, perhaps, in the hour of my -pride, had caused the whole town to exult at my disfavour. The cause -of that disfavour was well known to be rooted in my behaviour towards -the desperate rebel whom on the morrow the King was going to hang. -And it was further argued that his death of shame would aggravate my -humiliation. - -Judge, then, of the sensation that was created when it was positively -known that I had engaged the largest and most adjacent window in -the square that I might be present at the execution! Yea, and in -the desperation of the hour I even went a point farther. I issued -invitations to as many of my friends as the window would accommodate to -come and share the gruesome sight with me. This was a very thunderbolt. -And though they said among themselves: “The brazenness of Lady Bab -really is incredible,” they were quite unable to resist the fascination -and delightfulness of the whole affair. Therefore they accepted with -alacrity. And though I knew this to be by far the boldest stroke I -had ever played, not for an instant did I falter, nor doubt my native -resolution. - - - - -CHAPTER XXI. - -I COME TO TYBURN TREE. - - -“SEVEN of the clock, your la’ship!” - -I opened my heavy eyes, saw Emblem’s pale face, then shuddered. - -“Hope you’ve slept well,” says the maid, in a way that told me that, -whatever I had done, she certainly had not. - -“Remarkably,” says I, determined to practise for the terrible -exhibition of fortitude that I must display. “If all those dear -friends of mine have slept as properly, they will need to have less -powder on than usual. And now, my Emblem,” says I, taking the cup of -chocolate from her, “mind that you dress me to the utmost of your -art. Not a stitch must be out of place. My head-dress must be a -marvel of perfection, and put ’em in a towering rage. And I’ll wear -the plum-coloured taffety, faced with pink. Or stay, I’ll have a more -sanguine colour; I think it should well consort with an interesting -paleness.” - -“You have a black velvet that will do beautifully, my lady. Yet you do -not wish to wear a mourning air?” - -“No, girl,” says I, “anything save that. Pale, but spirited, you know, -as one who confronts adversity, yet sets her foot upon it. For to-day, -if all things fail, I am persuaded that I’ll receive my enemies and -outface them every one.” - -I was robed, therefore, with much care, and it pleased me, and also -braced my resolution up, to know that my personal charms could not -have been displayed to more delicate advantage. I knew that to meet -the fierce eyes of my enemies would be the severest ordeal that I -had undergone; and yet I did not shrink, but rejoiced rather in the -self-elected task. They would expect to see me spiritless and crushed -with woe; for they were not aware that I meant to show them what a -fortitude was mine. None the less, the time that intervened between -now and the coming of the coach that was to bear me to the final scene -of all was passed in morbidity and wretchedness. For several days I -had sent letters of vague comfort and encouragement to young Anthony, -yet the Governor of Newgate refused to allow them to be delivered, and -had sent them back again. And now at the last, as the rebel must be -ignorant of the efforts I was making, I became haunted with the fear -that he might have made an attempt upon his life, for I was certain -that, to a person of his high temper, any death was preferable to the -one he was doomed to undergo. And then there was the sincerity of -Mr. Snark, whose possibilities were ever present, and harrowing my -thoughts. Ten minutes before the coach arrived I wrung my hands and -cried to the already weeping Mrs. Polly: - -“I know for certain that that horrid little man will fail me. He’s got -my money, and therefore all he does desire. Oh, why did I give it him! -Surely I might have known that he’d undo me!” - -“Oh, no, I’m sure he won’t!” says poor Emblem, breaking out in sobs. “I -am sure he is a good man, and an honest. I would trust that man under -any circumstances.” - -“Do you really think so?” cries I, clinging to the weakest straw. - -“Yes,” wept Emblem more bitterly than ever, “I am sure Mr. Snark is a -good and honest man.” - -Very soon the coach was at the door. Even this was a relief, for -activity took some of the tension from our minds, and now the very -imminence of the thing numbed their aches in some degree. I paid not -the slightest heed to the way we went, or to the appearance of the -streets, my senses all being deadened with their gloominess. Presently -the jolting of the coach grew less, the horses reduced their pace, and -the low murmur of the mob uprose. My voice shook pitifully when I said -to Emblem, who would insist on accompanying me through everything: - -“Are we in good time?” - -“The cart is not due for nearly an hour yet,” she answered. - -To avoid the press, the coachman turned his horses into an unfrequented -by-street, and shortly afterwards brought them to a stand before -a door in a row of dismal-looking houses. I sprang out lightly -and unconcernedly, not without a signal effort, though, but above -all things I was resolved not to give one sign of weakness to the -world. It annoyed and somewhat disconcerted me to find that a small -company of the vulgar curious was collected about the coach, and more -particularly when a