CHAPTER VIIA WEDDING-RING FOR A KISSRobin had been alone half-an-hour or so, when the door was again opened, and another visitor announced."Here, Highwayman," cried the jailer, "a lady wants to see you now. You Knights of the Road are always in favor with the women.""I know no women," said Robin roughly. "Certainly none that would come here to see me.""Well, shall this one come in?" demanded the jailer. "I'll warrant she's young and pretty, and a real lady, too! She came in a chair!""Oh! let her in, let her in. Pray don't keep a real lady waiting in the passage," said Robin, who foresaw some begging petition, or, perhaps, the request of some frolicsome damsel for a lock of his hair for her album, or a bequest of the rope that hanged him, for luck! "Be seated, Madam," he added, as a slender figure, wrapped in a heavy cloak and closely veiled, glided timidly into the cell. "What service can I render you?""Can I have a few words alone with you?" murmured the visitor. The jailer, who had been hanging round, curious to see and hear, withdrew, with a laugh and a coarse jest, and locked the door after him.The lady threw off her veil, revealing the homely features and sparkling eyes of Margaret Moffat."You know me not," she said. "Yet we have met before, Robin Freemantle.""I can not believe," replied Robin gallantly, "that, once seen, you could ever be forgotten by me.""Well, possibly you did not see me; one far more attractive engrossed all your attention, and 'tis from her I come, to ask as favor from you, that which many of the highest in the land have offered in vain.""You puzzle me greatly," said Robin. "What favor can any lady desire of a man as good as dead?""Why—that's just where it is—an' you were not condemned to die, you could do nothing for my lady.""My lady! And who is your lady, may I ask?""I'll tell that presently; but first, before I reveal her name, tell me one thing truly. Are you married?""Married? No, the Saints be praised! but how can that concern your lady? Does she wish to marry me, perchance?" cried Robin ironically."That is just what she does wish," said Margaret, as demurely as though she had really been the waiting-maid she feigned to be. "And for a token, she sends you this." And she threw down before him the wallet he had flung into Prue's lap on Bleakmoor.He took it up, recognizing it with a whirling brain. The whole scene sprang up before him as under a sudden illumination—the gathering darkness and the falling rain—the old chariot, with its steaming horses and frightened servants—and by the light of his lantern, the lovely face of a girl, with her hood thrown back and a tangle of dark curls against the milky whiteness of her neck. He saw the round, bare arms and tapering hands extended, to show that she had no jewels about her, the roguish smile disclosing the little even teeth and sparkling in the depths of the starry eyes, and for a moment his lips once more brushed her scarlet mouth, and the perfume of her breath again clouded his brain.Margaret watched him with amusement, as his face disclosed something of the varying emotions, over which amazement predominated."Does that surprise you?" she inquired mockingly. "Sure, 'tis no uncommon thing for a man to pay for a kiss with a wedding-ring!""There must be some other reason," he said, more to himself than in reply to her. "That kiss meant nothing toher.""Did it mean anything to you?" asked Margaret, beginning to feel interested."To me?" His face was suddenly irradiated. "You, who bask in the light of that incomparable loveliness all the time, can never understand what it means to the man who sees it for the first time—and not only sees, but touches!—touches with his unworthy lips that cheek of down—those lips! Ah! how many times since have I felt the thrill of that kiss, and wondered if she could recall it without horror.""Well, horror can scarcely be the sentiment you inspired, since she wishes to marry you," simpered Peggie.The mist of passion suddenly cleared from his eyes, and he bent on her so steady and penetrating a glance, that her eyes fell, and she waited nervously for his next words to give the cue to his thoughts."Ha! she wishes to marry me?" he said slowly. "Is it an honest wish of her own, or is it a trap set by some one else?""Oh! indeed, it is entirely her own idea!" cried Margaret eagerly; "not a soul has any suspicion of it but herself and me, and if you refuse, you will not even know her name, and the secret will be buried in your grave.""Then give me a reason," he said, apparently relieved by her unmistakable honesty. "Give me the real reason, for I see this is something more than a mere fine lady's caprice."Margaret felt a little natural embarrassment—the man was so different from what she had expected, that the little plans she had devised on her way to the prison, did not fit into the circumstances."In truth Prue—I mean the Lady Prudence—is deeply in debt and much harassed by her creditors, who threaten her with the Fleet, and I know not what beside," she blurted out. "Now, if she were your wife, her debts would be your debts, and as you, alack, must die on Monday, no one can make your widow pay your debts!""So 'tis mywidowthe Lady Prudence desires to be; not my wife!" said Robin, with a bitter smile.[image]"So 'tis my widow she desires to be!""What difference does that make?" cried Margaret, greatly relieved at having got over the worst of her mission. "An' if you think so much of a kiss, I'll warrant my lady will not refuse one to herhusband.""Aye, such a kiss as I snatched from her on Bleakmoor, with lips denied and cheek averted. Or such a kiss as she might leave on the face of a dead stranger; as cold as the corpse itself.""'Twill be your own fault if you get nothing better than that," cried Peggie, with a glance that had something of challenge in it. "On Bleakmoor, Lady Prudence had not seen your face; how could she tell you were not some blackavised desperado? There is not a handsome young gallant behind every robber's mask."Robin burst out laughing. "Thanks, sweetheart!" he cried. "I trust my bride-elect has as kind a disposition as her messenger. Yet what does it matter to me?"'Be she meeker, kinder thanTurtle-dove or pelican;If she be not so to me,What care I how kind she be?'"His rich voice filled the squalid cell with burst of rollicking melody. "If she be a very Xantippe, I shall not suffer from her temper," he went on. "And, by the way, I do not yet know the name of the lady who has honored me by the offer of her hand—in widowhood.""That I can not tell you, until I know your intentions," said Margaret. "First, will you marry her?""Will I marry her? Surely, she is not accustomed to sue in vain for men's hearts and hands! They must fall under her feet—as I do—when she but glances at them. Aye, I will marry her, though death himself ties the nuptial knot.""That is settled, then—" Peggie was beginning philosophically."Settled, perhaps, as far as I am concerned; but what about your lady? Will her caprice last out until you return, think you, or will she be likely to stay in the same mind until to-morrow? 'Tis nothing to her, mayhap, to set a poor prisoner's brain afire, and bid him welcome death because it brings him five minutes of her company. I may dream myself her husband for a few hours, and forget everything else in the delicious hope of seeing her again; but what of her? By the time you go back to her, she may have changed her mind, or found some less objectionable way of paying her debts!""'Tis like enough," she replied coolly. "You would not be the first she has served in that fashion. You must take your chance of that.""I'll take my chance," the prisoner acquiesced."Very well. Now, will you swear not to reveal the marriage to any one?—unless it be your father-confessor, if you have one.""That I will willingly swear. If she can keep the secret herself, it will be safe enough in my grave.""Now, I have only one more thing to ask. You must not be offended, but—is Robin Freemantie your true name? I know you 'Knights of the Road' do, sometimes, masquerade in name as well as in person, so perhaps you may have another name—not quite so—celebrated?""Aha! my lady wants a respectable grave to bury her debts in!" cried Robin, laughing sarcastically. "I am fortunate in being able to satisfy her even in this. Ihaveanother name, and a friend who will claim my body after I am hanged, and bury me where my disconsolate widow may, if she wish, raise a monument to commemorate my virtues and her woes." He wrote the name on a sheet of paper and handed it to her."And haveyouno condition to make?" asked Peggie, rising."What condition should I make?" demanded Robin, somewhat sternly. "Will she try to save my life, who only seeks to profit by my death? No! it will be reward enough to hold her hand for five minutes, while the priest makes her my wife; for just so long as I can coax her to keep her carriage waiting! No conditions for me. Yet, stay; I'll make one that will not hurt her pride or wound her vanity. Tell her I demand that she comes to me, looking her prettiest, as becomes a bride. I'll feast my eyes upon her loveliness, and if she'll but kiss me once, I'd thank them if they would take me out and hang me before the kiss had time to grow cold on my lips. Fare-thee-well, sweetheart, since you must go, and thanks for your company. Take my lady back my wallet, and let me first fill it with gold pieces for yourself.""No, no!" cried Peggie, not quite able to act up to the character of waiting-woman to the extent of accepting a fee for her mediation. "My lady would be vexed with me, if I took aught from you but your consent to marry her.""And this," he cried, gaily kissing her. "I'll warrant you know the old saw, 'Kiss and never tell.'""For shame!" she remonstrated, without any great show of indignation, however. "Help me with my cloak and call the jailer, if you please. Alack, my reputation would suffer sadly, if ever this long visit should be heard of outside the walls of Newgate."He adjusted her cloak, not forgetting to steal another kiss before she tied the thick veil over her hood. "To-morrow," she said, as she hurried out after the jailer, "some time in the forenoon."As she took her seat in the chair, she laughed softly to herself. "I must be a good actress," she murmured, "or, maybe, there is not enough difference between an earl's granddaughter and a waiting-maid to be perceptible to a robber! Odd's life! he doesn't know the bride's name, even now! 