CHAPTER XITHE STRANGER'S NAMEMistress Betty was the first to recover from terror and surprise. She too had fixed a pair of large and wondering eyes upon the stranger."'Tis the gentleman who brought the letter from his lordship last night," she whispered to her mistress.Patience closed her eyes for a moment: her spirit, which had gone a-roaming into the land of dreams, where dwell heroes and proud knights of old, came back to earth once more."Then he must have guessed my brother was here," she murmured, "and did it to save him."But the tension being relaxed, already the bright and sunny nature, which appeared to be the chief characteristic of the stranger, quickly re-asserted itself, and soon he was laughing merrily."Oh! ho! gone, by my faith!" he said to John. "Odd's life! but he swallowed that, clean as a mullet after bait, eh, friend Stich?"It seemed as if he purposely avoided looking at Patience: perhaps, with the innate delicacy of a kindly nature, he wished to give her time to recover her composure. But now she came forward, turning to him with a gentle smile that had an infinity of pathos in it."Sir," she said, "I would wish to thank you..."He put up his hand, with a gesture of self-deprecation."To thank me, madam?" he said, with profound deference. "Nay! you do but jest. I have done nothing to deserve so great a favour."He bowed to her with perfect courtly grace, but she would not be gainsaid. She wished to think that he had acted thus for her."Sir, you wrong your own most noble deed," she said. "Will you not allow me to keep the sweet illusion, that what you did just now, you did from the kindness of your heart, and because you saw that we were all anxious ... and that ... I was unhappy..."She looked divinely fair as she stood there beside him, with the rays of the slanting September sun touching the halo of her hair with a wand of gold. Her voice was musical and low, and there was a catch in her throat as she held out one tiny, trembling hand to him.He took it in his own strong grasp, and kept it a prisoner therein for awhile, then he bent his slim young figure and touched her finger-tips with his lips."Faith, madam!" he said, "by that sweet illusion, an it dwell awhile in your memory, I am more than repaid."In the meanwhile John had pushed open the small door which led to the inner shed."Quite safe, my lord!" he shouted gaily, "only friends present."Brother and sister, regardless of all save their own joy in this averted peril, were soon locked in each other's arms. Captain Bathurst had heard her happy cry: "Philip!" had seen the look of gladness brighten her tear-dimmed eyes, and a curious feeling of wrath, which he could not explain, caused him to turn away with a frown and a sigh.Patience was clinging to her brother, half hysterical, nervous, excited."You are safe, dear," she murmured, touching with trembling motherly hands the dear head so lately in peril, "quite safe ... let me feel your precious hands ... oh! it was so horrible! ... another moment and you were discovered! ... Sir!" she added once more, turning to the stranger with the sweet impulse of her gratitude, "my thanks just now must have seemed so poor ... I was nervous and excited ... but see! here is one who owes you his life, and who, I know, would wish to join his thanks to mine."But there was a change in his manner now. He bowed slightly before her and said very coldly,—"Nay, madam! let me assure you once again that I have done naught to deserve your thanks. John Stich is my friend, and he seemed in trouble ... if I have had the honour to serve you at the same time, 'tis I who should render thanks."She sighed, somewhat disappointed at his coldness. But Philip, with boyish impulse, held out both hands to him."Nay, sir," he said, "I know not who you are, but I heard everything from behind that door, and I know that I owe you my life...""I beg you, sir...""Another moment and I had rushed out and sold my life dearly. Your noble effort, sir, did more than save that life," he added, taking Patience's hand in his, "it spared a deep sorrow to one who is infinitely dear to me ... my only sister.""Your ... your sister?""Aye! my sister, Lady Patience Gascoyne, I am the Earl of Stretton, unjustly attainted by Act of Parliament. The life you have just saved, sir, is henceforth at your command.""Indeed, Philip," added Patience, gently, "we already are deeply in this gentleman's debt. Betty, who saw him, tells me that it was he who brought me your letter yester night.""You, sir!" exclaimed Stretton in profound astonishment, "then you are..."He paused instinctively, for he had remembered his conversation with John Stich earlier in the day; he remembered the anger, the wonder, which he had felt when the smith told him that he had entrusted the precious letter for Lady Patience to Beau Brocade, the highwayman ..."Then you are...?" repeated Philip, mechanically.Patience was clinging to her brother, with her back towards the stranger, so she did not see the swift look of appeal the slender finger put up in a mute, earnest prayer for silence. But now she turned and looked inquiringly at him, her eyes asking for a name by which she could remember him."Captain Jack Bathurst," he said, bowing low, "at your command."CHAPTER XIITHE BEAUTIFUL WHITE ROSEBut of course there was no time to be lost. Captain Jack Bathurst was the first to give the alarm."Those gallant lobsters won't be long in finding out that they've been hoodwinked," he said, "an I mistake not, they'll return here anon with a temper slightly the worse for wear. They must not find your lordship here at anyrate," he added earnestly."But what's to be done?" asked Patience, all her anxiety returning in a trice, and instinctively turning for guidance to the man who already had done so much for her."For the next hour or two at anyrate his lordship would undoubtedly be safer on the open Moor," said Bathurst, decisively. "'Tis nigh on sunset, and the shepherds are busy gathering in their flocks. There'll be no one about, and 'twould be safer.""On the open Moor?""Aye! 'tis not a bad place," he said, with a touch of sadness in his fresh young voice. "I myself..."He checked himself and continued more quietly,—"Your lordship could return here after sundown. You'd be safe enough for the night. After that, an you'll grant me leave, my friend Stich and I will venture to devise some better plan for your safety. For the moment, I pray you, be guided by this good advice, and seek the protection of the open Moor."He had spoken so earnestly, with such obvious heartfelt concern, and at the same time with such quiet firmness, that instinctively Philip felt inclined to obey; the weaker nature turned for support to the stronger one, to whose dominating influence it felt compelled to yield. He turned to Patience, and her eyes seemed to tell him that she was ready to trust this stranger."Aye! I'll go, sir!" he sighed wearily.He kissed his sister with all the fondness of his aching heart. All his hopes for the future were centred in her and in the long journey she was about to undertake for his sake.Bathurst discreetly left brother and sister alone. He knew nothing of their affairs, of their plans, their hopes. Stich was too loyal to speak of his lord, even to a man whom he trusted and respected as he did the Captain. The latter knew that a hunted man was in hiding in the smith's forge, he had taken a message from the man to the lady at Stretton Hall, now he knew for certain that the fugitive was the Earl of Stretton. But that was all.Being outside the pale of the law himself, his sympathies at once ranged themselves on the side of the fugitive. Whether the latter were guilty or innocent mattered little to Jack Bathurst; what did matter to him was that the most beautiful woman he had ever set eyes on was unhappy and in tears.Philip, seeing that he could talk to his sister unobserved, whispered eagerly,—"The letters, dear, have a care; how will you carry them?""In the drawer underneath the seat of the coach," she whispered in reply. "I'll not leave the coach day or night until I've reached London. From Wirksworth onwards I'll be travelling with relays: I need neither spare horses nor waste a moment's time. I can be in town in less than six days.""When will your coach be ready?""In a few minutes now, and I'll start at once: but go, go now, dear," she urged tenderly, "since Captain Bathurst thinks it better that you should."She kissed him again and again, her heart full of hope and excitement at thought of what she could do for him, yet aching because of this parting. It was terrible to leave him in this awful peril, to be far away if danger once again became imminent!When at last he had torn himself away from her, he made quickly for the door, where Bathurst had been waiting for him."Ah, sir!" sighed Philip, bitterly, "'tis a sorry plight for a soldier and a gentleman to hide for his life like a coward and a thief."But Bathurst before leaving was looking back at the beautiful picture of Patience's sweet face bathed in tears."Like a thief?" he murmured. "Nay, sir, thieves have no angels to guard and love them: methinks you have no cause to complain of your fate."There was perhaps just a thought of bitterness in his voice as he said this, and Patience turned to him, and gazed at him in tender womanly pity through her tears. At once the electrical, sunny nature within him again gained the upper hand. Laughter and gaiety seemed with him to be always close to the surface, ready to ripple out at any moment, and calling forth hope and confidence in those around."An you'll accept my escort, sir," he said cheerfully to Philip, "I'll show you a sheltered spot known only to myself ... and to Jack o' Lantern," he added, giving a passing tender tap to his beautiful horse. "He and I are very fond of the Moor, eh, Jack, old friend? ... We are the two Jacks, you see, sir, and seldom are seen apart. Together we discovered the spot which I will show you, sir, and where you can lieperduuntil nightfall. 