fat and dirty-aproned housewife nudged a neighbour -and exclaimed, with outstretched finger pointed straight at me: “That’s -her! That’s her ladyship! ’aven’t she got a face!” - -As I was passing through the throng, a groom came up the street -riding a sorrel mare. This was cheering in a measure, as it told me -that thus far all arrangements were being religiously observed. But -immediately the door was opened and then closed upon my entrance, -and I found myself standing with Emblem excluded from the crowd in -the dark kitchen of the houses. I was suddenly aroused by a highly -propitious circumstance. I was surprised to find at my side a little, -very villainous-looking person dressed in the decent plain suit of -an attorney, with a remarkably clean cravat, and a neat tie wig that -somewhat softened his extremely wicked countenance. But at his first -word, that came from behind his hand in a wheezing whisper, I felt my -blood move quicker, for to my joy I identified him as the celebrated -Mr. Snark. - -“How d’ye do, Miss! Pretty bobbish are ye?” he said in my ear. “Pretty -spry upon the perch, eh? And I say, Miss, there’s a wonderful sweet -set of parsons, clergymen, and etceteria assembled in the front. A -wonderful sweet set, Miss, wiv plenty o’ good old ale and stingo in -’em; and on’y a hundred sojers on duty too. And who do you think’s the -Chapling, Miss? Why, the Reverend Willum Vickerstaff, the drunkenest -old crimp wot ever sat in church. By thunder, Missy, I fair envies you, -I does, a-sittin’ at that window a-lookin’ at the musick. I wouldn’t -give fourpence for them redcoats. For I tell you, Missy, old Snark’s -a-going to do the thing in style, not a-going to spare a farden of -expense, for when Snark does a thing he does it gaudy. By gum, won’t -them blessed traps at Bow Street just a’ bat their eyes.” - -At that moment I think I could have taken this outrageous little -villain in my arms and incontinently hugged him. Instead, however, I -fervently apostrophised him. - -“God requite you, Mr. Snark,” I cried, “for a good man and a true.” - -I pressed him to accept a purse of fifty guineas over and above the sum -agreed upon. - -“No, not a blessed head,” he replied. “Snark’s not a dirty screw, but -a man o’ fambly and a proper hartiss at his work. Takes a fair pride -in it, he does, which is the reason why his reppitation seizes all Bow -Street by the belly.” - -Upon this the worthy creature conducted me up the gloomy stairs to -the window that commanded the execution ground. The sight that then -confronted me I have often met again in dreams. The immediate look of -it was enough to produce a cold sweat on my brow. The whole of England -seemed already collected in that square. Tier upon tier, multitude on -multitude, were swaying, elbowing, and jostling below, marvellously -cheerful but awfully intent. The tall, gaunt scaffold raised upon -a platform in their midst, with a treble file of bright-armed and -red-coated soldiers standing round it, was a very lodestone that drew -every face thereto. The blood went slow within me as I gazed at this -fretful mass, whose heavy buzz of talk was at intervals succeeded by -the brisk roaring of a pot-house song. The cold, grey winter morning -appeared a proper background for this sordid scene, I thought, whilst -the high dun-coloured houses that reared themselves on every side, -quick with their throngs of eager witnesses, seemed quite in harmony -with the horrid gloom of the tragedy so soon to be enacted. - -I was still in excellent good time. The condemned man was not due for -a full half-hour yet. My invited guests were beginning to arrive, -however, but everything had been ordered excellently well. The room was -large enough to accommodate two windows, and these had been removed, -and several rows of chairs had been placed behind their apertures, and -so skilfully arranged that twenty persons could be gratified with a -view. - -The first of my kind friends to appear was a certain Mrs. Jennings, -an obese and comfortable person, with a perfect confidence in, and -admiration for, herself. This was not assumption either, seeing that -she had snared four different coronets for a corresponding number of -her female progeny. She brought her husband too; a quite tame creature, -whom she led about to routs and parties and called “Dear Harry” in a -simpering, caressing manner. “Dear Harry’s” conversation was limited to -“’Pon my soul!” and it was his pleasure to retire to a corner early and -sit bolt upright on the extreme edge of his chair. And I think I found -him to be the most fascinating being that I ever met, for I would gaze -at him a desperate length of time, since it really seemed a miracle how -such a large amount of man could be possibly supported by such a small -amount of chair. This pair were pretty soon augmented by a parcel of -the high grandees. The incomparable Countess of Pushington minced in, a -perfect phenomenon of youth, considering that she brought the youngest -daughter of her second marriage with her, my Lady Crabstock Parker, -who, to do her justice, looked really very little older than her -adorable mamma. Mrs. Laura Wigging came, of course; a very whimsical, -amusing mixture of Christianity and criticism. She was most desirous -to drop a prayer-book, which she had brought for the purpose, from -the window