'Tis a queer marriage, indeed!"CHAPTER VIIIAN ORDER FOR A PARSONScarcely had Margaret Moffat alighted from her chair, when Prue darted out into the little hall and greeted her with embraces."Oh! Peggie, Peggie, I have been counting the minutes for your return," she cried, literally dancing round her. "Since you went away, all sorts of delightful things have happened. Our boxes have come from Yorkshire; think of it, all our finery—packed anyhow, to be sure, but a hot iron will repair the damage—and we can go to court and to church and to the play, and to the Duchess of Marlborough's masquerade! Oh! Peggie, I am crazy with joy!" and she kissed her cousin again, with an ardor that must have been rather exasperating to Sir Geoffrey, who was looking on.By this time, Peggie had thrown off her wraps, and forgetting all about Robin, had become as joyously excited as Prue."Oh! the masquerade—shall we be invited? I was breaking my heart to think of missing it!""We are invited! Scarcely had the trunks arrived, when there came a messenger from the duchess with the invitations for the masquerade, and a note bidding me to dinner with her grace, to-morrow, at noon. Think how overjoyed I was to be able to accept both invitations. I flew up to grandmother to give her the good news—never thinking, I vow, that she would do aught but scold—and found her in a most gracious mood. She gave me a lovely lace flounce. Oh! Peggie, you know her rose-point? there's some for you, too; and what do you think? She offered to lend me her pearls, and promised to give us fifty guineas to help make us presentable at the queen's next drawing-room. Isn't that good news? And now, Peggie, you must help me prepare for to-morrow; that is even more important than the mask, for if the duchess should be in great good-humor with her little Prue, she might take her to Kensington Palace to make her peace with the queen!""To-morrow morning you have already one very particular engagement," cried Peggie, laughing. "I see, however, that poor Robin was right in thinking you might change your mind before I got back!""Robin—!" Prue glanced at Sir Geoffrey, and turned scarlet. Then her eyes danced with mischief. "Tell us all about it, Peggie; Sir Geoffrey may as well enjoy the joke."Margaret hesitated, and would have changed the subject, but Prue, wilful as usual, would not be denied."'Tis too good to keep," she laughed. "You must know, Sir Geoffrey, that I am desperately in debt; 'tis no secret, though no one but Peggie knows how I have been driven and harried by my creditors. Well, in utter despair, I hit upon a most original way of paying my debts. I decided to be the widow of Robin Freemantle, who is condemned to be hanged next Monday.""The widow of Robin Freemantle!" he exclaimed, with evident mystification. "Pray, how can you be a widow without first being a wife?""That was the only difficulty," cried Prue, with a mock-serious air, "so I persuaded Peggie to go to Newgate and ask Robin to marry me. Did he consent, Peggie? Did he make terms and demand a bribe, or am I forestalled by some fair Molly of the Minories, and must I pine in the Fleet, or marry good Mr. Aarons?"Sir Geoffrey, who was, perhaps, a little deficient in sense of humor, could not dissemble his perplexity. He had passed the afternoon at the feet of his capricious mistress, or rather under the high heels of her dainty slippers, for she had laughed at his vows and persisted in turning his poetic rhapsodies into coldest prose. Even her joy over the arrival of her trunks and the duchess' invitations, had not improved matters, for she took little pains to conceal that the prospect of returning to the field of her former triumphs had reawakened a thirst for further conquest, which might prove disastrous, both to his matrimonial views and his rash wager.It was certainly disconcerting to hear his betrothed calmly discussing her possible marriage with this one and that one, while he was racking his brain to devise some means of marrying her without burdening himself with the debts she must needs bring in her little hand. And Sir Geoffrey had already discovered that Prudence was never so likely to be serious, as when she appeared most frivolous."Miss Moffat has been to Newgate?" he exclaimed, grasping that one fact out of a bewildering array of vague possibilities. "What an extraordinary adventure! And did you really see the miscreant?""I saw him," replied Peggie, "and for a miscreant, he was really quite inoffensive, and even agreeable;" she smiled furtively, as she thought of the two kisses he had stolen, "and if Prue will choose that way out of her troubles, she may; for he's ready to marry her to-morrow, if she will provide the priest and the ring."Prue glanced at her suitor, and observing his downcast eyes and the thoughtful frown upon his brow, thought the joke had been carried far enough, even for her perverse humor."Nay, dear Peggie, 'tis enough folly for once," she said. "Let the poor fellow die in peace. What good would it do me to be the widow of a malefactor publicly hanged? I could never claim the rights of such a widowhood!""It need not be known, coz," Peggie eagerly suggested. "He has another name—one quite familiar to you—and though he will die as Robin Freemantle, he will be married and buried under his own name—or what he claims as his own—Robert Gregory de Cliffe."Both her hearers repeated the name in tones of astonishment, "De Cliffe!""Of course, it is an assumed name, but 'twill serve, none the less," said Sir Geoffrey, with a constrained smile."De Cliffe," repeated Prue; "'twould be strange, indeed, if that name became mine by such a means. Lord Beachcombe would be greatly edified, if he knew I had a second opportunity of bearing his family-name." She laughed merrily, "If such a thing could be taken seriously, this would almost tempt me.""And why not?" cried Peggie. "I protest I see no reason for throwing away such a chance. You marry the man to-morrow, and on Monday you will be a widow. His body will be claimed by a friend and buried under the name of De Cliffe, and if your creditors harass you, all you have to do is to produce your marriage-lines and they may go hunt for their money in Robin's grave."Prue looked irresolutely at Sir Geoffrey. Her caprice for this marriage was almost played out, but she wanted to be coaxed out of it, and to make a great favor of yielding up her own wilful way to the remonstrances and entreaties of her lover. Sir Geoffrey, on the other hand, had rapidly turned the matter over in his own mind, and arrived at the conclusion that however this escapade might affect Prue, it would have two points in his favor. First, the riddance of those debts which he was so unwilling to shoulder, and second, the advantage that the possession of such a secret would give him in pressing his suit to a speedy marriage, and in maintaining his marital authority later on. Sir Geoffrey adored Prue, but with the experience he had gained of her wiles and guiles, he had no objection to the handling of a weapon that would keep them in due subjection.He remained silent, so after a pause that began to be ominous, Prue said softly, "And you, Sir Geoffrey; how does this project strike you? Peggie has given me a girl's advice; I should like a man's opinion."He hemmed a little, and glanced from one expectant face to the other. "Woman's wit," he began at last, "is often more to the point than man's—""Wisdom," suggested Peggie, filling in a slight hesitancy.He laughed deprecatingly. "Oh! my dear Miss Margaret, I was not thinking of laying claim to wisdom—merely to logic, with which we poor dull-brained men try to compensate for our lack of feminine intuition. You, who are wise as well as witty, can well afford to be merciful—""Still," persisted Prue, "you are only complimenting Peggie's wit; you are not telling us what you think of her scheme.""Peggie's scheme!—oh—" murmured Margaret,sotto voce."My dearest Prudence, surely I do not need to say that the idea of any man having even such a ghost of a claim upon the woman I adore, is abhorrent to me," Sir Geoffrey began, rather pompously. "'Tis absurd to think that a few words to a stranger could free you from so much anxiety, while I, the most faithful of your slaves, am forced by cruel Fate to stand aside, for fear of aggravating your woes." Having got thus far, however, it occurred to him that this was too serious a view of the matter, so he went on with a careless laugh, "To be sure you would only see him once—the fellow's audacity would be rightly punished by such a torment of Tantalus—and your creditors—the wretches have threatened you with the Fleet, did you say? By Saint George, 'tis no more than they deserve to be balked of their prey—it seems almost worth while—""I see," interrupted Prue, without the least appearance of annoyance, "that you agree with Peggie. We will consider it settled. I'm so glad we have told you about it," she went on, in her most vivacious manner. "I really don't see how Peggie and I could have managed without you; and to think that I was foolish enough to be afraid you would be shocked!—""Oh! Iamshocked—distracted, at the idea of any man—" he began, but she interrupted him, playfully shaking her forefinger at him."Now, now! don't let us try to be sentimental about it. The plan is a very good plan; very sensible and ingenious. I am proud of having originated it. Peggie, I know, is proud of having successfully carried out the negotiations, and you will have a right, my dear Sir Geoffrey, to be proud of the part you are going to play in bringing it to a triumphant end.""I am entirely at your disposal, my dear Prudence," said Sir Geoffrey, rather taken aback at thus finding himself assigned an acting part in the comedy, "but I hardly know what I can do—indeed, the fewer persons concerned the better, I think—the less likely to attract attention—comment might be caused by any—a—unusual action on the part of a member of Parliament—the newsmongers are always on the look-out for—""Ta-ta-ta! don't you suppose that I should make a spicier mouthful for the newsmongers than even a member of Parliament?" cried Prue impatiently. "Who is to procure the marriage license and the priest, Sir Geoffrey, unless you do it? Don't you think I should attract more attention in Doctors' Commons than Sir Geoffrey Beaudesert, M.P.? And surely, you can more easily find some accommodating parson who will keep the secret and be sure to tie the knot so securely, that when the time comes to reap the reward, there may be no slip 'twixt cup and lip. Then, to-morrow morning, you can conduct me to Newgate, on my way to dine with the duchess, and take care that Peggie and I do not get clapped into a dungeon by mistake.""If it can be done so soon," Sir Geoffrey began reluctantly, yet scarcely venturing to make any further excuse."If it can not be done then," cried Prue imperiously, "it will not be done at all. You may be sure, once I get back to court, I shall have no time for marrying malefactors, or members