'Tis safe and lonely and but a step from this forge."Philip accepted the offer gratefully. Like his sister, he too felt that he could trust Jack Bathurst. As he walked by his side along the unbeaten track on the Heath, he viewed with some curiosity, not unmixed with boyish admiration, the tall, well-knit figure of his gallant rescuer. He tried to think of him as the notorious highwayman, Beau Brocade, on whose head the Government had put the price of a hundred guineas.A hero of romance he was in the hearts of the whole country-side, yet a felon in the eyes of the law. Philip could just see his noble profile, with the well-cut features, the boyish, sensitive mouth, firm chin and straight, massive brow, over which a mass of heavy brown curls clustered in unruly profusion.A brave man, surely—Philip had experienced that; a wise one too in spite of his youth. Stretton guessed his companion to be still under thirty years of age, and yet there was at times, in spite of the inherently sunny disposition below, a look of melancholy, of disappointment, in the deep, grey eyes, which spoke of a wasted life, of opportunities lost perhaps, or of persistent adverse fate.Through it all there was that quaint air of foppishness, the manners and appearance of a dandy about the Court. The caped coat was dark and serviceable, but it was of the finest cloth and of the latest, most fashionable cut, and beneath it peeped a dainty silk waistcoat, delicately embroidered.The lace at throat and wrists was of the finest Mechlin, and the boots, though stout and heavy, betrayed the smallness and the arch of the foot. Though Jack Bathurst had obviously been riding, he carried neither whip nor cane.All that Philip observed in this rapid walk to the place of shelter which Bathurst had thought out for him, Patience, with a woman's quick perception, had noted from the first. To her, of course, the Captain was but a gallant stranger, good to look at and replete with all the chivalrous attributes this troublous century called forth in the hearts of her sons. She knew naught of Beau Brocade the highwayman, and probably would have recoiled in horror at thought of connecting the name of a thief with that of her newly-found hero of romance.She stood in the doorway for some time, watching with glowing eyes the figures of the two men, until they disappeared behind a high clump of gorse: then with a curious little sigh she turned and went within.John Stich and Mistress Betty were carrying on an animated conversation in a remote corner of the forge. Patience did not wish to disturb them: she was deeply grateful to John, and felt kindly disposed towards the suggestion of romance conveyed by the smith's obvious appreciation of pretty Mistress Betty.She crossed the shed, and opening the door at the further end of it, she found that it gave upon a small yard which separated the forge from the cottage, and in which Stich and his mother, who kept house for him, had with tender care succeeded in cultivating a few flowers: only one or two tall hollyhocks, some gay-looking sunflowers, and a few sweet-scented herbs. And on the south aspect a lovely trail of creeping white rose, the kind known as "Five Sisters," threw its delicate fragrance over this little oasis in the wilderness of the Moor.And, almost mechanically, whilst her fancy once more went a-roaming in the land of dreams, Patience began to hum the quaint old ditty: "My beautiful white rose."Suddenly—at a quick thought mayhap—her eyes grew dim, her cheeks began to burn: she drew towards her a cluster of snowy blossoms, on which the earlier rains had left a mantle of glittering diamonds, and buried her glowing face in its pure, cool depths. Then she detached one lovely white rose from the parent bough, and, sighing, pinned it to her belt.CHAPTER XIIIA PROPOSAL AND A THREATSir Humphrey Challoner had not been long in making up his mind to take Master Mittachip's pernicious advice. He twisted the old adage that "everything is fair in love" to a justification of his own evil purpose. He was not by any means a bad man. Save for his somewhat inordinate love of money, he had none of the outrageous vices which were looked upon with leniency in the quality in those days.He drank hard, and exacted his pound of flesh equally from all his tenants, but neither of these characteristics was unusual in an English squire of the early eighteenth century: a great many of them were impecunious, and all were fond of good cheer. Originally he had meant no harm to the young Earl of Stretton. His plan, as he clumsily conceived it, was to get Philip into trouble first, then to extricate him from it, for the sake of earning the gratitude of the richest heiress in the Midlands and the most beautiful woman in England to boot.Sir Humphrey Challoner was not a diplomatist: he was a rough country gentleman of that time, with but scant notions of abstract right and wrong where his own desires were at stake.His original plan had failed through that very Act of Parliament which placed Philip's life in immediate and imminent peril. Sir Humphrey did not desire the lad's death: of course not. He had nothing to gain thereby, and only wished for the sister's hand in marriage. He started for London post-haste, hoping still to use what influence he had, and also what knowledge he possessed of Philip's attitude at the time of the rebellion, in order to bring about the boy's justification and release.That Patience had evidently found a means of proving her brother's innocence without his help was a bitter disappointment to Sir Humphrey. He knew that she would never marry him of her own free will, but only on compulsion or from gratitude.The latter was now out of the question. He could do nothing to earn it. Compulsion was the only course, and Mittachip, with crafty persuasion, had shown him the possible way; therefore he went to the forge of John Stich to carry through the plan to that end.It was close on sunset. On the Moor, gorse, bramble and heather were bathed in ruddy gold, the brilliant aftermath of this glowing September afternoon.Sir Humphrey had walked over from the Moorhen; as soon as he entered the forge, the first thing he noticed was the beautiful chestnut horse tethered against the door-post, the same which he himself had declared that very day to be worth a small fortune. Fate was obviously playing into his hands. Mittachip had neither deceived him nor lured him with false hopes.Otherwise the shed was empty: there was no sign of John Stich, or of the stranger who rode the chestnut horse. Sir Humphrey went within and, as patiently as he could, set himself to wait.When therefore Jack Bathurst returned to the forge some few minutes later, he found that her ladyship, Betty and Stich had gone, whilst, sitting on the edge of the rough deal table, and impatiently tapping his boot with a riding-whip, was no less a personage than the Squire of Hartington.Jack had caught a glimpse of his Honour the night before on the Heath, under circumstances which even now brought a smile to his lips, and which incidentally had made the poor of Brassington richer by fifty guineas.For a moment he hesitated whether he would go in or no. He had been masked during that incident, of course, and knew not even the ABC of fear. His dare-devil spirit of fun and adventure quickly gained the upper hand, and the next moment he had greeted his Honour with all the courtly grace he had at command.Sir Humphrey looked at him keenly for a moment or two. Young and well-looking! Oft to be seen at the forge at sundown! ... Odd's life but..."Your servant, sir!" he said, returning the salutation.Sir Humphrey was in no hurry. He firmly believed that Fate had decided to be kind to him in this matter, but he feared to brusque the situation, and thereby to imperil the successful issue of his scheme.Therefore he passed the time of day with this well-looking stranger, he talked of the weather and the rains on the Moors, the bad state of the roads and the insufficiency of police in the county, of the late rebellion and the newest fashion in coats.Jack Bathurst seemed to fall into his mood. He was shrewd enough to perceive that Sir Humphrey Challoner was in his own estimation playing a diplomatic game of cat and mouse, and it much intrigued Bathurst to know what his ultimate purpose might be. He had not long to wait; after some five minutes of casual conversation, Sir Humphrey went straight for his goal."Odd's life!" he said suddenly, interrupting his own flow of small talk, "it wonders me how long that rascally smith'll stay away from his work. Adsbud! but he's a lazy vagabond. What say you, sir?""Nay! you, sir, wrong an honest man," replied Bathurst. "John Stich is a steady worker. Shall I call him for you? I know my way about his cottage.""Nay, I thank you, sir! my purpose can wait. Truth to tell," added his Honour, carelessly, "'twas not the blacksmith's work I needed, but his help in a trifling matter of business.""Indeed?""You'll be surprised perhaps at my question, sir, but have you ever heard mention of that fellow, Beau Brocade?""Oh! ... vaguely...""A highwayman, sir, and a consummate rogue, yet your honest John Stich is said to be his friend.""Indeed?""Now, an you'll believe me, sir, I have a mind to speak with the rascal.""Indeed? then you are bolder than most, sir," said Jack, cheerfully. He was really beginning to wonder what the Squire of Hartington was driving at."It seems strange, doesn't it? but to be frank with you, I'm in two minds about that rogue.""How so?""Well! I have a score to settle with him, and a business to propose; and I cannot decide which course to adopt.""You, sir, being so clever, might perhaps manage both," said Bathurst with a touch of sarcasm."Hm! I wonder now," continued Sir Humphrey, not wishing to notice the slight impertinence. "I wonder now what an independent gentleman like yourself would advise me to do. I have not the honour of knowing who you are," he added with grave condescension, "but I can see that youare, like myself, a gentleman."Bathurst bowed in polite acknowledgment."I should be proud to serve you with advice, sir, since you desire it.""Well! as I have said, I have a score to settle with the rogue. He stole fifty guineas from me last night.""Ah me!" sighed Jack, with a melancholy shake of the head, "then I fear me he'll never haunt the Heath again.""What mean you, sir?""Nay! I can picture the rascal now, after you, sir, had punished him for his impudence! A mangled, bleeding wreck! But there! I have no pity for him! Daring to measure his valour against your noted prowess!""Quite so! quite so!" quoth his Honour, whilst smothering a curse at this more obvious piece of insolence."But I entreat your pardon. I was interrupting the story.""I saw the rogue, sir," said Sir Humphrey, glancing significantly at the young man, "saw him clearly by the light of my carriage lanthorns. He was masked, of course, but I'd know him anywhere, and could denounce him to-morrow."He had risen to his feet, and with legs apart, standing face to face with Bathurst, he spoke every word as if he meant them to act as a threat."There are plenty of soldiers about these parts now, even if the country folk won't touch their vaunted hero of romance. I could get him hanged, sir, within a week. A cordon of soldiers round this Heath, my word to swear his identity, and.... But there!" he added with a jovial laugh, "'tis no concern of yours is it, sir? You were kind enough to promise me your advice. This is one of my alternatives, the score I'd wish to settle; there's still the business I could offer the rogue."Sir Humphrey had looked the young man squarely in the face whilst he uttered his threat, but had seen nothing there, save the merriest, the most light-hearted of smiles."I can scarce advise you, sir," said Bathurst, still smiling, "unless I know the business as well.""Well, sir, you know of old Lady Rounce, do you not? the meanest, ugliest old witch in the county, eh? Well! she is on her way to London, and carries with her a mass of money, wrung from her miserable tenants.""Faith, sir! you paint a most