into the cart as it passed by. She thought it might shed a -little light on the dark way that the dear criminal had to tread. The -Duchess of Rabies was truly condescending and most affable. The men who -accompanied this galaxy of talent, beauty, and good nature betrayed -almost immediately, I regret to say, the exceeding masculinity of -their minds. They began at once to lay and to take bets regarding the -number of kicks the sufferer would make at space before he perished. -However the mere presence of these enemies proved a tonic to my -nerves. Having to play a part before those I despised, and to combat -their hostility, I was thereby enabled to forget in some degree the -peculiar horror of my situation. Before ten o’clock the full number of -guests were present, seventeen in all, and I could feel instinctively -the zest with which they noted and minutely analysed my most trivial -actions. They used a certain tone of sympathetic consideration towards -me, which in itself was irony, and carefully refrained from saying a -harsh or unkind thing of the rebel, as if to show that they were fully -acquainted with my exceeding tenderness towards him, and that their -native delicacy would not permit them to distress it. They agreed with -the sweetest unanimity that he must be a charming person. Yet it should -be recorded to my eternal praise, I think, and as an instance of the -mind’s strength conquering the weakness of the heart, that I received -all these covert taunts without one betrayal of my secret rage. I -laughed and jested with the men, and caressed all these dear women -with my prettiest phrases. I do not think there was a solitary person -present who could have divined that my very heart was bursting with -a suppressed agony of terror. Snark might be as faithful as the day, -all things might be ordered perfectly, and there be no ground for fear -whatever; but I could not divest my mind of the knowledge that tens of -thousands were assembled roaring and surging down below, and packed as -thick as summer flies in a rotten carcase. I could not expel the grim -image of the scaffold from my eyes, the densely populated windows, the -strained awaiting eagerness of the mob; nor could I fail to hear all -the sounds of portent; the deliberate slow tolling of the passing bell -of an adjacent church, the striking of the hour of ten, and directly -afterwards the new commotion that went up, as the tidings travelled in -a murmur from mouth to mouth the whole length of the multitude, “It’s -coming!” - -“Do they mean the cart, my dear?” one dear creature inquired innocently -of me. - -“Yes,” said I, with animation, “my dear Duchess, I really believe -they do. We are coming to the fun now, are we not? ’Twill be highly -entertaining presently.” - -The Duchess’s eyes burned in her head to discover a flaw in the utter -nonchalance of my demeanour, but grievous was her disappointment. My -bold look fairly challenged her to find one, and I think I can safely -say that not the Duchess alone but this whole assembly of dear friends -was chagrined that I had not the consideration to regale it with my -pain. The gruesome vehicle was already close at hand. It was coming -at a foot pace down the Uxbridge Road, and the throng parted readily -before it to let it pass. Conversation ceased now, and we took our -seats at the windows. And I think it was well for me that this new -diversion held the attention of my friends, for I doubt whether, -with my lover before my eyes, I could have kept up the bitter farce. -Certainly, no sooner did I behold the slow-coming vehicle, with its -pale young occupant, and the procession of prison officers, soldiers, -the chaplain, and the executioner, than I had to stifle an involuntary -cry that sprang into my throat, and for support was compelled to cling -an instant to the window-sill in front. - -Even as the cart appeared, a tentative beam of the wintry sun struggled -into the cold grey morning. Its effect was very weird and strange upon -that great company of expectant, upturned faces, gazing with a kind of -rapt horror at the poor young creature who was to die. - -The rebel and his escort were now quite near, and I could see the full -disposition of his features very plain. I looked down upon him from my -vantage involuntarily almost, and raked his face again and again with -my eyes to discover one flaw in the perfect demeanour of my hero. And -somehow as I looked I felt the vain pride rise in my heart, for a king -could not have gone forth to his doom with more propriety. There was no -hint of bravado in his bearing, but his head was carried nobly, without -undue defiance and without undue humility; his mouth was resolute, and -his eyes alert and clear. In all my life I never saw a man look so -firm, so spirited, so proud. - -As he approached more nearly I discerned a look of expectation and -inquiry on his face, and his eyes scanned the houses and the mob -searchingly and quickly as though they fervently desired the sight -of someone whom they could not see. Indeed, to me these questioning -glances grew painfully apparent, until I remembered suddenly the person -who had inspired them, whereon a strange mad happiness trembled in my -blood. ’Twas then I forgot the world entirely--yea, even its uncharity, -my sneering and rejoicing enemies, and the grievous comedy that I was -condemned to play. I became oblivious to everything but the pitiless -fact that the one man in the world was proceeding with noble simplicity -and patience to his doom, and that I was the one of all those thousands -there assembled that he craved to see. - -In an instant I jumped up and leant as far out of the window as I -could, waving my handkerchief most wildly several times, and then cried -out at the very topmost of my voice: - -“I am here, child! Here I am! God be with you, lad! God bless you!” - -Such a singular stillness had taken the curious multitude at the -apparition of the cart that my tones rang out clearly as a bell, and -by the startled movement of a thousand heads were heard, indeed, by -all in the vicinity. And, amongst others, the poor rebel heard, and -swiftly looking up he saw my outstretched form and my handkerchief -still fluttering. Thereupon the blood painted his white cheeks most -eloquent in crimson; his face spread out in fine animated sparkles, -and he plucked off his hat and waved it in reply. Almost immediately -thereafter the cart was stopped and placed carefully into its position -under the noose that dangled from the beam; the soldiers closed up, -promptly cleared a convenient space, and stood in a ring with bayonets -drawn, whilst the Sheriff, the Chaplain, the Governor of Newgate, and -various high dignitaries took up their stations on the scaffold. ’Twas -astonishing the brisk precision with which everything was done. Before -I could grasp the idea that the condemned was actually at the point of -death, the executioner was standing with one foot on the scaffold and -another in the cart, tying the criminal’s hands behind him. At the same -moment the Chaplain produced a greasy, black-backed tome, and began to -mumble indistinctly the service for the dead. The whole matter was so -fascinating that I could not pluck my eyes from the scene, and though -I had a certain dim idea that some strange, vague power was about to -intervene, for my life I could not have told just then what it was to -be; nay, and should not have greatly felt the loss of it until the -bloody drama had been played. - -All this time the mob below had been striving towards the scaffold, -only to be forced back by the vigorous measures of the guard of -soldiers. This, however, was no more than the natural eagerness of -a crowd to procure a fuller view, and was perfectly appropriate and -good-humoured on the side of both. But as soon as the executioner had -confined his victim’s wrists, and was engaged in opening his shirt -that he might adjust the rope around his throat, one portion of the -mob quite adjacent to the scaffold grew suddenly obstreperous; sticks -went up, and cries arose. Thereupon the Sheriff and the officials of -the prison situate upon the platform began to behave in a most excited -fashion, dancing and throwing their arms about and crying orders to -the guard, whilst for the nonce the executioner suspended his employ. -In an instant the mob began to violently surge, oaths were screamed, -and staves began to crack and to descend. Down went a redcoat, and -then another; thereupon the fight grew general all about the cart, but -it soon became apparent that not only were the troops outnumbered, -but that they were so confined and encumbered in by the press that -their heavy weapons would assist them little, as they could not force -them into a position to be of service. And in very conscience the -riot had started with rare decision and effect. A solid phalanx of -lusty, well-primed rogues had been concentrated all on one point by -their clever general, and the promptitude with which they did their -business really was surprising. Crack! crack! smacked the cudgels, -loud howled the mob, and down went the soldiers of the King. Inside a -minute the ring was completely broken up, and the rioters had assumed -entire control of the scaffold and the cart, whilst the guard was -so hopelessly disordered that their coats of red appeared in twenty -isolated places amongst a throng, which, to do it justice, certainly -did its best to restrict them in every way it could. Its sympathies, -as usual, were by no means on the side of the law. Pretty soon half -a dozen rioters were mishandling the cart and freeing its pinioned -occupant. One cut the cords that bound him, a second pressed a stave -into his liberated fist, a third engaged in a hand-to-hand encounter -with the executioner; a fourth struck at the Sheriff, who was highly -valiant and active for an alderman, missed him and hit the inoffensive -chaplain, and “tapped the claret” of the reverend gentleman, whose -bottle-nose must have been really very difficult to avoid. ’Twas quite -exhilarating to witness the glorious conduct of it all. Everything -seemed to be performed like clock-work, and with incredible brutality -and zest. Had I been unable to realise the exceeding brilliancy of -the tactics that were adopted throughout the whole affair, certain -observations of the presiding genius must have made me do so. For to -round and finish the matter in a consummate way, no sooner had the -fight begun than I became conscious that Mr. Snark had cleft through -the throng of fashionables about me, and was standing at my side, -emitting a stream of counsel, criticism, and encouragement. - -“Got ’em on a hook!” he cried. “That’s