of Parliament either, mayhap."Sir Geoffrey made no further protest, but considering that the benefit to himself was so undeniable, gave in gracefully, and pledged himself to his lady's service with many courtly vows. Indeed, the tempting prospect of Prue, divested of her debts, and free in three days to bestow herself upon him, rose before him in such glowing colors, that even Lord Beachcombe's wager was cast into the shade, and only served to add luster to the vision of his fickle and inconsequent mistress, reduced to sweet reasonableness and proper wifely submission by the judicious use of her discreditable secret.He, therefore, took his leave, having to content himself for the nonce with the tips of Prue's fingers to kiss, and leaving the cousins to the delightful occupation of turning over their recovered wardrobes, and devising the means of making a resplendent appearance at court with their present possessions and the thrifty outlay of Lady Drumloch's fifty guineas.CHAPTER IXTHE WEDDING"My mind misgives me," said Margaret, when the two girls were at their toilet the next morning. "'Tis not too late, Prue, for reflection, and if ill betide thee, dear, I shall feel as if I had brought it on thee."Prue turned from her mirror with a petulant gesture. "Tell me, Peggie, truly," she said, with an air of deep concern, "do you not think the hairdresser has trussed my hair too high on top? Would not a curl or two more on the neck be an improvement? Prithee, unpin this lock and let it fall negligently behind my ear. Ah! that's better." She turned back to the mirror, and regarded her reflection critically. "Am I too pale, Peggie? Do you think a touch of rouge—the least touch—would be becoming?""For the wedding, do you mean? Faith, I always thought a pale, pensive bride more interesting. Not that you are either. A shade more color would spoil you. I think you are even a little flushed.""Youare pale, Peggie," said Prue, looking fixedly at her. "What's the matter?""Oh! I dreamed all night of troubled water, Prue. You know that's ill-luck! 'Tis not too late to give up this foolish marriage—""Foolish marriage! Why, Peggie, 'tis the first wise one I have ever contemplated. And as for a dream, why I dreamed three times running of a black cat, and if anything bodes good luck that does.""But suppose after all the object of the marriage should fail," urged Margaret."Fail! How can it fail?" cried Prue pettishly. "Besides, you know the motto of the Wynnes: 'Cowards fayle. I winne.' Well, I have failed often enough, yet not from cowardice, God wot! And still I am always hoping to win, I scarce know what.""Your new motto will suit you just as well," said Peggie, "'Nil timeo.'""Ha, ha! the motto of the De Cliffes. Was ever such audacity as this Robin's? I've a mind to ask him, when the deed is done, if he has any directions to give about his hatchment, or if I shall refer the matter to the head of the house.""Oh! Prue, are you utterly heartless? I declare, since I have seen the poor young man I am sorry for him and I wish I had not helped to turn his execution into a jest.""Would you have me weep?" said Prue, almost sternly. "There is always time enough for that when there is nothing else to be done. Ah! I hear Sir Geoffrey's voice. You are dressed, Peggie, prithee go down to him and bring me word whether he has done his part, and is ready—and willing—to give away the bride."She turned for a last look in the mirror as Peggie hurried away, and the half-scornful smile with which she surveyed her own charming reflection had none of the levity with which she had so easily deceived her cousin. Yet it certainly was not a picture to provoke disdain. Never had the wilful beauty looked to greater advantage. The restless brilliancy of her sparkling eyes, the changeful color that flushed and paled her cheek with each quick-drawn breath, the nameless but irresistible charm that animated every feature, might have excused a more complacent glance. But Prue, though by no means prone to deal severely with herself, was a good deal more ashamed of her scheme than she would have cared to own, even to herself, and perhaps secretly longed for some insurmountable obstacle to stop her in spite of herself.She was determined, however, that she would not be the one to raise a difficulty. She was so unspeakably mortified by the new light yesterday's events had thrown on Sir Geoffrey's wooing that the idea of placing a barrier between herself and him, gave her keen satisfaction. That the possibility of her inheriting a fortune from her grandmother should have influenced his pursuit of her ever so slightly, wounded her vanity, that nerve-center of her being; and that he should have lent his countenance and help to a scheme that would give her, even nominally, to another man, no matter how brief or indefinite the tenure, dealt it an almost mortal blow."He has yet a chance," she murmured. "He may have found on reflection that he can not bring himself to sacrifice me for the sake of a couple of thousand pounds' worth of debts, and he may implore me to refrain for his sake. I might not be persuaded—one can never answer for oneself—but he would come out of it without dishonor." She mechanically smoothed a ribbon here and adjusted a flounce there and, half turning, tried to obtain a full view of her back in a glass two feet square. "'Tis provoking to be obliged to dress by guess-work," she commented. "If I were to marry old Aarons I could have three or four tire-women, and a dressing-room with the walls all covered with mirrors, so that I could see every side of myself at once. Pah! what is coming over me that I could even think of such a creature? What with marrying criminals and receiving offers from usurers the Viscountess Brooke must be coming to a pretty pass."With which she made a deep curtsey to as much as she could see of the Viscountess Brooke in the little looking-glass, and running out of the room met Miss Moffat coming up-stairs."Hasten, Prue," she whispered breathlessly. "All is arranged. Sir Geoffrey has the ring and license in his pocket and a parson in the carriage. If the bride is ready—" She had entirely recovered from her brief spasm of reluctance and was as merry as a child and as reckless of consequences."The bride is quite ready," cried Prue. "Nothing is lacking except—""Except what?" inquired Peggie, as she broke off abruptly."Oh! a trifle or two; nothing worth mentioning," laughed Prue, snatching up her cloak and hood and running lightly down-stairs, where Sir Geoffrey awaited them, not altogether at ease about his own part in the affair, and palpably relieved that Prue was in the best of spirits and inclined to treat the whole adventure as a frolic."'Tis all your own fault—and Peggie's," she laughed in her sauciest way. "If I were not the most good-natured person in the world I should scold you both soundly and refuse to make a fool of myself for your amusement.""Will you change places with me and let me take your chance?" cried Peggie. "It can not make much difference to Robin.""What, when I am all dressed up in ribbons and laces for the wedding? No difference, forsooth! What do you say to that, Sir Geoffrey?""I was just going to suggest that you were altogether too fine a bride for the occasion," said Sir Geoffrey, rather glumly. "A less resplendent toilet would be less likely to attract attention.""Eclipse me then under this big cloak," she replied, giving it to him. "Do you think, you foolish man, that I am dressed up like this to wed a footpad? I am on my way to Marlborough House to dine with the duchess, and must hasten or I shall be late and may chance to get a box o' the ear for my first course."Robin Freemantle sat at the rough table in his cell, writing busily. Several closely written sheets were spread out before him, and when he finished the last and signed his name to it he threw the pen down and sat drumming on the table with his fingers. It was an idle action but by no means idly performed, for the frown on his forehead and the movements of his long, sinewy hands were full of purpose, and angry purpose, too.Presently the frown died away and a look of wistful sadness replaced it. He took up the written sheets and turned them in his fingers as though half-disposed to tear them up, smiling bitterly as he glanced from page to page."What good will it do me," he muttered, "when my bones are rotting in an unmarked grave, to bequeath a feud to perhaps unborn generations? Shall I fling down my mother's reputation for the lawyers to fight over, like dogs over a bone, when I am not there to protect it, and when the outcome of the struggle will interest me as little as it will her?"A dim vision, more imagination than memory, rose before him of the fair, young mother who had faded from his life twenty-three years ago, and beside it another face radiant with life and laughter, a pair of blue eyes sparkling through curled lashes, a pair of round, white arms gleaming in the darkness, a scarlet mouth—every nerve tingled at the thought that his own had touched it, and might again. But no! she had been merely playing with him. How could he have been fooled by the ruse of a spoiled beauty to feed her own vanity and punish his audacity?Shewant to marryhim! It was fantastic, absurd, and what could be more improbable than the reason for such a folly? She had a wager on it, perhaps, or merely wished to amuse herself at the expense of the daring highwayman who had robbed her of a kiss. Well, she had had her way. He had shown that she had but to beckon and he was ready to follow, and that had doubtless ended her whim."She will not come!" he said, aloud, in a tone of poignant disappointment, that plainly showed how he clung to the promise he feigned to discredit.The jailer opened the door noisily."Visitors for the highwayman," he announced. "More fine ladies and gentlemen."Robin sprang to his feet, looking eagerly from one to another. Whatever his expectations were, the first glance disappointed them. A pimply-faced, watery-eyed little man, in rusty black, entered first, conducting Margaret Moffat by the hand in a ceremonious fashion, that had something in it reminiscent of the time when he did not need filling up with gin to make him remember that he was a student and a Doctor of Divinity. And close behind him, followed Sir Geoffrey Beaudesert—tall, handsome, dressed with the sober elegance that became the budding statesman, supporting on his arm a lady, enveloped from head to foot in a hooded cloak, that completely concealed her."May I inquire—" Robin began. Then his glance fell upon Margaret, whose air of coquettish simplicity would not have misbecome my lady's confidential maid, and recognizing her, his hopes rose again, and he burst into a hearty