entrancing picture of the lady.""Now, an that rascal Beau Brocade were willing to serve me, he could at one stroke save his own neck from the gallows, enrich himself, right the innocent and confound a wicked old woman.""And how could this galaxy of noble deeds be accomplished at one stroke, sir?""Her ladyship's coach will pass over the Heath to-night. It should be at the cross-roads soon. There will be all the old harridan's money and jewels to be got out of it.""Of course.""And also a packet of love-letters, which doubtless will be hidden away in the receptacle beneath the seat.""Letters?" queried Bathurst. "Hm! I doubt me if love-letters would tempt a gentleman of the road.""Nay, sir," replied his Honour, now dropping his voice to a confidential whisper, "these are letters which, if published, would compromise an artless young lady, whom old Lady Rounce pursues with her hatred and spite. Now I would give a hundred guineas to any person who will bring me those letters at the Moorhen to-morrow. Surely to a gentleman of the road the game would be worth the candle. Lady Rounce carries money with her besides, and her diamonds. What think you of it, sir?""'Tis somewhat difficult to advise," said Bathurst, meditatively."Ah well!" said Sir Humphrey with affected indifference, "'tis really not much to me. On the whole perhaps I would prefer to deliver the rascal into the hands of my friend Squire West at Brassington. Anyway, I have the night to think the matter over; 'tis too late now to wait for that lout, John Stich. I would have preferred to have had your advice, sir. I daresay 'tis difficult to give. And you a stranger too. I would have liked to save a young girl from the clutches of that old witch, Lady Rounce, and if Beau Brocade rendered me that service, I'd be tempted to hold my tongue about him.... He should have the hundred guineas to-morrow and have nought to fear from me, if he brought me those letters. If not ... well! ... well! ... we shall see.... The old gallows here have long been idle ... we shall see ... we shall see.... Good-day to you, sir ... proud to have met you.... No ... I'll not wait for John Stich. Is this your horse? ... pretty creature! ... Good-day, sir ... good-day."His Honour was extremely condescending and pleasant. He bowed very politely to Bathurst, patted the beautiful chestnut horse, and showed no further desire to talk with John Stich.Bathurst, with a frown on his handsome face, watched the Squire of Hartington's burly figure disappear round the bend in the road."I wonder now," he mused, "what mischief he's brewing. He seemed to me up to no good. I suppose he guessed who I was."While he stood there watching, John Stich quickly entered the forge from the rear."I was in the cottage, Captain," he said, "my mother was serving the ladies with some milk. But just now I saw Sir Humphrey Challoner walking away from the forge. I feared he might see you.""He did see me, honest friend," said Jack, lightly. "His Honour and I have just had a long and animated conversation together.""Great Heavens! the man is furious with you, Captain!" said the smith, with genuine anxiety in his gruff voice, "he saw you distinctly on the Heath last night. He may have recognised you to-day.""He did recognise me.""And may be brewing the devil's own mischief against you.""Oh, ho!" laughed the young man, with a careless shrug of the shoulders, "against me? ... Well! you know, honest John, I am bound to end on the gallows...""Sooner or later! Sooner or later!" he added merrily, noting John's look of sorrowful alarm. "They've not got me yet, though there are so many soldiers about, as that piece of underdone roast-beef said just now.""You'll not tell me what Sir Humphrey Challoner spoke to you about?""No, friend, I will not," said Jack, with a look of infinite kindness and placing a slender white hand on the smith's broad shoulder. "You are my friend, you know, you shoe and care after my horse, you shelter and comfort me. May Heaven's legions of angels bless you for that. Of my life on the Heath I'll never tell you aught, whatever you may guess. 'Tis better so. I'll not have you compromised, or implicated in my adventures. In case ... well! ... if they do catch me, you know, friend, 'tis better for your sake that you should know nothing.""But you'll not go on the Heath to-night, Captain," pleaded the smith, with a tremor in his voice."Aye! that I will, John Stich," rejoined Bathurst, with a careless laugh, which now had an unmistakable ring of bitterness in it, "to stop a coach, to lift a purse! that's my business.... Aye! I'll to the Heath, friend, 'tis my only home, you know, ere I find a resting-place on the gallows yonder."John sighed and turned away, and thus did not hear the faint murmur that came of a great and good heart over-full with longing and disappointment."My beautiful white rose! ... how pale she looked ... and how exquisitely fair! ... Ah! me ... if only.... Jack! Jack! don't be a fool!" he added with a short, deep sigh, "'tis too late; remember, for Beau Brocade to go galloping after an illusion!"CHAPTER XIVTHE FIGHT IN THE FORGEJohn Stich ventured no further opposition, well knowing the reckless spirit which his own quiet devotion was powerless to keep in check; moreover, Lady Patience, closely followed by the ever-faithful Betty, had just entered by the door that gave from the yard."I was wondering, honest Stich," she said, "if my coach were yet in sight. Meseems the horses must have had sufficient rest by now.""I'll just see, my lady," said John.At first sound of her low, musical voice, Bathurst had turned to her, and now his eyes rested with undisguised admiration on her graceful figure, dimly outlined in the fast-gathering shadows. She too caught sight of him, and sorely against her will a vivid blush mounted to her cheeks. She pulled her cloak close to her, partly to hide the bunch of white roses that nestled in her belt.Thus there was an instant's silent pause, during which two hearts, both young, both ardent, and imbued with the spirit of romance, beat—unknown to one another—in perfect unison.And yet at this supreme moment in their lives—supreme though they themselves knew it not—neither of them had begun to think of love. In her there was just that delightful feeling of feminine curiosity, mingled with the subtle homage of a proud woman for the man who, in her presence, and for her sake, had proved himself brave, resourceful, full of invention and of pluck: there was also an unexplainable sense of the magnetism caused by the realpersonality, by the unmistakablevitalityof the man. He lived, he felt, he thought differently to anyone else, in a world quite apart and entirely his own, and she felt the magic of this sunny nature, of the merry, almost boyish laugh, overlying as it were the undercurrent of disappointment and melancholy which had never degenerated into cynicism.But in him? Ah! in him there was above all a wild, passionate longing! the longing of an intensely human, aching heart, when it is brought nigh to its own highest ideal, and knows that that ideal is infinitely beyond his reach.The broken-down gentleman! the notorious hero of midnight adventures! highwayman! robber! thief! what right had he even to look upon her, the perfect embodiment of exquisite womanhood, the beautiful realisation of man's tenderest dreams?Perhaps at this one supreme moment in his reckless career the wild adventurer felt the first pang of humbled pride, of that pride which had defied existing laws and built up a code of its own. He understood then all at once the stern, iron-bound rule which makes of man—free lord of creation though he be—the slave of those same laws which he himself has set up for his own protection.Beau Brocade, the highwayman, closed his eyes, and no longer dared to look on his dream.He turned to his horse, and with great tenderness began stroking Jack o' Lantern's soft, responsive nose.The next moment Stich, who had been busy with his work, looked up in sudden alarm."The soldiers!" he said briefly, "all running ... the Sergeant's at the head o' them, and some of the shepherds at their heels."At first Patience did not understand where the actual danger lay."My brother!" she gasped, terrified.But a look from Bathurst reassured her."Absolutely safe," he said quickly and decisively, "a hiding-place known to no one but me. I give your ladyship my word of honour that there is not the remotest danger for him."She felt all her terrors vanishing. But these few words spoken to comfort her went nigh to costing Bathurst dear. In those few brief seconds he had lost the opportunity of jumping on Jack o' Lantern's back and getting well away before the soldiers had reached the entrance of the forge, and had effectually barred his chance of escape.As it was, he had only just undone the halter, and before he had time to lead Jack o' Lantern out, the voice of the Sergeant was heard quite close to the doorway, shouting breathlessly,—"Forward! quick! Arrest that man!""My sword, John! for your life!" was Bathurst's ready answer to the challenge.Stich darted to a corner of the forge. Lady Patience gave a quick, short gasp, she had suddenly realised that for some reason which she could not quite fathom, the man who had so pluckily saved her brother from the soldiers an hour ago, was now himself in imminent danger.Jack snatched the sword eagerly which the smith was holding out to him, and resting the point of the blade on the ground before him, he tested with evident satisfaction the temper of the steel. Not a moment too soon this, for already the Sergeant, running, panting, infuriated by the trick played upon him, had appeared in the doorway, closely followed by two of his men.Caught like a rat in a hole, Jack was prepared to fight. Perhaps at bottom he was glad that circumstances had not compelled him to show a clean pair of heels before this new danger to himself. Alone, he might have liked to flee, beforeherhe preferred to fight."Odd's my life!" he said merrily, "'tis my friend, the Sergeant.""You sent me on a fool's errand," shouted the latter as loudly as his scant breath would allow, "and 'tis my belief you are one of them rebel lords yourself: at anyrate you shall give an account of yourself before the magistrate. And if the smith dares to interfere, he does so at his peril," he added, seeing that John Stich had seized his hammer, and was handling it ominously, fully prepared to resist the established authority on behalf of his friend.But whilst the Sergeant parleyed, Jack, with the rapid keen eye of a practised fencer, and the wary glance of a child of the Moor, had taken note of every advantage, however slight, which his present precarious position had left him.The Sergeant and two men were in the doorway, momentarily pausing in order to recover their breath. Three more of the squad were running forward along the road, but were still some little distance off, and would be a few minutes before they reached the smithy.Further on still there were the others, at present only appearing as scarlet dots on