it, Parker; hit! Give ’em -pepper! Hit that fat hulk of a Sheriff over the bleeding hat! Very nice -indeed.” - -Mr. Snark rubbed his hands with satisfaction. Meantime down below, the -inevitable consequence had followed the flowing blood and the free -exchange of blows. The guard had entirely lost control of the crowd -collected about the scaffold, which immediately seized its opportunity -of getting even with the law. Not only did it offer the rebel and his -escort every facility to escape, but was at equal pains to impede the -soldiers, the Sheriff, and the officials of the gaol in their efforts -to arrest the condemned man’s flight. And this they succeeded very well -in doing. A bodyguard of hard-hitting rogues formed about the rescued -rebel and hurried him at a double through the friendly mob, that gave -way right gallantly before them. - -It made me almost wild with joy to behold my young lover and his -company of sturdy dogs cleave through the kind-intentioned press till -they came in safety to the door of the very house in which I was. At -the moment that he approached the threshold, I wheeled about, and -almost overturned a lord as I ran from the chamber and darted down the -stairs. His liberators, faithful to the implicit instructions of Mr. -Snark, had already got him in the house. - -There was a great press of people on his heels pouring in through the -open door as I came down the stairs. However, I was able to breast my -progress through the throng, and fervently clasp my intrepid lover’s -hand. - -“Quick! quick!” I whispered. “Do not dally. Get through to the back. A -horse awaits you. Do not draw rein till you are at the ‘White Hart,’ -Dover. Here’s a purse to meet your needs; and here is Mr. Snark. Heed -every word of his instructions. Good-bye, lad, and God go with you!” - -Straightway Mr. Snark stepped forth, and led his charge to where the -horse awaited him, whilst as he did so, he threw a cloak about his -shoulders, and poured a volume of instructions into his receptive -ear. And with such alacrity was the full affair accomplished that -the soldiers were yet wrestling with the mob, and I had barely time -to reascend the stairs, and withdraw with divers of my friends to -an adjacent chamber which commanded a view of Piper’s Alley instead -of Tyburn Tree, ere the rebel was on his horse, and fleeing through -London for his life. It seemed that there was also a second horse -in readiness, and he who mounted it was no less a person than the -celebrated Mr. Snark. ’Twas he that accompanied my dearest Anthony. - -“There he goes!” cries I to my dear friend Hilda Flummery as the -sorrel’s hoofs rang out upon the stones. “There goes my future husband! -He’ll be in France before to-morrow.” - -“Your future what, dear Bab?” cries she. - -“My future husband, dear,” says I, demurely. - -All who heard shook their heads, of course, or smiled broadly at the -jest that they chose to call it. But they were not aware that I had -made my mind up on this point, and I have writ a little epilogue to -this strange memoir of my wooing to prove to those who may not know, -how formidable I do become when I make my mind up on any point soever. - - - - -EPILOGUE. - - -If one only have beauty, wealth, station, and understanding, and withal -a general air of triumph, all things are possible. Kings are really -very reasonable persons, and Governments, well--Governments have been -known to be amenable if handled with discretion. I am spurred to these -wise remarks by the singular nature of my case, for on July 2nd, 1747, -I was wedded to my Anthony at the Church of St. Sepulchre, in the City -of London. No fewer than five members of the Privy Council embellished -that ceremony with their presence, one of whom was there to represent -his Most Gracious Majesty the King. Now at that time the family swore -upon their souls that they would not forgive me for it; but it is here -my privilege to place on record that they have done so very handsomely, -for, under my tuition, I make bold to say that my dearest Anthony has -become the brightest ornament that our house has known. His excellent -good wit, and the brightness of his natural parts, have won for him a -place in the history of this realm, as from the first I had predicted. -But doubtless he is better known to you and to the world as the -celebrated Duke of B----, a man of conspicuous talents, and princely -virtues; perfect father, devoted husband, wise councillor, and the -faithful servant of a country that once condemned him to be hanged. - - - THE END. - - - - -TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES: - -On page 52, thier has been changed to their. - -On page 159, on has been changed to an. - -On page 196, headdress has been changed to head-dress. - -On pages 216 and 218, gatehouse has been changed to gate-house. - -On page 231, befel has been changed to befell. - -On page 265, “love of live” has been changed to “love of life”. - -On page 288, suchlike has been changed to such-like. - -On page 292, insiduously has been changed to insidiously. - -On page 303, Ratcliffd has been changed to Ratcliffe. - -On page 310, Calender has been changed to Calendar. - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LADY BARBARITY *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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