laugh. "Ha, my fair friend; have you come to enliven my solitude once more? What! Sir Geoffrey Beaudesert? I can not say I anticipated the honor of a visit from you. I fancied you had already seen more of me than you approved."Sir Geoffrey flushed. "My good fellow," he said haughtily, "I have no personal enmity toward you; I merely did my duty as a citizen in appearing as a witness against you.""Oh! I had forgotten that," said Robin negligently. "I was thinking of the time when I and my friends were chasing you and yours, and the constables shot my horse—poor Firebrand, I wonder what became of him—and turned the tide of battle.""'Sdeath, fellow!" Sir Geoffrey began furiously, but Prue checked him with a light touch on the arm."Pray, gentlemen, do not waste time quarreling; what does it matter now who fled and who pursued?"At the sound of her voice, at once gentle and imperious, the two men dropped their warlike air, and Robin, who was astounded to recognize Prue in Sir Geoffrey's companion, seemed petrified into a statue of expectancy."If we can have a few minutes' privacy—?" she suggested.Sir Geoffrey beckoned to the jailer, and after a murmured conference, enlivened by the clinking of coin, the latter consented to see that they were uninterrupted for as long as they wished.While that was being arranged, Prue approached Robin with a timid air. "Master Robert de Cliffe—or Robin Freemantle"—she said, "I thank you for consenting to my wild scheme, and I pray you, forgive me if it seems heartless.""Madam, I deem myself fortunate, if my death be of any use to you," he replied, with a ring of bitter sadness in his tone.Prue, greatly surprised by the voice, which had none of the roughness of the robber's greeting on Bleakmoor, looked more closely at Robin, and discovered that he was young, handsome, and by no means ferocious-looking."I would not have you feel harshly toward me," she said, in a low, thrilling voice. "It is not too late, even now, for me to withdraw, if you deem me overbold."A spasm of apprehension shivered through him. Had she brought his dream so near realization only to snatch it from him? Could a woman be so cruel to a dying man? He met her questioning look with one of agonized supplication. "Withdraw—now?" he muttered, unable to voice the prayer of his eyes. "Then why come at all—to mock me?"But Prue was quick to read men's hearts, and what she saw in Robin's, translated his few abrupt words into a language that stirred hers to pity. Therefore, to console him (the jailer having by this time retired), she now threw off her wraps, and revealed such a vision of loveliness as fairly illuminated the dingy prison cell. His look of delighted surprise satisfied her."I recognize you now, but you are far, far more beautiful than even my dreams of you! And have you really made yourself so fine to gladden a poor prisoner's eyes?" said Robin, gazing with rapture upon the graceful figure in its dainty garb of brocade and lace, the lovely face, from which eyes of the most dazzling brightness smiled alluringly upon him; the little hand, so tapering and dimpled, stretched out to him with a gesture, half-entreaty and half-command. As he took it in his, she blushed a little, remembering how he had behaved the other time she offered it. But this time, he bent his head and laid a courtly and reverential salute upon it."We have nothing to wait for now," said Sir Geoffrey, impatiently observing this little episode. "Parson Goodridge, have you shown the papers to this gentleman, to make sure they are correct?"Robin mechanically took up the papers the parson had laid on the table, and read out the names from the marriage license. "Robert Gregory de Cliffe," he nodded approval and glanced further down. "Prue, widow of James Stuart Brooke and daughter of Reginald Wynne and Anne Drumloch, his wife." All the titles had been eliminated, and there was nothing to show that the bride was not of plebeian origin. Robin smiled slightly. Was it worth while to be mysterious with a man virtually dead? He recalled that Peggie had made him promise to keep his marriage with "my lady" a secret, but it was apparent that he was not to be trusted with more of the secret than was absolutely necessary."It is quite correct," he said, laying the paper down."Then let us proceed to business. Master Goodridge, pray do your office quickly. Let us have no homilies on the duties and pleasures of matrimony"—Sir Geoffrey laughed maliciously—"but make the ceremony brief and binding. We will not intrude on your privacy," he added, turning to Robin, "any longer than is necessary.""I am ready," said Robin curtly.The ceremony was quickly performed. Robert Gregory and Prudence duly accepted each other as man and wife for all the vicissitudes of their mortal life, severally vowed love, honor and all the rest of it, pledged themselves by the giving and receiving of a ring, to share each other's worldly goods, and finally received the blessing of the church, borne on the gin-flavored breath of Parson Goodridge.A short ten minutes having sufficed to make the Viscount Brooke's widow the highwayman, Robin Freemantle's, wife, the parson pocketed his dog-eared book, also a generous fee from the bridegroom, and took his departure."Do not forget to keep your own counsel," Sir Geoffrey warned him. "This has been a good morning's work for you, Master Goodridge, and there is better to come when your testimony is wanted, if the secret be well kept.""I shall keep it, never fear; I shall keep it," mumbled the degraded creature, already drunk in anticipation of the glorious possibilities of a pocket so unusually well lined. "A secret is the only thing I have ever learned to keep."And he disappeared, chuckling at his own wit."Now," said Sir Geoffrey, turning to Prudence with a smile, "all that remains is the pleasant ceremony of congratulating the bridegroom and saluting the bride, and then we had better be going."Prue was standing a little apart, with down-cast eyes and a certain trouble in her pensive face, that almost foretokened tears. She drew back a step at Sir Geoffrey's words, and put up her hand, palm-outward."Let us have no more mockery," she said coldly. "We have made ourselves quite contemptible enough, without further buffoonery. So far from congratulating the bridegroom, we should do better to apologize to him." She stamped her foot slightly but positively, as he seemed disposed to persist. "As to the bride, sir, for once she is in no humor for folly. Be kind enough to take my cousin out and find a chair for her; then you can return and see me to my carriage.""And leave you here?" he exclaimed."Where else would you leave me?" she retorted, in a jeering tone. "Are you afraid to leave me with myhusband?"Sir Geoffrey would still have lingered to remonstrate, but Peggie, whose ready sympathy divined her cousin's motive, placed her hand within his arm, and drawing her veil closely over her face, announced herself ready for departure."The gentleman is notmyhusband," she remarked demurely. "It would scarcely be proper to leavemealone with him, and you can not escort us both at once."But when they were alone, the words of extenuation Prue intended to speak, seemed hard of utterance. There was a little lump in her throat, and she could think of no commonplace form of excuse that seemed to fit the occasion. Robin gazed at her as though he wished to fill his whole soul with her image. Yet, although they were scarcely twenty inches apart, he made no attempt to touch her."Morituri te salutant," he said, with a curious mingling of irony and tenderness in his voice. "Accept the blessing of a dying man.""Oh! poor soul—must thou really die?" sighed Prue, at last raising her eyes, filled with tears.At the sight of those sweet, dewy eyes, the newly made husband thrilled in every nerve. "If those tears are for me, sweet Prudence," he said, "death is not so hard to bear.""'Tis sad; indeed, I would I could do aught to comfort thee!" she murmured, half turned away, yet lingering.A dark flush swept his cheek. "I could tell you, if I dared, how to make me forget everything but—yourself," he said."If you dared!" She flashed an arch glance at him. "On Bleakmoor, you were not so—so ceremonious, Sir Highwayman. Ask me for what you please. My powers are limited, but I will gladly do what I can to console you.""An' thou wouldst really comfort me, kiss me once, as though I were thy real husband and thou lovedst me." He held out his arms to her, with such prayer and such insistence in his eyes, that Prue, startled, hung back an instant, and then, half involuntarily, drooped toward him, and permitted herself to be clasped in his passionate embrace.When she drew herself away, her cheeks were rosy-red and her eyes cast down. But Robin, transferring his lips to her hand, fell on his knees before her."Oh!" he softly uttered, "I can bear to die now. Death itself can not rob me of your kiss.""Then you forgive me for—marrying you?" she said."Forgive you! Oh! if you had killed me, I could have blessed you, but would not have presumed to think of pardon," he passionately breathed, "and now—" Words failed, and his lips finished the invocation on her hand.She placed her other hand gently on his bowed head, and pressing it back, stooped and kissed him on the forehead. It was as pure and tender a caress as a mother could have bestowed on her sleeping babe, but it touched both hearts as the most passionate embrace of love could not have done. It was a farewell benediction.Not another word was spoken, and when Sir Geoffrey returned, Prue allowed him to wrap her in her cloak and hood and lead her away, without even a backward glance at Robin, who, as soon as the door had closed behind them, threw himself on the floor where she had stood, and gave way to an ecstasy of recollection, none the less delicious because there was no future to discount its bliss.When at last he rose to his feet, he gathered up the manuscript at which he had worked since daylight, and tore it into fragments."Since my death will benefit her, I will not attempt to live," he exclaimed. "She has paid for my life in full and with interest, and I'll not cheat her of her bargain."He sat down, and on his last remaining sheet of paper, wrote a short letter.
CHAPTER VII
A WEDDING-RING FOR A KISS
Robin had been alone half-an-hour or so, when the door was again opened, and another visitor announced.
"Here, Highwayman," cried the jailer, "a lady wants to see you now. You Knights of the Road are always in favor with the women."
"I know no women," said Robin roughly. "Certainly none that would come here to see me."
"Well, shall this one come in?" demanded the jailer. "I'll warrant she's young and pretty, and a real lady, too! She came in a chair!"