the Heath. Close on the heels of the Sergeant, two or three shepherds, with Jock Miggs in their rear, had come to see what was happening in the forge.It had taken Jack Bathurst only a couple of seconds to note all these details. Luck so far favoured him that, for the next minute or two at least, he would only have to deal with the Sergeant and two soldiers."Into it, my men! Arrest him in the name of the King!" shouted the Sergeant, and the two soldiers, grasping their bayonets, made a rush for the interior of the shed, ready to surround Jack and his horse.But quick as a lightning flash, Bathurst gave Jack o' Lantern a slight prick in the ribs with his sword; the nervous creature, already rendered restive by the sudden noise, began to plunge and rear, and thus, as his master had hoped, scattered the compact group of assailants momentarily away from the vicinity of his hoofs.This gave the young man the desired opportunity. Nimble as a fox when hotly pursued, he stepped back and with one bound took up a position on the top of a solid oak table, which stood in the deep shadow caused by the doorway, thus, for the moment, leaving Jack o' Lantern as a barrier between himself and his enemies."Friend Stich," he shouted from this exalted height, "do you stand by the ladies. Stir not from their side whatever happens, nor interfere 'tween me and the soldiers at your peril."The lust of battle was upon him now. He was satisfied with his position and longed to begin the fight. On his left was the outside wall of the shed, and guarding his right was the huge furnace of the smithy, out of which the burning embers cast fitful flickering lights upon his tall, slim figure, and drew from his blade sparks of blood-red gold.He had wrapped the thick capes of his heavy cloth coat round his left arm: the folds of it hung down to his feet, forming a shield round the lower part of his figure.Already the soldiers had recovered from the short panic caused by Jack o' Lantern's timely rearing. One of them now seized the horse by the bridle and led him out into the open, thus exposing Bathurst more fully to the onslaught of their bayonets.Jack was fully prepared for them, and as soon as the Sergeant had given the order to attack, his steel began to dart in and out of the gloom like some live snake, with tongue of steel; illumined by the fitful embers of the furnace fire, it seemed to give forth a thousand sparks of witch-like flame with every turn of the cunning wrist. The outline of his head and shoulders was lost in the dense shadows above, whilst his assailants stood in the full glare of the setting sun, which, hot and blinding, came streaming into the shed.Dazed by the flickering light of the furnace and the sunset glow beyond, the soldiers made very ineffectual plunges into the dark shadow, whence, fencing and parrying, and with many a quip and sally, Jack had at first an easy task in keeping them at bay.This was mere child's play to him; already one of the men had an ugly gash in his cheek, and the next moment saw the Sergeant reeling backwards, with a well-directed thrust through his right arm.But easy and exciting as was this brilliant sword-play, it could not in the long run be of much avail. Hardly had the Sergeant fallen back than three more soldiers, also hot and furious, came rushing in to reinforce their comrades. Bathurst had in his day been counted the finest fencer in England, his wrist was as fresh and strong as the steel which he held, but the odds were beginning to accumulate against him.Five men in the shed, and the others could not be very far away!John Stich felt his muscles nearly cracking with the vigorous effort to maintain his quiescent position and not to come to the rescue of his hard-pressed friend.Suddenly one of the soldiers levelled his musket.Patience saw it and gave a cry of horror. Stich, throwing prudence to the winds, would have rushed forward, to prevent this awful thing at any cost, but the Sergeant, though wounded, had lost none of his zest, and his eye had been fixed on the smith."Keep back the smith!" he shouted, "use your bayonets! quick!"And as two of his men obeyed him, he himself threw his full weight against John, and together the three men succeeded in rendering the worthy fellow momentarily powerless."Captain! Captain!" he shouted desperately, "have a care!"Of course Jack had realised his danger. The group of his assailants stood out in every detail before him, like a clear-cut sunlit picture. But against the musket levelled at him he could do nothing, it was Luck's chance to do him a good turn; he himself was hard pressed by two men close to his knees.Patience felt as if her heart would cease to beat, her impulse was to rush blindly, stupidly forward, when suddenly a piping voice, vague and uncertain, was heard above the click of Jack's sword."Don't 'ee let 'em get 'ee, sir!" and Jock Miggs, with trembling, yet determined hands, gave a vigorous tug to the coat tails of the soldier, who was even now pulling the trigger of his musket. The latter, who had been aiming very deliberately for the one bright patch on Jack's person caused by the red glow of the furnace, lost his aim: there was a loud report, and a bullet went whizzing high above Bathurst's head, and buried itself in the woodwork above him.This was the signal for a new phase of this curious and unequal struggle. The shepherds, at first, knowing nothing of the cause of this quarrel, had stood open-mouthed, somewhat frightened and awaiting events, at a short distance from the scene of the scuffle.But when the chestnut horse had been led out into the open, they suddenly had an inkling as to who its owner was. Jack o' Lantern, bearing the masked highwayman on his back, was well known to the poor folk on Brassing Moor.Beau Brocade, who but yesterday had left fifty guineas in the Brassington poor box! Beau Brocade, the hero of the Heath! He! to be caught by a parcel of red coats?Never! Jock Miggs but voiced the feeling of the majority."Noa! Noa!" they shouted lustily. "Don't 'ee let 'em get 'ee, sir!""Not if I can help it, friends!" rejoined Bathurst in gay response.They did not resist the soldiers; not they! Your Derbyshire yokel is too cautious an individual to run absolutely counter to established authority, but they saw their friend, their helper and benefactor, in trouble and they did what they could to help him. They got in the way, jostled the soldiers when they dared, kept the attention of one or two occupied, preventing a general onslaught on the oak table, on which Bathurst, still alert, still keen, was holding his own against such terrible odds."There's for you, my gallant lobster," quoth Jack, gaily.He was standing far back on the table, entrenched between the wall on one side and the furnace on the other, and every time one of the soldiers ventured too near, his sword would dart out of the gloom: it seemed like a living creature of fire and steel, so quick and bold were his feints and parries, his sudden attacks in quarte and sixte, and all the while he kept one eye on the open Moor, where Jack o' Lantern, quivering with impatience, stood pawing the ground, and sniffing the keen evening air, ready to carry his master away, out upon the Heath, out of sight and out of danger.Obviously the unequal contest could not last much longer. Jack knew that as well as any one. Already the red dots in the far distance had drawn considerably nearer, the next few minutes would bring this fresh reinforcement to the wearied, exhausted assailants.The Sergeant too was ready to seize his best opportunity. He still kept two men on guard over the smith, but he soon saw that the two, who were storming Bathurst's improvised citadel, were no match with their clumsy bayonets against a brilliant fencer who, moreover, had the advantage of light and shadow, and of his elevated position.Though he was wounded, and bleeding profusely, he had set his heart on the capture of this mysterious stranger, and having cast a glance on the open Moor beyond, he saw with renewed zest two more of his men hurrying along. With all the strength he had left he shouted to them to come on, and then turned to encourage the others."Take it easy, my men! Hold out a moment longer. We've got the rebel at last."But Jack too had seen and understood. He was neither tired nor hurt, but two more men against him would inevitably prove his undoing. Already he could hear the shouts of the soldiers hurrying in response to their Sergeant's call. The next minute they would be in the forge.A sudden change of tactics led his two assailants to venture nearer than they had done hitherto; he drew back into the shadows, and they, fired by the lust of capture, under the impression that he was at last exhausted, ventured nearer and nearer still; already they were leaning over the edge of the table, one man was thrusting at Bathurst's legs, when the latter, with a rapidity that seemed quicker than a flash of lightning, disengaged his left arm from his heavy coat, and with both hands threw it right over the heads of the two men. Before they had time to release themselves from its folds, Jack, with one bound was off the table, and the next instant he had torn open the door of the furnace and dragged out the huge iron poker with which the smith raked his fire, and with a cry of triumph slung this new and formidable weapon high over his head.The effect of this sudden move was one of uncontrollable panic: the red-hot metal, as he swung it over his head, dropped a far-reaching shower of burning sparks; soldiers and Sergeant all drew back instinctively, and Jack, still brandishing his weapon, reached the entrance and was out in the open before any one dared to stop him.There he flung the great glowing thing in the direction of his assailants, who even now were rallying to the attack.But the moment had been precious to Bathurst, and Jack o' Lantern was a king among horses. Without use of stirrup or rein, Jack, like the true child of the wild Moor that he was, flung himself upon the beautiful creature's back.Thus Patience saw him for one brief second, framed in the doorway of the forge, the last rays of the setting sun forming a background of crimson and gold for his slim, upright figure, and the brown curls on his head.It was but a moment's vision, but one she would carry enshrined in her memory through all the years to come. His eyes, large, glowing, magnetic, met hers in a flash, and hers, bright with unshed tears, met his in quick response."Soldiers!" he shouted, as he rode away, "an you think I am a rebel lord, then after me, quick! whilst I ride towards the sunset."
CHAPTER XI
THE STRANGER'S NAME
Mistress Betty was the first to recover from terror and surprise. She too had fixed a pair of large and wondering eyes upon the stranger.
"'Tis the gentleman who brought the letter from his lordship last night," she whispered to her mistress.
Patience closed her eyes for a moment: her spirit, which had gone a-roaming into the land of dreams, where dwell heroes and proud knights of old, came back to earth once more.
"Then he must have guessed my brother was here," she murmured, "and did it to save him."
But the tension being relaxed, already the bright and sunny nature, which appeared to be the chief characteristic of the stranger, quickly re-asserted itself, and soon he was laughing merrily.
"Oh! ho! gone, by my faith!" he said to John. "Odd's life! but he swallowed that, clean as a mullet after bait, eh, friend Stich?"
It seemed as if he purposely avoided looking at Patience: perhaps, with the innate delicacy of a kindly nature, he wished to give her time to recover her composure. But now she came forward, turning to him with a gentle smile that had an infinity of pathos in it.
"Sir," she said, "I would wish to thank you..."
He put up his hand, with a gesture of self-deprecation.
"To thank me, madam?" he said, with profound deference. "Nay! you do but jest. I have done nothing to deserve so great a favour."
He bowed to her with perfect courtly grace, but she would not be gainsaid. She wished to think that he had acted thus for her.
"Sir, you wrong your own most noble deed," she said. "Will you not allow me to keep the sweet illusion, that what you did just now, you did from the kindness of your heart, and because you saw that we were all anxious ... and that ... I was unhappy..."
She looked divinely fair as she stood there beside him, with the rays of the slanting September sun touching the halo of her hair with a wand of gold. Her voice was musical and low, and there was a catch in her throat as she held out one tiny, trembling hand to him.
He took it in his own strong grasp, and kept it a prisoner therein for awhile, then he bent his slim young figure and touched her finger-tips with his lips.
"Faith, madam!" he said, "by that sweet illusion, an it dwell awhile in your memory, I am more than repaid."
In the meanwhile John had pushed open the small door which led to the inner shed.
"Quite safe, my lord!" he shouted gaily, "only friends present."
Brother and sister, regardless of all save their own joy in this averted peril, were soon locked in each other's arms. Captain Bathurst had heard her happy cry: "Philip!" had seen the look of gladness brighten her tear-dimmed eyes, and a curious feeling of wrath, which he could not explain, caused him to turn away with a frown and a sigh.
Patience was clinging to her brother, half hysterical, nervous, excited.
"You are safe, dear," she murmured, touching with trembling motherly hands the dear head so lately in peril, "quite safe ... let me feel your precious hands ... oh! it was so horrible! ... another moment and you were discovered! ... Sir!" she added once more, turning to the stranger with the sweet impulse of her gratitude, "my thanks just now must have seemed so poor ... I was nervous and excited ... but see! here is one who owes you his life, and who, I know, would wish to join his thanks to mine."
But there was a change in his manner now. He bowed slightly before her and said very coldly,—
"Nay, madam! let me assure you once again that I have done naught to deserve your thanks. John Stich is my friend, and he seemed in trouble ... if I have had the honour to serve you at the same time, 'tis I who should render thanks."
She sighed, somewhat disappointed at his coldness. But Philip, with boyish impulse, held out both hands to him.
"Nay, sir," he said, "I know not who you are, but I heard everything from behind that door, and I know that I owe you my life..."
"I beg you, sir..."
"Another moment and I had rushed out and sold my life dearly. Your noble effort, sir, did more than save that life," he added, taking Patience's hand in his, "it spared a deep sorrow to one who is infinitely dear to me ... my only sister."
"Your ... your sister?"
"Aye! my sister, Lady Patience Gascoyne, I am the Earl of Stretton, unjustly attainted by Act of Parliament. The life you have just saved, sir, is henceforth at your command."
"Indeed, Philip," added Patience, gently, "we already are deeply in this gentleman's debt. Betty, who saw him, tells me that it was he who brought me your letter yester night."
"You, sir!" exclaimed Stretton in profound astonishment, "then you are..."
He paused instinctively, for he had remembered his conversation with John Stich earlier in the day; he remembered the anger, the wonder, which he had felt when the smith told him that he had entrusted the precious letter for Lady Patience to Beau Brocade, the highwayman ...
"Then you are...?" repeated Philip, mechanically.
Patience was clinging to her brother, with her back towards the stranger, so she did not see the swift look of appeal the slender finger put up in a mute, earnest prayer for silence. But now she turned and looked inquiringly at him, her eyes asking for a name by which she could remember him.
"Captain Jack Bathurst," he said, bowing low, "at your command."
CHAPTER XII
THE BEAUTIFUL WHITE ROSE
But of course there was no time to be lost. Captain Jack Bathurst was the first to give the alarm.
"Those gallant lobsters won't be long in finding out that they've been hoodwinked," he said, "an I mistake not, they'll return here anon with a temper slightly the worse for wear. They must not find your lordship here at anyrate," he added earnestly.
"But what's to be done?" asked Patience, all her anxiety returning in a trice, and instinctively turning for guidance to the man who already had done so much for her.
"For the next hour or two at anyrate his lordship would undoubtedly be safer on the open Moor," said Bathurst, decisively. "'Tis nigh on sunset, and the shepherds are busy gathering in their flocks. There'll be no one about, and 'twould be safer."
"On the open Moor?"
"Aye! 'tis not a bad place," he said, with a touch of sadness in his fresh young voice. "I myself..."
He checked himself and continued more quietly,—
"Your lordship could return here after sundown. You'd be safe enough for the night. After that, an you'll grant me leave, my friend Stich and I will venture to devise some better plan for your safety. For the moment, I pray you, be guided by this good advice, and seek the protection of the open Moor."
He had spoken so earnestly, with such obvious heartfelt concern, and at the same time with such quiet firmness, that instinctively Philip felt inclined to obey; the weaker nature turned for support to the stronger one, to whose dominating influence it felt compelled to yield. He turned to Patience, and her eyes seemed to tell him that she was ready to trust this stranger.
"Aye! I'll go, sir!" he sighed wearily.
He kissed his sister with all the fondness of his aching heart. All his hopes for the future were centred in her and in the long journey she was about to undertake for his sake.
Bathurst discreetly left brother and sister alone. He knew nothing of their affairs, of their plans, their hopes. Stich was too loyal to speak of his lord, even to a man whom he trusted and respected as he did the Captain. The latter knew that a hunted man was in hiding in the smith's forge, he had taken a message from the man to the lady at Stretton Hall, now he knew for certain that the fugitive was the Earl of Stretton. But that was all.
Being outside the pale of the law himself, his sympathies at once ranged themselves on the side of the fugitive. Whether the latter were guilty or innocent mattered little to Jack Bathurst; what did matter to him was that the most beautiful woman he had ever set eyes on was unhappy and in tears.
Philip, seeing that he could talk to his sister unobserved, whispered eagerly,—
"The letters, dear, have a care; how will you carry them?"
"In the drawer underneath the seat of the coach," she whispered in reply. "I'll not leave the coach day or night until I've reached London. From Wirksworth onwards I'll be travelling with relays: I need neither spare horses nor waste a moment's time. I can be in town in less than six days."
"When will your coach be ready?"
"In a few minutes now, and I'll start at once: but go, go now, dear," she urged tenderly, "since Captain Bathurst thinks it better that you should."
She kissed him again and again, her heart full of hope and excitement at thought of what she could do for him, yet aching because of this parting. It was terrible to leave him in this awful peril, to be far away if danger once again became imminent!
When at last he had torn himself away from her, he made quickly for the door, where Bathurst had been waiting for him.
"Ah, sir!" sighed Philip, bitterly, "'tis a sorry plight for a soldier and a gentleman to hide for his life like a coward and a thief."
But Bathurst before leaving was looking back at the beautiful picture of Patience's sweet face bathed in tears.
"Like a thief?" he murmured. "Nay, sir, thieves have no angels to guard and love them: methinks you have no cause to complain of your fate."
There was perhaps just a thought of bitterness in his voice as he said this, and Patience turned to him, and gazed at him in tender womanly pity through her tears. At once the electrical, sunny nature within him again gained the upper hand. Laughter and gaiety seemed with him to be always close to the surface, ready to ripple out at any moment, and calling forth hope and confidence in those around.
"An you'll accept my escort, sir," he said cheerfully to Philip, "I'll show you a sheltered spot known only to myself ... and to Jack o' Lantern," he added, giving a passing tender tap to his beautiful horse. "He and I are very fond of the Moor, eh, Jack, old friend? ... We are the two Jacks, you see, sir, and seldom are seen apart. Together we discovered the spot which I will show you, sir, and where you can lieperduuntil nightfall. 'Tis safe and lonely and but a step from this forge."
Philip accepted the offer gratefully. Like his sister, he too felt that he could trust Jack Bathurst. As he walked by his side along the unbeaten track on the Heath, he viewed with some curiosity, not unmixed with boyish admiration, the tall, well-knit figure of his gallant rescuer. He tried to think of him as the notorious highwayman, Beau Brocade, on whose head the Government had put the price of a hundred guineas.
A hero of romance he was in the hearts of the whole country-side, yet a felon in the eyes of the law. Philip could just see his noble profile, with the well-cut features, the boyish, sensitive mouth, firm chin and straight, massive brow, over which a mass of heavy brown curls clustered in unruly profusion.
A brave man, surely—Philip had experienced that; a wise one too in spite of his youth. Stretton guessed his companion to be still under thirty years of age, and yet there was at times, in spite of the inherently sunny disposition below, a look of melancholy, of disappointment, in the deep, grey eyes, which spoke of a wasted life, of opportunities lost perhaps, or of persistent adverse fate.