"Oh! let her in, let her in. Pray don't keep a real lady waiting in the passage," said Robin, who foresaw some begging petition, or, perhaps, the request of some frolicsome damsel for a lock of his hair for her album, or a bequest of the rope that hanged him, for luck! "Be seated, Madam," he added, as a slender figure, wrapped in a heavy cloak and closely veiled, glided timidly into the cell. "What service can I render you?"
"Can I have a few words alone with you?" murmured the visitor. The jailer, who had been hanging round, curious to see and hear, withdrew, with a laugh and a coarse jest, and locked the door after him.
The lady threw off her veil, revealing the homely features and sparkling eyes of Margaret Moffat.
"You know me not," she said. "Yet we have met before, Robin Freemantle."
"I can not believe," replied Robin gallantly, "that, once seen, you could ever be forgotten by me."
"Well, possibly you did not see me; one far more attractive engrossed all your attention, and 'tis from her I come, to ask as favor from you, that which many of the highest in the land have offered in vain."
"You puzzle me greatly," said Robin. "What favor can any lady desire of a man as good as dead?"
"Why—that's just where it is—an' you were not condemned to die, you could do nothing for my lady."
"My lady! And who is your lady, may I ask?"
"I'll tell that presently; but first, before I reveal her name, tell me one thing truly. Are you married?"
"Married? No, the Saints be praised! but how can that concern your lady? Does she wish to marry me, perchance?" cried Robin ironically.
"That is just what she does wish," said Margaret, as demurely as though she had really been the waiting-maid she feigned to be. "And for a token, she sends you this." And she threw down before him the wallet he had flung into Prue's lap on Bleakmoor.
He took it up, recognizing it with a whirling brain. The whole scene sprang up before him as under a sudden illumination—the gathering darkness and the falling rain—the old chariot, with its steaming horses and frightened servants—and by the light of his lantern, the lovely face of a girl, with her hood thrown back and a tangle of dark curls against the milky whiteness of her neck. He saw the round, bare arms and tapering hands extended, to show that she had no jewels about her, the roguish smile disclosing the little even teeth and sparkling in the depths of the starry eyes, and for a moment his lips once more brushed her scarlet mouth, and the perfume of her breath again clouded his brain.
Margaret watched him with amusement, as his face disclosed something of the varying emotions, over which amazement predominated.
"Does that surprise you?" she inquired mockingly. "Sure, 'tis no uncommon thing for a man to pay for a kiss with a wedding-ring!"
"There must be some other reason," he said, more to himself than in reply to her. "That kiss meant nothing toher."
"Did it mean anything to you?" asked Margaret, beginning to feel interested.
"To me?" His face was suddenly irradiated. "You, who bask in the light of that incomparable loveliness all the time, can never understand what it means to the man who sees it for the first time—and not only sees, but touches!—touches with his unworthy lips that cheek of down—those lips! Ah! how many times since have I felt the thrill of that kiss, and wondered if she could recall it without horror."
"Well, horror can scarcely be the sentiment you inspired, since she wishes to marry you," simpered Peggie.
The mist of passion suddenly cleared from his eyes, and he bent on her so steady and penetrating a glance, that her eyes fell, and she waited nervously for his next words to give the cue to his thoughts.
"Ha! she wishes to marry me?" he said slowly. "Is it an honest wish of her own, or is it a trap set by some one else?"
"Oh! indeed, it is entirely her own idea!" cried Margaret eagerly; "not a soul has any suspicion of it but herself and me, and if you refuse, you will not even know her name, and the secret will be buried in your grave."
"Then give me a reason," he said, apparently relieved by her unmistakable honesty. "Give me the real reason, for I see this is something more than a mere fine lady's caprice."
Margaret felt a little natural embarrassment—the man was so different from what she had expected, that the little plans she had devised on her way to the prison, did not fit into the circumstances.
"In truth Prue—I mean the Lady Prudence—is deeply in debt and much harassed by her creditors, who threaten her with the Fleet, and I know not what beside," she blurted out. "Now, if she were your wife, her debts would be your debts, and as you, alack, must die on Monday, no one can make your widow pay your debts!"
"So 'tis mywidowthe Lady Prudence desires to be; not my wife!" said Robin, with a bitter smile.
[image]"So 'tis my widow she desires to be!"
[image]
[image]
"So 'tis my widow she desires to be!"
"What difference does that make?" cried Margaret, greatly relieved at having got over the worst of her mission. "An' if you think so much of a kiss, I'll warrant my lady will not refuse one to herhusband."
"Aye, such a kiss as I snatched from her on Bleakmoor, with lips denied and cheek averted. Or such a kiss as she might leave on the face of a dead stranger; as cold as the corpse itself."
"'Twill be your own fault if you get nothing better than that," cried Peggie, with a glance that had something of challenge in it. "On Bleakmoor, Lady Prudence had not seen your face; how could she tell you were not some blackavised desperado? There is not a handsome young gallant behind every robber's mask."
Robin burst out laughing. "Thanks, sweetheart!" he cried. "I trust my bride-elect has as kind a disposition as her messenger. Yet what does it matter to me?
"'Be she meeker, kinder thanTurtle-dove or pelican;If she be not so to me,What care I how kind she be?'"
"'Be she meeker, kinder thanTurtle-dove or pelican;If she be not so to me,What care I how kind she be?'"
"'Be she meeker, kinder than
Turtle-dove or pelican;
If she be not so to me,
What care I how kind she be?'"
His rich voice filled the squalid cell with burst of rollicking melody. "If she be a very Xantippe, I shall not suffer from her temper," he went on. "And, by the way, I do not yet know the name of the lady who has honored me by the offer of her hand—in widowhood."
"That I can not tell you, until I know your intentions," said Margaret. "First, will you marry her?"
"Will I marry her? Surely, she is not accustomed to sue in vain for men's hearts and hands! They must fall under her feet—as I do—when she but glances at them. Aye, I will marry her, though death himself ties the nuptial knot."
"That is settled, then—" Peggie was beginning philosophically.
"Settled, perhaps, as far as I am concerned; but what about your lady? Will her caprice last out until you return, think you, or will she be likely to stay in the same mind until to-morrow? 'Tis nothing to her, mayhap, to set a poor prisoner's brain afire, and bid him welcome death because it brings him five minutes of her company. I may dream myself her husband for a few hours, and forget everything else in the delicious hope of seeing her again; but what of her? By the time you go back to her, she may have changed her mind, or found some less objectionable way of paying her debts!"
"'Tis like enough," she replied coolly. "You would not be the first she has served in that fashion. You must take your chance of that."
"I'll take my chance," the prisoner acquiesced.
"Very well. Now, will you swear not to reveal the marriage to any one?—unless it be your father-confessor, if you have one."
"That I will willingly swear. If she can keep the secret herself, it will be safe enough in my grave."
"Now, I have only one more thing to ask. You must not be offended, but—is Robin Freemantie your true name? I know you 'Knights of the Road' do, sometimes, masquerade in name as well as in person, so perhaps you may have another name—not quite so—celebrated?"
"Aha! my lady wants a respectable grave to bury her debts in!" cried Robin, laughing sarcastically. "I am fortunate in being able to satisfy her even in this. Ihaveanother name, and a friend who will claim my body after I am hanged, and bury me where my disconsolate widow may, if she wish, raise a monument to commemorate my virtues and her woes." He wrote the name on a sheet of paper and handed it to her.
"And haveyouno condition to make?" asked Peggie, rising.
"What condition should I make?" demanded Robin, somewhat sternly. "Will she try to save my life, who only seeks to profit by my death? No! it will be reward enough to hold her hand for five minutes, while the priest makes her my wife; for just so long as I can coax her to keep her carriage waiting! No conditions for me. Yet, stay; I'll make one that will not hurt her pride or wound her vanity. Tell her I demand that she comes to me, looking her prettiest, as becomes a bride. I'll feast my eyes upon her loveliness, and if she'll but kiss me once, I'd thank them if they would take me out and hang me before the kiss had time to grow cold on my lips. Fare-thee-well, sweetheart, since you must go, and thanks for your company. Take my lady back my wallet, and let me first fill it with gold pieces for yourself."
"No, no!" cried Peggie, not quite able to act up to the character of waiting-woman to the extent of accepting a fee for her mediation. "My lady would be vexed with me, if I took aught from you but your consent to marry her."
"And this," he cried, gaily kissing her. "I'll warrant you know the old saw, 'Kiss and never tell.'"
"For shame!" she remonstrated, without any great show of indignation, however. "Help me with my cloak and call the jailer, if you please. Alack, my reputation would suffer sadly, if ever this long visit should be heard of outside the walls of Newgate."
He adjusted her cloak, not forgetting to steal another kiss before she tied the thick veil over her hood. "To-morrow," she said, as she hurried out after the jailer, "some time in the forenoon."
As she took her seat in the chair, she laughed softly to herself. "I must be a good actress," she murmured, "or, maybe, there is not enough difference between an earl's granddaughter and a waiting-maid to be perceptible to a robber! Odd's life! he doesn't know the bride's name, even now! 'Tis a queer marriage, indeed!"
CHAPTER VIII
AN ORDER FOR A PARSON
Scarcely had Margaret Moffat alighted from her chair, when Prue darted out into the little hall and greeted her with embraces.