Through it all there was that quaint air of foppishness, the manners and appearance of a dandy about the Court. The caped coat was dark and serviceable, but it was of the finest cloth and of the latest, most fashionable cut, and beneath it peeped a dainty silk waistcoat, delicately embroidered.
The lace at throat and wrists was of the finest Mechlin, and the boots, though stout and heavy, betrayed the smallness and the arch of the foot. Though Jack Bathurst had obviously been riding, he carried neither whip nor cane.
All that Philip observed in this rapid walk to the place of shelter which Bathurst had thought out for him, Patience, with a woman's quick perception, had noted from the first. To her, of course, the Captain was but a gallant stranger, good to look at and replete with all the chivalrous attributes this troublous century called forth in the hearts of her sons. She knew naught of Beau Brocade the highwayman, and probably would have recoiled in horror at thought of connecting the name of a thief with that of her newly-found hero of romance.
She stood in the doorway for some time, watching with glowing eyes the figures of the two men, until they disappeared behind a high clump of gorse: then with a curious little sigh she turned and went within.
John Stich and Mistress Betty were carrying on an animated conversation in a remote corner of the forge. Patience did not wish to disturb them: she was deeply grateful to John, and felt kindly disposed towards the suggestion of romance conveyed by the smith's obvious appreciation of pretty Mistress Betty.
She crossed the shed, and opening the door at the further end of it, she found that it gave upon a small yard which separated the forge from the cottage, and in which Stich and his mother, who kept house for him, had with tender care succeeded in cultivating a few flowers: only one or two tall hollyhocks, some gay-looking sunflowers, and a few sweet-scented herbs. And on the south aspect a lovely trail of creeping white rose, the kind known as "Five Sisters," threw its delicate fragrance over this little oasis in the wilderness of the Moor.
And, almost mechanically, whilst her fancy once more went a-roaming in the land of dreams, Patience began to hum the quaint old ditty: "My beautiful white rose."
Suddenly—at a quick thought mayhap—her eyes grew dim, her cheeks began to burn: she drew towards her a cluster of snowy blossoms, on which the earlier rains had left a mantle of glittering diamonds, and buried her glowing face in its pure, cool depths. Then she detached one lovely white rose from the parent bough, and, sighing, pinned it to her belt.
CHAPTER XIII
A PROPOSAL AND A THREAT
Sir Humphrey Challoner had not been long in making up his mind to take Master Mittachip's pernicious advice. He twisted the old adage that "everything is fair in love" to a justification of his own evil purpose. He was not by any means a bad man. Save for his somewhat inordinate love of money, he had none of the outrageous vices which were looked upon with leniency in the quality in those days.
He drank hard, and exacted his pound of flesh equally from all his tenants, but neither of these characteristics was unusual in an English squire of the early eighteenth century: a great many of them were impecunious, and all were fond of good cheer. Originally he had meant no harm to the young Earl of Stretton. His plan, as he clumsily conceived it, was to get Philip into trouble first, then to extricate him from it, for the sake of earning the gratitude of the richest heiress in the Midlands and the most beautiful woman in England to boot.
Sir Humphrey Challoner was not a diplomatist: he was a rough country gentleman of that time, with but scant notions of abstract right and wrong where his own desires were at stake.
His original plan had failed through that very Act of Parliament which placed Philip's life in immediate and imminent peril. Sir Humphrey did not desire the lad's death: of course not. He had nothing to gain thereby, and only wished for the sister's hand in marriage. He started for London post-haste, hoping still to use what influence he had, and also what knowledge he possessed of Philip's attitude at the time of the rebellion, in order to bring about the boy's justification and release.
That Patience had evidently found a means of proving her brother's innocence without his help was a bitter disappointment to Sir Humphrey. He knew that she would never marry him of her own free will, but only on compulsion or from gratitude.
The latter was now out of the question. He could do nothing to earn it. Compulsion was the only course, and Mittachip, with crafty persuasion, had shown him the possible way; therefore he went to the forge of John Stich to carry through the plan to that end.
It was close on sunset. On the Moor, gorse, bramble and heather were bathed in ruddy gold, the brilliant aftermath of this glowing September afternoon.
Sir Humphrey had walked over from the Moorhen; as soon as he entered the forge, the first thing he noticed was the beautiful chestnut horse tethered against the door-post, the same which he himself had declared that very day to be worth a small fortune. Fate was obviously playing into his hands. Mittachip had neither deceived him nor lured him with false hopes.
Otherwise the shed was empty: there was no sign of John Stich, or of the stranger who rode the chestnut horse. Sir Humphrey went within and, as patiently as he could, set himself to wait.
When therefore Jack Bathurst returned to the forge some few minutes later, he found that her ladyship, Betty and Stich had gone, whilst, sitting on the edge of the rough deal table, and impatiently tapping his boot with a riding-whip, was no less a personage than the Squire of Hartington.
Jack had caught a glimpse of his Honour the night before on the Heath, under circumstances which even now brought a smile to his lips, and which incidentally had made the poor of Brassington richer by fifty guineas.
For a moment he hesitated whether he would go in or no. He had been masked during that incident, of course, and knew not even the ABC of fear. His dare-devil spirit of fun and adventure quickly gained the upper hand, and the next moment he had greeted his Honour with all the courtly grace he had at command.
Sir Humphrey looked at him keenly for a moment or two. Young and well-looking! Oft to be seen at the forge at sundown! ... Odd's life but...
"Your servant, sir!" he said, returning the salutation.
Sir Humphrey was in no hurry. He firmly believed that Fate had decided to be kind to him in this matter, but he feared to brusque the situation, and thereby to imperil the successful issue of his scheme.
Therefore he passed the time of day with this well-looking stranger, he talked of the weather and the rains on the Moors, the bad state of the roads and the insufficiency of police in the county, of the late rebellion and the newest fashion in coats.
Jack Bathurst seemed to fall into his mood. He was shrewd enough to perceive that Sir Humphrey Challoner was in his own estimation playing a diplomatic game of cat and mouse, and it much intrigued Bathurst to know what his ultimate purpose might be. He had not long to wait; after some five minutes of casual conversation, Sir Humphrey went straight for his goal.
"Odd's life!" he said suddenly, interrupting his own flow of small talk, "it wonders me how long that rascally smith'll stay away from his work. Adsbud! but he's a lazy vagabond. What say you, sir?"
"Nay! you, sir, wrong an honest man," replied Bathurst. "John Stich is a steady worker. Shall I call him for you? I know my way about his cottage."
"Nay, I thank you, sir! my purpose can wait. Truth to tell," added his Honour, carelessly, "'twas not the blacksmith's work I needed, but his help in a trifling matter of business."
"Indeed?"
"You'll be surprised perhaps at my question, sir, but have you ever heard mention of that fellow, Beau Brocade?"
"Oh! ... vaguely..."
"A highwayman, sir, and a consummate rogue, yet your honest John Stich is said to be his friend."
"Indeed?"
"Now, an you'll believe me, sir, I have a mind to speak with the rascal."
"Indeed? then you are bolder than most, sir," said Jack, cheerfully. He was really beginning to wonder what the Squire of Hartington was driving at.
"It seems strange, doesn't it? but to be frank with you, I'm in two minds about that rogue."
"How so?"
"Well! I have a score to settle with him, and a business to propose; and I cannot decide which course to adopt."
"You, sir, being so clever, might perhaps manage both," said Bathurst with a touch of sarcasm.
"Hm! I wonder now," continued Sir Humphrey, not wishing to notice the slight impertinence. "I wonder now what an independent gentleman like yourself would advise me to do. I have not the honour of knowing who you are," he added with grave condescension, "but I can see that youare, like myself, a gentleman."
Bathurst bowed in polite acknowledgment.
"I should be proud to serve you with advice, sir, since you desire it."
"Well! as I have said, I have a score to settle with the rogue. He stole fifty guineas from me last night."
"Ah me!" sighed Jack, with a melancholy shake of the head, "then I fear me he'll never haunt the Heath again."
"What mean you, sir?"
"Nay! I can picture the rascal now, after you, sir, had punished him for his impudence! A mangled, bleeding wreck! But there! I have no pity for him! Daring to measure his valour against your noted prowess!"
"Quite so! quite so!" quoth his Honour, whilst smothering a curse at this more obvious piece of insolence.
"But I entreat your pardon. I was interrupting the story."
"I saw the rogue, sir," said Sir Humphrey, glancing significantly at the young man, "saw him clearly by the light of my carriage lanthorns. He was masked, of course, but I'd know him anywhere, and could denounce him to-morrow."
He had risen to his feet, and with legs apart, standing face to face with Bathurst, he spoke every word as if he meant them to act as a threat.
"There are plenty of soldiers about these parts now, even if the country folk won't touch their vaunted hero of romance. I could get him hanged, sir, within a week. A cordon of soldiers round this Heath, my word to swear his identity, and.... But there!" he added with a jovial laugh, "'tis no concern of yours is it, sir? You were kind enough to promise me your advice. This is one of my alternatives, the score I'd wish to settle; there's still the business I could offer the rogue."
Sir Humphrey had looked the young man squarely in the face whilst he uttered his threat, but had seen nothing there, save the merriest, the most light-hearted of smiles.
"I can scarce advise you, sir," said Bathurst, still smiling, "unless I know the business as well."
"Well, sir, you know of old Lady Rounce, do you not? the meanest, ugliest old witch in the county, eh? Well! she is on her way to London, and carries with her a mass of money, wrung from her miserable tenants."
"Faith, sir! you paint a most entrancing picture of the lady."
"Now, an that rascal Beau Brocade were willing to serve me, he could at one stroke save his own neck from the gallows, enrich himself, right the innocent and confound a wicked old woman."
"And how could this galaxy of noble deeds be accomplished at one stroke, sir?"
"Her ladyship's coach will pass over the Heath to-night. It should be at the cross-roads soon. There will be all the old harridan's money and jewels to be got out of it."
"Of course."
"And also a packet of love-letters, which doubtless will be hidden away in the receptacle beneath the seat."
"Letters?" queried Bathurst. "Hm! I doubt me if love-letters would tempt a gentleman of the road."
"Nay, sir," replied his Honour, now dropping his voice to a confidential whisper, "these are letters which, if published, would compromise an artless young lady, whom old Lady Rounce pursues with her hatred and spite. Now I would give a hundred guineas to any person who will bring me those letters at the Moorhen to-morrow. Surely to a gentleman of the road the game would be worth the candle. Lady Rounce carries money with her besides, and her diamonds. What think you of it, sir?"
"'Tis somewhat difficult to advise," said Bathurst, meditatively.
"Ah well!" said Sir Humphrey with affected indifference, "'tis really not much to me. On the whole perhaps I would prefer to deliver the rascal into the hands of my friend Squire West at Brassington. Anyway, I have the night to think the matter over; 'tis too late now to wait for that lout, John Stich. I would have preferred to have had your advice, sir. I daresay 'tis difficult to give. And you a stranger too. I would have liked to save a young girl from the clutches of that old witch, Lady Rounce, and if Beau Brocade rendered me that service, I'd be tempted to hold my tongue about him.... He should have the hundred guineas to-morrow and have nought to fear from me, if he brought me those letters. If not ... well! ... well! ... we shall see.... The old gallows here have long been idle ... we shall see ... we shall see.... Good-day to you, sir ... proud to have met you.... No ... I'll not wait for John Stich. Is this your horse? ... pretty creature! ... Good-day, sir ... good-day."
His Honour was extremely condescending and pleasant. He bowed very politely to Bathurst, patted the beautiful chestnut horse, and showed no further desire to talk with John Stich.
Bathurst, with a frown on his handsome face, watched the Squire of Hartington's burly figure disappear round the bend in the road.
"I wonder now," he mused, "what mischief he's brewing. He seemed to me up to no good. I suppose he guessed who I was."
While he stood there watching, John Stich quickly entered the forge from the rear.
"I was in the cottage, Captain," he said, "my mother was serving the ladies with some milk. But just now I saw Sir Humphrey Challoner walking away from the forge. I feared he might see you."
"He did see me, honest friend," said Jack, lightly. "His Honour and I have just had a long and animated conversation together."
"Great Heavens! the man is furious with you, Captain!" said the smith, with genuine anxiety in his gruff voice, "he saw you distinctly on the Heath last night. He may have recognised you to-day."
"He did recognise me."
"And may be brewing the devil's own mischief against you."
"Oh, ho!" laughed the young man, with a careless shrug of the shoulders, "against me? ... Well! you know, honest John, I am bound to end on the gallows..."
"Sooner or later! Sooner or later!" he added merrily, noting John's look of sorrowful alarm. "They've not got me yet, though there are so many soldiers about, as that piece of underdone roast-beef said just now."
"You'll not tell me what Sir Humphrey Challoner spoke to you about?"
"No, friend, I will not," said Jack, with a look of infinite kindness and placing a slender white hand on the smith's broad shoulder. "You are my friend, you know, you shoe and care after my horse, you shelter and comfort me. May Heaven's legions of angels bless you for that. Of my life on the Heath I'll never tell you aught, whatever you may guess. 'Tis better so. I'll not have you compromised, or implicated in my adventures. In case ... well! ... if they do catch me, you know, friend, 'tis better for your sake that you should know nothing."
"But you'll not go on the Heath to-night, Captain," pleaded the smith, with a tremor in his voice.
"Aye! that I will, John Stich," rejoined Bathurst, with a careless laugh, which now had an unmistakable ring of bitterness in it, "to stop a coach, to lift a purse! that's my business.... Aye! I'll to the Heath, friend, 'tis my only home, you know, ere I find a resting-place on the gallows yonder."
John sighed and turned away, and thus did not hear the faint murmur that came of a great and good heart over-full with longing and disappointment.
"My beautiful white rose! ... how pale she looked ... and how exquisitely fair! ... Ah! me ... if only.... Jack! Jack! don't be a fool!" he added with a short, deep sigh, "'tis too late; remember, for Beau Brocade to go galloping after an illusion!"
CHAPTER XIV
THE FIGHT IN THE FORGE
John Stich ventured no further opposition, well knowing the reckless spirit which his own quiet devotion was powerless to keep in check; moreover, Lady Patience, closely followed by the ever-faithful Betty, had just entered by the door that gave from the yard.
"I was wondering, honest Stich," she said, "if my coach were yet in sight. Meseems the horses must have had sufficient rest by now."
"I'll just see, my lady," said John.
At first sound of her low, musical voice, Bathurst had turned to her, and now his eyes rested with undisguised admiration on her graceful figure, dimly outlined in the fast-gathering shadows. She too caught sight of him, and sorely against her will a vivid blush mounted to her cheeks. She pulled her cloak close to her, partly to hide the bunch of white roses that nestled in her belt.
Thus there was an instant's silent pause, during which two hearts, both young, both ardent, and imbued with the spirit of romance, beat—unknown to one another—in perfect unison.
And yet at this supreme moment in their lives—supreme though they themselves knew it not—neither of them had begun to think of love. In her there was just that delightful feeling of feminine curiosity, mingled with the subtle homage of a proud woman for the man who, in her presence, and for her sake, had proved himself brave, resourceful, full of invention and of pluck: there was also an unexplainable sense of the magnetism caused by the realpersonality, by the unmistakablevitalityof the man. He lived, he felt, he thought differently to anyone else, in a world quite apart and entirely his own, and she felt the magic of this sunny nature, of the merry, almost boyish laugh, overlying as it were the undercurrent of disappointment and melancholy which had never degenerated into cynicism.
But in him? Ah! in him there was above all a wild, passionate longing! the longing of an intensely human, aching heart, when it is brought nigh to its own highest ideal, and knows that that ideal is infinitely beyond his reach.
The broken-down gentleman! the notorious hero of midnight adventures! highwayman! robber! thief! what right had he even to look upon her, the perfect embodiment of exquisite womanhood, the beautiful realisation of man's tenderest dreams?
Perhaps at this one supreme moment in his reckless career the wild adventurer felt the first pang of humbled pride, of that pride which had defied existing laws and built up a code of its own. He understood then all at once the stern, iron-bound rule which makes of man—free lord of creation though he be—the slave of those same laws which he himself has set up for his own protection.
Beau Brocade, the highwayman, closed his eyes, and no longer dared to look on his dream.
He turned to his horse, and with great tenderness began stroking Jack o' Lantern's soft, responsive nose.
The next moment Stich, who had been busy with his work, looked up in sudden alarm.
"The soldiers!" he said briefly, "all running ... the Sergeant's at the head o' them, and some of the shepherds at their heels."
At first Patience did not understand where the actual danger lay.
"My brother!" she gasped, terrified.
But a look from Bathurst reassured her.
"Absolutely safe," he said quickly and decisively, "a hiding-place known to no one but me. I give your ladyship my word of honour that there is not the remotest danger for him."
She felt all her terrors vanishing. But these few words spoken to comfort her went nigh to costing Bathurst dear. In those few brief seconds he had lost the opportunity of jumping on Jack o' Lantern's back and getting well away before the soldiers had reached the entrance of the forge, and had effectually barred his chance of escape.
As it was, he had only just undone the halter, and before he had time to lead Jack o' Lantern out, the voice of the Sergeant was heard quite close to the doorway, shouting breathlessly,—
"Forward! quick! Arrest that man!"
"My sword, John! for your life!" was Bathurst's ready answer to the challenge.
Stich darted to a corner of the forge. Lady Patience gave a quick, short gasp, she had suddenly realised that for some reason which she could not quite fathom, the man who had so pluckily saved her brother from the soldiers an hour ago, was now himself in imminent danger.
Jack snatched the sword eagerly which the smith was holding out to him, and resting the point of the blade on the ground before him, he tested with evident satisfaction the temper of the steel. Not a moment too soon this, for already the Sergeant, running, panting, infuriated by the trick played upon him, had appeared in the doorway, closely followed by two of his men.
Caught like a rat in a hole, Jack was prepared to fight. Perhaps at bottom he was glad that circumstances had not compelled him to show a clean pair of heels before this new danger to himself. Alone, he might have liked to flee, beforeherhe preferred to fight.
"Odd's my life!" he said merrily, "'tis my friend, the Sergeant."
"You sent me on a fool's errand," shouted the latter as loudly as his scant breath would allow, "and 'tis my belief you are one of them rebel lords yourself: at anyrate you shall give an account of yourself before the magistrate. And if the smith dares to interfere, he does so at his peril," he added, seeing that John Stich had seized his hammer, and was handling it ominously, fully prepared to resist the established authority on behalf of his friend.