"Oh! Peggie, Peggie, I have been counting the minutes for your return," she cried, literally dancing round her. "Since you went away, all sorts of delightful things have happened. Our boxes have come from Yorkshire; think of it, all our finery—packed anyhow, to be sure, but a hot iron will repair the damage—and we can go to court and to church and to the play, and to the Duchess of Marlborough's masquerade! Oh! Peggie, I am crazy with joy!" and she kissed her cousin again, with an ardor that must have been rather exasperating to Sir Geoffrey, who was looking on.
By this time, Peggie had thrown off her wraps, and forgetting all about Robin, had become as joyously excited as Prue.
"Oh! the masquerade—shall we be invited? I was breaking my heart to think of missing it!"
"We are invited! Scarcely had the trunks arrived, when there came a messenger from the duchess with the invitations for the masquerade, and a note bidding me to dinner with her grace, to-morrow, at noon. Think how overjoyed I was to be able to accept both invitations. I flew up to grandmother to give her the good news—never thinking, I vow, that she would do aught but scold—and found her in a most gracious mood. She gave me a lovely lace flounce. Oh! Peggie, you know her rose-point? there's some for you, too; and what do you think? She offered to lend me her pearls, and promised to give us fifty guineas to help make us presentable at the queen's next drawing-room. Isn't that good news? And now, Peggie, you must help me prepare for to-morrow; that is even more important than the mask, for if the duchess should be in great good-humor with her little Prue, she might take her to Kensington Palace to make her peace with the queen!"
"To-morrow morning you have already one very particular engagement," cried Peggie, laughing. "I see, however, that poor Robin was right in thinking you might change your mind before I got back!"
"Robin—!" Prue glanced at Sir Geoffrey, and turned scarlet. Then her eyes danced with mischief. "Tell us all about it, Peggie; Sir Geoffrey may as well enjoy the joke."
Margaret hesitated, and would have changed the subject, but Prue, wilful as usual, would not be denied.
"'Tis too good to keep," she laughed. "You must know, Sir Geoffrey, that I am desperately in debt; 'tis no secret, though no one but Peggie knows how I have been driven and harried by my creditors. Well, in utter despair, I hit upon a most original way of paying my debts. I decided to be the widow of Robin Freemantle, who is condemned to be hanged next Monday."
"The widow of Robin Freemantle!" he exclaimed, with evident mystification. "Pray, how can you be a widow without first being a wife?"
"That was the only difficulty," cried Prue, with a mock-serious air, "so I persuaded Peggie to go to Newgate and ask Robin to marry me. Did he consent, Peggie? Did he make terms and demand a bribe, or am I forestalled by some fair Molly of the Minories, and must I pine in the Fleet, or marry good Mr. Aarons?"
Sir Geoffrey, who was, perhaps, a little deficient in sense of humor, could not dissemble his perplexity. He had passed the afternoon at the feet of his capricious mistress, or rather under the high heels of her dainty slippers, for she had laughed at his vows and persisted in turning his poetic rhapsodies into coldest prose. Even her joy over the arrival of her trunks and the duchess' invitations, had not improved matters, for she took little pains to conceal that the prospect of returning to the field of her former triumphs had reawakened a thirst for further conquest, which might prove disastrous, both to his matrimonial views and his rash wager.
It was certainly disconcerting to hear his betrothed calmly discussing her possible marriage with this one and that one, while he was racking his brain to devise some means of marrying her without burdening himself with the debts she must needs bring in her little hand. And Sir Geoffrey had already discovered that Prudence was never so likely to be serious, as when she appeared most frivolous.
"Miss Moffat has been to Newgate?" he exclaimed, grasping that one fact out of a bewildering array of vague possibilities. "What an extraordinary adventure! And did you really see the miscreant?"
"I saw him," replied Peggie, "and for a miscreant, he was really quite inoffensive, and even agreeable;" she smiled furtively, as she thought of the two kisses he had stolen, "and if Prue will choose that way out of her troubles, she may; for he's ready to marry her to-morrow, if she will provide the priest and the ring."
Prue glanced at her suitor, and observing his downcast eyes and the thoughtful frown upon his brow, thought the joke had been carried far enough, even for her perverse humor.
"Nay, dear Peggie, 'tis enough folly for once," she said. "Let the poor fellow die in peace. What good would it do me to be the widow of a malefactor publicly hanged? I could never claim the rights of such a widowhood!"
"It need not be known, coz," Peggie eagerly suggested. "He has another name—one quite familiar to you—and though he will die as Robin Freemantle, he will be married and buried under his own name—or what he claims as his own—Robert Gregory de Cliffe."
Both her hearers repeated the name in tones of astonishment, "De Cliffe!"
"Of course, it is an assumed name, but 'twill serve, none the less," said Sir Geoffrey, with a constrained smile.
"De Cliffe," repeated Prue; "'twould be strange, indeed, if that name became mine by such a means. Lord Beachcombe would be greatly edified, if he knew I had a second opportunity of bearing his family-name." She laughed merrily, "If such a thing could be taken seriously, this would almost tempt me."
"And why not?" cried Peggie. "I protest I see no reason for throwing away such a chance. You marry the man to-morrow, and on Monday you will be a widow. His body will be claimed by a friend and buried under the name of De Cliffe, and if your creditors harass you, all you have to do is to produce your marriage-lines and they may go hunt for their money in Robin's grave."
Prue looked irresolutely at Sir Geoffrey. Her caprice for this marriage was almost played out, but she wanted to be coaxed out of it, and to make a great favor of yielding up her own wilful way to the remonstrances and entreaties of her lover. Sir Geoffrey, on the other hand, had rapidly turned the matter over in his own mind, and arrived at the conclusion that however this escapade might affect Prue, it would have two points in his favor. First, the riddance of those debts which he was so unwilling to shoulder, and second, the advantage that the possession of such a secret would give him in pressing his suit to a speedy marriage, and in maintaining his marital authority later on. Sir Geoffrey adored Prue, but with the experience he had gained of her wiles and guiles, he had no objection to the handling of a weapon that would keep them in due subjection.
He remained silent, so after a pause that began to be ominous, Prue said softly, "And you, Sir Geoffrey; how does this project strike you? Peggie has given me a girl's advice; I should like a man's opinion."
He hemmed a little, and glanced from one expectant face to the other. "Woman's wit," he began at last, "is often more to the point than man's—"
"Wisdom," suggested Peggie, filling in a slight hesitancy.
He laughed deprecatingly. "Oh! my dear Miss Margaret, I was not thinking of laying claim to wisdom—merely to logic, with which we poor dull-brained men try to compensate for our lack of feminine intuition. You, who are wise as well as witty, can well afford to be merciful—"
"Still," persisted Prue, "you are only complimenting Peggie's wit; you are not telling us what you think of her scheme."
"Peggie's scheme!—oh—" murmured Margaret,sotto voce.
"My dearest Prudence, surely I do not need to say that the idea of any man having even such a ghost of a claim upon the woman I adore, is abhorrent to me," Sir Geoffrey began, rather pompously. "'Tis absurd to think that a few words to a stranger could free you from so much anxiety, while I, the most faithful of your slaves, am forced by cruel Fate to stand aside, for fear of aggravating your woes." Having got thus far, however, it occurred to him that this was too serious a view of the matter, so he went on with a careless laugh, "To be sure you would only see him once—the fellow's audacity would be rightly punished by such a torment of Tantalus—and your creditors—the wretches have threatened you with the Fleet, did you say? By Saint George, 'tis no more than they deserve to be balked of their prey—it seems almost worth while—"
"I see," interrupted Prue, without the least appearance of annoyance, "that you agree with Peggie. We will consider it settled. I'm so glad we have told you about it," she went on, in her most vivacious manner. "I really don't see how Peggie and I could have managed without you; and to think that I was foolish enough to be afraid you would be shocked!—"
"Oh! Iamshocked—distracted, at the idea of any man—" he began, but she interrupted him, playfully shaking her forefinger at him.
"Now, now! don't let us try to be sentimental about it. The plan is a very good plan; very sensible and ingenious. I am proud of having originated it. Peggie, I know, is proud of having successfully carried out the negotiations, and you will have a right, my dear Sir Geoffrey, to be proud of the part you are going to play in bringing it to a triumphant end."
"I am entirely at your disposal, my dear Prudence," said Sir Geoffrey, rather taken aback at thus finding himself assigned an acting part in the comedy, "but I hardly know what I can do—indeed, the fewer persons concerned the better, I think—the less likely to attract attention—comment might be caused by any—a—unusual action on the part of a member of Parliament—the newsmongers are always on the look-out for—"
"Ta-ta-ta! don't you suppose that I should make a spicier mouthful for the newsmongers than even a member of Parliament?" cried Prue impatiently. "Who is to procure the marriage license and the priest, Sir Geoffrey, unless you do it? Don't you think I should attract more attention in Doctors' Commons than Sir Geoffrey Beaudesert, M.P.? And surely, you can more easily find some accommodating parson who will keep the secret and be sure to tie the knot so securely, that when the time comes to reap the reward, there may be no slip 'twixt cup and lip. Then, to-morrow morning, you can conduct me to Newgate, on my way to dine with the duchess, and take care that Peggie and I do not get clapped into a dungeon by mistake."
"If it can be done so soon," Sir Geoffrey began reluctantly, yet scarcely venturing to make any further excuse.
"If it can not be done then," cried Prue imperiously, "it will not be done at all. You may be sure, once I get back to court, I shall have no time for marrying malefactors, or members of Parliament either, mayhap."
Sir Geoffrey made no further protest, but considering that the benefit to himself was so undeniable, gave in gracefully, and pledged himself to his lady's service with many courtly vows. Indeed, the tempting prospect of Prue, divested of her debts, and free in three days to bestow herself upon him, rose before him in such glowing colors, that even Lord Beachcombe's wager was cast into the shade, and only served to add luster to the vision of his fickle and inconsequent mistress, reduced to sweet reasonableness and proper wifely submission by the judicious use of her discreditable secret.
He, therefore, took his leave, having to content himself for the nonce with the tips of Prue's fingers to kiss, and leaving the cousins to the delightful occupation of turning over their recovered wardrobes, and devising the means of making a resplendent appearance at court with their present possessions and the thrifty outlay of Lady Drumloch's fifty guineas.
CHAPTER IX
THE WEDDING
"My mind misgives me," said Margaret, when the two girls were at their toilet the next morning. "'Tis not too late, Prue, for reflection, and if ill betide thee, dear, I shall feel as if I had brought it on thee."
Prue turned from her mirror with a petulant gesture. "Tell me, Peggie, truly," she said, with an air of deep concern, "do you not think the hairdresser has trussed my hair too high on top? Would not a curl or two more on the neck be an improvement? Prithee, unpin this lock and let it fall negligently behind my ear. Ah! that's better." She turned back to the mirror, and regarded her reflection critically. "Am I too pale, Peggie? Do you think a touch of rouge—the least touch—would be becoming?"
"For the wedding, do you mean? Faith, I always thought a pale, pensive bride more interesting. Not that you are either. A shade more color would spoil you. I think you are even a little flushed."
"Youare pale, Peggie," said Prue, looking fixedly at her. "What's the matter?"
"Oh! I dreamed all night of troubled water, Prue. You know that's ill-luck! 'Tis not too late to give up this foolish marriage—"
"Foolish marriage! Why, Peggie, 'tis the first wise one I have ever contemplated. And as for a dream, why I dreamed three times running of a black cat, and if anything bodes good luck that does."
"But suppose after all the object of the marriage should fail," urged Margaret.
"Fail! How can it fail?" cried Prue pettishly. "Besides, you know the motto of the Wynnes: 'Cowards fayle. I winne.' Well, I have failed often enough, yet not from cowardice, God wot! And still I am always hoping to win, I scarce know what."
"Your new motto will suit you just as well," said Peggie, "'Nil timeo.'"
"Ha, ha! the motto of the De Cliffes. Was ever such audacity as this Robin's? I've a mind to ask him, when the deed is done, if he has any directions to give about his hatchment, or if I shall refer the matter to the head of the house."
"Oh! Prue, are you utterly heartless? I declare, since I have seen the poor young man I am sorry for him and I wish I had not helped to turn his execution into a jest."
"Would you have me weep?" said Prue, almost sternly. "There is always time enough for that when there is nothing else to be done. Ah! I hear Sir Geoffrey's voice. You are dressed, Peggie, prithee go down to him and bring me word whether he has done his part, and is ready—and willing—to give away the bride."
She turned for a last look in the mirror as Peggie hurried away, and the half-scornful smile with which she surveyed her own charming reflection had none of the levity with which she had so easily deceived her cousin. Yet it certainly was not a picture to provoke disdain. Never had the wilful beauty looked to greater advantage. The restless brilliancy of her sparkling eyes, the changeful color that flushed and paled her cheek with each quick-drawn breath, the nameless but irresistible charm that animated every feature, might have excused a more complacent glance. But Prue, though by no means prone to deal severely with herself, was a good deal more ashamed of her scheme than she would have cared to own, even to herself, and perhaps secretly longed for some insurmountable obstacle to stop her in spite of herself.
She was determined, however, that she would not be the one to raise a difficulty. She was so unspeakably mortified by the new light yesterday's events had thrown on Sir Geoffrey's wooing that the idea of placing a barrier between herself and him, gave her keen satisfaction. That the possibility of her inheriting a fortune from her grandmother should have influenced his pursuit of her ever so slightly, wounded her vanity, that nerve-center of her being; and that he should have lent his countenance and help to a scheme that would give her, even nominally, to another man, no matter how brief or indefinite the tenure, dealt it an almost mortal blow.
"He has yet a chance," she murmured. "He may have found on reflection that he can not bring himself to sacrifice me for the sake of a couple of thousand pounds' worth of debts, and he may implore me to refrain for his sake. I might not be persuaded—one can never answer for oneself—but he would come out of it without dishonor." She mechanically smoothed a ribbon here and adjusted a flounce there and, half turning, tried to obtain a full view of her back in a glass two feet square. "'Tis provoking to be obliged to dress by guess-work," she commented. "If I were to marry old Aarons I could have three or four tire-women, and a dressing-room with the walls all covered with mirrors, so that I could see every side of myself at once. Pah! what is coming over me that I could even think of such a creature? What with marrying criminals and receiving offers from usurers the Viscountess Brooke must be coming to a pretty pass."
With which she made a deep curtsey to as much as she could see of the Viscountess Brooke in the little looking-glass, and running out of the room met Miss Moffat coming up-stairs.
"Hasten, Prue," she whispered breathlessly. "All is arranged. Sir Geoffrey has the ring and license in his pocket and a parson in the carriage. If the bride is ready—" She had entirely recovered from her brief spasm of reluctance and was as merry as a child and as reckless of consequences.
"The bride is quite ready," cried Prue. "Nothing is lacking except—"
"Except what?" inquired Peggie, as she broke off abruptly.
"Oh! a trifle or two; nothing worth mentioning," laughed Prue, snatching up her cloak and hood and running lightly down-stairs, where Sir Geoffrey awaited them, not altogether at ease about his own part in the affair, and palpably relieved that Prue was in the best of spirits and inclined to treat the whole adventure as a frolic.
"'Tis all your own fault—and Peggie's," she laughed in her sauciest way. "If I were not the most good-natured person in the world I should scold you both soundly and refuse to make a fool of myself for your amusement."
"Will you change places with me and let me take your chance?" cried Peggie. "It can not make much difference to Robin."
"What, when I am all dressed up in ribbons and laces for the wedding? No difference, forsooth! What do you say to that, Sir Geoffrey?"
"I was just going to suggest that you were altogether too fine a bride for the occasion," said Sir Geoffrey, rather glumly. "A less resplendent toilet would be less likely to attract attention."
"Eclipse me then under this big cloak," she replied, giving it to him. "Do you think, you foolish man, that I am dressed up like this to wed a footpad? I am on my way to Marlborough House to dine with the duchess, and must hasten or I shall be late and may chance to get a box o' the ear for my first course."
Robin Freemantle sat at the rough table in his cell, writing busily. Several closely written sheets were spread out before him, and when he finished the last and signed his name to it he threw the pen down and sat drumming on the table with his fingers. It was an idle action but by no means idly performed, for the frown on his forehead and the movements of his long, sinewy hands were full of purpose, and angry purpose, too.
Presently the frown died away and a look of wistful sadness replaced it. He took up the written sheets and turned them in his fingers as though half-disposed to tear them up, smiling bitterly as he glanced from page to page.
"What good will it do me," he muttered, "when my bones are rotting in an unmarked grave, to bequeath a feud to perhaps unborn generations? Shall I fling down my mother's reputation for the lawyers to fight over, like dogs over a bone, when I am not there to protect it, and when the outcome of the struggle will interest me as little as it will her?"
A dim vision, more imagination than memory, rose before him of the fair, young mother who had faded from his life twenty-three years ago, and beside it another face radiant with life and laughter, a pair of blue eyes sparkling through curled lashes, a pair of round, white arms gleaming in the darkness, a scarlet mouth—every nerve tingled at the thought that his own had touched it, and might again. But no! she had been merely playing with him. How could he have been fooled by the ruse of a spoiled beauty to feed her own vanity and punish his audacity?Shewant to marryhim! It was fantastic, absurd, and what could be more improbable than the reason for such a folly? She had a wager on it, perhaps, or merely wished to amuse herself at the expense of the daring highwayman who had robbed her of a kiss. Well, she had had her way. He had shown that she had but to beckon and he was ready to follow, and that had doubtless ended her whim.
"She will not come!" he said, aloud, in a tone of poignant disappointment, that plainly showed how he clung to the promise he feigned to discredit.
The jailer opened the door noisily.
"Visitors for the highwayman," he announced. "More fine ladies and gentlemen."
Robin sprang to his feet, looking eagerly from one to another. Whatever his expectations were, the first glance disappointed them. A pimply-faced, watery-eyed little man, in rusty black, entered first, conducting Margaret Moffat by the hand in a ceremonious fashion, that had something in it reminiscent of the time when he did not need filling up with gin to make him remember that he was a student and a Doctor of Divinity. And close behind him, followed Sir Geoffrey Beaudesert—tall, handsome, dressed with the sober elegance that became the budding statesman, supporting on his arm a lady, enveloped from head to foot in a hooded cloak, that completely concealed her.