But whilst the Sergeant parleyed, Jack, with the rapid keen eye of a practised fencer, and the wary glance of a child of the Moor, had taken note of every advantage, however slight, which his present precarious position had left him.
The Sergeant and two men were in the doorway, momentarily pausing in order to recover their breath. Three more of the squad were running forward along the road, but were still some little distance off, and would be a few minutes before they reached the smithy.
Further on still there were the others, at present only appearing as scarlet dots on the Heath. Close on the heels of the Sergeant, two or three shepherds, with Jock Miggs in their rear, had come to see what was happening in the forge.
It had taken Jack Bathurst only a couple of seconds to note all these details. Luck so far favoured him that, for the next minute or two at least, he would only have to deal with the Sergeant and two soldiers.
"Into it, my men! Arrest him in the name of the King!" shouted the Sergeant, and the two soldiers, grasping their bayonets, made a rush for the interior of the shed, ready to surround Jack and his horse.
But quick as a lightning flash, Bathurst gave Jack o' Lantern a slight prick in the ribs with his sword; the nervous creature, already rendered restive by the sudden noise, began to plunge and rear, and thus, as his master had hoped, scattered the compact group of assailants momentarily away from the vicinity of his hoofs.
This gave the young man the desired opportunity. Nimble as a fox when hotly pursued, he stepped back and with one bound took up a position on the top of a solid oak table, which stood in the deep shadow caused by the doorway, thus, for the moment, leaving Jack o' Lantern as a barrier between himself and his enemies.
"Friend Stich," he shouted from this exalted height, "do you stand by the ladies. Stir not from their side whatever happens, nor interfere 'tween me and the soldiers at your peril."
The lust of battle was upon him now. He was satisfied with his position and longed to begin the fight. On his left was the outside wall of the shed, and guarding his right was the huge furnace of the smithy, out of which the burning embers cast fitful flickering lights upon his tall, slim figure, and drew from his blade sparks of blood-red gold.
He had wrapped the thick capes of his heavy cloth coat round his left arm: the folds of it hung down to his feet, forming a shield round the lower part of his figure.
Already the soldiers had recovered from the short panic caused by Jack o' Lantern's timely rearing. One of them now seized the horse by the bridle and led him out into the open, thus exposing Bathurst more fully to the onslaught of their bayonets.
Jack was fully prepared for them, and as soon as the Sergeant had given the order to attack, his steel began to dart in and out of the gloom like some live snake, with tongue of steel; illumined by the fitful embers of the furnace fire, it seemed to give forth a thousand sparks of witch-like flame with every turn of the cunning wrist. The outline of his head and shoulders was lost in the dense shadows above, whilst his assailants stood in the full glare of the setting sun, which, hot and blinding, came streaming into the shed.
Dazed by the flickering light of the furnace and the sunset glow beyond, the soldiers made very ineffectual plunges into the dark shadow, whence, fencing and parrying, and with many a quip and sally, Jack had at first an easy task in keeping them at bay.
This was mere child's play to him; already one of the men had an ugly gash in his cheek, and the next moment saw the Sergeant reeling backwards, with a well-directed thrust through his right arm.
But easy and exciting as was this brilliant sword-play, it could not in the long run be of much avail. Hardly had the Sergeant fallen back than three more soldiers, also hot and furious, came rushing in to reinforce their comrades. Bathurst had in his day been counted the finest fencer in England, his wrist was as fresh and strong as the steel which he held, but the odds were beginning to accumulate against him.
Five men in the shed, and the others could not be very far away!
John Stich felt his muscles nearly cracking with the vigorous effort to maintain his quiescent position and not to come to the rescue of his hard-pressed friend.
Suddenly one of the soldiers levelled his musket.
Patience saw it and gave a cry of horror. Stich, throwing prudence to the winds, would have rushed forward, to prevent this awful thing at any cost, but the Sergeant, though wounded, had lost none of his zest, and his eye had been fixed on the smith.
"Keep back the smith!" he shouted, "use your bayonets! quick!"
And as two of his men obeyed him, he himself threw his full weight against John, and together the three men succeeded in rendering the worthy fellow momentarily powerless.
"Captain! Captain!" he shouted desperately, "have a care!"
Of course Jack had realised his danger. The group of his assailants stood out in every detail before him, like a clear-cut sunlit picture. But against the musket levelled at him he could do nothing, it was Luck's chance to do him a good turn; he himself was hard pressed by two men close to his knees.
Patience felt as if her heart would cease to beat, her impulse was to rush blindly, stupidly forward, when suddenly a piping voice, vague and uncertain, was heard above the click of Jack's sword.
"Don't 'ee let 'em get 'ee, sir!" and Jock Miggs, with trembling, yet determined hands, gave a vigorous tug to the coat tails of the soldier, who was even now pulling the trigger of his musket. The latter, who had been aiming very deliberately for the one bright patch on Jack's person caused by the red glow of the furnace, lost his aim: there was a loud report, and a bullet went whizzing high above Bathurst's head, and buried itself in the woodwork above him.
This was the signal for a new phase of this curious and unequal struggle. The shepherds, at first, knowing nothing of the cause of this quarrel, had stood open-mouthed, somewhat frightened and awaiting events, at a short distance from the scene of the scuffle.
But when the chestnut horse had been led out into the open, they suddenly had an inkling as to who its owner was. Jack o' Lantern, bearing the masked highwayman on his back, was well known to the poor folk on Brassing Moor.
Beau Brocade, who but yesterday had left fifty guineas in the Brassington poor box! Beau Brocade, the hero of the Heath! He! to be caught by a parcel of red coats?
Never! Jock Miggs but voiced the feeling of the majority.
"Noa! Noa!" they shouted lustily. "Don't 'ee let 'em get 'ee, sir!"
"Not if I can help it, friends!" rejoined Bathurst in gay response.
They did not resist the soldiers; not they! Your Derbyshire yokel is too cautious an individual to run absolutely counter to established authority, but they saw their friend, their helper and benefactor, in trouble and they did what they could to help him. They got in the way, jostled the soldiers when they dared, kept the attention of one or two occupied, preventing a general onslaught on the oak table, on which Bathurst, still alert, still keen, was holding his own against such terrible odds.
"There's for you, my gallant lobster," quoth Jack, gaily.
He was standing far back on the table, entrenched between the wall on one side and the furnace on the other, and every time one of the soldiers ventured too near, his sword would dart out of the gloom: it seemed like a living creature of fire and steel, so quick and bold were his feints and parries, his sudden attacks in quarte and sixte, and all the while he kept one eye on the open Moor, where Jack o' Lantern, quivering with impatience, stood pawing the ground, and sniffing the keen evening air, ready to carry his master away, out upon the Heath, out of sight and out of danger.
Obviously the unequal contest could not last much longer. Jack knew that as well as any one. Already the red dots in the far distance had drawn considerably nearer, the next few minutes would bring this fresh reinforcement to the wearied, exhausted assailants.
The Sergeant too was ready to seize his best opportunity. He still kept two men on guard over the smith, but he soon saw that the two, who were storming Bathurst's improvised citadel, were no match with their clumsy bayonets against a brilliant fencer who, moreover, had the advantage of light and shadow, and of his elevated position.
Though he was wounded, and bleeding profusely, he had set his heart on the capture of this mysterious stranger, and having cast a glance on the open Moor beyond, he saw with renewed zest two more of his men hurrying along. With all the strength he had left he shouted to them to come on, and then turned to encourage the others.
"Take it easy, my men! Hold out a moment longer. We've got the rebel at last."
But Jack too had seen and understood. He was neither tired nor hurt, but two more men against him would inevitably prove his undoing. Already he could hear the shouts of the soldiers hurrying in response to their Sergeant's call. The next minute they would be in the forge.
A sudden change of tactics led his two assailants to venture nearer than they had done hitherto; he drew back into the shadows, and they, fired by the lust of capture, under the impression that he was at last exhausted, ventured nearer and nearer still; already they were leaning over the edge of the table, one man was thrusting at Bathurst's legs, when the latter, with a rapidity that seemed quicker than a flash of lightning, disengaged his left arm from his heavy coat, and with both hands threw it right over the heads of the two men. Before they had time to release themselves from its folds, Jack, with one bound was off the table, and the next instant he had torn open the door of the furnace and dragged out the huge iron poker with which the smith raked his fire, and with a cry of triumph slung this new and formidable weapon high over his head.
The effect of this sudden move was one of uncontrollable panic: the red-hot metal, as he swung it over his head, dropped a far-reaching shower of burning sparks; soldiers and Sergeant all drew back instinctively, and Jack, still brandishing his weapon, reached the entrance and was out in the open before any one dared to stop him.
There he flung the great glowing thing in the direction of his assailants, who even now were rallying to the attack.
But the moment had been precious to Bathurst, and Jack o' Lantern was a king among horses. Without use of stirrup or rein, Jack, like the true child of the wild Moor that he was, flung himself upon the beautiful creature's back.
Thus Patience saw him for one brief second, framed in the doorway of the forge, the last rays of the setting sun forming a background of crimson and gold for his slim, upright figure, and the brown curls on his head.
It was but a moment's vision, but one she would carry enshrined in her memory through all the years to come. His eyes, large, glowing, magnetic, met hers in a flash, and hers, bright with unshed tears, met his in quick response.
"Soldiers!" he shouted, as he rode away, "an you think I am a rebel lord, then after me, quick! whilst I ride towards the sunset."