"May I inquire—" Robin began. Then his glance fell upon Margaret, whose air of coquettish simplicity would not have misbecome my lady's confidential maid, and recognizing her, his hopes rose again, and he burst into a hearty laugh. "Ha, my fair friend; have you come to enliven my solitude once more? What! Sir Geoffrey Beaudesert? I can not say I anticipated the honor of a visit from you. I fancied you had already seen more of me than you approved."
Sir Geoffrey flushed. "My good fellow," he said haughtily, "I have no personal enmity toward you; I merely did my duty as a citizen in appearing as a witness against you."
"Oh! I had forgotten that," said Robin negligently. "I was thinking of the time when I and my friends were chasing you and yours, and the constables shot my horse—poor Firebrand, I wonder what became of him—and turned the tide of battle."
"'Sdeath, fellow!" Sir Geoffrey began furiously, but Prue checked him with a light touch on the arm.
"Pray, gentlemen, do not waste time quarreling; what does it matter now who fled and who pursued?"
At the sound of her voice, at once gentle and imperious, the two men dropped their warlike air, and Robin, who was astounded to recognize Prue in Sir Geoffrey's companion, seemed petrified into a statue of expectancy.
"If we can have a few minutes' privacy—?" she suggested.
Sir Geoffrey beckoned to the jailer, and after a murmured conference, enlivened by the clinking of coin, the latter consented to see that they were uninterrupted for as long as they wished.
While that was being arranged, Prue approached Robin with a timid air. "Master Robert de Cliffe—or Robin Freemantle"—she said, "I thank you for consenting to my wild scheme, and I pray you, forgive me if it seems heartless."
"Madam, I deem myself fortunate, if my death be of any use to you," he replied, with a ring of bitter sadness in his tone.
Prue, greatly surprised by the voice, which had none of the roughness of the robber's greeting on Bleakmoor, looked more closely at Robin, and discovered that he was young, handsome, and by no means ferocious-looking.
"I would not have you feel harshly toward me," she said, in a low, thrilling voice. "It is not too late, even now, for me to withdraw, if you deem me overbold."
A spasm of apprehension shivered through him. Had she brought his dream so near realization only to snatch it from him? Could a woman be so cruel to a dying man? He met her questioning look with one of agonized supplication. "Withdraw—now?" he muttered, unable to voice the prayer of his eyes. "Then why come at all—to mock me?"
But Prue was quick to read men's hearts, and what she saw in Robin's, translated his few abrupt words into a language that stirred hers to pity. Therefore, to console him (the jailer having by this time retired), she now threw off her wraps, and revealed such a vision of loveliness as fairly illuminated the dingy prison cell. His look of delighted surprise satisfied her.
"I recognize you now, but you are far, far more beautiful than even my dreams of you! And have you really made yourself so fine to gladden a poor prisoner's eyes?" said Robin, gazing with rapture upon the graceful figure in its dainty garb of brocade and lace, the lovely face, from which eyes of the most dazzling brightness smiled alluringly upon him; the little hand, so tapering and dimpled, stretched out to him with a gesture, half-entreaty and half-command. As he took it in his, she blushed a little, remembering how he had behaved the other time she offered it. But this time, he bent his head and laid a courtly and reverential salute upon it.
"We have nothing to wait for now," said Sir Geoffrey, impatiently observing this little episode. "Parson Goodridge, have you shown the papers to this gentleman, to make sure they are correct?"
Robin mechanically took up the papers the parson had laid on the table, and read out the names from the marriage license. "Robert Gregory de Cliffe," he nodded approval and glanced further down. "Prue, widow of James Stuart Brooke and daughter of Reginald Wynne and Anne Drumloch, his wife." All the titles had been eliminated, and there was nothing to show that the bride was not of plebeian origin. Robin smiled slightly. Was it worth while to be mysterious with a man virtually dead? He recalled that Peggie had made him promise to keep his marriage with "my lady" a secret, but it was apparent that he was not to be trusted with more of the secret than was absolutely necessary.
"It is quite correct," he said, laying the paper down.
"Then let us proceed to business. Master Goodridge, pray do your office quickly. Let us have no homilies on the duties and pleasures of matrimony"—Sir Geoffrey laughed maliciously—"but make the ceremony brief and binding. We will not intrude on your privacy," he added, turning to Robin, "any longer than is necessary."
"I am ready," said Robin curtly.
The ceremony was quickly performed. Robert Gregory and Prudence duly accepted each other as man and wife for all the vicissitudes of their mortal life, severally vowed love, honor and all the rest of it, pledged themselves by the giving and receiving of a ring, to share each other's worldly goods, and finally received the blessing of the church, borne on the gin-flavored breath of Parson Goodridge.
A short ten minutes having sufficed to make the Viscount Brooke's widow the highwayman, Robin Freemantle's, wife, the parson pocketed his dog-eared book, also a generous fee from the bridegroom, and took his departure.
"Do not forget to keep your own counsel," Sir Geoffrey warned him. "This has been a good morning's work for you, Master Goodridge, and there is better to come when your testimony is wanted, if the secret be well kept."
"I shall keep it, never fear; I shall keep it," mumbled the degraded creature, already drunk in anticipation of the glorious possibilities of a pocket so unusually well lined. "A secret is the only thing I have ever learned to keep."
And he disappeared, chuckling at his own wit.
"Now," said Sir Geoffrey, turning to Prudence with a smile, "all that remains is the pleasant ceremony of congratulating the bridegroom and saluting the bride, and then we had better be going."
Prue was standing a little apart, with down-cast eyes and a certain trouble in her pensive face, that almost foretokened tears. She drew back a step at Sir Geoffrey's words, and put up her hand, palm-outward.
"Let us have no more mockery," she said coldly. "We have made ourselves quite contemptible enough, without further buffoonery. So far from congratulating the bridegroom, we should do better to apologize to him." She stamped her foot slightly but positively, as he seemed disposed to persist. "As to the bride, sir, for once she is in no humor for folly. Be kind enough to take my cousin out and find a chair for her; then you can return and see me to my carriage."
"And leave you here?" he exclaimed.
"Where else would you leave me?" she retorted, in a jeering tone. "Are you afraid to leave me with myhusband?"
Sir Geoffrey would still have lingered to remonstrate, but Peggie, whose ready sympathy divined her cousin's motive, placed her hand within his arm, and drawing her veil closely over her face, announced herself ready for departure.
"The gentleman is notmyhusband," she remarked demurely. "It would scarcely be proper to leavemealone with him, and you can not escort us both at once."
But when they were alone, the words of extenuation Prue intended to speak, seemed hard of utterance. There was a little lump in her throat, and she could think of no commonplace form of excuse that seemed to fit the occasion. Robin gazed at her as though he wished to fill his whole soul with her image. Yet, although they were scarcely twenty inches apart, he made no attempt to touch her.
"Morituri te salutant," he said, with a curious mingling of irony and tenderness in his voice. "Accept the blessing of a dying man."
"Oh! poor soul—must thou really die?" sighed Prue, at last raising her eyes, filled with tears.
At the sight of those sweet, dewy eyes, the newly made husband thrilled in every nerve. "If those tears are for me, sweet Prudence," he said, "death is not so hard to bear."
"'Tis sad; indeed, I would I could do aught to comfort thee!" she murmured, half turned away, yet lingering.
A dark flush swept his cheek. "I could tell you, if I dared, how to make me forget everything but—yourself," he said.
"If you dared!" She flashed an arch glance at him. "On Bleakmoor, you were not so—so ceremonious, Sir Highwayman. Ask me for what you please. My powers are limited, but I will gladly do what I can to console you."
"An' thou wouldst really comfort me, kiss me once, as though I were thy real husband and thou lovedst me." He held out his arms to her, with such prayer and such insistence in his eyes, that Prue, startled, hung back an instant, and then, half involuntarily, drooped toward him, and permitted herself to be clasped in his passionate embrace.
When she drew herself away, her cheeks were rosy-red and her eyes cast down. But Robin, transferring his lips to her hand, fell on his knees before her.
"Oh!" he softly uttered, "I can bear to die now. Death itself can not rob me of your kiss."
"Then you forgive me for—marrying you?" she said.
"Forgive you! Oh! if you had killed me, I could have blessed you, but would not have presumed to think of pardon," he passionately breathed, "and now—" Words failed, and his lips finished the invocation on her hand.
She placed her other hand gently on his bowed head, and pressing it back, stooped and kissed him on the forehead. It was as pure and tender a caress as a mother could have bestowed on her sleeping babe, but it touched both hearts as the most passionate embrace of love could not have done. It was a farewell benediction.
Not another word was spoken, and when Sir Geoffrey returned, Prue allowed him to wrap her in her cloak and hood and lead her away, without even a backward glance at Robin, who, as soon as the door had closed behind them, threw himself on the floor where she had stood, and gave way to an ecstasy of recollection, none the less delicious because there was no future to discount its bliss.
When at last he rose to his feet, he gathered up the manuscript at which he had worked since daylight, and tore it into fragments.
"Since my death will benefit her, I will not attempt to live," he exclaimed. "She has paid for my life in full and with interest, and I'll not cheat her of her bargain."
He sat down, and on his last remaining sheet of paper, wrote a short letter.